“Dude, that is like the last friggin’ time I let one of those chinks touch my nails. And to think… they’re supposed to be like the best at manicures! Those bitches have totally ruined my day!”
It probably took her five minutes to realize I’d thrown down a few bills and walked out of the restaurant.
I spent that evening in a luxury suite at the Hilton that Roger had booked for me until I found a more permanent place to settle. Sleep was difficult. I wondered what Lanie was doing.
Was she wearing that white doctor’s coat out of habit, even inside the house where there were no mosquitoes? Was she wearing her hair down or in a ponytail? Did she find the box under my bed that I’d left there by mistake? Was she lonely at night or did the kids keep her occupied?
Those thoughts swirled in my head, as did other questions, like, “What would Pops say right now?” and “Would he be proud of me?”
I never knew how to answer that last one. In fact, it was a strange question to ask myself because there never was a time, in all my memories, in which Pops acted like he was disappointed in me. Bewildered, yes, but not disappointed. So where was this coming from? I simply didn’t know the answer to that. In the evenings I worked on my screenplay, which I hoped to finish in the next few weeks and hand to Roger at just the right time.
Three
It was a quarter past four when I rolled into the theater room to watch the trimmed-down, two-hour-and-forty-minute cut of the film. The edit was smoother, but something still bothered me and I couldn’t put my finger on it. The pacing seemed fine, the acting decent – for this genre – and the action beats were well timed. Still, it felt like there was a missing piece. And then, in a moment of epiphany, it came to me.
“It’s the script,” I said aloud.
The other executives who were sitting with the editor turned to me.
“Sorry, Ted?”
“I said it’s the script. The story is what’s flawed here. Our hero ends up with the wrong woman.”
“This is what the audience wants to see… we’ve tested this part of the film and everyone agrees it’s the right move.”
“I don’t see it, though. It’s obvious he’s in love with the Star Queen’s maidservant so I don’t buy the ending. Why does he choose the Queen instead?”
“Uh…” the executive stammered, expecting the answer to be obvious. “Because the Star Queen is Angelina Jolie.”
I was surprised to see Roger standing in the doorway, gently gesturing for me to come over. As I approached, he took my arm and said, “Walk with me, Teddy.”
We ended up at a café down the block where Roger complained about his food to a waitress in such a caustic tone that she actually began to fear for her job. I did manage to calm him down with a bit of effort.
Between bites, he told me, “These schmucks, they don’t know story. They know action, they know delivery… but they don’t know story. I’m with you on that.”
“It still feels too long. Maybe we have them cut it down to two fifteen?”
“Hey!” Roger barked at the waitress again.
He pointed to his half-full glass of iced tea with his chubby finger and raised an eyebrow.
“You want me to get my own drinks from now on? Maybe I’ll go ahead and tip myself while I’m at it, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she responded before filling his glass so nervously that she overfilled, causing some of the tea to run down the sides.
“Why don’t you just get lost before you screw up my lunch even worse. Go ahead – scram.”
Roger Graham, ladies and gentlemen.
Somehow, at that moment, my mind traveled back to Delores and the Christmas tree – sitting with her and her kids, drinking tap water and laughing at one another.
As my thoughts returned to the current conversation, Roger was in the middle of some rant about poor service and “the good old days.”
Over the next few weeks I began to seclude myself in the suite. The edit was rolling along well enough without me and I was beginning to feel that loneliness which plagued me eighteen months earlier, before I bought an island and fell in love with a girl. I looked around my 2,000-square-foot hotel room and wondered how cool it would’ve been to show it to Manny and let him run around and play.
I was constantly surrounded by people and, yet, I felt extremely hollow inside. Did I make the right choice with Lanie? Of course I did. She belonged in the company of better souls. But for some reason, time wasn’t healing that wound yet.
I watched another re-run of Jimmy Fallon and channel surfed for a while before landing on a guy in a suit talking to me in a deep voice.
“Coming up next on Turner Classics: Richard Goldstone’s 1962 classic, No Man Is An Island.”
I shook my head and thought, “Tell me about it!”
Another two months passed and I had finished my screenplay. I gave it to Roger on a Wednesday and we met in his office to discuss the project that Friday. He called me into his cigar-lounge of an office and I took a seat in front of his huge desk. His chair was always elevated so he could literally look down his nose at people during a meeting. He was smiling though, and that’s a good sign.
“So what did you think?” I launched right in.
“I won’t lie to you, Teddy. You know I always shoot from the hip.”
Uh oh.
“The script, it’s sorta, well… horseshit.”
“Beg your pardon?” I said, trying to swallow.
“It’s awful, Ted. Where’s the action?”
“It’s not that kind of story. I went in a different direction with it. It’s a love story.”
“There’s nothing believable about your plot. Ted, when you popped up in LA five months ago I thought my right hand man was back. But this…” he said, pointing to my script. “This is not the Ted I mentored. This is… corny.”
I looked away, hurt.
“Look,” he said. “Don’t be like that. You had to know this script was crap. I mean, the female character, what’s her name… Lanie. I just don’t buy it. Nobody talks that way in the real world… she’s a complete phony.”
