Bar Girl Ch. 09

"If you are caught in a raid, do not say you are on bar-fine, just say you are friends, do not mention Talent Spot," Mama instructed the girl.

Noticing Blen hovering near bye, she called, "No more body shots, sell the drink only."

She returned to Daddy, and as she did so, the door swang open. All eyes turned anxiously. But, it was only two Papa-sans from nearby bars, who were coming in to confer.

"It's Chez Mama," one told Daddy, "a Mom and Pop place up on Perimeter Road. The Mama-san and all her girls have been taken to the lock up."

"Apparently," said the other, "four Filipino guys came in, and started partying, bought some of the girls a few drinks, and so on. After an hour or two, they bar-fined the girls, and left. A couple of hours later, there was a full NBI raid, and all the girls and Mama-san were taken away. The owner, Paddy, wasn't there, so he isn't involved."

"But, I believe his Mama-san is his fiancée. I think they were off to Davao in a few weeks to get married in her province," said the first.

"Oh yes, I've met them," said Daddy, "Paddy and Joline, A nice couple. I hope this doesn't fuck up their wedding plans."

"If they have any money saved for the wedding they're going to need it," said the first Papa-san. "Apparently, the girls who were bar-fined have sworn affidavits saying they were engaged in prostitution."

"Same old. Same old," observed Daddy. "This is the familiar pattern. Money will change hands, the girls will withdraw their affidavits, and the charges will get dropped."

"I wonder if they knew Paddy and Joline were getting married," said Papa-san two. "It puts a bit of pressure on Paddy, what with Joline being his fiancée, and locked up in that shit hole."

"Well, if they didn't know already, as soon as they find out, Paddy will get a message that if he doesn't pay up soon, she'll be cluster fucked nightly until he does," added Daddy.

Otherwise, the evening proved uneventful. As news of the raids spread, the customers decided to go and stay safely at home, or in their hotels. Mama was watchful, and promptly suppressed any unruly behaviour by the girls. A couple of girls arranged sneak-outs, bar-fines being off the menu. Good order and tedium reigned. The girls' mood matched the grey drizzle that they walked through on the way home.

Friday began with Mama firmly instructing the girls to behave properly at all times. Bar fines were now possible again, but that word was not to be used. The girls were to tell the customer that they could get Early Work Release, if they bought ten ladies drinks, and the waitresses were to be sure that ten ladies drinks appeared on the receipts. No simple, 'BF', or anything like that. Commission must tally with drinks purchased. For the time being, there would be no more short-times in the booth, or body shots, or any lewd exposure in the bar.

During the course of the evening, news began to filter in concerning the fate of Mama-san Joline. Daddy Paddy had retained a lawyer experienced in this kind of case, and it transpired that the girls were ready to withdraw their affidavits. Joline would remain locked up over the weekend, but the prosecutor would consider the matter on Monday, and with the affidavits withdrawn, and evidence from the NBI agents that they had entrapped the girls, it was likely she would be released on Monday. In the meantime, Chez Mama would remain closed, but Paddy hoped to reopen next week.

"We need to keep a central record of how much they're asking," said Daddy, "we need to get a grip on this before it gets out of hand. We're all vulnerable to this gouging behaviour."

Later, some girls returning after popping out for a meal at Linda's in Real Street, reported that there had been a shooting. They had rushed around the corner, to the junction of Vian St and A. Santos, and a few yards down Vian Street there was a body lying in the road.

"It is two guys on a motorbike," one of the girls told Daddy, "they just drive up and shoot the billy boy, then drive off."

Daddy did not appear shocked. "Probably, just the street cleaning department doing its job," he remarked. "Not before time."

At least there will be a body for the family to bury, thought Blen. On San Fernando, when a score was settled, it was a disappearance. The victim would leave home in the morning, and never be seen again.

Whatever the purpose of the shooting, it did nothing to deter street crime. The following day, and quite exceptionally, proactive policing - maybe a reaction to a street shooting in the tourist district - resulted in the apprehension of a gang of street robbers.

