Along the Broken Bay

by Flora J. Solomon

  Arielle said, “It’s not much different than what we’re doing now. I work my butt off every night for enough money to live on.”

  “The difference, Arielle,” Gina said, “is I’m putting you at a greater risk. I know how good you are at charming the Japs, but this clientele will be higher class, wealthier, more knowledgeable, and more savvy. We’re going to have to measure every word we say.”

  Inez said, “You’ve been doing this all along, haven’t you? I knew there was something different about you the minute I met you. So what is this resistance group you’re supporting?”

  “A small band of guerrillas. They sent me here to raise money so they could fight the Japs.”

  “And how’s it going?”

  “It’s been spotty. You see how I live. This is my chance to make a real difference, and I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “Anybody else involved?”

  “No, just the three of us, if you stick with me. Oh, Chan too. He’s all in. You know many of his family were killed by the Japs in ’37.”

  “I’m in,” Arielle said. “My brother and three cousins are guerrillas, and my husband’s in a prison camp. I’ve been itching to do something . . . anything.”

  “Me too,” Inez said. “This is going to make coming to work really interesting.”

  “Thanks, you two. Hearing your comments over the past months, I was sure you’d want to fight back, but I had to ask.”

  Eddie arrived carrying a bag of donuts, and a minute later Julio came in with a loaf of freshly baked bread and something fuzzy and yellow. He handed Inez the bread and put a tiny wiggling kitten into Gina’s hands. “Here . . . happy business warming.”

  Gina glowered at him. “You devil. How am I supposed to care for a cat?”

  He removed a bottle of milk and a tin of flea powder from his pocket. “Not much to it, boss. It’ll live on mice. There’s a mess of them in here, no doubt.” He poured the milk into a saucer Eddie retrieved from the bar, and they all watched the kitten lap it up. The milk gone, Julio sprinkled the fur ball generously with flea powder.

  “The mother cat was dead, and this one was trying to nurse on her.”

  Julio couldn’t have tugged any harder at Gina’s heartstrings.

  “Let’s see what we got here.” Julio picked up the kitten to check the gender. “Definitely a Leo.”

  Arielle giggled. “A Leo. It’s kismet, Gina. You’ve got yourself a kitten.”

  And so Aleo the Cat joined the family.

  After finishing the pastries and rinsing their fingers in the rusty water that spurted from the faucet, they gathered around a table. Gina said, “Okay, folks, here’s the skinny. Chan is happy to have us as new tenants. He is willing to do some renovations, but he wants it reopened as soon as possible. Inez and I have talked about opening a place of our own, without ever thinking it would happen. We have some ideas.”

  It felt surreal to Gina to sit here with her friends, now employees, planning an endeavor that finally could be the answer to Davy’s needs. Her thoughts spun. Where to start?

  “First thing,” she said, “the talent in this group isn’t being utilized. I’m thinking high-end floor shows on the weekends to draw in the patrons who want more than a cabaret. A band, beautiful costumes, ethnic dances. There’ll be a hefty door charge to limit the rowdies. On weekdays, more laid back but still high end. With the harbor right outside our door, we can target the Japanese naval officers.”

  Inez interjected, “That will take a while to pull together. We’ll have to hire dancers and musicians, and there is the choreography and costumes.”

  Gina nodded. “I think a two-stage opening would work. We can get this place cleaned up quickly and open it for music, social dancing, drinks, dim sum, and such.”

  “Dim sum?” Julio said, petting the kitten, who was purring loud as a lawn mower.

  “Ah yes,” Gina said. “Not my idea. It will be brought from Yee’s. Later we have a grand opening with the floor show. Maybe around Christmas. Eddie, I’m assuming you want to be in charge of the bar and waitstaff. Keep whoever from Rosa’s staff wants to stay, but check them out first. Julio, hire the band; Inez and Arielle, find and coordinate the dancers. I’ll run the place.”

  Julio mumbled under his breath, “Heaven help us.”

  “What did you say?”

  “The kitten cometh,” he said, holding up the cat.

