She silently gasped, “Shit,” before turning and bowing to the sentry, who wore a white helmet and carried a baton. “I’m sorry. I’m late,” she babbled, and she dug in her purse for her identification.
He tilted her chin up and compared her face to her picture and shouted something she didn’t understand.
“I worked late. I live there.” She pointed to the nearby house. “I live there.” She pantomimed with her fingers. As she saw no understanding, her jaw clenched.
“You late!” he shouted and whacked her across her shins with his baton.
Gina jumped back and screamed. Son of a bitch.
He handed her papers back. “You not come out late again. You go.”
All night long she ruminated over the uncalled-for abuse, knowing she wasn’t alone, as Julio had been arrested and held in jail overnight, and Arielle was sporting a black eye after tangling with a sentry who patrolled the night streets snagging prey.
Gina was awoken early the next morning when Miguel knocked on her door. “I sorry to wake you, Miss Gina. I in a hurry.”
She told him of the encounter with the sentry.
“You want me to tell Major Davy?”
“No, please. Don’t bother him with it. I was caught outside after curfew. I’ll be more careful.” She handed him an envelope of money, and he gave her two letters, the usual exchange of money and information. After Miguel left, Gina brewed a cup of coffee and opened the letter from Vivian, always wanting the latest information about Cheryl. Vivian wrote that Cheryl was turning into quite a whiz at math—her dad’s daughter, perhaps? She said Edna had ripped her last pair of pants, and the material was so thin it wouldn’t hold a mend. Maybe Gina could find something Edna could wear.
The note from Davy was not as easy a fix. He needed more money to purchase guns and ammunition, and prices on the black market were skyrocketing. Gina felt at her wit’s end. She was living on what she made at the diner and sending every cent earned at Rosa’s to the growing band of guerrillas. She had found two more donors from Davy’s list, and Dr. Lopez had recruited other doctors to contribute medical supplies. Still, she couldn’t keep up with the demand. She needed a third job. She’d been volunteering a few hours a week at Remedios Hospital for a while now. Perhaps she could qualify to work as a nurse’s aide at Philippine General. She’d apply today.
Upon entering the dressing room at Rosa’s, Gina heard shouting coming from Rosa’s office. “What’s going on?” she asked Inez, who was applying a rainbow of makeup to enhance her already beautiful eyes.
“Rosa’s on the rampage again. This time she’s after Julio. This dump would sink without him; you’d think she’d cut him some slack.”
“What’d he do?”
“He didn’t show up last night. Said he overslept.” Inez turned toward Gina, one eye made up and the other one not, a Picasso-like effect that confused Gina’s vision. “It’s her, anyway, not him,” Inez alleged. “She’s been a real bitch lately. Probably got ditched by that policeman guy she’s been dating.” Inez turned toward the mirror. “Come to think of it”—she closed one eye to apply liner—“she’s been ignoring the customers, and that’s a high crime to those egomaniacs.”
Julio burst through the door of the women’s dressing room, carrying the contents of his locker in a paper bag. His face was black with rage. “The little bitch fired me. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Nooo,” a frizzy-haired woman cried. Half a dozen other women gathered around Julio, all talking at once.
“She can’t fire you.”
“That’s the thanks you get for working your butt off.”
A blue-eyed woman said, “I’m sorry, babe. What are you going to do now?”
“I won’t go hungry.” He laughed half-heartedly. “Cheers, freaks.” He ripped off his green bow tie and put on his striped jacket before slamming the door behind him.
The room went quiet.
Rosa appeared, her eyes snapping and her face flushed. “Let that be a lesson,” she barked. “All you people are replaceable.” She tossed down the revised schedule for the night. “Gina, you’ll work the tables until I find another piano player.”
It was a long night for Gina, disheartened without Julio’s energy to keep her upbeat and no musical sets to perform to break the monotony of the ghoulish grins, fumbling hands, and innuendos from table after table of patrons.
