The Pull of Gravity (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

For the rest of Larry’s visit, Isabel said she never left his side. When he had told her about his encounter with Mariella, she had been hurt and angry, more with Mariella than with Larry. Isabel knew deep down that he would never have done anything on purpose to hurt her. What she felt toward Larry was embarrassment and shame.

It had been Mariella who had put it in her head that no guy could ever really be trusted, so when Isabel had woken the previous evening alone while Larry was visiting me at The Lounge, it was Mariella’s voice she heard whispering in her ear. “He’s just like the others,” it said. “He’s probably having sex with some girl right now while you sit here and wait for him.” Isabel knew it couldn’t be true, but there was enough doubt in her mind that when he did return, she couldn’t help bringing it up. And once she did, all her insecurities and fears rose to the surface and consumed her.

Then, once she was calmed and sleeping, it was Mariella again who had provided the source of her pain. Her cousin had tried to seduce Larry, right in front of their room. She had put her lips on his lips, rubbed her body against his. She had tried to get him worked up so he would want to make love to her right where they stood, or even in the room as Isabel slept a few feet away.

In a strange way, the fact that Larry had been able to say no to Mariella almost made Isabel feel worse. She, after all, had not been so immune to her cousin’s influence.

When Larry finished confessing to her, Isabel stared silently at the floor. When he asked her if she was angry with him, she wanted to tell him no, but it hardly seemed adequate enough. How could she tell him she loved him at that moment more than ever, when her embarrassment made it nearly impossible for her to even look him in the eyes? But eventually she did tell him. Not only about her feelings for him, but also about her relationship with Mariella. All of it.

They went out for a late breakfast. Isabel said she wasn’t hungry, but Larry insisted that she eat.

“I don’t want you living with her anymore,” Larry said.

Isabel wasn’t sure what to say at first. Where would she live if not with Mariella? She definitely didn’t want to go back to where she’d been before, so what choice did she have?

Apparently he could see the hesitation on her face. He said, “I mean it. It’s not safe for you. She’ll just continue messing with your mind. You need to get out of that environment. Now.”

“Environment?” she asked. The word was familiar, but the usage was not.

“You have to get away from her,” he explained. “She’s going to make you crazy if you don’t.”

She looked at the ground as she said, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

His laughter surprised her. It was genuine and good-natured. “Come on,” he said.

•    •    •

They spent the next three days looking at apartments, some close to Fields, some many miles away. Isabel had at first protested, saying she couldn’t come close to affording a place of her own. If he really wanted her to move out of Mariella’s, she would go back to the place she had lived before. But he insisted that he would pay for it.

“I told you I don’t want to touch that money,” she said, assuming he meant the monthly cash he wired to her through me.

“That money’s for you, whether you want to use it or not. Renting you an apartment will be for me,” he said. “For my peace of mind.”

She was finally able to rationalize the idea by telling herself it would save him the cost of a hotel room every time he came to town. And if it made him happy, she guessed it would be okay.

In many of the places they looked, Larry would walk in, take a quick glance around and shake his head. To Isabel, these apartments looked perfectly fine, but not to Larry. It quickly got to the point where he could judge an apartment from the outside of the building, and save them the trouble of going in at all.

It came down to a choice between three places. The two largest were a good fifteen-minute jeepney drive from Fields Avenue without traffic. The third was a bit smaller, but she could walk to work if she wanted. She was scared to live too far from where all her friends were, so the choice became a simple one.

Larry, with Isabel’s help, haggled with the landlord before finally settling on an arrangement that would work for all of them. Larry paid for six months in advance, and said he would pay for the next six months when he returned in the spring. The amount was small, less than half the going rate of a comparable apartment back in San Francisco for a single month. Just to make sure everyone was happy, he slipped the landlord an extra thousand pesos for “being so cooperative.”

The next day was spent buying furniture. As they drove around in a trike looking for a bed, a dresser, a table and the other items Larry thought Isabel would need, she glanced down every so often to the key she held in her hand, the key to her own place. She could hardly believe it. It was the first time in her life she would be living on her own. She was so excited. The only thing that would have been better was if Larry had asked her to marry him and move back to America.

