PIA COLADA

by H.O. Santos

IT looked like a Christmas card but it was only November, the early part of
November at that. But then, you can't tell anymore when the season begins. It
used to begin after Thanksgiving, then after Halloween, and now who knows
when the season starts. The envelope was fairly large and thick, had gold trim
on the flap, and a return address I didn't recognize. I didn't think I knew anyone
who would confess to being from Fresno, not that I thought it was a hick town
or anything but it really was in the middle of nowhere and nobody I knew would
want to live there.

The card turned out to be a wedding invitation. It was from William Hagen and
Carolina Dimarocot. That's when I realized I knew people from Fresno after all-
-how could I have forgotten Carol? She had burst into my life not too long ago
and turned my everyday routine upside down for a few months.

Enclosed with the invitation was a picture of the couple and a note from Carol
which said,

Dear Kuya Ben,

Please come to our wedding. Bill and I would like for you to stay in our house
as our guest. We have a large home with several bedrooms so it won't be a
problem. As you know, I have no relatives here. I told them you were my
cousin and that I wanted you to give me away as the bride during the
wedding ceremony.

Bill thinks you're a very good cousin and he's grateful to you for taking good
care of me when I first arrived. I would also like to thank you again, in person,
when you get here for all the things you've done for me. I think we can find
time for that.

I look forward to seeing you again so don't fail me.

 As always,
Carol

She had called me kuya, the Filipino term for an older brother or some other
older relative one shows respect for. How can I refuse her now, after she
bestowed that term of respect on me. And she would like to thank me again-
-I wondered what she meant. I liked it the first time she thanked me.

IT was on July 3rd when I went to the airport to pick up Carol. It was a three-
day weekend and it took me forty-five minutes to get from my apartment in
the mid-Wilshire area to the entrance to LAX. Twenty minutes would have been
normal. It took me another twenty-five minutes from the entrance to the
parking lot closest to the Tom Bradley International Terminal. I wasn't in a very
good mood after that to go look for a woman I had never seen in person
before. I was sorry I agreed to meet her but it was too late to back out now. I
could just see the newspaper headlines: TOURIST RAPED AND KILLED AFTER
FRIEND FAILS TO PICK HER UP AT AIRPORT.

I knew who to blame for this. My friend, Ernie, from Manila had set me up with
her. He thought I was lonesome and could use some company for a while. "A
few months at the most--she's a tourist," he said in his email. "She's a hot woman,
if you know what I mean." No, I didn't exactly know what he meant but I hadn't
asked for clarification. He even attached a JPEG file to his email. The woman
looked terrific in the picture.

My love life wasn't precisely very healthy then or even now and that
characterization should have been enough incentive for me but I tried to
convince myself I was doing it for a kababayan, a Filipino countryman, who
needed a place to stay for a while. After all, not too many Filipinos can afford
the high hotel rates in L.A. when they visit.

I walked to the Tom Bradley terminal and waited. Luckily, the traffic delay didn't
matter for the Philippine Airlines flight was behind schedule as usual. I got there
at the right time, the plane had just arrived. Now all I had to do was wait until
they get three hundred people out of the plane, get them through Customs
and Immigration, and watch them come out through the long corridor up the
ramp to street level.

I racked my brain trying to figure out how I could identify her--I didn't know how
tall she was, how much she weighed, and what she would be wearing. If things
ran true to form, she would look nowhere close to the picture I got of her.

The best place to watch the passengers come out is by the railing near the
ramp but everybody was crowded around there. I settled for the roped-off
area near the end of the ramp where passengers finally turned to get out of
the terminal. I watched families join together again as those who went to the
Philippines were met by those who didn't. You could tell who were local--they
immediately went for the exit door. The newcomers would take more time to
say hello and exchange greetings--some even wanted to hand out presents
right there. Filipinos always give presents when they travel--once when they
reach their destination and again when they return home.

I closely watched every unaccompanied woman who came out and tried to
guess whether it was Carol. Mostly, I'd ask if she was pretty and alone. I wanted
very much for Carol to be pretty. No luck so far. The crowd of people coming
out of the tunnel soon started thinning out. It was already half an hour since I
saw the first passenger come out. What if Carol didn't make it? But I couldn't
leave until I was absolutely sure there were no more passengers left.

