
All rights reserved.
P H A N T O M
First Edition: December 2010
Text copyright © 2010 by Jason Cunningham
ISBN (Print Edition): 978-0-615-42458-3
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Well-known public names mentioned in this book are used solely for parody and have no other purpose.
Editor: Tom Safford
Graphic Design/Artwork: Georgianna Daily
Publisher: Phantom Fiction (a division of Tville Books)
Author Website: www.jasonthewriter.com
No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.
John Donne, Meditation XVIIEnglish clergyman & poet (1572 - 1631)
"Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul."
-Marilyn Monroe
CHAPTER 1
If I were a practical man, I would've been scared to death. My days were spent navigating the screens on a Blackberry while pretending to pay attention to whomever had the misfortune of sitting in front of me at lunch or dinner. I spent two-thirds of my existence in airports and hotels, and the other third in meetings with people for whom I had little respect. Yet we all bowed to the same god, and his color was green. In the span of seven years, I had become enslaved to a system that grips its victims without mercy, squeezing the life from their souls, down to the last drop. And worst of all, I had sold myself into slavery.
The stress of work and the frantic pace of life I'd grown accustomed to were slowly killing me. Some nights I was good to get four hours of sleep; other nights I was lucky to sleep at all. Every moment of potential relaxation was interrupted by the relentless chime of my phone, which I was expected to always answer. I spent four hours a day swimming through e-mails and returning calls from the previous day. To stay in shape, I'd do push ups and air squats while reading screenplays and expense reports. No time for going to the gym. I'd often find myself at parties, where celebrities snorted lines of coke right out in the open as underage groupies traipsed the dance floor wearing dental-floss halter tops. The lifestyle was excessive, and so were the egos. Nothing about my job felt real, except, ironically, being on set. Watching lights being moved into position, sound guys prepping their gear, actors getting into character, the director biting his nails while anxiously awaiting the first shot of the day - being in that atmosphere made me feel like a kid again. And that's what I was missing most these days: childlike wonder.
I often considered if being a movie producer was worth it, but I didn't have many options. I had a liberal arts degree and the only people I knew were also in the business. My best, and only, friend was my manager and I had no romantic prospects upon which to build any hope at all. This was life in my world, and always would be: stress, airports, hotels, e-mail, and no sleep.
But it wasn't just work that bothered me. Everything was bothering me these days. I'm talking about the clerk at the grocery store who moves like he's in quicksand, the woman in front of me in traffic who fails to yield because she's applying lipstick, the skaters who side-swipe me while I'm jogging in the park, the inept employees who make doing my job impossible, the late-night TV ads that try to sell me junk I don't need, the hippies at Whole Foods, the gangster rap I can hear thundering from an El Camino ten blocks away.
The desire to jump off a bridge and just end it all came to me as I sat in a dark and damp screening room at the AMC River East theater in downtown Chicago. My heart fluttered uncontrollably at the thought of failure, even though it seemed inevitable. I felt a tinge of panic when the booming sound dropped to a whisper and I heard shifting weight in the seats -- the international sign of boredom.
There were thirteen people in the room but only three of them mattered. I was in the fourth row, my usual spot for such an occasion, while the editor and director sat just below me. The higher you are in the seating arrangement, the more responsibility you carry. I knew the game well after a decade in the business, but it was still a scary time and never got any easier. You see, all of us mid-tier movie producers remember the almost mythical story of Jackie Warner like it had happened yesterday.
Jackie was this producer in the late seventies who was turning out hit after hit. Then he got a bit cocky and started doing his own thing, taking on riskier material. At that point Roger Graham, the head of the studio and the guy I now work for, had a meeting with Jackie behind closed doors. No one knows exactly what was said in that meeting but Jackie came out of the room looking like he'd seen a ghost. That night he jumped off a nine-story balcony and did a face-plant onto Sunset Boulevard, or so the story goes.
As my film came to an end, I breathed for the first time in ninety minutes. Dead silence followed. I decided not to draw it out so I twisted in my seat toward the back row where Roger Graham sat, somewhere in the darkness. It was his decision whether the film would go into three thousand theaters or the bargain bin at Wal-Mart. Adding to my dilemma was the fact that I had no desire to have my brains spilled all over Sunset Boulevard if he were so displeased as to give me a shove.
There was an uncomfortable silence and then I saw Roger lean forward, puffing on a thick cigar. He dangled a glass of whiskey loosely in his hand. He was an old, hard-nosed curmudgeon who used words like dame and referred to movies as pictures. I saw Roger as a vestige of Old Hollywood. In an age in which big telecom companies owned most of the movie studios, Roger refused all their offers to insist on getting his own way. And he always did. He was the Godfather of the industry, and no less dangerous.
"How are you feeling, Ted?" he asked in a low, ominous voice that told me to lie.
"Good. I feel pretty good."
There was some discussion at the back of the room but I couldn't hear what was being said.
Roger stood up and gave me a hand signal. He wanted me to follow him. I popped to my feet and took the long walk up the carpeted floor as every eye in the room fell on me. I looked back over my shoulder and made a joke to lighten the mood.
"Off to the principal's office again."
No one laughed.
I walked into the empty lobby and saw Roger extinguish his cigar on a metal trash can lid. You're not supposed to smoke inside a theater, even one you've rented out, but Roger did as he pleased and people who questioned him had a strange habit of ending up in the E.R. We were the only two around. Roger took a deep breath and his squinty eyes engaged mine.
"I pulled a lot of strings to get the studio to make this picture. And I put you in charge of it because you're safe; you don't take chances."
"I had to change the ending, Roger. Nihilism is on its way out," I said in a confident tone.
"The game is evolving, Ted. You're not. That was an amateur move."
I was glad that he wasn't yelling, but my neck was still wedged halfway into the guillotine and I smelled blood.
"Here's the thing: we're going in a new direction now. The banks only want to fund our proven money-makers with the economy the way it is. That means romantic comedies and epic action. Everything else is a liability."
It should be mentioned that I had just spent a year of my life producing a heartfelt and profound feature film that was now in danger of never going public due to the cost of advertising, which Roger and I were currently debating -- only, it wasn't much of a debate.
"This film can appeal to audiences, Roger. It's about hope. Trust me, people want hope these days. We live in a dark world. We need little reminders like this... reminders that life is still worth living."
"Ted, this isn't open mic at the Poetry Corner. Save your spiel for those who actually enjoy sap. I let you run with this picture because the story was good. But that's not enough anymore. The landscape has changed."
Roger ran his meaty hand across his face and lowered his eyes.
"Are we even getting a release?"
"I don't know, Ted. But it doesn't look good."
My anger flared. I debated in my head whether or not I wanted to push the issue with a guy you'd rather not piss off, but there was a momentary loss of communication between my brain and tongue.
"I put everything into this, Roger! How could we not get a release? It's the first movie I'm not ashamed to put my name on."
"Listen," he said. "It's a fine picture. There should be some comfort in knowing that. It's just not commercial enough."
"Roger, it's just that..." I stumbled, searching for the words. "I thought we could change the way things are done in Hollywood, you know?"
Roger stared at me for so long without talking that I thought about taking a step backward.
"Tell me," he said. "How long have you worked underneath my large and generous wing?"
"Since grad school, sir. Ten years."
"And you've been wanting to change the world since I met you." He took a dramatic pause, then continued, "Maybe this business isn't right for that."
Was he firing me? I was too afraid to ask.
"You going to be all right, kid?"
"Yeah, of course. It's just one of those things, you know," I lied through my teeth.
Roger gave me a pat on the shoulder and said he had to catch a flight back to LA, as if I didn't know he was a busy man. Roger was right about one thing though: I had always dreamed of changing the world. Who wants to flip on the news every night and see all the creative ways people can be horrible to one another? At the same time, I was losing hope that I could ever do a thing about it. After all, I wasn't much of a hero.
CHAPTER 2
I stepped outside the theater and onto the street, where an icy wind punched me in the face. It was December in Chicago and that meant dealing with the elements. Northern winters look great on film, but safely negotiating snow-capped streets is hard work.
While my car was warming up, I stood under an old gas-lamp streetlight and watched drifting snow kiss wet pavement. A street saxophonist shared the corner with me, belting out Van Morrison's "There Will be Days Like This." The fragrant aroma of roasting peanuts and boiled hot dogs filled my senses as one of those ubiquitous urban food carts crossed the street to where I was standing. I looked around and saw couples holding hands and being cute together. Snow-covered pedestrians were laughing with their friends and strolling about, happy as punch. It made me angry to see them so happy and carefree. Was I the only guy in the city whose dreams were collapsing around him? Was I the only one this... lonely?
A chilly wind pinched my bare skin, so I stepped over the sidewalk grates and let warm gutter steam blow up through the bottom of my pant-legs to reduce the numbness. I tried to spend as much time here as possible. Chicago, I mean -- not standing over sidewalk vents. This is where I grew up and went to college. It had roots, and I was glad to be back for a while - maybe a long while. Most of my time was spent commuting to LA for meetings, which is a huge chore, but I couldn't stand the three years I lived out there. Andy Warhol once said, "I love Hollywood... everybody's plastic, but I love plastic."
Even as a young man, I knew that money wouldn't buy happiness but figured it would at least buy peace of mind. But now, just a bit wiser, I saw that money solved some problems while inventing new ones. I no longer had to worry about paying my bills, only to forgo the luxury of knowing if a girl was interested in me or my Lexus. With money and prestige comes a lack of trust. I trusted no one and that's the price you pay for success: loneliness. That's probably why I found myself giving that cute couple a dirty look. It's become a habit.
The drive home was a somber affair. It was just a few weeks until Christmas so holiday lights and tinsel were strewn across every streetlight and storefront window. It should have been a festive time of year, but not for me. The way things were turning out, I was quickly becoming a Scrooge.
It was around 9 pm when the snow flurries started to pick up, so I pulled over and ducked into a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant to settle a stomach that was still in knots from the screening. I ordered a plate of fried noodles with sesame chicken and sat down in a booth by the window, wondering if such items exist on any menu in China. The owners of this particular establishment aren't big on running the heat, even in the dead of winter, so I was glad to have brought a scarf with me. I began to miss LA's mild weather as I saw my breath form clouds between bites.
I heard the door jingle and I looked up to see a young couple, probably in their twenties, bundled up and blowing into their hands to stay warm. They ordered some cashew chicken to go and then sat down at the table beside my booth while it was being prepared. They were another adorable couple, so naturally I had to choke back the rising vomit in my throat. After ten touch-and-go seconds, I was able to regain control of my diaphragm.
There's something I like to do when I'm in public, even though it's not entirely honest. I like to pretend I'm renting a movie and then ask people what they think of one that I've produced. It's one of the few ways to get my finger on the pulse of an audience and since they don't have a clue who I am, the answers tend to be honest.
"Excuse me," I said to the guy. "I don't mean to bother you but my girlfriend sent me out to rent a movie and I'm not sure what to get. Have you guys seen Dancing in the Meadows?"
"Nope. Haven't seen it."
"What about Danger Lives Here?"
The girl turned toward me.
"Oh, I saw that one -- isn't that where the gardener kills some woman's son and..."
"Daughter," I said, interrupting her with too much information. My cover was blown.
She gave me a funny look.
"I mean, I saw the trailer and I think it was the daughter," I mumbled.
"Oh," she replied. "Well, save your money. It sucks big time."
I nodded politely. At least, I think I did. After stuffing my belly and starving my ego, I jumped back into the car and let the wipers knock an inch of dust off the windshield. I fired up the engine and headed onto the street. I was still thinking about the screening and what Roger had said to me. My thoughts were so jumbled that I missed my exit and ended up looping around to the south. In order to regain some equilibrium I just took the first exit I saw and merged into a sea of taillights.
Fantastic!
The only thing worse than getting lost is getting lost and stuck in construction traffic. It was a two-lane road so I looked over to my right to see if I could get over. There was a small opening and I tried to merge, only to be blocked by a teenage girl chatting it up on her cell phone. I was never one to honk the horn so I began motioning to her with my arm and mouthing the words, Can I get over? She never even saw me. I knew that if I could make a right turn by the next light I would be able to loop back onto the interstate and if not, I'd be in for a long night.
I saw another opening and started to go. Just then, the car behind me sped up and jumped in to take the opening. Now I couldn't make the turn; I was sure of it. My car phone started to buzz so I hit TALK.
"Are you satisfied with your male performance?" said a semi-human voice.
I hit the END button and nearly slammed into the back of the car in front of me. The guy gave me an I'm going to kill you if you do that again kind of glare. I guess breaks don't work as well when there's snow on the ground and you're distracted by telemarketing calls about your male performance.
"Be careful, old boy -- watch the road," I said to myself while dreaming of a life without traffic jams and road rage.
I ended up missing the turn so I kept driving straight and eventually passed the bulk of construction traffic. I was now, however, hopelessly lost and the neighborhoods were looking less and less friendly.
"Why do I have to be in a nice car?" I thought to myself while passing some homeless men burning newspapers in a trash can. I looked at my watch. It was a little after 10 pm.
Suddenly I slammed on my brakes and came to a sliding halt. A woman in a heavy coat was pushing a rusty shopping cart full of her possessions across the street and didn't seem to notice me.
"How can we live in a society where a person has to live that way?" I thought with a bit of shame on my conscience. It was bone-chilling cold outside and this woman had no place to rest her head. I pulled alongside her, not knowing what to say.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I said out the window. Even rolling down the window sent chills all over my body on such a cold night.
The woman stopped and turned toward me, although her eyes looked past mine. I thought that perhaps she was blind.
"Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
She shook her head "no."
I wasn't even sure why I'd asked such an obvious question or what I planned on doing about it. I thought about maybe giving her a ride, but to where? I thought about taking her back to my house and letting her sleep in a warm place for a change. My eyes went down to her shopping cart, filled with the useless junk she called her only possessions.
Just then, I heard a loud thump and looked in my side view mirror. The two men I'd passed previously came up from the rear and one of them kicked my back bumper. They didn't look too welcoming, to say the least.
"You get you some hookers someplace else. Leave that girl alone!"
"I'm not looking for..." was all I got out of my mouth before he dented my door with an icy kick.
I gave the woman a look that said, "I'm sorry" and hit the gas pedal, speeding out of there with a slushy squeal. I looked back to see the two men shouting obscenities in my direction. It took a few minutes to realize that I could've been killed, all over a silly misunderstanding.
"The world can be a scary place when you misjudge someone's intentions," my father used to say.
I filed that thought away and looked for an interstate sign. I ended up driving all the way through the downtown area again before picking up the interstate on the other side of town. That was a long, one-hour detour that I didn't need. My eyes were heavy and I had to fight to stay conscious. At least I'll be able to sleep tonight, I thought to comfort myself. Lately, I'd only been able to sleep after a few glasses of wine, but that kind of self-medication can lead to worse problems than insomnia.
Twenty minutes later I pulled up to my neighborhood community and watched the gates slowly fold open with a metallic creak to welcome me back. I had only left twelve hours ago but it seemed like a week. My home was a sanctuary from the world of angry bosses and homeless guys wanting to kick my face in. It was the one place I didn't feel as lonely in the world.
I pulled into my circular driveway and cut the engine off. I sat there for a moment, just looking at my home. Most people would call it a mansion but it was a mid-sized property in this neighborhood. I sat in a Lexus in front of a 6,000-square-foot house and I had paid for none of it.
When you're broke, you can't catch a break. When you're rich, people give you everything for free. Both the house and the car were given to me as perks from the studio after my first three films brought in high box office numbers. I was pretty sure they couldn't take the house and car back now, but I still wondered. Nothing was certain on this hamster wheel of life that I knew. I feared being poor and having to work at McDonalds after tasting the good life - only I wasn't sure how "good" the good life was any more. Some days I wanted to run away, like a child escaping from an abusive home. I felt trapped. I hated the stress of always having to perform for a tyrannical boss and being stuck in a system that left me sleepless for nights on end. There wasn't a grain of integrity in this business and the feeling that no one actually cares about you can weigh on a person's soul.
I walked inside and smelled vanilla. "Must've left a candle burning again," I thought. I flipped on a light in the restroom and blew out a weak stem. Then I splashed some water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. At 33, I looked young for my age, but I wasn't exactly handsome. I was skinny from stress, with an average face and bad hair. It took a bucket of gel to keep it all in one place and, even then, it looked like I had just awoken from a nap. It's a good thing the "messy look" is back.
Inside the medicine cabinet I found some aspirin, which went down great with a glass of red wine. The evening's events had left me restless and sleep was evasive once more. I couldn't find the off switch to my brain, which kept me tossing and turning under silk sheets until I saw sunlight peeking through the blinds. I glanced at my clock and saw that it was five in the morning; I hadn't slept a wink. My coffee pot was on a timer so the aroma of Starbucks Christmas Blend began to waft into my bedroom. When the smell of coffee fills the house I might as well forget about getting any sleep. So I got up and slammed down two cups with a Pop Tart. Nothing like caffeine and high-fructose corn syrup to get your day started.
After a quick shower I was once again faced with my sad-looking reflection in the mirror. The lack of sleep was catching up to me. I looked tired. My fingers traced dark circles under my eyes.
I stood in my wardrobe and straightened a designer tie around my neck. I took one more look into the mirror and felt intensely lonely. During times like this, all I wanted was to turn around and have a supportive woman lovingly look at me and say, "You look marvelous, honey. Like a million bucks!" But I feared I would never be a part of one of those annoying cute couples. Some things were not meant to be. I took a troubled breath and felt a wave of shame and embarrassment pouring over me like a tsunami of failure.
But it wasn't the first time.
CHAPTER 3
The first time I fell in love, I was in the fifth grade. Heather was an older woman, at twelve, but she was the first to steal my heart. During lunch break I decided to stand up to a bully in order to earn a few social points, but the encounter resulted in me getting hit with a tray full of corn and body-slammed onto the tile floor in front of my peers. Teachers rushed to break up the ruckus when I looked up and saw Heather wearing a face full of concern. We had never spoken, even once, but at that moment I knew she was the one for me.
After lunch we had gym class together and I decided to man up and take the seat beside Heather on the bleachers. She was sitting with Stephanie, a solid loaf who hated anything she couldn't eat, so this was going to be a challenge.
I opened with my best line, "Dodgeball is so awesome."
Heather looked me up and down, and then said, "Um, Ted... you're sweaty," at which point Stephanie chimed in with, "Yeah, and you smell like corn."
After the two of them chuckled and slapped one another high-five it became clear that my relationship with Heather wasn't working out. Heartbroken, but still a man of integrity, I decided to let her down gently.
"Heather, I wish you the best in life and hope you find whatever happiness you're looking for."
I stood up with an air of profundity, took two steps, then tumbled down the bleachers and busted my nose on the basketball court. I must've lost a pint of blood that day but what's more, I lost my childhood innocence. It was then I learned a painful life lesson: the world is a cold place and the natural inclination of mankind is bent toward selfishness, envy and getting ahead at the expense of others.
Yes, I was a deep kid and read too much into things. Even still, my conclusion turned out right.
I sat in the nurse's office with gauze spun around my nose. I looked up at a world map on the wall and my eyes were drawn to a long cluster of islands in the South China Sea. I reached out a bony finger and touched the map as the school nurse entered the room behind me.
She noticed my curiosity and said, "Making some travel plans, are we?"
She offered me a warm smile and I nodded in response. "Yeah, one day I'm going to disappear to a place where no one can find me."
"I see you've chosen the Philippines. You know, there's like seven thousand tiny islands over there. I bet you could still grab one or two of them if you had the money."
"I'll never have that kind of money."
She looked at me with curious eyes and said, "I guess you'd better get used to bloody noses then."
She offered a gentle smile but I knew she was right. My mother had died the year before and it was times like this when I needed a mom to hug me and tell me the lie every kid wants to hear: it'll be all right.
My father did his best in a tough situation but was, despite all efforts, a complete dork -- a trait passed on to me without having evolved much. Pops never quite knew what was "cool" but liked to think he was up to speed, even though he was always a couple of years behind the pack. I still remember that Christmas following Mom's death. It was a sad time for both Pops and me but he was especially excited about a big surprise gift he'd picked out that year. After dropping a few hints, I figured out that he'd gotten me the newly released -- and very popular among my peers -- Nintendo Entertainment System. It was all the rage and you were not cool in 1985 unless you had a Nintendo. People at school would trade games and talk about all their codes and tricks to beat difficult levels. I wanted in on that crowd like you wouldn't believe.
So when Pops, giddy with excitement, handed me a heavy, poorly wrapped box, I was about to jump out of my skin with excitement! As I started tearing into my present, he suddenly stopped me, ran into the next room to fetch his Polaroid camera, then came back and centered me in the frame before saying, "It's okay -- go ahead and open it now."
I tore through the paper to see a sad-looking Atari 5200. This game system had been out for around three years and by 1985 was the laughingstock of the gaming world. I was hurt and angry.
How could Pops not know how dorky this was? Didn't he understand that I couldn't swap games or make new friends with an Atari? Give me a break!
But then I saw the look on his face, full of enthusiasm and joy, and it softened me.
I gave him a big, fake hug and said, "Thanks, Dad. You're the best."
As we broke, I saw his eyes begin to water with joy and I felt at that moment I was a terrible son. Pops had done his best and I was an ungrateful brat. Of course, a few years later Dad bought me that Nintendo, but Sega was all the rage by that point. God bless his clueless soul.
CHAPTER 4
I ate my birthday dinner alone at an oversized family table in the den, watching It's a Wonderful Life while having overcooked salmon and Château Lafite. I fell asleep in the living room around ten-thirty and had a strange dream about my assistant, Teresa. She was a cute girl and a heck of a lot of fun to converse with, but I'd never thought about her in a romantic way. In the dream we were outside in my courtyard, which was modeled after Mr. Miyagi's back yard in the movie The Karate Kid. It was snowing but didn't feel cold outside. We sat in the landscaped garden near a koi pond, eating chocolate-dipped strawberries and laughing. The only audible dialogue I remember was when Teresa leaned over and said, "I can't believe how good this feels."
Of course, I woke up severely in love with her. It's funny how that happens. The only thing I'd ever thought about Teresa prior to the dream was that she happened to be a snappy dresser. I mentioned that to her once so she got into the habit of calling me a metrosexual, a term which terribly offended me until I Googled it and found out it was sort of a compliment. She was 28 years old but might as well have been 15 because I couldn't understand most of what she said. Teresa liked to stay current and her lingo was hip, quite the contrast to my outdated vocabulary.
I walked into the kitchen to grab some coffee and saw that I had a missed call. Speak of the devil. It's not rare to get a call from Teresa since she is my assistant, but the timing made things weird. I fought off the urge to call her back right away but there was a chance she had important news.
"It was just a dream," I told myself. "If you were in love with her it would have become obvious during the two years she's worked for you, and not just after a dream in which she said something cute while we shared strawberries. What was it she said again? I can't believe how good this feels.
I let that thought linger a little too long and found myself dialing her number.
"Hello?" said the love of my life.
"Um... Teresa, hi, it's Ted. I saw that you had called."
"Ted, hey -- you sound weird. You all right?"
"Weird? What do you mean?"
"Oh, never mind -- it must be the connection. So I just wanted to remind you about the speaking gig at NYU next month. I know how you like to put things off to the last minute so..."
"Can we cancel that one? Is it too late?"
"Well, you know Jerry will kill you, right?"
"Yes, I know he'll throw a hissy. Then he'll get over it like he always does."
"Why don't I give you a few days to think it over?" she said.
The fact that she knew me so well made her all the more adorable.
"Anything from Roger?" I asked, fearing the answer already.
"Yep, that's actually the reason I called..."
Then she paused; I knew something was up.
"Do you want me to do this over the phone?" she asked.
"Just give it to me straight. What's the word?"
What's the word? Who was I, The Fonz?
She paused again and said, "He wants you to supervise the Maynard film. They're having some issues."
This was worse than getting fired. It was like being sent to purgatory. I forgot to respond.
"You okay?" she asked, genuinely concerned.
"No, yeah -- I'm fine."
"He said it was because you're the only man for the job. And also because they're shooting in Grant Park and you're already in town."
"I got it. No biggie, right? At least we still have a paycheck."
"That's the spirit!" she enthused.
"Okay, then -- well, thanks for giving me the news."
"That's why I'm here, TL."
"Thanks, Teresa. I love..."
Oh, crap.
"What's that? Ted... are you still there? I think our connection is jacked."
My brain was reeling. Think fast!
"I mean, tell Roger I'd love to work on the project and thank him for giving me something close to home."
"Coolio. Hit me back if you need me for anything."
"I will. Bye now."
"Lates," she said in a perky voice.