The only times during those days that her happiness dipped was when they went back to Mariella’s to get Isabel’s things. It took two separate nights of waiting before they were actually able to go in. The first night they couldn’t be sure if Mariella was there or not, neither of them having any desire to confront her.

The second night, they waited in a trike down the street, within sight of Mariella’s house. It was early evening, and they could see a few lights on inside, which Isabel knew meant Mariella was still home. Less than thirty minutes later, the lights went out and Mariella appeared at the front door, dressed for a night on Fields. She waved at a group of trike drivers waiting for fares at the end of the block. One of them broke off from the pack and drove over to her. As soon as she took her seat in the sidecar, it took off again.

“You’re sure she won’t come right back?” Larry asked.

Isabel shook her head. “Not until late. If at all.”

Isabel told the driver to pull up in front of Mariella’s place. At first, Larry had thought they needed to bring the driver into their confidence to get him to participate in their plan, but Isabel told Larry to just give him five hundred pesos and there would be no problem. She had been right.

It’d been decided beforehand that, in case Mariella came back unexpectedly, Larry would wait with the trike while Isabel went inside and retrieved her things. There wasn’t much, really. Some clothes, a few items Larry had given her, no more than a suitcase’s worth.

As she approached the door, her hand began to shake, and for a second she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get the key in the lock. But it slipped in on the second try, and before she knew it, she was inside the place that had been her home.

She walked quickly to the stairs, then up to her room. As she entered, she stopped, confused. Everything was changed. The furniture was rearranged, the pictures on the wall were replaced. When she threw open the door to the closet, there was nothing there. She ran over to the dresser, pulling out drawer after drawer, but there was nothing there, either. All of her stuff was gone. It was like she had never spent a single night there. She searched the rest of the second floor, but there was no sign of anything that had been hers.

Downstairs she ran from room to room, hoping to find that Mariella had just packed everything away for her. She didn’t have many clothes—two dresses, some T-shirts, a pair of jeans. But it wasn’t the clothes that concerned her most. She would have been happy to part with them if she could only find the hinged, wooden box that held the memories of her life with Larry: pictures, airline ticket stubs, a dried rose. None of it was there.

Finally, she forced herself to go into Mariella’s bedroom. Again, her clothes were not to be found. But in the corner of the closet, under several full shoeboxes, she found her wooden box. When she opened it, what she saw caused her to momentarily stop breathing.

The pictures had all been ripped into pieces.

As Isabel reached out and touched them, tears began to run down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away. No matter what Mariella had done, she hadn’t taken Isabel’s memories.

Isabel tucked the box under her arm and left.

When she got back to the trike, Larry asked, “Everything all right?”

She smiled weakly, then told the driver to take them back to her apartment.

Larry looked dubiously at the box under her arm. “Is that it?”

For an entire block, she didn’t answer him. Then, without taking her eyes off the road ahead, she simply said, “Yes.”

•    •    •

They spent most of  the remainder of Larry’s visit in the new apartment. “Our” apartment, they began referring to it. For Isabel, it was the closest she’d ever come to feeling married. In the mornings, she’d get up and make him breakfast. They’d spend the day walking around the neighborhood or hanging pictures on the walls or shopping for little things he thought she could use.

He bought her clothes, which she said she didn’t need, but couldn’t wait to wear. And in the end, he bought her a TV. “So you won’t be bored,” he said.

Not once did they see Mariella.

The day before his plane was to leave, they went to Manila and spent their time in their hotel room holding each other and talking and making love. It was always hard for her when he left, but this time it was more difficult than usual. When it came time to go to the airport, she couldn’t stop herself from crying.

Larry held her close. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

“When?” she asked.

“Two or three months. We’ve lasted that long before.”

She wanted to tell him that was before, not now. Now, she wanted to be with him all the time. But she said, “Okay.”

At the airport, they said their goodbyes on the sidewalk.

“I’ll call you when I get home,” he told her.

“I know.”

He kissed her.

“Let me know if there are any problems with the apartment,” he said.

“I will.”

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I love you, too,” she said.

