Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 11. Fly By Midnight

CHAPTER 11: FLY BY MIDNIGHT

Hours later, in the middle of the afternoon, I woke up feeling refreshed, having slept on Albert’s bed. A 6’4 and a 5’7 man, both fitting into a small hospital bed, were miraculous. I rubbed the crusts on my eyes and said, "Hey."

"Hello there," said Albert with his hand squeezed inside a clear plastic jar. He was greedily munching on some kind of sweet while his eyes were glued to watching a teleserye, a Filipino television soap opera. It was in the afternoon slot, and he seemed really invested in the story.

"Do you even understand what they’re talking about?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"There are subtitles though."

"Oh right. There it is. So you like watching this?"

"I think so. Their facial expressions are mint." I was rubbing his back, and something clicked in my brain to rub it lower, you know, cup a feel of his ass maybe. My hand was nearing his ass crack, and I nearly slipped two fingers when he glared at me and said, "Try me. I’ll fart on your finger if you dare."

Pulling out my hand, I grinned my way out of not getting kicked out of the bed. "Fine. I was just testing my luck. Anyway, what have you got there?"

"Peanut brittle."

"Sounds familiar."

He read the label. "Candied roasted peanuts."

"Yeah, I’ve had those in Baguio. They’re addicting."

"They are," he said, with his mouth full as he kept chewing. The crunching sound his mouth produced made me hungry. Slipping my hand inside the jar, he swatted it. "Don’t bogart my food, Damien."

"Alright, you selfish pig. Where’d you get that, anyway?"

"They gave it to me."

"Who?"

"They," said Albert, pointing at someone behind my back.

My head swivelled and I saw Kulas with his arms crossed, gazing at me as if I owed him money, and Mariel typing on a plugged-in laptop. Beside her on the table was a basket of fruits and some get-well flowers.

"Oh shit," I mumbled, pulling myself upright.

"Ah, shet indeed," said Kulas, hovering over me, looking menacing. "Surprise surprise! You think I’m not going to pind out?"

"Do you smell that kuya Kulas?" said Mariel as she typed on her laptop. "I smell fear."

"Yes yes yes. There’ll be lots op dat going around here today. Bery much."

I gulped… and whispered, "I’m fucked."

The old man’s eyes peered around the room. Lazy boy couch in the corner. Lounge chairs are on the far right. Expensive-looking wallpaper accented by an 18-light chandelier in the middle. Large bathroom with a tub and a shower. And a mini-fridge inside a mini-kitchen with a prep table for coffee and microwavables. His mouth curled as he glanced at me. "This room looks expensive, ah."

"This isn’t what it looks like," I said, mouthing the glib answer to the old man.

"Outside," he said, as he looked at Albert. "Mr. Mathersen, ip you’ll excuse us, ser Damien and I will just hab a quick talk."

Head stuck on the flat screen; Albert said, "Sure," as he kept chewing and enjoying his candied nuts.

Kulas dragged me by the ear like I was some misbehaved child who needed a spanking. He dragged me from where I was sitting until we were outside by the door. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mariel mumbling, "Lagot ka," (You’re in trouble) while smirking as she kept typing on her laptop. As I recall, she works for me. She’s supposed to be on my side!

"What hab you to say por yourselp?" said Kulas, stomping his foot by the door.

"I don’t know… the bed’s soft?"

He reached over and smacked my head. It was more of a light tap than a direct hit, and it was more embarrassing to see everyone look at me like I’m being lectured by my smaller, older father-like figure right in the middle of a hospital. I haven’t felt that way since I was ten, when I’d been acting like a brat or a boy. "So you’b been playing house with da guest. Since when?"

"Er—it’s complicated, you see."

"Since when?" He growled louder.

"Er, since day one?"

He smacked my arm, then slapped his head, and said, "What ip your grandpather pinds out you’ve been harbouring a suicidal man who you’re sleeping with? The scandal it will bring if the media finds out. What ip everybody discobers you’re sleeping with a man?"

