Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 21. Think About You

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CHAPTER 21: THINK ABOUT YOU

When lunchtime came, most of us had gathered in the middle for the food spread. Sauteed prawns, steamed red crabs, grilled squid, milkfish, lapulapu, an exclusive grouper in the Philippines, grilled pork that was chopped into strips, baked mussels, a fish ceviche made of Spanish mackerel, salted duck eggs with tomatoes, pinakbet without okra this time, and some tropical fruits cut and sliced in half to look presentable on the table. There was one dish unfamiliar to Albert. "What’s this?" he asked.

"Dinakdakan, also known as warek-warek in Ilocos. It’s similar to sisig, but the pork bits are chopped bigger and there’s no pork brain."

His face was aghast, and so were the others who’d heard me. A Dutch passenger wondered, "You mean there’s pork brain in sisig?"

"Yes, the authentic one," I clarified. "But since pork brain is expensive, most, if not all, restaurants serve it without it. Why are you complaining, Stefan? Authentic sisig is very, very good. And it looks like you could finish up an entire plate of pork brains. You can’t be a lawyer without one, right?" I glanced at Albert, who crinkled his nose while the Dutch group laughed along with the other passengers. I became the unofficial tour guide when the captain redirected me, a "passenger" who knew the area, to give brief insights into our destinations.

The ferry was docked at Ditaytayan Island, a small island with a neighbouring sandbar, along with five other ferries—which I owned. The entire day was spent abounding in the ocean for the passengers to do some rest and relaxation, drinking beers on a hot summer afternoon, while snorkelling the crystal clear waters. If you pay P150.00 extra, the crew will take you to the sandbar. They’ll pull up a large beach umbrella, set up some folding chairs, and supply you with enough beer to last you till the ferry departs for the camping site. Tank top redneck and his bff’s had taken that option, and stupidly enough, they went for that choice before the lunch spread, so I assume they’ll be starving by then. Serves them right.

Albert and I were sitting on the second-floor deck doing some light R&R ourselves, drinking beers and chilling out, when I observed a group on the far side drinking alcohol and playing truth or dare. The one with an afro dared a girl in a bikini to kiss the hirsute man who came with her on the tour. I glanced at the man, and he was whispering to a fellow passenger from Spain. After a quick kiss, the man returned to chatting with the Spaniard as if nothing had happened. The girl closed her arms, feeling embarrassed. After which, the Spaniard gazed at the girl and smiled. This truly felt like watching Albert’s teleseryes; a love triangle set in the Pacific Ocean.

I was chugging a beer when Albert asked me, "Are there any places where I could…"

"Throw Daniel’s ashes?"

"Yes."

"…that would seem respectable enough without him haunting me."

"Yes, that too," said Albert, his mouth turning up as he chugged a sip. "We don’t want to have a séance for the dead husband, don’t we?"

He’s finally recognised that Daniel’s gone. This was a milestone. "Are you ready?"

"I’m willing to go there but hesitant to be in that place. I’ll get there eventually, as I’m doing this for myself and for him."

"For him?"

"I've seen him in my head enough times to believe he was real. He needs rest. For good." My beer was stuck in my mouth, my eyes glued to him. "Although, choosing to be with him…" I spat my beer and glanced at him wide-eyed. "Calm down. I’m not jumping on a cliff to see him in the afterlife. That plan was scrapped a long time ago."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"Because I’ll strap you to my waist if you’re planning on anything funny."

He smiled and said, "Let me finish. Choosing to be with Daniel has been wonderful. But in the two years he's lived here," he pointed to his head, "our love story didn’t end. Now that I’ve woken up, the time for us to part is near."

"So you’re breaking up with him."

"Yes. He would love that. I think he wants me to move on and start with the next chapter of my life. I’ve decided that I have tonnes of things to do here on Earth, starting with you."

An overwhelming breath shuddered in my lungs; I gasped upon hearing it. I was on the edge of my seat when I asked him, "You mean that? You wanna be with me?"