•    •    •

During the entire two-and-a-half-hour trip home, she stared out the window of the hired car and tried to keep from thinking about anything. At some point she fell asleep, waking only as they exited the highway at Angeles and stopped to pay their toll. 

Two or three months, he had said. She knew logically it wasn’t that long, but it seemed like forever. For Larry, though, she could do it. He was her world and whatever he wanted, she wanted. They would talk on the phone, and she would work, and before she knew it, he would be back again. That’s what she told herself anyway.

In reality, she was on edge, her emotions shifting wildly. And while talking on the phone might have allowed Larry to tell her how much he loved her, she really needed him there beside her. Holding her, being with her, loving her. There was nothing like personal contact.

And in that area, Mariella had the edge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As for me, when Larry left The Lounge that night after our disagreement, I got drunk for the first time in months. It wasn’t a typical papasan drunkenness that had been almost a perpetual state for me since I started working on Fields, the kind that made me feel really good but still able to keep my business head about me. That’s when I drank because it was expected, an unwritten part of the job description.

No, it wasn’t like that this time. I didn’t care about the party anymore. I just wanted to silence the thoughts and voices and images that were besieging me. My subconsciousness was starting to wake up again, but all I wanted to do was stay numb. So I drank until I all but collapsed on the bar.

Analyn had a couple of the other girls help her close up. When they were done, she waited until Manny arrived to take me home. Between the two of them, they maneuvered me into the sidecar. I’m sure it wasn’t easy; I was still pretty big then. I barely remember any of it. What I do recall was that Manny had to stop at least twice on the way to my place so I could lean out into the night and vomit on the road.

•    •    •

I woke around noon, head pounding and throat feeling like every ounce of moisture had been sucked out of it. I was lying on top of my bed, still wearing the clothes I’d gone to work in the previous night. I didn’t want to move, and yet I had to. My bladder was screaming at me, and I needed aspirin. And water, about an ocean’s worth.

As I climbed out of the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, I had to reach out several times to steady myself on whatever was nearby. I was still a little drunk, and that pissed me off. There were few things worse than having a raging hangover
and
still being drunk.

I managed to miss the toilet only once as I relieved myself. Pretty good, I thought, considering. I stripped off everything, then turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it. Before I stepped in, I grabbed the bottle of aspirin and poured five tablets into my hand. I shoved them in my mouth two at a time and dry swallowed them.

After that, I stood in the shower, the hot water massaging the nape of my neck, trying not to think about why I was in this state but not doing a very good job at it. At first, I blamed my condition on Larry. If he hadn’t been such an asshole, it would have been just another of my increasingly sober nights.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that
I
was the asshole.

I turned to face the water, closing my eyes and letting it run over my head. I could feel the alcohol finally receding from my body. My headache, while still very much there, had also lost some of its strength.

I remember when I was young, we had these next-door neighbors who used to fight all the time. Actually it was the wife who did most of the yelling. The husband—their last name was Russell, I think—was always this really nice guy. He talked to me when he saw me, and seemed to have a smile on his face whenever he walked down the street. His wife was the best-looking woman on the block, who barely noticed any of us kids as we stopped what we were doing and stared every time we saw her. Anyway, I guess she wanted more out of life than Mr. Russell could give her, so one day she left. I remember asking my dad why Mr. Russell didn’t try to find her, and ask her to come back. Dad took a long time before he answered, and when he did, there was a kind of resignation to it. “He didn’t have the energy anymore.”

I knew everything Larry said to me the night before had been right. What I didn’t know was if I had the energy to do anything about it anymore.

•    •    •

One of the things I knew I had to do was apologize to Larry, but when I called his room at the Las Palmas, no one answered. I called back and left a message with the receptionist, then headed off for The Lounge.

At first the girls seemed surprised that I had come in, but soon they were laughing and teasing me about my little binge the previous night. When Analyn set a San Miguel on the bar for me, I shook my head and told her to give me a water instead.

