The Pull of Gravity (19 page)

So she showed up, and Manus took her to lunch at a nice restaurant outside the district. She saw right away that Manus was still in love with her, and it softened her so that the next day when he asked if she would like to go with him to Cebu for a few days, she had said yes.

Analyn said Cathy had gone so she could do some thinking about us. Apparently she had told Manus all about me. He was understanding and didn’t push anything. “We’ll just be friends on vacation,” he’d apparently told her.

At some point, things changed. Either Cathy had realized there was no future with me beyond what we already had, or was refreshed by being with someone who was not afraid to show how much he loved her, or both, but before they returned to Angeles, they had renewed their affair.

It was on their last night away that he’d asked her to marry him.

“He surprised her,” Analyn said. “She didn’t expect him to ask that so she told him no. But he told her to think about it.”

Apparently, she had. I guess that’s what she was doing when I found her in the kitchen on that Saturday morning. And I guess whatever she found at home had helped convince her to say yes.

That night at The Lounge, Manus came in and Cathy told him she would marry him. As Analyn was telling me this, I realized I had seen him talking to Cathy. He was the old guy who had been at the bar.

“While the paperwork’s going through so he can take her home, he’s renting an apartment in Manila for them to live in,” Analyn said. “I’m sorry, Papa Jay. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

Analyn went back out into the bar, leaving me alone.

I couldn’t blame Cathy for making the choice she did. Manus was offering her a way out to a better life. Me, I was just offering more of the same. I guess what hurt most was that she had left me, a guy who she thought never truly loved her, for a guy she had never truly loved.

The party beckoned to me from the bar. Music, squealing, laughter filtering down the hallway back to my little nook. But what desire I had left to join in was gone.

Forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t try to find Cathy in Manila. Unfortunately, wherever the Swede had stowed her, he had chosen well. I could never find even a hint of where they were. After a week, it seemed like I was searching the same places over and over again. That’s when I decided to give it up.

Several months later I heard that she’d received her visa and had left the country. I hoped it was true for her sake, but I never knew for sure. That moment in front of my house while she sat on the back of Manny’s trike was the last time we ever talked to each other, the last time I ever saw her.

In the weeks following her departure, life at The Lounge was the same as it had ever been and yet completely different. The perpetual party rolled on, old Angeles veterans cycled through, and new Angeles “cherry boys” walked wide-eyed through the streets. The beer was just as cold, the girls just as available, and the drama just as insidious. But it all seemed out of tune now, an ill-conceived rock opera played on ancient instruments.

I didn’t know what to do about it. I now was not only bar manager, but part owner of The Lounge. I couldn’t just get up and leave.

I told myself I had to make the best of it. Things would get better. I just needed a little time. I guess, after a while, things did get better, if you consider becoming numb to almost everything better.

•    •    •

In those first months after Cathy left, Mariella started showing up at The Lounge more and more. I wasn’t in a mood to care, so she seemed to annoy me less than usual. Since she normally came in early before the crowds arrived, I never asked her to leave.

Sometime she was alone, other times she was with one or two of her friends, but she never came in with a guy. I knew it didn’t mean she’d stopped working, not Mariella. It was too much of a way of life for her. She would spend most of her time when she stopped by talking to the Mariella Fan Club, which consisted of anywhere from six to a dozen girls. Occasionally she would talk with Isabel, but it wasn’t as much as I would have expected. And always, she would make it a point to stop and say a few words to me.

At first I thought it was because she was hoping I’d buy her a few drinks, but slowly over time, as our little chats grew longer, I began to realize, with subdued amusement, that she was taking a more active interest in me. I wasn’t flattered—in fact, if I wasn’t so numb I probably would have been disgusted—but I was curious to see how far she would take it.

“It was so hot today, wasn’t it?” she asked once.

“A little,” I replied.

“Did you do anything fun?”

I shrugged and told her I went for a swim.

Suddenly she got that Mariella ear-to-ear grin and said, “That’s right, that’s right. You have a swimming pool. I’m so jealous.” She slapped me playfully on the arm.

I nodded.

“A private pool,” she said. “You don’t even have to wear a swimming suit.” She laughed, but the look in her eye was inquiring. “You should have a swim party someday.”

“Maybe I will,” I said.

Her head tilted downward, chin resting on her chest. She looked at me through upturned eyes, in that look of helplessness so many of the girls had mastered. “You’ll invite me, won’t you?”