"Don’t go all gushy with me," he said, rolling his eyes. Standing up as he strode to the railing, he leaned back and blew the hair that glommed onto his forehead. In the two months that we’d been together, his hair had gotten longer. It suited him. And he looked sexy. Then he peered at me while he was hesitating to say something and flickered his eyes at the sun that was about to set. "Damien, I… er, I mean it in the nicest compliment that I consider you as someone who brings joy to my life. Life seems more fun when you’re around. I’d like to keep it that way."

I stood up and leaned on the railing beside him. "You’re forgetting something."

"What?"

"You’re supposed to call me darling, mon coeur." I was behind him when I placed my chin firmly on his head. I nestled my arms on his shoulders and said, "Don’t ever leave me. Ok. My life’s never going to be the same without you."

"I only have a month and a half before my visa expires, just so everything’s clear. We already had it extended for 90 days. Send me a postcard from the Philippines to the UK will you?"

I bit his shoulder tenderly. "Haha. That’s funny." Then I went to kiss his neck. "Don’t you know I’m Damien THE ROCK Jr. I make the impossible, possible."

"Ok the rock," he said, grabbing my thigh.

"Stop." I winced, feeling the weakness in my knees. "Or, you can marry me," I said casually, and I sprung on him a suggestion I’d been thinking about for over a month. "I have Filipino and US citizenship. We could get married in the USA, and the Philippines recognises same-sex couples, so you could live here indefinitely. That’s an option for you to stay here." He turned around and looked at me.

"That’s so nice of you to offer. But I’m never going to get married again." He held my face and said, "Yeah. That ship has sailed. The last guy I married died on me. And look where that got me, it gave me mental depression and early psychosis. It was fun. I had two years of therapy, three attempted suicides, and another one where I jumped off the boat and got hospitalised for drowning... so yeah. No thanks. I’d leave marriage to those who can mentally handle it. But, thank you for offering though. That was really nice of you."

He peered down at the lower deck and shouted to Allison and João who were snorkelling, "Is the water nice?"

"Yes, hurry down before the light goes away," shouted Allison, floating in the ocean. João grabbed her from behind. Allison shrieked and splashed water on his face.

He kissed my cheek and handed me a half-empty bottle of beer, and proceeded to head downstairs, while I was left there on my own, muttering, "But I already bought the ring. Damn it Daniel. Why’d you have to die? Couldn’t you just have divorced him?"

And then I thought, so what am I gonna do with this ring now?

The sun was setting when we checked into our beach huts just before nighttime. The square-shaped huts were made of a mix of spliced bamboo and rattan, elevated on stilts with several stairs long enough to fit two futons covered with a mosquito net. Albert got inside the hut, dropped his bag on the side, and shimmied his way inside the net as he lay in bed. There were two futons in the hut, and Albert motioned at me to lay on his side.

"Come. I need a cuddle partner."

I laid my backpack beside his bag and climbed the stairs excitedly. "I think the bed’s too small."

Lying in bed beside him, my feet were past the bed’s height, and his arms were wrapped below my chest. "You need a shower," he said. "And your boobies feel nice."

"I do, don’t I?" I sniffed my armpits, and they were like rotting oakwood. It has a strong woody smell but is slightly pungent. He was really going ham on my knockers. "Stop grabbing my tits. They’re not going to give you milk. There’s another milk I could give you if you’re interested."

He patted my chest and said, "I’m ok with this. Your tweedle-dee-dums are very cosy and muscle-y." He started tracing the ripples in my stomach. "Not once have I ever seen you workout, but for some reason, you have a body like this. That’s unfair."

"I work out. I wake up in the morning and I do a hundred pushups. You’re still asleep and you never see me do it. And I go to the gym at the resort for an hour whenever I have free time. To have a gladiator body, you need to work out like a gladiator."

"I could smell the narcissism a mile from here. So you work out an hour a day and you look like this, while here I am still struggling to take off the extra pounds. Being on medication suppressed my appetite. Now that I’m not medicated, I can’t stop eating. Bloody hell… look at me, I’m like a lard-ass that keeps on hibernating."

