Perhaps he’ll tell her he finally got a bit part in a movie with Tito Alvarez and he’s leaving immediately to shoot on location in Hong Kong. She’d never believe him of course, and if she did, Trinidad would manage to borrow the money and invite herself along. If he was more of a bastard, he wouldn’t explain himself at all; the most he’d do would be to write her a good-bye letter before disappearing completely from her life.
Romeo has decided to do the best he can; he has purposely chosen this brief lunch period in which to tell the gold-toothed, loyal sales clerk the relationship is over. She will be furious and upset, but he knows her well by now and is sure she will not have hysterics in front of her beloved SPORTEX.
His conscience nags him, tells him he may be a fool, may be giving up a sure thing; he hears his mother’s bitter voice ringing in his head. “The only stability in your life has been that woman. Don’t end up like your father—wasting his life chasing after empty dreams! Who do you think you are, my son?” His mother had broken down and wept during his last visit with her. “Enough of your big city kalocohan! Trinidad is a devoted woman—I can tell from everything you’ve told me about her, you’ll never find anyone else like her, believe me…” His mother had pleaded with him. For the first time in his life, Romeo felt repelled by the sight of this old, terrified woman.
“I don’t understand you, Mama. Don’t you want me to better myself? Don’t you want me to try?”
“Ay, my son—of course I do! That has nothing to do with Trinidad. Can’t you see she’s trying to help you? She works hard, she’s ambitious and practical, she’s always on your side no matter what—”
“She’s a fool,” Romeo blurted out, surprised by his own bluntness.
His mother shook her head. “Ahhh,” she sighed, “so that’s what you really think of that poor girl.”
She was getting on Romeo’s nerves. Wasn’t she supposed to be on his side? “You don’t know her, Mama. You’ve never met her. And she’s no girl—she’s much older than me. Why do you think I’ve never brought her home to meet you?”
His mother gave him a long, appraising look, as if seeing her son clearly for the first time. “’Sus Maria, Orlando—I am only repeating what you said about her in your letter. You had nothing but praise for her.”
“You don’t know Trini. She can be conniving and manipulative—”
“Dios ko, such big words! Ugly words!”
Romeo’s voice grew louder. “You don’t know her! If you knew her like I do, you’d agree she’s not for me.”
“So you’ve just been using this poor woman all along and now you’re ashamed to bring her home—”
It was his mother’s turn to lash out at him. Romeo’s sullen silence answered the widow’s question. “I don’t love her,” he finally said, “and that’s that. I can’t imagine life with a woman like her, who clings to me like she’s drowning, choking the breath out of me—”
“I read between the lines of your letter, trying to separate the truth from what you wished me to believe.” She paused briefly to acknowledge with sadness the look of surprise on her son’s face. “Orlando, you are a good son. You’ve been a good example to your brother. I know you want me to think highly of you, just as you want the whole world to recognize you someday. From everything you say, even things too good to be true, I gather Trinidad only wants the best for you. She is willing to help you in this so-called ‘career’ of yours—don’t get angry, my son. You’re lucky to have found her.” The widow was already resigned to the situation. What a fool her eldest son was turning out to be, filled with delusions just like her husband. Yet she chose her words carefully, so as not to hurt or further alienate him.
“I don’t love her,” Romeo repeated grimly.
“Sometimes it’s not about the kind of love you’ve learned about from those silly movies and songs you like so much,” the widow said, looking away.
“I don’t want it any other way.”
“Wake up, my son! You’ll grow old and one day find yourself alone. Don’t cheapen a woman’s devotion. You’re lucky—”
“She’s bad luck.” Romeo cut her off before she could continue, before their visit became even more painful and burdensome to him. His rudeness to his mother made him feel brutal and ashamed; he was unable to look at her, furious with her for revealing his shortcomings and so much of her own suffering.
Abruptly, he got up and walked out the door. The bus back to Manila wasn’t due for another hour and a half. Romeo decided to hang around the sari-sari store downstairs and wait. He couldn’t stand being in his mother’s accusing presence for one more minute. The widow kept staring out the window and never called him back. It was the last time Romeo saw his mother, and secretly he blamed Trinidad for causing the rift between them.