A waitress at Talent Spot, Ginalyn, was on her way to work; and as she walked up Teadoro Street in St Maria, towards Fields, she was robbed by a group of youths. Although she may not have looked a particularly attractive target for robbery, she had stopped over at Norma's Money Changer and disappeared behind the awning to ask the current exchange rate for dollars. That may have deceived the robbers into thinking she was changing currency and would emerge with a purse full of pesos. She had merely chatted with the cashier for a few minutes.

Blen, in her cowgirl suit, sat with the coterie, which had gathered around Ginalyn to hear the tale.

Ginalyn told them, "I had just leave Norma, and begin to walk, when I see this big knife pushed at me, by one guy in front. Another, beside me, is pulling at my bag but I do not let go. The guy in front put his knife to my face and tell me, I will cut you, I will cut you, so I let go to my bag, and the guys run away down the street beside. I shout out, but no one help me. The guard from Norma's come over. He cannot leave his post, but he tell me to go to the police station. So I run as fast as I can, up to Fields, and across to the police station.

"The officer ask me how long. I tell him three minutes, so he say, OK, he will see if there is a mobile patrol. He radio, and tell me to go back quick, and meet the patrol car. So I run back as fast as I can.

"I wait five minutes, and I do not think they will come, but they come. I tell them what happen, and Norma's guard tell them where they run to. So one officer say to walk with him, and the other will guard the car.

"We walk down Oak Street, and at the bottom, there is some waste land. There is an old sidecar there, against the wall. Someone is in it, but I cannot see well, because it is behind the building, and it is dark, but it is some boys. The officer call for back-up so we can check the boys. The other officer come in the car, and drive onto the lot. They draw their pistols, and go up to the sidecar, and the boys come out. I do not know if it is the boys who rob me. I say that it is possible, but I am frightened by the knife, I do not remember the faces. One of the officers keep his gun pointed, and the other search the boys. He find a cell phone in the waist of the first one ... it is mine. He then find a knife. I do not recognise it, but he open it, and I see that it is the blade. I remember the blade. The other boy has a screwdriver, but I do not remember that.

"The officer ask where is my bag, and they tell him it is thrown away in Oak Street. We go back to look, but it is gone. The guys are handcuff, and we all go in the car to the police station. They boys are just 15; they come from Agapito. They are not even smart to run away. The officers think they come to rob someone who change their money at Norma's."

"I will be careful next time," said Precious.

Her 27,000 pesos, changed up from Klaus's gift, would be more than enough to kill for. Next time she would take great precautions.

Blen remembered that tomorrow was payday, and she determined to carefully conceal her salary before going into the street. She was now prosperous, but prosperity attracted its own problems in a lawless city.

The following morning, being Sunday, Blen rose early and dressed for church. She had scrubbed her best, white T-shirt so it was spotless, and she had put her best jeans under the mattress to be pressed flat. She had also bought a pair of red plimsolls. Blen wanted to dress respectably for Mass and had reserved these garments for church.

Blen did not pay tax. It had never occurred to her that she should. In Desbilla, if a person wished to make a contribution to society, they did so by putting an offering in the Charity Box at church. Blen wished to share her good fortune, so she took her purse from her locker and examined the contents. She had twelve 1000p notes, and several 100p notes. In her head, she made a rough calculation of the salary she would receive tonight. Maybe 10,000 pesos she believed. She had always been told that one tenth of your income was the appropriate amount to give to the poor. On reflection, she decided she would die rather than benefit from Bruno's 10,000 pesos, and would put that also in the Charity Box. Taking eleven 1000p notes and two hundreds, she slipped them in her pocket.

At half-nine she slipped out of the house, raised her umbrella against the light rainfall, and set off up to MacArthur Highway. She turned left at MacArthur and walked as far as possible towards St Maria II on the left hand side of the highway, which was the easiest pavement to negotiate. Near the church, there was a pedestrian crossing, and there she crossed the highway, though wisely waving at the traffic, because it was not obvious that the traffic paid any attention to the pedestrian crossing.

She bought devotional candles, and found a stand with space to mount and light them, then knelt before them and prayed. She prayed for the same people she had prayed for in Desbilla - her sister, her foster parents, her half siblings, her neighbours, her friends, their parents and their families. Now she added also her housemates, Mama Mutia, Daddy Don, and the girls at Talent Spot. Her prayers were different in one important way. In Desbilla, her prayers were prayers of desperation, the prayers of the impotent. Now she prayed in optimism, as an agent of God, spreading Christian love and charity. She could show her love, and God's love, for her sister and family, by the contributions she made to improving their lives. She could also show God's love for the poor at large by contributing a fair share of her good fortune to the Charity Box.

