Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 16. No Nice Strippers, The Full Seven Inches

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CHAPTER 16: NO NICE STRIPPERS, THE FULL SEVEN INCHES

"So what do you want to do next? We still have a couple of hours left before the next boat ride."

We were in the city, standing in front of Puregold, a supermarket chain that sells wholesale goods, where we had just been dropped off from our tricycle ride. We were planning our next destination when Albert said, "Let’s just hang out somewhere to pass the time."

"There’s a coffee shop nearby."

"I might fall asleep if I drink coffee."

I thought of where we could go and suggested, "How about a bottle of beer?"

"Beer in the afternoon?"

"Yeah. There’s this sex and orgy club where they serve beer and cocktails at 3 in the afternoon. They also hand out a free beer to those wearing a gag and an adjustable strap every Friday." I glanced at him; he looked terrified. "Got you, didn’t I?"

"You nearly gave me a heart attack. Sadly, I didn’t wear my leather harness."

I chuckled. "There’s nothing like that here. But there’s this exclusive gay club that offers karaoke on Fridays, spoken poetry, acoustic nights, game nights on weekdays, and drag performances every weekend. It’s a well-known club, but they only allow a certain headcount. Around 50 people, then they close the club regardless of how many people are waiting outside."

"What are they having tonight?"

"Karaoke."

"Ok. Let’s go," he said, as he walked excitedly ahead, and turned around to ask, "Er—so where is it?"

We were in front of the club, weaving our way through the gaps as the crowd jammed shoulder to shoulder. The people were standing with either a bottle of beer, a cigarette on their left, or a canapé on their right, laughing, hugging, and conversing amidst a light blast of house music.

You’d expect the place to have visitors looking like they were about to go to the beach, seeing as we’re surrounded by water. But most of them were ready to take their pictures on a red carpet step and repeat backdrop.

Outside the club, different people of different races and cultures were mingling, and it was more like an after-party to a formal event than a seedy-looking waiting area. I wasn’t expecting this many people at three in the afternoon. But with bars closing at 2 AM in the evening, I guess the partying was adjusted. I could almost smell the fruitiness in the air. Everywhere my eyes went, someone gay was present at every corner. Not that it wasn't filled with queer people before. Now, it's just teeming with my people. When did this club suddenly become a gay mecca? And why the long stares at what we were wearing? Was there a dress code?

I was holding Albert by his shoulders as we slowly meandered to find the entrance when he asked, "Are you sure we’re in the right place?"

"I’m not sure either," I said, bumping shoulders with the crowd, who gave their off-shoulder glances and critical stares. This gay German couple said, "Schau dir an, was sie tragen. Ich glaube, sie sind verloren." (Look at what they’re wearing. I think they’re lost.) I recognised the black curls of his hair and the outline of his face, as he was conversing with a group of people in a raised area that looked like a parking ramp. I waved at him and shouted, "Reggie!"

"Damien!" shouted my friend. He squeezed himself amongst the people between us and said in his thick French accent, "What are you doing here?"

"I was lost. What happened here man? This place blew up."

He leaned forward and said loudly, "Yeah. Candy vlogged about the club. I can’t believe she found our place. I mean it’s Candy!" It definitely sounds like her. "A few weeks later, people started lining up. You know how my club can only take 50 people? The people waited outside. They got impatient and started doing their thing."

My eyes toured the surrounding area; it was a perfect hang-out place to chill, drink, talk, pass around drugs, and get high with a mimosa. "So what happened inside your club?"

"Only special people can go in. It’s become more exclusive than ever."

I smiled and said, "Are we special enough?"

He gazed at Albert and me, then said, "Of course! You’re more than a special client. But first, let me introduce you to some friends." He pulled us to where a group of five people were seated. They seem to be important people.

He introduced me to Stefan, a CFO at a major bank in Norway. Louisa, the CEO of the largest Brazilian wine exporter; Tomas, the youngest son of the biggest hotel chain empire in the world; and Marissa, a model from the UK who’s married to the owner of Formula 1. Everyone at the table was a heavy hitter, and possibly already an investor or a future investor in Reggie’s club.

They seemed like cool people to hang out with. Louisa was looking at me like she’d want to do me in a back alley. While Stefan was just plain undressing me with his eyes. Marissa was busy on her phone arguing with someone, stuffing her mouth with cigarettes, while Tomas, the most normal-looking of the bunch, posed with a courteous smile.

His chest exploded with scraggly dark strands that morphed into his bushy beard and a balding mane. Your typical European, I’d say. His eyes furtively gazed at Albert, as Albert simpered a smile out of their first meeting. Then Albert walked two spaces behind me as he tried to hide from these intimidating specimens of people with deep pockets.