As the night went on, it was almost like I was seeing the place for the first time. There was a general lack of discipline I hadn’t noticed before. Girls were carrying their cell phones tucked in the back of their bikini bottoms. More than once, I saw one of the dancers on stage stop in the middle of a song, pull out her phone, and read a message she’d just received. Even those sitting with customers were sending and receiving texts. And that wasn’t all. Dancers were blowing off their turns on the stage, fighting over customers in ways I’d never allowed before, and generally acting like prima donnas.

There was a part of me that was appalled I had been letting this go on, but another part of me wondered if I should really care.

“Analyn,” I said, waving her over. “I want someone to collect the cell phones from any girl who has one and put them in my office.”

She looked at me for a moment like she hadn’t understood what I said.

“They know the rules,” I told her. “Do it now, please.”

•    •    •

I never heard from Larry before he left. Of course now I know why. I thought perhaps he was pissed off at me, but as he was dealing with finding Isabel a new place to live, he probably didn’t even give me a second thought. 

It was better that way. If I’d seen him, I would have apologized and told him he was right, and in effect given myself a pass to slack off again because at least I admitted my problem. But since I didn’t get that opportunity, I was forced to look inside and really examine what the hell was going on with me.

Within two weeks, The Lounge was back to the shape it should have been. I’d also hired two new papasans, two Brit ex-pats named Andrew and Mark. Now, including Dandy Doug and me, there were four of us, more than enough for me to cut down on my hours.

I found myself spending more and more time alone at my house by my pool. And for the first time since I’d moved to Angeles, I began to wonder if this was really the place I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

•    •    •

When Isabel returned to work, she told me about her new apartment. When I asked her what Mariella thought about it, she got kind of quiet, shrugged, then suddenly noticed a customer who needed a drink.

The old me, the numb me, probably wouldn’t have connected the dots, but I was awake again and immediately understood what was going on.

At around ten that evening, Mariella showed up. I watched as she scanned the room before finally walking over and sitting down on the stool next to me. I knew who she had been looking for, but Isabel was nowhere to be seen, no doubt hiding in back somewhere.

“Hello, Papa Jay,” Mariella said, smiling.

“Hey,” I replied.

“No beer tonight?” she asked, then laughed.

She hadn’t been there the night I’d gotten drunk, but one of the girls must have told her about it.

I tilted my bottle of water toward her in a silent toast but said nothing.

“It’s hot in here,” she said. “Is your air conditioning working?”

“It’s fine.”

“Maybe it’s just me. I probably should have something to drink,” she said expectantly.

As our nightly visits had become more regular, I had started buying her a couple of beers. We would flirt for a while, and then she would leave. The thought of continuing those games suddenly disgusted me.

“That’s up to you,” I said.

Her mouth opened in mock shock, then she hit me softly on the shoulder with her open hand. “You’re not going to buy me something?”

“Nope.”

This time there was nothing mocking about the look on her face. Her surprise was genuine, but she quickly tried to hide it behind another one of her smiles. “Is my cousin here tonight?”

“Haven’t seen her,” I said.

“Is Larry still here?”

“Haven’t seen him, either.”

“I see, I see,” she said. “Maybe they went out of town.”

“Maybe.”

We sat in silence for several minutes, me doing my best to ignore her, and Mariella occasionally glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, probably trying to figure out why I was acting so different.

“Maybe we can go out of town sometime,” she finally said, smiling playfully and turning in her stool so her leg rubbed up against mine.

I stood up. “I don’t see that happening.”

I walked across the room and greeted a couple of customers I recognized. When I looked back at the bar, Mariella was gone. As far as I know, she never set foot in The Lounge again.

•    •    •

About a month later, I received a call from Larry. It was only the third time he’d ever phoned when he wasn’t in town. I was at work, and when I looked at my cell phone, I didn’t recognize the number. But I could tell it was from the States, so I went ahead and answered.

I didn’t recognize Larry’s voice right away, so I asked who it was.

“It’s Larry,” he said.

“Larry? Oh, sorry,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” There was a moment when neither of us spoke. I was on the verge of telling him I was sorry for how I’d acted the last time we’d talked, when he spoke first. “How’s Isabel?”

“She seems fine,” I said. “She told me about her new apartment. Your doing, I suppose.”