As Mass commenced, she made her way to the pews, found a seat and participated in the familiar ritual, but did not receive communion. She had not confessed her sins for several years, not since she had begun to feel the temptations of the flesh, certainly not since she had begun to succumb to them. Her compulsive masturbation was not the sort of sin she felt comfortable confessing to a male priest, and she felt she could not sincerely promise not to do it again. Her compulsion had grown stronger through her teens, and since arriving in Angeles, she had frequently had to leave her bed to rub herself to a climax in the shower cubicle.

At the end of Mass, as the crowd streamed away, she went to the Charity Box and joined the small queue to push her contribution into the box. Folding her 1000p notes, she stepped forward and pushed them through, into the box.

As she turned away, a figure stepped in front of her. "Excuse me, Miss."

She looked up into the face of a Western guy.

"I wonder if you could help me. I'm a visitor to the Philippines, and I don't know what amount is considered appropriate to put in the Charity Box."

"As much as you can afford," said Blen, thinking to herself that he could probably afford to put in as much as the rest of the congregation combined.

"Oh," he said, and paused, "I saw you put in a blue note, would that be 1000p? Is that what people normally put in?"

Blen, felt annoyed. She thought to herself how stupid some foreigners could be. "No, we are poor people, 20 pesos, 50 pesos or 100 pesos are what we can afford."

"Well, maybe I should put in 1000 pesos." He flourished a 1000p note he happened to be holding.

"That will be acceptable," Blen said, and walked by.

A few yards further on she heard him calling, "Miss, Miss."

She stopped and turned as he caught up with her.

"Thank you for your help, you were a great assistance," he gushed.

She fixed him with a look of rebuke. "Do you require any more help to spend your money?"

"No, I don't usually require help to spend money, but I'm new here, it takes a little time to adjust, to know how much to pay for things, how much to tip, even how much to put in the Charity Box," he explained, "but I'm glad I saw you put 1000 pesos in, otherwise I might have short changed the Lord by 900 pesos."

"I am glad then to have help you," said Blen.

"But it can't just have been a coincidence don't you think?" said the man.

"What coincidence?" enquired Blen, baffled.

"If it had been anyone else, I would have seen them put in 100p, even 20p, and the poor would have been short changed. But, it was you I saw. That can't have been a coincidence?"

"You think God send me to guide you along the right path," said Blen, supposing him to be another demented American fundamentalist, and laughed genuinely at the thought of her being sent to guide foreign men along the right path.

"Yes. Nothing happens except the Lord wills it," said the foreigner simply, looking offended.

Blen took pity on him. "I do not laugh at you. I laugh at me."

"I just thought that if, at that very moment, God sent you to give 1000 pesos, he may have sent an example for me. Otherwise, I could easily have happened on a poor person, but I happened on you."

"I am a poor person also," said Blen.

"That clinches it," said the foreigner, "the Lord sent a poor person with a 1000 peso note as my exemplar. He truly moves in mysterious ways. Why else would a poor person, like you, have a 1000 pesos to donate?"

"Me ... I am a student." Blen thinking quickly, borrowed her ambition for Jesusa. "I study to be a nurse." The small lie made her feel good, so she tried a slightly bigger lie. "My money is from my father, he is generous." She felt even better.

The foreigner changed tack. "What happens after church, here? At home it's very social, but here people seem to do their devotions and go home."

"Yes. Go home," said Blen, encouragingly.

"I'm hungry, I haven't had any breakfast. Is there somewhere I can eat?"

Blen pointed at the Turo-Turos on the corner.

The foreigner looked dubious. "I'm sure they are good, but I was thinking of something ... more like McDonalds. Is there a McDonalds near here?"

"Only by the hospital," said Blen. "Take the jeepney for San Fernando terminal, you will see it by the hospital."

"I haven't been able to work out how your public transport works," said the man. "Look, if you would be so kind as to take me there, I would be more than happy to treat you to breakfast."

Blen again fixed him with her accusing, rebuking eye. "Do you try and pick-me-up?"