I hadn't seen a lone woman come out for a while until this one came out. She
was pushing a cart with two large suitcases and two large carryons that were
almost as large as the suitcases. She was wearing a short dress, a coat, a hat,
and boots that may have been fashionable years ago. Her figure wasn't bad
but her face was plain and homely. My heart sank. She had to be Carol and
she was.

I honestly had no reason to get disappointed since my looks were not of movie
star caliber, either. It dawned on me that maybe she was expecting something
better, too. I decided to be kinder.
"Why did it take you so long to get out of there?" I asked.

"The immigration guy was giving me a hard time. He asked a lot of questions
about what I was going to do here, where I was going to stay, and what places
I was going to visit. I gave him your address and phone number and he finally
let me go."

I took a good look at her, she must have been in her late twenties or early
thirties. I couldn't decide whether her hair was yellow, red, or orange. I finally
decided it was faded henna. Her skin was sallow, she probably avoided the
sun. She was well-built but not heavy, everything was firm and nicely toned. I
figured she exercised regularly. She wore a heavy, sweetish perfume that she
must have refreshed before she stepped off the plane.

Well, her face was plain but it wasn't ugly. Why should I complain? I wasn't
getting stuck with a mail-order bride in the first place. She'll be back in Manila
in a few months.

When we got to my apartment, I had to carry all her stuff upstairs. She didn't
offer to help but I remembered that women didn't do those things in the
Philippines. Men carried the heavy stuff. It took me three trips to take everything
up to the spare room I had prepared for her. It had been my study and
computer room until I moved my computer and desk to a little corner in the
living room.

"Why don't you freshen up before we eat? You have all the time tomorrow to
put your things away."

"Isn't it too early to eat?"

"No, it's already seven o'clock."

"But it's still bright outside."

"That's the way it is in the summer here. It's light until after nine. But in the winter,
it gets dark before five."

"That's weird," she said as she went to her bedroom to get ready.
I had gone earlier to the Kentucky Fried Chicken place down the street to get
some food. I made sure I discarded all clues as to where the food may have
come from and put them all in nice, clean platters and bowls. Carol enjoyed
the extra crunchy chicken, the cole slaw, the mashed potatoes and gravy,
and the biscuits. I didn't feel too guilty as that KFC outlet was one of the better
ones in town. Their chicken wasn't all that greasy like in most of their other
branches.

We made small talk and tried to feel each other out. She made her living in
Manila as a real estate agent. She said she had been top agent for several
months in a row but now the market had gone soft. She decided it was time to
visit America and enjoy the bit of money she had saved up over the years.

"How do you plan to spend your time here and when are you going back?"

"Oh, I don't know yet what I'll do in the next few months but I'm not going back."

"Doesn't your tourist visa expire in six months?"

"Yes, but I hope to fix my status before my visa expires."

I almost shouted, Putang ina! Here's another Filipino who's going TNT--tago
nang tago or "someone who keeps hiding." Filipinos are great for acronyms
and abbreviations that sometimes I think the Pentagon is staffed by Filipinos
who spend most of their time thinking of acronyms for the military. Great! If she
doesn't leave in six months the first place Immigration will check would be my
apartment. I saw myself going to Federal prison for harboring an
undocumented alien and obstructing justice. That's all I need, I'll never get
another job. Worse, they'll take away my green card and send me back to the
Philippines. All because I was trying to be nice. Or more correctly, all because
I thought I was going to make an easy score.

I remembered the stories I'd heard. They were true after all. Somebody once
told me of a Filipino tour group that consisted of forty people who were going
to visit six cities. After each stop, the number of people in the group shrank.
Only twelve went back to the Philippines.
I was speechless until Carol broke the silence by trying to explain what she
perceived to be what I must have been worrying about. "I've been
corresponding with four men, all of them Americans. They have all proposed
to me. I'll let them know I'm here and I'll marry one of them."

It sounded so simple, why should I have worried? But the thought of jail time
continued to scare me. I also worried about jail food and getting sodomized
when I got there. My future suddenly looked bleak. It was bright just a few hours
ago. That's what I get for thinking about making an easy score. Next time I
know I'll have to score the hard way.

I showed Carol how to operate the remote for the cable TV box and where
the things she would be needing were. "Just make yourself at home," I said. If I
had known what that innocent expression would bring about, I wouldn't have
said it.