  They all had worked at Rosa’s and had become inured to its shabbiness, but today they were viewing it with an eye to renovation.

  “Your overall impression?”

  “Squalid.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Then seedy.”

  Arielle pointed to the Mars and Venus symbols identifying the lavatories. “These have to go. There’s a hole in the wall. Eddie, stand on the toilet. What can you see?”

  Eddie peeked through the hole. “You don’t want to know.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “Is there a name for this paint color?”

  “Laundry Gray.”

  “Bad Mood.”

  A mouse skittered across the floor of the small, greasy kitchen. “Get it! We’ll mount it and make a collection.”

  Everyone groaned.

  “I’ve got dibs on this furniture.”

  “I’ll arm wrestle you for it.”

  Gina started up the stairs. “You guys aren’t much help.”

  She had never been upstairs, where Rosa had had an apartment in which she’d stayed on nights she couldn’t or didn’t want to return to her home. Gina unlocked the door and stepped into a room beautifully furnished with plush sofas and chairs and high-end tables and accessories. To the left was a small kitchen and to the right, a bedroom. A large window overlooked the bay. Everything about this apartment was impeccable. Gina opened a closet door and saw Rosa’s suits, blouses, and shoes neatly arranged according to color. She blanched and stepped back, finally feeling the shock of Rosa’s death. Who had killed her and thrown her body into the river? Imagining it gave Gina a chill.

  Inez and Arielle came into the room and found Gina peering into the full closet.

  “Jeepers,” Inez said, “this gives me the creeps. Who do you think did it?”

  Gina pointed to the back corner of the closet. “The safe’s open and empty. A burglar?”

  “Or her husband. She was running around.”

  “Or her boyfriend. I heard he was a psycho.”

  Gina closed the closet door. “Or an enemy. She had several, so I heard. I’ll ask Chan to have someone clean the place out.”

  While the others talked, haggled, and encouraged, Arielle sketched a floor plan using colored pencils and a large pad she had brought with her. She showed Gina her rendering. “I did most of this last night. What do you think?”

  Arielle had designed a room softly lit with ivory-shaded lamps mounted on cream-colored walls. Shimmery gold fabric draped from the ceiling to the floor, covering the windows and curtaining off the stage. Round tables of various sizes were positioned about a dance floor, and settees and small coffee tables were placed at intervals along walls decorated with framed tropical prints. Two smaller side rooms that had always been closed up were available for a quieter setting or games of cards or dice. A hostess would greet the patrons in a newly screened-off vestibule.

  “This is so exciting. What do you think about this for tablecloths?” Arielle showed Gina a swatch of fabric printed with a riot of tropical flowers and birds in shades of corals, emerald green, and midnight blue. “I know the woman who paints it. She’ll be glad for the work.”

  “Your design is . . . it’s beyond words, Arielle. The room looks like an elegant salon. You could do this professionally. Have you thought about it?”

  “Once I did. I finished a year of design school. I met my husband there . . . he was an American studying architecture. We were married for only two weeks before he was called away. He’s a prisoner at Cabanatuan.”

  Even the wor
d Cabanatuan struck an uneasy chord in Gina and a longing for Ray, thoughts of him always just under the surface. She quickly turned her attention to Arielle’s design. “We’re on a tight budget. We can’t afford this.”

  “There’s not much expense here. The floors and the bar can be sanded and stained. We’ll use lots of paint. Lots of fabric . . .”

  “I love them, but the settees . . .”

  “Two or three. We get them cheap, and I’ll fix them up. The table covers too. The unpainted fabric is inexpensive, and I can help my friend paint it. I’ll ask the girls at the orphanage to do the sewing. They work for a few pesos. It helps keep them fed.”

  “I heard the orphanage closed.”

  “No. When the Japs raided it, they only took the girls over twelve years old. Most of them are sewing parachutes in a Nip factory west of town, but the prettier ones, well . . .”

  Arielle didn’t need to complete her sentence. Gina knew that young girls were being kidnapped from orphanages and girls’ schools all over the islands and put to work in one lurid capacity or another. Her thoughts went to Cheryl, Leah, and Maggie, all potential targets for a barbarous enemy. It heightened her resolve to help the guerrillas fight back fast and furious, an outlet she needed as much as she needed to breathe.