The foreigner was distraught. "Goodness ... No, no, no. I do hope I haven't given offence. It's that I'm lost and alone in a strange town, and I need help to get breakfast."

Blen thought, He's wet, but harmless, and I'd love to go to McDonalds. "OK, if you promise to behave yourself." She was theatrically stern, enjoying every moment of being the prim, pious virgin for once.

"Of course. I shall be perfectly proper, and I'd be most grateful."

Blen walked him down to MacArthur Highway and flagged a jeepney.

Developed from the WW2 jeep, elongated and with bench seats down each side in the cramped rear, covered by a canopy, colourfully decorated and emblazoned with the owners name on the front and route stops on the side, the jeepney is the traditional means of public transport in the Philippines.

They squeezed in the back, crushed up next to one another. Blen handed a note forward, and called "dalawa". The note was handed from passenger to passenger, until the driver reached backwards over his shoulder and took it. He then reached back with a few coins, which travelled the same route in reverse.

"Let me repay you for the fares," said the man, raising his voice over the revving of the large diesel engine as it laboured to set the over laden vehicle in motion, "I would have paid, but I don't know how."

"What is your name?" called Blen.

He blustered. "I'm terribly sorry, I should have introduced myself, but in all the confusion I overlooked it. My name is Nick. And your name?"

"I am Blen. This trip is a gift from my father," she replied, taking satisfaction that the other passengers noticed that she was paying for the foreigner.

Nick sat, stooping forward, in great discomfort, trying to draw his legs out of the way of passengers getting on and off, until they reached Angeles University Foundation Hospital (AUF). Blen tapped his shoulder, and led him out of the jeepney. She fitted well through the space between the bench seats, but Nick managed to bang his head on the roof several times and catch the knees of every passenger he passed.

Across the road, he could see McDonalds. There was a pedestrian crossing conveniently nearby, and they crossed, and went up into the restaurant.

Blen had not been in a McDonalds before, but she had heard of the legendary quarter pounder with cheese and fries, and she opted for this, with a coke. As Nick queued for the meals, Blen noticed that there were a lot of student nurses, female and male, in their pristine white uniforms, sitting around the restaurant. She confabulated a response in case Nick asked if she knew any of them. In the event, he did not ask.

He returned with the food, and Blen took hers. He then proceeded to tell her about Sunday 'back home' - the small town church - the Sunday lunch - the visitors - the outings - the series of unremarkable tedia out of which bliss is constructed.

She looked at him carefully. He was about forty years old and an American - that was important. He had not mentioned a wife or family - that was important. He was not what you would consider attractive to women, to other women especially - that was important. He was polite, considerate and did not take himself too seriously. In other circumstances, she would consider him husband material. He wore trousers, and a proper shirt, and his hair was clean and had been cut recently. He talked easily. He smiled easily. He went to church. Why, she thought, does God send these guys only to church, could He not send one or two to Talent Spot?

"I'm sorry to be such a bore," said Nick, "I can see I'm sending you to sleep."

"No. It is OK ," said Blen, "but, why are you here in Angeles?"

"I'm a health tourist. I've come here for some treatment I can't afford at home. There are some cosmetic procedures my insurance doesn't cover, but here I can afford to pay for them myself."

"I hope you are not ill."

"No." Nick showed his teeth.

They looked fine to her, but clearly, he felt they needed further improvement.

"I'm having a load of dental work done, difficult procedures which take a lot of work. I have to stay here a couple of months, but the work will last the rest of my life."

"In the hospital?" asked Blen.

"No, there's a reputable clinic in St Maria, they are doing the work for me," said Nick.

"So where do you stay while you are here?"

"There's a hotel, just nearby, it's called the Wild Orchard, it's quite comfortable."

"Is there not a lot of bars there?" asked Blen, suspiciously.

"I couldn't believe it," said Nick, "Whenever I go for a walk, I get all sorts of invitations. It turns out that the street I'm staying on is notorious for ... how can I put this ... oral sex. We don't have anything like that at home."

"Do you try the bars?"

"Oh no. Oral sex repels me?"

"It interest many foreigners," noted Blen.

"I see that in my hotel," said Nick. "Most of these guys are not here to get their teeth fixed."