Welcome to Envy Park

by Mina V. Esguerra

  "Your friend Roxie, the one who stayed, right?"

  "Yeah. I'd be like her, with a fancy business card and everything."

  "It's not too late to get all that. You're young."

  "I know, but I've been away for five years. I won't be able to find a job here that'll pay the same what I made there."

  "Apples and oranges. Cost of living is cheaper here. It's about how much you save."

  "I know what it's like. I've asked around. I didn't gain enough management experience there to qualify for higher positions here. I really have to stick to the plan and go away again. I told you about that, right?"

  "Yeah, you mentioned it. So that's why you're just home all day? You can't find a job?"

  "Not one that'll match what I used to get."

  "I can give your name to our HR people, if you like."

  "I don’t know. Um, sure. Thank you. It’s my mom. She’s kind of kicking me out of my place when school starts. She wants my cousin to live there because she’ll pay rent, and I’m a bum."

  "Where are you going to live when she kicks you out? Are you going back home?"

  "It all depends on what job I get, I guess. But the goal is to be in Hong Kong or Thailand by then."

  "Is your cousin hot?"

  "She’s a teenager."

  "Hey, I’m trying out the friendly thing. You seem nice enough."

  "That’s nice. I can imagine just telling my mother this story, it’ll kill the cousin move-in plans really quick. Thanks!"

  "Don’t be so sure. Mothers like me. I cook. My shower has hot water."

  "I’ve seen no evidence of this."

  "Try out my shower whenever you like."

  "Yeah... my aunt finds out about this and Megan’s out of here. Just like that."

  "Maybe I shouldn’t try it then. Not a fan of abrupt disappearances."

  "It won’t be abrupt, with my aunt. There will be yelling."

  "You know, there was one guy I worked with...he was part of this regular Monday meeting about a project, and then one day he just wasn’t. Stopped showing up. None of us knew why. He wasn’t fired. I really thought he had died or something. But my friend at HR assured me he didn’t, but no one explained what had happened to him."

  "Well if they know but would rather not tell..."

  "That’s fine, but I freaked out a little. Went to that dark place for a few days. How crazy it was, to be gone and everyone’s pretending it’s not weird."

  "That reminds me of something I saw on CNN, this laundromat in Baghdad—"

  "I saw that. All those unclaimed clothes. People who just—abruptly left. Yeah I saw that. I actually thought of it when the guy disappeared. At least before I was assured that he wasn’t dead."

  "Well maybe it’s not all bad when someone abruptly disappears. Good news can be just as urgent as bad you know. An opportunity comes and sometimes you don’t have time to pick up your laundry."

  "That’s nice. Too nice."

  "Too nice?"

  "You’ve been out in the world longer than I have, but you can still say that. What was it like out there, Moira? Didn’t they give you a hard time?"

  "Hey, you’re enjoying my company now because I see the best in people. Who were you even a week ago? Just a guy."

  "I apologize. But seriously—was it difficult living somewhere else?"

  "Not really, no. But it wasn’t like I was a pioneer. I had an entire support system there."

  "What was the worst thing about being away?"

  "Oh at first, every little thing bothered me. Like, I totally took for granted that my dad made a pot of barako every morning and shared it with me. Then I think after two months in Singapore, I just started crying because I missed it. I was so looking forward to my next visit because I wanted to slip back into that familiar routine, but he had stopped doing it by then. He bought that pod thing that makes one cup at a time. Because I wasn’t there anymore."

  "Aw."

  "I know right. And then I insisted that we have coffee the old way just because, but it was such a production. Had to look for the coffee pot in the pantry storage, clean it, and then we didn’t have enough beans...it was a disaster."

  "Or a heartwarming family comedy. Some things you just can’t go back to, I guess."

  "That’s right. It wasn’t fair of me to leave for me—because it was always for me, and not because I needed to find work to help them—and expect them not to change. But my leaving made the changes easier for them. Now they live in Bulacan and I haven’t seen them since the airport."

  "Do you regret going away for so long?"

  "It wasn’t long. Didn’t feel like it. And I can’t regret anything. I have NV Park now, kind of, so it’s worth it."

  Ethan nodded, and busied himself with making his own little duck roll. "This is great duck," he said. "Doesn’t taste...ducky. I usually don’t like it."

  I watched him bite into it and chew, not so slowly, slightly sloppily, in that less than graceful way that real people eat. "I told you so."

  Chapter 7

  This is it, Moira. Stop playing around.

  The job applications to employers in three different countries were all ready and sitting in my outbox. They’d been there for several weeks now. I had made "Hi! So I’m looking for a job!" phone calls to some friends, because by now everyone had at least one friend or family member in Hong Kong, Bangkok and Phnom Penh (such was my small world), and they had responded by giving me leads. If I wanted to, I could be an English editor in one country, an NGO program assistant in another, and an advertising copywriter in another.

  My flatmate Allie told me that this was going to be a problem. She was against my leaving, period, and insisted that I was going through a phase and if I stuck it out six months longer, I’d get over it. Like she did.

  What did I want to be, though? I hit "send" on all nine draft emails, and let the universe decide for me.

