Dogeaters (17 page)

—The Metro Manila Daily

F
IRST, I HAVE TO
check out my shirt. The new blue one Trinidad bought me. Made in Hong Kong. One-hundred percent acrylic. According to Trinidad, Miss Know-It-All as my cousin Tomas calls her, acrylics are the best buys. They’re easy to keep clean and you don’t have to bother ironing. Sounds like heaven to me. What I like best about this shirt is the pale silver thread woven into the shiny blue fabric. The combination sets off my smooth complexion, my blue-black hair. So what if I didn’t win the last contest. As Trinidad would say, it just prepared me better for this next one. Plus she heard that contest was rigged, I didn’t have a chance. I love my hair.

And that damn guard yesterday at Mabuhay Studios! I mustn’t think about him, the shit. “DO YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT?” he grins at me. I don’t like it. I can’t see his eyes behind those corny sunglasses. Who does he think he is, Clint Eastwood? You puny fuck I could kill you easy with my strong arms my swift Batangas switchblade I bet your
titi
’s an inch long that’s why you need that goddam gun goddam asshole

My smile is glued to my face. I remember my mother’s face she worships me I need to write her a letter how long has it been

“I want to see Tito Alvarez. Tell him Romeo’s here—”

The guard motions with his gun. “
Puwede ba
! Get out of here, punk! This is private property—” The grin widens on his dark face. I don’t like that sinister moustache of his greasy fuck look he’s got a gold tooth just like Trinidad

I act humble. I know that’s what he wants. “
Sige
naman,
’pare
—” call him
kumpare
, comrade, brother you shit asshole

“You know how it is,” I plead. “I went to school with Tito, we’re from the same town in Batangas, he’s my buddy…”

The guard is really laughing now, he can’t believe it. His bony shoulders shake up and down, his sunken chest contracts with laughter. Skinny fuck I bet I could really make you squirm just by sitting on your face you bastard son of a whore from Tondo

“
Your buddy
!” He acts incredulous, he is toying with me. “My, my! WHO DID YOU SAY YOU WERE AGAIN?”

“Romeo. Romeo Rosales. Tito said he’d recommend me for a screen test—”

The guard looks at me with exaggerated surprise. For a moment I think he’s really interested, but I can feel the contempt in those shaded eyes bastard son of a whore…

“
Talaga
! Big time! Tell me, Romeo—can you sing?”

“Yes,” I nod, eagerly. “I was on
Tawag Ng Tanghalan
recently.”

“Did you win?”

The question jolts me, and it’s the guard who wins. I’m gonna get you yet someday just watch me you’re the loser you impotent prick

The guard spits on the ground. “You’d better go, you’re really bothering me now…” His voice has changed, no longer playful. His right hand strokes the holster that rests on his hip.

Mother dear,

I leave but I’m not disheartened and I won’t forget. Trinidad thinks I’m nuts but she’s the best thing in my life it’s okay with her whatever I do things are great since her new job at SPORTEX I’ve got to take you there one day you should see all the great clothes she buys me she gets discounts on everything

Today I’m trying out a new song for my audition the theme from the movie
Serenade
have you seen it? What a stupid question I shouldn’t have asked! There aren’t any movie theaters where you live you should get Uncle Turing to take you to the capital in that jeepney of his watch out the way he drives the movie is great you’ll love Barbara Villanueva she sings like an angel when was the last time you saw a movie? That time I was a little boy probably when Uncle Turing and Auntie Mila dragged us all to see one of those Dolphy movies you didn’t think be was very funny you hated the provincial theater it was too hot and dirty Mama guess what the theaters in Manila are all air-conditioned

The song I’ve chosen is number one on the hit parade “Not One Single Happy Moment” maybe you’ve heard it on the radio at Uncle Turing’s it’s a beautiful ballad everyone was crying when Barbara Villanueva sang it at the end of
Serenade
I gave Trinidad my hanky she’s so sentimental! We’ve seen the movie three times and she always cries at the bittersweet ending

I’m sorry I haven’t been writing but I’ve been so busy with my job at the country club you should see all the people I am fortunate enough to serve the Archbishop of Manila Congressman Abad his wife and beautiful daughters plenty of movie stars some of them even call me by my first name and of course the big boss Mr. Alacran he’s always very nice he’s hinted at the possibility of a promotion from waiter to desk job! but I’m not sure I’ll accept I know I’ll have the opportunity to do my screen test soon with the help of my good friend Tito Alvarez but don’t tell anybody please you know how gossips are in that small town everybody gets so jealous! that’s why I left you have the patience of a saint to put up with all those ignorant people