Leaning back against the wall, I scratched my head and said, "We’re not sleeping together. And everyone on the staff knows I don't discriminate against either men or women. Albert’s special."

"Oh yes, I didn’t pactor that in. Sorry, I didn’t know you pelt Albert is special and that you went crazy with him putting him in expensive hospitals like this. What’s next? You’ll be announcing your engagement soon?" Then he slapped his forehead. "Your grandpader doesn’t know dat you sleep with men. So I still have a point."

We were leaning on the wall, listening to the busy scram of feet, the patter of shoes, and the creak of the medical beds as they turned and swayed in the hallway, the rotating doctors on their charts checking patients room by room, and the landline ringing in the nurse’s station.

He gazed at me and said, "You still owe your grandpader $20 million. And time’s running out." It’s true. I was about to lose my business in half a year’s time. "And staying in this room, currying pabors won’t do your business any good. Isn’t that why you’re heading to New York to hab your loan extended?" I nodded, not knowing where to go from here. "What are you doing Totoy? This isn’t you. My boy. What happened?"

I wanted to say love… happened. I wanted to shout to him that the most wonderful thing happened to me, and it was waiting inside that room. I was hoping to share with him the life I have. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?

If I told him the truth that I found a man who reminded me of Jake and that it feels like such a bad thing to let him go through whatever it is he’s experiencing without helping, even for a little, I know Kulas would help me get through it till the end. But I can’t have that either. I have people who rely on me. Their livelihood and source of income depend on their job on the islands. People who desperately needed the trips to El Nido and Puerto Princesa. People who needed someone manning the ship who was focused on doing what needed to be done. Every one of them was connected by the diagram that pointed to one thing—which is me. And if I am lost, if I am distracted, if I am not focused, what happens to them?

So I opened up my heart and told him everything. Everything. Every detail of how I’ve felt throughout my adventure with Albert. It was like confessing to a priest. A cool-looking priest with white dreadlocks as he nodded and listened. Even when I nearly cried, he held my shoulder and pushed me to continue on. I was keeping everythingin, all bottledup,p until I shook myself so I could explode.

"So what are you planning?"

I held the bridge of my nose, wiping my eyes, hoping my half-baked plan would work out. "I gotta help him. I have to."

"There’s no sense stopping you ip you he reminds you of Jake."

"How did you know?"

"I may be old but I’m not senile. Sometimes, layp has a certain way op reminding us what we lost and what we could hab had. And I think Albert’s here to remind you that you need to keep on libing."

I turned to him, wanting to defend myself. But there was no denying the truth I'd been hiding from myself. "You’re right."

"Ten years totoy. Ten years you’b been walking this earth like a ghost." He patted my shoulder and said, "It’s time to start enjoying layp my prend."

"I know." I mustered a smile and said, "And I will."

"So what about dis business? What are your plans?"

"I don’t know. I’m hoping to get another 10 million to help us with the remainder of the year. I’m kind of betting that Pitongpulo Island is a profitable venture that the bank would consider worthy as collateral."

Kulas placed his arms on his hips and said, "That’s a sure deal. They’ll give you 80 to 100 million for the island." Then he crossed his arms out of worry. "It’s the deadline I’m truly worried about."

"It’s that goddamn deadline that’s truly a bottleneck," I said, mirroring his opinion.

Why did I have to agree to my grandfather’s condition that if in 5 years' time I wasn’t able to pay the $50 million investment he gave to this business, I’d be a part of his company and that H.M.S. Holdings would be acquired as a subsidiary? Why, oh why, oh why? I was such an idiot. Then it occurred to me that without his money, I wouldn’t have been able to expand and build Pitongpulo Island, the crown jewel of my company.

To be honest, my business was doing great. More than great. If we didn’t have this contract, it would’ve been smooth sailing. The problem lies in the interest slapped on Ellison Mon Grace Fashion House, the parent company my grandfather owns. It was monstrous that I didn’t compute how the 10% interest would feel when slapped into a $50 million debt. 75% of our earnings were sent to pay it off, while the remaining 25% was enough to circulate within the company, sufficient for it to run with no setbacks.