I had gotten tired by midnight while Carol's biological clock was still fighting
her new time zone. I bade her goodnight and went to bed while she watched
a movie channel.

The day proved uneventful. She slept in the daytime and watched TV all night.
We spoke little with each other but I noticed that her things were now spread
all over our shared bathroom. She had strung up a line to hang her wash over
the tub. Her wash greeted me each time I went into the bathroom.

I told her about the coin operated washer and dryer down the hall. I said it
would be easier for her to wait until she had enough dirty clothes then use the
machine. And if she really had a lot of clothes to wash, I could take her to a
real laundromat where we could do our wash together.

The third day was Sunday. When I woke up to make coffee, I saw that she was
already all dressed up. Her dress was of a shiny material, like she was going to
a cocktail party. She had those horrible boots on again. She had lots of
makeup just like when I first saw her at the airport. And she wore the same
heavy perfume again.
"What time do you go to church?"

I hadn't been inside a church since I was a child but for some reason I couldn't
bring myself to tell her that. "Oh, there's Mass all day long," I said, hoping what
I said was true. Hadn't I seen people coming out of church all hours of the day
on Sundays?

"The church you go to, who goes there? The rich? The poor, or mixed?"

"I don't know, I guess they're mixed." I didn't know that churches were for
different levels of economic prosperity.

We went to St. Basil's on Wilshire Boulevard for the noon Mass. I was immediately
lost as soon as I got in. I tried to copy exactly what Carol was doing. I knelt
when she knelt, stood when she stood, and sat when she sat. The last time I
heard Mass, the priest said it in Latin. Now, it was in English just like those
Protestant services. And people were holding hands, raising them up in the air,
and even greeting each other just like Protestants. It probably had something
to do with Vatican II but I couldn't be sure. I thought if they'd only get rid of the
kneeling part just like the Protestants had done, it would be perfect.

After Mass, I took her to lunch at a Thai restaurant. Her shiny cocktail dress
made people stare. I ordered for both of us since Carol didn't know anything
about Thai food. I noticed she hardly ate anything except the stuffed chicken
wings. She barely touched her Thai ice tea.

As we were leaving, I asked if there was anything wrong. She said she found it
hard to eat at a Thai restaurant. A friend in Manila had told her that the Thais
ate cats and dogs. "I couldn't tell what kind of meat they used in their cooking
except for the chicken wings. And I thought the tea tasted funny."

She was starting to be a pain in the ass but I still wasn't getting any, either. Not
that I tried because it's hard to get motivated when you're annoyed. She had
taken over the whole bathroom. She cooked and ate but didn't wash the
cooking utensils or the dishes.
My simmering anger finally boiled over when I got my phone bill. The record
showed she had called friends all over the U.S. and talked for hours at a time.
She even managed to call the Philippines five times. The total amount was
about what I normally would have paid for six months of telephone service. I
showed it to her but she didn't offer to pay for any of her calls. I told her she
was going to drive me to the poorhouse if she kept it up.

One day I returned home to find that five of my wine bottles had been
opened. I was letting them get a few more years in the bottle before opening
them for a special occasion. They were the most expensive wine I could afford
on my pitiful salary. I asked her about the open bottles.

"I was looking for something like the good wine I tasted before in a restaurant
in Manila. They called it 'lady's drink,'" she said. "Don't worry, I just tasted them
and all the bottles are still almost full. They're too sour for me."

In my rage, I went to the nearest market and bought her a couple of bottles of
Mogen David Concord Wine. She liked them. "That's what I was looking for,"
she said. "How did you know?" She thanked me for being so sweet.

On yet another day, I found her crying in the living room when I got home. It
sounded like the world had fallen in on her. She was inconsolable. I grabbed
her and shook her hard to make her snap out of whatever it was that was
happening with her.

"I flooded the laundry room."

She had at last tried to use the washer at the end of the hallway. She put two
large cups of detergent into the wash and it bubbled over filling the whole
laundry room with beautiful bubbles.

I got a mop and a bucket and cleaned up. I then showed her how much
detergent to put in. I stayed there until she put her clothes in the dryer. I made
sure she did it right. I felt guilty that I had expected her to know these things.
Wasn't it not too long ago when I was making the same stupid mistakes?
I blew up again when I got my cable TV bill. It seemed like she had ordered
every pay-per-view program available. I had never even watched one yet.
And she was watching two, sometimes three, a day. I showed the bill to her
and told her it would take at least a whole week's salary for me to pay for it.