  Inside, the old Rosa’s Cabaret morphed from dark and dreary to elegant rooms with soft lighting and sophisticated appointments. The large dining room with the stage and bar became the Orchid Room, and the smaller rooms were labeled Hibiscus and Jasmine. With a light twist of his arm, Chan had agreed to furnish one of the empty rooms upstairs at Pearl Blue as an employee lounge and, at Davy’s request, to construct a hidden closet. Outside, the pièce de résistance hung over the front doors: PEARL BLUE in glowing white neon, donated by Inez’s uncle, who was a master glassblower.

  Julio assembled a five-piece band from a motley collection of friends who could all play multiple instruments and were delighted to have a permanent job. Inez reached out to her college classmates and found two women and three men eager to dance at Gina’s new establishment. They resurrected routines they had choreographed in their college dance classes and dug through backs of closets and in old trunks for costumes. Eddie retrained most of Rosa’s waitstaff and ordered them crisp white uniforms.

  Ten days after signing the contract with Chan, Gina took out an ad in the Tribune and the Philippine Free Press, “Under New Management,” and hung a sign over Pearl Blue’s door, OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

  Chapter 20

  MOVING FORWARD

  I sleep cuddled with three others in a bunk built for two. My close nighttime companions bring me warmth, comfort, and a sense of safety.

  —Ray Thorpe, Cabanatuan prison camp, October 1942–January 1944

  The first weeks Pearl Blue was open, business boomed as the population checked out the new place in town. Always circulating and listening to her customers, Gina overheard comments: “Nice in here”; “Quite an upgrade”; “No food except dim sum?”; “Pricey for what they’re offering.” Gina paid Chan his rent and sent money to Davy and a few niceties to Vivian, thinking she was finally on the right road. The staff prepared for Pearl Blue’s grand opening. Gina, needing help with marketing, sought out Franca, who today was volunteering at Remedios Hospital.

  Seeing Gina, Franca put down her pen, folded her arms, and ordered, “Shut the door.”

  Warmth rose from Gina’s chest to the roots of her hair. “You have a right to be angry. I can explain—”

  “Angry!” Franca exploded. “Señor Estevez almost had a stroke. He told you that you might be watched, and for pity’s sake, Gina, what the hell were you doing . . . working at that whorehouse? I never would have guessed it of you.”

  Gina dropped into a chair. “Wha . . . what are you talking about?”

  “That . . . that place. That name. Angelina D’Licious.”

  “I didn’t choose it, and Rosa’s Cabaret wasn’t a whorehouse . . . well.” Gina thought back at the comings and goings. “I was a singer. That’s all. I swear.”

  “It doesn’t matter. What if you’re recognized as an American? You’re putting us all in danger. Don’t you realize that, or don’t you care?”

  Gina knew Franca’s anger was justified. “Of course I care, but I have a daughter to support, not to mention Davy’s guerrillas, and I don’t have a rich husband to take care of me.” Franca’s face hardened, and Gina hoped she wouldn’t be thrown out of the office. She added, “Rosa’s is closed now, anyway. She was found floating in the Pasig. You must have read about it in the Tribune. Do you have a few minutes? I have something important to tell you.”

  Franca uncrossed her arms and motioned for Gina to continue.

  Gina admitted, “Rosa’s wasn’t the best place to be; most of her customers were Japanese. But while I was there, I found I could manipulate them—wheedle them out of their money and information. It seems I’ve found a new talent, and I’ve opened a nightclub of my own—”

  Franca put up her hand. “Stop right there. That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. You can’t fool around with the Japanese—”

  “Why not? Your husband does it every day, cooperating with President Laurel’s puppet government while smuggling Americans like me into Manila.”

  Franca bristled. “Keep him out of it. We’re living in a do-or-die society. He pledges his allegiance to the Japanese and works with Laurel, or he becomes a prisoner in Fort Santiago or a body floating in the Pasig River. You took the same pledge, if I remember.”

