Bar Girl

Chapter 11. 'Two-Tit Body-shot.'

Remittances from abroad. Hotel on Perimeter Road robbed. Daddy's birthday party. Tequila shooters. More Nick. The first two rules.

The following morning, Blen carefully washed her heavily stained costume. Taking the laces from the corset and the veil from the hat, she laid them flat in the basin to soak in soapy water for a couple of hours. Then, with great care, she rinsed them thoroughly, gently rubbing where necessary. Pulling them into shape, she laid them flat on a towel placed on the bed, to dry. In early afternoon when the sun broke through, she hung them outside and the hot sun completely dried the flimsy material in an hour. Finally, she folded the costume carefully, doused it with her favourite perfume, and placed it in the back of her locker.

"What will you do with those clothes?" asked Anabel.

"I do not know. I like them. I will keep them for special," Blen told her.

In the afternoon, there was a caller. A smartly dressed man, accompanied by a thick set, inscrutable-faced gentleman, asked for Amor. It was her door-to-door remittance. ID was required, she then counted her remittance, signed for receipt, and showed the others.

"Danny has send me 10,000 pesos."

The weather relented that Friday, and the sky was clear and starry as the girls went to work. Even as they walked up Field's Avenue a lift in the mood was apparent. Foreigners frequented the streets and the door girls stood outside the bars encouraging them to come in. Street vendors were out in force, insistently peddling their wares. Viagra, porn videos, umbrellas, sunglasses, sandals, knives, bows, cigarettes and chewing gum were popular offerings. Other goods and services were either on offer, or could be obtained on request. An early foretaste of high season was in the air, and the girls burst into Talent Spot with high-hopes of bar-fines. Several clusters of customers already sat in the bar.

Daddy had picked up the vibe. He walked back and forth in the changing room, encouraging the girls. "It looks like it'll be a good Friday night. Smile at the customers, make them feel welcome. If you land a bar-fine tonight, you may well be set up 'till Monday. It'll be a good weekends work for you. Be good girls and fill my till, fill my till."

Mama approached Girlie. "You can start to use the booth again. But be discrete. I will place two waitresses to warn you, just in case there is trouble. No blow-job signs, but you can approach westerners at their tables. Just whisper. Do not approach Asians. If there are Japanese, I will speak with them."

She then reminded all the girls that there was to be no nudity or lewdness in the bar. The word bar-fine was not to be used and no offers to provide sexual services were to be shouted from the stage. Any offending girl would be sent home, without pay.

The evening was orderly and busy. Blen diligently approached every customer and, with a smile, delivered her sales patter. Since there was a party mood, if rather subdued, she made some sales to the more festive customers - but without the offer of body shots, it was a more difficult sale. Several of her customers came in, and she explained that she was not giving blow-jobs for the time being, and instead promoted Girlie's suck n' fuck service. One or two asked for Girlie to be brought to their table.

In mid-evening, a couple of customers entered. When they were settled and the waitress had bought them their drinks, Blen approached with the offer of inexpensive tequila shots.

"Line us up two each," the fat one told her, "I need a few stiff drinks."

"It has been a hard day, Siir?" enquired Blen, as she prepared the shots.

"We've just come from the police station, been there for hours."

"Have you been arrest?" Blen suspected they had been ripped off.

"No. We've been making statements, for what that's worth. We've been robbed."

She remembered the statement she had given as witness to the fatal accident, so she knew the worth of a statement. "Is it the snatchers in St Maria, Siir?"

"No. Not a street robbery. We were robbed in our hotel. Just where we thought we would be safe?" said the fat man.

"In your hotel. Which is that?"

"We're at the Amerigo, up Perimeter Road,"

"But it is a big hotel. I know it. It has a guard. How can you be robbed?"

The fat man took his first shot, then continued, "It was highly organised. There were eight of them. They were in police uniforms and carrying M16 carbines. They walked the guard inside before he realised it was a trick, and disarmed him. Lucky for him. They had a lot of firepower. They locked the doors and herded the staff into a room. They then went from room to room knocking, and brought all the guests into the same room. There were fourteen of us. The first thing they did was demand our cell phones, so we couldn't call for help."

