Dogeaters (23 page)

Funny. Not too long ago, it was our Lolita who made cast and crew wait endlessly. While doing
A Candle Is Burning
,
La Luna
disappeared for weeks. She just felt like leaving the country,
daw
—her exact words. Director Max Rodriguez, one of
La Luna
’s ex-boyfriends, walked off the picture and announced he would never work with her again. After three months of expensive delays, director Tirso Velasco was called in to finish the picture…The movie’s a hit, and it’s a good thing Severo Alacran runs Mabuhay Studios…or Lolita Luna might’ve been in a lot of
trouble.

Now, it seems that Bootsy is doing a Lolita and Lolita is furious. It’s the first time the two tempestuous beauties have been teamed up, under the sure-handed direction of our own renaissance man, actor-director-producer Nestor Noralez. This time, Nestor’s also written the script, and it wouldn’t surprise me if someday Nestor was declared one of our national treasures…It was his unique idea to cast
La Luna
and ingénue Bootsy in this film. Whatever Nestor wants, Nestor gets…

Bets are being placed on whether Nestor will ever complete this project. According to our sources,
La Luna
has also taken to showing up late on the set these days, and when she does turn up—she can’t remember her lines!

—Celebrity Pinoy

T
HE AIWA TAPE DECK
is blasting. Now Grace, now Chaka…“Just one more time, please…Oh, come on…You don’t really think it’s too LOUD, do you, Nicky?
Dios ko ’day
, if you think this is loud…wait till I play you some real rock’n’roll! What opera? I don’t understand Italian!
Hoy
, Nicky—relax
lang.
‘This is high-class mood music for grown-up girls!’” Lolita cheerfully quotes an Englishman she once knew. She is not sure what he meant exactly, but she enjoys irritating the General.

The Englishman had brought her the latest releases from London. He insisted on fucking to black music. The scion of a family of stodgy civil servants completely unaware of their son’s colonial obsessions, the Englishman often told Lolita how much she reminded him of Tina Turner. When her son was born, the Englishman said he would love to bring Lolita back to London and marry her, if only…He had a problem finishing sentences, and Lolita was afraid to press him further. She still misses him.

The General hates it when she’s high and defiant, floating around the room, ignoring his presence. She moves to the hypnotic music, a repetitive blur of incomprehensible lyrics to the General’s ear. He asks her to turn down the volume, but she pretends not to hear him.

At one time, it was enough that he was a powerful man who wanted her more than any other woman. She punished him with her beauty; in the beginning, she was in total control. Things changed gradually after the first year. Lolita realized she had deceived herself, became more uneasy and unsure of him. He, in turn, became more possessive and demanding. She wonders why she is unable to break free of him; perhaps the thought of losing the protection and material security he provides her is too terrifying. She is a talented actress, but she does not know it. She agrees with those who attribute her success to her flagrant sexuality and magnificent body; she is limited in her thinking, as usual. She is a movie star who thrusts her hips and tongue out at the General in that privileged, mocking way of hers, complaining: “You’re always telling me what to do, Nicky.”

When she is high on her drugs, what she calls her “vitamins,” Lolita Luna entertains her delusions more openly. She is convinced the General will help her fix her papers and pay for her passage out of Manila to a foreign country, some place where she can start all over again. Lolita Luna is paid well for her movies, but she’s always broke. She dreams of Los Angeles and New York, somewhere she can study acting and stop playing so much, somewhere she can indulge her passion for shopping. Clothes, shoes, lingerie, cosmetics, chocolates, household appliances: it doesn’t matter, Lolita always buys at least two of each.

“We can’t go. The President needs me,” General Ledesma tells her gruffly.

“We haven’t gone anywhere in almost a year!”

“There are more important things in life than your vacations—”

“This is not a vacation, this is a new life. You’re always telling me to change, so now I want to change. I can’t do it by staying in Manila—why don’t you arrange it so I can leave?” She stares at him, trying to shame him into submission. He gazes back at her coolly.