Carol broke down and cried. "I'm sorry I keep doing dumb things that make
you mad. I don't know anything about life here. It's miserable--I'll never get used
to it. It's a very lonely life, very different from what I expected."

She made me feel mean and selfish. I remembered how it was for me when I
first arrived. It was scary, I didn't know which bus to take to get anywhere. I was
afraid to use home appliances I hadn't seen before. Everything was unfamiliar
and I was miserable. Now, she was going through the very same things and all
I could think about was making it with her.

I thought about the friend who took me in. It took me more than two months
to find work and move to my own place. He must have gone through the same
frustration I was now going through. When I tried to pay him back after I got
my first paycheck, he told me to save it. He said it was now my turn to help our
next kababayan who had nobody to turn to. I promised I would do just that.
And now I was complaining.

I embraced Carol and said it was okay. "I'm not mad--I just want you to think
what you would do if this were your own home. I know you wouldn't waste
money and you would want to keep the place neat and clean. That's all I
want."

She put her face on my shoulder and finished crying. "Someday, I'll be in a
position to thank you properly," she said.

Our relationship after that incident improved. It wasn't perfect but she was
doing a lot more things around the apartment. Of course, she was also getting
used by now to how things worked in America.
"BILL'S in town," she said. "He wants to take me out tonight."

"Who's Bill?"

"He's one of the guys I've been corresponding with. He flew in last night and is
staying at the Sheraton. I know where that is--I've seen it, it's not far from here."

"Well, enjoy yourself."

"You're coming with me."

"I can't, I have lots of things to do."

"You have to. A Filipina has to be chaperoned on her first date. You know that-
-Bill does, too. I've explained the custom to him. I'll look cheap if you don't
come with me. Please, just this first time."

I understood the danger of saying yes--there'll be other first dates with her other
penpals and I'll be stuck with chaperone duty if I relented. But of course, she
was right. Just because I'd been in America five years doesn't mean I should
put asunder Filipino traditions such as what Carol was now invoking so I said
okay.

We picked up Bill at the Sheraton. Carol introduced me to Bill as her cousin.

Carol was in the front seat with me, Bill was in the back, typical Filipino style first
date. Bill had already picked out a restaurant. It was one of the more
expensive restaurants on La Cienega that I had never been to before.

When we sat down for cocktails, Carol asked me what she should get so I
ordered pia colada for her. I ordered the same to assure her it was a good
drink. Bill got a double Jack Daniels. Carol loved the pia colada just as I
thought she would. She ordered another after finishing her first drink in record
time.

Bill must have been in his late fifties. He was fit and trim--had been married
once and had a good business in farm equipment repair. His children had all
moved away and he lived alone. I figured he was at least twenty-five years
older than Carol but that was okay. I'd seen many happy couples with the
same age difference before.

When it was time for dinner, I shamelessly ordered chateaubriand. I wasn't

paying and I knew if I didn't do it then, I would never have another chance to
try it in that restaurant. Carol had salmon and Bill, a large T-bone steak. We ate
slowly and had more drinks. By the time we had dessert, a band had set up
and was playing. The restaurant had a small dance floor.

When Bill excused himself to go to the rest room, Carol asked me in confidence
what I thought of Bill.

"I think he's all right. He seems to be well off and knows how to live."

"I like him, too. But do you think he can still perform? I mean, I don't want to be
stuck with somebody who can only do it once a week or less."

"Oh, I think he can do better than that. He looks strong." I had faith that Bill
would have access to Viagra in case he needed it. I wondered if it was the
alcohol that made her ask for my opinion on a very private and sensitive
matter.

Carol wanted to dance with me but I told her I had two left feet. She got
confused by the expression and didn't press on. She got Bill to dance with her.
They were both good dancers and I enjoyed watching them cut it on the
dance floor. They'd stop dancing every now and then and get back to our
table to drink some more. They kept it up for a while until I noticed that Carol
was already finding it hard to keep her balance. I pulled Bill aside and told him
that maybe I should take Carol home before she got worse. It was very late
anyway and time to go home.

Bill and I placed Carol in the back seat of my car where she dozed off and I
took him back to his hotel.

"I hope she's okay," he said as he got off.

"Oh, she'll be fine--she just got carried away by finally meeting you after all
these years."