His thin companion said, "Just as well. If the police had turned up while they were there, there would have been a shoot out with automatic weapons. We would have been hostages."

"I was shitting myself," said the fat man, "I was waiting for the firing to start. They were in no hurry. They took their time and demanded that we empty our pockets. They took us to our rooms, one at a time, to turn out our possessions. They took all our valuables, but left our credit cards and passports, they were smart and didn't want anything traceable, thank God."

"Must have been an hour, hour and a half," added the thin man, "they just left us all locked in the room. We were let out by the late shift staff. By the time the alarm was raised they were long gone."

The fat man continued, "Then the police took us all to the station to make statements ... that was chaos. After all that, they tell us that this gang is known. They're professional robbers working mostly around Manila. They had a description of one of their vehicles, and a partial plate number, which may have been fake, but at least we have a crime report and crime number for our insurance."

"I don't think the local police intend to do much. They were just happy that no one was hurt, and said they will pass the report to the Manila police who are after the gang," added his friend.

"I've still got an adrenaline rush," said the fat man, "I've got a survivor's high. Now I have some cash, I want to party. You're a pretty girl. Can we get a body shot or two?"

"There is a problem tonight, Siir. There is no body shots, because of the police?" Blen told them.

"Aw heck, I was hoping to have a little fun, to take my mind of this afternoon."

"It is possible," said Blen leaning forward. "See that girl there." She pointed out Girlie. "She can go with you in the booth in the back. She will do short-time ... a suck n'fuck ... it is five ladies drinks only. Would you like her to sit with you?"

"Sure, bring her over," said the fat man, "she looks cute, I could have fun with her."

Blen waved Girlie over. "This is Girlie. Girlie, these guys like to sit with you."

They left for home without Precious, who had worked her adhesive charm on another customer. Amor had a quiet evening, deciding against shabu because she might get too wild for Mama if she took it, and lingered inconspicuously at the back of the line-up. Anyway, she had paid off her credit, and still had 13000 pesos in her locker. She felt no need to strive. For the first time since she had arrived in Angeles, she was free of financial worries.

That morning, when Blen curled up with Amor, both fell into a contented and peaceful sleep.

Over the weekend the weather stayed dry and sunny; the late afternoon rain lasted only an hour or two before the sky cleared. Saturday and Sunday nights were busier than usual for the time of year without bursting into life. Mama-san Joline still languished in jail. The NBI officers were ambiguous in their statements, and the prosecutor decided to leave the matter to be decided by the court. A cloud still hung over Field's Avenue, and the guidelines were, more or less, adhered to.

On Saturday, Blen received two calls.

The first was from Bruno, angry that she had not texted her measurements. She, reluctantly, promised again, and with the help of the other girls and a tape measure, sent the required information.

The second was from Jesusa, who confirmed that her father had received the remittance, and all necessary school fees had been paid. She had bought her uniforms today, and would attend her first day at the private school on Monday.

On Monday, the smart gentleman with the menacing friend turned up again at the lady-house, bringing another remittance for Amor.

"Another 10,000 pesos!" she waved the notes for her housemates to see. She confided to Blen, "That is for last Thursday, Danny send me extra."

"Now you need a bank account, like Precious," suggested Girlie.

"I do. I will open it today."

Amor, Girlie and Blen, set off down MacArthur Highway in the jeepney, and got off opposite the bank. They crossed the road, and entered. Amor followed the same procedure as precious had, and deposited 20,000 pesos, leaving 10,000 jingling in her pocket. She earmarked 5000 to remit home. They took the jeepney back to Fields.

"What is the time?" asked Girlie.

Blen looked at her watch. It reminded her of Nick. She had tried to put him out of her thoughts, but whenever she sneaked into the shower to masturbate, and the face of the foreigner who ravished her became distinct, it was Nick's face. "It is half-past-three."

"Then we can cook."

They discussed what to eat, and Girlie and Blen went to buy meat and vegetables from the stalls, Amor headed back to Johnnie's Supermarket to buy some sweet luxuries to celebrate her bank account.