“Roger,” I interrupted.
He looked startled. I don’t think anyone had ever cut him off mid-tirade before.
“Um… yeah?”
“Don’t say that name.”
“What name?”
“The one you just said. I’d rather you not say that name again.”
“What, Lanie? It’s your character, not mine.”
“Just don’t say that name, okay?” I said, my voice loud and firm. “When you say it… it sounds profane.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
His eyes were growling at me. And I didn’t care.
“Just don’t say that name out loud. Not in front of me. Not ever.”
“Excuse me, where do you even get off…”
“I have to go,” I interrupted once more.
I stood up and walked toward the door. Then I heard him call after me.
“Ted!”
I turned to face him.
“What happened to you over there?” he asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this but… you are not yourself anymore.”
“Good,” I declared. “Maybe I’m finally someone else.”
Four
From that moment on, I knew exactly what I wanted. And, more importantly, I also knew that I could – would – be the man she needed and deserved. No longer did I see myself the way Roger or Teresa saw me. Now I was beginning to see myself the way Lanie saw me. And that was good news.
Pops had once said, “Love is forgetting faults and remembering only the good.”
It was strange how much influence my late father’s words were having on my life. It was almost as if he knew the battles I was going to fight in life and that he, for whatever reason, knew that he wasn’t going to be there to fight alongside me. I’m sure Pops had his faults, but I never knew him to tell a lie, or even to exa
ggerate a tale in order to get my attention. He was an entirely decent man. I was seeing more and more of him in me every day. Maybe that’s what Lanie saw too, only she saw it first. Relationships had always been difficult for me, but now I knew one thing for sure: I was meant to live out my days on that island, with the people I loved. Especially her.
• • •
I had closed all of my credit cards the first time I left for the island, leaving only a bank and savings account open. I headed to the bank early in the morning because I didn’t want to wait. I was even more anxious to leave the States this time because what awaited me was no longer a mystery, but a destiny. I told the bank manager I’d once more be traveling overseas and that any foreign charges to my account were completely normal, and that a freeze should not be placed on my funds for any reason whatsoever. They temporarily halted any fraud protection for Japan and the Philippines, my only two stops.
Knowing my flight would be leaving at ten o’clock sharp the following day, I headed to the mall to pick up some new clothes – hoping to further impress the girl – and to grab a few gifts for Rene and his family. I also found a cute wooden sailboat and some new baseball mitts that I picked up for Nako. After so many months away, I really missed my friends. I also perused some diamond engagement rings but remembered how Lanie had once told me she thought expensive rings were such a waste. The way she put it was more like, “Girls with big diamonds work on red light in Manila.” That was her way of calling them whores, I think. No – she was a simple girl who desired simple things. A big engagement ring might actually offer an unintended offense. It’s so hard to adapt to another culture’s way of seeing things, especially if said cultures share only the faintest of commonalities.
• • •
It was 72 degrees in LA when I boarded a Delta flight to Narita-Tokyo. There I’d have a four-hour layover before heading to Manila. From there it was just like last time: cab ride to the nearest hotel to sleep off the jetlag, then wake up and catch a long ride to the docks where I’d be on a boat for twenty-seven hours to reach Cebu. From there I’d meet up with Nako and an hour later, I’d be on the Island of Ted. I had already taken the trip once, and another time in reverse, so I knew it would be painful. But not nearly as painful as leaving. On the flight back to LA I couldn’t get an image out of my mind – it was Lanie’s face, wet with tears, the last time I saw her on the street outside the restaurant. Talk about breaking a guy’s heart, I thought I was going to die right there in my seat on a dodgy airplane. But once I got to LA everything was so hectic and distracting that it was easier to forget about her.
This time it was different because I wasn’t running from love, but toward it. So I didn’t mind the grueling travel one bit. I had called Nako earlier in the week and relayed my itinerary, but warned him not to tell Rene or the others. I wanted to surprise them. Nako’s voice was excited on the phone and when he talks fast he breaks into spontaneous Japanese and totally loses me. But I got the gist of his sentiment – he missed me.
The flight seemed longer than usual because I couldn’t sleep a wink. I was too excited to sleep, thinking only that I’d be back on the island in three short days. I felt like a kid the night before Christmas, waiting to open all of his presents on what was always the longest night of the entire year!
After a great many hours and a severely cramping back, we crested over Tokyo and I felt a mix of emotions as we hit the tarmac at Narita Airport. I was almost home.
Five
Night had fallen when I boarded the plane to Manila. I felt uneasy for some reason. My life had been one big irony after another so dying in a plane crash when I was so close to seeing Lanie again gave me pause. A rush of energy hit my tired body when we took off and immediately encountered turbulence.
“No turning back now,” I thought.
The next two hours would find me twice puking in the air-toilet from nervousness. I tried to watch a stupid movie, which our studio had produced, on the plane’s shared jumbo screen. I then felt like puking for a different reason.