Rosa hired another piano player, who never showed up, and then she hired a third one, who was competent but missing Julio’s vigor. Without his energy and direction, the flow of the entertainment flagged, with long, irregular intervals of time between acts that left the stage dark and the audience cold. However, busy with her own complicated love life, Rosa didn’t seem to notice or to care.
Julio kept in touch with Gina and Inez. He always said he was doing great, picking up enough bar jobs to pay the rent. What more could anyone ask for in these times? Had either heard of anyplace hiring musicians? Something permanent would be nice. But then, what was permanent anymore besides death? Gina knew his unrest, but there was nothing she could do to help. She was barely tolerating her job at Rosa’s Cabaret, the spirit of the place having left with him.
Inez and Arielle came into the dressing room sweaty from having just finished their set. They both gulped water kept in a jug on a side table. Inez said, “Be warned. There’s a table of Jap civilians. One is drunk as a skunk and mouthy as hell. We got off the stage as fast as we could.”
Gina looked up from the mirror, beginning to feel the rush of the Philopon she’d taken. “Is Rosa on top of it?”
“She ordered the bartender to water his beer. Just be careful.”
When her turn onstage came, Gina scanned the audience. In the far corner were the three Japanese men Inez had warned about—all dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black ties, all smashed, all chain-smoking, and one giggling—the heckler, she guessed.
Gina delivered her practiced banter and songs while being interrupted by the garbled comments from the corner table—“You pretty lady. I love you”—which she ignored, but the heckler was being egged on by his equally drunk companions and becoming louder and more aggressive.
“We meet later? I suck your tits.”
The audience reacted to this intrusion, laughing and craning their necks to see from where it came.
“You like me. I show you first-class time.”
Anger boiled up, and Gina blurted, “Sir, are you always this stupid, or is this a special occasion?” She laughed, a bit manic, and addressed the audience. “Give the little man a hand, folks. He wins the prize tonight for being the biggest pain in the ass.”
The piano player punctuated her comeback with a rumble of a minor chord. The audience clapped and roared with laughter. Every head turned toward the heckler, whose face was black with rage.
Hoping the incident was over but knowing that Japanese men could be cruel, she murmured into the microphone, “I mean, I’m just here to entertain you, and I thank you, Mr. Heckler, for helping me do my job.” However, she knew there was more to it than that. She had wanted to see that man squirm, and it felt good. She instructed the pianist to play the introduction to “Little White Lies,” an entertaining ditty. Soon the audience was tapping their feet, and all seemed fine.
Afterward, Rosa hissed, “Are you out of your mind? The men at the corner table were just having fun. It happens all the time. You never respond—ever. They are demanding that you apologize. Get over there and humble yourself.”
Men requesting her presence was part of her job, but approaching a hostile table was always dangerous. Gina’s glance at the heckler met a scowling face. “I don’t think I should.”
Rosa’s mouth became an angry slit. “Do as I say, or you’re out of here.”
Gina swallowed hard and acquiesced, knowing she needed this job. Winding her way through the room, she felt the gaze of the three surly men following her. Rosa was wrong. These men weren’t just having fun. S
he pasted on her practiced smile. “Good eve—”
The heckler slammed his glass on the table. “This beer tastes like pee. Get me another.” He shoved his glass toward her, and she caught it just before it toppled.
“Yes, sir.” She turned to flag a waiter, but then, to her shock, the heckler whacked her hard on her rear. She jumped and turned back, seeing only the maw of a mouth on a scowling face.
“You get me a beer,” spewed from the maw. “In Japan woman wait on a man. You obey our rules now!” He jammed the lit end of his cigarette against her bare leg.
Gina yelped so loudly at the searing pain that every head in the room turned toward the corner. Reflexively, she slapped her abuser hard on his face and hollered, “You son of a bitch!”
He lunged toward her, spilling beer down his pants, but his companions held him at bay while Gina ran in panic to the safety of the bar, where the bartender gripped a baseball bat he’d retrieved from under the counter. The three drunkards upended their table, splattering beer and shards of glass on nearby patrons, and then they left the cabaret.