He hesitated before he spoke. “It was necessary.” His words were measured, as if he were unsure where I stood as far as Mariella was concerned.

“Getting her away from her cousin was probably the best thing you could have done for her,” I told him.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, sounding relieved. “She hasn’t been around has she?”

“Who? Mariella?”

“Yes.”

“She came by once or twice,” I said.

“Did she talk to Isabel?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “But hurry back. I think she misses you more than usual.”

“As soon as I can.”

After we hung up, I realized I hadn’t apologized. I promised myself the next time I saw him, I would buy him a beer and do just that.

•    •    •

“I’d only been in the apartment for six weeks,” Isabel said. “No one ever visited me there. Only Larry.”

The night had become quiet. While in other parts of Boracay there would be drinking and dancing and singing until dawn, at my hotel, most of the guests were asleep. We were sitting on the edge of the pool now, our legs dangling in the warm water. The fresh scent of the earlier rain shower still hung in the air.

Isabel looked up at the night sky. “I never wanted to have anyone but Larry there. It was our place, and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“That’s why you never invited me over,” I said.

When she answered, her voice was serious. “Yes. That’s why.” She glanced at me, then looked back at the sky. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”

“No,” she said. “I should have offered to show you. After she’d been there, what did it matter?”

“Mariella?”

She nodded.

We sat that way for several minutes, looking at the stars, lost in our thoughts.

“What happened?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I let her back into my life.”

•    •    •

It wasn’t quite that easy, but essentially, that’s what happened. Mariella appeared at her doorstep, her eyes dark and tired, her smile missing. Her head was even bowed slightly, as if she expected Isabel to slam the door in her face.

Isabel should have, but couldn’t. Mariella was family.

“I’m sorry,” Mariella said. “You should hate me, but I hope you don’t. I’ve only been trying to help you, but sometimes, maybe, I was not right. You can forgive me for that, can’t you? I…I know you found your box.” She paused. “It was wrong of me to cut up the pictures, but I was so mad and hurt, I couldn’t help myself. Please, Isabel, please. I ask that you forgive me. Look.” She held up the soft-sided suitcase she was carrying. “Your clothes.”

“My clothes?” Isabel said, confused. “I thought you threw them away.”

“Why would you think such a thing? I was only having them cleaned for you. See? They are all here.”

She set the bag on its side and unzipped it. Inside were all Isabel’s clothes, clean and folded.

“I knew you would want these,” Mariella told her. “When you didn’t come to get them, I thought I’d bring them to you.”

She zipped the case back up and pushed it toward Isabel.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Isabel told me she had never seen Mariella look so miserable, and she couldn’t help thinking her cousin was genuinely remorseful. But then Isabel thought about what Larry had told her about that night when she was asleep and he was alone with Mariella.

She picked up the suitcase and moved it inside the apartment. “Thank you for bringing these to me,” she said. Then, with more courage than she had ever mustered in her life, she shut the door.

•    •    •

Mariella didn’t give up. She came back the next day, this time bringing lunch. Isabel declined, but again the look in Mariella’s eyes momentarily softened her. 

The fourth time Mariella showed up, Isabel relented and let her come in. They split a soda—it was the only drink Isabel had—and sat on the couch talking about family. Isabel even found herself laughing at one of her cousin’s stories.

Day by day they began to rebuild their relationship. Isabel rationalized it as being respectful of her mother and her aunt, Mariella’s mother, but also promised herself she would be careful how close they got. Still, by the end of a few weeks, it was almost like they were back to where they were before.

Whenever their conversation veered in the direction of Larry, one of them would change the topic. Isabel did it because she was glad she could reconnect with her cousin and didn’t want to ruin things, and Mariella because, as it turned out, it just wasn’t time yet.

When Isabel talked to Larry, she never mentioned Mariella. She knew he would be upset. Her plan was to talk about it during his next visit. She figured in person it would be easier to make him understand. So when he asked her if she had talked to her cousin, she would say something like, “Don’t worry so much,” or, “I’m doing what you told me to do—being in charge of my life.” If he realized she was evading his question, he never said anything.