Love in All the Right Places (Chick Lit bundle) (19 page)

“So you’re Vince’s date?” she asked while looking at me up and down.

I felt the blood rush to my head—and it wasn’t because of embarrassment. Still, this was Vince’s friend, and I was determined to make a good impression.

I mustered up a smile. “Oh no! He just dragged me here. Um, we met at his store.”

“Huh,” she muttered, still poker faced.

“Hey! You’ve met.” Vince came from behind and handed me a beer. “Sheena, this is Crissy, a budding filmmaker.” He winked at me. “She also consigns at the store. You should visit us sometime. There’s some fashion stuff there from Crissy that I think you’d like.”

Suddenly Sheena’s brow cleared. “Oh! Nice to meet you.”

An Afroed dude entered our circle and started chatting up Vince.

“I’ll just leave you two for a minute.” Vince touched my arm. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” I said as coolly as I could. Inside I was trembling. Skin contact no. 2!

Sheena waited until Vince was beyond hearing distance when she grabbed my elbow. “Oh my god, I’m
so, so
sorry! You must think I’m a bitch!”

She prattled on without waiting for a reply. “I just get overprotective with Vince, you know? I mean, you would
not
believe what he’d been through with his ex. So I pounce on every girl he’s with.” She sighed. “He’s like our little brother.”

I nodded wordlessly, shocked by all the unsolicited information I just got.

“Anyway, I’m glad he’s okay now. He’s a really cool guy, you know? We get stuff from his store for our set design.” She smiled. “Plus he’s got mad talent. He can create stuff from thin air—like if we need a spray-painted mural or something detailed, like a Pinoy comic book from the 1980s. Whatever you require, he delivers!” She paused. “In fact, he’s helping me out now with my new film.”

“Really? What’s it about?”

It turned out that it was about a boy growing up in the late 1950s. Before I knew it, I found myself offering Mama Maring’s belongings—those that didn’t make it to the consignment list—as additional props. “It’s really a jumble of pieces—a lamp, a crocheted bedspread, a collection of pencils—you know, just odds and ends.”

“Really?!” Sheena shrieked. “That would be
awesome
! We could definitely use those. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!”

Excitedly Sheena jiggled her hand into her bag and fished out her phone.

“When you make your next project, I’ll hook you up with my contacts, okay? We artists should help each other out so there’ll be more local films to enjoy!”

We exchanged numbers, and I felt thrilled to gain a new friend, to be called an artist, and to have this new, exhilarating sense of belonging.

I turned my head and caught Vince’s eye. Through the haze of smoke, he smiled, raising his beer bottle at me. 

I nodded and returned the toast.

We both laughed at the same time—a synchronized joy rippling in a sea of lively chatter.

Chapter 7: Magic Hour

The Baguio shoot overflowed with good vibes coupled with good weather. The local artists we interviewed inspired the whole team.

I didn’t know how we did it—maybe it was the fresh air or the gorgeous scenery or the generosity of the people—but almost without effort, scene after scene was beautifully filmed.

And as cheesy as it sounded, looking at the sky and the looming trees and mountains made me feel refreshed.

Nothing like nature to make your stress shrink away and get you in the mood to think about stuff.

I reflected on my career path, if I was still okay staying with the network. Up until recently, I knew that I wanted to climb the ranks and earn more. Get that car plan. Get more benefits. But now I wasn’t so sure. I felt all itchy inside, like I wanted to create something to put my name on: “Written and Directed by Crissy Lopez.”

And then I thought about Vince, and Sheena’s abridged version of his hurtful past. What made him hit rock bottom? Just like me, he was burned. I wanted so badly for us to become close enough so he could tell me what happened.

Because, I guess, I wanted to tell him my story too.

* * * *

On our last night in Baguio, we rushed to get some shopping done and ended up at the Session Road night market. The sidewalks were lined with vendors selling mostly
ukay-ukay
items. I drifted from one makeshift stall to another.