I pinched his love handles and rubbed his soft gut. "Oof. Sexy."

"Great. A chub chaser."

He was sexy. His body still had definition, but now with the extra special guest of having a belly and his adorable chubby cheeks, he looked way better with the extra pounds on; he seemed healthier. Not to mention his ass jiggling was—er, too much, whenever I’d gaze down and they’d rub each other up and down, up and down, like they were teasing to be pinched. Then, for the first time, I grabbed his ass and said, "Soon. This shall be filled with my seed." I peered down to see his reaction. He caressed my face and shoved it with his palms.

"Sorry, but that’s off-limits."

"Oh come on, mon coeur! When are we having sex? I’ve been really mature about this, and I’ve been a gentleman by not pinning you to a wall."

"Yes. You’ve been more than a gentleman. I agree."

"But?" I asked.

"But—I still don’t have the sex drive. Even if I sit on you right now, I probably won’t… well, cum."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know I am physically attracted to you. I’ve imagined it so many times. But it doesn’t translate well down there. I took those medications for two years. Not once did the thought of touching myself come to mind. You understand that, do you?"

"I do," I said, pouting. Every morning he had his morning boner as does every man on this planet. And the urge to grab one’s dick, to touch it, or to feel it would unconsciously slip into any man’s mind, right? But with Albert, I’d never seen him cup a feel or hold his crotch for posterity’s sake. He would walk with a boner in the middle of the day and be unbothered, like that part of his body never existed. I was worried about him feeling normal again. I just hoped he did—eventually.

I opened my arms to hug him. "Someday, we’ll make love. This frustrates you, and I don’t want to put more pressure on you. And when that happens, I just hope it’s good. You might be bad in bed."

"I’m not. I’m more worried for you than you are for me. You might not last a minute," he said as he kissed my cheek. I played it cool and smiled back. He’ll never find out that he made me cum in less than 10 seconds. Never.

Noticing his fascination with the ripeness in my smell and breathing the odour with his nose jammed between my pits, I hung an arm around his shoulder in case he wanted to dive deeper. "What’s with you and armpits? This is getting out of hand, mon coeur. Even I think I smell stinky."

His olfactories were in bliss as he inhaled every taboo in that armpit, which led him to sigh. "Oh please. Don’t yuck my yum. I know how you secretly like to smell my neck. Every single time there’s a chance you can, you always go for the scruff. The jig is up, my friend. You’ve been found."

Damn it. Now I’ve got to be sneaky when I go for the kill. He was right. His neck was my Achilles heel. "I don’t do that. Don’t accuse me of things I’m not guilty of. But I am guilty of doing this," I said, ramming my mouth straight to his neck and ruffling the bristles of my 2-week beard on his skin.

He was chortling. "Stop. It tickles."

His smell was intoxicating. Always mellow, never strong or acrid, but highly addicting like a fresh dew in the morning mixed with fresh pine in the pleasant spring. It’s like going through puberty and discovering the bliss of someone’s asshole and the variance in the sensations of pistoning someone’s mouth. Or if you find a jarringly beautiful leftover cheese sandwich in the fridge that’s nearly gone bad and you eat it anyway, then you'll feel full afterward and vomit it later. Albert, to me, smells like toasted smores in the middle of a bonfire where you sneak behind a semi while rooting for your classmate in 11th grade, as you cover his mouth to shut him up so that Mrs. Suarez won’t catch you. If there’s a scent to describe him, Albert smelled like I’m living; I’m alive.

And if there was one reason why my nose clings to wherever he goes, it’s because he's become the crack to my cocaine. It’s a habit I’d willingly indulged myself in, while I had discarded the thought that, as with all addictions, you overdose or you stop taking the one thing that can kill you. He and I both know that he could kill me. Not in the sense that he’d stab me or physically hurt me. It’s much worse. If he leaves, the space in my life that he's occupied will be empty. There’s no surviving through that. Nothing can ever fill that space again except his existence within the proximity of where I am. Nothing.