My assignment was to supervise a train wreck of a film called Gypsy Girl. Two years ago my name was inked in the trades, an amalgamation that refers to The Hollywood Reporter and Variety magazines, for producing the two biggest hits that summer. Now Roger was sending me out here to salvage a crumbling production with a hothead director and a team that couldn't manage a lemonade stand. They were two million over budget and the director threatened to quit every other day. Frankly, I wished that he would.
• • •
The next day I showed up on set bright and early, hoping for the best. We were already an hour behind schedule when the generator went down. By the time we got a replacement up and running our camera operator had managed to crack a seventy-five thousand dollar Panavision lens, resulting in a very fun phone conversation with the insurance company. It wasn't even lunchtime and I was already sweating bullets.
As I went to snatch a quick coffee, the lead actress approached me in a huff and said, "I can't work with that guy. He's totally an idiot."
She pointed a finger at the director, who was watching from a safe distance behind a row of production monitors. He returned the finger, his middle one, and then grabbed his crotch.
Wonderful.
"He's an eccentric guy. You just have to warm up to him a little."
"I'm calling my agent. Screw this."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa -- that's not even necessary. Let me go have a chat with him."
Cory Maynard was the source of my frustration. He was a UCLA film grad who'd won an MTV movie award for his last flick, a thought-provoking piece about a monkey who took a hit of acid and was subsequently transformed into a genius, endearing him to the masses until he became the first chimp President of the United States. If you're wondering if the chimp President demanded to be paid in bananas, the answer is yes. Yes he did. And female monkeys.
I feel nauseous.
To put it mildly, Cory was not an easy guy to work with. Roger picked him because he was called "the next big thing" by a major film publication and the press loved him since he gave them plenty of material about which to write. I approached Cory with a diplomatic producer's grin. I mean, total cheese.
"Cory, my man. What do you say we don't make the lead actress quit three weeks into production and lose forty million dollars?"
"Ted, you know exactly nothing. That chick is a spoiled brat."
"Oh, the irony," I thought.
"Cory, we can't replace her this late into the schedule. Roger will murder both of us. And that's not a figure of speech."
Roger's name sobered him up fast. He fell silent and looked at the floor. Sometimes I felt like producing a movie was very much akin to babysitting four-year-olds.
"I'll make you a deal," I said. "Cut the crap and apologize and I'll put some points into your contract."
"How many?"
"More than the zero you have now. Can you keep the peace on my set?"
Cory sighed into my face so hard I felt his breath on my forehead.
"Fine," he said with a note of reluctance.
He then gave a model's turn as if rounding the catwalk, and returned to his post. One more fire had been extinguished, but I knew it would not be the last.
CHAPTER 5
I met Jerry, my manager, at our usual spot for dinner. He was a short, impatient man in his early fifties who liked to smoke weed and party with girls half his age. Jerry wore thousand dollar suits and always smelled like he'd just had a bath in after-shave. He might have been a creep but he always got me a fair salary from Roger, so I kept him around.
There was some chatter in the room as I scanned the menu for new items. Jerry was busy squeezing lemon into his water, which he insisted on stirring with his index finger. I always found his mannerisms disgusting. My mood was especially sour since I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get Gypsy Girl back on track. Roger Graham didn't appreciate failure so my neck was on the line in a big way.
Teresa entered my mind again. I wondered what kinds of things bothered her. Did anything bother her? She was always so upbeat and positive. Back in reality, I noticed Jerry looking at me funny. We had hardly spoken since we sat down so I decided to engage.
"Negotiating traffic in this town is bordering on suicide. I'm going back to cabs."
"You think cabs are safer?"
"Are you happy with your life?" I blurted out, already tired of small talk. "I mean... genuinely happy?"
He paused for a moment to think about it and said, "Yeah. I guess so."
"You're lying. You can't be happy. Do you even know what goes on in the world?"
He looked at me with sincere eyes and said, "What is it with you? Why does every conversation turn into some rant against corporate greed or some other unusually heavy topic? Can't we just be two guys enjoying a meal for once?"
"I'm in love with Teresa," I said, getting to the point.
"No you're not."
"I had a dream about her and I woke up in love. I thought it would go away but it's been a week and I still feel this weird affection for her."
"Ted, listen -- don't ever fall for your assistant. Especially Teresa. You two have nothing in common outside of work. If you want some chicks to party with, say the word."
"I know. She'd never go for me anyway," I thought out loud. "Girls like that are always swooning over some jerk who drives a Harley and gives them a black eye for putting cold soup on the table."
"You're doing the talk next month, right?"
Jerry kept setting up these speaking engagements for me because they earned him a small commission but he knew how much I hated public speaking. He didn't care; the guy was a shark. Unfortunately, he was also the only friend I had.
"Yeah... I'm doing the speech. But this is the last one. You know I hate doing those."
Jerry smiled as he turned his attention back to the menu. He always won.
"Did you know they have clams now?"
My mind revolted.
"I don't eat mollusks, Jerry. You're aware of the term bottom feeder?"
He looked at me with pity.
"What?" I said innocently enough.
"Ted, you're going to die of worry one day."
The next day I stepped onto the set with a slight cold, glad that we only had a week left until wrap. I'd spent the last nine days outside in the cold, fighting off a runny nose and a strong temptation to murder Cory Maynard. It was a Thursday morning and the wind coming off Lake Michigan was especially chilly. We had to get two major scenes done by two o'clock in order to stay on budget and make our day. If you didn't get all your shots for the day, it meant paying overtime to the entire crew, as well as the actors -- who were already paid too much to begin with. A production assistant walked over to me, blowing warm air into his mitts.
"Cory won't come out of his trailer," was all he said.
I didn't even feel like asking. This guy was about to get on my last nerve.
I stormed over to his trailer and pounded my fist against the door. When he didn't respond, I kicked the door as hard as I could, almost falling on my ass. Finally, the door swung open and Cory appeared in the doorway with glazed eyes. He was a mess.
"Call time was seven fifteen!" I shouted. "If we go into overtime today, guess whose paycheck that's coming out of. That would be YOURS!"
I was fuming.
Cory stumbled back, grabbing the wall to steady himself. He then looked at me with sad eyes and began to cry.
Lord... take me now, I prayed in my head.
"Cory, what's going on? What is this about?"
He used his sleeve to wipe a mixture of tears and snot from his face and looked at me desperately.
"Ginger left me," he said, sobbing so heavily that he sounded like a teenage girl after her first break-up.
For the first time in my life, I actually felt some kind of sympathy for the spoiled brat. I sat down next to him inside the trailer, trying to think of something to say. I began to put my arm around him but decided against it at the last minute. Instead, I looked down at my watch to see that we were quickly losing the day.
"Cory, look... I know you and Ginger had a special thing going. She was a great girl, especially after she got out of rehab. I've been heartbroken more than a few times myself and you know what? The best thing to do is to stay busy."
"Really?" he asked, slobbering all over himself.
"Distraction is a wonderful thing. And besides, you're a professional, Cory. The best there is! If a no-talent idiot like me can put his personal life aside and get on with his work, how much more can a guy like you?"
When you deal with Hollywood types and you're out of resources, you must resort to stroking their egos. It'll get you more mileage than logic and reason ever will. Cory freshened up and went onto the set a new man. He took command, acted his age, and got us in on schedule. And I couldn't have been happier.
CHAPTER 6
My time in purgatory was almost up. Roger called me to say thanks for getting Gypsy Girl to the finish line. He admitted that the assignment was a test to see if I still had the goods and was happy to know that I might be ready for the big leagues again. However, Roger wanted to give me one final test, and this was a big one.
I sat down that evening with the distinguished Richard Crowntree, Chicago native and screenwriter extraordinaire. Being a man of simple tastes and not recognizing a thing on the menu, I ordered a French-sounding dish with a poorly imitated accent. Social situations always bothered me, especially when I had a goal in mind. It made me feel like a salesman and I didn't like salesmen.
Richard was a respected man, and for good reason. He'd written thirteen studio films and none of them had lost money. That kind of track record is quite the gem in this industry. Roger Graham had given me one objective for this meeting: make Richard sign a contract to write our next film. There was also a veiled threat about my career hinging on the success of this meeting. It should be mentioned that when Roger fires a person, getting another job in the entertainment business is next to impossible. So you'd better have a back-up plan.
I looked at him and said, "Richard, I'd like you to write our next picture. Mr. Graham is ready to offer seven figures up front with a completion bonus, first re-write clause and points on the back end."
I finished my pitch, short and sweet, and waited for his reaction. Richard was busy folding a knot into his napkin.
"You ever wonder what makes people tick, Ted?"
As a film producer, I'd grown accustomed to comments coming out of left field when trying to close a deal. But I really needed a solid "yes" here and I wasn't willing to follow Richard Crowntree down the rabbit trail.
"I certainly do. It's my business to know how people tick; otherwise I'd never get them to fill theater seats."
"I think about it a lot," he said. "As a writer I have to confront that issue head on, day in and day out and I must do so with great honesty and introspection."
I had to defuse this slumber party quickly.
"And that's what makes you so special, Richard. You really understand human nature and that totally comes through in your work. Audiences get that about you. Did I mention the first re-write clause?"
Richard swirled red wine around his glass and took a sip. I needed him to stay with me but his eyes were increasingly distant.
"You know," he said in a soft tone. "I saw a news report last week where a man broke into his ex-girlfriend's house, shot her daughter to death and then lit the woman on fire. Afterward there was a police shoot-out and an officer was killed."
"Yeah, I saw that too," was all I could muster.
"It got me thinking, you know... if human beings can do such horrible things to each other, how decent would a person have to be in order to shift the scales back to zero?"
I was not exactly following Richard's train of thought but he obviously wanted to get something off his chest, so I fell silent.
"I don't see how people like us can sit back and make movies while the world implodes. Some say there's benefit to entertaining the masses, to keep their spirits up and whatnot. But I wonder... I really wonder how much good it does. I doubt the wife of that police officer who was killed last week will be comforted by any of the schlock I, or anyone else, has written. I am seriously at my wits' end here. Turn on the news... all you see is violence and anger and hatred -- it never ends. I'm sitting here drinking wine, about to eat a seventy-five dollar steak, and there's a widow at home on the East Side of Chicago with three kids and a stack of bills, all because some idiot lost his temper and started spraying bullets at people who took an oath to protect the innocent and serve their community. How is that fair, Ted? How can we look at ourselves in the mirror?"
He let the question linger but I wasn't sure he wanted an answer.
I began slowly, "Richard, we all have these thoughts and to be honest, it gets to me too. I sometimes feel like even my most inspiring work is like giving a band-aid to a cancer patient. I feel where you're coming from. Yes, people do terrible things, but there's also good in the world. A positive film can remind people of that... give them perspective, give them hope. That widow on the East Side of Chicago... maybe we tell her story. We show the world what true bravery is and perhaps inspire some kind of healing. You write that story, Richard, and let me cast it. She'll get a nice paycheck to satisfy her pile of bills and we'll both be doing something that matters. No, it won't rid the world of evil, but things will be a little bit better because of us... because of your decision to say 'yes' and sign this contract."
I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth -- a movie about a slain police officer and his widow? That was probably not the kind of blockbuster Roger Graham had in mind. In fact, it was tantamount to box office suicide. Hopefully my words rang empty with Richard and he'd go on about his seventy-five dollar steak. Much to my dismay, his eyes perked up.
Uh oh, he was genuinely interested.
Richard straightened in his seat. "Ted, that's brilliant! This is my swan song. I'll write the film that will change lives and I don't care if it makes money or not!"
"Whoa there, let's not get too excited," I cautioned. "I have to run this past Roger, of course."
I was no longer in the room as far as Richard Crowntree was concerned. I was a vanishing muse, not worthy of eye contact. He looked out into some distant realm as a smile stretched across his face. A few moments later Richard borrowed a pen from the waiter and put his signature on the dotted line. I was both happy and grieved, wondering how Roger would take the news:
Congratulations, we got Richard Crowntree to write our next movie but it's the kind of story that won't sell five tickets!
This was all starting to look grim. When I got home that night, I stretched out on my leather sofa and began to contemplate what had transpired over dinner. Was my advice to make this film actually sound? Could it work? And even if the film resulted in a commercial flop and my career was ruined, at least that poor widow would be able to pay off her mortgage from the story rights. I was beginning to feel like it was the right decision. To help a family that genuinely deserved it made me feel warm inside, and that was not a common occurrence.
CHAPTER 7
The flight from Chicago to LA only takes four hours but it seemed like an eternity because I was flying in for a closed-door meeting with Roger Graham, the kind of meeting they'd likely tell stories about after scraping my body off of some random sidewalk. I spent the whole time thinking about how I was going to convince him to greenlight the project Richard and I came up with in our moment of exuberance. The deck was stacked against me but, like in Vegas, there's always a chance. I would start by talking to Roger about what got us into the movie business in the first place, our passion for great storytelling. That will soften him up a bit and I'll then slide in with the current news stories and how we might be able to use our craft for the good of mankind. I even heard thunderous applause in my head. By the time we landed at LAX, I had already convinced myself that I could get him to make this film. And that was just the momentum I needed.
• • •
Roger didn't even look up from his copy of Variety when I walked in.
"Don't sit down; this won't take long," he said as he sipped his coffee. His office always smelled like cigar smoke and musk, with a dash of fear.
He continued, "We had the legal department dissolve Robert Crowntree's contract yesterday."
"What do you mean?"
"Come on... a sappy drama? There's no way we'd make a return on such drivel. You did a great job in getting him to sign, Teddy, but we're going to use Craig Fleishman instead. He's going to write an end-of-the-world epic with aliens."
I paused briefly, choking on my own saliva, and spoke up. "Roger, why don't we do them both? Surely we can get Robert's drama greenlit too."
"What's wrong with you? The money people are scared: only big franchise films from now on. Let Miramax make that garbage. We already had this talk if you don't remember."
I was desperate, and already walking a thin line.
"Robert's film will get you that Oscar you've been swooning over. Think about it. This alien picture, that'll put money in the bank but you and I are both wealthy men. What we don't have is an Oscar."
"Hey, idiot. Hey... LOOK AT ME!"
My heart started to race.
"I'M TIRED OF EXPLAINING THIS TO YOU ALL THE TIME! WHAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?"
My pulse was hitting a thousand beats a minute. Roger had never yelled at me before like this. I took a few quick breaths.
"You're right," I said. "I'm sorry. I just thought..."
"That we could change things?" he said, finishing my sentence. "Right, Teddy? That's what you want -- change? I can certainly make some changes around here if that's what you want. There's a million people who would kill to have your job."
The word kill made me nervous but I'd never forgive myself if I turned into a coward at this moment. I owed it to Richard Crowntree. I owed it to that police officer's wife.
"I can take losing my job, Roger. But I can't take losing my soul. We should do the right thing."
"What?" he said in a mocking tone. "Is there a hidden camera in here? Is this a joke?"
"It'll make money. Trust me. I believe in this project. Richard has never written a flop."
"If you want to make a picture about some ghetto bitch in the slums then be my guest. But you won't be doing it with our money."
I was actually shocked by his callous tone.
"Why did you get into this business, Roger? I thought you wanted to..."
"Look, Ted, I'm not taking this stroll down memory lane with you. I'm a pragmatic guy. I do what works. I suggest you follow suit unless you want to be begging for change out on the sidewalk in a month."
"I'm not afraid of you," I said in a trembling voice that proved I was.
"Ted, you're lucky that you're more valuable to me alive than dead."
"We should make this movie, Roger."
He shook his head and did something I never would have expected: he smiled. It was subtle but it was definitely a smile.
He looked up and said, "You got guts, Teddy. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't respect you for it. You talk a good game."
I started to loosen up.
"But the answer is no. End of discussion."
At that moment I knew it wasn't going to happen. There was nothing I could've said to change his mind. And it made me sick. The only thing I could see was that poor woman, her fatherless children and a stack of unpaid bills. Oh, and seventy-five dollar steak.
I excused myself into the hallway, where I began to dry heave while racing toward the restroom. I somehow managed to lock the door before turning around and blasting the room with projectile vomit. After lying on the cold tile for what seemed like twenty minutes, and ignoring multiple knocks on the door, I was able to pry myself up using the sink for balance. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at a splendidly dressed man in a fifteen-hundred-dollar suit and five-hundred-dollar shoes, covered in guilt-induced puke. What a bizarre and ironic sight.
• • •
The next day I flew back to Chicago. My car pulled into the neighborhood around nightfall and the gates opened more slowly than usual. Even they were tired. After freshening up with a shower and change of clothes, I broke open the laptop and spent nearly an hour on Google, looking for an address. I'm quite savvy with the search engines and even then I had to progress down a number of dead ends before hitting the jackpot.
I rolled up in front of Delores Jackson's home around seven fifteen. It was a charming but aged brownstone on the East Side. As I stepped out of the car, the smell of cardboard and burning wood suddenly congested my nostrils. Tinsel and cheap Christmas lights dangled from metal railing. There were two men drinking out of paper sacks at the end of the street, both of whom were eyeballing me with great curiosity. They must've pegged me as a landlord, what with the car and all. I smiled and waved but was met with blank stares.
I heard the sound of children crying as I walked up the steps and knocked on the heavy door, held in place by a dilapidated frame and, probably, cobwebs. I heard Delores trying to quiet her kids, maybe a gesture of respect, before swinging the door open.
"Delores Jackson, I presume?"
She was a pretty, slender African-American woman in her early thirties or late twenties. She immediately wiped her hair to the side, which I assumed was a panicked attempt to freshen up for company. It was charming.
"Yes, sir. Can I help you?
"I... kind of heard about your situation," was the first thing I could muster.
I've never been good at the opening line. There was a long pause and she looked at me with glimmering eyes, filled with youth and questions.
I said, "May I come in?"
"Of course, forgive me."
Delores showed me in. The house was a wreck, no doubt the result of losing a husband and facing the sobering thought of having to raise two young children, all in the span of three weeks. But even so, I could see that she was trying. An older woman took the kids into the living room as Delores showed me the kitchen. A few Hallmark cards lined her refrigerator, along with a crayon drawing of a tall man in police uniform with a big red heart around him. Written at the bottom of the page were the words:
Miss you daddy! Sleep tight!
For some reason that picture and the simple, childlike perspective behind it landed on me like a ton of bricks. I hadn't cried since my father passed away but I had already developed a sizable lump in my throat and a wet glaze over my eyes. I fought back the temptation to let it all go and just sucked it up, the way men do. Delores, who was observing me carefully, was even more confused than before. She eased me into a chair like a nurturing mother whose child had just skinned a knee.
"Sir, would you like something to drink? I have... well... water. But I can go to the store if you'd prefer something with more flavor."
"No, I'm fine, but thanks."
"Were you a friend of Eddie's?" She asked.
"I didn't know your husband, Mrs. Jackson. I just came here because I wanted to talk to you. You see, I might be able to... improve your situation."
"Have we met?" she asked curiously.
"Listen, my parents died when I was fairly young but they had set up this trust fund which allowed me to go through school and not have to worry about paying for rent or groceries. That trust fund wasn't able to bring my parents back but it helped me attain a certain position in life. And that's the reason I'm here tonight."
I continued, "I know what I'm about to do will in no sense bring your husband back or change the pain in your heart but..."
I took out my checkbook and tore off a pre-written check for a half-million dollars. Who knows why I chose that amount but it seemed a good, round figure. I passed the check to her quivering hand and felt a load drop from my back. The feeling was uncanny. There was a moment of disbelief and then her eyes began to well up with tears. She covered her mouth and tried to speak.
"Why are you doing this?" she sobbed.
"Because I can."
"But why me? There's a million people in this city and at least a dozen on this block who could use this more than me. I don't deserve this."
"I have my convictions so let's please leave it at that. I need you to deposit this into your account first thing in the morning. The bank will require you to go through a mediator due to the large sum. That's perfectly normal; they aren't trying to scam you. Just sign the legal documents they present to you and have them call my office to verify that the funds are available."
Delores looked at me like I was a life raft in the middle of the ocean but I felt the same way toward her. She nodded her head while smiling through tears.
"Your name is Ted?" she inquired.
"Yes. Theodore Preston LaSalle."
"That's a good name. From now on that name will be held in the highest regard in my family. I'm going to hug everyone I meet named Ted."
"Uh oh, be careful with that kind of affection -- you're a pretty happening chick."
Happening chick? I'm such a dork.
We both smiled and laughed. I spent another couple of hours with Delores and her kids, not wanting it to end. She told me they had been praying for something to happen since her husband's life insurance wasn't enough to get them through financially. They walked me to my car and saw me off with tears of joy, much to the bewilderment of the gentlemen still standing on the corner. I felt a strange sense of family being around Delores and her kids and by the way she welcomed me into her home when she thought I had nothing to offer. Just a couple of weeks earlier her story broke on the evening news and it threw acclaimed screenwriter, Richard Crowntree, into a world of desperation and hopelessness. But despite the way things went down with the film, something truly good came out of this and Richard would be proud, though I'd never tell him what I had done. My father used to tell me: To boast is to invite calamity to your front porch. Pops knew what he was talking about.
CHAPTER 8
Looking out over the city from my office, I contemplated the next move. Things were dicey with Roger but something had occurred to me over the course of the past few weeks: I no longer enjoyed producing movies. I got into this business because I had an overpowering desire to create stories that last -- the kind that change people. I wanted a life that didn't involve tiptoeing around Roger Graham. What I wanted, in reality, was freedom. And that meant writing the great American screenplay.
I installed some screenwriting software on my office computer and started out with a simple opening. They say to write what you know.
FADE IN:
INT. OFFICE -- DAY
A tall man with unkempt hair thought about asking out his assistant on a date. He was pensive.
There was a light knock on the door and Teresa entered my office wearing a well-matched skirt suit, carrying a stack of papers to my desk. I didn't want her to see what I was writing so instead of trying to swivel the monitor away, and look suspicious, my fingers hit the keyboard in a random fashion, typing a fake URL into the address bar. Much to my chagrin, a porn site popped up just as Teresa looked over. Ouch.
"Oh no... I must have typed in the wrong address -- this is not my kind of thing," I said as my face turned three shades of red.
Teresa smiled politely.
"You don't have to explain."
She took my empty mug of coffee and walked toward the door. I didn't need a refill but it was too painful to speak at that moment.
And then something odd happened. Teresa stopped in front of the door and turned to me slowly with a worried, almost motherly, expression on her face.
"Ted," she said in a soft voice.
"Yes, Teresa?"
"You should maybe get out, ya know?"
I looked at her, puzzled.
"Out? As in...?"
"Meet some people. Make some friends."
"Jerry's my friend."
"He's your agent. There's a difference."
I was beginning to sense that Teresa saw me as some kind of sappy loser with no knowledge of the social world. That would have been accurate but I needed cover.
"Hey, you know me by now. I'm a man who values his privacy. Some people need close friends or whatever to feel complete. I don't. My work is very fulfilling."
She quickly apologized, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. That was intrusive."
"No, it's okay," I said. "Some people just prefer to be alone in life. Loners, you know -- James Dean was a loner."
That was weak and she knew it. I was trying too hard to convince her that I preferred things the way they were.
"I just worry about you sometimes."
"Why would you worry about me?" I said, a little too enthusiastically.
"Well," she started. "I know things aren't going all that well with Roger. He's a bit of a nightmare to have to deal with. Having someone you can talk to about things -- it really helps."
I felt the urge to ask her out but resisted. I had an extreme dislike for guys who hit on women who work for them. I just found it creepy and would prefer to drink boiling acid than have Teresa ever see me that way. So I let the moment pass and said, "Thanks, Teresa. You're right."
She smiled warmly and walked out.
• • •
My house seemed lonelier than ever that night. Even the perfectly chilled glass of Château Margaux and breezy notes of Tchaikovsky didn't lift my mood. Since the usual tricks were no longer working, I decided to take Teresa's advice and get out of the house. I needed to be around people.
On restless nights, I liked to take a boardwalk stroll down Navy Pier, which looks out over the vast waters of Lake Michigan. It provided a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline as well.
There was a light snow falling when I got to the Pier and noticed that it had been closed down for the evening.
"Where is everyone?" I thought to myself.
It was a rare occasion when I actually felt like being social, so what gives? I looked down at my watch and saw that it was a little past midnight. I then realized that it was a Wednesday evening and most people don't have the luxury of walking around at midnight during the week.
Although the chilly night air was beginning to pierce my lungs with each breath, I was mesmerized by the beauty around me. The wind blowing in from Lake Michigan had created this gentle ballet of snowdrifts and prompted a rather dreamlike atmosphere. There I stood, among the shifting patterns of snow, illuminated by street lamps glowing overhead. It was pure bliss, and no one was around. I felt alone while surrounded by skyscrapers and the sensation of snowflakes hitting my skin.