As the widow Rosales feared, Romeo had no success competing on the numerous talent contests on radio and television. He tried them all, sometimes not even making it past the preliminary auditions. He despised Trinidad for being the only one who still believed in him. She showered him with an endless supply of flashy discount shirts and pants from her new job, encouraging him in that optimistic way of hers to keep trying. “Your time will come,” she kept saying. Trinidad’s blind faith only made Romeo doubt himself even more. He was driven to ask his supervisor at Monte Vista for a promotion.
Romeo corners the house manager, Mr. Chen, in charge of all waiters, busboys, and maintenance personnel at Severo Alacran’s country club. “Excuse me lang, sir—eh, ah, puwede ba, Mr. Chen, may I have a discussion with you?” The terrified Romeo is not sure how to properly address the aloof Mr. Chen, who raises an eyebrow haughtily, trying to fix a name to the obsequious young waiter. “Discussion? About what?” Mr. Chen speaks in English. The aggression and contempt in Mr. Chen’s booming voice alarms and embarrasses Romeo, who looks quickly around the deserted Monte Vista verandah to make sure no one else hears the exchange. He clears his throat, swallowing hard.
“My job. My promotion, sir. Ay, sir—Mr. Alacran said maybe someday a desk job would be available in the lobby. I’ve been here exactly two years and four months—”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I have a high school diploma—my highest grades were in English and spelling. I’m not a bad typist—”
“Is that so? Young man, you’re lucky to have this job at all,” Mr. Chen replies, smiling coolly and moving past the blushing waiter.
As he watches Mr. Chen walk away from him toward his office, Romeo mutters to himself, Yes, Mama. I guess I’m just a lucky fuck.
The house manager turns abruptly to confront him. “Did you say something, young man?”
Romeo shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“Are you sure? I thought I heard you say something behind my back.”
“No, sir.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Orlando, sir.”
“Orlando. Orlando WHAT?”
“Rosales, sir.”
“Rosales, if you don’t watch it, I’ll promote you down to a caddy or ditch boy on our beautiful golf course. How would you like that?” Mr. Chen chuckles, but his eyes remain hard and cold as he studies the young waiter. “Just think—you can live on your tips! I think I’ll call Mr. Alacran right now, get his opinion—”
Romeo’s eyes widen in panic. “Please, sir—”
“What is it, Rosales? Any other complaints?”
“No. sir. Please—” Romeo takes a deep breath. “I’m a very good waiter, sir. I like my job.”
“Is that so, Rosales? I’ll ask around, keep my eye on you from now on. Mr. Alacran is anxious for current evaluations of all our employees—we’re cutting back after the holidays, Rosales. In the meantime, don’t think I’m deaf or stupid. And shut the fack up when I’m in the room!” Mr. Chen turns away from the humiliated waiter and walks briskly across the lobby to a door marked PRIVATE.
One humiliation after another. On the sidewalk outside SPORTEX, Romeo exhales, fe
eling miserable. Tonight in the Monte Vista’s main ballroom, there will be a special banquet and awards ceremony in honor of Mabuhay Studios’ fortieth anniversary in the movie business. Tito Alvarez is sure to attend. Romeo refuses to give up hope, though his phone calls and urgent letters to his childhood friend have gone unanswered. Romeo plans to sign up for night duty, since extra waiters are needed for the banquet anyway. He will corner his friend and ask him a favor—beg him for a screen test, a bit part in his next movie, anything. How could Tito deny him? They had promised to be loyal and watch out for each other, part of being two boys from the same home town, part of Tito’s utang, his blood debt to Romeo for all the years he’d covered up for Tito’s petty crimes. As a last resort, Romeo is resigned to offering himself as Tito’s chauffeur and personal bodyguard. Romeo has always had a certain expertise with the balisong knife, a talent his old friend should remember and appreciate. Romeo is also convinced that the sinister role of bodyguard has more prestige in the world than the demeaning, servile role of waiter. Romeo is through with being a nobody.
He has to get rid of Trinidad; in Tito’s eyes, Trinidad will never do. When it came to women, shoes, and guns, Tito was an expert. Romeo fondly remembers him as the most critical man in the universe, a man of impeccable taste and sophistication, blessed with perfect timing and the luck of the devil.
Tonight’s the night—Romeo’s last chance to confront Tito and salvage his own uncertain destiny. The prospects of living out the rest of his life as a waiter at the Monte Vista or as an underpaid office clerk loom large before him.
