"one more, just one more!"

Part 2:

Okay, Sunday dawned at 5.30 AM when Froi called me to say she was on her way in on the Philippine Rabbit and to get ready to meet her at the station so we could cab it to the Divisoria, a giant flea market so I could get fabric (one of my mom's few requests from Asia). I met Froi and her two friends, a couple- Matt and Alex. Alex looked JUST LIKE a Filipino version of Jess Keltz- same hairdo, same style, even the converse, very similar body type. Check my FB for proof. Anyhows, we toddled off. The three were in high spirits, warning me to watch my bag with my life, avoid the garbage which was piled high in the middle of the street, etc. etc. When I later told Supe Vic about this adventure, he laughed "They say Divisoria is so crowded that when you go there you can leave pregnant and not even know it." he said in his husky, froggy little voice.


It was a fabric BONANZA and it was so cheap. I wanted 3 yards of everything, but I was picky, and I wound up with five selections: olive and cream heavy satin brocade embroidered with a kind of stylized flower design, reversible; a heavy satin in cream with coffee, gold, and lipstick pink circles in a paintbrush-ed motif, local batik in navy and pink, a cream upholstery fabric (my mom loves upholstery) with a cool multi colored bouquet of wildflowers, and a lightweight dimity cotton with blue roses (my personal fave flower motif, FYI).

We were in and out before it got really hot and crowded, and the cute couple took off to visit Matt's mom who had an apoplexy yelling at her cleaning lady and was in the hospital (yes, really).

Froi and I retired to "Breakfast at Benny's" which was a cute little boutique resto right off Rustan's, for brekkers. I had the fruit plate, and Froi had the pancakes. We commiserated about how hard it is for a career gal in her 30s to find a dude who's okay with a woman making more money than him.

After that we browsed in National Books and G5 for a bit, then we split, me to go to pool and chill for a bit before my mom's friend's friend (long story, I'll get to it in a bit, never fear) was coming to pick me up at 4 for a cookout.).

The pool was amazing. Turquoise shot through with crystal, the sun was at it's zenith. Groups of elegant ex pats (really. Two deeply tan Metropolitan types were lounging poolside and wearing their Wayfarers into the pool, along with their faded Lily Pulitzer trunks. I was in love.) were drinking elevenses and dozing. The sun reflected off everyone's bronze skin. The waiter brought me an ice cold water and an ice cold G&T, and a martini glass full of salty little nibbles. I was intensely conscious of wanting to remember everything. The way the men looked in the pool, their perfect Rupert Everett hair dos somehow surviving the heat and the water, the little plastic boxes the food came in, the feeling of the wind ruffling the pages of the Vanity Fair mag I had (the ONLY mag you want to read poolside in the tropics, makes you feel like Bridgette Bardot on holiday), the look of my legs, oiled with tanning lotion, the intense pleasure perforated with pain wishing Ives was there, the recognition that pleasure without pain is no kind of pleasure at all.

At 3.30 Sonny texted that he was in the lobby. Sonny is a product of my mom's huge social circle: her work friend John's sister lived here in the Phil for about 5 years 20 years ago. After her (let's call her MJ) first few emails, I must admit I wrote her off as a hippie who was out to lunch. But then I got serious about finding people to hang out with and I took her up on her offer to introduce me to her ex, Sonny.

She told me two things: "he's an artist and he's kind of a wildman." I had his number immediately. It's hard to explain but I had a strong hunch of exactly who he would be, since Buffalo is positively littered with this type: 50- something "artist and wild man" types with 1 or more failed marriages, multiple kids, the Converse sneaks, the big dog, the unfiltered cigs, the use of pot after college (sigh!), the long boozy dinners with their Javier Bardim group- of- friends, the liking Ayn Rand, the windy conversation, the skirt chasing... essentially I thought "Oh, he's going to be just like my mom's second "husband", Bob". AND HE WAS.

He takes his dog, Doobie, a husky, everywhere. He wears jeans, a stained white tee shirt and jeans and sneaks. He loves Ayn Rand and considers himself an Objectivist. His last GF (and "soulmate") was 30 years his junior. He's so macho that woman (myself included) feel invisible, obliterated, next to the immensity of his male privilege, which he wears like an ermine cape. Some men make women feel warm and protected and loved inside that cape, others wear it like Chris Sarandon in Princess Bride- it's their birthright and they would never think to share.

Anyhow, don't get me wrong, I don't have no beef with these guys, as long as they keep their hands to themselves.

We headed out to his high school friends' pad, where we drank beer and shot the shit as the sun set.

The players:

Sonny we know.

Ray: an affable, handsome (very handsome, distractingly so) guy, who was the man of the house. He was an amateur photographer and showed me some really cool photos. He's married with a kid to Anne, a manic artist who's a type of Filipina that I've learned to recognize: only has two gears: unconscious and hyper. She blew in a scooped up her fluffy Pomeranian who was resting on the table, queen of all she surveyed (both Anne and the dog). She was soon ensconced in issuing orders to the two hired girls, yelling, laughing, sashaying back and forth, hugging people, making jokes, all at once.


The other guys I can't recall their names, but one was a Filipino and one was a Chinese guy, all four men were from the same class. The Chinese man was exquisite- probably one of the few handsome Chinese men I've seen- he had a daintiness to him that wasn't for me, but was objectively lovely. He was perfectly formed, and he wore three jade bracelets and two diamond rings. He was as cool as an Egyptian cat looking over the Pharaoh's shoulder, just listening, his cheeks showing just a hint of "the Asian flush" that comes from drinking.
Actually, the spoke MORE English than my CO WORKERS, either out of politeness to me or just for kicks. Of course they made jokes and all in Tagalog, but I was able to follow about 1/10th of what was being said. Ray's family is prominent in Vigan, the town that's next after Puerto Galera on my "list", and they vociferously invited me to stay at their summer place.

Anyway, the sun dipped beneath the sky, the beer and scotch kept coming, the dog quieted down, and we ate and ate.

Around 7 I was toast, and I toddled back to the hotel to fall into a deep sleep, very happy.

The next day I had lunch at "ArmyNavy Burger", which was very tasty, and while I was eating, my favorite song of all time "When I was Younger" by Rod Stewart came on. Gratitude for being there, eating a good meal, looking at lovely scenery, listening to my favorite song, filled me, pushing everything else aside. This was almost as good as it got. For now it was enough.