Bar Girl

'A Grand Climax.'

The Rules. The Treasure Chests. The Auction. The Resolution.

By midday on Sunday, the typhoon had moved to the west, and the sky was white with thinning cloud. Soft rain fell through the still air. Blen and Nick set off from the hotel at half-past-one, and walked towards Blow Row, up Surla St, where Blen spotted Precious's customer sitting in a trike outside Hygiene, and popped in to speak with her.

Precious said her customer would fly home at midnight, and she would accompany him to the airport that evening, then return directly to Talent Spot to share any good news. Blen explained that they were off to Talent Spot to see what rules there would be for the sale of her cherry. With a hug, and mutual best wishes, they parted again.

Nick and Blen continued up to Blow Row, turned right and walked up towards the pedestrianised zone. The cocktail lounges on Blow Row were well populated, with girls soliciting every foreigner as he made his way along the thoroughfare. A good number of customers sat inside, or at the frontage, ready for their day, sipping coffee or beer, and making a leisurely choice of the girl to take the edge off his libido before he bar-hopped. At Fields Ave, they entered the pedestrianised zone, turned right again and walked down to Talent Spot. Some bars were open, and some were preparing to open.

Talent Spot was a two-pm bar, so when Nick and Blen entered Mama was making the last preparations before opening. They sat up on the bench seats and watched. The girls clustered below stage in their costumes, and chirruped like a flock of parrots. Various housekeeping tasks were being carried out, and the tables assigned to waitresses.

Daddy came out from the rear, and looked at his watch. His chin shot up. He bawled, "Why don't we have music? Why aren't the girls dancing? It's two-o'clock."

Mama clapped her hands and called to the girls. The dancers hurried slowly to funnel up the stairs onto the stage, though some clambered straight over the stools. After a short pause, the loud, canned music started up, and the girls moved disinterestedly to the music while continuing their conversations. Daddy walked to the door and shooed the door girls outside, then followed to ensure that Talent Spot appeared open.

Jordan was the first bidder to arrive. He saw Blen and Nick, and came to sit with them.

"Hi Blen, who's here?"

"Just my boyfriend," said Blen looking at Nick.

"Hi, I'm Jordan," he offered his hand to Nick, "You're a lucky guy. She's some girl. Are you bidding?"

Nick shook his hand. "I'm Nick. I've bought the right of first-refusal."

"Mmmmm. Smart move. But Mama tells me there's some financial heavyweights in the frame. I hope you don't have to mortgage the farm, though she'd be worth it. Good luck."

On seeing an unaccompanied male, some of the dancers lost interest in their collocutors and performed with a little verve, moving to a space where Jordan could see them. When, a few minutes later, Hu-Fan, Mr Chew and his nurse entered, the whole array of dancers blossomed with interest and hope into eager working girls. Mr Chew moved slowly, with the assistance of his nurse. They joined Blen's party, and Blen introduced the Chinese to the other two, and vice versa. Hu-Fan translated, and smiles and nods were exchanged.

Mr Chew spoke earnestly with his nurse, who looked intently from Nick to Jordan and spoke at length in Chinese. Mr Chew nodded his head as she spoke, and eventually smiled.

Mama came over to the table and greeted everyone. "Bruno will arrive shortly, then we will go into the rear, meanwhile please have any complimentary drink of your choice."

Blen included herself in the invitation, and ordered a Slippery Nipple. The Chinese ordered Jack Daniels, and Jordan and Nick, San Miguel light.

Shortly, Bruno appeared, slinking into the bar looking tense and combative. Perfunctory greetings were exchanged, except with Blen, who did not look at him. A waitress fetched him a bottle of mineral water, and he took an interest in the dancers who brightened in response. Jordan maintained a desultory conversation with Nick, and Hu-Fan with Mr Chew, until Mama came to invite them to the rear, and they all rose in relief and followed her.

A table had been set up for the meeting, but owing to space restrictions and the number of people who needed to be there at any time, there were not enough seats for everyone. Mr Chew, Hu-Fan, Jordan, Nick, Bruno and Mama sat. Blen stood behind Nick, arms on his shoulders, and Mr Chew's nurse stood behind him.

Mama took out the page with the two existing rules on it. "So far, this is what is written down," she said, and read from the sheet.

Mr Chew was disconcerted by the first rule, but Hu-Fan asked some questions to clarify and, after a little conversation, it was agreed.