I stopped at a random stall and absentmindedly picked through a mound of old playthings—a Totoro stuffed toy, a train set, an Ultraman piggy bank, and a radio.

I froze.

The radio was the spitting image of Mama Maring’s, except this one shone, not in lacquered maroon, but in deep aqua.

Kismet!

I picked it up casually. “How much?”

The vendor gave me the price and I balked. It was twice the amount of Mama Maring’s radio.

I pursed my lips, trying to decide what I should do next.

The vendor looked bored, but I could tell that she was faking it.  She was waiting for my next move—I just knew it.

I had not done this for quite a while but I was still pretty confident about my skills. I took a deep breath, mentally rolled up my sleeves and proceeded to haggle.

* * * *

Back in Manila, all the good vibes I had gotten in Baguio started to peter out. Though we had a blast shooting the episode, it turned out to be a difficult piece to write and edit. There was just so much good stuff to condense into forty minutes of airtime. We almost didn’t beat the deadline, something that would’ve sent me into a junk food binge just two months ago.

The following day, I trudged back to the office after lunch like a zombie. The day after airing was always our day off but I had another deadline to beat—Ms. D wanted ideas for our summer special—and she wanted them in this afternoon.

I turned on my computer and waited for it to load.

The next thing I knew, my trilling phone had jolted my senses. It turned out I had fallen asleep. I squinted at my phone screen.

Great show last night! I’ll be in your area this afternoon. If you’re free, would you like to meet for meryenda at 3ish? I’ll pass by for you. My trea
t
☺

Oh my god. It was Vince.

I checked the time. 2
PM
. Holy shit! I had dozed off longer than I thought. I texted back.

Sure! See you. Just text when you’re nea
r
☺

There was no time to waste. I went back to the condo (thank goodness it’s so near), and changed into a date-worthy outfit. I applied concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. And because my eyes looked a bit tired, I put on eyeliner. I was looking a little pale as well, so I swiped on lipstick and a bit of blush.

By the time I got back to the office, I had just enough time to open a Word Document before Vince called to tell me that he was already in front of the building.

* * * *

“You know, I never pegged you as a
haluhalo
girl.” I looked up to Vince’s teasing grin. “You seemed more of a fruit smoothie fan.”

I smiled back. After pondering the ice cream bar’s extensive menu of sundaes, parfaits, sorbets and shakes, I decided to go local and order my favorite treat. “Why is that?”

He shrugged his shoulders while sipping his Death By Chocolate Milkshake. “When we were at Carl T’s party, you wouldn’t touch the bowl of chips. But when Sheena brought out carrot and celery sticks, you made a beeline for them.”

He noticed! I managed to keep my tone casual.

“You’re absolutely right. Fruit smoothies with no sugar, no cream, no fun.” I spooned out some of the double-scoop ice cream on top. “But I figured I deserve this baby after hell week at work.”

“Smoothies with no sugar? What’s up with that?”

I blushed and confessed that I was trying to lose weight.

Vince shook his head. “Are you kidding? You look fine.”

It took me a full second to realize that I was staring at him with my mouth half open. I gave myself a mental shake. “Do you mean like a how-are-you-I’m-fine kind of fine? Or fine as in I look mighty
fiiine
?” Real hilarious, Crissy.

To my surprise, Vince burst out laughing. I laughed along with him—me, the comedian. “Crissy, I think you look fine as in beautiful. You don’t need to change a thing.”

I felt my face grow warm.

Meryenda
took a lot longer than I expected and before I knew it, I was looking at the beginnings of a sunset. I sighed. “This is my favorite time of day.”

“Magic hour? Me, too.”

I looked up, surprised that he knew the term. Then again, I shouldn’t be, since he hung out with filmmakers.

In cinematography, “magic hour” refers to the first and last hours of sunlight.

At this time, the sun gives off the softest glow, encasing the subject in warm light. Wrinkles, pockmarks, and dark spots are miraculously smoothened out—the perfect time to take beauty shots.  

