He called Marivic.
"Hello Trevor. Are you back in Manila? I need to know your ladies for tomorrow."
"I'm back soon, just a slight change of plan, I'm returning tomorrow. I have a flight to complete today, before I can move to the next stage."
"Ohh. Then, can you give me names and I can start to arrange for Wednesday."
"I'm afraid the catalogue's in Manila."
"Well, you must call me with your ladies as soon as you get back so I can arrange, otherwise it will be Thursday, and you do not take any lady on a date yet."
"OK. Speak soon."
Trevor hung up.
Ninety minutes later, at the flying club, he was deep in discussion with his instructor making a realistic plan to achieve his flying licence.
"Don't go over two hours a day. That makes it a chore," his instructor advised,"This is a fun thing; it's nice to have some company up there with you. Take your time. Enjoy yourself. Give yourself a break between lessons to let them sink in. You'll be flying solo your next vacation, just get in ten hours this trip."
A log was issued, and he started the ball rolling with his first hours training. Check and double check, attention to detail, safety first. It reminded him of the seemingly niggling attention to detail when he first learned to drive, learning the drill he now followed unconsciously. The exhilaration of soaring, however, more than compensated for the grinding attention to routine.
Back at his hotel, Trevor took stock. A week today he would be sixty. He wanted that day to be special. He wanted to fly, and he wanted a girl. He wanted Allyza to share his birthday with him. Tonight he would be in La Bamba. At reception, he asked to book a room for the following weekend.
"I'm sorry sir, we do not have any room free at next week end," the receptionist told him.
Disgruntled, Trevor returned to his room, took out his Lonely Planet Guide, and looked at other hotels he had highlighted. Sunset Garden sounded attractive and affordably priced.
He took a trike. Labouring noisily up Fields Avenue, he was soon beyond the area with which he was familiar. On the right was the perimeter fence of the former American air base; up the left ran commercial buildings, scattered amongst them active girly bars, and many former bar premises, fallen into disuse. After five minutes the trike veered left across the road, through a petrol station, then turned right , and a few metres further on came to a halt outside the entrance to Sunset Garden.
Trevor asked the driver to wait, the door guard pulled a rope which caused the entrance door to swing open and he entered the reception area. He saw a swimming pool, more attractive than that at the Tropicana, where guests and girls splashed playfully. The receptionist confirmed availability for the following weekend. Trevor was shown a room; nothing grand, but clean and acceptable. He booked in from Saturday to Tuesday next and paid in advance. His accommodation secured, he got dropped at the top of Field's Avenue, intent on exploring further on foot. A square, grizzled-grey, two-story concrete building, with the title, Terminal Building, hinting at a former use, now housing Domino's Pizza and a dentist seemed a good place to start.
Adjacent was a street-level mall with a pharmacist outside and clothing outlets within. Next, a rank of market stalls, accessed from the roadway. Some displayed fish and poultry, over which the stall holders waved beribboned sticks in an attempt to disperse the swarms of flies that rose in a dark mass as the stick passed only to settle back immediately.
The foot-traffic was liberally seeded with westerners, all male, past their prime and in a variety of states of dress and personal grooming. Some smart-casual; hair combed, wearing laced shoes over socks, open-necked, short-sleeved shirts tucked in pressed slacks. Others dressed for the beach: flip-flops, shorts, gaudy shirt and sunglasses. A good few dressed for the backyard: unkempt hair, unshaven, sleeveless vest and shorts. Many, regardless of their presentation, were accompanied by girls, twenty, thirty, even forty or more years their junior. These unlikely couples attracted no attention, other than Trevor's furtive glance.
Across a side road, where vehicles were snared in a gridlock, the drivers struggling to ride the incline on their clutches without rolling backwards, and a little further, was a hangout called Margarita. Through the fly screen frontage, he could see the patrons were mostly western, a mix of those types walking in the street. He made a note of another place to eat.
Bars then came thick and fast: Insomnia, Bird Cage then Brown Sugar - a new bar announcing it's grand opening on 3rd February - Jungle, Kitten, Bunny Ranch and so on. It was nearing six-o'clock. He amiably waved away the appeals of the door girls, "Maybe later," and made for La Bamba.
Again, no Allyza in the line-up
.