The second rule encapsulated Bruno's requirements, and was further elaborated, mostly at his insistence.

"When, where and how?" he then demanded, "We do not yet know that."

"Daddy have make this arrangement, subject to your approval," said Mama. "There is a bar on Perimeter Road, which has been close, but reopen on Friday night; it open from twelve-am to ten-pm; it is a secure bar, and the manager have agree to a lock-in at ten. When the bar is close, with all interested parties inside, then an auction will be held. I have decide that a public auction is the fairest way."

"Will you advertise?" asked Bruno.

"Up to the auction," said Mama.

"You must be mad. There should be no more publicity, no attention, nothing to arouse suspicion or invite police attention. A public auction is ridiculous."

"Bruno is right," said Jordan," you have all the real players. If you go public, you'll pull in tire kickers and penny bidders. It should just be between us three. If you invite attention, I for one, am out."

"Very well," said Mama, "there will be no further bidders. It will be a private auction between the three named parties, and there will be no further publicity."

"This must be a cash auction," said Bruno. "Payment must be made, in cash, immediately on conclusion of the auction, by the winning bidder. If full payment is not made, all his bid monies will be forfeit, and the under bidder's bid shall be accepted."

"How do you arrange that?" enquired Nick.

Bruno thought. "All bidding monies must be held in escrow by Mama-san. No forfeit bid will be returned. Our treasure chests must be handed to Mama before the bidding begins."

"My treasure chest will not leave my sight," said Hu-Fan.

"We can place them where they can be seen at all times; the bidders will place them there, and no one may touch them until there is a winning bid, then, the winner must immediately count out the amount of the winning bid in the presence of the other bidders," said Mama.

After a short discussion, all agreed to this.

"Can we pay in any currency?" asked Nick.

This discussion took longer. Eventually it was agreed that bidding would be in pesos, but payment could be made in pesos, dollars or Euros, conversion into pesos being made at the rate prevailing at Norma's Money Changer, at six-pm, on the day of the auction.

"We need to decide when," said Hu-Fan, "Mr Chew's health is unstable. He wishes to proceed as soon as possible."

"Will everyone have their money by Friday?" asked Mama.

All nodded.

"OK. Wait, I will speak to Daddy Don." She went outside and a few minutes later, returned. "Daddy has made a call. Saturday is the earliest day."

They all agreed. The rules were drawn up by Mama and signed by Mama, Bruno, Jordan on behalf of Jack, and Hu-Fan on behalf of Mr Chew. The group then gravitated into the bar and dispersed, leaving just Nick and Blen.

"It seems so long since I've been in a bar," said Nick, "can I just sit here and look at the girls for a while?"

"It is up to you. You are the boss," said Blen, "or, do you want to come in your hotel and look at me," she added meaningfully.

"OK," said Nick.

Back in Nick's hotel room, Nick and Blen took stock.

"Do you have a plan ready?" asked Blen.

"The plan is simple; I exercise my right of first-refusal. All I lack is the money, but I have six days. I'm working on it."

"Maybe it is too late now. It is 2 million pesos, maybe more," said Blen.

"That's 50,000 dollars. Say, the price of a nice car. I reckon I'd trade a nice car for a bright smile, a generous heart and a pussy with zero miles on the clock. Shit, you can't even fuck a car."

"Why is a pussy with zero miles cost so much. Amor has a bright smile and generous heart. Precious also. Many girls."

"All I can tell you is that it's not worth a bent cent to me. It's what's in their imagination, whatever that is, that has value to them," said Nick.

"Then why will you pay for my cherry?"

"Because, it's my present for you. In your imagination it's as important as it is to Bruno or Mr Chew, so I'll pay for it as a gift for you."

"And it is important to me because it will be my gift to you," said Blen.

"And I would rather have a bent cent."

"With a gift, it is the thought that counts, and I think you will like my cherry."

"What did you think when you sold it to Mama," asked Nick, "Then you thought it was worth no more than Girlie's or Amor's and you were glad of 22,000 pesos."

"Then I thought it was a free gift that could pay my sister's education. But I hate Bruno, so then I think it is worth to pay, not to give to him. Then I fall in love, now I think it is worth to pay, to give it to you."

