Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 15. Someone That Loves You

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CHAPTER 15: SOMEONE THAT LOVES YOU

I accompanied Albert to his doctor’s appointment in the city. We left the island at 5 AM and got to Puerto Princesa before lunchtime. The check-up was quick and simple. They let him cough inside a tube to examine his lungs, and that was it. I was worried at first, but it seemed pretty generic to ensure his lungs were healing perfectly and that there weren’t any bacteria that had formed. His results came back negative. And as his doctor advised, "Nothing too stressful, ok, Mr. Mathersen."

We were outside the hospital’s main entrance, and he was fanning himself from the heat with a small portable fan while I slathered my skin with some SPF. I noticed he was looking pretty sleek in his getup. He looked like a local with his tank top, beach shorts, and baseball cap, together with a sling bag. Seeing what I’d worn, we were twin-ning as I had the same clothes. I grinned and said, "Wanna grab some pandesal?"

"Pandesal? What’s that?"

"It’s called salt bread in Spanish. But I dunno, it tastes kind of sweet to me. It’s awesome if you dip it in coffee."

"I want to try that."

"Ok. Follow me."

The closest pandesalan was a block away, known as ‘Angel’s Pandesal’. Describing it as a shack was the perfect description; it was a small, seedy bake shop made of corrugated iron, balanced on a questionable foundation of bricks. They seemed to have run out of material partway through building it over a millennium ago. A slap of the brightest yellow had been painted on its exterior in a weak attempt at renovation to make it appear more modern. I was told the shop had been there since the 70s and has been a staple landmark of Puerto Princesa, regardless of how it looks like a banana was murdered and had its insides blown on their doorstep. Their cinnamon buns were the bomb, though.

We made our way to the back of the line, and the door tingled behind us. There were boots clomping as more people entered.

"Hey Damien."

I peered over my shoulder, and a solid man with a khaki shirt hugged his chest, and dusty grit caked his firm arms. "Fuck," I whispered. "What’s he doing here?" I wondered.

The brunette turned around and smiled, "Hi." His wavy dark hair appeared windblown with his sweaty brow.

Albert answered, "Hello there." He swivelled his head to the man behind me. They both look very similar. Stuart was taller and had supercilious brown eyes, while Albert was shorter and had those smug eyes that would wear you down. Both men were in the uncanny valley of each other, except Albert seemed to be the more handsome-looking one, while Stuart was the even pastier version of Albert with a slight bucktooth and a flatter ass.

"A pom," said Stuart, reaching over for a handshake.

"And a Scot," said Albert, smirking as he gave his hand. He looked at Stuart, gazing at me. "I think I have a feeling of how we know our mutual friend."

Stuart said wryly, "Same here. Are you the new guy?"

"'We're together, but we don’t. You know."

"Okk…" said Stuart, looking really confused.

They were glancing at each other, and I introduced Stuart. "Yeah, er, Stuart’s the construction head of one of the buildings here. They’re renovating a building across the street. He’s an expat. Been living here for 5 years, right?"

"Ah dinnae ken why you’ve got that wrong. I’ve lived here for 7 years. I’ve said it many times, yet you seem to forget mate."

"I bet," said Albert, following my gaze while trying to suppress a smile. "You need to hammer it in his head so he’ll remember. I assume he’s hammered you several times that you remember everything—he tells you?"

"Pure dead brilliant. Got that right."

I’ve been trying to read between the lines, but I have no idea what the two were talking about. I may be too dumb to figure this out. "Want to go ahead?" I gestured to Stuart.

He gladly took the chance. "Thanks mate."

He gazed up, then pointed to the menu board and gave his order. The door rang again, and more people squeezed into the poky store. The room grew hot with an array of bodies and sizzles of boiling steam as the oven was frantically piled with dough. The tension was palpable as Stuart would longingly glance at me, which I’d dodge, and Albert would then inspect every twitch and movement of my eye. It was a circumspection I never regarded for myself.

Then Stuart’s beady eyes swept past us after getting his coffee and pandesal and said, "Cheers." I sensed he looked kind of sad. I didn’t want to embrace his sadness since Albert’s with me, but I truly hope he finds what he’s looking for with someone else.

