“An ex-pat,” Frank said, sounding impressed. “Lucky bastard. Where you from?”
“Arizona originally,” I said.
“I’ve been to Phoenix once,” Frank said. “I’m from Missouri. Jefferson City.”
We exchanged a handshake.
“Hey, Frank,” the Filipina he’d been playing pool with called out. “Your turn, honey. Hurry up so I can win.”
Frank shared a conspiratorial smile with us and said in a low voice, “I always let her win a few my first night back. Robbie, glad to see you’re in town. I’ll stop by The Lounge tomorrow night. And Jay, good to meet you.”
Frank turned and started walking back to his table. “Relax, baby. You ain’t won yet.”
As Robbie sat down, our waitress returned with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. Robbie said he’d have the shepherd’s pie, and I ordered a plate of sliders and a side of fries.
“Frank seems like a nice guy,” I said. “Known him long?”
“Seems like forever, but probably only two or three years. He flies to Manila for work every month or two. Always manages to squeeze in at least a few days here. A real asshole when he drinks too much, though.”
I took a sip of my beer. “He seemed surprised that you were in town.”
Robbie smiled. “I may own a bar, but I don’t actually live here. I’ve got a business back in Sydney. I’m lucky if I can carve out a week every couple of months to come up here. I make a lot more money there than I do with The Lounge.” He laughed. “But The Lounge is a hell of a lot more fun.”
He downed his whiskey like it was a shot, then motioned for the waitress to bring him another. “Actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve got an opening for a papasan, and I thought you might be interested. No real heavy lifting. Just make sure everything’s going smoothly. Hand out some free drinks now and then and keep the girls from fighting too much.”
“I don’t know,” I said. I won’t deny that I had a feeling this was what he wanted to talk about. But while I had to admit visiting Fields Avenue had broken up the sameness of my new life, making it a permanent addition to my daily schedule didn’t seem like such a good idea. “I don’t really need a job right now. What about Hal?”
“Already asked Hal,” Robbie told me. “He’s happy where he’s at. Says filling in part-time is about all he can handle. He’s the one who suggested you. It’s a great job. All the drinks you want for free. Mind you, I’d avoid dipping into the talent pool, if you know what I mean. The girls have a way of finding that stuff out. It’ll seem like you’re playing favorites, and that’s when you’d lose complete control.”
“Thanks, Robbie, but I’m going to have to say no.”
“You seem like a smart guy, Jay. I could really use a smart guy. My other two guys, Tommy and Doug, they’re okay, but not quite the brightest fellas around, know what I mean? I’d give you any shift you wanted. Daytime, night, whatever. I’d just feel better knowing there was someone here I could count on.”
“How do you know you could count on me?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know Hal, and Hal knows you. Says you’re one of the good ones.”
“I still have to say no,” I said. “I just don’t think that’s something I really want to do.”
“Do me a favor?” he asked.
“Depends on the favor,” I said.
“I’m here ’til Sunday. Think about if for a couple of days and get back to me. Would you do that for me?”
I shook my head. “I appreciate your persistence, but my answer’s not going to change.”
I’d love to say I told him no on moral grounds. That I thought maybe it was okay to come down every once in a while and watch the girls dance, maybe even buy them a drink now and then, but there was no way I would actively involve myself in selling flesh. I’d love to say that, but it would have been a lie. I think it was the idea of working again at anything that made me decline. In my mind that evening, I had retired and my time was my own.
Four boring days later, I called Robbie and told him yes.
CHAPTER SIX
Life has the tendency to fall into cycles and rhythms that go on for indeterminate amounts of time before they gradually, or sometimes suddenly, move into a new phase. If you wait long enough, they often come right back to the beginning.
Life on Fields was no different. We had our high seasons and our low seasons. There were good weeks and bad. Sometimes the girls were grooving to the same happy beat, and other times they were so out of sync with each other that I was lucky Armageddon didn’t descend on all of us. But all in all, life at The Lounge was far from bad.
In fact, there were aspects of that life I loved-my relationships with most of the girls, getting to know more members of the ex-pat community, the interaction with the tourists who passed through, at least the non-idiotic ones, for tourists seemed to come to Angeles in all forms. There were also aspects of the life that I was never comfortable with, the foremost being the Early Work Release. The bar fine.
Though it wasn’t the first term that came to my mind when I thought about my time as a papasan, what I had really been was a pimp. I had my girls, I took care of them, watched over them, listened to their problems, and sold them again and again, night after night.
I wasn’t sure how the other papasans on Fields handled this aspect of things. Some, I had heard, didn’t care at all and pushed their girls to go on EWR whenever the opportunity presented itself, thinking only of the money the bar made from its share of the fine and how good that would make them look. Others might have been as conflicted about it as I was, but I don’t really know. I never talked about it with anyone.
When I was on duty, every time a girl was asked to go out on an EWR, I’d take her aside and ask if she really wanted to go. Not surprisingly, they almost always said yes. The guy could have been a serial killer, and nearly half the girls would have still said, “Sure. No problem. I can handle myself.” It was all about the money. Money was everything. Since the moment they were born, money had been what was missing in their lives, and the lives of their families. And now, in a single night, they could make more than their family back in whatever province they came from could make in a month. A thousand pesos a night was not uncommon. So for what amounted to about eighteen dollars in the States, these girls were willing to risk their lives.
It wasn’t that they were stupid. You wouldn’t last long on Fields if you were stupid. It was a case of the here and now. A thousand pesos in their pockets tonight was better than the chance of two thousand pesos tomorrow. It was a grab-as-you-can attitude. But who could blame them? They were all supporting families back home, and probably an unemployed Filipino boyfriend somewhere in the city, and perhaps even a baby. Maybe two.
The real sad part was they seldom had any plans. Dreams, sure. The girls had tons of dreams. Going to college, working in an office in Manila, owning their own bar. Meeting a foreign guy, and getting the hell off this islands. But most of the time, dreams were all they were. Money earned was as good as money spent, if not by the girls themselves, then by their families on things they didn’t need, or by the boyfriend who took her cash to buy cigarettes or beer or a part for his motorcycle that never seemed to run right.
As much as I could, I encouraged them to save their money. I didn’t know if I got through to anyone. They always gave me a big smile, their eyes wide as if they were learning something truly important, but then the next day they’d be just as poor as ever.
About the only thing I could do was try to minimize as much as possible the chance they might get hurt. After a girl told me she wanted to go out on a bar fine, I’d go with her over to the guy and start up a little small talk. If he seemed like an asshole, I’d make some excuse, fill him up with free drinks and send him on his way alone. The girls would be disappointed, but they trusted my judgment. If the guy seemed okay, I’d let the girl go.