“You’re in the middle of making a movie, remember? Don’t invite trouble by leaving town. Gossip about you and your crazy antics bothers me. It bothers me deeply,” the General repeats for emphasis. “What about that shopping trip to Hong Kong a few months ago? Wasn’t that enough? Don’t you consider that a vacation? You left town without telling me. I had to hear about it from Nestor—”

“I’m not discussing vacations. I’m talking about leaving Manila, permanently—”

The General’s laugh is soft and derisive. He sits erect in an oversize wicker lounge chair, quietly picking at the food set in front of him. The servant Mila has left a tray with sandwiches, cold bottles of TruCola and beer, and assorted Chinese pastries. While he eats, he observes that Lolita never does, notes how black and luminous her eyes are, how restlessly she moves around the room. He thinks: It’s that shit she’s on again—she can’t fool me. If I ever catch that dealer of hers, by the time I’m through, he’s going to beg me to kill him.

“You have everything you want, right here in Manila,” the General says. “Why don’t you straighten out and behave? You’re a lucky girl—do you know how many others dream of being in your position? Just remember—I don’t want to hear anymore
tsismis
about you from Nestor—”

“Nestor is an ass and a liar! He’s jealous, and wishes he was me. Of course, you’d rather listen to his vicious gossip than believe me—all I did was go shopping with Girlie for the weekend! I just had to get out of here for a few days—but I’m sure Nestor made it sound like a juicy scandal!” Lolita pouts. He loves it when she gets angry and sticks out her lower lip. He finds it amusing when she sulks.

Lolita saunters over to the tape deck and presses the rewind button. The same song blares out of the speakers a third time. The General calmly finishes his chicken sandwich, then reaches for a black bean cake. “You shouldn’t be seen too often with Girlie Alacran.”

Lolita stops fiddling with her hair and looks at him, annoyed. “Why?”

“She’s nothing but a whore, that’s why. It’s common knowledge in Manila,” the General replies, almost prim. The sudden prudishness in his manner makes Lolita smile.

“Girlie Alacran doesn’t need money,” Lolita argues, “she’s an Alacran! She’s Junior Miss Philippines! Why should she—”

“Because she likes it,” the General snaps, “just like you like your drugs. It’s a thrill for her—making men pay. Especially when she doesn’t need the money. You understand that, don’t you?”

The General bites into the sweet, round bean cake, which crumbles in his hand. Lolita watches him chew and is reminded of a plodding
carabao
with dusty eyes, submerged in muddy water, chewing grass. “Did you kill the Senator?” she suddenly asks, taking him by surprise.

The General takes his time, pouring TruCola into a tall glass filled with ice. “Haven’t you read the newspapers? We caught the assassin.”

“You’re really disgusting,” Lolita says quietly. She gets up from her seat and paces around the room.

The General takes a long drink from his glass. “You must thank Mila for me, darling. She really knows how to take care of me—”

“Why don’t you have another sandwich, then? It’s such a shame to waste food,” Lolita sneers. She needs a smoke so badly, she wants to scream. Her eyes frantically scan the room for a pack of cigarettes, finally resting on a butt left in one of the ashtrays. Whose? Maybe her dealer’s—he was over last night, demanding more money. She picks up the butt and lights it, inhaling gratefully.

The General wipes his mouth carefully with a paper napkin. “I thought you quit smoking.”

“I did.” Lolita shrugs, stubbing out the last of her cigarette in the ashtray. He had asked her not to smoke. It was bad for her health, the General said, and it stank…She smiles at the old man. The air conditioner emits a low, steady hum in the white room. The tape comes to a stop. Lolita walks over to the sound system given her by Severo Alacran. She presses the eject button.

“It’s about time,” General Ledesma murmurs. He is not prepared for the next tape she inserts, “Pull Up to the Bumper” by Grace Jones. Lolita turns up the volume another decibel. The General groans. “Turn it down NOW,” he orders her. When she ignores him, he gets up and kicks the machine with his foot. The machine is destroyed with two swift hard kicks. The silence that follows is deafening.

The General sits down again to eat, saying nothing. He is extremely angry, yet outwardly calm and impassive; he puts away enormous amounts of food. He considers his next move. If he were a wiser man, he would leave her. The affair with Lolita Luna is a messy one, and he cannot afford to waste time and emotion on messy situations.

She does something contrary to her nature. She gets down on her knees before him. She begs him to arrange her visa and lend her the money to leave. She promises to pay him back as soon as she is able, as soon as she is settled. She tells him how important it is to her, how she will lose her mind if she continues living like this, how she is tired of being a movie star, but can’t explain why. She does not tell him how trapped she feels, alone with her watchdog servant in her white apartment. When she is finished, he tells her he doesn’t believe her. He accuses her of being stoned and of toying with him.