But I’m reminded that in a month and a half, he’ll be gone. He can reapply for another 60 days to extend his visa. If only he’d marry me. That’ll solve all of our problems.

My brows furrowed, and Albert noticed. "Darling, what’s wrong? You suddenly went quiet."

"Just thinking about the future scares me."

He didn’t say anything, which only strengthened my fears that he'd thought about leaving. I could sell the business and follow him to the UK. That’s an option, right?

"Disgusting!"

I craned my head upward to see what was going on outside. Past my feet, I saw the view of tank top redneck being dragged by his friends. The girl was walking behind the three stooges and said, "I’m sorry. My brother’s drunk. Please don’t mind what he’s saying. He doesn’t mean it."

"Disgusting faggots!" shouted the tanktop redneck as he looked at Albert and me in the same bed.

Some of the passengers were startled and went outside their huts to see who’d said the damning slur. Allison and João were at the next hut beside us, and she slipped out of their tent. I saw her in the triangle-shaped view from the hut’s vantage point.

They were dragging him somewhere, probably to their hut or to a trash bin. The girl’s boyfriend had him in one arm, and the lanky one was struggling with his other arm, where he nearly toppled from the weight. He had to stop midway through and readjust the heavy arm clasped around his shoulders. The two gazed at me like I was the one who’d caused his inebriation.

Albert rose from the bed and went outside. Allison said, "Are you guys ok? I really don’t want him on this tour if I’m being honest. He gives me creeper vibes."

"I know exactly how you feel," said Albert.

Once they were past the hut’s view, I followed Albert outside. João was climbing out of the hut when I said, "Don’t worry. Their days are numbered. It was different when they had beef with us and no one knew. But saying aloud something like that, someone would have mixed feelings about them being here."

And it was true—there were a couple of people who crowded to talk about their behaviour and whether they had a problem with us, the lesbian couple, or the other passengers they thought of as gay. The conversation eventually led to a guessing game called Who's zeh gay in this group? where they all described instances where one of the suspected gays did some gay shit. They’re the ones being homophobic, and they don’t even realise it. The irony.

I was smoking outside the tent when Albert and Allison went to the showers. Dinner was about to be served, so everyone had to wash up before the curfew started. The island was run by a generator. And it would take about a week for a mechanic to fix it. They try to maintain a 6-hour runtime from 6 PM to 12 AM before all lights are shut off. Going through the showers was a bit of a hike since it was in the deeper part of the forest. The path was lit up with LED garden lights, and it looked mystical with an overarching pathway amidst the darkness.

A bonfire burned in the middle of the huts. Those who gathered for the warmth and conversations sat around the bonfire. Tents were placed along the coast of the beach, as there were guests who opted to sleep near the shore, while others had sleeping bags set up close to the waves. And those of us who were too lazy to bother and preferred comfort to sleeping on jagged rocks with a stiff neck chose to sleep in the beach huts.

João was beside me and pulled out a cigarette. I quickly offered mine for a light. We were gazing at the disco lights on the ferry. Streams of light danced around the boat. More than half of the passengers chose to party on the ferry. The loud techno music thumped the ocean, and we could hear the ministrations of people laughing and shouting even at this distance.

"Is it supposed to be this loud?" argued João. He puffed and blew the air, which swathed a blast of smoke around his face.

I assured him. "No. They’ll lower the music around 9 PM to make way for the ones choosing to have a night’s sleep on the island. By now, most of them are already drunk. The Dutch group brought hard liquor. They’ve been passing that around since 4 this afternoon."

"Good luck tomorrow morning. The call time’s 7 AM right?"

"Yeah," I said, drawing a final smoke and stepping on the buttocks with my heel. I put the cigarette butt inside a cup and glanced at him. "I know you can afford to spend $60,000 on a yacht cruise. What’s up with that?"