That's when I heard the voice.
It was a woman's voice, faint in the distance. I couldn't see through the drifting snow but that sound was definitely human. I moved forward blindly, trying to discern its origin. As I moved closer and closer toward the source, I was able to make out the words.
"Help me!"
I ran as fast as I could toward the voice and through the thick snow I saw a woman being thrown to the ground by a large man. I ran so fast it felt like I was in warp-speed, kicking up a trail of white dust behind me.
I can't possibly be running this fast! I thought to myself while shooting toward the end of the street in this weird, hypnotic state. My heart was beating so fast it was all I could hear, besides the crunching snow under foot.
The guy looked up just as I smashed into him with a full-speed tackle! We immediately hit the ground and it felt like running head first into a brick wall. There was a flash of blackness and an intense pain between my eyes. I was dazed and couldn't find my balance. The focus in my eyes was all but lost.
For a moment I groped around, trying to regain my bearings. Where was I? Had I just tackled a fully grown man? A shooting pain went through my head, from ear to ear. I then caught a glimpse of the helpless woman, her right cheek swollen and red.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt someone take hold of my waist and I was airborne! My feet were well above my head when I crashed down hard onto the sidewalk. The man jumped on top of me and began aggressively punching me in the face, but I couldn't see anything. I began to choke on the snow as it traveled down the back of my throat, mixed with the awful, metallic taste of blood.
"DO SOMETHING!" I said to myself. "DO SOMETHING BEFORE YOU GET KILLED!"
Although I was totally numb to the punches, I seriously thought I might suffocate from the snow collapsing into my face. It was terrifying not to see what was happening, even if the snow was buffering the punches a bit. Still dizzy and battered, I somehow managed to roll him off me. I got to my feet, head spinning and no sense of direction, and saw the man going once more for the woman I assumed was his girlfriend. She shouted, "Stop it, Steven! Just stop it! Help me, please!"
I once more stumbled toward the man and latched onto him from behind in some sort of bear hug. We fell to the ground in such a way that I was able to wrap my forearm around his neck. I squeezed and squeezed with all my might with what felt like inhuman strength. I knew that choking him unconscious would allow me and the woman to flee to safety so there was no way I was letting go! The blood and tension rushing into my forearms caused them to cramp up. The pain was unbearable but I continued to squeeze.
Suddenly, I heard my voice involuntarily scream out in pain! It took a moment to realize what was happening. I felt a sharp, searing pain in my back and all my muscles locked up at once. I fell over onto my side, unable to move. The man got to his feet and I saw the woman I had rescued standing over me holding a large folding knife.
"Get his wallet! Hurry up!" she urged.
I felt paralyzed as I lay there in the snow with two strangers pilfering through my pockets. The woman grabbed my money clip, removed my cash, and tossed the clip back down onto my face. And then, in a flash, they were gone -- and I was alone. I blinked once and then lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 9
Suddenly I felt warm and when I opened my eyes the room was so bright it burned them. After a moment of adjustment, it became clear that I was in a hospital bed. A nurse poked her head into the room and when she saw that I was awake she smiled and moved toward me.
"Do you know where you are?" she asked.
"The Critical Care Unit of Mercy Hospital?"
She grinned and said, "That's a pretty good guess. But we've moved you out of Critical Care."
I saw that the woman looked Polynesian so I asked where she was from.
"I grew up in LA but I was born in the Philippines. Why do you ask?"
In a split second my mind traveled back to that fifth grade nurse's lounge and the map. I wanted to ask her if it was a nice place where people didn't stab you in the back -- both literally and figuratively.
"You were on the news earlier," she said. "They did a quick piece on you but didn't know your name or anything. "
I began to say something and then passed out.
After a few hours of very bizarre dreams I woke up sweating. They must've given me some wicked drugs because I didn't feel a thing, not even a twinge of pain in my back. Everything was numb. I grabbed my cell phone from the little plastic tray beside the bed and flipped it open. There was not a single missed call. I was disappointed for a second, and then realized nobody had a clue what had happened to me.
I flipped on the small TV that was mounted on the wall, a far cry from the type of set-up I had back home. I found a local news station and nearly jumped out of bed when I saw a familiar face!
Delores Jackson's profile was on the screen as a reporter informed us of breaking news. I couldn't help but wonder if the press had discovered our little secret but I was hoping to keep her out of the limelight, for the sake of her kids. I also hoped Delores had not seen me on the news because she'd be scared out of her wits.
"The thirty-one year old Jackson, whose police officer husband was shot to death recently while on duty, was driving erratically last evening when police tried to pull her over. Not responding, the state trooper shot out her back tires and the car flipped and then slammed into a tree, killing her instantly. Friends of Jackson say she had a history of epilepsy. A toxicology report will determine whether or not alcohol was involved in the incident but friends of the family tell us she was not a drinker."
My heart sank to my stomach. I just stared at the television as they moved on to the next story. I tried to talk, just to hear someone's voice, but only a deep groan came out. I began to sob in a manner that I had not known before and the moment overtook me. Feeling I had no control whatsoever, I chucked the remote at the TV and shattered the screen!
A couple of nurses ran into the room, thinking I had hurt myself. Still in a state of severe shock and panic, I began yelling at them.
"THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO GOOD PEOPLE! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO HONEST WOMEN! TO WIDOWS! I HATE THIS PLACE! I HATE ALL OF YOU! IT'S NOT FAIR... IT'S NOT FAIR... it's not... fair."
My voice trailed off as they sedated me with some kind of needle. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed about Delores and her kids. They were all around a big Christmas tree, opening presents. Everyone was so happy as I watched them from the kitchen. This was my family and they brought me a great deal of joy.
Then I woke up in searing pain.
• • •
I spent a week in the hospital but it was three days before I apologized to the nurses whom I had verbally assaulted. The pain in my back would go from dull to unimaginably painful all in the span of five seconds, and it would often knock me off my feet.
When I finally called Teresa to tell her what had happened, she panicked and insisted on coming over right away, which I thought was sweet. But I didn't want her to see me in such a weary state, so I said it wasn't all that bad. She persisted so I told her they weren't allowing any visitors. Her voice sounded hurt, which made me feel terrible. We said our goodbyes and I had a hard time pressing the END button on my phone. The truth is, I was in a bad place. I was mad at the world. My cynicism had finally birthed in me something very, very dark and I was even afraid to assess my current state of mind.
CHAPTER 10
I spent the next month working from home. The pain medications eventually became unnecessary and the scar healed up fairly well. What had not healed was my distrust of people and I sincerely questioned whether being kind to others was noble or naïve. Within a very short time span, I had attempted to help two individuals and both of those monumental efforts had netted zero results.
I couldn't get over the fact that Delores was dead. Like we all suspected, it was later confirmed that she had no traces of alcohol in her blood at the time of the accident. The poor girl had just fallen into a seizure and the officer who blew her tires out was only doing his job, trying to prevent the harm he ultimately caused. It's one of those situations that doesn't fall into black-and-white categories but, rather, resides somewhere in the gray area. It's those thoughts that torment my mind the most. What could've been done to prevent such a tragedy? Perhaps nothing.
Sleep had become difficult. Every time I began to drift off I'd see Delores and her kids exchanging gifts under that ugly, but earnest, Christmas tree. I wondered what would become of her children, but the thought was too depressing to entertain so I didn't even go there.
I also mused over the stabbing and why it had occurred. To be perfectly honest, the answer to that never quite materialized. Why would a person so viciously turn on another who is only trying to help -- someone who's putting his life on the line for a stranger! In the moment, and even afterward, the experience was so surreal that I could barely piece together the events of that night. And yet a month later, I couldn't get those same events out of my mind.
I genuinely wanted to like people -- I just couldn't do it anymore. The awful pain of rejection had been slowly cauterizing my heart over the years. It had become so calloused that only the simple things in life brought me any kind of pleasure, and none of them involved relationships with people. Human beings were unpredictable and complicated, something that I didn't need at the moment -- or maybe ever.
Still, on days when I had the energy to dream I'd imagine myself giving the greatest speech in Oscar history and, through tears and a cracked voice, thanking my sweet wife, Teresa, who stood by my side through all the turmoil.
You have stirred my soul, I'd tell her.
Was it lame? Yes. But it's not like I stood in front of a mirror and acted out this whole scenario. No more than a couple times, anyway.
My father used to say, "A man with no spine is a jellyfish."
I presume the logic flowing from such a broken metaphor is that a lack of courage not only prompts softness of will, but can also sting others. It sometimes took me years to glean some sort of coherence from one of Pops' sayings but it was well worth the effort in most cases. My father read the Bible a lot and, over time, developed a real fondness for parables. The interesting thing about a parable is that the story hands out meaning on different levels: the surface level and the deep, or profound, level. Picking this up at a young age, I would always think very deeply about the words of my father, especially when they didn't seem to comport with whatever topic he was addressing at the time. For a while I thought Roger Graham was also speaking to me parabolically but then I realized he was just genuinely stupid. There was nothing deep going on there.
My father studied philosophy in college and taught postgraduate studies at several universities before his death. He was fluent in French and Russian and could also read Koine Greek, which prompted a habit of always reading the New Testament in its original language. On Saturday afternoons he would line up parchments on a workbench in the garage and do his own translations.
After his death I was given a box containing several of those parchments, which are now safely kept in my bedroom closet. For obvious reasons, I could never bring myself to read them. I'm not a sappy person but that's sacred territory. When I came to Chicago from LA, one of the movers dropped my father's box into a puddle when taking it off the truck. I almost punched him squarely in the face but then reasoned that assaulting a man over my father's Greek-to-English translation of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount was too ironic to warrant indulging.
All of these thoughts about Dad made me wonder whether or not he'd be happy with how I'd spent my life. My name had been in far-reaching magazines. I'd become a millionaire at a young age through nothing more than creativity and elbow grease. I was a powerful decision maker in a somewhat glorified industry and got to schmooze with the most famous people in the world. And yet, I was somehow convinced that Dad would not have been impressed with any of it. In fact, I could even picture him raising an eyebrow and saying, "Theo, are you honest? Have you been courageous? Are you a good person?"
The truth is that I had neither been honest nor courageous, at least not on all fronts. I loved Teresa but pretended I didn't. I put on a disguise around her and refused to be myself. Now that Roger's alien movie was in full swing, securing my current employment, and I had returned to good health, there was nothing more to lose. It was time.
CHAPTER 11
I sat in my office chair tapping a pen against the keyboard. A million things swam through my mind and I couldn't settle on any one thought. Maybe it was the two-and-a-half cups of coffee I'd drained by 9:30, or maybe I was just anxious to talk to her. And then, with a faint knock on the door, Teresa walked into my office.
She smiled, as she always did, and handed me the trades.
"Glad to see you back in action there, TL. Get it? Back in action... because your back is... okay, stupid joke. Too soon."
She was being extra-cute today, which made this hard. I hadn't really prepared anything. Perhaps this wasn't the right time. Okay -- I needed to feel her out a little.
"You know, I've had a lot of time to think since the incident -- reflecting on my life and whatnot. Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?"
"You certainly may," she answered back, being chipper.
"If I had died that night, how many people do you think would have attended my funeral?"
Teresa looked at me as if the question made her uneasy. Uh oh, I was choking here.
"Wait, forget that -- too morbid. What I'm saying is that, being so close to death makes you realize how lonely you really are -- how each of us really needs each other. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah. I really do, Ted. I understand what you mean."
I was fishing for something more definitive.
"What do you see when you look at me, Teresa? No boss-employee stuff either. When you look at me as a man, just a guy off the street, what do you see?"
Her eyes lowered and she drew in a deep breath. She tightened her lips as though she was about to cry.
"Ted, a while back I said you should go out and meet some friends because you seem very unhappy to me. In the two-and-a-half years I've worked for you, you've never seemed happy. I don't know what to say -- it's hard to watch. You're so... guarded."
It was time. My heart was beating so fast that my speech began to tremble. I knew I had to say it at this moment or the words would never come.
"Teresa, I think I'm in love with you."
She put her hand to her mouth, obviously surprised.
"There it is. I'm in love with you and it's real. I know this may come as a surprise, but it's true. That's why I responded the way I did when you told me to meet some friends. You're the only friend I need. You're the only one I want to spend time with. I love you so deeply."
My voice was feeble and nervous but I didn't care. The moment was here and she finally knew the truth. I had trouble looking her in the eye as she took a step back.
"Ted, why are you doing this?"
"What do you mean? I'm telling you what I've been feeling for a while. Teresa, this is real."
"It's not."
"Yes, it is. I mean what I said."
"How could you do this to me?"
Her voice broke and she looked away. My heart began to crumble. She looked betrayed.
"Teresa, I don't want to make you feel awkward. But I know... if I don't tell you this, I can never forgive myself."
"Why are you doing this to me?" she repeated, her voice high and troubled.
"Just tell me you feel the same way."
Her eyes narrowed and I think she tried to force a laugh, but only a weak sound came out.
"You want me to tell you that I'm in love with you too? That's why you put me in this weird position?"
"I'm not trying to put you in a weird position," I apologized. "It's just... you're all I think about anymore."
"You're just lonely, Ted."
"No, I'm not... I mean, yes... but it's not just that! I've never obsessed over another person like this before."
"Obsessed?" she repeated, taken aback.
I knew I'd used the wrong word so I tried to recover by challenging her. "You've never felt like that about someone? I know you have."
"Ted, please...." she said, her voice begging. "Please just stop."
It began to dawn on me that I had made an epic mistake. The embarrassment was too much. I wanted to just run out of the room and hide in a cave. And yet, I had to stubbornly fight on.
"You don't have any feelings for me?" I probed further.
"Not like that," she said with a tender voice that was also shaking.
"Just have dinner with me tonight. You might not feel anything right now, but give it a chance. Please."
"Ted, I can't do that," she said while staring at the floor. "I just can't."
"So, what... you're busy then?"
"No," she said. "I'm so sorry but I just don't feel that way about you."
I honestly had not expected this level of rejection. I began to feel sick.
"Is this because we work together?"
She looked at me so sweetly and said, "It's not."
"So there's no chance that we will ever be... I mean, there's no spark at all for you?"
A tear rolled down her cheek and that cemented the issue with me. This dream was vapor.
She sniffled and said, "You're a good man, but this isn't for us. I'm so sorry, Ted. This isn't for us."
I had no idea what to do next.
"Um, could you grab me the uh -- the expenditures from last week?" I said for no reason whatsoever.
Teresa nodded, wiped her eyes, and walked out.
She gave her resignation a week later.
CHAPTER 12
I was still in a fog the day Teresa left. I took a detour on the way home just to get my mind right. I was angry that she didn't love me back, even just a little bit. "What is so terrible about me?" I began to wonder. A-list actresses knew me by name and yet plain-Jane Teresa somehow thought it revolting to imagine a relationship with me. I had a name in the industry and made millions, but it wasn't enough for Teresa. How ridiculous to consider being with a man who would actually care about her and sacrifice everything to be with her. I pictured her ending up with some guy with a tribal tattoo who stays out until 2 o'clock in the morning while she anxiously waits for him at home, wondering how many girls he'd hooked up with at the club. Part of me wanted her to end up with a guy like that just so she'd feel terrible about rejecting the nice guy. I wanted to drown my anger in alcohol as the rage set in. Self-pity began to course through my veins like heroin and I felt like running my car into Lake Michigan. "Would anyone even care?" I asked aloud, almost shouting at myself.
At the point where I actually began to consider ending it all, Delores entered my mind again - almost as if by divine revelation. Immediately, I changed course and drove to Delores' old neighborhood. The memory of us in her living room with the kids, all happy and without a care in the world, was vividly clear. That had been the first time in a long time that I felt a sense of kinship with other people. And now that my hopes for a relationship with Teresa had been dashed, to put it mildly, I wondered if something else was destined for me. Maybe even a life without relationships. Jean-Paul Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." I was inclined to agree at this point in my life.
• • •
That night I ate pizza at a sports bar with Greg, the line producer on the alien film Roger had set in motion. As he dredged on about market analysis and release dates, my eyes were drawn to the big television set above the bar. A news reporter, standing in front of crime scene tape, spoke to the camera about an elderly couple that had been shot down in front of their home. As she was speaking a little scroll began at the bottom of the screen announcing some breaking news about a politician who had just committed suicide. I heard a finger being snapped and realized that Greg had asked me a question. I was completely zoned out.
"I'm sorry -- what were you saying?"
"We need to push the release date up two weeks so we're not competing with the Spielberg flick."
"That's fine," I said, not caring an ounce.
I left the pizza joint feeling very uneasy and it had nothing to do with the food, which I usually enjoy. But tonight even our Chicago deep dish tasted flat. In fact, nothing seemed quite right in the world. Traffic was unusually busy and I was tired of sitting in my car all the time. I flipped on the radio to ease the ride home but the news station had nothing positive to say about anything in the world. I slipped in a CD, a compilation of my favorite classics, but even that sounded off. Was I losing it? Was my mind so fragile that I couldn't even stomach my favorite things any longer? These thoughts swam around the entire ride home and even invaded my bedroom. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.
Around 4 am I clumsily stepped into my home office and sat down at the computer. Unable to retain a single thought for more than a few seconds, I began to search the web -- for hours. I was looking for an escape, the real thing. And that required research.
• • •
After three weeks of research, I knew exactly two things: I was going to buy an island, and I was going to live alone. The idea didn't scare me nearly as much as it should have. I was simply tired of it all. I was tired of pressure and stress, I was tired of watching good women go for the wrong guys, I was tired of violence and death - I was tired of feeling like I didn't belong in the world that presently existed. Fortunately for me, I could actually do something about it.
Over the next few weeks I met with an international real estate broker, a green technology expert, three pro survivalists and numerous other contractors and specialists. Things were taking shape, and this weird fantasy I'd spun for myself was looking more and more like reality.
Roger hadn't given me a lot to do on the new movie so I basically sleepwalked through pre-production, doing only the bare minimum while tending to my extensive planning. However, as the day of my departure drew near, I knew I'd have to actually talk to Roger about my plans. It's not that I needed his blessing, but, despite his many issues, he was the one who had given me a job in the first place, a job which ultimately made this decision even possible. So I checked the calendar on my phone and saw only two remaining appointments before leaving this life behind for good. The first appointment was with Roger. The second, a speech at NYU.
• • •
I headed into Roger's office, that sweet aroma of cigar smoke hitting me in the face the moment I stepped inside. He was on a phone call so he gave me the "one sec" finger gesture. After howling with laughter, he slapped his knee, said goodbye and hung up the phone.
He then turned to me and said, "What's up, Teddy? Did Greg tell you we decided to move the release date again?"
"I'm quitting, Roger."
He looked at me like I'd just punched his mother.
"Say what now?" He responded.
"I'm done. I'm out. This is -- I can't work here anymore. I'm done with movies."
"Teddy, if you needed a raise you could've just asked. You want me to talk to Jerry?"
"This isn't about my salary, Roger. I'm leaving town."
"That's not a bad idea -- you deserve some time off. Why don't we talk about this whole thing when you get back from your vacation."
"Not a vacation," I said as I slid a folded, stapled report out of my breast pocket and handed it to him.
He looked at the image on the front, which I'd printed off of the internet, and then his eyes drifted back up to me.
"I bought it."
"An island? You're buying an island?"
"It's all taken care of. I bought a house, five thousand square feet on three miles of beach. No other residents, just me, the waves and satellite TV. No distractions, no worries. Food comes in by boat twice a month. I designed everything -- it's perfect."
"What about electricity?" He asked just to humor me. Roger probably saw this as an early midlife crisis or some kind of nervous breakdown.
"It's all solar. Cost me a little extra but I'll have my own self-sufficient energy. It's truly paradise. I've left no stone unturned with this thing."
"It's isolationism, Ted. I know you've had some relationship problems but come on now, this is nuts."
"I've been planning this for months. I just didn't have the nerve to pull the trigger until recently. I called my real estate guy in the Philippines this morning. Everything is final."
"That's in Asia. Are you putting me on here?" He said in shock. "Get a summer home in the Keys for crying out loud. Come on, Ted."
"The money has already changed hands. There's no turning back now."
Roger took an unusually long pause, snuffed out his cigar, and crossed over to me. I saw him searching for the words to say but somehow he knew I was serious. He then did something much unexpected -- he reached over and gave me a tight hug. This wasn't a "see ya, loser" kind of hug; it was a genuine, almost fatherly gesture that I'd never witnessed from the man. I was a bit taken aback. As we broke apart he looked remorseful.
"You'll be back in a month," he said, believing it with all his heart.
• • •
They had postponed my lecture at NYU because of the stabbing but tonight I would give my talk. The topic was on the essence of being a producer, but I had decided on the ride over that, being this was to be my last appointment - ever - that I should change the subject and talk about something closer to my heart. After all, the life of a producer is not one that anyone should envy and I was tired of pretense. I wanted to speak my mind and offer a farewell speech of sorts.
It was the first time I wasn't nervous for an event and even Jerry showed up backstage to see how I was doing. He hadn't heard the news, which made me feel slightly bad for him.
"You go on in five. How do you feel?"
"Jerry, you might want to leave early for this one."
He looked at me, puzzled.
"Trust me -- this is my last talk."
"Okay, okay... it's not an issue."
I was sad as I looked at Jerry. He wasn't much of a friend but he was all I had.
"I'm going to miss you, old boy," I said.
He was perplexed as the stagehand came and grabbed me, ushering me to the curtain.
I took the podium and cleared my throat. What most people don't know is that giving a speech in an auditorium is a strange experience. The stage lights prevent you from seeing your audience, so it's like looking out into a sea of black. And that made what I had to say a lot easier.
"I was asked to come here and give a talk on the essence of being a producer. But as I arrived here today, I thought I'd share something a little different with you all. Something you can take with you."
I could hear a quiet murmur in the audience but still couldn't see them. Jerry told me it was a packed house so that was nice.
"I lost my mother at nine and my father at nineteen. I'm an only child without a single confidant in my life. I've known tragedy and I've known heartache. I also know what it's like to live the American Dream. I drive a Lexus LS 600 and my bills are always paid. I don't worry about healthcare expenses. And yet none of it can match the void left in my soul by a society bent on greed, violence and getting ahead at the expense of others. Don't chase what I have; it's hollow, at best. Appreciate this moment in time because you may not have another. You'll forgive me for ending this so abruptly but... what I really wanted to say to you all... to people... to humanity, is -- goodbye. It was a good ride while it lasted but... I don't need you anymore."
I heard some gasps and talking in the room.
"Thank you for this evening, but I have a plane to catch."
CHAPTER 13
Sitting in the airport, the trip seemed daunting but the anticipation of a new adventure left a healthy supply of butterflies in my belly. I was positively giddy. Ahead lay a seventeen-hour flight to Manila, an eight-hour jeep ride to a ferryboat, which, a day later, would put me at the docks of Cebu, near the location where my land was nestled. I picked an island close to the mainland just in case I got stir-crazy and also for medical attention if such were ever needed.
Working in the film business for more than a decade left me with very identifiable mental defects, one of which was the inability to not look at real-life situations and ponder whether they would make a good movie. Every event became a plot point in a screenplay and people were characters written on white paper. Some were fascinating and some needed a re-write.
One such person had just sat down next to me, fighting to control a half-dozen screaming kids. I kept reading the Voltaire paperback in my hands but still felt her looking at me. I never understood how it is one could feel another person looking at him but my radar was definitely picking up signals. A quick glance up revealed that I was right. She smiled politely.
"You are going to Philippines, no?"
"I am. Yes."
"I'm going Manila. You?"
"Cebu. Off the coast, actually."
She nodded.
"Ah, Cebu is very nice. You like there. I was in Cebu three years ago. They have a different dialect than my place. You speak Tagalog? That's our national language."
Conceding the obvious, I nodded "no."
"Oh, you must learn. Very important. You are white so they will take advantage of you there."
"I don't think that'll be a problem in the place I'm going," I said with a smile.
She wasn't even listening.
"We learn English from grade school. It's required in our place. They teach university using English."
"Interesting."
"We Filipinos are very fond of Americans since
MacArthur liberate us from Japanese during the war."
Would this lady ever stop talking?
"You not married?" she asked.
"No."
"You have a special person there in Philippines?"
"No."
"Maybe you find a girl there."
"Doubtful. But thank you."
She looked at me strangely, probably hoping her seat on the plane wasn't next to mine.
"It's not good to be alone," she said, before shouting at her children in a strange dialect.
"Well, I hope all Filipinos are as welcoming as you," I lied.