My phone rang. “Ms. D,” it said. Shoot, I had completely forgotten all about my deadline. I blew out my cheeks, determined not to panic.

“Everything okay?” Vince leaned forward, his face all concerned.

“Yes!” I pushed the reject button and smiled at Vince. His perpetual tan looked even more golden in this light.

Work would have to wait. For now, life was my priority.

Through the glass window, the sun burst into a field of oranges, pinks, and lilacs. 

Magic hour, indeed.

Chapter 8: Bed Scene

The
haluhalo
date (I had claimed it as a date) turned out to be the perfect icebreaker for Vince and moi. Since then, our texting level had moved up notches. Messaging each other had become a daily habit—letting each other know what we had for lunch, what we were up to, what we thought about the latest
Ironman
flick. The butterflies in my stomach were working overtime.

I knew I got it bad when officemates started asking why I was suddenly prone to fits of smiling and staring into space.

And honestly, I didn’t know where I got all this time and energy for mooning over my love life. I had always complained that there weren’t enough hours in a day to accomplish everything on my to-do list. Now I could easily spare a full hour just imagining the details of our next meetup!

But the gods of good fortune put an end to my winning streak.  One morning, I awoke with my throat burning. I tried sitting up, but it felt like a jackhammer was pummeling my head down the pillow.

When I did manage to hoist myself up, I leaned against the wall for support until I made it to the bathroom and sat down on the loo, dizzy with exhaustion, my toes curled on the freezing floor.

I hobbled back to bed and crumpled down in a heap, figuring I’d feel better after a nap. But an hour later, I woke up shivering in a cold sweat. I reached for the phone and deliberated on whom to call. Mia was already in the office and was probably neck-deep in work by now. I didn’t want to worry my parents. So I punched in Bea’s number and waited, pulling the covers up to my chin.

As soon as Bea arrived, she took one look at me and announced that we were going to the hospital. She nearly lost her little brother to dengue a few years ago, and she wasn’t taking any chances. She threw my protests aside, helped me get dressed, and called the guard for assistance. 

On our way to the elevator, I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw someone beside me with bloodshot eyes, hair in tangles, shirt collar askew.  And then I realized I was looking in the mirror. Holy shit. I looked like a madwoman.

I was wheeled to the emergency room, and after goodness-knew-how-long, the verdict was in.  The good news was it wasn’t dengue, just a really nasty respiratory infection that didn’t warrant confinement. But the bad news was I needed complete bed rest—which meant putting my life on hold for at least two weeks.

“Mmm . . . smells good.” I sat up and smiled weakly. I was back at the condo, and Bea was on serious Florence Nightingale mode. While I rested, she made a quick trip to the grocery. I had drifted off and was awakened by the smell of ginger.

Bea carefully set the bowl down on the bedside table. “It’s my mom’s chicken
arroz caldo
recipe. It’s great for sore throat.”

She blew on a spoonful and brought it to my mouth. I laughed, waving her away.

“Superthanks for all your help, Bei. But I really think you shouldn’t hang around. You might catch my bug.”

She pushed the spoon closer. “I hardly ever get sick. Remember when the flu wave hit my family? I was the last member standing.” I gave up resisting and opened my mouth. “Besides, Boracay is only a few weeks away. We’ve already paid for the tickets so you
must
get better.”

After literally spoon-feeding me, Bea proceeded to more fussing—fluffing my pillows, taking my temperature, adjusting the air conditioner. It was nice to be taken care of, but it was starting to drive me crazy.

Desperate to make her stay put, I told her, “Sit still ‘cause I have something to tell you.”

I filled her in on Vince and the daily texting. 

“You
sneak
!” she screamed. “And you never once told me that you had a crush on him! Ooh, you’re good—you’re really good.” She punched my arm, her eyes widening when I winced. “Oops, sorry.”

“I know you, Bei. If I told you I had a crush on him, you’d whip out your handy-dandy notebook and start devising a game plan for me.” I wagged my pointy finger in front of her nose. “As if you weren’t doing just that when you ditched me on the day we were supposed to drop off the consigned items.”