His mouth turned as he peered at the horizon and said, "You noticed. Who gave it away? I’ve been trying to keep a low profile."

"You’re wearing a limited edition Philippe Patek Chiming Jump Hour priced at $1.2 million. Not really low-key if you ask me," I said with an upturned smile.

"I should’ve worn the Technomarine."

"You should’ve." I snorted. "You also have two bodyguards posing as passengers." I gazed at the two men circling around the huts. "They seem really shady. They should blend in a bit more."

"I also need better security," he said, grinning.

I asked, "So why pretend that you can’t afford it?"

"My wife’s afraid that any time I could lose the business and then we’d go broke. It hasn’t sunk in yet that, er, we can afford such luxuries. She grew up poor, and she appreciates everything she’s got and she’s earned. She keeps me grounded that way," he said. "I gave her a $50,000 tennis bracelet two months ago. She only wears it on special occasions, telling me that it's too flashy for her. I also have a $275K necklace I got for her on her birthday. I have no idea how to give it to her a month from now."

"Tell her the jewellers had it on loan and that you know some people. She’ll wear it on her birthday. Or, say, you bought it for 100k priced at 275, and convince her it was from a friend who desperately needed money. She’ll warm up to it, and eventually, she’ll forget the price."

"But then I’d be lying."

"If she doesn’t see that it’s an investment, you’ve got to make her think that it’s not. That’s the only way you’ll keep buying her jewellery disguised as gifts intended for future capital."

He turned his head towards me, the lines of his brows creasing. "How do you know about these things?"

"I know that when a rich person buys jewellery for more than hundreds of thousands, it’s a future-proof investment that won’t depreciate." I wanted to tell him it’s what my dad used to do with my mom, buy her millions worth of jewellery and have it put in a million-dollar safe that’s guarded inside a bank. Pieces of jewellery were like a billionaire’s Pokemon cards. They hoarded them, hoping their value would rise in the future.

"Thanks," he said, putting out the cigarette in the cup. "You just saved me from a major headache."

"No problem. So you’re ok with her doing modelling?"

"No."

"I don’t think she’d need it. You guys are clearly very well off." I pulled up my phone and read, "Says online, you’re worth 185 million dollars."

"You really know your customer base, don’t you?"

"I’m good at my job."

"'I've been setting her up to head up some charities so it will keep her busy. I hate it when she has to wear those skimpy outfits for a shoot. But she loves doing it. And I love her. And, well, something’s gotta give. So we compromised. 6 months of modelling and 6 months of staying in Brazil and New York with me."

"How did you tell him, I mean, her, that you’re stinking rich? How did Allison take that?"

"I didn’t lie," he said. So much for the advice, I thought. "She knew I came with money. She tried to see if I could live in her world."

"And?"

"I made it. I got the girl in the end, didn’t I?"

I wondered how Albert would fare in my world. With the paparazzi hounding him, the media digging into every backwater news story they could find surrounded by people climbing their way around the social strata to be around our circle, my circle—nah; I don’t want to push him to have another mental breakdown. That life’s far too crazy for the likes of my Albert.

"I have a proposition I’d like you to consider. Think of it as a win-win for everyone. H.M.S. Tours will hire Allison for a campaign shoot for the resort. In exchange, you guys get a free 10-day luxury yacht tour. Of course, it’s not really free. You still have to pay the full amount in secret. You give her a memorable honeymoon she’ll never forget. She thinks the trip is free and doesn’t feel guilty that her husband had spent chump change on a chartered yacht cruise. And, I get to put out Allison’s gorgeous face on our website. As payment for the shoot, I’ll give you an overnight stay at Pitongpulo Island. That’s worth 50k at least."

"You’ll give that for free? That’s a bit much, thinking from a business perspective."

"It’s to show our good faith—my good faith. We need an imported coffee supplier for the resort to go along with the local brand we have. We would like your product to be part of our offerings. I’ll introduce you to my connections in New York. Do we have a deal?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he was about to say yes. But he looked sceptical. "This seems like an amazing offer. Tapping into the US market has been a dream of mine, and I get to give her the honeymoon she deserves. And you’re doing this why?"