Holding a sigh of relief, Albert began ordering his coffee and bread. It wasn’t until we were seated at one of the two sets of tables placed outside that my brows began to rise when he asked me a question.

"You were shagging him, weren’t you?" He snorted as he tore a piece of the pandesal and dunked it in his coffee. "You better tell me the truth, for you’re confessing to a licenced therapist."

"Well, how did you know?"

"All humans possess the ability to lie. You just need to have a baseline of when they’re honest. With you, it’s looking directly into someone’s eyes—that’s when you’re most truthful. Back there, you were staring everywhere."

"And…" I said, listening curiously while I slathered my doughnut with peanut butter and some actual butter.

"Your fingers were fidgeting. You barely looked at me. Your voice went a notch higher. Your eyebrows were sweating. You were dodging his every glance like it would kill you. And most interesting of all, you wanted our friend, Stuart, out there. Why’s that, though?"

"Alright. You got me. Yes, we were sleeping together. You got that right."

"The science is sketchy, but at least it worked. It’s ok. You don’t have to explain anything. Your sex life is none of my business."

He thinks he knows himself. My little Albert thought he knew better. But I’ve already gotten a good gauge of whether Albert’s the one who’s lying. He would rub the back of his ears, and right now he’s rubbing them. I was elated at seeing this and said, "Ok. Thank you for not asking," knowing full well he was going to ask about it anyway.

I went to enjoy my meal, watching the cars pass by as I tore piece after piece of my doughnut and pandesal, then slowly drank my coffee while I watched him steep in his own broth as he rubbed the back of his ears in anxiety about the thing he didn’t want to know about. It was only seconds before he asked me what I wanted to hear.

"About Stuart, what’s your setup with him?" he said, cautiously eyeing me as he sipped his coffee.

"I thought you weren't curious about my sex life."

"Just a bit." He crossed his arms and said, "Ok. I’m heavily invested in your sex life."

"I’m not saying anything until you say please."

"Tell me all the details, please."

I bit my lips and grinned. "He was my inconsistent fuck buddy. Inconsistent because I’d call him when you know—I need to bang someone. It was just too random. We never had sex more than twice a month, and sometimes it’d be months in between. The last one was three or four months ago."

"How did you two meet?"

"Two years ago, I was drinking at a club around these parts and he saw me. I went up to his place, fucked that night, and that’s it. A month later, I called him, and we fucked again."

"Did the two of you ever get out on a date?"

"We tried. But he barely talked when we watched a movie. Then we went to dinner. He kept talking about his work and I was bored. There was no chemistry really. All I wanted was to shove my dick in his ass, and that’s really just it. It was just sex. Until now, he thinks I’m a lifeguard at the resort. It never really came up to explain what I do. All we did was fuck."

"You’re such a charmer. So you’re a top then," he said like he was joking.

"Wait, I thought you were a bottom," I stated, my cheeks widening.

"Why do you care? Remember, we're not having sex. It's not in the contract."

"Damn that contract. I regret writing that up. Well, it’s good to know information, like, I’d be glad to know about it for future references."

"Ok. To sum it up, I’d like a good pounding... for future references, like really rough. Like head slamming on the headboard till my brain explodes—that kind. I would also prefer it if you were a jackhammer doing it specifically for 200 beats per minute. It has to be exactly that speed otherwise, I’d lose interest. Did you get all of that?"

I started writing in the air, motioning with my hands. "Got it. Will fuck him till he keels over and is dead. Noted. Anything else I need to know?" He chuckled till my face turned serious and asked, "How about you? Any surprise fuck buddies I may not know about?"

"I had one," he said, smiling, which turned into shame as his lips curled. "Two months after Daniel died, I pity-shagged a friend." My face got twisted in shock as he covered his face. "Then I shagged him a day after that and shagged him for the final time till I called it quits. I know. It’s bad."

I drank the rest of my coffee and said, "Albert, how could you? You naughty dog. It hadn’t even been three months since your spouse died and you were boning another guy already."

"He was going through a divorce. Well, they lasted for almost a year. And the new drug my therapist gave me was making me really horny—like really horny. I was so mad when I confronted that therapist and he said that the people at the dispensary must have gotten my prescription mixed in with another depressed patient. I think I was drinking medication for bipolar disorder, which I’m not."