By the time we got to the underground garage in my apartment, Carol was

half awake and singing, "I love the night life" She had a fine voice but it was
late and I didn't want her to create a scene and wake people up. I picked her
up and put a finger to her lips in an attempt to make her quiet.

"Kiss me," she said.

I softly touched her lips with mine. "There."

"No, a real one. I want a real one."

"Not here, wait till we get in the elevator."

I kissed her for real when we got in. She stuck her tongue in my mouth and
sucked hard. I did the same to her. She was holding on to me as she still found
it hard to stand on her own. I moved my hand to her breast--I had always
wanted to check if she wore pushups. She didn't. Her bra was of thin material
and I could feel her nipples. She giggled and reached down my pants--she
made me hard and said, "I want this."

The elevator door opened on our floor. By then she had unbuttoned her blouse
and was unbuckling her bra to show me her breasts. "They're real, they're not
rubber," she drunkenly bragged. It was late but I was afraid someone might
come so I quickly got her inside my apartment.

She reached down my crotch again and said, "I want it now."

She was completely undressed by the time we got to her bed, her clothes
trailing on the floor all the way from the door. She was still woozy and wanted
to be kissed and touched everywhere and wasn't satisfied until I finally got
inside her.
SHE was already awake and had coffee ready when I got up the next morning.
She was having toast and jam with her coffee. I sat down next to her and
poured myself a cup.

"Good morning," I said.

"Do you know what happened to me last night?" she asked directly.

I didn't answer, I didn't know what to say.

"Look, it's okay. I just want to know whether it was a dream or Bill or you. I had
a good time last night--it's been a long while since I had a more enjoyable
evening."

I still didn't answer, so she continued, "I felt very relaxed when I woke up. It
seemed so real--it's hard to believe it could have been a dream." She started
laughing and joked, "I just want to know who to thank, and maybe do it with
him again."

It was good to know she wasn't mad at me but she had never talked like that
before.

"I was pretty drunk last night when we got here. I went straight to bed. I don't
remember how long Bill stayed but the two of you were still in the living room
when I went to sleep," I lied. In the two months she had been with me, I had
learned to lie brazenly. The ease with which I was doing it now bothered me a
bit.

She turned to me with a questioning look, poured herself another cup of

coffee, and dropped the subject. Later that morning, she told me she was
having early dinner with Bill before his flight back home. I didn't have to go with
them this time.

It was on a Saturday a week later that Carol told me she was going to Fresno
to accept a job offer from Bill. I was on my way out to get my car washed and
gassed up. She asked me to make sure I came back for lunch because she
was preparing something special.
When I got back, she had lunch ready. She had sinigang na bangus, bistek sa
sibuyas, and leche flan. She surprised me--she knew how to cook after all. Best
of all the pots, pans, utensils, and plates she used had all been washed and
put away. I felt like hugging her but didn't because I didn't want her to change
her mind about that Fresno job.

Free at last, or almost, I thought. Not only from Carol but from my promise to
return the favor somebody did for me when I first arrived in America. My slate
was about to be wiped clean. We ate quietly and it really felt like a special
occasion for the first time since Carol arrived. She had some good qualities
after all. She had even learned how to make pia coladas.

After lunch, we took our drinks to the living room to watch football on television.
She knew what channel to turn it to. She turned to me and said, "I'm sorry to
have to leave you. I hope you won't feel lonely."

Who, me? Are you kidding? I thought to myself.

It was now raining outside--it figured, I had just washed my car. We sat down
to watch the game. I explained to Carol how football was played but I couldn't
tell if she cared or not. She pulled her feet up and snuggled close to me.

"I don't know how I can thank you enough for putting up with me."

The pia colada had made us mellow. I gave in to the urge to hug her. She
hugged me back and I kissed her without being asked like the first time. She
didn't protest and we shed off any remaining antagonism we had towards
each other.

After a while, Carol got up and turned the TV off. She smiled faintly at me and
silently walked to her room. I followed her in.
ANOTHER Saturday, this time two months later in Fresno. The air is crisp but the
warm sun takes the chill out from my bones. I wait at the church door for Carol
as I was the designated closest relative who would give her away.

She arrives in a limo and looks radiant as the sun hits her veil to form a halo
around her face. She's wearing virginal white and is beautiful as brides should
be. She comes to me--and gives me a knowing smile.