• • •
Stepping onto the ramp and through the door hatch of the plane, I began to feel nostalgic. Our layover was in Japan so this would likely be the last time my feet would stand on American soil. The thought gave me pause and I stood in the door long enough to catch an impatient jolt from a gentleman behind me as his carry-on luggage hit me between the shoulders.
"Sorry," he quipped, not meaning it.
I moved aside and let him filter through to coach as I turned left and ducked into first class. I shoved my backpack into the overhead bin and sat down.
How long would I mourn America, the land of my birth and the only culture I knew? Was I having second thoughts? There was still time to run, I thought to myself. People were still filing onto the plane. Sure, it would be embarrassing but this was my only chance.
Turn around! Do it!
Sudden fear gripped me like a vise. My throat was already dry and I began to sweat. A strange thing happens when your adrenaline is racing: little things around you begin to take on profound meaning and you wonder why you've never paid attention to them before. A young flight attendant had leaned over to close the bins in front of me and I noticed her wedding ring. This woman who risks her life to make me comfortable on a flying machine is someone's wife. Someone loves this woman and prays for her safe return every day. My heart beat even faster. She noticed my panic.
"Are you okay, sir? Would you like a magazine?"
A magazine? Lady, get off this plane and race home to your husband. He loves you!
"Sir?" She said, concerned.
"Water. I could use some water."
She smiled and pointed to the complimentary bottle of water stuck to the side of my armrest.
"Oh, duh. Thank you."
I took a giant swig from the bottle, almost finishing the whole thing in a single gulp. Then I heard the plane's door being latched.
"No!" I thought to myself. "It's too late and I haven't even made my decision yet. This flight attendant lady distracted me!"
The captain's screechy voice came on.
"Welcome aboard. We have a non-stop to Nagoya, Japan. Expect some bumpy skies in the first hour or so. Arrival time in Japan should be around nine o'clock in the evening, which is about thirteen hours from now. For those of you continuing on to the Philippines, it'll be an additional four hours to Manila. Enjoy your flight."
An electronic pop from the intercom and that was that. It had become official. I was leaving the United States of America to live on an island off the coast of the Philippines.
Holy crap! was the thought running through my mind. I'm actually doing this!
My internal monologue was so loud that I wondered if others beside me could hear it. We began to taxi the runway and I felt nauseous. Could it be that a fantasy spawned in a fifth grade nurse's lounge might actually come to fruition? I was going to find out soon.
• • •
Two hours into the flight, my mind began to settle. Yet the familiar mechanical hiss of the plane never quite allowed me to be at ease. I looked down and found that my fists were clenched. It's a rare occasion when I can actually sleep during any mode of travel and this was no exception. I shared the front of the plane with a businessman who had been punching something into his Blackberry since we took off, as well as an Asian guy in wire-rimmed glasses. Neither of them looked like they wanted to be here. I relaxed my head on the pillow, reclining a bit, to see if sleep would elude me once more. It did not.
I dreamed of Delores and her kids again. When I woke up a couple of hours later, it took about thirty seconds to get my bearings and understand that I was on a plane heading somewhere. Looking up at my personal, flat-panel TV, I saw a crude computer graphic of a plane cresting the Canadian coast. My back was sore and many more hours lay ahead. When you hate to travel as much as I do, visualizing the destination can help to get you through. I had seen blueprints of the house and tiny web photos of the island itself but I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to actually stand there and gaze upon it. That thought managed to soothe my achy legs for the duration of the flight to Japan.
It was dark when we landed in Nagoya and boy, was I relieved to stretch my legs! Inside the terminal I stumbled two very weak legs into the restroom across from a Hello Kitty gift shop, where I found the urinals full. Undeterred, I stepped into a stall to find a plastic toilet seat... on the floor. It looked clean, but foreign. That's when it first hit me and Toto that we weren't in Kansas anymore. The bizarre Japanese directions, and equally bizarre stick-men cartoons, didn't help matters. After a quick squirt, I went back to await the one-hour layover. Despite being delirious from travel, I kept a positive attitude. In a short time, I'd be in my new country of residence with a world of possibilities ahead.
The smooth, four-hour flight felt like twenty minutes. As the pilot hovered for our final approach, I saw the Manila Bay glistening with lights from buildings and streets at one o'clock in the morning. All the activity below reminded me of flying over New York City. Things seemed so peaceful, and urban, from this altitude. Don't Filipinos ever sleep? The descent seemed to take forever but we finally touched down at Ninoy Aquino airport at 1:18 am. I was home.
CHAPTER 14
I stepped out of the plane's hatch and headed down a beige corridor leading to the terminal. The place smelled different than I would have thought. It was fragrant, and sweet, but definitely foreign. I began noticing the posters and cardboard advertisements in the airport hallways -- they were for products I'd never heard of and the models didn't look like anyone I knew. I was also the only white person in sight.
At the end of the hallway I came to a large, open room full of crowded travelers. I could see the luggage carousels but they were behind metal bars and a turnstile. I'd been told we had to go through a checkpoint before we could get our bags but I had all my personal items shipped to the island in advance, with the exception of a carry-on backpack.
Turns out, it didn't matter. A very pretty woman at the front desk told me I had to go through the line with my passport to get it stamped. After two hours of standing in an absurdly long line, I got my first passport stamp and headed through the gates, where an equally long line of taxis was waiting. A young boy spotted me immediately and ran over.
"Backpack. I'll carry. I'll carry."
Not having been born yesterday, I realized this kid was trying to earn a little cash by offering to "help" me with my luggage. Since I hardly needed his assistance, I simply gave him two one-dollar bills from my pocket, the remnants of a trip to Starbucks back in Chicago.
How strange that seemed at this moment.
The kid smiled widely and ran back to his post. I nodded to the first cab driver that I saw. Without asking a question, or bothering to smile, he took my backpack and put it in the back of his cab. Then he stood there, perhaps waiting for me to speak. I knew from my research that nearly all Filipinos speak English, so I dove right in.
"I need a hotel close to here. I'm leaving tomorrow morning, early."
"You want City Garden. Is cheap," he said.
Maybe he mistook "cheap" for "close" but I hardly felt like arguing. The guy was nice and had work to do.
So far things seemed a bit foreign, for obvious reasons, but nothing too out of the ordinary -- and then we pulled out of the airport carousel and into the street, where I got my first glimpse of the city. Yep, it was actually very out of the ordinary.
The first thing that assaulted my senses was the smell. My driver had his window cracked, which resulted in my getting blasted with this strange aroma which felt almost tangible. To best describe it, I'd say it's a mixture of gasoline and barbecue smoke. I quite like it, though it was intoxicating and made my head spin as we whipped through narrow urban streets.
My eyes were trying to catch up. Everything I saw flying past my window was something I'd never seen before, so it was hard trying to comprehend everything. Herds of motorcycles and Pedicabs jockeyed for position on the cracked concrete street, each weaving in and out of a wide cluster of traffic. Despite being very late at night -- or very early in the morning, depending on one's perspective -- there were people literally everywhere. Guys selling food from carts on the sidewalk; teenage girls walking in packs with their friends; and drunk people spilling out of bars and clubs. A night out in Chicago or LA had nothing on this place; it was excessively crowded, and noisy.
The next assault took place on my equilibrium, thanks to the cab driver. I would later come to discover that everyone in the Philippines, cabbie or not, drives like he is in the Indianapolis 500. It's bizarre and frightening, yet I somehow felt safe in the taxi. What shocked my western brain the most was the fact that cars literally nudge one another out of the way -- I mean, physically nudge other cars to merge. There are no lanes, just a strange game of chicken in which the right of way goes to the one who is least afraid to die.
After twenty minutes of sensory overload, we arrived at City Garden Hotel and I remembered that I hadn't exchanged any Filipino currency yet.
"Sir, excuse me, but I only have dollar bills."
He looked in the rearview.
"I can take Filipino pesos only. Sorry."
I was confused and desperate.
"Is there an ATM where I can exchange?"
"A what?"
"Like a -- place to exchange?"
He nodded.
"Hotel should exchange for you. Just pay your room. I'll turn off meter."
This ordeal took up thirty minutes of my time but the fare was paid and I retired for the evening.
The hotel room was small but ornate. There was an air conditioner unit in the window and the room smelled of old dust. When I sat down on the bed I felt the world fall away. It's hard to describe the release I felt at that moment, but it was glorious. I laid back on the bed and flipped on the TV to see the evening news. A man on a motorcycle had apparently been hit by a bus. Unlike the evening news back in the States, they actually show dead bodies on TV over here. After a striking image of two legs under a bus and what appeared to be a head resting next to the front tire, I decided to flip over to MTV Asia where scantily clad Korean girls danced along with a rap tune. I changed the channel once more to see several commercials in a row for products and brands I never knew existed. Enough of that -- I switched the TV off and closed my eyes.
I slept straight through for five hours until the alarm on my phone went off. Fumbling around on the side table, I managed to knock a lamp over before silencing the phone. I woke up in a daze, not sure where I was. After a few seconds it sunk in. Not only did I feel the impact of being in an alternate universe, I also felt like a stranger in a strange land. My senses couldn't catch up.
Nearing the window, which overlooks a busy street, I witnessed car horns ablaze during morning rush hour. It was chaos in a haze of fog.
"How did I sleep through this noise?" I wondered aloud.
I needed to make final preparations for the last leg of travel, so I picked up the phone and dialed an agency I had been working with.
"This is Ted LaSalle again. I'm staying at City Garden in Makati. Can you send a driver? Thanks."
CHAPTER 15
The car that the agency sent was actually a dusty, white van with bald tires. I exchanged pleasantries with the driver, who spoke only broken English, and settled in for a bumpy, six-hour ride. Very little was said during the commute so I just stared out the window and tried not to think about my aching back muscles. The scenery exhausted my eyes. It's like when you take a bite of some food you're not familiar with: the moment it hits your tongue, your mind revolts -- that's the feeling. The Philippines, from the city to the countryside, is both breathtakingly beautiful and horrendously ugly at the same time, depending on which direction your head is facing. The rice fields under a glistening sun were a pleasant sight that made me feel serene and removed from the current era. But across the street were row after row of tin shed, bamboo housing along with countless Tanduay billboards, which is some kind of Filipino rum. The driver offered me something to drink and I accepted with only slight hesitation. He pulled onto the shoulder and talked to some guys standing in front of a storefront shack for about ten minutes before going inside. He came out with a glass bottle of Coke and handed it to me. It was only half cold but it would do.
That familiar aroma was always around, that scent of faint gasoline mixed with barbecue smoke. The countryside, or province, of the Philippines looked a lot different than remote areas in the States. Back home, the country is where you go to seclude yourself and get away from people. Over here, the dirt and gravel roads are almost as populated as the urban centers. Smoke plumed from shanty houses stretching as far as the eye could see. Though I was just in transit to a much different part of the country, it occurred to me that I could be happy in a place like this; not entirely comfortable, but happy. Little Filipino kids waved at me as we drove past. Things were uncomplicated here and that held great appeal.
We arrived at the docks late in the afternoon. It was still scorching hot. I handed my ticket to a physically imposing Australian man with a surfer's cut.
"They call you Joe?" he asked.
"No, I'm Ted."
"I mean the locals. They call you Joe?"
"Not that I'm aware."
He grinned at that.
"They call all white people 'Joe' over here. Australian, German -- whatever. We're all American to them."
I gave a weary, but intrigued, laugh.
"The people have been very nice," I commented.
"That's because you're kano," he told me while checking my ticket.
"What's a kano?" I asked of the word that sounded like "kah-no."
He smiled.
"White. Kano means you're white. They like that. Mosquitoes too -- they love white meat over here."
Just then, a herd of Filipino soldiers in military fatigues stormed past, scaring me half to death. The Australian man noticed the alarm on my face.
"Don't worry about that, mate... just Abu Sayaaf stirring up some dust down in Mindanao. That's a long way from where you're headed."
"Where I'm going is a long way from anything," I commented.
"No worries, ay?" he said.
"No worries."
The ferry boat was reminiscent of small cruise ships in the US but without the amenities. I sat on the stern as we toiled along through deep blue waters. The setting sun was a brilliant orange whose glow was being mirrored by the ocean below. The view was stunning. Sharing the view with me were several Filipino couples who stood against the railing.
The warmth of the sun against my skin, mixed with a gently pushing wind, became hypnotic.
"This is why I came," I thought to myself.
As the hours passed, it became evident that whatever fate I was heading toward could not be reversed. There was a time, back in the hotel room, when I thought it might still be possible to change plans and head back to the States. After all, the airport was only a twenty-minute ride away and even despite the grueling flights, it was still possible to return. But now, so far away from that hotel room in Manila, it truly sunk in: I couldn't turn around now. I was in far too deep.
I slept for a couple of hours in a compartment of humble means until my bladder woke me up. I popped into the hallway and flagged down a Filipino attendant.
"Yes, sir?" she asked.
"How long until we dock in Cebu?"
She took a moment to count in her head.
"Nineteen hours more," she said brightly.
Wow, my guesstimate was way off. I figured a couple of hours, tops.
"Can you point me to the bathroom?"
"The CR is right behind that door," she said, pointing to the end of the hall.
"CR?" I said, not sure she understood.
"Comfort Room. You must go, yeah?"
I nodded, slightly embarrassed, and headed down the hallway where I found a door marked:
Under repairing!
Stepping inside the restroom, I immediately jumped in horror. My eyes drifted to a wooden bowl and a plastic bucket filled halfway to the top with murky water. I latched the tiny door with a metal pin and searched for toilet paper, as my bladder had sent a false alarm. My lunch was either coming up or going down -- hopefully the latter.
Behind the bucket, my hand found a cardboard roll with two squares of tissue left intact. I removed the tissue from the cardboard with surgical precision. The moment I dropped trou, the boat swayed violently to my left. I lost balance and fell down on my side, pants around my ankles. The boat then corrected itself but not before the bowl of excrement spilled onto my back, at which point I let a few expletives fly. I heard a couple of Filipino girls giggling out in the hallway.
"Ay naku!" I heard, muffled by the door.
That's the Filipino version of "Good lord!" apparently. I cleaned myself off with the dirty water from the bucket, finished my business and went back to my cabin for the remainder of the trip.
• • •
As we docked on the island of Cebu, loads of people began to exit the ferry boat -- none of whom were American, save one. As the lone "Joe," I moved past swarms of them, incredulous of the various displays of affection. I didn't come all this way to watch people hug one another. And yes, by this point in the trip, I had become a little irritable.
I was supposed to meet a guy named Nako who owned a boat. He was described to me as a friendly Japanese man about my height, which is a rare thing over here. Not seeing anyone fitting that description, I approached an elderly Filipino woman who looked like she was waiting on someone.
"Hi, I'm looking for South Pacific Endeavors."
She just looked at me.
"It's a small charter boat."
I received another blank stare. I then heard a voice behind me:
"She speak Cebuano, no English."
I turned and saw a smiling Japanese man wearing a baseball cap. He offered his hand.
"South Pacific Endeavors, I'm Nako."
"I'm Ted. We spoke on the phone."
"Everything is ready. Your real estate guy was here this morning. He make sure everything as you request."
"Thank you, Nako. Shall we?"
Nako led me to a small, but clean, vessel roped off on the other side of the docks. If I had to guess, I'd say from the furnishings that he lived on the boat.
"Your personal items already arrive on the island. They beat you here," he said with a hearty laugh.
I wanted to laugh too but my energy was spent.
"So how long is the trip?" I asked, expecting the worst.
"Forty-five minute," he said. "You close."
The words, "Thank God," fell out of my mouth.
• • •
My lengthy trip from Chicago to this place had given me more resolve than ever that this is what I wanted. People were trouble. People complicated things. People were only needed in small doses. When I told a guy on the ferry that I moved here to get away from the evils of humanity, he asked if I was intending to live a celibate life. Indeed, that is the cost of moving to your own island. However, there were provisions made for this. If I ever got to the point where I could no longer stand the sexual tension, it was only a short trip to the mainland where, in desperate times, I could cast a wide net and hope for some kind of companionship. Cebu is a tourist spot over here due to the incredible surf and the diving culture. Finding someone to party with could be done, with only slight inconvenience.
I'm not talking about prostitution, mind you. My desperation would never sink to paying for sex. But, as in the US, casual relationships are not uncommon in these parts. I'd never been prone to such behavior but my world was looking more and more foreign these days. The life I'd left behind would serve as the subject of reflection to sweep away boredom but would not be any indication of future behavior. Truly I had started over. Nobody knew me over here, so as long as I could get along with myself -- something I've managed for over thirty years -- then all would be well.
• • •
Nako steered the boat through peaceful waters. I found myself below deck, vomiting into a rice bag. Everyone says, "Don't drink the water," but when you're thirsty and there's not a bottle of Aquafina in sight, you do what you have to do. And I paid for it. I rinsed my mouth with soda, spitting into the little sink. Nako saw me through the hatch and just shook his head.
Americans.
"You feel better in five minutes," he said. "Almost home, my friend."
What a beautiful thing to hear. It completely made up for the terrible trip. I joined Nako above deck and sat next to him on top of a heavy box.
"Can't wait," I said.
"One thing first," Nako said with a grin. "Your agent, Mr. Yano, he say your island not inhabited."
"Right. It's just me."
"But your place is offshore from Cebu. That mean it appears on map as unclaim."
"Okay?" I said, not sure where this was going.
"You have to name the island for geographers. Government has to tax on paperwork."
I took a moment.
"The Island of Ted. That work?"
"Work for me," Nako said. "I don't live there."
CHAPTER 16
As Nako and I finished our laugh on the bow of this little charter boat, my eyes looked up and beheld it -- the island. We were still a bit shy of docking but the water had already caught my attention. It was translucent blue and even this far from shore, I could see the bottom floor of the ocean. I felt like jumping out to swim the rest of the way but wanted to restrain my childlike wonder for fear of embarrassing myself, or Americans in general, in front of Nako.
It was paradise, true and utter beauty in every direction. Waves were lapping against the sides of the boat as we trolled to a rest against a small wooden dock leading to white sand. A thick row of palm trees sat fifty yards aground and skirted around like a curtain. I immediately leaped off the boat and sunk my toes in the sandy beach.
I looked back as Nako tied off the boat.
"Nako, this place is a post card!"
"Yeah, it's okay. Listen, I bring you food last evening. Two week supply as you request."
Although I had only seen a tiny beach and a wall of palm trees, all regrets began to fade away and the realization that I'd actually done it hit me hard. I felt a sense of pride. This was my island. My sand. My palm trees. And for a quarter-mile out to sea, my ocean too!
"I can't believe this place," I said in wonder.
"Wait until you see the house," Nako teased.
After securing the boat, we took a sandy, but well-carved, dirt path through the palm tree forest. A lizard ran across my foot and shot toward the water. A new pet, maybe?
Nako and I walked for around ten minutes before we came to a clearing. There we started a slight descent for a few paces and the wall of palm trees broke open to reveal a house in the distance, sitting at the base of a large hill with terraces lining the sides. It was my new home.
The house was an exquisitely designed piece of architecture with Tuscan and Spanish flare, including a courtyard at the center. It was accented with glass and bamboo with massive stone walls. It shouted of palatial grandeur, with the exception of a rather out-of-place looking satellite dish mounted on the far edge of the roof. The house was a massive oasis of tranquility. A sculpted patch of lawn lay around the perimeter, with stone and brick carving out a nice circular walkway up to the porch.
No cars on this island but it was a nice thought.
"That your solar panels on left side of property," Nako pointed out. "On the right you see lagoon and in the rear is rice field. These hills are terraced but no one cultivate yet. Roof is reinforced with a special oak for rainy season. You'll need that."
We stopped at the entrance and I dropped my bags, mouth agape.
Nako said, "You also have coconut trees all around your house. In the forest you have palms and bananas but mostly bamboo."
Nako then handed me a set of keys and a card that read: "Thank you for doing business, valued customer!"
"It was a pleasure to serve you, Mr. LaSalle. Welcome to Island of Ted. I'll see you in two week. Call me you need anything."
"Thank you, Nako."
We shook hands and Nako made his way back to the dirt path. I watched him go with a wave and felt a cool breeze pass across my face. The palm trees in the distance swayed as the gentle wind blew, ruffling the leaves. That sound -- those leaves dancing in the breeze -- produced a feeling in my gut that I had longed for since childhood. I closed my eyes and just breathed... and listened. Heaven.
Stepping into my giant enclave, I first noticed how quiet it was. I should have expected that, granted, but the lack of sound made it feel so sterile. It was obvious that I was standing in a new construction, a fact evidenced by the strong smell of paint and newly polished wood trim. For a moment the whole enterprise seemed eerie. I walked through an enormous kitchen and thought of all the great meals I'd cook and enjoy on the peaceful bamboo deck, far away from the ills besetting the other side of the world. Here there was no violence, no oppression, no evil, no... people.
Moving up the stairs I caught a glimpse of the ground floor of the house. The first thought that occurred to me, and one I'd need to forget, was how nice it would be to show this to someone else. After consciously deleting that thought, I continued on into the master bedroom. It was breathtaking: twenty-by-thirty feet with a giant bed and exquisite Neo-Asian décor. At the far end of the room, huge doors made of fogged glass opened to reveal a second-story view of my back yard -- and some back yard it was! Beyond a small, man-made lagoon was thick, lush forest. I always had an affinity for palm trees and now I owned a couple thousand of them. I wasn't sure how far the forest stretched or what the beach on the opposite end of the island looked like. Such curiosity was meant for a less tiresome day, one in which walking for hours seemed ideal.
There was much more of the house to see but for some inexplicable reason, I simply sat down on the bed and took a nap. Within seconds I had fallen into deep sleep and for the first time in months, I didn't dream about Delores or the kids. I dreamed of a woman, perhaps my Filipino nurse at the hospital, massaging my scalp with different oils. The oil felt soothing and being touched in such a delicate way brought warm butterflies into my stomach, which stayed with me even after waking up to see that it was dark outside. I checked my watch and saw that I had slept for six hours. Wow.
Checking out the rest of the house, I decided to explore my designer toilet. It lived up to the hype. Next was the shower, and boy did I need a shower. My first thought, while undressing, was to close the doors leading out to my deck. It would take some time for the thought to sink in: You are alone here. Like... really, really, really alone. No need to draw the blinds -- ever.
That night I cracked open the fridge and saw that Nako had pre-stocked several items and had even left a dinner tray full of some kind of homemade noodle dish in the center. It was a nice gesture, but I pushed it aside and grabbed a plate of Filipino egg rolls, called lumpia, which had been ordered from the resort café in Cebu ahead of time. I mowed through them with a glass of chilled merlot and sat down in front of a 100-inch DLP TV. After fumbling with the controls, I managed to figure out how to turn the system on and engage the satellite dish. It was so quiet that I could actually hear the satellite dish turning outside.
"How bizarre," I thought.
Since I'd slept through the afternoon, I was now wide awake at midnight. This time difference thing would eventually work itself out as I became acclimated to being eleven hours in the future. Chicago was but a dim memory now and it felt wonderful.
CHAPTER 17
Two weeks after my arrival, I was still learning about the house. There were little cabinets hidden everywhere and I discovered that all of the bedroom windows could change shades, from fogged to clear, by hitting a little dial on the wall. The button was initially hidden by a large plant so you'll excuse the lack of awareness.
Every morning I woke up around seven and enjoyed fresh coffee out on the veranda, which was partially covered by a bamboo ceiling -- helpful during a surprise rain shower. I'd watch the sunrise sparkle off my fake lagoon, a.k.a. mossy pool, and when it became especially hot in the afternoon I would jump in for a quick swim. The days passed surprisingly quickly and I had to force myself not to spend too much time watching TV or surfing the internet. Every so often, I'd check out BBC News just to see all of the nonsense from which I had been rescued. The world had gone on without me as well: Al Qaeda was still suicide bombing the crap out of third-world shitholes and the stock market was down again. There were a slew of celebrity break-ups and another politician got caught with his pants down.
Good riddance.
In an effort to keep things completely honest, my paradise was not without its downside. For me, it was loneliness. After a particularly funny re-run of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, I let out a strained, almost silent laugh from my belly. I had nearly lost my voice from not talking to anyone in two weeks. My dreams were often filled with the sensation of being touched or caressed by other people. These dreams weren't sexual at all, just echoes of companionship.
Another decidedly more embarrassing downside was what I call "scared child syndrome." I lived on a rather large island in the South China Sea, filled with trees that made noises when the wind blew and critters that dashed around in the shadows. Things definitely go bump in the night. I'm an extremely rational man who knows that there's no one else around for miles, and separated by deep ocean at that. I also knew that ghosts and spirits don't exist. Nevertheless, on a still night I find my heart racing after hearing an unexpected noise outside my door. For that reason, I often leave the stereo playing soft, classical music after I retire the TV each night. It fills in the silence quite well but it's not loud enough to prevent quality sleep.