I grabbed my phone, leaned forward, and squinted. "So what’s the name of the drug? I’ll get an entire shipment for you."

He laughed and held my hand down. "I’m not telling you. That drug had some weird effects on me. I was awake for 36 hours straight and, at the same time, I was extremely horny. Oh lord, it was horrible. Thinking of sex over sleep was a confusing emotion."

"So who’s the guy?"

"Brad Ainsley."

"The guy you nearly cheated with?" He nodded. "How scandalous." I quickly typed his name on my phone to look him up. It brought me to the faculty page of Cambridge University and his own clinic in Manchester. "Huh. He looks ok for a nerd. You have a thing for men with big hair, don’t you? He looks like the dollar tree version of an 80s Rob Lowe."

"Yes." He glanced up and swiped my cap. Then he looked at me and smiled. "Your hair’s thick, so that explains why."

"Why?"

"Why? I like you."

"Oh, I see. So," I said, batting my eyes, "you like me, huh?"

Lifting his hand, he wiggled it. "Mmm. Maybe."

I grabbed his hand. "Change your verdict. You’re not going maybe on me."

He unclamped my hand and said, "I like you very much, it seems. But how about you? Do YOU like me too?"

"Yes." I crossed my arms and stuck them on the table, leaned my head forward, placed it on my arms, and muttered, "I like you more. More than you’ll ever know."

Then, he brought an arm over to his chest. "I sincerely swear and promise, this Friday morning in front of Angel’s Pandesalan, to shag you, in the future, when my libido comes back. I swear, in the name of his majesty, King Charles, and cross my heart in front of my pandesal and coffee, as I hope to never die."

I craned my neck up in anticipation. "You will?" He shook his head. "That’s the most romantic thing you’ve said to me." I swiped my eye and scrunched my face, pouting dramatically at this sentiment. "I’m gonna cry knowing I’m going to fuck you for 200 beats per minute while your head explodes on the headboard. You’ll be going out into this world with a bang. A literal bang. That is so sweet." We looked at each other, and he broke into laughter, as I smiled at his infectious laugh. I grabbed his hand and brushed my nose on the sweet pastry smell of his fingers, then said, "Till that happens. You belong to me. No Brad Ainsley’s gonna have you. Got it?"

"Yes." Albert gave the biggest smile as he pulled back his hand. "So, where to next?"

We were back at the hospital. He’d forgotten the supplement he was supposed to take, and he wasn’t keen when I lectured him to take notes of his prescription meds, by which he said that I’d been yapping like an old man talking him down to death. Coming out of the hospital’s entrance, I said, "I’m hungry for real food. The next boat leaves at 6 in the afternoon. It’s already lunchtime. What do you have in mind?"

"I’ve only been to Puerto Princesa for a day when we rode the yacht. Apart from that, I don’t know the local establishments or eateries here."

"Ok. We’ll go to my favourite place then."

I walked ahead as he followed behind, and we were at the hospital’s parking lot, about to cross over to the side of the street where there was a line of tricycles stationed. Tricycles in the Philippines are your basic, standard motorbike attached to a passenger cab. They all came in different styles and colours, with the usual 2-seater ride. But here in Palawan, a larger set intended for four people was widely available. It’s always fun riding one.

We were crossing the pedestrian when he said, "I’ve never ridden a tricycle before. I’m somewhat excited."

"Really? You’re gonna love it, I bet." We got to the front of the queue, and I said to the tricycle driver, "Sa may Bantayan, kina Aling Trining, kuya." (At the Bantayan, at Mrs. Trining, kuya.)

I first got inside the passenger cab, and my knees were hitting the front. I had to tilt my legs to the right to accommodate the space. These passenger cabs weren’t meant for someone of my stature. I usually ride at the back of the car, but I didn’t want to leave Albert inside, coz’, ya’ know, it’s the perfect setting to drape my arms around his shoulder to be all romantic. I didn’t want to miss my chance. Snoop Dogg was blasting in the background as the speaker was behind me. I would’ve preferred it if the music didn’t scream in my eardrums.

"Wow, it’s tight," said Albert, squeezing himself inside.