A large pot of rice was prepared, together with a selection of fish, pork and chicken dishes to accompany it. All their housemates were invited to join in the meal. Afterwards, Amor passed around boxes of chocolates and other sweets. Never, in Desbilla, had they enjoyed such a feast. Three meat dishes and chocolates. But, with the help of their remittances, the girls knew that their families would eat some meat with their vegetables and rice, as well as buying an education for the children and medicine for their grandparents.

The evening also brought good news. Mama-san Joline had been released. Details filtered in throughout the evening as news was carried back and forth, up and down Fields and Perimeter. Joline had appeared in court and her counsel had moved to dismiss for want of evidence. The girls had retracted their affidavits and he submitted that the agents had entrapped the girls. The judge read the statements from the NBI officers and the girls. She concluded that there was conflicting evidence, so she could not be satisfied that the girls were not entrapped. The officers' evidence could not be admitted, and there was no case to answer. The case was dismissed.

Papa-san Rod and Mama-san Joline were leaving for her province tomorrow and would be married next week. Chez Mama would remain closed for the time being, but would reopen in November. The bar owners and managers were relieved at this news, and almost immediately the guidelines began to be circumvented in small ways, as business-as-usual resumed.

Tomorrow was Daddy's Birthday Party, and banners were hung at the front of the bar advertising free food, cheap drinks, and various entertainments. Every customer was handed a flyer, and girls were despatched into Fields Avenue to walk up and down distributing them.

By Tuesday, the rains had returned again. The morning and early afternoon were fine, but the sky clouded over and the cloud thickened until late afternoon when heavy rain fell for a couple hours, then eased. However, the cloud remained, and fine drops of rain continued to drift down.

Talent Spot's door girls were dressed in party hats, and blew kazoos. Balloons and streamers decked the door, and a large banner, proclaiming Happy Birthday Daddy Don, hung above it. A colourful chalkboard, set up adjacent to the door, listed the evening's offerings: extended happy-hour, free drinks, free food, and competitions for the girls. Inside, a well-practised crew had transformed the bar into party mode. Balloons, streamers, mobiles and lanterns hung from the ceilings. The waitresses all wore party accessories - hats, and badges bearing the legend, Happy Birthday. Arranged on a table were trays of buffet food wrapped in cling film.

It was the freebies that drew in the customers. In order for the evening to be profitable, it was necessary that customers arrived early, stayed late, bought a lot of drinks, and left with a girl. Daddy would put himself about greeting and glad-handing the customers, and striking up an instant familiarity. The freebies would draw the customers in, but it was the personal connection, even if of short duration, which would keep the customers there to celebrate Daddy's Birthday, and Daddy has mastered the necessary skills many years ago. That was step one. But, the customers would not stay if there was nothing else to keep them. After they had had their freebies, there needed to be something more. They had to believe that the experience in Talent Spot would be better than the experience down the road. The extended happy-hour, when they could buy half price drinks, kept them seated longer, and drinking more. Daddy would distribute free drinks personally, confiding in the customers, reinforcing the bond. Once the customers had drunk enough to get a glow-on, a virtuous cycle would set in. They would see the girls through beer goggles, and develop a maudlin attachment to Daddy. They would become dis-inhibited, and anxious to demonstrate their appreciation of their new friend, Daddy, and these beautiful girls. Daddy would casually talk about the girls, and point them out. He would offer to make introductions. The girls would come and sit with the customers. They would be bought ladies drinks. If all went well, they would leave with the customer at the end of the evening.

The bottom line, however, was that the customers were there to have fun with the girls. They came to look at the girls, and choose a partner. That is the reason why the costumes were skimpy, and the dances consisted of simple, but classic, invitations to court. This invitation to look, piques interest, and stimulates a desire to see more, and then, inevitably, to the desire to touch. This suited the customers, and it suited the girls. It did not suit the authorities. So far, and no further, was the rule. Such rules suppress the party spirit, and can turn a promotional event from a profit into a loss.

Mama was relieved that Joline had been discharged, and reviewed the house rules. For the party to succeed, some relaxation was necessary. Through back channels, she had ascertained that no activity was to be expected from the local officials and police, and there was no indication of planned NBI activity.

When Blen and her friends entered there were a good number of customers present. Daddy stood schmoozing with a group sitting at a table.