"Not in tonight," the waitress said.
Regine appeared, "Allyza is sick, she is not work tonight. Maybe she will be back in a couple of days."
A good looking, smartly dressed woman in her late twenties, wearing a jacket over a frock which flared above her shapely, lower legs, introduced herself as Mama Donna, and asked if he wanted to bar-fine Regine. Regine grasped his knee and pouted at him.
"I was looking for Allyza," he explained.
"Oh. Allyza. She is a popular girl. She will not be in tonight, but Regine will be your company, she is a good girl also."
"Do you know when she'll she be in?"
"In a couple of days. Maybe."
Trevor had an idea, "Can I pay her bar-fine in advance?"
"Of course. But not for before Friday."
"This is the guy who make her cry," interjected Regine, "Maybe Allyza do not like to go. She is very angry."
"Ohhh. I hear that. That is you," said Mama Donna, accusingly, "If you ask her yourself, it is best."
"I'll be away for a few days, but I'd like to share my birthday with her, that's next Monday. Can I pay her bar-fine for next Monday, also Regine and Romie, I'd like them to come to my birthday party too."
"I like to go to your party," enthused Regine.
"You can pay advance for the girls," replied Mama, "But it is up to Allyza if she like to go. There is no refund."
"Fair enough, and, I'll give you the bar-fine she paid for herself, so you can return it to her as a token of goodwill."
"Of course. And, if she do not like to go, I will come instead. You are a nice guy, and I am available."
"But no boom-boom," added Regine. "Mama Donna is a cherry-girl."
Trevor looked questioningly at Mama Donna, who said, "I am a romantic girl, I save my cherry for my husband."
When Donna left, Regine, who now had her drink, confided, "Mama Donna is twenty seven, but she never has boom-boom. She does not like a Filipino husband, she like to marry a foreigner; that is why she work in La Bamba."
On leaving La Bamba twilight was falling, and Trevor turned right, towards Kokomo's. As he arrived at the corner opposite, he looked down A. Santos Street with its bumpy, unmade road, and decided to explore. Turning right, he passed the next corner, where Midnight Rodeo stood, leaking the sound of a live country and western music, then proceeded further. To his left was Caddy Shack, which looked like the last, typical Field's Avenue bar, in this direction.
The scene then changed. Small bars lined either side of the street. Girls sat at the frontage, or stood in the street urging passing men to enter. It was possible to see inside. Some seemed impossibly small. The first, Heaven, was tiny, having a small front, and space for a little seating inside and outside the compact bar. In contrast to the bars across the road it seemed purpose built, as did the others along that side of the street. Down the left side, the small bars, into which he could look directly, Duke of York, Wow, Luz, Apollo, Firestone Empire and others, seemed to be adaptations of, once private, residences.
He wandered on, passing on his right Black Pearl, Shadows Won Tok, Blue Parrot and Honkeytonk. Making a choice of Black Pearl, a two storey building, which looked the most commodious, he doubled back and accepted the invitation of the girls, walked up the two or three steps into the interior and took a seat. A couple of guys already sat at tables in conversation, sipping beers.
He sat, ordered a beer and looked round, and the many girls who sat within or without smiled and waved.
The middle-aged waitress, who turned out to be Mama-San, set down his beer and said, "I do not see you before; this is your first time in Black Pearl?"
"Yes. I'm just looking round tonight."
"What's your name? Would you like some company? Which girls do you like to sit with you?"
"I'm Trevor."
He looked around. There were no dancers. The girls sat, stood or fooled around in their street clothes. Some were reading paperbacks. The range of ages seemed greater than in the Fields Avenue bars, and the shapes and sizes more mixed. He indicated two girls, and Mama-San waved them over.
"This is Trevor. It is his first time in Black Pearl. This is Jessalyn, this is Meljoy."
Having made introductions, she fetched beers for the girls.
The girls asked him the usual questions, then it was his turn. Both girls were disarmingly honest. In their late twenties, they had children, were separated from their husbands and came to Angeles to work and support children who remained in the care of their grand-parents in the province. After ten minutes, Meljoy, the slightly smaller and younger of the two, stuck her tongue in her cheek to make it bulge, and motioned back and forth with her fist in front of her mouth.
