He awoke at three on Sunday morning.
He swore violently for two minutes, switched off the TV, returned to bed and there drifted in and out of slumber, tossing and turning, knotting himself in the sheet, for five more hours.
At eight, he rose and showered. Fully rested, he was alert, confident and capable. After breakfast he rang the Angeles City Flying Club, and being told that everything was good-to-go, went out. The door guard hailed a trike and he set off down Field's Avenue, across the highway, and on and on, past the Expressway towards Manalang. The ride was long and bumpy, the roads grew smaller and less well maintained, but eventually he arrived.
The trike driver asked if he should wait. Trevor said he would be a couple of hours. He was surprised when the driver gave him a figure. He then understood why, two days before, his driver had accepted without demur 200 pesos for the short trip from Dau to Tropicana.
The flying club was part hotel, part airfield. Trevor was welcomed in a well-oiled routine, processed from reception into a push-propellered micro-light aircraft, sitting fore of his instructor. The little aircraft surged forward, rolled bumpily down a grazed runway, gained speed, then slowly rose into the air. Above the engine noise, and the voice of his instructor submerged in the static, Trevor could hear his heart thump. As the craft rose, it thumped faster.
His field of surveillance expanded to include thinly grassed fields, hedgerows, copses of spindly trees, orchards, sporadic collections of housing, waterways and lahar flows. The sun was full on, but the wind rushing over him kept him cool. Adrenaline surged through his veins and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Shortly, control was handed to him, and he began to get the feel of handling an aircraft in the air. It responded readily. He relaxed and soon enjoyed the euphoria of soaring like a bird, hanging in the wind above the earth, looking down at its beauty, a journey of an hour comprised in one glance.
Forty-five minutes later he made a closely supervised landing. Back on the ground Trevor remained figuratively as high as a kite. He lingered to look at aircraft, bought his instruction manual, and chatted in the bar with experienced pilots. He could feel himself metamorphosing from a prisoner in a self-spun chrysalis into a butterfly. Reluctantly, he tore himself away for the day. Back at Tropicana, he gave the trike driver the agreed amount, and a bit more on top. He was happy and he wanted everybody to be happy.
In the shower he decided that the way to perfect his day would be to have passionate sex, a lot of it, with Allyza. He would bar-fine her again. At five-thirty he was sitting in Kokomo's eating and engrossed, reading his manual. After his third beer, he decided not to foolishly let alcohol mar his enjoyment, closed the manual, paid up and walked the short distance to La Bamba. It was seven-o'clock.
The door girls ushered him through the door into the arms of the waitress, and this time he found a seat to the right on a bench seat half way along the bar, giving a good view of the stage. He looked along the line up but did not see Allyza. When the waitress brought him his drink, he asked if she was about.
"Allyza. No. Allyza is not in tonight."
"Oh. OK. And when will she be in?"
"It is her day off. Maybe tomorrow."
'Fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck ... '
He slumped back to rethink. A few more beers could now do no harm. A couple of girls came up and leaned on his legs.
"Hello Trevor," said one.
He was intrigued that they knew his name, but assumed that they had met during his lost evening.
"Last night, Allyza is crying because of you; you did not come," said the other.
He sat up, "I fell asleep till three-o'clock in the morning.
But, for God's sake ... why was she crying?"
"She think that you like her. You give her 1000. She also like you very much," said the second girl.
"She wait you all evening," he was told by the first, "She pay her own bar-fine because a guy like to bar-fine with her. But she want to wait you, so she pay her own bar-fine because Mama-San like her to go. Then she wait you until we close. Then she is crying."
"Ohhh, thanks for that. Now I feel a real shit. You can tell her you've completely ruined my best day in twenty years. I'm sorry. Look, where does she live. I'll go and see her."
"She visit with her family."
A waitress duly appeared and asked if he would like to buy the girls drinks, which he did. They sandwiched him.
"What is your book?" asked one.
"What are your names?" asked Trevor, and Romie and Regine reintroduced themselves.
"Well, this if my flying manual," he began, and gladly shared his newfound enthusiasm.
The girls returned to the stage with the next set.
Trevor made his way up Fields Avenue, bar at a time, turning left into Raymond Street, into Stinger, then into Las Vegas. His mood was still elevated and his sex-drive high. With alcoholic dis-inhibition, his eye began to rove over the line-ups, thoughts of Allyza pushed to one side.
A girl in Las Vegas caught his eye then glanced away several times. She came and danced opposite him looking down at her feet, moving with an economic languor. He accepted this invitation to look her over. She was clad in a blue bikini. Her body and limbs were neatly proportioned, her contours rounded and shapely, eyes large, dark and almond-shaped, lips plump, and snub nose teasingly turned up. She did not look at him again, no need, his eyes were now hers, but her body language said all that needed to be said.
Trevor called the waitress and said he would buy that girl a drink. The waitress attracted her attention and pointed at Trevor. She betrayed no hint of surprise, simply looked at him, smiled and shoulders and hips swinging, walked calmly down from the stage and over to sit by him.
She offered her hand, "Hello. I am Honey."
Trevor was unable to resist. "That's a sweet name."
"My personality, also. I am a sweet girl. What is your name?"
The bar-girl's interrogatories were quickly completed, and Honey began to stick. Her voice was soft, low and seductive. When her hand fell on his shoulder it was light and warm. She pressed softly against him and when he passed his arm around her she shifted up and leaned her head on his shoulder. Conversation was sporadic, but she snuggled against him like a cat, purring softly, allowing herself to be caressed. She rubbed his chest in little circles, her fingers movingly lightly like a kitten treading down its bed.
Three ladies drinks later he decided.