The plane’s metallic hiss kept me on edge until the captain came over the radio and announced that we were making our final descent into Manila. The approach was slow, taking twenty or so minutes. I could’ve crawled right out of my skin from the mounting anxiety and tension. Then, finally, we landed. I stepped off the plane and into the tunnel at Ninoy-Aquino and felt a massive, invisible hug forming around me. The place felt familiar and warm.
“Almost there,” I thought… again.
I’d anticipated standing in line for hours, but it didn’t matter; I was grounded, at least. After grabbing my luggage, I looked around for a place to exchange money, something I forgot to do my first time here. All of the counters had long lines and my leg muscles were beyond shredded. Then I spotted a lineless kiosk and headed over to exchange five hundred dollars for Filipino Pesos. I took my wad of cash, stuffed it in my shorts and headed out for a taxi, familiar with the routine.
Coming out of the airport terminal, I was hit with a blast of Filipino aroma – the sweet smell of gasoline and barbecue smoke to welcome me home. This time it made me hungry. I asked the taxi driver, in broken Tagalog, if we could pull over for a bite to eat. I told him he could join me and I’d pay for his food.
He surprised me by pulling his car onto the sidewalk to park.
“Oh yeah, they do that here,” I remembered.
We ducked inside a busy food shack and despite being two in the morning, I was already sweating from the heat pouring out of the kitchen. The air outside was also more humid than I’d remembered. We ate a plate of pancit and lumpia and the driver drank a couple of beers. About that time I decided to check for any missed calls from Nako and dug around in my pocket for my cell phone. But it wasn’t there.
I stood up, frantic. My hands searched all over my body, looking for the phone. I got up and ran back to the taxi, looking for it everywhere. Then I re-traced my steps into the restaurant, but there were far too many people standing around. I asked a teenager if he’d seen a phone on the ground and he blew cigarette smoke into my face as his friends laughed.
I went back inside the restaurant and the cabbie walked over, looking concerned.
“Is there some problem?” he asked.
“Yeah – I think I lost my phone. I need it to make the rest of my travel plans.”
“Well, if you don’t find it, they have phone at the hotel you can use.”
“I know, but it had all my contact numbers in it.”
He shrugged and the waitress handed me a tab. Our total came to 264 pesos. That’s around $6 US, a day’s wage over here. I counted out the money and handed it to her. She looked at the money with a strange expression, and then handed it back to me.
“No, you can keep the change. It’s all right.”
She shook her head “no.”
The cabbie grabbed the bills and inspected them for all of two seconds.
“This fake pesos.”
“What do you mean?” I said, snatching the bills.
The waitress then handed me the correct bills from her fanny pack for comparison. Mine were definitely fake bills. I turned to look at the cabbie and his expression was grave.
“I’m sorry, I… this is all I have. Is there a place to exchange money around here?”
“Only at the airport,” he said, while opening his wallet and handing the waitress some money. I felt terrible.
“No, you don’t have to pay – I’ll go find someone to exchange with me!” I shouted over the noise of the room.
I ran outside and bumped into some teenage girls, who gave me the once-over and rolled their eyes. The street was unfamiliar and packed with nightlife. I had no idea where to go, so I stepped into the street, looking for a MoneyGram or Western Union sign. There were none. I then heard the taxi’s engine and I turned around. The cabbie was leaving. I rushed over to his car and he looked up at me, peeved.
“Listen, I’m sorry… I didn’t know they wer
e fake. Just take me to an exchange center and I’ll pay you back for the food and for the ride.”
I tried to remember some Tagalog in my frantic state and said, “Magbabayad ka! Bayad ako!”
He sighed, looked down, and then reluctantly signaled for me to hop back in.
We drove a few blocks and he spotted a 24-hour exchange. I exited the cab, apologizing all the while, and rushed inside. After five minutes of waiting in line I put down my bank card and said, “I need to exchange five hundred US dollars.”
The lady behind the glass partition took my card and swiped it through her machine. Her eyes narrowed a bit and she swiped it again. And again.
She handed the card back to me and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but do you have another card?”
“Another card?” I said, getting angry. “This is my personal debit card from the US – I should be able to use it. It wasn’t a problem the last time I was here.”
She took my card again and swiped it. Then nodded.
“I’m sorry, sir – there is a problem with your bank. You will need to contact them.”
“Do you have a phone?”
“No, sir. But there’s a pay phone you can use in hotels. Do you need a directory?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t have money to use a pay phone. That’s what I’m trying to get right now. I need to exchange money.”
“I’m sorry, sir but we don’t have a phone for international calling.”
“Well…. can you just tell me what the problem is? What does your screen say?”
She looked at the monitor and said, “Says here there is fraud alert on your card.”
“Dammit!” I yelled. “I told them I’d be traveling overseas! I hate banks!”
She just looked at me.
“I’m sorry, sir. Can you please resolve with your bank and step aside for the next person?”
Her voice wasn’t mean. She just had no way of dealing with a frantic American in her limited English. I stepped outside and saw the cabbie leaning on his hood, smoking a cigarette. He looked up at me and I shrugged.
The Island of Ted Page 15