Our entire getup—a simple t-shirt and shorts—didn’t really inspire or command any confidence to speak up to people like Reggie’s guests. They were intimidating, to say the least. But Albert forgot he had me. And out of the group of people in this entire club, I was the only person here who could buy everyone a hundred times over, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Reggie knew that. But Albert and his guests didn’t. So I’m sure that I had to keep my identity a secret, as with everything else.

I squeezed Albert’s shoulder, and he glanced up and smiled. He had to know that nothing would ever happen to him while I was around. Not wanting to be impolite by breaking the guy’s face, I gave the clearest signal and warning and hung an arm around Albert to say, 'Back off. He’s with me.' And the most important thing is that he’s mine.

I recognised Marcus, the son of Todd Himes, the media mogul and tycoon. That combed-out hair and the signature mole under his eye were impeccable and hard not to notice. He still looks like a sales agent for Jehovah’s Witness after all these years.

He and I used to play lacrosse in high school and butted heads at almost any school activity. Then things took a different turn for the both of us. He took the high road and went to Stanford. I took the road to drugs, booze, and sex parties, which led to me dropping out of MIT. Of all the places, I had to see him here. But thank the Lord, he didn’t recognise me. I used to dye my hair black and wear dark contacts. It was a high-school emo thing—I know.

He was eyeing me up and down when he said, "I feel like I’ve seen you before."

I had to pretend I was remembering something as I tilted my head and gazed at an empty space. "Mmm. Not really. Should we know each other?"

"Not unless you live in LA. You’re from around here, aren’t you?"

"Sure. I manage a resort."

"Which resort?" asked Marissa, sipping her glass of champagne. "I’ve been to Palawan practically every year. I know every resort there is to know."

"I work for H.M.S. Holdings, mainly the island tour division. We manage trips from Puerto Princesa to El Nido and Limangpulo Island."

"I’ve never heard of this trip," said Marissa, looking at me as though I was making things up.

Louisa and Stefan joined our conversation and were curious. "I’ve heard of Limangpulo Island," said Stefan. "The 10-day trip costs around $10,000. Is that right?"

"That’s for the regular trips. Our VIP package costs around $30,000 per person. However, you can customise it to cater to your experience."

"A single trip can cost around $30,000," said Louisa. "That’s insane."

"And more. We have some royalty from Dubai who went on a chartered trip for 20 days and the trip was around $100,000 per person. Our VIP club is very exclusive. One must know one to be one."

The group started talking to themselves. They seemed surprised that they’d never heard of us. Of course, I’ve made it a point to ensure that exclusivity remains rampant throughout every trip. Just because you have the money doesn’t mean you can travel with us. You’d need the right people and the right circle to know that we exist. Then it got me thinking that these people might benefit the company. I said something that always got prospective guests wanting more. "We also cater guests to Pitongpulo Island."

Marissa said that got her fake tits bouncing: "You guys own that island? I’ve always wanted to go there. I heard Beyoncé stayed there for like a month, and she paid 3 million dollars."

"It was actually 3.2 million dollars, you could say." They were all buzzing like flies as their excitement talking about the islands they hadn’t visited was through the roof. I said something to seal the deal. "Why don’t I have my people invite you over for a quick lunch on one of our yachts? You can have a day tour of Limangpulo Island."

Stefan piped in. "How about Pitongpulo?"

"Sorry, but we reserve any showcase on that island for guaranteed clients."

"But my dad owns a bank—I mean," said Stefan, bargaining through the five stages of grief. "Multiple banks, in fact. Like throughout the entirety of Europe. There’s gotta be a way we could stay on that island."

"Can’t you bump us there, Damien? Damien, right?" I nodded as Marcus tried hanging his arm around my shoulders like we were long-time buddies, but found me too tall. It’s true that we used to be buddies. But he doesn’t know that. "Can you like give us a slot to stay at Pitongpulo?"

"The minimum stay is three days, with around two to three people per villa. The villas cost around $50,000 to $100,000 per night," I said, looking down at them and pretending to shrug at the price.

Louisa asked Tomas, "Hey Tom, how much can you share?"

"200 to 500k?" shouted a voice from the right side of the stage. "Yeah, it was very interesting to see how they..."

I glanced to my right and saw Tomas and Albert chit-chatting and laughing about something. The fuck! The only time I’d forgotten that Albert was with me was when this happened. They were seated on a small couch, and they were pretty close—too close for my liking.

I tried drowning everything out in silence as I listened to their conversation. But I don’t have any superpowers. Trying to focus made me look like I was shitting myself. The four of them were still discussing some whatever—damn it, they were getting inside! Where the heck are they going?