While Rosa and her staff cleaned up the mess and mollified the affected patrons with sweet talk and more beer, Gina, faint with pain and fear, inspected the blistering burn on her leg.
“Bastards,” the bartender muttered and gave her a wet towel and glass of water.
Rosa, her eyes snapping, came to Gina. “My office. Right now.”
Gina, not knowing what lay ahead, limped behind Rosa, who slammed the office door closed. “Are you a total idiot? Do you realize what you’ve done? A face slap is the highest form of insult.”
Gina, expecting sympathy, tried to show Rosa the burn on her leg, but the woman turned her head away.
“You’re fired. Clean your things out of your locker, and be gone in ten minutes. Your night’s wages will pay for the damage you caused.”
“I didn’t . . . ,” Gina tried to protest. “I need—”
“Just get out of here,” Rosa screamed with a wild wave of her hand.
Seeing no recourse, Gina limped from Rosa’s office to the dressing room, where long-faced women had gathered.
Arielle covered the burn with a salve. “My mom makes this. It’s cooling. Here, take the jar . . .”
Inez offered, “I’ll go home with you.”
“No. I’ll be okay.”
“Then I’ll clean out your locker.”
A redheaded woman said, “I’m sorry, honey. I would have done the same thing.” Two other women nodded in agreement.
The bartender handed her another cold towel. “I called a calesa. It should be here in a minute.” He offered her a peso from his pocket to pay for the ride.
Gina forced a smile. “Thanks, but I can pay.”
He pushed the money into her hand. “Take it. You may need it.”
The piano player was thumping a rousing tune, and the mood in the cabaret was merry again.
Gina limped through the stage door, and it slammed behind her. The air was heavy and smelled of grease, and with no moon, the alley was dark. She could see the outline of the calesa at the end of the alley, and she was halfway there when she heard a giggle. Shivers creeped up the back of her neck, and she turned to run back to Rosa’s just as three inebriated Japanese stepped out of the shadows. Two wrenched Gina’s arms behind her. She struggled and screamed, feeling pain in her shoulders, her hair being pulled, and her head being yanked back. The heckler repeatedly slapped her face with the front and back of his hand, then punched her in the stomach.
“Hey!” the calesa driver shouted, and Gina heard a whip crack. The abusers dropped their hold on her and fled. Gina buckled forward and fell to the ground.
“Is she all right?” she heard someone say through a fog of pain and felt hands on her face and body.
“I think she fainted. Let’s get her inside.”
The fog began to lift. “I’m all right,” she insisted, not knowing if she was. Sitting up, she took several gulping breaths and assessed her body, feeling the sting of the slaps, the ache of the punch, and the burn on her leg. She stood, a bit wobbly. “I’ll go home now.”
“I’ll come with you,” Inez said.
“No. You need this job. I’ll be all right.”
“You can’t go alone,” Inez argued.
The calesa driver said, “I see she gets home safe.” He took Gina’s arm and led her to the buggy.
“I’ll come by in the morning,” Inez said.
Inez cleaned out Gina’s locker and delivered her belongings along with a fifth of booze and a pineapple upside-down cake. Gina’s face was pink from the slaps and her lip swollen. “Are you in any pain?”
“Nothing a couple aspirin didn’t help, except this cigarette burn on my leg. Arielle’s salve numbs it some.”
The bitch session that followed condemned Rosa Engelhard of crimes just short of murder. Inez confided, “Rosa said you needed to be brought down a peg, Gina. The creepy old hag. She knew the Nips were out there and ordered the piano player to keep the music loud to cover your cries.”
Gina mumbled through her swollen lip, “What? Tell me you’re kidding. Who told you that?”
“Edwardo. Eddie. He’s the new bartender. He’s the one who found you.”
“He paid for the calesa. Is he in trouble with Rosa?”
“I don’t know. They’ve both been quiet. Do you know what you’re going to do now?”
