default
increase
decreaseBreakfast at Kokomo’s
An American breakfast at Kokomo’s was one of Carl’s greatest delights when staying in Angeles City. The tang of the crispy bacon and the sweetness of the yellow yolk was a pleasant contrast to the standard Philippine rice-based fare. In fact, he couldn’t imagine eating anything else for breakfast, and never failed to be amazed by the spicy concoctions that his various bar girlfriends gulped down with such delight. The pleasure was heightened by the building itself which was open to two stories high inside and, with its many fans, had a old colonial feel about it. Also, because it was situated on the corner of Field Avenue and A. Santos Street, it was a good place to watch the world go by over a newspaper and a cup of coffee.
Carl’s pleasure was marred that morning by the non-appearance of his nephew. An enquiry at reception revealed that Lucian was safe in his room, sleeping late. The worrying thing was that Esther was still with him, and Carl knew from experience that when girls stayed late, they often stayed for another day – at least.
It was three days later when Lucian finally appeared at breakfast – with Esther in tow, and even then, Carl didn’t get the chance to speak to him alone. All he could do was extract a promise that he would appear tomorrow by himself so that they could talk freely.
By the time Lucian arrived, Carl had long since finished breakfast, had had three cups of coffee, and was just about to give him up and leave a message in reception.
“What kept you?” he said, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt.
“Esther,” said Lucian, with the distant look of someone who has just stepped out of paradise.
Carl guessed – rightly – that Esther had treated him to a morning session of passionate sex (on top of one or two sessions the previous evening, and probably yet another in the middle of the night). No wonder Lucian looked, to use a British slang expression, “shagged out”.
“Don’t you want to try another girl?” said Carl, getting straight to the point.
“Why?” said Lucian, “Esther is wonderful – in every way.”
“Why – because that’s what Angeles City is all about. You don’t come here to find the love of your life, you come here to have a bit of fun – then you forget it, and go back to the real world!”
“But...”
“But what?”
Carl needn’t have asked. He knew the answer already – and he felt bad about it. He felt that it was his fault. He should never have brought his nephew here in the first place. He realised too late that he was too naive, too inexperienced.
“I love her...”
Carl tried not to, but he groaned out loud.
“She loves me too...” Lucian added quickly.
“But...” Carl wondered how he was going to say this, “...but she’s just not suitable. She’s a rice farmer’s daughter – dirt poor, no education...”
“Sugar cane.”
“What?”
“Her father cuts sugar cane. She’s from Negros Oriental.”
“OK, sugar cane – same difference – she’s not suitable.”
“I don’t care if she’s poor! I...”
“Lucian, I promised your father...”
“...I want to marry her!”
Carl sunk his head in his hands and took several deep breaths. Then, gathering his strength he said, “Look, Lucian, if you want to marry a Filipina, I’ve got Filipino friends who can introduce you to nice girls – good, university educated girls – just as pretty, just as loving – just as sexy, if that’s what’s getting to you.”
“But I love Esther,” said Lucian simply.
Carl steeled himself for what he had to say. “Lucian, I hate to say this, but Esther is – a puta – a prostitute.”
Lucian flushed with anger. “That’s not true! She’s a bargirl. It’s not the same! In any decent country she’d have a proper job. She only does this because her family need the money.”
“Lucian, when I call her a prostitute, I am not making a moral judgement – far be it from me to do that! I have deep respect for these girls and what they do for their families – the point I am trying to make is that – well, you just don’t marry them!”
“Why not? What’s the difference between Esther and a western girl who’s been screwing around?”
Carl gave him a withering look. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’re going into business with me and my Filipino partners. They just won’t respect you if you marry a...” Carl chose the next word tactfully, “...bargirl. They’re very status conscious.”
“That’s old-fashioned bullshit. That’s...”
“In the west, yes. But we’re not in the west. I’ll be blunt. They might not even agree to take you on. Even if they do, you’ll never get higher than Call Centre manager. The real money is when you make partner and share the profits. To make partner, you’ve got to play the status game – as well as put some serious money up front – that’s another problem, but we’ll deal with that later.”
Lucian stared out of the doorway into the street for what seemed a long time. Then he seemed to make his mind up. “I don’t care about making partner,” he said, “I’m going to marry Esther!”
© Bangkok Byron, 2007. All rights reserved by the author.
Print Article
Send to a friend
Save as PDF