“If I do, you’ll have to bring your own swimsuit,” I said. “I don’t have anything that’ll fit you.”

She smiled. “That’s okay.”

There were dozens of conversations like this. I suppose any sane man would have pushed things to the next level. I knew Mariella was expecting me to, all her previous experience with men on Fields undoubtedly telling her I would. But I wasn’t buying in.

It was a game to me, nothing more.

•    •    •

The problem with going numb is that you don’t notice things, things that would have jumped out at you on any normal day. Things like how Isabel stiffened anytime Mariella came into the bar. Like how the afternoon receipts seemed lighter than usual. Or how more and more of the girls seemed to be taking
shabu-shabu
to get them through the night.

The once stellar reputation of The Lounge was beginning to slip, but I was oblivious. Even as we lost some of our best girls, girls who’d been with us since before I even started, I acted like nothing was wrong. In many ways, I had become like an alcoholic, only most nights I wasn’t drinking at all.

A couple days before Christmas we had our annual Christmas party and body-painting contest. It was usually a highly attended event. Only this year the crowd was thinner, maybe half the normal size. And while everyone had fun, I don’t think anyone went home thinking it was the best time they’d ever had in Angeles.

The highlight of the evening, though, was Larry’s unannounced arrival. I hadn’t seen Isabel’s face light up like that in months. Even I felt a certain amount of happiness when I saw him.

“How you doing, Doc?” he asked, after we’d given each other a warm hug.

“I’m good,” I said. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

He winked at me. “No one did. My Christmas surprise for Isabel.”

“If you had surprised her any more, I think you would have killed her.”

We both laughed.

“I guess I came on the right night,” he said, taking in the festivities.

I nodded.

“Good turnout,” he said.

“Not bad.”

“I got you something.” He removed the backpack that had been slung over his shoulder and opened it. From inside he pulled out a package, wrapped in gaudy Santa Claus paper, about an inch and a half square and eight inches long. He handed it to me. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the package. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Shut up and open it,” he said.

The paper flew off and the white cardboard box that was underneath was quickly opened. At first I was looking at the wrong side of whatever was inside, so it appeared to me to be a long piece of metal that had been bent into an “L” shape. But I turned it over and quickly realized it was one of those name placards you see on desks. Engraved into the gold-colored, metal surface was:

Jay “Doc” Bradley

Owner/Manager

“Figured it would look nice in your office,” Larry said. “Just in case anyone wondered who you were.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. For most people, it would have been pretty cool. I had never had anything like it before, and there was a small part of me that felt a little more important as I ran my fingers across my name. But for the rest of me, the sign was an engraved reminder of an act of desperation that had failed.

I guess it showed on my face because Larry asked, “Don’t you like it?”

I smiled. “It’s great.”

“Good,” he said, clapping me on the back. “But that’s not all. I’ve got a dozen of your special-delivery beers back at the hotel, too.”

“My trusty supplier,” I said, attempting to recover some of my humor.

“Come by tomorrow. I’ll buy lunch and you can pick them up.”

“You’re on.”

I bought him a drink and soon he returned to Isabel, leaving me with my new reminder of my social position.

Questions began swirling in my head—dangerous questions, all beginning with “why.” As I’d done before, I pushed them to the back of my mind. Only this time they didn’t completely disappear. I signaled for Analyn to get me a San Miguel, hoping that would dull the roar.

•    •    •

There was one other thing of note that happened that night. It was something I might have been the only one to see. At the time, I thought it was kind of funny. Not now.

The day before, after one of our banter sessions, I had asked Mariella if she was coming to our Christmas party.

“Of course,” she had said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

She gave me one of those coy looks that said all I had to do was say the word and she would be mine. Only I was pretty sure if I did say the word,
I
would be more
hers
than the reverse.

“Good,” I told her. “We’ll be having a body-painting contest. Maybe you’ll want to join in.”

“I don’t do that,” she said, feigning indignation.

There was a time in the past when she had, but I wasn’t going to remind her about that. In fact, I didn’t really care if she showed up or not. Our banter, as fun as it was for a time, was growing stale.

So on the night of the party, I hadn’t even noticed that it was almost midnight and Mariella had yet to arrive. Instead, I was busy telling Rochelle why it would be a bad idea to go with the guy who wanted to bar fine her. He was already drunk and had a reputation of having a bad temper. But my attempt was only halfhearted and she wasn’t listening to me anyway.