As we were riding the tricycle, Albert’s hand was on my thigh. It did not bother me. But it was triggering my greatest weakness. And so I started snorting. "Excuse me?" he said. His fingers were pinpointing every nerve ending in my leg for me to chortle and irrevocably cause me the sheer embarrassment of laughing like a pig. "What is happening to you?" Albert quickly let go of my thigh. I covered my mouth to feel mercy from his grasp.

"I’m ticklish there," I explained.

"Well, obviously," said Albert, looking amused. He held my thigh again as I squealed like a little girl. "Just checking."

I draped my arm over his shoulders and whispered, "Someday, I’ll find out your weakness."

"You already have."

"Where?" He looked down and showed me how his hand was supporting his buttocks. "It’s the vibrations. It’s sending me on edge."

"So, does that mean?"

"Yep," he said quickly. "I’m holding my laughter in. You had better not distract me, 'cause I’m about to lose it."

Pushing the naughty thoughts aside, I said, "I’m taking notes right now. No butt message for you." He bit his lips, giggled, then looked away.

Hopping off our ride, we arrived at a ramshackle abode. It wasn’t dilapidated, but it wasn't exactly the restaurant you’d bring your date to. The restaurant’s prep area was small compared to the seating area placed around it. Mismatched chairs and plastic tables outside with signage on top that said, "Aling Trining’s Bulalohan," filled the entrance. But the place was packed. So packed that cars were parked around the back, right through the bend, and a waiting line cramped near the entrance. There was a group of families sitting by the front, slurping on a soupy meat dish. Several tables were occupied outside, all filled with people busily eating and chatting on this hot and humid afternoon.

He read the sign and said, "This place looks exciting."

"You like this restaurant? I thought I'd turn you off. It’s not really a 3-star Michelin restaurant."

"Are you kidding me?" Albert said excitedly. "Hawker stalls and hole-in-the-walls are the best places to dine out. So, what are they serving around here?"

"Bulalo," I said, with a smile on my face, given that he’s keen on eating around these places. "It’s beef marrow soup. The thing I like about this place is their serving."

"What about?"

"You’ll see. We should go inside."

"But there’s a line."

"I know the owner. She owes me."

As we got inside, past the clanging spoons and forks of the customers eating outside, I waved at Aling Trining. She screamed as the patrons inside the huge tent all looked at me. Some began whispering and eyeing me.

"Damien! My gaad, it’s been so long ah." I leaned forward and hugged her. The old woman was a quarter my size, but she could talk down a horse if she wanted to. Her grey apron was wrapped around her hips in haste while her bun was tied with a chopstick she probably took from a customer. "How come you haven’t seen me? I’m jealous ah… you might have found a girlprend already." I turned my head to the left as my eyebrows seemed to point at Albert. Ah, ok. You already found a boyprend. So you’ve already replaced me in your heart, you two-timing playboy ah."

She whistled and pointed at a covered area behind the kitchen, and two men started planting a plastic table and two sets of chairs under the shade of an awning. "So how’s the business?" I asked, seeing that the place was bustling.

"It’s doing great. In pact, it’s doing pantastic." She winked at me and ushered us to our table. "You and you, sit there. Are you and your boyfriend out on a date? I can’t belib you’ve replaced me Damien ah. Ok pine. I’ll leave you two labbirds alone. You two enjoy ah," she said, as she scurried off inside the kitchen frantically answering a phone call and screaming at an employee who forgot the ladle for the soup.

Albert was taking a seat when he asked, "How do you two know each other?"

"I lent her some money."

"How much?"

"About P1,000,000. Around $20,000’ish."

"That’s a lot. Why did you lend her that large sum of money?"

"She came to me because she needed an investor in her meat business. She was desperate."

"How desperate?"

I was about to light up a cigarette when he saw the stick in my fingers. He didn’t say anything. I’d rather he breathed in fresh air instead of cigarette fumes. I knew he disliked the smell of it, so I put it back in my pocket. "She owed the bank around P600,000. I remember she came to the resort not knowing who I was. I pretended to be one of the guests and asked her why she was crying in the square. She told me that she came to the island for a surprise visit, hoping to speak to a manager, the owner, or anyone—to ask for some help. Then she told me her life story out of desperation and probably, to vent out all of her problems that she had placed their home as collateral and that it was about to be repossessed by the bank if she didn’t pay their debts. Her kids lived with her. Her kid’s kids lived with them in their large house. And all of them would be homeless if she didn’t do something."