"Haappeee Biiirthdaay Daddeee," the girls chorused, as they approached.

"Hi girls," he greeted them, then turning to the customers said, "This is the night shift, there're some gems here."

As they passed, the girls smiled and waved flirtatiously at the customers, each picking out the guy who interested her most as a focus. These little contacts, these little expressions of interest, were important tools in the bar girls' art of seduction.

Mama called all the late shift girls together.

"So far, the party is going well. We have happy-hour for another two hours, and you must keep the customers here. That is your job. Joline has been release from jail, so we can relax a little now. If you have a wardrobe accident you will not be sent home. Blen, you can start doing body shots again, and I want you, Amor, to be a shooters girl also, for tonight. We will have a lot of customers, so try and sell a lot of shots. A quarter-of-an-hour before the end of happy-hour ... I will tell you when ... I want you to take of your tops. Keep moving around from table to table. Make sure all the customers see you. Then they will think there is more to come, and the next event is the competitions after ten. Girls, if you are ask for a ladies drink, tell the customer that there are competitions later, let them believe it will be very sexy. Remember you are selling the promise of things to come. Tell them that after midnight there will be dirty dancing, but do not tell them what it is. You must keep them in the bar."

With this brief, the night shift went to work.

Blen and Amor stood before the mirror and transformed themselves into twin cowgirls, then spread out around the bar to pitch the customers.

The economics of tequila shooters was very simple. Local tequila was very cheap and tasted every bit as bad as the Mexican variety, since the Spanish had shuttled between Mexico and the Philippines for several hundred years bringing their acquired tastes with them. Tequila shots are shot-gunned, the idea being that the alcohol is passed through the mouth before the taste buds can protest, the after-taste is then cloaked by sucking a piece of lemon or lime coated with salt. All the ingredients are very cheap, and it provides a way to get a glow-on very quickly. This practice, of rapidly downing shots of alcohol to suppress social anxiety, is common in the alcohol-drinking world. It is disguised as a social ritual, so no stigma is attached. There are many recipes and many rituals, and it is a common element of teenage parties.

In the bar, it was the shooters girl who afforded the socially anxious, who wanted to come out of their shell, the opportunity to do so without incurring any stigma. By shot-gunning shooters, not only did they get loaded quickly, they visibly entered into the party spirit, and if they took a body shot, they became the party spirit itself.

Amor had her own way of shedding social anxiety. She downed a couple of 'pick-me-ups' in the CR.

Blen and Amor had the task of facilitating the transition from cold customer, to party animal. They would greet the customers warmly and ask if they were enjoying their evening. After establishing a little rapport, they would describe their offer.

"Are you ready for a shooter yet," Blen would ask, "They are 50 pesos only.

"If you buy four for 150, you can take a body shot on me, also. "If you buy one for me, for 100p, I will take a body shot on you. "If you buy the girl a ladies drink, you can have a body shot with any girl of your choice. Is there a lady that interest you?" She would wave her hand across the stage.

Business was brisk. 'four and a body shot', was her best seller. Undoing her top to expose her breasts, she would line up four glasses and pour the shots, then prepare the lemon and salt. The customer would take his first three shots, licking his salt and biting his slice of lemon, after each. This would shock and heighten his senses. When he was fully alert, Blen would rub the lemon on each of her nipples, and sprinkle them with salt. The customer would take his last shot, and then clamp his mouth on one of Blen's nipples and lick off the salty juice, then move to the other and repeat the process. There was no hurry, he could take as long as he liked.

Blen and Amor kept circulating. As the customers became a little less uptight, they became more receptive, so a second or third visit to their table might prove productive. A shooters girl did, however, require a good head for alcohol.

For many customers, it was the thought of Blen's lips and tongue working on their nipples which appealed, and they would buy a shot for her. Blen would lift their shirt, sensuously rub the lemon onto their nipples, and salt them. After taking her shot, she then licked this off, with a practised technique. Count to fifteen on each nipple. Suck first, then flick the nipple with stiffened tongue, then big round circles around the nipple with her tongue and repeat, and finally take the nipple gently between the teeth and tug it.