"Albert. He rarely makes friends, and he likes her."

His mouth twitched. "So it’s all about a boy. The things we do for love."

"It always is. Albert needs friends right now, and Allison seems to be good for her."

"Wouldn’t you need to discuss this with the owner?"

"I’m the owner."

He gave me a once-over and said, "You’re kidding."

"Or, you could think of me as just the help, the help with great leverage."

I saw Allison coming from the corner when I said to him, "Wanna shake on it?"

We shook hands before Allison saw us, and she said, "What are you boys mumbling about?"

"Nothing," said João. He grabbed Allison by the waist and said, "You smell great, babe."

I asked her, "Have you seen Albert?"

"He was still showering when I left. He should be back."

An hour had gone by, and Albert hadn’t come back. I was getting worried for a good reason, and I’d already smoked four sticks of cigarettes, which I never do. I was pacing up and down in front of the hut. I looked at my watch, and it was 7:10 PM. I bolted to the off-beaten path where the gravel road to the showers began and set my eyes there. If, at 7:15, he’s still not here, I’m heading over to fetch him. Then, from a distance, I saw him lugging a bar of soap in his hand with a towel over his shoulders in a sleeveless shirt and cargo shorts.

"Where the hell were you?" I said, sounding peeved.

"I left my towel. I had to go back." He brought his arms to hug me, handed me the soap, and threw the towel over my shoulders. "Your turn to shower."

Not satisfied with his explanation, I asked, "How come you’ve been gone for an hour?"

"I was chatting with one of the guests who was showering at a nearby stall."

"Who?" I said sternly.

"Those ladies from South Africa, the lesbians. They were so funny. They said the weather in the UK’s always on crack."

He grabbed my waist and pulled me closer. I asked, with a gentle voice, "What did you talk about?"

"We just chatted about the cultural differences in the UK and South Africa."

I didn’t know why I got scared all of a sudden. I placed my arms above his waist, and I saw his expression turn from a smile into a grimace. I hugged him harder, and he groaned. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing."

"That’s not nothing," I said, demanding an explanation.

I went behind his back to pull up his shirt when he said, "It’s nothing, darling."

He had a very large scrape and a gash, as large as a duckpin, just above his kidneys that needed disinfecting. It was angry, slightly bleeding, and needed immediate attention. It looked like he fell on something pointed that caused the gash, or he was pushed onto a hard object that caused the scrape. Having both was definitely something he would have to explain.

"What the hell happened to you?" I said, angry and worried about why he’d keep something like this from me.

His real emotions turned up when he held his wound, looking in pain, and said, "Something startled me. I grabbed my towel and thought there was someone behind me, and so I slipped and crashed into a potted plant."

"Someone was behind you?" I said, lifting his shirt as I blew the scrape. "Did you get a good look at who it is?"

"It’s not someone, but something. I turned around and it was a bloody cat. There has to be betadine somewhere. This is stinging like fucking hell."

"There’s a first aid kit in the boat. We better get you there."

I’m always worried when Albert’s not in sight. It’s already something I’ve learned to live with. This fear that something might happen to him, or something he’d do to himself to cause him harm. But this felt different.

I was holding Albert by the hips when I saw tank top redneck slithering in the corner. He beelined to their hut, and his eyes pierced through me while he tried to smile. I felt a cold chill at the back of my nape, and the hair on my arms stood. I whispered, "Damn. That’s ugly."

I was reminded of beauty once again when I saw Albert asking me, "What’s wrong?"

"I saw chlamydia in person. It wasn’t great."

I had this instinct that something wasn’t right with that one. And when I’m right, either tank top redneck’s been stalking Albert, or we may have in our hands, a murderer. Ok. I’m pushing it. But you never know. With a face like that, tank top redneck might turn out to be a serial killer. Wait. That’s worse.