Trinidad’s a good girl a hardworking girl but neither one of us is interested in marriage right now she wants to pursue her studies as a schoolteacher at U.P. Trinidad’s so smart! I just want to concentrate on my show business career then I can think about settling down if I win this next contest then I get a chance to record on Apollo Records you don’t know them but they’re the best they do all of Barbara Villanueva’s albums somehow Apollo is connected to Mabuhay Studios that’s what Tito was just telling me everything’s connected I don’t quite understand it but even Mr. Alacran has a hand in the movie business that’s why I’m so glad I work where I work Trinidad says I’m “rubbing elbows” with the right people first a record contract then a screen test at the end I get the starring role that’s my two-year plan it’s always been my destiny

I’m going to close now so I can make it to the post office it’s always so crowded here in Manila any time of day long lines everybody with their paketes and letters I better get going or I’ll be late

I feel lucky today I’ve been rehearsing all my moves in front of the mirror Tito says it’s not just about singing well talent scouts are on the lookout for the way you dress the way you talk, if you’re a natural dancer thank god I am! It’s something both Tito and Trinidad call “karisma”

Trinidad took me to a fortune-teller please don’t get angry, Mama! I know you think it’s the work of the devil but in this case it’s not true La Sultana is a very religious woman who lives in a car She’s given up her worldly goods and devotes her life to the Virgin Mary Trini also takes me to evening novenas at Quiapo Church she claims St. Jude and the Virgin Mary always grant her wishes guess what Mama I go every Wednesday! Now do you approve? La Sultana says I have a great future ahead of me all the cards point to the “Silver Screen” Mama don’t laugh you know it’s what I’ve dreamed about all my life

Stop working so hard get Uncle Turing to help you run the store or that lazy kid brother of mine how is he doing? Tell him I didn’t forget his birthday when Auntie Mila comes to Manila I’ll be sending him a regalo through her OK? I don’t trust the mail last time I sent you and Ping those Christmas presents they never got there remember? poor Ping he thought I was making things up my own brother doesn’t trust me

Keep me in your prayers I’ll not fail anymore like in the past I sure was kawawa! Don’t worry so much about me as you can see from the enclosed snapshot I am FINE give my love to everyone there

God bless you always

with much love from

your son

ORLANDO

T
HE MANILA INTERNATIONAL FILM
Festival is the First Lady’s latest whim. She orders the city and slums rejuvenated with fresh coats of paint, windows and doorways lined with pots of plastic flowers, the streets swept and reswept by women in red and yellow sweatshirts with “Metro Manila Aide” printed in big black letters on the back and front. Even Uncle’s shack gets the treatment. Funny thing is, it all looks fake. Painted scenery in a slum no one’s going to bother visiting—but what the hell, we all get a big bang out of it. Uncle laughs the hardest, shaking his head in disbelief. Fucking crazy bitch, he calls the First Lady.
Talagang sirang ulo.

A bunch of new buildings have been built right next to the Magsaysay Pavilion on Roxas Boulevard. She’s calling the whole thing a
cultural center
, whatever that means. Movies, ballerinas, and opera
daw.
The workers are busy day and night, trying to finish the complex for the film festival’s opening night, which is scheduled in a few weeks. Toward the end, one of the structures collapses and lots of workers are buried in the rubble. Big news. Cora Camacho even goes out there with a camera crew. “Manila’s Worst Disaster!” A special mass is held right there in Rizal Park, with everyone weeping and wailing over the rubble. The Archbishop gives his blessing, the First Lady blows her nose. She orders the survivors to continue building; more cement is poured over dead bodies; they finish exactly three hours before the first foreign film is scheduled to be shown.
Hoy
—I’m impressed. Someday, maybe I’ll stroll over there and see it for myself.