She nodded. “True, true. I just wanted great and lovely things to happen to you.” She let out a squeal. “And they’re happening right now! It’s all so
exciting
! From now on, swear that you’ll tell me every detail, every development—you hear?!” 

I promised, feeling her giddy excitement bouncing off the walls. I felt my eyes getting heavy, the headache returning with a vengeance. 

I didn’t know which of us stopped talking first, but before I knew it, I was drawn into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

* * * *

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping. It took a while for me to realize that the sounds were unnatural. Of course there weren’t birds outside our treeless condominium. Therefore, it must be my phone’s ringtone.

I picked up and mumbled hello.

“Crissy!” Leo’s panicked voice shrilled. “I’m really,
really
sorry. I know you’re terribly sick, but I just need to know where you put this week’s list of contacts and production schedule.”

As I guided him through my desktop folders, I closed my eyes to concentrate but mostly also to stop the world from spinning from my rude awakening. “Sorry for the stress,” I croaked. “I’ll be there as soon as the doctor gives me the go signal.”

“Don’t worry about us!” Leo’s cheerful voice sounded forced. “I won’t disturb you anymore after this—unless it’s a matter of life and death.” He laughed nervously. “Get well soon!”

Leo was true to his word; he never called again. But the others weren’t so considerate. Segment producers, production assistants, coordinators, and interviewees kept bugging me about details. One by one, I redirected them to Leo. 

“Good Lord,” Mom (my new nurse—Bea had called her) said exasperatedly as I informed the umpteenth caller that I was on sick leave and that Leo was in charge. “You’re not going to get well with all those calls!”

“It just takes a while for them to get used to
not
contacting me.” I said as I sank back in the pillows. “They’re my babies.”

“Well, you’re
my
baby, and I think you should just turn off your phone NOW.”  I knew Mom was extra grumpy because she wasn’t used to three straight days of condo living. At our subdivision, she never missed her morning walks, which gave her daily dose of happy hormones. But here she could never stand the pollution, given the condo’s proximity to EDSA.

“Honestly, Crissy, the sooner you get better, the sooner you can get back to work,” she continued. “Don’t they get that?”

She threw up her hands when my phone trilled another text message.

I have your second check from Nostalgia! I can give it to you later—dinner maybe?

Vince! I almost squealed audibly. But oh—the timing! I texted back.

I’m down with a nasty bug. Under house arrest until probably next week
.
☹

“I have a good mind to confiscate your phone right now,” Mom said, frowning.

“Ten minutes!” I pleaded and read Vince’s next message.

Sorry to hear that. Can I visit?

He wanted to see where I live! I had been AWOL from the dating scene for quite some t
ime, but I knew that a guy wanting to set foot in a girl’s personal space was serious. Was I ready for this?

Just then, Mom cleared her throat. Oh my god. I had forgotten all about her. If Vince did visit, I’d have to answer her gazillion questions—if he was courting me, when I’d bring him to meet Dad, if I liked him, and so on.

I sighed. Nope, definitely not ready for a home visit. Besides, I hadn’t taken a shower in days. I didn’t want Vince to see (and smell me) in this state.

I’d rather meet up when I’m all better. Don’t want you getting sick, to
o
☺

The minutes went by as I waited for reply. God, I hope he wasn’t offended that I turned him down. I was thinking of sending him another message when I heard my phone trill. It was the sweetest sound in the world.

Please, please, please let it be Vince.

I’m pretty sure you have a fever…

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Because you’re so damn HOT.

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They say laughter’s the best medicine. I hope that made you feel better
.☺
  See you soon!

I felt my cheeks flush and my heart beat rapidly—symptoms that were totally unconnected to my infection. I looked up, catching Mom’s annoyed glare.

“All yours,” I handed over my phone. “I feel a nap coming on.”

I nestled in the sheets and closed my eyes, still smiling.