On my fourteenth night on the island I was watching a CSI re-run when something caught my eye out the living room window. I could have sworn there was a reflection coming from the front of the property. I silenced the TV and stood up, wearing tennis shoes and a bathrobe. The place fell silent. My ears became more and more attuned to the natural noises around me.
"Are those footsteps?" I asked myself silently.
Not particularly giving a flip, I swung the front door open and stood on the concrete porch as boldly as I could pretend.
Who am I, Clint Eastwood?
Then I saw something in the forest.
"Crap!" I said out loud, frightened.
My adrenaline surged because this time I knew something was there. For some reason I can't explain, I ran toward it. It moved away from me at lightning speed!
Trees and twigs snapped past as I cut through the warm night air at full speed. I once heard that if a lion charges you in the wild, you should respond by making yourself look big and scary. Gasping for breath like an asthmatic in my underwear with untied tennis shoes probably didn't fit the bill. Nevertheless, I continued on with determination.
I made it to a grassy clearing when my pounding heart and tired lungs forced me to stop and catch my breath. I stood there, doubled over with my hands on my knees, and saw a thin creek running alongside the trail. Some kind of tropical bird chirped angrily at me as it sat perched on a limb. I then began to look more closely at the bird and recognized the bizarre color pattern on its wings. I had been chasing this bird for half of a mile. Feeling stupid, but relieved that it wasn't a ghost, I headed back toward the house. Just as I started back, my foot hit something solid and I kneeled down to see a rice bag with a concrete block stuffed inside. There was some kind of Japanese writing on the side.
"Only on the Island of Ted," I coughed out.
Although the moon provided a trickle of light through the trees, my adrenaline began to surge again: it was very dark and I didn't exactly have a clear path home.
"Am I really alone out here?" I wondered to myself irrationally. My steps became more urgent as I pushed through the bamboo leaves. Fear drove me forward and I began to run with the distinct feeling that someone was chasing me. I ran for more than a half mile and was not at my front porch yet.
I was hopelessly lost.
At that moment I was frozen with fear. It wouldn't be daylight for several hours and I was out here alone. A light wind tickled my skin and I heard that familiar, and eerie, sound of bamboo trees swaying back and forth. To keep control of my senses in this dark, unfamiliar forest, I thought back on the many films that had scared me as a youth. Then I brought to mind all of my experience producing similar films, which always took away the creepiness factor. I knew the blood was fake and the knives were made of rubber. Likewise, I knew I was alone out here and nothing could actually harm me.
After another forty-five minutes of roaming around the forest, I saw a pin point of light in the distance. It was my porch light. As my foot hit the entryway, a peal of thunder rang out and the sky began to spit rain.
"There is a God," I thought with a grin.
Rain thumped against the glass door leading to the deck. I toweled off in the bedroom and reached for a little hatbox that had been stashed under the bed. I pulled out my elementary school yearbook and flipped to my picture at age ten.
Geez, I was a dork.
As the memories came flooding back, I flipped a few pages forward and saw a charming picture of Heather, the girl of my young dreams. Beside her picture, penned in fading blue ink: My future wife!!!
"Well, well... we meet again," I chuckled.
I flipped the yearbook shut and reached inside the box. Next up was a coffee-stained promotional mug from one of the earlier films I'd produced. After that was a group photo with Roger and a few actors. Then my fingers found it -- the letter. The words seemed to float across the page:
...regret to inform ... body found near Juarez ... identified as Theodore LaSalle, Sr ... our sympathies go out to you and your kin ...
I folded the letter and stashed it inside the box. It wasn't a time for that kind of reminiscing; I wanted happy memories. I grabbed the next item -- my college diploma.
Summa Cum Laude -- Master of Arts
My father had wanted me to study philosophy but my own twisted sense of pragmatism saw such a field as more useless than fine arts. To be fair, my immense fiscal gains were more accurately the result of knowing a guy who knew a guy who knew Roger Graham. The degree meant nothing. That's how the film business works: everything is predicated on relationships. Passion and talent are a bonus, but hardly necessary if you know the right folks.
The next, and final, item inside the box was a crumpled homemade Christmas card I'd made for my parents when I was six. Written in crayon were these words:
To the best Mom and Dad on the Planet! I love my new hat!!
That one got me. Crap. My eyes began to water and I stashed the box back under the bed. It was time for sleep. I hit a button on the lamp to dim the light and watched rain-streaks run down the glass door. That night I dreamed about a neck massage.
CHAPTER 18
A loud crash! I sprang out of bed, wobbled a bit, and found my shoes. Dashing toward the dock, I saw Nako trying to steady himself on the front of his boat, which was caught in a slow-speed tail spin.
"I can't tie off! The wind is too strong and the dock gave way! Sorry about damage!" he shouted.
"Don't sweat it," I said.
"Here -- catch!"
Nako began tossing several small boxes at me on the beach and we formed an impromptu assembly line. After the ninth box, Nako gave me a military salute and went back to manning the wheel. I returned his salute and waved him goodbye. It was good to see him again. I wanted to talk but he was in a rush. Oh well.
I spent that evening in front of the tube watching Korean dramas. Since they run these in the Philippines, English subtitles were provided -- sort of an in-between method of communication. For that reason, some of the subtitles were humorously incorrect and that reminded me of this fad I heard about that is presently affecting the Korean youth culture. Apparently they insist on wearing T-shirts with random English phrases on the front. And by random, I mean random. One photo showed a young hipster wearing a shirt that read "Dope My Slinky." Another fashionista wore one that proclaimed "Catch me down holler!"
These shows, however, were surprisingly entertaining and had me laughing and engaged the whole time. "My Girl," starring Korean cutie Lee Da Hae, was my favorite. Watching her charming antics really made me miss the pursuit of love -- badly.
"Boy, do I need to get out of the house," I thought.
I spent the next several days hammering wood beams to repair the broken dock, aided by a large collection of do-it-yourself books housed in my study. Staying busy really helped to stave off the loneliness. However, on my twenty-eighth day on the island, I was happy as punch to see Nako's broken vessel on the approach. He was my only source to the outside world, so I'd been singing along with the radio every day to keep my voice strong enough for conversation, if one should arise.
Nako smiled and gave a "thumbs up" to acknowledge my handiwork on the dock. He tied off the boat and dropped his anchor before going below deck to fetch a few boxes. This time he was able to help me carry the boxes up to the front porch.
"You know," he said. "I think you bought up entire supply of Pop Tart on the mainland."
"Can I ask a favor, Nako?"
He looked at me with caution, thinking that perhaps I was about to request something absurd.
"What you need?" he asked in a low pitch.
"I was just wondering... if you wanted to hang out for a little while. I'm kind of bored."
"You play baseball?" he asked, far too excited for his age.
Nako carried a couple of baseball gloves and a few balls with him wherever he went. We spent the afternoon playing catch in the wet rice field until the sun began to set.
"I miss this much about Japan," he told me. "Here they all play hoops. I tall for Japanese but never like that game. My father taught me baseball."
"Same here. Lifetime Cubs fan."
"Ah... Chicooga."
I nodded. Close enough.
After baseball, I introduced Nako to the world of fine wine and amused myself by watching him get lit. We sat in front of the tube and laughed at Monty Python until our eyes watered. Nako seemed fond of attempting to give out sage wisdom whilst under the influence. He noted the frequent commercial breaks by pointing at the TV with his empty glass.
"Ted, you see these product? They all is crap! You spend hard earn money and find out they not as advertise. They junk! Really junk!"
"You, my friend, may be a tad drunk," I joked.
He smiled for a moment, and then his face turned inquisitive. After a slow blink of the eyes to get his visual bearings, he looked at me.
"Ted, why you here?"
That caught me a little off guard.
"I'm sorry?"
"Why you here?" he repeated. "Where your family?"
Boy, did this guy know how to sober up a party.
"I don't have any family, Nako."
"How you not have any family?"
"I just don't. Never married... never had any kids. I'm an only child."
"Your parent?"
"Dead."
"That so sad. What happen?"
I sighed, not wanting to open that can of worms, but Nako's gaze was persistent.
"My mother died young. Cancer. My father was a missionary in Central America. The car he was traveling in took a sharp turn off a curve and..."
I stopped, feeling a sudden burst of emotion."Anyway -- long story short, he didn't make it. He went there to build wells and a hospital and died preaching to a bunch of superstitious peasants. And that's the story."
I didn't mean to answer him so sharply but the pain of that moment flooded me like a tidal wave. It was a senseless way to end one's life, or so I reasoned at the time. I sat there, fuming, and stared at my hands for a long, sobering moment. Then I heard Nako snoring and looked over to see him sound asleep at the end of the couch. At that moment, I had to laugh. This drooling Japanese cargo boat operator, with no ability to hold his liquor, was now my best friend. It was either profound or profoundly sad. Still, Nako had ten times the integrity of Roger or Jerry so perhaps I was moving up in life.
The next day I bid Nako farewell to avoid getting him fired for missing too much work. For the next week I spent much of my days watching Korean dramas and drinking coffee on the veranda while looking out over the terraced rice field. For about three seconds, I considered fasting from all electronics for a month but, not being much of a Luddite, I realized that my techno lust was the only thing that kept me from feeling too lonely on still nights. Living a life of solitude was something I was committed to and being realistic about the pitfalls helped my decision considerably. I knew it would get lonely and that was the price. So be it. I was lonely in Chicago too. Besides, there was always Lee Da Hae and those wonderful Korean dramas to keep me sane. God bless those corny television writers.
CHAPTER 19
"What was that?" I wondered aloud in a weak voice, peering up over the deck railing.
It was a cloudless Saturday morning. I had now been on the island for forty-nine days. I was sitting on the veranda with a cup of steaming black coffee when I saw movement in the weeds, near a pathway that leads into the bamboo forest. I stood erect and strained my eyes. There it was again!
Swearing that I had seen a human face, I ran toward the spot where I had seen movement.
"Hey!" I yelled out in a cracked voice. "Stop!"
Knowing I was more than likely chasing a bird or a lizard didn't matter. There was no feeling of embarrassment on the Island of Ted, so shouting to animals was pretty much the norm.
I blasted up the pathway and into the forest and then slowed down as I approached a faint knocking sound. It grew louder and louder as I tiptoed forward into the clearing.
THWAK!
I grabbed my chest; my heart was pounding. I froze and saw a startling sight ten yards in front of me.
An eleven-year-old boy was slicing open a coconut with a large machete! I shifted my weight a little and the rock beneath my foot slipped. The boy looked up at me sharply and we just gazed at one another for what seemed like a full minute.
"Who are you?" I asked.
The boy began looking around for an exit. He was visibly uncomfortable.
"How did you get here?" I pressed further.
Was this my imagination?
The boy suddenly took off into a full sprint into the forest and I just watched him go in a daze.
• • •
Back at the house, I paced back and forth with a phone to my ear. I was furious.
"I already told you! This was part of our deal!" I shouted into the phone. "I am calm, but you have to do something about this. There's a little boy and probably an entire family living on my island!"
I felt like throwing the phone through a window.
"I don't know how they got here," I told my agent, who was probably cowering on the other end. "I want them gone yesterday. I will not tolerate squatters on my land, stealing from me."
After an apology from the agent, I thanked him and hung up. Immediately, air sprang from my lungs and I doubled over in a violent cough.
"Wow, that came out of nowhere," I thought.
Then I felt something warm on my fingers and looked down to see patches of red.
"I just coughed up blood," I said in a state of sedated panic. Talking to myself didn't make it less scary.
I reached for a glass and filled it with water from the sink. The glass became blurry as it neared my face and my head began to feel very warm. Sweat was forming on my forehead. THIS WAS SERIOUS.
I spent the next hour trying to get a hold of Nako before he finally returned my call.
"What took you so long, Nako?" I shouted. "I'm dying here!"
I heard laughter at the other end of the phone.
"I'm serious. I'm coughing up blood for crying out loud. Wait -- where's that?"
• • •
I sat on the stern of Nako's boat sipping some green tea he'd brewed for me. It tasted like warmed-over garbage. Nako was cooking something on a little battery-powered burner. Out of his pot came vegetable broth, which he poured over a wooden bowl of starchy noodles.
"This make you better until we arrive."
I chewed on a few noodles with the chopsticks he'd handed me and slurped on the salty soup. It was actually pretty relaxing.
I watched Nako go back to manning the wheel and said, "This is the first time I've been off the island. Feels strange."
"Time away is good," Nako said, sounding like an ancient proverb.
"I already miss it," was my response.
Nako smirked, perhaps wondering from which planet I had escaped.
"I call ahead," he told me. "Got you appointment tonight. We'll dock in Cebu shortly."
"Wow," I exclaimed. "I haven't seen the mainland since I arrived."
Nako tried to read me with his eyes.
"You find that boy?" he asked.
"No," I said. "Little punk stole my coconuts. But I called Yano... he's taking care of it."
Nako laughed from his belly in a way that was beginning to irritate me.
"Your real estate guy? That Yano? Don't count on it."
"Why's that?"
"He lazy. Sorry I tell you now. Is true."
"Great. Well, if that kid is still there when I get back I'll put him on a raft and send him sailing myself."
Nako shook his head.
"Why you so mean?" he said.
"I'm not mean. I just want to be left alone."
He wasn't buying it.
"I can't explain it," I said defensively. "Isolation kind of sucks but it's still more appealing to me than socializing with idiots. You know how scared I was this morning when I thought I was going to die? But what scared me even more was the feeling that I'd still prefer this life to any other. Loneliness only hurts when you run out of distractions."
"You're a strange man, Ted."
"My destiny is to be alone. I don't need people."
Nako just shook his head again, not sure how serious I was in my state of delirium. As for me, I meant every word. That's exempting emergency medical care, of course. Nako was a good friend and deep inside I knew he liked me too, and not just because I paid him for his time. We had become friends.
I could see city lights through hazy fog as we neared the Cebu docks. The harbor was filled with a massive cruise ship, a few commercial boats and a smattering of fishing vessels. My coughing had calmed down, but I was still worried. You don't yack up blood for no reason. Nako patted me on the shoulder and then stood up and dropped his anchor.
• • •
I sat in a lime-green concrete room with chipped paint while Nako smoked a pack of cigarettes outside the building. After a long wait, a male nurse entered the room with a clipboard.
"Your result is clean," he said.
"I don't think so. I'm dying."
"Sorry to inform you of this but you will live."
"Then why am I coughing?"
"Dust allergy, more than likely. This is common in Americans."
"Then I'm... not dying?"
The nurse laughed and shook his head at me before handing me a bottle of pills.
I met up with Nako on the sidewalk outside the clinic. A group of young, college-age ladies stood on the opposite corner, staring at me while smiling and teasing one another.
Nako looked at me and said, "You dying?"
"Unfortunately, no," I replied.
"Good. Let us celebrate with those Pinays over there."
Nako pointed to the group of girls and one of them shouted to us across the street.
"Hey, Joe! Wanna party?"
I gave Nako a weary look.
"I just want to get back," I said.
"Come on, man. Chicks here love American. Your white skin help me catch girls."
"I'm tired," is all I could offer.
"Okay then," he said, disappointed. "You the boss."
The noise of the city was deafening and the streets were far too crowded for my taste. A loud motorcycle whizzed past and missed my leg by an inch. I guess Nako was used to city life and probably saw his bi-weekly boat trips to the Island of Ted as a break from the monotony. He mostly ran cargo trips throughout the archipelago but only stopped at busy ports. My little homestead served as a brief escape from the rough seas and bustling harbors. He thanked me by playing baseball for a couple of hours every other week.
CHAPTER 20
Nako was dead-on about my agency contact, Mr. Yano. A week later, I still had no response from him. At night I heard strange things coming from the other side of the island but it could have been my imagination. Who was that kid? Why was he taking my coconuts? These thoughts lingered as the days wore on. I'd occasionally stand on the roof deck with binoculars to spot an occasional boat or cruise ship. It was one of the games I played to entertain myself when I grew tired of satellite TV.
I spent a great deal of time working out as well. Push-ups on the bamboo floor and crunches on my bed every morning before coffee -- it was my routine and done by rote. It occurred to me that maintaining physical strength could come in handy, even if one chose, like me, to live in confinement. Who knows, right? The Spanish hit these islands in the sixteenth century and the Japanese tried to finish the job in the 1940s. It was, in fact, American troops who liberated the islands during World War II, and that's something not forgotten by Filipinos. To this day they have a high level of affection for all things American. A very average-looking guy in the States would be treated like a rock star over here. He could even date girls who were, in reality, way out of his league. This affection also goes for Europeans and Australians, since Filipinos have trouble discerning their accents. Like I was told when I entered the country, if you're white then you're American -- end of story.
I spent the afternoon walking through my forest since nothing was on TV and there was a nice sea breeze. My internet connection had gone down during the night and still wasn't up, so traipsing around my property sounded like a good idea. The island itself was much bigger than I had expected, based on the photos I was given on the mainland. Even still, the amount of foliage was enough to obstruct much of the view. I would break a good sweat just getting back to the ocean where my little home-built dock sat, awaiting some of Nako's attention.
It occurred to me that I hadn't worked on my screenplay since I'd been on the island. Maybe that could keep me busy for a while. So I sat down at the computer and started a new scene.
INT. HOUSE -- NIGHT
Warren poured himself a scotch and imagined a life where he wasn't so lonely.
I stared at the screen, which was now a commentary on my own life, and then highlighted the text and hit DELETE. Maybe I'd find my story later. After all, I wasn't exactly in a rush.
• • •
It was early in the evening. I was standing on the dock and watching the gentle tide when from out of nowhere, a familiar noise hit my eardrums. I turned and saw the little boy walking among the trees! He was holding two coconuts and didn't notice me.
"Hey!" I shouted in full throat.
He quickly darted out of sight and I took to running, this time in very loose flip-flops. Nevertheless, I was gaining on him! He may have been small and fast but I had the advantage of longer legs. He would have to face me this time and answer my questions.
As I ran, the twigs and branches whipped across my upper arms and produced little micro-cuts, the kind that sting but don't bleed much. I ran like my life depended on it, jumping to clear a fallen tree without missing a beat. After a quarter-mile, I slowed to catch my breath, then went back into a full dash. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt it throbbing against my chest cavity. Sweat poured from my head and my lungs burned like they were filled with boiling water! Still, I continued my pursuit, always keeping the boy in sight.
After running after this kid for what felt like a good three miles, we reached a clearing and he took off, full steam, down a subtle embankment. When I crested the hill I stopped in my tracks.
"What the...," I said, trailing off.
I had ran all the way to the southern end of the island. On the beach sat fifteen makeshift nipa hut cabins, built with bamboo trees and banana leaves. It looked like the remnants of a an abandoned tourist site.
"What the hell is this?"
There were at least twenty or thirty people, all Filipinos of varying age and gender, strewn about the beach. The kid I had been chasing was immediately tackled by another boy his age and they wrestled around a bit. He then jumped back to his feet and grabbed the arm of an older gentleman. The boy pointed a finger in my direction. Not knowing what to do, I walked down the embankment and was met by a friendly handshake.
"Hello. My name is Rene," said the older gentleman.
"That boy is stealing from me."
"I'm very sorry. We didn't know someone live on this island too."
"He knew," I said. "I've been here for over four months. My house is less than three miles up that way. This island belongs to me. He stole from me before."
I was still out of breath, struggling to make due. Rene turned to the boy.
"Manny, give this man back his coconuts."
The kid picked up the coconuts and brought them over. He dropped them at my feet.
"His birth name is Manuel but we call him Manny after the boxer Manny Pacquiao, because he's a scrapper. I'm very sorry about this," Rene said.
I suddenly felt badly for the kid, but was still in shock and a little irritated.
"Never mind. Just keep the coconuts. I want to know why you are here on my island. No one is supposed to be here."
"We are refugees from Mindanao," Rene said. "We arrive here by boat four weeks ago."
"Four weeks, huh?" I said with disdain.
I then turned back toward the trail and began walking... and walking... and walking... all the way back to my house.
I spent that evening once more reminding my real estate guy why I'd requested this island in the first place.
"Yano, this is a major problem! You said nobody would be here. How could you not know? There's like a whole village on the south beach! I don't know... like refugees or something. Just get them off my island. Do it now! Thanks."
I slammed the phone back down on the counter and took a deep breath.
• • •
Flipping through the channels that evening I caught a re-run of CSI. Then, at the bottom of the screen, a news string began to crawl:
"Relief sent to Mindanao... President Aquino asking for foreign aid..."
I flipped to the local news feed from Manila and caught the full story. A female reporter said something in Tagalog and then a homemade videotape filled the screen.
Two ten year old kids were playing near a fruit stand as the camera tried to become steady. The kids waved to the camera just as a CAR EXPLODED behind them! The camera was knocked to the ground as frantic people ran through the streets. Then sirens. Dead bodies could be seen from the sideways image behind a cracked lens.
My heart sank to the floor. I felt like I'd just seen something that could never be erased from my memory -- just like the news report that broke Delores' fatal accident. Only this time I saw a dozen lives taken right before my eyes, including a group of happy Filipino children.
I turned up the volume as the reporter began speaking in English, as they often did when dealing with serious news stories.
"Military is being sent to the region along with Red Cross in an effort to return stability. Mindanao residents are now uneasy about the violence that struck an all time high two months ago when a church bombing killed dozens of families. Many have fled to other regions of the northern and western Philippine islands."
I immediately reached for the phone.
"Yano, it's Ted. Forget that last call. Yes, I'm sure. Goodnight."
CHAPTER 21
It was nightfall when I stepped into the clearing and saw the south beach village aglow from the light of a bonfire. Children danced around, playing with sticks they had fashioned into play swords. Various adults sat about, eating from wooden bowls and drinking water from coconut shells. The moon was very large in the sky, casting a serene glow over the beach. It was a lot to take in. It didn't even look like the same island.
My eyes then focused on a beige Red Cross tent to the east of the village. A pretty Filipino woman in a white doctor's lab coat was talking to Manny. Her silky black hair was pulled up in a bun, threaded with a chopstick and a stethoscope hung from her neck. She looked to be in her late twenties and had a radiance about her that was very attractive. She touched Manny's nose and he ran off to play with the other children. The woman's eyes then moved to the children and a smile emerged on her face. Watching this mystery woman was intoxicating.
"What is your story?" I asked the night air.
The woman's gaze then broke and she looked directly at me!
I panicked and spun around, tried to walk away, then stopped. I was busted. She had already seen me. I turned back around to make eye contact with her but she was gone. My eyes searched the beach and found her at the bonfire, speaking to Rene. She pointed toward the clearing where I now stood.
"Crap. Crap. Busted. Crap."
I let out a lengthy sigh and descended the dirt path to meet them on the beach. Several villagers turned to watch me approach. Rene walked out to greet me, wearing a big smile.
"Hello, sir! I hope we have not disturbed you."
"No, it's fine," I said, groggy and reluctant.
He offered a firm handshake once more.
"I spoke to Manuel and he promised not to take your coconuts again."
"That's great but listen... how about I make a deal with you guys. If I allow you to stay here for a little while can we agree that no one breeches my property?"
"Yes, sir."
"I mean... for any reason at all."
"Yes, sir."
"It's just... I'm a very private man and would appreciate it a great deal if I could remain that way."
"Yes, sir. I will tell the others."
I let my eyes drift to the woman in the doctor's coat. She stood near the bonfire and was curiously gazing at me. The children began tugging on her medical coat and she spoke to them softly in their native language.
"Is that your daughter?" I asked Rene.
He looked in her direction and smiled.
"Oh, no. That's Lanie. She came from Manila with a few medical people. They left shortly after but she stayed with us. I think she has no family, only her work."
"Well, I'm going to get back," I said. "Thank you for understanding my situation."
We shook hands for the last time and I started back toward the path. I then heard Rene's voice behind me, so I turned.
"I promise to keep our deal and not enter the north beach as you request. But you are free to join with us anytime you want. Even just to eat something or sing with us crazy Filipinos."
I was moved by Rene's hospitality, even if they were technically on land I had purchased. But we had made a deal and the south beach belonged to them for now, and that was that.
"By the way," I said before leaving. "I'm Ted."
• • •
I sat at the computer at midnight, my hand cupping my chin. Chilled coconut water sat in a glass beside me. I wanted to get cracking on the screenplay but nothing would come out. I stood and walked over to the bedroom window and peered out over my back yard. I unlatched the door, letting it fall open -- perhaps thinking I could hear what was happening on the south beach. But I only heard crickets and a breezy wind buffeting through the banana trees.