After she left to get changed, I scanned the room, still nursing the same bottle of beer Analyn had given me an hour earlier. I was about to go over and join Larry and Isabel when the front door opened. Hopeful that a group of guys was about to enter, I stopped.

But instead of more potential customers, it was Mariella. I laughed to myself. She was wearing a sexy red dress that ended halfway down her thighs, and a Santa hat. Her smile was about as wide as it ever got. It was as if she was saying, “I’m here. The party can start now.”

She probably thought she was going to get a rock-star greeting, but she had walked in just as “Love Shack” came over the sound system. The dancers, no matter if they were on stage or not, and the waitresses and the bartenders all began doing the dance. The guys began whooping in support, a few of them even trying to join in. So no one saw Mariella step into The Lounge. Only me.

Her smile slipped a fraction of an inch, and I thought for a second that she was going to step back outside and try her entrance again once the song was over. But as she was turning to leave, she saw something that made her smile disappear. At the other end of her line of sight were Isabel and Larry.

Mariella walked out, but she didn’t come back in.

•    •    •

I got to Larry’s hotel around two thirty the next afternoon. He was staying at the Las Palmas, so we ate at one of the tables surrounding the pool. As had become my habit, I only picked at my food, eating no more than half of what I’d ordered. I had lost almost twenty pounds since Cathy had left, but on a guy my size it was probably hard to tell. It wasn’t any conscious effort to lose weight, not then. It was more an unintended byproduct of my mental state.

We’d been talking about his business in San Francisco, his expansion plans and his hopes for the coming years. So when he asked me how I liked things at The Lounge, I thought at first he was going to offer me a job.

“Things are good,” I said, my voice noncommittal.

“Really?” he asked.

“Sure.” I paused. “Well, things could always be better, but for the most part, it’s fine.”

He took a bite of his steak. “This is really good,” he said. He looked at my plate. “Don’t you like yours?”

There was barely a quarter of my steak gone. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m just not that hungry.”

He cut off another piece of his and put it in his mouth. Once he’d swallowed it, he looked me in the eyes and said, “What’s going on, Doc?”

“I’m sorry?”

He set his fork and knife down. “Is it Cathy?”

“Cathy?”

“I know she’s been gone for a few months now. Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t say anything for several seconds, then,  “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.” He picked up his Coke and took a drink.

Until that moment I had thought my internal turmoil was just that—internal. I, Psychologist of Fields Avenue, King of Self-Analysis, had been thinking I was projecting an image of normality to the rest of the world. Apparently I was wrong.

Larry continued eating and I continued pushing my food around my plate. He talked about football and how he wondered if the 49ers would ever get their act together again. I thought about Cathy. He mentioned how cold it was in San Francisco when he left. I wondered how much longer I would actually be able to keep doing this. He said he was going to take Isabel to Manila for a few days and asked if I wanted to come along. I told him I’d love to but didn’t think I could get anyone to cover my shifts for me, when in truth it was because I was afraid I’d start looking for Cathy again. At that point, as far as I knew, she hadn’t left for Sweden yet.

After we finished eating, Larry signed the bill, and told me he’d walk with me back to The Lounge. I almost told him it wasn’t necessary, afraid he’d want to prod me more. But I said okay and we headed out.

“Didn’t that used to be Jammers?” he asked as we passed a boarded-up building a block south of Fields.

“Yeah. Closed up about four months ago,” I said.

“There never seemed to be many people inside whenever I stopped by.”

“Exactly why they closed.”

A little further on, he said, “Isabel wants me to take her to a place called Clowns tonight. You ever been there?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “It’s a comedy club.”

“In English or Tagalog?”

“Both.” He had a worried look on his face, so I said, “Don’t worry, you’ll have a good time. But don’t let them know you’re a foreigner.”

He laughed. “It’s going to be pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“Just don’t arrive too early, and whatever you do, when they ask if there are any visitors in the audience, don’t raise your hand.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

When we arrived at The Lounge, we stopped near the front door and shook hands.  Larry then handed me the bag of Gordon Biersch Märzan he’d brought.

“Thanks,” I said. “Have fun in Manila.”

“We will. Hey, let’s you and me have a boys’ night out when we get back.”

“Okay, “ I said, then turned for the door.

“Doc,” Larry called out.

I looked back at him.

“If you ever do want to talk, I mean about anything, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.