Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Our Way Home on the Last Rendezvous Night
(finally a long awaited sequel to Manila Rendezvous- First Night)
Outside the jazz club, we strolled to the nicely lit terrace that overlooked the skyline of squatters. The elevated compound of our chic and opulent establishment was a strange juxtaposition between the privileged class and the poor masses. Prior to that, we were at an ex-mayor’s house where his son, a good friend of my beau was due up for running as mayor in the next election campaign. He was celebrating his 31st birthday with his closer mates whom I got introduced to. The next day, I spotted a few familiar faces while flipping through the local Tatler in the waiting room of a famous women's doctor (with a long waiting list) where my hostess's mother consulted.
Ironically, on our way to the birthday boy's house, I asked Ted and his entourage in the vehicle (consisting of Guitar, Sax, the chauffer and my Ted) what the mayor-to-be proposed to do for the poor. Of which, Guitar gave a mocking laugh. Paradoxically, I was to learn later that Guitar, too hails from a family tradition of privilege and power in politics.
*****
We stood by the balcony, overlooking the slopes of gazillion squatters beneath us. Our bodies were drawn close to each other and our tongues intertwined into a long and passionate kiss with our eyes closed. The light breeze blowing in our faces in the wee hours of that Monday morning emanated a mood of dreaminess in the air. I felt a little light-headed. I only had two glasses of Blue Lagoon (that could do no damage to me at all) for the whole night.
Then Ted grew self-conscious and rather affectionately, he withdrew his mouth from our French kiss and mumbled, “Let’s not do that. There are people…” He pointed afar at the welcoming fountain that formed the frontage of the establishment. Our chauffer and his friend, Sax awaited us in the huge 4WD/ van looking vehicle.
“Huh? Don’t you ever do that here?”
He gave a rather awkward smile, that part signified a half no.
“Oh, you are so not romantic!” I said rather plainly (as I figured I would be speaking at a level that he would understand).
“In Paris, you see lovers and couples holding hands and kissing everywhere. It’s a romantic city.”
“Really? They do that on the streets in Paris?” My Ted looked genuinely curious.
You see, despite his great wealth, Ted has only travelled to two other countries in Asia. He holds an American passport due to his father who had served in the U.S marine but he has never sat foot on the country of his supposed citizenship.
“Yes...”
We walked back towards the car.
Nearby, R n B music blasted away from another bar within the same compound. Ted started dancing to the beat, undulating his body. He turned me to face him and nimbly, started to thrust his pelvis against me in the act of mock sex as he laughed away.
This time, it was my turn to grow self-conscious. I hit him lightly and chided him, perhaps rather feebly, “Stop it, baby. Don’t do that in public!”
He stopped his act and we laughed at the silliness of it all. He held my hand and we proceeded to enter the vehicle. He propped me up by the waist from behind to get me up the step and into the 4WD . I turned to eye him mischievously and led him to the middle row of seats, with the empty row of seat before that separated us from Sax who sat at the passenger seat next to the chauffer. Ted protested ineffectually and softly asking why, although his half bemused face also betrayed his inkling that I had perhaps something up my sleeves...
(Voyeurs, hold your breaths. There’s more to come in the upcoming post…;) )
(finally a long awaited sequel to Manila Rendezvous- First Night)
Outside the jazz club, we strolled to the nicely lit terrace that overlooked the skyline of squatters. The elevated compound of our chic and opulent establishment was a strange juxtaposition between the privileged class and the poor masses. Prior to that, we were at an ex-mayor’s house where his son, a good friend of my beau was due up for running as mayor in the next election campaign. He was celebrating his 31st birthday with his closer mates whom I got introduced to. The next day, I spotted a few familiar faces while flipping through the local Tatler in the waiting room of a famous women's doctor (with a long waiting list) where my hostess's mother consulted.
Ironically, on our way to the birthday boy's house, I asked Ted and his entourage in the vehicle (consisting of Guitar, Sax, the chauffer and my Ted) what the mayor-to-be proposed to do for the poor. Of which, Guitar gave a mocking laugh. Paradoxically, I was to learn later that Guitar, too hails from a family tradition of privilege and power in politics.
*****
We stood by the balcony, overlooking the slopes of gazillion squatters beneath us. Our bodies were drawn close to each other and our tongues intertwined into a long and passionate kiss with our eyes closed. The light breeze blowing in our faces in the wee hours of that Monday morning emanated a mood of dreaminess in the air. I felt a little light-headed. I only had two glasses of Blue Lagoon (that could do no damage to me at all) for the whole night.
Then Ted grew self-conscious and rather affectionately, he withdrew his mouth from our French kiss and mumbled, “Let’s not do that. There are people…” He pointed afar at the welcoming fountain that formed the frontage of the establishment. Our chauffer and his friend, Sax awaited us in the huge 4WD/ van looking vehicle.
“Huh? Don’t you ever do that here?”
He gave a rather awkward smile, that part signified a half no.
“Oh, you are so not romantic!” I said rather plainly (as I figured I would be speaking at a level that he would understand).
“In Paris, you see lovers and couples holding hands and kissing everywhere. It’s a romantic city.”
“Really? They do that on the streets in Paris?” My Ted looked genuinely curious.
You see, despite his great wealth, Ted has only travelled to two other countries in Asia. He holds an American passport due to his father who had served in the U.S marine but he has never sat foot on the country of his supposed citizenship.
“Yes...”
We walked back towards the car.
Nearby, R n B music blasted away from another bar within the same compound. Ted started dancing to the beat, undulating his body. He turned me to face him and nimbly, started to thrust his pelvis against me in the act of mock sex as he laughed away.
This time, it was my turn to grow self-conscious. I hit him lightly and chided him, perhaps rather feebly, “Stop it, baby. Don’t do that in public!”
He stopped his act and we laughed at the silliness of it all. He held my hand and we proceeded to enter the vehicle. He propped me up by the waist from behind to get me up the step and into the 4WD . I turned to eye him mischievously and led him to the middle row of seats, with the empty row of seat before that separated us from Sax who sat at the passenger seat next to the chauffer. Ted protested ineffectually and softly asking why, although his half bemused face also betrayed his inkling that I had perhaps something up my sleeves...
(Voyeurs, hold your breaths. There’s more to come in the upcoming post…;) )
