Usually I wouldn’t have even cared. The mystery would have remained a mystery, and I would have forgotten everything by the time I woke up the next afternoon. But the truth was, I liked the guy. There was something about him that made me feel comfortable. He didn’t want anything from me, and I didn’t want anything from him. I guess that’s how friendships are born. Real ones, anyway.
So I did something I had never done since working at The Lounge. When Nelly finished her drink, and before she could start angling for a new one, I said, “Why don’t you go dance for a while?”
My suggestion-command, actually-surprised her so much, she didn’t even react at first. Cathy was a few feet away trying not to laugh. She was a smart one and had picked up the same vibe I had. Nelly, on the other hand, was having a hard time processing it.
“Go on,” I said. “Larry and I need to talk.”
If I had been anyone but the papasan, she wouldn’t have left.
“Okay,” she said. She looked at Larry. “I’ll be back.”
He smiled but said nothing.
Her own smile faltered. That was the moment she realized she’d lost him. As she turned to leave, I could see her scanning the room looking for someone else to nuzzle up to.
“Thanks,” Larry said once she was gone.
“No problem.”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m not a papasan for nothing.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”
I heard the sound of a bottle being set on the bar behind me. I turned. Cathy was standing there, another bottle of Marzan sitting in front of her.
“How many more you got back there?” I asked, surprised.
She looked at me for what seemed like an entire minute, the right corner of her mouth creeping upward into a crooked smile. I thought for a moment that she might actually tell me, but instead she said nothing.
Larry raised his San Miguel. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I echoed, picking up my own bottle.
As I took a drink, I could feel Cathy still looking at me. She turned away as I glanced over, but not before I saw her look of mischief become one of resignation. This wasn’t the first time I’d noticed something similar.
I’d been single for a while by then, but the pain of Maureen was still with me. I guess I just didn’t want to believe anyone would actually be interested in me. Experience had taught me all my relationships ended, and usually with pain. I wasn’t ready to experience the pain again.
Around midnight, just after the dancers did their thing to “Love Shack,” one of the girls screamed. It wasn’t one of those mock screams you heard all the time in a place like The Lounge, the ones that came with guys and girls and sexual teasing. This was one of those that signaled anger and infuriation.
I was off my stool and heading around the bar, faster than my weight should have allowed. The scream had come from the direction of where the Marines were sitting, but my view was blocked by the stage. Most of the girls had stopped dancing, startled by the unusual noise.
As I raced around the end of the stage, I saw that the Marines’ party had grown to over a dozen. It took me a moment to realize the problem wasn’t actually with them.
Another guy was sitting a couple tables away. He was a bit older, maybe in his forties. He was sporting a comb-over and a small moustache, and had the smug look of a man who’d drunk enough to think he knew the answer to everything. Several feet away, her knees drawn up into her chest, sat Isabel. She was staring at the man, eyes blazing angrily. With one hand she seemed to be holding up the top of her bikini.
Two of the Marines had jumped up, and looked like they were ready to pummel the guy through the back of the cushion. As I arrived, I said, “Thanks, guys. I got this.”
They relaxed a little but didn’t immediately return to their table.
“What’s going on?” I asked the guy with the bad hair.
He snorted. “Nothing. Which, I’m sure you understand, is the problem.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“What kind of bullshit place is this?” the man asked. His accent ID’d him as a Brit. “Look, I come in, buy a couple drinks and expect to be entertained.” He glanced over at Isabel. “Your girl there doesn’t seem to understand her job.”
“And what exactly is her job?” I asked.
Comb-over rolled his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, all right? I’ve been coming to the Philippines for years. I could get you into a lot of trouble.”
I took a deep breath, then reached down and grabbed the man under his arms, yanking him to his feet. It wasn’t hard to do. He was actually a pretty small guy. I started pushing him toward the front door.
“Hey,” he said. “Let me go. You don’t want trouble with me.”
I stopped him, then moved my face in as close as I could without actually touching his. “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t. But when assholes like you come in here, you don’t give me much of a choice. If I were you, I’d get out of town.”
One member of my Marine backup team moved past me and opened the front door. I guided the asshole the rest of the way there, then pushed him outside. The moment he was gone, a loud cheer went up in the bar.
“Thanks,” I said to the helpful Marine.
“Nothing to thank me for. That was all you.”
One of his friends said, “I think that calls for a bell ring.”
Together they walked over and gave the bell a whack. Another cheer went up, and what started out as a potentially nasty situation turned into another Lounge party.
I looked over to make sure Cathy and the other bartenders were on top of the bell ring. Cathy gave me the “everything’s fine” wave, freeing me up to go check on Isabel.
Her position hadn’t changed, but she was no longer alone. Rina, one of our waitresses, was sitting next to her, her arm around Isabel’s shoulder. I walked over and sat on the other side.
“Did he hurt you?” I said.
“She’s okay, boss,” Rina said. “No problems.”
Rina, who seldom worked on my shifts and didn’t know me that well, was trying to protect Isabel in case I thought she was the problem.
“It’s okay,” I said to Rina. I looked at Isabel again. Some of the anger had begun to leave her eyes, but it wasn’t completely gone. What surprised me was, there were no tears. “The guy was an asshole. I just want to make sure he didn’t hurt you.”
“Only a scratch,” she said.
Hesitantly, she moved the hand I thought had been holding up her bikini, revealing a small scratch just above her left collarbone. I looked around. Lamie, one of the other dancers, was standing nearby.
“Go get a wet napkin from Cathy,” I told her.
I turned back to Isabel. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“He keep trying to touch me,” she said. “In places I don’t want him to, di ba? He said he bought me a drink, so it’s his right.”
“Did you tell him no?” I asked.
“Of course. Many times.” She paused. “When he try to pull off my top, that’s when I yell. I’m sorry, Papa. I know it’s my job, but I just didn’t like him.” A single tear escaped down her cheek, but, as far as I could remember, it was the only one all night.
Someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned, expecting to find Lamie with the napkin I’d asked for. Instead I found Larry standing there holding out a cup.
“Tea,” he said. “Maybe it will help.”
My thought was that tea was probably not strong enough, but Isabel reached forward and took the cup. “Thank you,” she told him.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said tentatively. “For what happened, I mean.”
Isabel shook her head. “It’s okay.” She took a sip of the tea.
“Do you want to go home?” I asked.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll be okay.”