"It's all too complicated for me. I can see why Jack wants your cherry; he can calculate his profit to the cent. Mr Chew believes he will hold his grandson in his arms. Bruno is odd. What's his interest? If it floats his boat, for a few thousand pesos he could find a girl to deflower on a wedding dress every night."

"Bruno love me. He does not love another girl," said Blen, "that is why he like my cherry, that is why you should like my cherry also. Maybe Bruno love me more than you love me."

"He certainly loves you differently. You'll have to be content with that," said Nick, unhappy with the turn the conversation had taken.

Nick's life was now very tedious. Without spending money, not much exciting or interesting happens. His day started well, waking up with Blen to a lovers' tryst. After that, long empty hours stretched before him requiring to be filled, his craving to be purposefully occupied sedated only by Blen's comforting companionship. Often, he would go with Blen to the lady-house for an hour or two, then to an inexpensive karenderia to eat, then walk the streets, the markets, the malls, until darkness approached, finally returning to his hotel. When Blen left for work, he would lie on his bed and watch TV programmes delivered in an unintelligible language, often dozing off, awaiting Blen's return.

After several weeks of repetitious days, the prospect of public controversy was irresistible. At half-past-one on Wednesday, Nick and Blen made their way up Fields Avenue to attend the 'Town Hall' meeting called to discuss the closure to traffic of Fields Avenue and surrounding areas.

By two, a large crowd had assembled in the roadway at the junction of Fields and Blow Row. There were a great many interested parties; the bar owners, their association, the shop owners, the trike drivers and the Trike Owner Drivers Associations. These TODAs, provided transport from Fields, Perimeter and A Santos, and the members paid for the right to earn their living. Their catchments were severely dislocated by the closure. A great many of the idle and the curious, including Nick and Blen also, attended.

The crowd milled restlessly as the street vendors, attracted by the crowd, moved amongst them pushing their wares. Many onlookers took advantage of the proximity of Poco Jo's to grab a cold drink and engage in a private debate. Nick and Blen stood in the street amongst the crowd, and listened to their fears and complaints. No explanation had been given for the sudden closure of Fields. Traffic management in the area had long been discussed, without any significant progress being made.

Pedestrianisation of Fields Avenue had been proposed as a way making the street safe for inebriated tourists as they bar-hopped, but that had been suggested from dusk, and no traffic diversion plan had been devised. The prevailing belief was that the recent precipitate action had resulted from intelligence that Fields Avenue was targeted for terrorist bombing.

Different views had developed amongst those whose livelihoods depended on the hospitality industry. The Bar owners and operators, largely ex-pats, were anxious to discount the terrorist threat, which would be fatal to tourism, but wanted to implement reasonable precautions. Their plan was to agree an arrangement which would protect Fields from car bombs, while being capable of being passed off as a long planned improvement for the benefit of tourists. Others, the Filipinos who made their living from providing transport and services ancillary to the bars, whose lives were in any event precarious and for whom the added prospect of being blown up by terror bombs added little to the uncertainty of their existence, wanted little to change.

Two-fifteen came and went, and the mayor and police chief failed to arrive. The crowd still waited at two-thirty, so the TAAC president and lawyer launched a public discussion in their absence, albeit doing no more than facilitating the powerless to speak unto the powerless. At three, the mayor, the police chief, and the new Angeles Office NBI Director, at last appeared. They were reluctant to explain why Fields Ave had been pedestrianised at such short notice, which implicitly confirmed many people's suspicions, but no one felt it in the interest of the hospitality industry to pursue their suspicions too far. A grand, but vague plan, for a pedestrianised tourist precinct was outlined, and when the question of finance was raised, it became even vaguer.

Drinks, and a platter of delicacies, were provided for the eminent guests. Various morsels were set around a side of honey-roasted pork, the traditional Filipino offering to honoured guests. Such was the lack of organisation, that the platter passed the satellites before reaching the guest of honour. The mayor looked resentfully at the police chief and NBI Director, as they chomped on plates of pork crackling, while he and the others chewed on less prized slices of meat and fat.