Maybe if I spoke to him and tried to convince him to have the deadline extended... well, I haven’t seen him in five years. He’d been trying to get me on board as the CEO of his main brand, Ellison Mon Grace, which I steadily declined. But he would not let this go easily. Everything for him has a price. I just needed to know what the price was for extending our deal. Maybe if I took out 20 million from the 4.7 billion trust—NO! I’ll be tied to his empire forever. That was the deal.

As we stood there, quietly, we fell into ruminating about a plan. Kulas then said, "So when is your boyprend getting discharged?"

I clarified. "He’s not my boyfriend."

"Whateber. The way you told me the story, you were willing to die por him. Who does that unless they’re your boyprend. Ulol kang bata ka (you crazy child) jumping in the waters like that. What were you thinking?"

His eyes became misty as he glanced at me. I smiled back to let him know it was okay and that I was alright. I didn’t want to think about it. He’s just lending his concern and fatherly worry. He’s been like a father to me throughout these years. That’s all I could hope for—having a father figure by my side.

"Albert’s leaving tomorrow morning," I said. "I have the kubo prepped on the island for him."

"How long is he staying?"

"I don’t know."

"Bery good Damien, you don’t know," he said, with sarcasm brewing on his tongue. It’s a very common trait among Filipinos to be sarcastic. It’s drenched with love and concern, and makes you want to get yourself some earplugs. Also, it's both refreshing and annoying to hear from someone, especially if you’re on the receiving end of it. And in this case, I was the butt of all his snark. "You let a stranger lib in your home. Goodjab Damien. Goodjab. You might be libing with a murderer. Don’t come to me por help if you get murdered, okey."

"He’s not a murderer."

"That’s what people who are murdered would say. What ip he steals money prom you? What ip he ties you and kidnaps you. Ay Diyos ko Lord wag naman sana (Oh dear God, please don’t let this happen I hope)," Kulas said, as he performed a sign of the cross.

"What the… he’s not going to kidnap me," I said, shunning his ridiculous theories. "I’m not a child."

"Not a child, not a child. That’s also what an adult child would say. You’re complaining that I’m saying these things to you when I’m not the guilty party. See, you’re nakasimangot (frowning)."

"I’m not frowning," I said while frowning.

"How sure are you, ah, that he’s exactly what he says, huh? Why, did you hab him imbestigated?"

I scratched my head at the thought of having him investigated, although the thought did run through my mind. I said, "Er—no."

"I’m a hundred percent sure that there are secrets in his layp you’ll never know about. You’ll see. I’m telling you. He might be a drug lord, the son of a drug lord, or a kriminal mastermind."

"Oh yeah. He’s planning on world dominance."

He began heading out to the elevator.

"Where are you going?"

"To the accounting office. We’re supposed to settle ₱850,000 for the bill. Oh my gad. I could buy a ready-made kubo with money like dis. We’re not shitting money, you know."

I went back inside the room to find Mariel and Albert having a heated discussion. The two of them were predicting the events that would happen on the teleserye. Albert said, "I’m telling you, he will not leave her. Can you pass on the orange, dear?"

Mariel stood up and began peeling the orange at the counter and said, "What do you mean he’s not going to leave her? She has every right to leave her cheating husband." She glanced at the screen and saw the lead actress getting slapped by the mistress. Her head swivelled, with the orange partially peeled in her hand, and she exclaimed, "See! That’s why she needs to leave him."

"Ouch. That’s gotta hurt. Omg! Look. She’s about to throw the mistress a glass of water," said Albert.

Mariel ran to Albert’s side, sat beside him, and offered the orange. "That’s what you deserve, you husband-stealing bitch!"

Without their eyes leaving the screen, Albert put a piece of the orange in his mouth and said, "Ooh. That’s gotta hurt." The lead actress and the mistress were now rolling on the ground, slapping each other inside a restaurant.

"Slap her! Slap her!" shouted Mariel.