"What happened to her business that she wasn’t able to pay her debts?"

"There was a meat epidemic, and it was hitting her livestock. Food and mouth disease, as I remember. Almost all cattle in the area were affected. Business was bad at that time. "

Albert pursed his lips and said, "So, what happened?"

"I saw her as the matriarch. A strong matriarch. She was there bawling her eyes out to a stranger she had just met. Something in my gut told me she might lose it, you know, die from carrying all of that burden on her shoulders. I imagined her getting a stroke or a heart attack from all the stress. And I didn’t want a woman like her to be taken by this world’s deep hatred for anything good. She went home that day, not knowing who I was."

Albert’s eyebrows were pinched together when he said, "You did nothing?"

"You know, calling the bank takes a day."

"So you called the bank?"

"Yeah. I settled their debts. I remember clearly that she got to the island the next day. She was shouting at the square, asking about who paid for her debts like this witch chanting a spell. I shouted, I did, as I was coming out of the office. It was hilarious to see her surprised face. She hugged me afterwards. Then I told her I was interested in her meat business, and she gave me 20% terms. I agreed on the condition that she be the one supplying the meat at the resort."

"When did this happen?"

"About a few years ago. So, it’s a win-win for both of us. As for her restaurant, she was about to close it down. Now business is booming. Her meat packing factory is doing so well that she gets to focus on her restaurant."

He smiled and said, "So you helped her. No wonder she seems to treat you like a son. But I’ve got a question." The wheels of doubt kept turning when he asked me, "Where did you get that much money if you’re just an employee at the resort?"

Shit. I’ve been found. "Er, well, er—you see."

"I don’t like it when people lie to me," he said, his face turning serious. "You either tell me the truth or you don’t." I took off my cap, and the front of my hair was sweating. Straightening my hair, I pulled over my curls and wore the cap back.

"Well, I'm an employee, but—"

"—I am joking. I had a feeling that you’re no regular employee."

"You did?"

"Yeah. That was your dad’s yacht, isn’t it? And your father’s the old man with dreads. He seems to boss you around."

I never thought I’d be assumed to be half-Asian. Or maybe it’s the other way around; Kulas is thought of as a toasted Caucasian. "But he’s pure Filipino," I said.

"I don’t know the semantics of how your family tree is. But you may be adopted. Who knows? Look at me; I’m adopted, and half the time people barely suspected I was one."

"Your biological father or mother might be white."

"That’s true. I’ve thought about that."

"But I am not adopted. Kulas isn’t my father. I’m the general manager of H.M.S. Tours," I said, telling the extent of the truth I could tell. I left the part where I admitted to owning everything and that I come from a line of billionaires, specifically, around a hundred billion dollars rich. Even if I’m still not sure how he’d take it. I’ve had people break up with me because of my financial situation. Or maybe that’s because of my jealous streak—it doesn’t matter. I’ve also had people be with me because of my money—nah, who am I kidding? Men don’t go for me because I’m rich. They’re with me because of what I look like. It’s not a humble brag. Just facts.

"That’s why you have the power to give Aling Trining that much money because you’re the general manager?"

"You could say that," I said. "It was good for the business of finding a local meat supplier. I imagine that restricting our supply chain to limit the point of contact from Puerto Princesa to El Nido by sourcing the local market instead of branching out internationally would benefit us in the long run. We lessened delivery time by 45%, met our quotas, and prevented any food and prep delays by 15%. We’re down on marginal food expenses by 23%. Meat from overseas may be of better quality. But the local meat that’s delivered farm-to-table trumps everything. That’s one headache solved by a little investment."

He was bobbing his head up and down and propping his chin on the table. "I have a feeling you’re superb at what you do. I find it slightly sexy, to be honest."

This was my moment to show off. I was hoping it might lead to something more. And then, we were abruptly startled by the two servers—goddamn it! Really? They were coming in with a big, really huge bowl of bulalo soup and two plates of rice. Large beef shanks and bone marrow, along with bok choy, cabbage, and corn, filled the entire soup dish.