• • •
The front door swung open and Nako and I fell into the foyer with a couple of huge boxes. We lay on the floor and tried to catch our breath. The sun was especially hot that day and we had trouble with the heavier supplies, canned goods.
"Nako, can I ask you for a favor?"
"Shoot."
"Can you bring me something a little different next time... along with the usual?"
Nako raised an eyebrow.
I spent the next few days wondering if what I was planning was the right thing to do. Was I doing it for them or for me? Did I have ulterior motives? These were questions I didn't think I'd ever ask myself again once I left the States. But I figured these people wouldn't be here much longer so what was the harm?
A week later, I moved down toward the south beach village, carrying a box on my shoulder. Several of the villagers were in the water with bamboo fishing poles. The door to the Red Cross tent was open and I saw Lanie inside, wearing that white medical coat. She was reading a book and didn't look up to see me.
The children, who were playing in the water, saw the box I was carrying and ran to me. Lanie looked over toward the commotion as I began handing the kids hand-held video games. Rene waved at me from across the beach. Manny was smaller than the other kids so he got pushed out of the way and was last in line. He stood there quietly, with his head down and his hand outstretched. I handed him the video game.
"That's called a Nintendo DS. I used to have one back in Chicago."
"Sorry I take your coconut, Mr. Ted."
The boy was growing on me. I rubbed his nappy head.
"You're a good kid, Manny," I told him.
He finally looked up and smiled.
"Thank you for the game."
Manny then ran back to play with his friends. Rene approached me with a few of the older folks.
"Thank you for bringing the toys. Or as we say here in Philippines, maraming salamat!"
"I'll try and remember that one," I said, knowing I had no chance of remembering it.
Rene turned to the others.
"This my wife, Lynette and my brothers, Jose and Roro."
"Nice to meet you all."
I looked over toward the medical tent and saw Lanie observing us. Her eyes quickly went back to her book and Manny noticed me swooning. I made a fist gesture and he returned it with a goofy expression. I knew Lanie was Filipino but her face contained traces of something more mysterious and exotic, perhaps French or Portuguese.
I stayed there all afternoon, talking to everyone and playing with the kids. Being around this particular group of people felt good. They made me feel important and treated me with hospitality. It made me think they'd show the same kind of hospitality if it was me that was living on their land, instead of the other way around.
The villagers built a bonfire at nightfall and I sat on the beach, eating fruit. Manny plopped down beside me, full of energy.
"You're a very fast runner," he said. "You almost caught me in the woods."
"I ran track in high school."
"I'm the fastest one here," he continued. "Even the older kids can't beat me."
"You like to run?" I asked.
"Mr. Ted, can I ask you a question?"
This kid doesn't beat around the bush.
"Um... sure."
"Do you like Dr. Lanie?"
I nearly spit out my food.
"What? Who? Did someone tell you that?"
"I saw you look at her. She's so very pretty."
"Well, not that I noticed but she's okay," I said. "But I'm not... no. I don't like her that way. In fact, we've never spoken."
"You know, Filipino girls are different from American," he said. "At least the ones I met in Mindanao."
"Yeah? How so?"
"Hard to explain. My English is not so good."
"Your English is better than mine," I added.
"Not Lanie," Manny said while shaking his head in exaggerated fashion. "She from Manila. We speak better English in the province. She might be smart but she struggle with English."
This kid was beginning to fascinate me.
"You know," he said. "When you speak to Lanie you should tell her 'Mahal kita.' It will impress her that you know that."
"Hey, I never said I was trying to impress... how do you say that again?"
Manny began to enunciate, "Ma-hal. Ki-ta."
"Ma-hal. Ki-ta?" I clumsily repeated.
"Very good."
"What's it mean?" I asked.
"It means 'Nice to meet you' in Tagalog. That's her language. Say that when you first talk to her. She will like it."
I began to repeat those words under my breath several times before deciding to give it a shot.
• • •
One of those old-school kerosene lamps burned inside the medical tent so I figured she would, at least, be awake. The adrenaline began to surge a bit, giving me a healthy number of butterflies in my stomach. I stopped in the doorway of the medical tent and saw Lanie eating a piece of fruit while flipping through a magazine. I watched her for a moment. Her arms moved with feminine elegance.
She looked up, startled. A long, awkward silence fell between us. Not a good start.
"Mahal kita! I'm Ted."
Her eyes shot open and she quickly turned her head away. I was initially confused by what appeared to be a rather cold response and figured I had probably said it wrong.
"Mahal... kita. I'm Ted."
This time I was careful to enunciate properly. She still wasn't responding and, instead, kept her eyes on the bottom corner of the tent.
"Sooooo," I said in a nervous tone. "Rene told me you're a doctor."
Lanie looked at me but I couldn't read her expression. Her face was a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. I pointed toward the magazine on her little cardboard table.
"Oh, you read National Geographic?" I said for no reason whatsoever. "Good taste. I enjoy a good periodical myself."
Lanie just stared at me. After a brief moment, she again turned away.
"Well, it was nice to meet you," I said. "I live on the other side of the thing... my name is Ted. I'm Ted. It's what... people... call me."
She turned back to me.
"La-nie."
Her tone was soft and unsure. A slight tremble.
"La-nie," I said. "It was a pleasure."
I stepped out of the medical tent feeling like the biggest idiot on earth. Am I now repulsive to women on an international scale? Why was she so quiet? Did I offend her? I heard Rene and his family laughing around the bonfire so I decided to join them. I sat down beside Roro, who was roasting a banana over the flame.
Rene looked at me and said, "Ted, are you enjoying yourself here?"
"It's been fun," I said. "Listen... what does 'Mahal kita' mean?"
Lynette clutched her heart and then leaned on Rene's shoulder with a romantic grin.
"It means 'I love you' in our language," he said.
You could have kicked me square in the junk. My face began to get warm, that first tinge of heat brought on by massive embarrassment.
"I'm sorry?"
"Where did you learn Tagalog?" said Rene.
"Manny was teaching me. I think I just said that to Lanie. Maybe twice."
Several of them gave me a sharp look. Silence. Then an eruption of laughter from the group.
"Man, he got you good!" Rene cackled.
"That little punk."
"You know, Manny has a crush on Dr. Lanie. He's a smart one."
"I just wanted to introduce myself," I admitted.
"Ah... then you say 'Kamusta ka?'"
"What's that mean?" I asked. "I want to punch your mother?"
"No, that is the proper greeting in our language. It means 'How are you?'"
"Kamusta ka?" I repeated.
"You got it now, Romeo."
I gave a light knock this time before entering the medical tent. Lanie's eyes darted around to see if I was alone. She appeared very uncomfortable.
"Kamusta ka?" I said.
Lanie's eyes then locked on me. She sprang to life and stood up with a sweet smile, speaking very rapidly.
"Ah, mabuti! Ikaw?"
"Oh... uh... I don't really..."
She then began a flurry of conversation that took me by surprise. She was talking a mile a minute and I had no idea how to respond to all of that. From the look on her face, she must have been sharing an inside joke with me. Her voice was soft and feminine, almost childlike. Combined with her flowing words of mystery, I was held captive, afraid to interrupt and prove myself an even bigger idiot.
I offered my hand and she gave me a gentle shake with her fingertips. Standing this close to her made my heart leap. Her scent was that of lavender and coconut oil. Oh no. Now I was loath to respond for fear of making her quiet again.
"Ok lang? Ano?" she said.
"Um... one second," I stalled.
Lanie looked puzzled as I fled from the tent in a hurry. Rene and the others at the campfire looked back at me. In my days of producing movies, I had grown very accustomed to pressure. At times, I thrived on it. Yet, for some reason, at this moment in time... I panicked. And ran. Memories of Heather and Teresa bombarded my mind and I ran, all the way home. A single thought remained with me.
History doth repeat itself.
Even on this island so far from civilization, this nest of tranquility, I once again felt the rush of infatuation and knew exactly how it would end. Badly.
I spent a few days resting. Due to heavy amounts of unforeseen running during the past week, I developed a serious case of soreness in my lower body. Something else was bothering me.
Since that first interaction with Lanie, life at the mansion felt different. Perhaps it was knowing that I was no longer alone on the island, or maybe it was the fact that my embarrassing history with women had followed me here, but I felt anxious all the time now. I watched movies on television and laughed at stupid cats on YouTube, but the quiet moments were the worst. She was all I thought about.
Back in Chicago and LA things were easy. I was a fast-talking, successful movie producer with a fancy house and a customized luxury car. Women also threw themselves at me -- the wrong kind of women. My father used to say, "Never marry a girl your mother wouldn't want as a daughter."
That narrowed the search quite a bit. But there was a problem: I only knew how to talk to Hollywood girls. The normal, down-to-earth types, scared me. The ones who actually had something interesting to say, or an educated view of the world, left me speechless and clumsy. I had no idea if any of that applied to Lanie but it sure seemed like I was back to being a bumbling idiot. The moment the girl engaged me, I ran.
Who does that?
Romantic pain was no stranger to me, and neither was a bottle of expensive wine. I uncorked and went to town, getting blitzed. Ordinarily, getting hammered for the sake of getting hammered was only a societal compulsion. These days, it really took the edge off. A danger, however, did present itself in times of drunken stupor. You do not want to talk to the woman of your dreams in this state, despite the false courage brought on by fermented grapes. I knew this well and bolted the doors, just in case. While drunk, I had a devil of a time opening doors -- especially locked ones. In a way, it was much like engaging your car's child locks to prevent sudden escape. So with six glasses of pinot noir behind me, I reclined on plush leather in the den.
Then I slept.
"One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter."
-James Earl Jones
A tattered baseball, which had clearly seen better days, sailed over mature rice stalks and landed in Ted's mitt. In no time, he snatched it with his free hand and sent the ball sailing across the field, where his smiling companion braced for a catch. Nako was still reeling from an earlier moment of levity.
"Man, that kid got you good!" he said. "I want to meet him!"
"Not only that but I was stupid enough to walk back into the tent for more abuse," Ted shouted to him. "My experience with American women should have trained me for this. It's just not meant to be."
"Some things follow you around, huh?"
Ted caught the ball and held it.
"What's wrong?" Nako wondered out loud.
Ted was quiet, caught in a moment of reflection.
"This girl," he said. "This girl is something else. I've been around A-list actresses and not one of them, in their finest hour, could match this girl's charm. I'd sell my kidneys to be with a woman like that."
"Both of them?" Nako curiously asked.
"I'm telling you, she's different."
"Your five-second conversation tell you so much," he said with heavy skepticism. "I thought you want to be alone?"
Ted took a moment of pause and said, "I do. Of course I do. It's just... I can't explain it. I'm confused."
"You know, there's a saying in my country."
Ted, knowing his friend's lack of poetic skill, braced for the worst.
"What's that?"
"Try and try until you die."
Ted smiled.
"That's incredibly depressing. Thank you."
"It doesn't rhyme like that in Japanese," Nako admitted.
"You're like the Japanese Yoda, man."
Nako caught the ball and sent it back.
"This Yoda? Is good thing?"
"Yeah," Ted told him. "It's a compliment."
Ted spent that evening pacing in front of the television while biting his nails, which, by that point, were more like nubs. The words of Japanese Yoda bounced around in his head until Ted decided to give it another shot.
"If I'm going to fail," he reasoned, "at least I can say I gave it a shot."
Ted knew that he'd spent time swooning over Teresa only to find out that the road was a dead end. He figured that Lanie would surely reject him, and may have already done so, but this time it wouldn't take months or years to find out the truth. He would just deal with the hurt and move on. After all, he'd chosen a life of solitude for a reason -- and he had not forgotten it.
• • •
Ted moved through the darkness as he approached the village. Kerosene lamps lit a few of the houses and some of the kids were still playing on the beach. Relaxing, Ted watched them for a moment. He then turned his attention to the medical tent; the journey made him feel tense, but alive.
He knocked his fist against the fragile door. Lanie looked up and recognized him through the plastic window. Ted faked a couple of coughs and Lanie lifted the door's latch to allow him entrance. He noticed that her medical coat was torn on one side.
Speaking more slowly than usual, he said, "Do you always wear that thing?"
Ted pointed to her coat and her eyes followed. She actually understood him this time. Lanie looked back up at him with eyes beautiful and searching, still filled with mystery.
"Mosquitoes," she said in a soft, controlled tone.
"Oh, so it protects your arms?"
"Yes."
Ted was out of ideas so he smiled. Lanie smiled back, still uncertain.
"I just came by because I have this cough," he told her. "It's pretty bad sometimes."
Ted pointed to his throat.
Lanie removed a stethoscope from her pocket and circled to his back. She lifted his shirt up while turning her head away innocently.
"Malameg na?" she asked.
Ted looked back over his shoulder.
"Is cold?" she repeated in English.
Ted let out an embarrassed laugh.
"No, it's fine."
Lanie lowered his shirt and moved the stethoscope to his chest.
"Make deep your breath," she said.
Ted drew in a deep breath. Then another.
"Salamat," she said. "Oh... that's 'Thank you.'"
She put the stethoscope on the table and wrote something in her notepad.
"Is it bad?" Ted began to actually wonder.
Although he'd faked his cough to see her, he had not forgotten a certain incident involving blood that had sent him to a clinic in Cebu.
Lanie turned around and motioned for him to stick his tongue out. She then stuck a wooden spoon in his mouth to suppress his tongue and clicked on a small flashlight while looking inside.
"We're moving a little fast here," he tried to say without moving his tongue.
The joke was dead on arrival. No response.
Lanie clicked the flashlight off and scribbled something on her tablet.
"You have the malaria," she said in a serious tone.
Ted's jaw dropped to the floor.
"Holy hell," he thought.
"But I...," he sputtered. "How can..."
Ted then noticed Lanie smiling at him.
"It's joke," she said. "Ted, you have some allergy?"
Ted exhaled and let his shoulders drop.
"Yeah, I guess that's it. Thanks for taking a look. What do I owe you for your trouble?"
Lanie looked at him as if she didn't understand.
"I want to pay you," he enunciated. "How much?"
She waved her hand at him dismissively.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Take this."
Lanie handed him a can of Deep Woods Off spray.
"To protect you."
Ted was moved. He took the can from her.
"Listen," he began. "Is it okay if I ask you a personal question?"
"What you mean?" she asked in a soft voice.
"As in... do you have a special person in your life? Like a ... boyfriend, I mean."
Ted felt strange saying the word boyfriend to her. He had already studied her hand for a ring and hadn't found one.
"I don't belong to anyone," she said with a hint of caution, eyes growing less friendly by the second.
"It's hard to believe that someone like you is not married."
"Ano? Like what?" she said fast.
"I mean... because you're very pretty."
Lanie looked away from him. Her eyes were back to the bottom corner of the tent. She pushed her hair back over her left ear. Ted didn't know if she was embarrassed or upset with him.
"I'm sorry."
"You are kano, yeah?" she pressed.
"That's right."
"American guy is so forward."
Her tone sounded irritated.
"I'm sorry," he said, his face turning three shades of red. "Listen, I didn't mean to bother you. I don't even know why I..."
Ted's voice trailed off and he felt ashamed.Lanie saw that he was embarrassed and said, "Filipinos not like that. It's a more... how you say... timing thing."
"Timing?"
Now Ted was the one confused. He saw that she was struggling to find the right words to use.
"I mean... it's hard to translate into English."
"I'm sorry?" Ted offered.
"Relationship here is delicate."
Lanie looked down with a loud sigh.
"I'm not using right words. Ted, you are nice guy. The kids like you. But I'm not American girl."
"You're not interested," Ted said, almost to himself. "And now I feel stupid for bothering you."
"What you mean?" she said with a bit of frustration in her voice.
Ted sought cover now. He inched toward the door. He had walked into this girl's world and forced her into an awkward moment.
He opened the door halfway and said, "I just wanted to give you a compliment. I don't even know why. I just... saw you and... felt something, like I needed to talk to you. But that's... not... I'm sorry to bother you. I really am."
He saw that Lanie was trying to comprehend what he was saying but his mouth wouldn't stop moving.
"I mean -- I came here because I wanted to be alone. It's not like... even if you... never mind. I'm a mess and if I keep talking like this I'll sound even dumber. Not that you can understand any of this but... well... goodnight."
"Bye, Ted," she said in a soft, confused voice as Ted was already halfway out of the medical tent.
Standing alone, she sighed to herself.
"Ay naku."
• • •
Ted sat at his computer in the bedroom, typing up a frenzy. A sudden spark of creativity had caused him to fire up the screenwriting program once more. After two hours, he had already churned out thirty pages. On the screen now sat:
Warren's advances toward Lanie were thwarted when she picked up a steak knife and rammed it through his chest.
Ted smiled a bit, then deleted the sentence, replacing it with:
Warren knew that winning the girl's heart would take an investment. Then again, she would be gone soon. He had nothing to lose.
Ted then underlined nothing to lose.
• • •
The rain had petered out by the time Ted left for his early-morning jog. Along the trail he found Manny, sitting alone on a log and playing with his Nintendo DS. Manny looked up from his game and began running alongside Ted, wearing a big smile.
"What's up, Manny? You know I told my friend Nako how you burned me."
"I'm sorry, Ted. I just don't want her to like you. She's my girl."
"Dr. Lanie is your girl?"
"Yeah," Manny said. "But she's maldita."
"What's that?"
"In English it's like... snob, I guess."
"Really? She doesn't seem like a snob to me. A little hard to read, perhaps."
"Oh, she nice. But maldita too."
Ted laughed at the kid. He found him amusing and blunt, like himself.
"But I'm not stupid, Mr. Ted. I know she's so very old for me."
"What are you saying here?"
"I know how Filipino girl thinks."
"You're going to help me gain the interest of Dr. Lanie? I'm pretty sure she hates me just a little bit."
"Maybe, but I can help with that. There's a condition," he said. "I want some more game for my Nintendo."
"It's a deal."
Ted offered his hand and Manny gave him a grown-up shake. It was cute.
"So how do you plan to court her?" Manny asked.
"Court? Who am I, Bill Bixby?"
"You must court a Filipina. You can't just ask them for a date because they think it makes them cheap."
"So what do I do?"
Ted's interest was piqued. He knew well the irony of taking relationship advice from an eleven-year-old but these were desperate times.
"Before you ask a girl out you have to court her for a while. Give to her flower, gift, letter... things like that, until she accept you for a date."
"Oh, so that's what she meant," Ted said out loud. "Um... look, I'll bring you some more games next week. Thanks for your help."
"But hey," he said. "If it don't work out between you and Dr. Lanie can you put in a word for me?"
"You're a wild one, Manny."
Manny gave him a sly wink. Ted began to turn back, then stopped.
"You want to watch TV?"
Manny's face lit up.
"Go ask your dad. Hurry up."
Ted and his young friend munched on junk food as Cartoon Network blared from expensive surround sound speakers. Ted's house was like Disneyland for a kid.
"So how long is this courtship thing supposed to go on?" Ted asked during a commercial break.
Manny guzzled his soda.
"Depends. Father said he court my nanay for more than one year before she accept a date."
Ted's eyes grew into grapefruits.
"What? That's crazy. A year?"
"I guess it's normal for courtship."
Ted reclined back on the leather sofa, knowing he didn't have that kind of stamina. Besides, he thought, Lanie might not be on the island much longer.
"So what kept your father going? I mean, what if, after all that time, your mother had rejected his offer?"
"I ask him that. He say that love is sacrifice."
"Tell me about it," he thought.
Ted's intense, and sudden, feelings for Lanie made him cautious. Being an introspective man, he knew well the dangers of intense attraction whether physical, emotional or both. The only safe bet, though painful, would be to let her know soon that she was being courted. He made the mistake of waiting with Teresa and would not do so again. However, he also knew that coming on too strong would be a bad move so this would be a dance of subtlety and finesse. If it still ended badly, he reasoned, at least it would end quickly and Lanie could head back to Manila not giving him a second thought.
• • •
Lanie sat down at her makeshift desk with a roasted banana. She had just finished hanging a mosquito net over the block of wood she called a bed. She was a woman of simplicity and had an innocent beauty that almost caused her to glow. Her father, equal parts Japanese and Filipino, had also practiced medicine among the poor in Manila before he died in a random stabbing. Her mother was a Filipino dressmaker with Scottish and German blood. The result of their union was a girl who could have easily enjoyed a career in modeling but, rather, decided to follow in her father's humanitarian footsteps.
The camp on the south beach was always festive, though a solemn prayer-time was conducted each morning at the stir of a handmade wind chime. Ted heard that sound as he stood in the clearing. A gentle fog rested among the huts under an orange smear of sunlight. The smell of salty ocean water caught his nostrils as the wind chimes danced in his ears. From afar, he watched them gather and kneel prostrate in the sand.
Ted knew from his research that Filipinos were deeply spiritual but he had never seen this kind of worship anywhere. These people were not on their faces to grovel before an angry God but looked more like survivors pulled from deep waters onto dry land, and that's exactly what they were: a band of refugees who were thankful for every breath they took. Ted looked on, wishing his father could be standing there with him to see such a sight. He felt a strong urge just to show someone these Mindanao refugees bowing to their creator on a misty beach at sunrise. "It's one of those sights you carry to your grave," he thought.
• • •
Mindanao was a large, war-torn island to the south of Cebu. A faction of militant terrorists called Abu Saiif made the local news every so often by setting off random bombs around metro buildings and transit stations. They lived among the villages in small holdouts that protected them from the US military, which had partnered with Filipino troops in the region. The US was mainly there to train an underfunded local task force and assist with aid. But their efforts were often undermined by the jungle terrain -- one that proved advantageous to the indigenous, machete-waving Abu Saiif, who rolled into town on dusty Jeeps and wore scarves over their mouths.
Ted watched these saints of Mindanao kneel in the sand, lifting up their prayers to heaven like burning incense rising upward. Lanie was among them. She wore that familiar white jacket, hair pulled into a ponytail, loose bangs hanging over her eyes like a silk hijab veil. Her tanned face was wet with tears.
Lanie wiped her bangs back over an ear and rose to her feet. She smiled down at Manny, who always flocked to her like a chick to a mother hen. They joined hands and she spun him around like a carnival ride. Ted wondered if Manny had told her about their conversations, and kind of hoped he had. But a new fear now plagued him: what if Lanie were to accept his courtship? Would he and his cynicism eventually wear on her and choke the life out of her? And would it be worth abandoning his chosen path of isolation? How would her presence change things at the house?
"I'm getting ahead of myself," he thought.
Ted motioned Manny over and handed him an envelope that looked like it had been torn open, then re-taped.
"I need you to put this inside Lanie's room when she's not there. I wedged a note inside so hold it upright."
"Aye aye, captain!" Manny replied with a salute before running back down the hill with the envelope in all manner of direction. Ted just shook his head.
• • •
Nako spun the baseball on the tip of his glove, then popped it up into the air and caught it behind his back. Ted applauded the effort and then ran to the far end of the rice field to make his catch. He returned to home base a little out of breath.
"She read it yet?" Nako asked him, teasing.
"I don't know. I sent it over with Manny two days ago. Haven't had the guts to go over there."
"I will have to meet your friends sometime," Nako said with a big smile.
"Yeah, speaking of which... thank you for bringing those extra items," Ted told him.
"No worry," said Nako. "They easy to find."
• • •
Light rain fell on the south beach village. No one seemed to be around. Small lights from lanterns dotted the insides of the bamboo houses. The door to Lanie's tent was open but Ted saw no one as he passed by. A gray fog rested over the beach, making it feel deserted and eerie. Suddenly, a noise. Then faint singing.
Ted walked the beach for some time and noticed a small point of light coming from inside the trees. He moved toward it carefully. A stick crunched under his foot as the voices grew in volume.
Ted stopped outside of a large tent that had been erected near the edge of the forest. The saints of Mindanao were inside, holding candles and singing softly. Through the plastic tent window, Ted watched them sing with tremendous joy in a language he barely understood. His eyes scanned the huddle of people before resting on Lanie, who stood in a corner. Her eyes were filled with a beauty that surpassed the physical. This woman, who could seem solemn and yet jovial in the same moment, further intrigued Ted. It was hard not to stare at her.
Lanie walked back to the south beach with the others and saw Ted standing outside of the Red Cross tent. He pretended not to notice her as she approached. The rain had stopped and most of the fog dissipated. Lanie waived at him and he walked over casually.
"Oh... hi there," he said, being coy.
"Are you waiting me?" Lanie asked.
Her face was hard to read.
"No, not at all. Yes."