Along with other honored guests of the government, the German director is flown in, first class, on Philippine Air Lines. He is housed in some big shot’s three-story mansion in Forbes Park, right next door to the Alacran estate. Arriving in Manila early in the morning, the German cruises CocoRico later that same night, looking for action. The hairdresser Chiquiting takes him around, introducing him to Andres. Chiquiting’s in his glory. He swoops through the door of CocoRico, making sure everyone sees him dragging the German by his elbow. “Darlings! Look who I’ve brought for you this evening!” he announces. You’d think he was the German’s fiancé or pimp.

The German spots me right away, spinning my records. He is intrigued, watching me dance with myself in front of mirrored walls. I’m the best dancer I know; I don’t like dancing with other people. What’s the point, anyway? Even with partners, we dance alone. That’s why I hate playing slow songs; sentimental love songs make me sick, I hate watching the desperate way people grab on to each other in the dark. If Andres insists, or someone gives me a tip, I’ll play one or two ballads a night. That’s all I can stand. I know I have to do it—Andres gets so pissed off when I don’t. He won’t admit it, but he loathes real rock’n’roll. He only tolerates it because of all the money he’s making. If he could have it his way, you’d be dancing to “The Way We Were” or “I Will Survive” all night long.

I’m on display. The German is watching me from the bar, pretending to listen to Chiquiting blither in his ear. I’m high, lost in the music and moving cool and sexy. During my break, Chiquiting comes up to me. Trying hard to conceal his resentment, he says some important foreigner wants to meet me, buy me a drink. “Joey,” Andres informs me, as soon as he gets a chance, “you’d better take advantage of the situation—that guy’s famous!” We call Andres the Minister of Information around here, for good reason. He’s sure if I play my cards right, the German director will cast me in his next movie. All my problems will be over, ha-ha. Andres is visibly excited, fussing over the famous director. Every time Andres pours him a drink, he wipes up the counter with one of his rags.

I slide onto a stool next to Prince Charming. Andres gives me one of his looks. “Your usual?” he asks me casually, pulling out the Remy Martin. I nod. Andres pours me a double, trying to maintain his composure. I’m following his script tonight. Andres has urged me to order cognac around foreigners, so he’ll make more money and they’ll be impressed by my expensive taste. “Instead of that cheap rum you’re always drinking,” he nags. What the fuck, tonight’s the night. I’ll try anything once. I turn to face the German, real cool, taking my time. He shakes my hand, introduces himself as
Rainer.
“Like Grace Kelly’s husband,” Andres gushes, “how unusual…” He gazes at the German with reverence. Not exactly, the German says, with an embarrassed smile. “Rain or shine,
di ba
?” I tease him, flash him one of my killer grins.

He’s around forty, who knows. Pale and flabby, baggy clothes, a drooping moustache and the smell of cigarettes, straggly reddish-blond hair. I’m not sure I can bear to see him naked. It’s one thing if he was just an old man. I’d expect to see his flesh hang loose like an elephant; I’d be prepared. That’s when I imagine I’m in my movie. I’m the strong young animal—I’m the panther. Or else I’m the statue of a magnificent young god in a beautiful garden. The old man with elephant skin drools. Maybe he’s God the Father, lost in paradise. He can’t get over how perfect I am; he can’t get over the perfection of his own creation. He falls in love with me. They always do. I’ll admit, I can get off with some old man that way. I need my own movies, with their flexible endings. Otherwise, it’s just shit. Most sex is charity, on my part. I’d rather dance alone.

There’s something different about the German. It bothers me. I can’t understand his seeming lack of vanity. With all the money he’s making, how can he let himself go? It confuses me. He’s too young to play my old man with elephant skin. I should get off the stool and go back to work, but I don’t move. His eyes pry into mine; alert eyes that don’t fit in with the rest of him, so flabby and forgettable. “I hope you fall in love with me,” he suddenly says, just loud enough for me to hear. “Why should I, rain or shine?” I chuckle. “Because I am the most corrupt human being you will ever meet,” he says, in that soft voice of his. “Are you bragging?” I challenge him, rolling my eyes to show him I’ve heard it all before. Poor guy probably thinks I’m stupid, just because I’m poor and pretty. They usually do, at first. I live for that look of surprise on their faces. These foreigners, especially—they think they can say anything off the top of their heads, that I’ll let it go by me and won’t remember later. They’re the dumb fucks, if you ask me. “What can you possibly teach me?” I ask the German, the smile gone from my face. It’s time for me to go back to work, and I’m restless. I am not playing now, and the German knows it.