  “I did . . . and I took it as insincerely as Señor Estevez did, and you did, too, I suspect.”

  “You’re in dangerous territory, Gina. I think you’d better leave.”

  “No, please. Just hear me out. I’m trying to do what I was sent here to do in the only way I know how, Franca. I tried soliciting money from the list of names Davy gave me, and except for Dr. Lopez and a few others, I got almost squat. I can barely support myself working in a diner or as a nurse’s aide, much less a guerrilla unit.” She swallowed to regain control of her shaky voice. “My new place is different from most nightclubs. It’s posh and expensive and designed to attract the wealthy Japanese, and there are thousands of them in Manila and on those ships anchored in the harbor. I have driven people working with me . . . beautiful, bilingual, talented people who are motivated to lend a sympathetic ear to a lonely Jap in the name of helping the United States win this horrible war. Whatever money the Japs spend on a hefty door charge and overpriced drinks, and any information they spill, is being used against them.”

  Franca’s voice softened. “That’s all well and good if it works. What makes you think the little turkeys will come to your posh place?”

  “Because I know what they like. They want to be served. They want to be pampered and flattered. I’ll give them that plus classy music and beautiful, exotic dancers.”

  A wry smile crossed Franca’s lips. “For that, every male on this planet will be there.” She opened the desk drawer and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. “Where do I fit into your plan?”

  “I need help with promotion. We opened a month ago, serving drinks, social dancing, and such. We have a band, and I schmooze with the crowd and sing a few show tunes. We’re planning a grand opening soon with a full floor show. I’m hoping you’ll come and bring your friends.” Gina saw a crease form on Franca’s forehead, and she leaned forward and said, “The place needs an air of . . . ah . . . swank.”

  Franca struck a match and lit a cigarette. “Swank?” she said through a smoky laugh.

  She nudged the pack toward Gina, who tapped out a cigarette and lit it and then put out the match with a shake of her hand. “Yes, swank . . . and the publicity your society friends generate just from showing up. In return, I offer them a stocked bar and entertainment that will knock their socks off.”

  “A onetime shot. That’s it?”

  “No. I want them to come back, but initially, I’m interested in splash.”

  “Gina, I�
�m sensing there’s more behind this endeavor than money.”

  “I have friends being hunted like animals in the mountains. They need support. What other reason would I need?” Franca leveled her stare, and Gina’s eyes rapidly blinked an involuntary response. She whispered, “You don’t want to know what I’ve seen.”

  “You’re probably right. There’re plenty of horrors to go around. What time frame are you thinking about?”

  “December first.”

  Franca didn’t reply right away. “How long did you work at Rosa’s?”

  “Three months. Long enough to see what was going on.”

  “Your background, Gina. You sang at the Alcazar Club?”

  “Briefly. I traveled for several years in America and Europe with the Follies before coming to the Philippines. I can do entertainment. I’ve found a backer, and I moved into Rosa’s place.”

  Franca snubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. “I’d like to help, but I must run this past Señor Estevez. I can’t guarantee he will allow me to involve our friends.”

  “But you’ll try.”

  “I will. I’ll tell him everything you’ve told me. And I wish you luck.”

  “Thanks.” Gina stood up and started for the door and then turned back toward Franca. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I hope someday I can return the favor.”

  On the trip home, the horse plodded along in heavy traffic. Gina fussed with her notes and chewed on her thumbnail, wondering if she had oversold her skills and Pearl Blue’s swank.

  Later, in her office, Gina kicked off her shoes and went over the invoices on her desk, her least favorite job of her new undertaking. Liquor prices had gone up and were now more than she’d budgeted, and laundry costs were higher than expected. She’d have to cut back, somewhere, until she built a clientele, if she ever did. Maybe her vision of an upscale nightclub near the rough-and-tumble dock area was ill conceived. What would Ray do? He was the numbers guy in the family. She put the invoices aside and pushed back her chair. What she really wanted right now was to be with Cheryl. She’d seen this cute gingham dress at Heacock’s with a white lace collar. It came with matching hair ribbons. If only—