Lanie gave him a tentative smile and Ted held out a flower. Her eyes narrowed a bit, not sure how to take the gesture. Ted began to withdraw his arm slowly when she reached out and took the flower. She put it to her nose and sniffed.
"Is nice flower," she said. "Thank you."
"Did you get my letter?" Ted asked.
"Yes."
"Did you read it?"
Lanie gave him a look that could only mean: of course, you idiot!
"Okay then," he said. "Enjoy your evening."
"Bye, kano."
Lanie entered the medical tent and saw a gift box on the table. Her hands caressed the box as she began to untie the red ribbon. As it fell to the floor she opened the box and looked inside. Then she paused.
Her hand moved to her trembling lips as a wave of emotion hit her like a brick. Inside the box sat a new medical coat, neatly folded. She took a moment to collect herself, deeply moved by the gesture. Her tiny hand moved to her face as tears began to spill out through her fingers.
She lifted the coat out of the box and noticed that another note lay at the bottom. She removed it and read it silently:
You give me hope. Hard to explain. Your friend,
Ted
Ted spent the next week resisting the urge to visit the south beach village. Lanie knew he was interested and that was enough for now. He felt a strange peace about the whole thing and resigned himself to the couch, where he ate copious amounts of popcorn while immersing himself in Korean pop culture. He knew well the addiction of those sappy dramas but was already in too deep. He liked how each show had the same recycled hero and heroine.
There's always a stoic, rich Korean guy with Anime hair who is all too mean and hostile toward the simple girl under his employ until he discovers, by episode 10, that he's actually in love with her. Each of the Korean dramas were some derivative of that basic storyline, and it never got old to him.
The golden sun raked across Ted's property, which produced an emerald rim of light atop the palm trees. He stepped onto the concrete patio at sundown and remembered why Hollywood folks call this "magic hour." In LA it lasts about twenty minutes and hits right before sunset. It's that last moment of daylight before night takes over, and it's the best time to shoot a scene. Many Hollywood films shoot their most tender moments at this time of day because of the soft glow that wraps around the actors. Though likely an exaggeration, he'd once heard that director Terrence Malick shot an entire movie at magic hour. Shooting for twenty minutes a day can wreak havoc on a production schedule!
It was on days like this when Ted missed being a movie producer. Or perhaps the nostalgia came from being so far removed from the industry that its warts no longer showed. But he did love the thrill of stepping onto a set and always got a rush when the lights were struck and cameras were moved into position.
Ah, the glory days.
Ted had been on the island for less than six months but it seemed like an eternity. He wondered what might happen when the Mindanao saints packed up to return to their homeland. He wondered if Lanie would reject him like all of the others. He even wondered if his affection for Lanie was real or just a whisper of the former life he renounced before stepping onto an airplane.
He was a man of mixed emotions and only wished that the magic hour, with its warmth and perfect beauty, could remain. But before he even finished that thought, the sun had set and night sprang forth. The crickets began their serenade and Ted walked inside, the darkness at his back.
Lanie slept on the wooden cot in relative comfort. Filipinos often slept on hard surfaces due to necessity but it afforded them certain advantages, like healthy backs.
She awoke from her slumber and heard something knocking against the frail tent door. She yawned with a cat-like stretch and pulled it open. Manny smiled at her mischievously, the look of a used car salesman.
"Kamusta, Manny. Magandang umaga," she said, which means, "Hello, good morning!"
"Are you busy, Dr. Lanie?" he asked.
"Hindi, Manuel. Just sleeping."
Manny danced around like children always do when they want to say something but lack the necessary social timing.
"Okay," he said. "I only come by to ask for you walk on Ted."
"Ano?" Lanie said, which means, "What?"
Ted then appeared behind Manny, smiling with embarrassment.
"Walk with me, Manny. Not on me."
Manny shrugged.
"It's all the same," he said, not seeing the humor. He hit Ted with an energetic high-five and ran off to play with the other kids.
Ted looked at Lanie and asked, "Are you free?"
She hesitated, then turned back inside the tent and returned with a small tote bag.
Ted was relieved -- and nervous.
• • •
They walked along the much treaded dirt path through the bamboo forest. For the first time, Lanie was not wearing her doctor's coat. Ted had learned a few Tagalog phrases the night before but decided he'd rather not try them out. They had been walking for a while in silence; Ted grew uncomfortable.
"Have you ever seen snow?" he asked, randomly.
It took a few moments before Lanie responded. Ted thought perhaps she was translating the answer in her head before speaking.
"I see that before, yes," she said.
"Really?"
"Yes," she said, a mischievous look forming on her tanned face. "I saw in the movies."
She smiled. It was the first time Ted had witnessed her trying to be funny since telling him he had contracted malaria.
"You need to visit Chicago. We get tons."
"Ted, can I ask?" she said, out of nowhere.
"Sure."
"Not to be a nosy, but I feel on your back is knife wound?"
They stopped walking. Ted wondered if he wanted to go into all the gory details. He was afraid the silliest little thing would scare her away.
He took a deep breath and said, "I was robbed."
Lanie didn't understand his words so he made a finger gun to illustrate. She seemed to catch on.
"Stabbed by someone I was trying to help," he said. "Ironically, it was snowing at the time."
"It still hurts?" she asked.
"Only when I cough."
"Can I ask?"
"Anything."
Lanie hesitated a bit. Ted knew she was having a hard time finding the exact words.
"You have a person there to worry for you?" she asked with a voice so soft it was hard to hear.
"No... no, I don't," he said. "But I might have a person here. Who knows?"
Lanie blushed. She then smacked him on the arm.
"You would lie to someone sweet as me, kano?" she said with a hint of sarcasm.
Ted saw in her a strange confidence mixed with cute insecurity. It was a playful energy that was getting less and less awkward as the minutes wore on. They walked along at a slow clip, just enjoying one another.
Ted had so many questions for her but didn't want to come off as obtrusive.
"Where did you go to school?" he asked.
"Ano?"
"University. Where did..."
"Ah, in Manila. School here is hard. Our exam is difficult compare to Stateside."
"Someone else told me that," he said, trying to think of whom.
"Is true. Very hard to complete your studies here. And you need foreign sponsor for the cost."
"Did you work during university?"
"Yes!" she said, exited. "I serve drink to tourist."
Lanie grabbed a smaller tree by the trunk and gave it a shake.
"Move!" she said, gently pushing Ted out of the way as three coconuts fell from the heavens.
Laughing, she grabbed one of the them as Ted sat down on a log to observe. Lanie struggled to crack it open with a jagged stone she had found nearby.
"Hey, don't hurt yourself," he said. "You're the only doctor around for miles."
"Hey, kano... I'm city girl," she countered. "This how they do in my place."
The third swing cracked the coconut down the middle. She twisted it to make two separate halves and handed one to Ted.
"Is easy with machete. For professional like me, is only just rock," Lanie told him with her charming brand of sarcasm. "Drink up, kano."
"I've gotten pretty handy at whacking these myself. They're all over my property."
Lanie looked up from her coconut smoothie.
"I'm sorry to ask such question but... may I see it?" she asked with big eyes.
• • •
Ted led her to the clearing with a full view of the rice terraces and Ted's massive house in the middle. Lanie's eyes scanned across the land, taking it in.
"Your rice need harvesting," she said.
"You know how to do that?"
"Of course," she said with a bit of concern for him.
"Well, consider me impressed," he told her. "Let me show you the pad."
"Pad?" she inquired. "This what we call when helicopter put on hospital roof."
"Well," he said, "you could probably land a chopper on mine too."
Ted and Lanie walked through the rice field, stalks snapping as they moved past.
At the house, they entered the foyer and Lanie immediately removed her shoes. Ted had forgotten how other cultures always remove their shoes out of respect for the homeowner.
"It's so big for you."
"I enjoy my space," he said, a bit defensively.
"So what your occupation back there?"
Ted took in a long breath.
"I talked banks into loaning my company money to make overly expensive movies, and then talked actors into thinking the script was right for them, even if it wasn't. Often times I doubled as a glorified secretary for a boss who didn't appreciate me nearly enough and every so often I'd attend award shows and watch Roger get credit for my own brainchild. When that wasn't happening, I was cashing very big checks and avoiding people."
Ted noticed Lanie looking at him and realized he had gone off on a tangent and she had no idea what he was talking about. She turned her eyes to the entertainment system.
"That pay for all this?"
"Well, I invested most of it and got lucky. Kind of worked out for me."
"It's exciting, your job?"
"I mostly sat in front of a computer."
Lanie nodded. She didn't find ironic humor very funny.
Changing the subject, Ted asked, "So what do you do for fun? I mean, when you're not helping sick people?"
"Oh, I love the cinema. My auntie teach us English using American movie. You know Sound of Music?"
"Of course."
"As a girl, I watch that million times. I wanted to be Von Trapp kid."
"You wanted to be hunted by Nazis?"
Lanie gave him a strange look.
"Want to see upstairs?" he asked.
He led her up the steps and into his bedroom. Lanie looked around with wide eyes.
"So beautiful in here," she said. "It look Chinese."
She pushed the door open and walked out onto the bamboo deck. The breeze lifted the strap from her shoulder and she crossed her arms gently before pulling it back. Ted watched the graceful way she moved and found himself staring at her. He saw that she looked cold from the strong breeze so he positioned himself behind her in an innocent way. He began to wrap her in his arms when suddenly she turned.
"You are rich guy?" she asked.
"That's kind of relative."
"Can I say something?"
"Of course. Yes."
"I'm sorry," she began. "I find rich people isusually unhappy."
He broke eye contact with her and looked away. She had a way of cutting to the chase and Ted, in all his years of schmoozing, knew only how to beat around the bush with women. It was a social art to Americans.
"Rich people, poor people... I find that most people are unhappy," he replied.
She just looked at him, searching his face.
"Except you," he said. "And Rene and Manny. All of you guys seem so happy and honestly, I can't say I understand it. But I'm intrigued. You could make a lot of money in Manila or even in the States. But, you're here. For free. Why?"
Lanie looked at him like the answer should be obvious. "We are from different worlds, kano."
Her tone was soft and non-judgmental but Ted felt a sting. He smiled to hide it.
"I know," he offered, meaning it.
Lanie brushed past him and sat down on the bed, playing with his oversized pillow.
"Why you're not married?" she asked.
Ted turned to face her with his hands tucked inside his pockets like a frightened little boy.
"Well, if you want the truth... I'm not very good with women."
"You have some skill, no? In talking?"
"I just always say the wrong thing, you know, like asking a woman her age."
Lanie, confusing that for a question, jumped in.
"I'm twenty-nine."
It took a moment for Ted to see what was happening. He decided to just go with it.
"When did you graduate?" he asked.
"I finished high school by age fifteen. Then my bachelor at nineteen, masters at twenty-two and doctorate was two years ago."
Despite her broken English, Ted was not dealing with a lightweight here.
"And you?" she asked innocently.
"Just a... liberal... arts... degree," he said, his voice trailing off. "An art degree."
"Oh," she said while nodding her head to be polite. "But you put to good use."
Ted found the sight of this brilliant, exotic woman sitting comfortably on his bed to be utterly strange. This was his oasis of solitude and now he was staring into the eyes of a creature so intoxicating that he no longer missed being alone.
"So what is your age, kano? You looks old."
Ted laughed at her bluntness.
"I'm thirty-four this year."
Lanie nodded toward a framed picture on his bed stand.
"That is your parent?" she asked.
The pain hit him all at once. It was as though all of his senses were being assaulted in a moment's time.
"Dead," he told her.
"Oh," she said softly. "Is hard thing for you, huh?"
Ted shrugged his shoulders. She noticed that he was suddenly withdrawn and said, "I'm sorry. That's very personal question."
"No, it's fine. That was a long time ago."
For a brief moment Lanie thought about opening up to him about the death of her own parents but decided against it. This relationship, or whatever it was, was still too new. No point weeping on shoulders just yet.
She started in a gentler voice, "Thank you for the gift. And letter."
"Oh, that. It's no big deal."
"Well, is big deal to me," she said. "We Filipinos don't forget a kindness."
Ted felt vulnerable around her. Lanie had no pretense and didn't know, or care for, the art of subtlety. To make matters worse, she also came with Doogie Howser-type credentials. In reality, she was far more out of his league than the Teresa he longed for in his days at Graham Entertainment.
"At least my English is on point," is all he could think to make himself feel better.
Lanie stood.
"Come on," she said. "I cook something."
Lanie searched for actual food items in the fridge but didn't find what she was looking for. Ted was a man of simple tastes, for the most part, and ate the same things every day. He watched her make faces at the odd choices in his sparse cabinetry.
"You have no food?" she asked.
"I stick to the basics."
Lanie took some olive oil and poured a capful into a hot saucepan along with butter and cinnamon. She coated a banana with brown sugar and tossed it in the pan.
"You will like fried banana. Must better than your Poppy Tart thing."
Ted smiled and replied, "You speak blasphemy."
They sat on opposite ends of a glass table. Lanie unfolded a napkin and placed it in her lap. Ted took a bite and washed it down with cold milk.
"That is good," he said. "You cook a lot?"
"I cooked for my grandparent when I was younger. At university I serve in the kitchen as working student for some semesters."
Ted was beginning to learn the art of being blunt and knew Lanie would not be someone to easily take offense. He was curious about so much but didn't want to overwhelm the poor girl with questions.
"Hey, are we friends?" he asked to test the waters.
She set her plate down and looked at him with curious eyes.
"Ah. My friend Ted has a question for me, no?"
"Why does your hair smell so good? I'm sorry but I noticed that when we were out on the balcony."
A subtle, cautious laugh came from her lips and her eyes narrowed.
"No, no," he said. "I'm not trying to be funny or whatever. It just seems difficult to groom oneself in a place like this."
"We use a soap, Ted. And shampoo. You maybe hear of these items?"
"You bathe in the ocean?" Ted asked her with a hint of disgust on his face.
"Our shower is pale of water. You take ocean and boil it. Then when it cools you pour it over your body."
Ted was speechless.
"Someone is pampered?" she teased.
"Not at all," he lied. "I've done the bucket shower thing. Actually, that's not true but I'll try it sometime."
Lanie just shook her head in amazement.
Rich boy kano.
• • •
Ted walked her back to the tent as it was nearing late afternoon. They stood at the tent entrance for a moment without talking before he waved goodbye and left. Several villagers stood watching them from afar.
It was nearly impossible for Ted to think about anything except Lanie as he walked the trail back to his concrete mansion. He made a quick ham salad sandwich and sat in front of the TV with his clicker. Taking a bite of sandwich, he flipped to Telemundo and caught the tail end of a Mexican soap opera.
An olive-skinned man in a poncho grabbed hold of a lady wearing a red evening dress and said, "Why didn't you break my heart when you had the chance?"
She looked up at him with a sparkle and responded, "Love is a sacrifice, Raul."
Ted knew just enough Spanish to catch that line.
Love is a sacrifice.
Ted quickly stood up, ran up the stairs, tripped and fell - then got back to his feet and sprinted for the bathroom. He looked around for something, knocking items off of the counter. He found a bottle of cologne and doused himself with no fewer than ten squirts. He ran a comb through his hair and reached for a toothbrush.
• • •
The south village was quiet and the beach was empty. Ted stood in front of Lanie's tent wearing a pair of black dress pants and a white button-up shirt, collar flared open. He looked nice but smelled like a brothel. Soft music could be heard inside the tent. Lanie stitched a shirt with a needle and thread. An old battery operated radio sat in front of her on the table. She looked up and saw Ted outside the door. He entered the tent looking very shy. Lanie quickly hid her handiwork, stashing it inside of a purse.
"Is that for me?" he teased.
"A surprise for my new friend."
Ted looked at her a little too long. He caught himself and diverted his eyes.
She wiped her bangs behind an ear and said, "I guess someone is bored, no?"
"No," he said. "I just wanted to see you. Nice radio."
It obviously wasn't. An old cassette tape rattled off a song by Eric Clapton: "Wonderful tonight."
"Is that your tape?" he asked.
"Yes. I like ballad music."
"You're just a hopeless romantic, waiting for a prince to arrive."
"When you find him," she said. "Tell him I here in the medical tent."
"Will do," he replied with a smile.
Lanie, with no regard for self image, began to sing the lyrics. She may have found a couple of actual notes but it was only by accident. Ted was amused.
"Okay -- that's quite enough. My ears might start bleeding."
Lanie gave him a goofy grin but remained beautiful beyond words, even while unkempt and playful.
"Hey, listen -- that's too good a song to waste. We need to do something about this."
Ted offered Lanie his hand.
"Dance with me."
She pretended to think it over, then quickly took his hand.
"I warn you," she said. "I'm very good dancer."
"Good. I'm not."
Palm trees swayed under moonlight as a peaceful tide rolled in. The old radio sat on a mound of sand as Lanie and Ted slow danced, arm in arm, alone on the beach.
It occurred to Ted that very minute that whatever else was going on in the world, this was all that
existed. This beach. The warm night air. The stars overhead. The sound of the ocean. The cheap radio. And this girl.
He could smell the coconut nectar of Lanie's hair as her head sat on his shoulder. Ted knew he was dancing with a woman who was foreign to him in more ways than one. He was lost in time. Lanie moved her head to his chest and sniffled quietly. A tear swelled and fell onto his shirt.
The song then tattered out before it ended. They continued dancing for a few seconds without music.
Lanie wiped her eyes and said with a laugh, "Dead battery."
Ted released her and wondered why she was crying. His heart ached.
"Sorry," she apologized. "My father dance this song with me during my debut. When Filipino girl turn eighteen her parents throw big party and she wears a special dress."
"Your father..."
More tears fell and her face twisted with pain. Ted fell silent. He knew.
He touched her cheek with his thumb and gently wiped her face. She moved her head back reflexively and he felt out of place. After an awkward moment, Lanie smiled to let him know everything was all right.
"I'll have Nako bring you some new batteries on his next trip."
"Thank you, kano." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
Ted tried to read her face but Lanie kept her eyes down. They stood like this for a moment.
"I guess it's late. I'll get back."
"Goodnight," she said.
It was already late in the afternoon when Ted and Nako decided to conclude their ritual of tossing the baseball farther and farther each session. The Japanese man was so enamored with Ted that he began showing up once a week to hear more about how things had been developing on the island. He also liked the conversation.
Nako met Ted near the back deck and said, "I saw a shark last evening. He follow my boat for several meter so I give him food."
"What did you feed him?"
"Rice noodle soup. He enjoy it."
They sat on the stoop and Ted reached into a chilled cooler and offered his friend a bottle of water.
"So how are things with the girl?"
"Well, I haven't scared her off yet but I'm sure fate will have its way eventually."
"What do you mean?"
"It's only a matter of time before she finds out what a loser I am. Trust me -- it's the one constant in my life."
"What you so scared of?" Nako asked.
Ted was pensive. "I'm scared of everything! I'm scared that I'm falling for a girl and she'll soon realize it's all a ruse."
"Ruse?"
"That I'm a fake," Ted explained. "She knows the Ted who gives toys to little kids and lets refugees stay on his island. She doesn't know the Ted who gave his middle finger to humanity when he left Chicago."
"Maybe you different now," Nako shrugged.
"Fat chance."
"The people on your island don't still annoy you. That's good sign."
He sat down on the cooler, frustrated. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and let out a lengthy sigh.
He began slowly, "You don't know what I did to get here." Pointing to the ground, he said, "This was a lifetime in the making. I've always known that I was meant to be alone and I've spent a fortune to solidify that reality."
Nako was soft in his reply. "So the girl has change that?"
Ted looked down at his hands and said, "I wish I could say yes."
"I think you just afraid that you wrong."
"About what?"
"Afraid that you need other people in your life, boss. And just you... not enough."
Ted smirked. Lately he'd been thinking of the peaceful nights and the lack of complications that drew him to the island in the first place. He thought of Lanie, how she had responded to him in a way that was surprising and yet, somehow, felt just right. But it was getting too real. He wasn't used to real. His world was not hers and that bothered him. The magnetic draw he felt toward her was offset by the reality that moving forward with Lanie would tear apart everything he'd been working for. Sure, the loneliness would vanish, but so would his hard-fought independence. Ted would now be responsible for loving someone else and tending to her needs, and not just his own. The thought scared him. Lanie was not someone he could just put aside whenever he got bored. She was not a television show that he could switch off with the click of a button. She was flesh and blood and he loved her. He loved her so much it hurt when thoughts of her entered his mind. Ted was torn. He had fallen for a woman who threatened to steal everything he'd been working for.
"I don't know, Nako. Things are weird. I feel like such an alien sometimes."
"Technically, you are an alien."
Ted laughed. He needed to laugh. Things were getting serious.
"So what your decision about the girl?" Nako asked.
"The girl," Ted repeated with a sigh. "Things always seem to get complicated, don't they?"
"What so complicated?"
Nako sensed that Ted was tore up but couldn't get a read on why the decision to pursue Lanie was such a difficult one to make.
Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder boomed forth! Ted jumped so hard that he spilled his drink, at which Nako chuckled and stood up.
"I must be on my way now. I don't want to get caught on a wave."
Nako slapped Ted five and turned toward the dirt path.
"Nako!" Ted shouted.
He noticed that Nako was still wearing his mitt so Ted grabbed the baseball.
"One more! Go long!"
Nako raised his glove near the bamboo forest and Ted let the ball fly. It sailed clean over Nako's head.
"I said go long. That's not long!"
"You going to pay for that one!" Nako responded as he ran through the trees to fetch the ball.
He finally spotted the ball in a clearing. Snatching it off the ground, he rose to his feet with caution. Nako's eyes drifted up toward the western sky.
Ted wondered what was taking him so long. When Nako appeared, there was a serious expression hanging from his face. His steps were fast as he approached, which worried Ted.
"Something wrong?" Ted asked.
"I need to get back."
"What's up, old man?" Ted teased. "You tired?"
"Storm clouds. Looks like a big rain is coming."
Nako's face had changed to a mask of concern.
"Keep an eye on news channel," he said.
Ted gave him a thumbs-up and Nako saluted his friend with a smile before heading back.
Some bits of rain began to pelt the island. Manny was half a mile into the bamboo forest with his older brother, Jorge, and a nine-year-old kid named Nik. They were chasing a lizard with sticks as the svelte prey shot through fallen branches and up a tree. Manny, who was quite fast for his age, led the pack and eventually found himself alone. By the time the other two boys had caught up to him, he had stopped dead in his tracks with his head facing downward. The boys circled around him to see a metal box between Manny's feet.
It was black and rusted, with a latch on the side. The top was covered in Japanese writing. Manny stepped away from the box with great care, careful not to trip. Jorge, filled with intrigue, began moving closer to it.
"Wait!" Manny exclaimed.
The boys turned sharply at his voice but Jorge's attention was drawn back to the box.
"I want to see what's inside," he said.
Manny saw a small, rounded steel spike sticking out of the ground. It was just inches from Jorge's foot.
"Don't move, Jorge!" he said.
Jorge shrugged and said, "Why not?"
Jorge's foot moved and Manny's eyes flew open as his foot came down on the pin. Manny shot toward Jorge with lightning speed and collided with him violently. And Manny fell chest-first onto the metal box.
• • •
Lanie was checking on Rene's swollen ankle inside the medical tent when she heard it. It was like a thud of bass followed by the sound of trees snapping in two. She raced out of the tent and toward the forest. Smoke could be seen in the distance. Several of the villagers came out of their tents to see what had happened and then rushed up the embankment to join her.
A couple of miles away, Ted stepped onto his back deck. He saw smoke billowing above the tree line and his heart sank. He jumped over the rail and dashed for the forest. He ran, as fast as his legs would carry him, toward the plume of smoke. He heard a faint commotion far off in the distance.
The wailing of a woman's voice ripped through the air as Lanie and the other villagers made haste toward the smoke. They came to the explosion site and Lanie pushed past a few villagers to get to the boys. The villagers were in a state of panic, many of them sobbing while others stood in stunned silence. The boys were all unconscious. Lanie quickly grabbed Jorge's bloody neck and checked for a pulse. Finding one, she raced to the younger boy as he slowly opened his eyes.
Ted arrived just as Lanie had spun around toward Manny, who was almost unrecognizable. She paused for a brief moment when the damage began to sink in.
"Get them in the medical tent now!" she shouted in their native language. Ted was also nearing a state of shock as he looked around. He saw fallen trees and great smatterings of blood. Ted lifted Manny onto his shoulder while the villagers carried Nik and Jorge. They all rushed toward the south beach village.
Ted entered the medical tent first and laid Manny's limp body onto Lanie's bed. Ted and the others followed them in quickly and set the other boys, who were now conscious, flat on the ground. Lanie burst between them and attended to Jorge first. She poured alcohol onto a rag and wiped away a few wounded areas. He convulsed a few times and spit up a little blood.