  The other new thing about my email was that Ethan was starting to send me some. It started with a simple web link to a review of the place that served the coffee-flavored cotton candy we tried (they called it "bitter and sweet and right and wrong"), and then a review of the band playing this weekend in NV Park’s central plaza because we saw the poster and didn’t know who they were (apparently they were "the best local pretty boy musician-dancers currently not that there’s much competition").

  I replied for the first time with, "Let’s skip the dancing pretty boys. Unless you really want to see them. I don’t mind being your cover story."

  In the meantime, I needed a job. The not-real kind.

  Based on my calculations, I had enough money to live comfortably until Megan arrived. But if I was going to move to another country for the Real Job, I needed some startup money. Plane tickets, spending money, new clothes, all of that needed to be funded.

  I didn't like asking my parents for it. As I just learned yet again from dealing with my mother, my plans would have a chance of surviving if they were involved in no way at all.

  And then, a reply from Ethan: "I would rather eat ducky duck."

  Of course.

  NV Park was right next to a business and commercial area, so I figured I’d take a look around and see what was nearby. Got out of bed bright and somewhat early at ten-thirty. As I waited for the elevator, my beautiful neighbor Lucille came out of 10C.

  Lucille was gorgeous. Not just in the "everyone’s beautiful on the inside" sense, but also in the objective, attention-grabbing, in-your-face kind of way. She had the height, hair, and posture of a beauty queen, and maybe she was, and I would have recognized her if I had been more into that. Even I felt fluttery just looking at her. She seemed nice, too. I got her name when we rode the elevator together once before, and she introduced herself in an easygoing way. She had been wheeling a small piece of luggage at the time.

  She was doing the same thing right then.

  "Leaving again?" I said, as we stepped into the elevator together.

  She smiled,
and sighed, and shrugged. "Yes, always."

  There were three other guys in the elevator and I could see that they all tried to figure out how to look at her without looking at her, and that was funny.

  It was a Saturday, apparently. Car and human traffic was lighter than usual, but apparently NV Park was one of those global workplaces that was always on, all day all week. I crossed the street from our condo complex to the business park area and wondered what it was like to work there. It reminded me a little bit about being in another country.

  Which, by the way, always made me uncomfortable when I heard it from other people. Because I didn’t mean oh clean up this place a bit and it looks like a different country! I meant, I always associated working in Manila with living at home, with my parents. And then living in another country with doing my own groceries, paying my own bills, and then seeing them at Christmas. So this was a strange in-between, strange but not unwelcome.

  I went into a random building, the closest one, and stood in front of the building directory listing for a few minutes. They were companies I had never heard of, and didn’t seem to have existed six years ago, when I first looked for a job on my own. I had no idea what to do.

  My phone rang. "Roxie," I said.

  "Weekend plans?"

  "Nothing. I’m going to try and avoid my mother for now."

  "Oh come on. You can’t be mad at her for the Megan thing."

  "She does this to me. She forces my hand. She knows I hate it when she forces my hand."

  "You were planning to leave anyway."

  "Of course."

  "Unless you really weren’t."

  "I sent nine job applications just now. I so am going to leave."

  "Whatever, Moi. I just need to go see my grandma today but after I can pass by for dinner. Do you need anything?"

  "I need a job."

  "No, you need money. Nobody needs a job."

  "Fine, I need money. Can you give me money?"

  Roxie laughed. "You need to get a job. I’ll see you later."

  The security guard asked me what I wanted, because why was I standing in front of the directory for that long. I said no thanks and headed out, striking that building off my list.

  Then I went into the next one, and did the same thing.

  -///-

  The guy who was always hanging out at the driveway to smoke—his name was JM. I met him when I got back from my tour of the business park.

  JM looked crazy hot. I was still reeling from my elevator ride with Lucille and made a mental note to check if my judgment had become severely impaired since coming home, because why was everyone so good looking all of a sudden? Was it an NV Park thing? So JM was cute from a distance, but even better up close. He was definitely some sort of actor or model, because no one looked like that naturally. Even though I saw Ethan at the gym, this guy was bulkier than him just about everywhere I dared look. There was something about JM that was as composed, as artificially constructed, as Matilda, but it didn’t have anything to do with surgery.

  He was also really nice.

  "Do you live here?" he asked, as I walked in.

  "Yeah," I said.

  "Do you know how to get the mail?"

  "You mean the combination lock?"

  Just behind the receptionist in the Tower 3 lobby was a small room that was lined with mailboxes. Each unit had a corresponding one, and when I first moved in I was also given a combination to the mailbox lock.

  I didn't get it right the first time. Or the second, or third. It probably took three days and hitting the mailbox several times before I figured it out.

  JM and I walked to the mailroom together but I stood a polite distance away when he started fiddling with the lock.

  "Does your combination have the number seventeen?" I said.

  "Yeah."

  "Don't turn it exactly to seventeen. Make it a little off to the... Yeah, like that, almost eighteen."

  He paused, felt it click, and then pulled the little door open. "I thought it was me. I was too stupid to figure it out."

