next addition to the wall of fame.
“You’re sure going to make a few friends here tonight,” I told him as I pulled a small pad of paper and a pen out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Write down your name and what you want it to say on the wall.” I smiled and pointed at where the list currently ended. “We’ll get you up in a day or so.”
“Cool,” he said, grinning.
He was drunk, of course. Few people on Fields weren’t by nine p.m., men or women. But he seemed sober enough to enjoy the moment, and I felt confident he’d remember it in the morning. I got his shirt size, and had Alphonso go in back and grab him one of our Lounge T-shirts. In the meantime, the girls were collecting their free shots and making their way over to Wisconsin to plant a kiss on his cheek, another one of our little Lounge customs.
As things started settling down again to a normal level of chaos, I returned to my usual position at the far end of the bar near the back of the room. From there I could keep an eye on everything. I had Wilma, one of the bartenders, get me another San Miguel, and as I was taking my first sip, I noticed Mariella and Isabel standing at the other end of the bar. Isabel scanned the room, eyes wide in what could only be surprise, while Mariella spoke into her ear. Behind them on the bar were two empty shot glasses.
I had to laugh. Technically, since this was Mariella’s night off, she shouldn’t have been given a drink, and Isabel, someone I didn’t know at that point and therefore not an employee, shouldn’t have even been offered one.
Few at the bar could say no to Mariella, though. It wasn’t that she was universally liked, rather the sense of entitlement she oozed intimidated the other girls. Her reputation was further boosted by the fact she was one of the lucky ones. She’d set her hooks in a foreigner deeply enough so that he sent her money every month. Not quite the jackpot of a guy who’d marry her and take her back to his country, but a close second. Mariella’s “boyfriend” was an English guy who made it to the Philippines only once a year. She never told me how much she got from him, but the rumor was she received enough to not have to work in the bars anymore. One of the girls said he was even planning on buying Mariella a place of her own.
He was probably sitting in his office in Manchester or Cheltenham or London or wherever the hell he called home, thinking he’d created a new, better life for Mariella, that he’d freed her from the madness that was the scene in Angeles. Maybe he even thought she was going to college now, or a trade school at least. Anything that would have kept her from having to spread her legs for a living.
But guys like him just didn’t get it. Once you fell into the life, it was hard to ever get out. It was better than a drug. The booze, the party, the adoration, the cash. So while Mr. England was thinking he’d “saved” Mariella, she was actually out almost every night, trawling for another guy she could add to her collection.
I don’t mean to say some of the girls couldn’t get out of the life. With the help of their foreign boyfriends, many did. Still, the sad truth was there were many more girls like Mariella there.
When she noticed I was looking at them, she smiled and motioned with her hands in a way that said, “Can we come over?”
I nodded, and a moment later they joined me. Mariella introduced her cousin as I took another pull from my beer. There was no need to tell me why she had brought Isabel over. It was for a job. That’s how it always was. Girls who worked in the bars would bring in relatives or girls they knew from back home, then they in turn would eventually bring in other girls. You get the idea.
I gave Isabel a once-over, and was immediately struck by her innocence. It almost made me tell her to go back to her province and get a shop job. Perhaps if I’d thought she would listen to me, I would have. But I knew the reality was that if I made the suggestion Mariella would have just taken her to another bar, and within a few days Isabel would’ve been working on Fields despite any attempt on my part to “save” her. So I fooled myself into believing that at least if she worked at The Lounge, her innocence wouldn’t get ripped away so violently.
“What did you say your name was?” I asked.
“Her name is Isabel,” Mariella said. “She’s my cousin.”
“You’re looking for a job?”
“Yes. She is,” Mariella answered.
“What kind of job? Bartender? Waitress? Door girl? Dancer?”
“Dancer, I think,” Mariella said. “It’s a good place to start.”
I looked at Mariella. “Does she talk?”
Mariella moved a hand to her mouth and let out a little laugh. “Sorry, Papa Jay,” she said, then turned to her cousin. “Tell him what you want to do.”
Isabel, who had yet to look me in the eyes, glanced up quickly then returned her gaze to the floor. “I would like to be a dancer,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Have you ever danced before?”
She looked at me again, this time holding my gaze for almost two seconds before shaking her head and looking away.
“I’ve been working with her,” Mariella jumped in. “Teaching her a few moves. Explaining to her how the job works. “
“Really?” I said. I put a finger under Isabel’s chin and lifted her face up. “Why don’t you tell me how you think things work here?”
At first I thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but finally she spoke, her voice stronger than before. “I dance. Like them,” she said, nodding toward the stage where a dozen girls were gyrating with varying degrees of enthusiasm to the music. “If a customer wants to talk to me, I go sit with them.” I removed my finger from under her chin, but she continued to look at me. “If they buy me a drink, I get half the money. If they want to take me out of the bar, they pay bar fine and I get a share of that. If they want to give me a tip, it’s all mine.”
My eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“So you’re not a cherry girl?” I asked. Cherry girl was a term that meant pretty much what it sounded like-a girl who hadn’t had sex and, therefore, wouldn’t go all the way with a customer. Occasionally, it also meant a girl who might have had sex but not for pay.
Isabel’s eyes flicked over at Mariella, then back at me. “No. Not a cherry girl.”
“Of course not,” Mariella jumped in again. “She know how to boom-boom good.”
“Bullshit,” I said. I got up quickly and walked around the corner into the men’s room to take a piss. As I was in the middle of things, Mariella walked in.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe she is a cherry girl, but her family needs money,
“Can I finish peeing, please?” I asked.
“Sure, sure. We wait for you at the bar.”
Alone again, I zipped up, then washed my hands in the sink. Mariella was right. Isabel would be very popular. I knew that the moment I saw her. There were different levels of beauty on Fields, and Isabel would be right there near the top. Depending on how she adapted, she had the chance of becoming a superstar.
I wasn’t surprised when I walked back out into the bar and found two guys talking to Mariella and Isabel. I was even less surprised when it appeared both of the guys seemed more interested in Isabel than her cousin. Mariella at first appeared proud of this, but then, when neither of the guys answered one of her questions, she looked confused, then angry. I was the only one who noticed, though. A moment later she was happy, professional Mariella again.
I watched for a few more seconds, then walked up and told Isabel’s admirers I needed to talk to the girls. The guys seemed annoyed, but once they realized I was the papasan, and I offered them a round on the house, they backed down. I then moved the girls to a quieter portion of the bar.
“You can’t start until you have your papers,” I said to Isabel.
“We’ll go tomorrow,” Mariella said. “Get everything done.”
“We’ll start you next week,” I said. “Wednesday okay?”
Both of the girls nodded.
“A hundred pesos a day, plus your share of lady drinks and EWRs.”
Isabel looked confused.
“Early work release,” Mariella explained. “Same as bar fine.”