That thought, even more than her discomfort, had kept Gina awake most of the night. “Maybe a nurse’s aide job at Philippine General. I know a doctor who will put in a good word for me. I live pretty cheaply.” Discouraged beyond reason, she blinked back tears.
Inez came to her and held her hand. “You should open your own place. If you do, I’ll come with you. Arielle will too. Have you thought about it?”
Gina started to laugh but quickly stopped and put her hand to her sore lip. She had, but only in the context of what she’d do differently than Rosa: clean the bathrooms, nix the ventriloquist and his dummy, replace the worn stage curtain. Most importantly, support Davy’s growing guerrilla unit with the money Rosa spent on her gaudy jewelry. “It’s something to dream about, but practically, I can’t even support myself.”
“Things will work out. They always do. Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”
“No. It hurts my lip. I wish I had some ice.”
“I’ll go down to the corner store and get ice cream. We can eat it with the cake.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Gina stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept well last night and soon was dozing, dreaming she had burned down the cabaret with Rosa trapped inside, but the dream got twisted with the burning of her cottage, and she woke up in a sweat screaming, “Cheryl! Leah! Maggie!”
Someone knocked on her door. Still breathless, she shuffled to answer it.
A delivery boy looked at her swollen lip and then over her shoulder into the room. “I heard someone scream. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you. It was just a bad dream.”
He handed her an envelope of fine ivory paper, her name and address written in calligraphy. “Looks like you have an admirer. One with a steady hand.”
Tipping him, she closed the door. She inspected the envelope front and back and then carefully slid her finger under the flap to open it. Inside was a card ornamented with a tiny bird perched on the limb of a cherry tree. Gina read the haiku message:
My pretty songbird,
Your pain is causing sorrow.
My wish is your peace.
—Akia Tanaka
It was a sweet gesture and a calming message from a Japanese naval officer, a gentle man, she thought . . . a good customer. She wondered if he’d been in the audience last night. Not knowing what else to do with it, she put the puzzling card in the drawer.
Downhearted, she went back to the couch and her pillow. She’d have to tell Dav
y there would be no more deliveries of money, however little, or supplies for the women and children in the camp. Thinking of Cheryl, she started to cry. She could go back to the mountains; that was an option. She’d be with her daughter and could at least cook for the camp, a service of some value.
Inez returned, her eyes bugged open and her hand over her mouth. She put a pint of ice cream on the table and sat down hard on a chair. Fanning her face with her hand, she said, “You won’t believe this, Gina. Rosa was found this morning floating in the Pasig River.”
Gina gasped. “What? Who? Why?”
“It’s all I know.”
With Rosa’s sudden demise, the cabaret was closed. The police investigated the death, but with so many bodies being found in the river, in fields, or even in the streets, not much came of it. Gina felt no sorrow, except for losing her source of income. Today, she was stopping by Rosa’s to pick up a few things she had left in a storage closet.
Ling, a young man from the Chinese restaurant next door, guarded the entrance, and the magician, carrying a bag of his belongings, was leaving as Gina entered.
“Horrible thing to happen. Horrible, horrible,” the magician said in passing.
A door in the dreary vestibule led into the large main room, with a bar along the back wall, its generously sized stage, and evidence there had once been a dance floor. Gina had no good memories of this place, except the friends she had made. She went directly to the storage closet and, after rummaging through the mess, found the bag she had come for. Retracing her steps, she found Chan in the main room jotting notes on a clipboard.
“Chan,” she said, seeing his face in a scowl. “Terrible what happened to Rosa. Have you heard anything more?”
“No, but Rosa Engelhard had many enemies. Look what she did to you. There still bruise on your face.”
Gina’s hand went to her lip. How did he know what had happened?
Chan said, “She cheat many people, including me, out of money she owe. Look how she left this place. She fill it up every night with Japanese hooligans. Everything broken. No tenant will rent it from me like this.”
Along the Broken Bay Page 17