  "I felt that way too."

  "Thanks. Sorry, am I keeping you from something?"

  "It's not a problem."

  "I'm on the eighth floor, in case you want to hang out sometime."

  And then he went back to his spot on the driveway and started another cigarette.

  Chapter 8

  I was (am) a self-starter. A doer. I had initiative. I was self-motivated. Back in the early days of our friendship, it was Roxie giving me a panicked phone call at random times of the day, asking for the answer to number 3 or cab money or a sanitary pad. I was never caught unprepared for these major life moments. I ran straight for the major life moments before they even thought of getting to me.

  So Roxie, surely wanting to show off, didn't just say "Sure, I'll find you a job." I talked to her on Saturday. A person from her company's HR called me on Sunday. And by Monday afternoon, I was in a fancy waiting room in her building, wearing a blazer, a smart-looking dress, and heels.

  "Do people work on Sundays now?" I told her.

  "They do for me," she said.

  Point taken, Roxie.

  But I did know that she was a big shot by now. We were in touch the whole time I was away, and in between telling each other about guys we dated, we talked about work. Her work stories became more and more, well, mature over time. Some people she used to call "sir" or "ma'am" she began addressing by their first names. Eventually her daily annoyances weren't about arrogant bosses, but disappointing assistants.

  She became the (arrogant) boss, I realized, at some point.

  What was I expecting? That my people and my hometown would be frozen in time? It felt that way on my annual visits, but it was silly to think that nothing had changed.

  My own stories stayed the same, for the most part. I worked on short-term contracts that didn't allow for promotion or growth. It was like they knew I was just there to make rent and save up. No one really asked me if I wanted to be more and do more.

  Good thing I was wearing a blazer. This waiting room was cold. I'd been in Roxie's office building before. Was it always this cold?

  My phone lit up with a message. My mother: You might want to meet my friend Yoly who has that events company—

  There was more, but I was allergic to messages from her of this type. I didn’t even read the entire thing.

  Roxie got me an interview with a guy named Jonas. He was apparently two years younger than both of us. Already, not a good sign, but I was playing along. I did need a job.

  "What does a project consultant do exactly?" was his first question, right after shaking my hand. I hadn't even gotten comfortable in the black shaky swivel chair across the table from him yet.

  "Well, um," and as soon as the syllables left my mouth I knew it was a weak opening. "You mean my most recent job? I moved to a company that had just undergone a restructuring, and was part of the new CEO's transition team."

  He was very well-dressed. Bright tie, sort of psychedelic print, could swear it moved when I turned my head. "And that included clerical stuff like filing?"

  I cleared my throat. "Data organization, yes."

  "You weren't there a long time."

  "I decided not to extend my contract and come home instead, yes."

  "And previous to that, you were also a consultant."

  "Yes, I explain there the projects I managed..."

  "Moira. Am I pronouncing that correctly?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "Moira." Jonas said that right, but it felt foreign the way he just pounded it out of his mouth and into the room. "Your Roxanne's friend, right? So I guess I can be frank with you and tell you exactly what I need."

  "Of course."

  "Based on your resumé, I really think you're the most qualified for this position. I've been rushing to fill this job and I've been looking for months. I like that you can file things, that you can organize, that you were in a transition team, that you wo
rked for international firms. I need someone who can quickly set up product teams for me, and then have them go on their way when they're ready. You seem a little too qualified, actually."

  "Thank you."

  "I'm just concerned that you're Roxanne's contemporary."

  "I'm sorry?"

  Jonas touched the knot on his tie and then slid his fingers down the length of it. "How do I explain this. You're the contemporary of Roxanne, who is manager level, and you will be reporting to me, assistant manager level."

  "I work with the people I work with. I don't care about ranks and positions."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  Was this going well? It didn't feel like it was going well. "If there's anything I learned when I worked away from here, it was just to do the work. People come and go."

  "Why, Moira? Were you planning to 'come and go'?"

  Did Roxie not tell him that I intended to leave by June? "I may be leaving Manila again in a few months, yes."

  Jonas was surprised. "A few months? You weren't intending to stay even if you got this job?"

  "I'd consider staying longer if the job was worth it, of course."

  He leaned back against his chair. "Well that's the issue then, isn't it, Moira? Should I even offer you the job knowing you're half out the door already?"

  His demeanor had changed, and I knew that the interview was over.

  I forgot what I said next, and what he said next. I kept it pleasant, and shook his hand when I left, but didn't feel like finding Roxie to chat about it, even though she was just two floors down.

  I went home instead.

  Chapter 9

  Yes, I moved back home because I'm so enthusiastic about the economy and my career options here.

  Should have said that.

  It wasn't a lie. I just didn't think of it at the time.

  I thought an energetic swim would get my mind off this, but I was still me, so I kept reliving that conversation with Jonas and rewriting it in my head.

  Matilda waved at me from the shade. I waved back but didn't feel like talking, so I gestured about having to go.

  Back in my apartment, I cleaned again. Took out the trash. Made pineapple jam and set it out to cool in the little jars I was using as glasses. I scrubbed my bathroom tiles.