"Are we able to finish this? This is a lot," he said.

"We could try. We have the whole afternoon to finish this monster."

Aling Trining was suddenly beside our table. "There you go. You get the best beef cut because you two are special customers, ok. Pinish everything. Otherwise, you’ll dream of my peys tonight." Then she glanced to her right and saw one of her grandchildren forgetting a plate at one of the customer’s tables. "Punyeta ka talagang bata ka." (You wanker of a child.) She then approached the table. "Sorry about that. That child needs vitamins and minerals in his body to think properly. Junjun! Come here. Bring them on another plate. My gad, you silly child."

Albert was smiling and grinning as she watched Aling Trining. "Bloody hell, she’s crazy. But you’ve got to love that about her. She exudes main character energy, like in soap operas. She’s the supporting actress to the lead." It made me smile that Albert’s in a good mood. More than good, I’d say. I began prepping his dipping sauce as I squeezed in half a calamansi, began slicing a bird's-eye chilli with my spoon, and poured in a little fish sauce on a small saucer. "What’s this?" he asked.

"The dipping sauce for the bulalo. You dip your beef in that sauce."

He took out a large chunk of beef from the bowl, ladled the soup on his rice, and dipped the sliced meat in the dipping sauce. Two spoonfuls of rice later, he said, "Oh my god. No more talking until I’ve had my fill of this." Thirty minutes and four cups of rice later, Albert patted his belly and said, "Ah. As it should be," as he grabbed a toothpick and plunged it into his teeth.

"I can’t believe we finished all of this."

"Best you believe, sir, because I have an appetite," he said.

"I’ve seen that. You eat like a construction worker. Not just any construction worker, like the construction workers here in the Philippines who eat 3 to 5 cups of rice per meal and still have skinny bodies."

The corner of his lips twitched, and he said, "I do krav maga."

"Krav Maga makes you skinny?"

"It does. The training is intense. I had a school bully harass me one day. I’ve never fought back, despite him knowing that I study street fighting. I always thought about my grades and position at school, so I always left the haters and bullies in the corner," he said smugly. He sounded like he was bragging, but I just let it be. He looked so cute with all his hand movements and facial expressions that seeing him crowing about his martial arts seemed worth it. "But Krav Maga is the art of self-defence. So, what I did was I plastered his face on a training dummy and murdered him and broke his every bone for the entire day. That’s why when I met him at school the following morning, I just thought, I’ve killed you so many times already. No wonder you’re a joke."

I pretended my mouth was slightly ajar as I leaned forward. "Seriously! Damn man. That is such a badass thing to say."

No, it’s not. It’s highly reductive to consider the art of war as a way to pacify a situation. One should never raise one’s hand to appease the flurry of fisticuffs one usually desires when one’s enraged."

"Annnd… he’s back. The Gay Gentleman is at it again. You were so cool about 5 seconds ago until he came out and ruined it." He laughed, and I smiled. Applying a bit of Filipino sarcasm in our conversation, I said, "So how does getting bullied and doing krav maga fit into the whole narrative of getting skinny because you do martial arts? Were you just bragging so I could have a moment to share that you told your mortal enemy, like in the films, "I've killed you so many times already. No wonder you’re a joke.’"

He gazed at me, and I gazed back with my eyes narrowing as I waited for a reply. Then his hand slowly but surely reached over a table napkin. He started crumpling the napkin into something round, like a ball. Yes, he crumpled the napkin like a ball. And then... And then he threw it in my face, and we both started laughing.

I gazed at him again, only this time with the tenderness and affection appropriate for this moment. I reached over, held his hand, kissed it ever so gently, rubbing the cusps of his fingers, and said, "I used to eat here alone. Now I’ve got someone to share this place with. Thanks for coming."

Placing his hand on top of my hand, he said, "Thank you for bringing me here. It was delightful." We stared at each other for a few moments, till he said, "Now who’s paying for this? I only have five quid in my wallet right now. I’m somewhat broke, so…"

Grabbing a table napkin, I crumpled it and threw it over at him, nodding my head while smiling back. I raised my hand and shouted, "Aling Trining! How much for this? Is this free?"