"Excuse me, but I have to go. I forgot I have somewhere to be. I’ll leave you my calling card, and we could all set up a date," I said, telling them as I left and squeezed myself into the pack of bodies, rubbing shoulder to shoulder.

The squeak of a microphone suddenly came blaring through the rainbow archway. It was followed by a muffled noise and then the unmistakable beat of Adele, with an amateur singer sounding like he was deepthroating the mic. As I tried to go through a panelled door, an arm stopped me, and a 7-foot bouncer said, "Only cardholders can go through."

"Cardholder?" I moved to the side when a wo-man wearing a puffy wig and a flowy gown got inside when she flicked a card. It seemed to be the club’s exclusive membership card. "I don’t have it with me, but what if I introduce you to my friend?" I slipped out a thousand pesos, and the big man barely made any expression.

So I did what I had to do. Running to get past the door, he stopped me with just an arm and said, "Nice try bro. But no."

Left with no options, I tried looking for Reggie. I looked high and low for the man, but he must be inside with some clients. My search led me to the parking lot. It was already pumping by the time I made my appearance as the techno music’s reverb vibrated through my legs. I paused at the sound of pounding music and wondered where I was going. I checked my watch, and it was 5:36 PM. We were about to miss the ferry ride. And then I heard his laughter. It was Albert.

Turning around, Tomas was dragging Albert inside a red Ferrari. Albert was giggling and moving like he was incredibly intoxicated. He didn’t look drunk. He was clearly on to something else.

I walked over to them and saw Tomas inching forward to kiss Albert, as Albert said, "But I just met you," and then he guffawed like a horse.

At this point, I should have raged out. I was boiling inside. But I held back to see where this was going. "Hey guys, where are you off to?" I asked, smiling.

I was behind them when Albert shouted from the car, "Hey Damien! You silly goose, you!" He clung to me and started smelling my chest. "Wood spice cologne. I miss this scent." He inhaled deeply and said, "You remind me of someone. But I can’t remember his name."

Tomas suddenly pulled him away and grabbed him by the hand. "Where are you going, mon cherie?" said the hairy man, pulling him into an embrace. I frowned as Albert was squashed against him, his hand pressed on the man’s chest as it nearly grazed the outline of his nipple underneath that suit and tie. Albert was looking up at him, caressing his face and mouth, and pouting to kiss him. Clenching my fist, one more second, one more second, was the mantra I told myself.

"Your friend here is, er, really nice and funny." Albert’s body was wedged against him and the car, as Tomas twisted his torso to open the passenger’s seat, and said, "He grabbed three pieces of mint, thinking it was candy. He didn’t know it was ecstasy. Now he wants to fuck. What a lucky night. You’re ok with this, right? You brought him to the club."

"Yeah. Definitely." I walked closer as Albert smiled at me.

Tomas shoved Albert forcefully inside the passenger’s seat and said, "Come on, baby boy. I want you to strip naked and dance for me."

"Ok," said Albert as he took off his shirt.

But before he could take off his shorts, I placed my hand on Tomas’s shoulder and said, "But there’s a problem. You see, who you have there inside is more than a friend. That’s my fucking boyfriend…" Tomas’s face morphed from joy to anguish. "So, maybe, get your fucking hands off him, you piece of trash!" I hurled him to the ground and pounded his face as he tried shielding my punches with his arms. "You tried giving him drugs, you motherfucking piece of shit. I’m gonna kill you."

The bystanders had to pry me off that sick bastard. I only got 3 or 4 punches straight to his fucking face and a couple of kicks to his bloated gut before the bouncer grabbed me and hauled me off the side. Someone called the cops on me. As the local cops showed, Tomas had already bounced off when he drove his Ferrari and raced out of there. No one was really there to complain. I just dealt with a P5,000 fine for disturbing the peace.

As the cops left and several gossip dwellers and bystanders had already dispersed and left the area, I turned around and saw Albert dancing shirtless in the corner. I pulled out my phone and began recording him. He was really grinding the air—the boy’s got moves. This will come in handy in the future.

"Damien," he started motioning at me to come closer, "let’s dance. Don’t you feel this music? The hills are alive with the sound of music!"

He began twirling. I hurriedly walked over to fetch him and plopped him on my shoulders, holding onto his legs as he hung on my back. "I’m not doing this," I mumbled.

"What are you doing, mate? But the spirit of the music lives on." He started fist-pumping while hanging upside down.

"Let’s go home, J-Lo. No more dancing for you tonight."

"Ok. Let’s go home boyfriend!" he shouted, as he patted my ass like I was a racing stallion. I smiled. For some reason, my heart felt a thump when I heard him say it. "You’re my boyfriend. My boy-boy-boy-boy-boyfreeend."

However, hearing it while he wasn’t hallucinating would’ve been nice.