"Bloody hell. She’s really dunking the mistress’s head in a tub of fruit punch. It's iconic."

"I know, right," answered Mariel, now sharing a piece of orange. "I’m definitely making a .gif out of that."

"Has anything like that ever happened at the resort?"

Mariel’s eyes sparkled, like she was about to let him in on a secret. Gossip surely brings people together. Her eyes narrowed as they both took slices of the orange. And like your typical Maritess, the Filipino version of your white Karen except this one will gossip the shit out of you instead of calling for a manager, she said to him, "One time. We had a guest who booked a tour, and this guy’s mistress also booked the same tour. So the husband and wife were literally on the same tour without them knowing that the man’s side bitch was there stalking them. Oh my god, you should’ve seen the confrontation scene. It was like watching a movie in real life."

Albert dangled the piece of fruit into his mouth. "Really? So what happened next?"

I was back on the couch, wondering how these two found each other, as I was smiling at how easily Albert got Mariel into talking. She’s usually reserved and keeps to herself. And now they’re intimate friends.

I stared outside the window, gazing through the slits in the venetian blinds, and said to myself, "Damn it. I’ve got nothing to do." I turned around and frowned at the two. "I want to cuddle with Albert. Tsk. When is she leaving?"

At midnight, my plan was about to come to fruition. I woke up with severe back pain. Citing the genius that I am, I particularly aired out my grievances as I pretended to have a nasty back pain. Grunting and heaving were all I did to get him to notice me. Albert had enough of the noise, turned on the bedside lamp, and said, "You’ve been making that bloody racket for ages! Are you going to sleep, or do I have to go there and stuff your face with a pillow?"

I wearily pointed at my back, slouching over, and said, "I think I need to sleep on the bed. I asked the doctor earlier, and he said I need something soft on my back to cushion my spine."

He sneered at me and said in jest, "Uhuh. Really now. You’re sleeping on a lazy-boy couch. There’s nothing more softer than that. Want to trade places?"

Pouting my mouth, I protested. "But the bed’s softer."

After gazing at me with my downturned smile and protruding lips as though I’m begging him to save my posture, he said, "Ok, fine. You can sleep on the bed." With the biggest grin on my face, I clambered into bed and scooted on his side, laying my arm around his hips as though I was basically spooning him. He had a brick oven emitting his own personal heat, and I loved it. I pulled the comforter over our shoulders and silently chuckled that my plan had been a success.

"There. I can finally go to bed," I said. "Goodnight."

"This was definitely a trap, and I willingly stepped into it."

Nuzzling my nose on the back of his head, I added, "It’s not a trap. The couch was really small."

"Uhuh. Bloody excuses."

Then I felt the bed shake. "What was that?" I asked.

"Your beard is tickling me." He rolled his neck and tried to scratch the itch. "Can you move your beard so I may sleep peacefully?"

"I’m not doing anything." I nudged my chin closer to his nape, and he wiggled his neck.

"Stop it, Damien." He cackled and said, "I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work."

"What am I doing? I’m not doing anything."

"I can feel that thing in your thigh poke me. I’ll cut that off if I get poked again."

"I can turn the other way if it makes you happy."

I was turning to the other side when he said, "Goodnight."

I turned back around and cuddled him."You’re not going to stop me? But I want to spoon you."

He grabbed my arm and said, "Then spoon me. That’s why you’re on this bed, right?"

"Yeah, you're right."

I nudged my face against his neck, and he giggled. "Stop it! It’s tickling me."

"What if I wanted to tickle you? What do you say to that?"

He sighed and said, Oh, lord, I’m dealing with a child."

We argued and horsed around for a while until he was clenching my hand, which he had pulled close to his chest, and then he fell asleep. I mean, it only made sense for him to start snoozing while he was the little spoon since I’m a very good human blanket and I’m good at what I do. There was no other way but to follow the doctor’s prescription for human contact. He did advise that sleeping alone was bad for my back, or something like that. I needed a human pillow to warm me up at night, and Albert's been the perfect human for that. So, I’m clearly just following the doctor’s orders... right?