She is stunned by his chilly response. She has planned this moment, aware it excites him to see her kneeling like this, dressed only in her underwear. He has never seen her beg; he’s been waiting a long time. A giddiness comes over her. “I swear I’m not high,” she whispers to him. “I don’t want you to go anywhere,” the General finally says, tenderly. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I want you here in Manila, where you belong.” The General is almost moved to tears when Lolita starts crying. Then he wonders if this is another of her cheap movie tricks, this ability to cry at will.

“If you’re so determined to leave,” he says, “why don’t you ask your patron saint Alacran to give you the money? Or one of those foreigners you like so much? Maybe Alacran will even go with you—I hear New York’s his favorite city. A man like him can take off whenever he wants.” It pains the General to admit his awareness of her treachery, but he can’t help himself.

“Fuck Alacran! Fuck the men you’ve removed from my life!” Lolita yells. Herself again, she stomps angrily around the room. “Look what you’ve done to my stereo! You son of a bitch, you better buy me another one—” She whirls to confront him where he sits unmoving, a toad buddha on his wicker throne. “I want to get out of here, Nicky! I want to get out of here before I get killed!”

He looks disgusted. “Why would anyone want to kill
you
?” “Because I’m your mistress. Because they all know—” The General is curious and alert now. “What do they know?” “Oh, nothing. You never know,” she adds quickly, “I might get killed by accident, in one of those demonstrations—” “I didn’t know you were such an activist.”

“I’m not!” Lolita pauses. “Max has been getting threatening phone calls.”

“Max Rodriguez is an avowed leftist troublemaker. He deserves what he gets—”

“What do you mean? Max is a movie director.”

“Max deserves what he gets,” the General repeats, with the same bland look on his face.

“Nestor told me Max has been blacklisted. He can’t even get a job directing plays, or teaching at the university—”

The General shrugs. “Max should be pleased. He’s so busy organizing protests and defending human rights, he doesn’t have time to direct anything.”

“I like Max.”

“I don’t like
baklas
.”

“You like Nestor.”

“Nestor’s useful.”

Lolita longs for another cigarette. She considers asking Mila to run the errand for her, then remembers Mila is gone for the afternoon. She is always gone while he visits. It’s never bothered Lolita in the past, but today she wishes she wasn’t alone with the old man in her white apartment. The polished chrome and glass, the white abstract paintings, and the regulated temperature strike her as ominous and all wrong.

“Is it true Daisy Avila’s been captured?” She asks him. “They say she came back to town when her father died to try and see her family, and they found her in some hideout.” She knows better than to pry, but questions keep pouring out of her.

“Who told you that—Nestor?” The General casually picks up a bottle of beer. He sips from the bottle, which surprises her. He is normally a fastidious man.

“No one told me. You know how it is on the set. There’s a lot of waiting around—people make
tsismis.
I hear all sorts of things—”

“Ahhh,” the General sighs, “
tsismis.
I forget—this country thrives on misinformation.” He pauses for an instant. “And what exactly do you say, when you hear this kind of
tsismis
? How do you react? Do you add fuel to the fire?”

“I don’t say anything, Nicky. I just listen.”

He watches her face closely, sees exhaustion crease her brightly made up features. He knows she is lying. “I’ve always known I could trust you,” he says.

She forces herself to smile at him, an effort that doesn’t go unnoticed. Once again, the General’s pride is wounded.

He wants to make love to her. He dreams she will come to him out of desire not for drug money, rent money, or access to his power. Not because of her son, who is indirectly supported by the General. The General knows he is a fool, but he holds out his arms in spite of himself, gesturing impatiently for her to come to him.

Lolita Luna realizes that the conversation is over and she is not going to get what she wants. She will rot in Manila for the rest of her life, or else he will have her killed; it is that simple. It is a revelation for the movie star, and almost invigorating. Pulling off her lavender panties, she bursts out laughing. She flings them at the bewildered General; they land on his left shoulder, hook onto one of his epaulets and hang there, a forlorn and frilly flag. “If you’re not going to help me, then leave my house,” she says with contempt.