The sun beats down on Romeo’s unprotected head. He sees the slight figure of Trinidad leaving the SPORTEX building and standing on the pavement out front. Romeo slows down to give himself time to think. Sweat mixed with his perfumed hair grease drips down into his ears and drenches his collar. He adjusts his imitation Ray Bans, another recent gift from Trinidad. His forehead glistens. Romeo pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his face. He feels a rushing sensation, a tingle in his stomach he interprets as a good sign. He has made the right decision. He will break off with Trinidad—maybe he will simply be honest with her. He will be cool and efficient, just as he will be cool and efficient tonight at the banquet, when he calmly approaches his old friend for a job. He must choose for himself and finally live the life he has always dreamed of, even if, as his widowed mother has warned him, he chooses unwisely.
Trinidad Gamboa hurries out of SPORTEX, her eyes sweeping across Epifanio de los Santos Avenue for signs of Romeo. Impatiently and out of habit, she checks her cheap watch. It is only 12:29, one minute before their scheduled meeting. Romeo isn’t technically late, but she is unbearably hungry. Yesterday, Romeo never showed up at all. When she phoned him later at his job, he scolded her for doing so and told her he wasn’t feeling well. “Why didn’t you call me? I stood around out front like an idiot, and never had my lunch,” Trinidad said. Romeo sighed. “Trini—we’re not allowed to use the phone at Monte Vista.”
“You should have called me the night before.”
“Trini—I don’t have a phone, di ba?”
“Well. You could have gone to the drugstore downstairs—asked to use their phone—”
“Trini—I’ve got to hang up. You’re going to get me fired.”
Trinidad prepares a list of complaints in her head. Her stomach gurgles. Time is slipping by, the precious forty minutes she has for sharing lunch with her lover. She eyes the vendor with his makeshift barbecue stand across the plaza. She paces up and down the pavement in her sensible, low-heeled shoes, trying not to think about food.
Romeo hesitates one block away, frozen by indecision. He wonders if he should wait until he confronts Tito Alvarez and works things out. What if his mother is right? Perhaps he is being too hasty.
At first, Romeo does not see or hear what is happening not far from where he stands. He stares off into space, the other people on the sidewalk a blur of colors and sound. The screams grow louder. A man in a torn T-shirt is running through the crowd, toward Romeo. He is shouting and shoving people aside. His words are unintelligible, his frantic eyes bulging with fear. The crowd panics and runs in every direction. People take up the screaming and shouting until it becomes one huge sound, a siren of terror echoing through the streets. Traffic is halted, car horns honking and blaring. There are other men running after the man in the torn T-shirt, men waving guns in the air. The man in the torn T-shirt rushes past Romeo. The traffic cop is yelling and blowing his whistle, and it is this shrill sound that snaps Romeo out of his momentary daze.
He is knocked down by several shrieking men and women. Romeo picks himself up and starts to walk toward SPORTEX. It is automatic, this response, the direction he takes in spite of the pandemonium around him. Trini, SPORTEX, Trini. Dios ko, he prays, ’Sus, Maria, Josep, if I can just reach Trini. He can almost see her frowning face, hear her petulant voice. “You’re late, Romeo—as usual.” As usual, of course, darling. He would agree. But Trini, this is the last time you’ll have to put up with my tardiness. Or maybe he’ll take her in his arms, tell her they will never part. He imagines the puzzled look on her face, the way she cocks her head to get a better look at him. She’d think it was one of his stupid jokes. “Never mind, let’s hurry—I’m dying of hunger,” she’d say, in that bossy way of hers.
It is then that the bullet hits him, and he falls. Stunned, Romeo is not sure why he has fallen. He tries to get up but can’t, and the look of astonishment on his face is suddenly replaced by fear. He thinks he hears Trinidad calling his name. Then the world goes momentarily silent and falls away from him. He is floating on a slab of concrete, suspended above the wide avenue strewn with broken umbrellas, smashed cars, and bodies trampled by a panicked crowd.