Little was explained, and little achieved at the meeting, and by four it dispersed. Nick had enjoyed the company and the drama. As a prospective returning tourist, he had been pleased to offer opinions and advice, and had happily glad-handed the civic officials and business people and exchanged his business card for theirs. 9000 miles away, these were people he would have done business with, and he enjoyed rehearsing his business patter, probing and sizing up, sifting and weeding in the network, looking for business and business partners. Blen stood silently, decoratively and dutifully by Nick, listening and watching, impressed at his skill in presenting himself, establishing and defining a relationship, leading the conversation, then without offence, and with mutual complicity, moving on to a new prospect. When they walked back down Fields Avenue, she clutched his arm and held him tight, so as to leave it beyond question to any roving female eyes that he was not just a customer, he was her boyfriend.

When she returned from work, she sat on Nick's bed and said, in a resigned tone, "It is late now, I must accept my fate. I do not mind that you cannot buy my cherry."

Nick sat by her and looped a comforting arm around her. "We haven't yet reached the end of the road. I still have some numbers to call and favours to be returned. Tomorrow'll be a busy day. I'll need to get on the phone and use my charm. We'll get a copy of your contract with Mama and read the small print, we'll just keep pitching, we'll explore every avenue; if I can't buy your cherry it won't be because we left a possibility unexplored."

The following morning, Blen sat and listened as Nick worked his phone, flitting from party to party, charmingly reviving long forgotten obligations, exploring possibilities, obtaining useful contacts, slowly shaping opportunities, and homing in on a strategy. A simple country girl, unfamiliar with the ways of business, Blen was astounded at the brazenness with which Nick would call anyone, whether known to him or not, assume an easy familiarity, and plunge directly into a business proposition involving sums unimaginable to her. The number of ways of putting a value on assets, and raising money against them, amazed her. The number of ways a sum of money could be invested, and the speed at which a return could be achieved, amazed her more. High-risk investments, for large returns, were discussed as ways of leveraging his funds. What seemed like bets, with a little inside information, confided by a friend, became an investment.

When he had gathered his stake together, Nick phoned an old friend, and called in a long outstanding favour. He needed a share that was highly sensitive to particular information, and if that information was unfavourable, would be destined to fall precipitately in value, overnight. He needed to know the information, and how to plausibly leak it. The friend was wary. It was an old and familiar trick, he could make certain suggestions, but he could not personally participate. As he gave his advice, Nick took careful notes. When he hung up, Nick's plan was complete. It was audacious, but moving swiftly and decisively, as many other successful businessmen had done before him, he could, overnight, secure Blen's cherry, and a comfortable life besides. He did his calculations. He knew the share, he knew the information, he knew how and when to leak it. With a few clicks on his computer, he could trade on margins in a big way.

Nick sat with Blen and explained the plans, and the risks, but also the possible rewards, rewards which, with a little manipulation became certain. Blen listened intently, but became lost in the complexity.

When Nick finished, all Blen could say was, "That is not the Filipino way."

"Let's go and see Mama," said Nick.

Mama copied off the contract for Nick, and he and Blen went away to study it.

It was a long night. Nick had slept, but woke when Blen arrived at two-thirty-am. Blen then snoozed fitfully while he hunched over his computer and made occasional calls. At dawn, Blen rose and Nick walked with her, down MacArthur, to the church. After prayer, they stood at the Charity Box. Blen, wishing God's blessing on the enterprise, exacted a promise that if successful, ten-per-cent of the proceeds would go in the Charity Box.

Her spirits restored, with a confident heart, Blen instructed Nick to loosen the purse strings, and fill a basket with good things to provide a sumptuous breakfast for the lady-house. It was several hours before the girls rose, and Blen had ample time to prepare a tasty breakfast for all.

When they had eaten, Precious, Amor and Girlie called Blen and Nick into the bedroom, to speak privately.

"We must go now to the bank," said Precious, "we will draw our savings for you."

"Thank you," said Blen, "but we do not need your money, Nick has make a plan, and I have ask God's blessing ... his share is ten-per-cent. It is now God's will, and your money will not make the difference."

When the meal was finished, Nick called a taxi. First, they went to Hygiene, where Blen attended the Virgin Clinic for the last time, then continued down to Savers Mall where Nick bought a stout suitcase. They then went to a security firm, and procured the services of a 24hr armed guard for the next two days. Next, they went to the bank. Blen sat in the taxi while the guard stood at the bank door, and Nick entered with the suitcase. When he re-emerged, the guard escorted Nick to the taxi, and they were driven to the Wild Orchard hotel, where Nick had booked in for the night. He secured his suitcase, and the armed guard made himself comfortable in the room.