Romeo wants to laugh. Something pains him, and he worries that if he doesn’t drag himself off the Street, the oncoming cars will kill him. Why isn’t anyone there to help him? Where is Trini? Romeo turns his head at the sound of footsteps approaching. The pain is unbearable. “That’s him,” one cop says to another, pointing with his chin. Is it the guard from Mabuhay Studios? “Sige, I’m sure of it.” “Putang ina mo!” the other man curses, pointing a gun at Romeo’s head. Is it a soldier? The men are wearing khaki pants and shirts, outfits busy with significant trimmings and insignia. Romeo is afraid to look at the men’s faces too directly—he is sure they are ready for any excuse to shoot him again.
DATELINE: MANILA
by Cora Camacho
IN SPITE OF INTERMITTENT rains and the ongoing gas crisis, Mabuhay Studios’ Serenade continues to be the biggest hit of the season. It chalked up close to a million and a half pesos on opening day, and has outgrossed even the new Lolita Luna sex drama A Candle Is Burning.
Speaking of La Luna, she doesn’t deny the fact that she doesn’t like upcoming young starlet Bootsy Pimentel, daughter of veteran character actress Patsy Pimentel. “Blame it on chemistry,” Lolita said to me during a recent phone interview. In fact, Lolita and Bootsy have a running feud that’s the talk of the town, and not just because newcomer Tito Alvarez has all the women hot and bothered! Apparently, Bootsy has been keeping La Luna waiting on the set of the new movie they’re making, Ulan, a Tagalog version of that Lana Turner–Richard Burton potboiler The Rains of Ranchipur.
Funny. Not too long ago, it was our Lolita who made cast and crew wait endlessly. While doing A Candle Is Burning, La Luna disappeared for weeks. She just felt like leaving the country, daw—her exact words. Director Max Rodriguez, one of La Luna’s ex-boyfriends, walked off the picture and announced he would never work with her again. After three months of expensive delays, director Tirso Velasco was called in to finish the picture…The movie’s a hit, and it’s a good thing Severo Alacran runs Mabuhay Studios…or Lolita Luna might’ve been in a lot of trouble.
Now, it seems that Bootsy is doing a Lolita and Lolita is furious. It’s the first time the two tempestuous beauties have been teamed up, under the sure-handed direction of our own r
enaissance man, actor-director-producer Nestor Noralez. This time, Nestor’s also written the script, and it wouldn’t surprise me if someday Nestor was declared one of our national treasures…It was his unique idea to cast La Luna and ingénue Bootsy in this film. Whatever Nestor wants, Nestor gets…
Bets are being placed on whether Nestor will ever complete this project. According to our sources, La Luna has also taken to showing up late on the set these days, and when she does turn up—she can’t remember her lines!
—Celebrity Pinoy
Movie Star
THE AIWA TAPE DECK is blasting. Now Grace, now Chaka…“Just one more time, please…Oh, come on…You don’t really think it’s too LOUD, do you, Nicky? Dios ko ’day, if you think this is loud…wait till I play you some real rock’n’roll! What opera? I don’t understand Italian! Hoy, Nicky—relax lang. ‘This is high-class mood music for grown-up girls!’” Lolita cheerfully quotes an Englishman she once knew. She is not sure what he meant exactly, but she enjoys irritating the General.
The Englishman had brought her the latest releases from London. He insisted on fucking to black music. The scion of a family of stodgy civil servants completely unaware of their son’s colonial obsessions, the Englishman often told Lolita how much she reminded him of Tina Turner. When her son was born, the Englishman said he would love to bring Lolita back to London and marry her, if only…He had a problem finishing sentences, and Lolita was afraid to press him further. She still misses him.
The General hates it when she’s high and defiant, floating around the room, ignoring his presence. She moves to the hypnotic music, a repetitive blur of incomprehensible lyrics to the General’s ear. He asks her to turn down the volume, but she pretends not to hear him.
At one time, it was enough that he was a powerful man who wanted her more than any other woman. She punished him with her beauty; in the beginning, she was in total control. Things changed gradually after the first year. Lolita realized she had deceived herself, became more uneasy and unsure of him. He, in turn, became more possessive and demanding. She wonders why she is unable to break free of him; perhaps the thought of losing the protection and material security he provides her is too terrifying. She is a talented actress, but she does not know it. She agrees with those who attribute her success to her flagrant sexuality and magnificent body; she is limited in her thinking, as usual. She is a movie star who thrusts her hips and tongue out at the General in that privileged, mocking way of hers, complaining: “You’re always telling me what to do, Nicky.”
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