"He's stabilizing," Lanie said. "Small wounds."
Lanie turned to Nik on the floor and doctored his wounds as well. She quickly filled a syringe and pumped liquid into the boy's small arm. He convulsed a few times. She dabbed alcohol onto his arm where shards of metal protruded as the boy thrashed wildly, looking around confused.
"Is okay... only minor cuts. He's got a concussion."
She turned to Ted and shouted, "Take here, hold his head!"
Ted immediately took over, elevating the boy's head. Lanie then turned to Manny, who wasn't moving. She hesitated for a moment, not bothering to clean him with alcohol like she had the other boys. She slowly moved her body over his and gave him a motherly hug while checking his pulse with her hand pressed to the side of his butchered neck.
He wasn't breathing.
A tear ran down Lanie's cheek as she filled a syringe and injected it right into his chest. He didn't move or convulse. He just stayed perfectly still. Lanie grabbed a small knife and made a vertical incision down his battered chest to his navel. She looked around frantically, searching for something. Ted used his free hand to toss her a box of latex gloves. She quickly removed the gloves and struggled to slide them over her shaking hands. It took an uncomfortable amount of time to get them on. It was hard for Ted to watch.
Lanie began crying quietly as she separated Manny's chest cavity with a metal clamp. The villagers looked away in horror as she gently massaged his heart in her hands, trying to force a beat. She massaged over and over and over. Several minutes passed.
Ted's eyes began swelling with tears. Only then did he notice that Manny was missing half of his right arm. Rene put his hand on Lanie's shoulder. She wouldn't stop. He tightened his grip authoritatively and she finally stopped. They could all hear Lynette crying outside the tent for her dead son.
Rene gently touched Lanie's face and said, "He's with God now."
Lanie put her bloody hands over her face and cried into them. Ted switched off with another villager and walked over to put his arm around her blood-soaked torso. Along with Rene, the villagers began to latch onto one another as Jorge, frightened, rose up and walked out of the tent as if bewildered. The smallest boy watched the scene unfold with a look of overwhelmed terror on his face.
The rain stopped falling around nightfall. Lanie sat on the beach watching the tide roll in and out, her medical coat still red with stains. Ted watched her from a distance and wondered what to do. He walked over and sat down next to her. They both stared straight ahead and Ted pondered what words of comfort he might use to ease the sting a bit. Instead of talking, he decided to just put his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder as tears fled her tightly closed eyes.
• • •
The next day, Ted brought a large team out from Manila to search every inch of the island. After a week the team concluded that Manny and his friends had managed to stumble across the only live land mine on the entire Island of Ted. The villagers took comfort in what the surviving boys had told them.
"Manny fell on the mine to save us," they said.
Ted couldn't help but weep as his mind shot back to his first angry encounter with the boy.
This small kid with a giant heart... he just wanted a few coconuts. What kind of bastard am I?
Ted stood in the south beach village as rain soaked the entire camp under the glow of moonlight. They encircled the mound of dirt which housed Manny's body. Rene stepped forward and opened his Bible.
"A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of one's birth. It is better to go into the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting. For by the sadness of the countenance, the heart is made better. Ecclesiastes, seven."
Ted's eyes found Lanie, whose head was bowed, perhaps in prayer -- a grieving soul making petition for the living. She wore her old coat, the one that was torn down the side. Ted figured she must not have been able to wash the blood out of her new one. Lynette sobbed quietly and then fastened onto Rene, who wore a stoic expression of comfort. Ted assumed him to be holding it together in order to strengthen the others. And it worked.
"Today I bury a son," he said. "But my hope is not in this world but in the paradise to come, when our Lord will make all things new. And there will be no more death or pain, crying or mourning. But for now we suffer these things. I commit Manny's body to the ground in this hope. Goodbye, son."
As the tears streamed down Ted's crimson face, he thought of his own father. Would Pops like what had become of his son? Would he be proud the way Rene was proud of his son who had one day earlier given his life to save two others. Ted knew the answer to that question and it was a heavy load to bear.
A feast was thrown that evening in Manny's honor but Ted withdrew to his own side of the island. He entered the massive foyer and looked around at his big screen TV, his leather furniture, the kitchen stocked with his favorite foods. The place he had built suddenly looked cold and lifeless, almost evil. He moved through the mansion like a ghost, picking up and replacing various ornamental items. The word useless echoed in his ears and was etched on his face. Finding himself in the spacious kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of aged wine and poured a glass. It wasn't long before he was pouring another.
• • •
Rene found Lanie inside the medical tent tying her hair back with a rubber band. Laughter was heard outside the tent.
Rene looked at her and said, "Will you be joining us? The feast is now starting."
"Hindi, Po. I'm going to see Ted."
"Invite him over. Is good to eat."
Lanie turned to Rene and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before exiting the tent.
A bonfire lit up the beach and fish were cooked over a spit roast. Lanie walked with a heavy sadness, but took a moment to watch the villagers in their moment of healing, before heading into the forest.
• • •
Ted, consumed by alcohol, straddled his couch as loud music blasted from expensive speakers. Not satisfied with the track, Ted stumbled over to the stereo system and began searching through his CDs. Then he heard something. It was familiar, yet strange. It was the doorbell.
"Why did they install a doorbell?" he thought to himself. Even in a drunken stupor, the irony couldn't escape him. He turned off the radio and heard the bell again.
Good luck telling people I'm not home.
Ted stepped cautiously toward the door. He opened it to find Lanie standing there with a tote bag, looking at him with great concern.
"Are you okay, kano?" she asked.
"Wonderful," Ted answered with a slight delay.
Lanie smiled to ease the mood but the look wasn't returned by Ted. He left her standing in the doorway and started walking back to the kitchen. Lanie followed him inside and closed the door behind her.
He began filling another wine glass.
"Would you like a drink?" he asked.
"No, thank you," she said. "Ted, I just want to
thank you for helping me with the boys."
"Helping?" he sighed. "Yeah."
Ted downed his glass like he was shooting a pill.
"You are drunk? Maybe I come back."
"I might as well be," he said. "It's the only thing to do here in my big, expensive house. Look at this..."
He ran his hand over the counter tops.
"This is Italian marble. My guy out here paid some Filipino workers three dollars a day to install it."
"Ted... what you saying?"
"I'm saying the only thing I've done in my thirty-four years on this planet is consume resources. That's it! Look at this house; I'm a monster, Lanie! I'm nothing. That bomb was on my land. Manny is dead because I couldn't be bothered to clean up my own property! I had been here for how many months and didn't..."
Ted took a breath but couldn't stop. "And to think... I tried to... I almost... screwed up your life too. Sweet Lanie from Manila who wants to help kids."
"Why you say that," she asked. "Ted, can you speak slowly so I can understand?"
He didn't.
"My father died building orphanages in a Mexican slum and I indulge myself in a house so big I get lost going to the bathroom!"
Lanie jumped as Ted smashed his wine glass against the tiled wall of his kitchen.
"And yet here I am... wallowing in pity, spilling my guts to a woman who doesn't understand a word I'm saying."
Lanie searched his eyes, trying to communicate compassion despite the fact that his rapid-fire verbal assault didn't fully compute. Ted stumbled back into the living room.
"Ted, can you please slow down your speaking? I don't understand you so well."
Ted finally obliged, speaking with increased temperance.
"I should not have come here. What was I trying to achieve? How many people have I helped? And you... I don't deserve to have you speak my name out loud."Ted dropped to his knees, destroyed. Lanie bent down to his level.
"Is reason for you be here, Ted."
"Lanie, don't be naïve. You're the one who's here for a reason. This world I've created has done nothing more than make me increasingly aware of how inadequate I am as a human being."
"Is reason for everything, kano."
Ted smirked, almost in tears.
"Ted," she began in a soft voice. "I think of you in this way... as someone who sacrifice his life for a stranger in the snow. Someone who bring toys to little children. Someone who love and respect his parents. Someone who sees in me only the best things."
"I can't take this," Ted told her through mounting tears, with bitterness also present.
Lanie put her hand on his shoulder.
"I wish so bad I could speak in my language, kano, because I want to say something very much... but I don't know it in English."
She sighed in frustration.
Ted fought to steady his eyes on her and said, "Tell me anyway."
Lanie took a moment to consider. Then, suddenly, she began speaking to him in a foreign dialect with great passion and love in her voice. The words came quickly and flowed with emotion. She wept as she spoke, taking breaths between thoughts. Ted was lost in her words, lost in a tidal wave of love. She wiped back tears, with frustration, as her beautiful, unintelligible words spoke directly to his soul. The tenderness and longing in her voice were those of a parent talking to their child for the first time. Her voice then faded away; she was no longer able to speak from the heaviness of her sobbing.
A long, palpable silence followed. Lanie reached into her tote bag and removed a shirt that she had made for him. She placed it on the floor beside him and quickly stood up and exited the house. Ted viewed her gift with wet, intoxicated eyes. His fingers grasped the shirt and gently unfolded it.
It was a blue shirt with a white palm tree sewn in the middle. It was too much for him to bear: a gift of love for the unlovable. He took another three shots and passed out.
Two nights later, Lanie knelt on the beach in silent prayer as thunder crackled overhead, her white medical coat flapping in the wind. The villagers were making ropes and tying them to the roofs of their huts. Some were gathering fruit while others patched open windows with banana leaves as the wind grew in intensity.
The locals always knew when something was brewing and were able to distinguish a passing storm from a life-threatening typhoon. This had all the makings of the latter. The camp was bustling with activity, yet Lanie was very still. She knelt lower, with her face almost touching the sand. Rene looked up and saw her on the beach and was glad to see that someone had not forgotten to do the obvious.
Meanwhile, Ted sat on the couch with a plate of Pop Tarts, nursing a bad headache. He flipped channels, looking for a weather update since he, unlike the locals, didn't know what to make of the thunder and wind. Finding a news channel, he raised the volume high.
"... expected to hit the south-central Philippine islands in the coming hours. Residents are warned that a level five storm, also known as a Super Typhoon, could possibly emerge, producing winds of 250 kilometers per hour and surges of greater than five meters. Those in the regions of Cebu and Mindanao are urged to take cover immediately."
Ted sat up as his anxiety set in.
"The western edge of the Filipino islands are expected to be the worst hit. Again, travelers are warned that a level five typhoon could strike the Philippines in the coming hours. The storm appears to be picking up steam."
Ted jumped to his feet and stepped onto the deck. The storm that greeted him was a visual spectacle: flashes of lightning revealed palm trees bending, manipulated by fierce winds. Each time the sky lit up, Ted could see an ominous wall of clouds advancing overhead like an unstoppable force. Chills racked his body -- he had never seen anything like it before.
Lanie's face entered his mind and suddenly he took no thought of himself; only her, only the girl. Just then, heavy rain began to fall with a boom of thunder, as if someone in the sky had sounded a drum and released the floodgates. Soon Ted had no visibility, even under the strobe of those magnetic lights in the sky. He began to panic.
Reaching for his raincoat and flashlight, Ted blasted out the front door and into the horizontal maelstrom. He ran with all his strength, trusting only in his familiarity with the island as his senses were rendered useless. The fury of the thunder deafened his ears and blankets of rain stopped his vision. Yet he ran.
After taking serious ground, Ted's foot caught a stump and he crashed headlong into the bark of a banana tree, splitting his head open. He stood to his feet in a bloody daze and continued on, picking up even more speed as he cantered through the darkened wetlands. Swells of rain pounded him without mercy and he despaired that he would ever find the south beach village. Images of Lanie being injured, or worse, assaulted him as he ran. Ted didn't even know what he would do once he got to her, but there was no time for a plan -- only action. Suddenly, his foot caught hold once more and he went down hard, this time twisting his ankle. He let out a painful yell but it was stifled by the rain. Ted stood back up and, ignoring the pain, continued his trek toward the south beach area.
After what seemed like a good ninety minutes, he reached the clearing and sped down the embankment leading to the village with dangerous haste. Rene saw him and immediately ran to greet him.
"Ted... you are bleeding," he shouted, his voice competing with the onslaught of rain.
"It's okay. Are you guys safe? Where's Lanie?"
"She went up to your place."
"What?" Ted said, bewildered. "No."
"She told me she going to your place to see if you okay."
"I came from there... we should've passed each other!"
A boom of thunder caused them both to jump.
"Where is everyone?" Ted asked.
"In their homes. Filipinos know when a storm is coming."
"The news... on the news... it's a typhoon."
Suddenly, they heard the sound of snapping rope. Ted looked over his shoulder and saw the medical tent collapse. He quickly charged over and began digging through the mess, throwing the canvas walls back as he searched deeper. Ted saw Lanie's Bible on the ground and snatched it up. The pressed flower fell out of its page and the wind blew it away from him. He looked back and saw Rene struggling to nail down a thin beam of wood to reinforce his roof. The rain began to descend with even greater force. Ted fought to move toward Rene as waves began to crash over the beach. It was like moving in quicksand while blindfolded.
Ted grabbed Rene's arm and shouted, "These houses are going to go! The waves will bury this place -- it's not safe here! If you stay, everyone will die!"
"There are more than thirty people in this village. What choice we have?"
A look of epiphany hit Ted's face. Suddenly, in that one moment, his entire life made sense.
"My house," he shouted. "It's huge! Everyone can fit in there -- they will be safe!"
"How far?"
"Just through the forest. Gather your family and I'll go and tell the others!"
Another wave crashed onto the island. The situation was becoming desperate. Ted raced from house to house, instructing them in broken English to get up and follow him.
• • •
Forty villagers -- men, women and children -- trekked through the mud as the trees swayed and bent violently. The villagers could hear the sound of snapping branches, above the rain, as their senses were assaulted from every angle. Flashes of lightning allowed them to move forward with some bearings. The wind was fierce, howling with anger as the villagers fought tooth and nail for every step.
Ted led the pack, with Jorge snug in his arms. He grunted and battled as the forward march progressed. He had already forgotten about his head being split open and the twisted ankle: this was life or death. His eyes searched for Lanie each time the relentless lightning lit up the forest. He saw no trace of her.
Suddenly, one of the boys lost his footing and sailed backward. Rene's hand caught the boy's arm and pulled him in close. The wind continued to blow like a freight train as crashing waves could be heard from the beach. Just then, they saw a pinpoint of light in the distance: Ted's porch light. It became a beacon of hope, of safety. The villagers trudged on, making slow, but steady, progress toward the light. The rice stalks under their feet were flat against the earth, having given up the fight. Still, the surge of humanity went forward with Ted at the helm. And yet, he did not find Lanie.
Ted reached the porch first and flung the door open to let the villagers enter, one by one. He felt like Noah gathering people into his ark. The house was serene inside, a huge contrast from the fury that raged outside. Ted noticed, as the last person entered, that the villagers were all looking around in amazement. It occurred to him that these people had probably never even seen a place as large and spectacular as this mansion, which he had considered, as of late, to be a monument to his failure as a man -- as a son. But things seemed very different at that moment.
Then his heart sank and he ran through the house, looking for any sign of Lanie. Rene found him in the bedroom, looking ill from worry. He dropped Lanie's Bible onto his bed and sat down with his face in his hands. He looked up and saw the wind and rain pounding against the deck outside.
"I need to find her, Rene."
"I will go. You stay here."
"No," Ted demanded. "Stay and take care of your family. I can do it."
Rene looked into Ted's eyes and saw that there would be no bargaining with him.
"We'll be in prayer for you until your return."
Ted put his hand against Rene's shoulder -- a gesture of gratitude -- then hurriedly made for the door.
Once outside, Ted sensed that he had leaped into harm's way. His head turned back, very briefly, and saw the villagers through the window. They were all inside, and safe.
Ted quickly surveyed the land as palm leaves and pieces of bark snapped and whistled past his head. He ran into the rice field and over the terraces. The lightning was constant, allowing him to see despite the driving rain. He fought forward with every ounce of strength in his body. Ted was determined not to fail.
"Lanie!" he shouted.
He ran like someone under water. The scene in front of him was a dreamlike maze of debris and downpour. Snapping branches echoed the violence of the story around him.
"Lanie!" he yelled until his lungs hurt.
His shouts sounded like whispers against the typhoon. He screamed for the girl with all his might and soul, the veins in his neck standing taut against the skin.
Thunder boomed and felt like it shook the island. Ted staggered through the forest on wobbly legs, knowing Lanie was not on the path.
"I would have seen her," he thought.
Just then, a faint voice resonated in his ears. He looked in all directions, waiting for the lightning to give him sight. He heard it again -- a whisper.
Another boom!
Ted focused his eyes in the direction of the sound -- waiting for a flash of lightning.
A single crackle, met with a flash, gave him a vision that would be burned in his mind forever. He saw her in the distance, fighting to move toward him. He saw her mouth open, screaming his name in silence. He ran for her.
They moved toward one another in flashes of light until he grabbed her hand and pulled her in. A coconut shot through the forest on a gust of wind and Ted moved her out of the way just as the coconut smashed against a tree with the force of a speeding bullet. Ted led her by the arm as they made their way back toward the house.
Rene was kneeling with a few others in a semicircle when the door opened. They all turned with some measure of anticipation and saw Ted and Lanie, drenched and bloody, enter the living room. The villagers jumped to their feet and ran to them, greeting them with profound joy. A loud applause erupted! Ted looked around the large room, with Lanie by his side, and saw that all of the villagers were safe. The emotion was overwhelming.
Ted led Lanie upstairs into the loft and turned to face her, both of them looking worse for wear.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"I go to see if you're safe. We can see a storm is coming."
"I'm so glad you're okay," he said. "I don't know what I would've done if..."
She put her finger to her lips to quiet him.
"We are not so different."
They both looked over the second-floor railing and saw the entire south beach village engaging in a prayer of thanks. Ted was moved as they thanked God for protecting him. He looked into her eyes and she winked.
"Is reason for you be here, kano."
Ted let that sink in for a moment before conceding. "I know."
The storm beat against Ted's house for three days with tremendous force, but not even a window was broken. Wind and wave attacked the mansion but it stood under the pressure. Ted's mind was drawn back to the first time he'd laid eyes on the place and Nako had told him, "The roof is reinforced with a special oak for rainy season. You'll need that."
Ted could only smile.
As the fog lifted, a weary drizzle fell on the mushy ground where the south beach village once stood. There wasn't a house or tent in sight -- nothing but broken wood, leaves, and large puddles of water. The ocean was at peace; a village, gone.
"He who is not every day conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
One
I woke up to hear a house full of chatter. Peering up through the blanket, it took a moment to understand what was going on.
Oh, yes, I remembered. New housemates.
Lanie and the kids slept on a pallet on my bedroom floor. Before you judge, I offered valiantly to take the floor instead, but Lanie would not hear of it. She said a man must sleep in his own bed. She was soft-hearted but hard-headed.
I freshened up a bit and then introduced the smaller kids to Pop Tarts, although they preferred drinking coconut water. Weirdoes.
Rene cooked up a big batch of adobo, which is a salty dish of sautéed dark-meat chicken in a bath of vinegar and soy sauce. With forty people living downstairs, the man had his work cut out for him.
After lunch I found Lanie alone on the bamboo deck. Not wanting to disturb someone in deep thought, I was relieved when she turned to me and smiled. Seeing her brought up many memories; some pleasant, others painful. It had been a few days since the typhoon hit and I had had ample time to think about my situation. It seemed something was drawing me away. I no longer felt like a loner in the world. The south beach villagers were my friends and I genuinely liked all of them. When Manny died I felt like I had lost my own son, prompting a level of guilt which led to a bout of alcohol poisoning. I loved them. But I had a painful decision to make, the most painful of my life.
• • •
Nako tied off the boat as I ran up the dock to greet him.
"I can finally meet your friends now?" he teased.
"I'm glad you're safe, Nako."
I climbed up onto the bow and gave him a hug. He was surprised but I think he worried about me too.
"Listen," I said. "Before you come in and meet everyone, can we talk?"
Nako gave me a funny look and said, "Why so serious, bossman?"
"Here's the thing -- I haven't told the others yet so keep this quiet. But I'm going home."
"What?" he said. "It's just a storm, Ted."
"No, not because of that."
I paused, knowing I owed him the truth. "It's the girl."
Nako raised an eyebrow. "She break your heart?"
"She deserves better," I confessed. "She deserves someone who isn't... me."
"I don't understand. She love you, yes?"
I sat against the side of the boat, feeling like I was in a confessional booth with Priest Yoda.
"Nako, I've been selfish all my life. Everything has been all about me and what I want. But not this time. I refuse to ruin her life."
He looked confused.
"Why ruin?"
"Nako, there's a world of difference between me and Lanie -- a lot more than language. She might have feelings for me but if I don't stop this now I'll regret it for the rest of my life."
"That's stupid reason," he said candidly. "Why regret?"
I spoke more slowly than usual. "Because I need her."
"That's not selfish if she love you back."
"It is selfish. Because I know what she deserves. And it's a lot more than I can offer."
I stood up and continued. "I'll pay you to continue coming here every two weeks. Bring them whatever they need. I'm turning the house over to Rene."
Nako looked like he was almost in tears.
"I'd also like to thank you for being my friend," I told him. "My first real friend."
He shook my hand once more and said, "I will miss you, Ted." I knew he meant it.
• • •
I took Lanie out onto the wooden deck outside my kitchen so we could be alone. Her hair smelled like coconut and lavender as we sat down together and gazed at the lagoon.
"I want to thank you for what you did," she said. "You save us."
"Listen," I said, clumsy as ever. "I just..."
Her eyes narrowed, teasing me.
"What's matter, cat has eaten your tongue?"
I smiled and said, "This is hard."
"What -- are you courting another girl?" she said, grinning to ease my nerves.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
"Someone is asking a date?" she said.
"Yes. A date."
She offered a quiet, nervous laugh and said, "I accept, kano."
• • •
Nako steered the boat over peaceful waters. Below deck I sat on a rice bag in an undersized suit. Hey, in a place like this you get what you can get. Lanie sat across from me in a black evening gown. We looked so out of place on this dirty boat and I had a hard time not staring at her. I could tell she had no idea how amazing she looked. And how strange, I thought, that she'd ever taken the slightest interest in me.
She shouted to me over the noise of the motor. "Where we going to again?"
"It's a surprise. You look nice, by the way. I wasn't sure if Nako knew what I meant by ladies' evening wear."
Lanie struggled with a stringy shoulder strap, as if she wasn't used to formal clothes. I looked up and saw Nako on the bow drinking noodles and steering with his free hand. He shot me a wink.
I'd planned this date with great care but it was a sad moment for me. This would be the end of our courtship and I knew I wouldn't see Lanie again after tonight. That's why I wanted this evening to happen: at least once we'd get to be two people in formal clothes, having a grown-up moment.
Looking at her across the boat, my heart broke. She gave me a cute grin, not having a clue that it would be our last night. I'm sure in her mind this was the beginning and not the end, but it wasn't for us. I loved her. Deeply. But I knew that her calling was here, helping the needy and making children smile. I wished so badly that I could be a man worthy of her, but it seemed selfish of me to pretend that I was. The truth is, I hadn't changed much. I was still the same guy I was when I first set foot on the island, except for a new appreciation for the human race. But other than that, I was the same Ted who wanted everything his way and was still more comfortable around Hollywood people than the genuine folks I'd met here. At least in the movie business I could feel morally superior at times. But not here. Not around these people. Not around Lanie.
A chunk of my heart lay in the Philippines and much of it belonged to the girl sitting across from me, struggling to get comfortable in that dress.
• • •
As the sun faded into the horizon, we stepped off the boat and I offered Lanie my hand. She staggered a bit to master her high heels and gave me an embarrassed grin.
We sat across from one another in a five-star restaurant overlooking the water. This part of the islands hadn't seen much damage, so it was business as usual. I scanned the menu, recognizing nary a thing on it.
"Oh, this sounds good. What is balut?"
"It's duck egg with baby duck on the inside."
Ok -- moving on. I turned to the waiter.
"I'll have a steak. Medium rare."
Lanie smiled and said, "That's okay for me too."
The waiter nodded and went on his way, leaving us with two glasses of pinot noir.
"Ted, what is your place like?"
"Chicago? Well, it's noisy and crowded... harsh winters..."
Lanie began to dab at her eye but I just figured she wasn't accustomed to wearing makeup.
"I like it, you know. It's home."
My voice trailed off as I noticed tears.
"Hey, don't do that," I said softly. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like goodbye," she said.
She was more perceptive than I thought."How did you know?"
"In your face. I can see."
I handed her my handkerchief.
"Listen," I said. "Please... don't be sad. This is the best thing. I know it doesn't make sense now but this is something I have to do."
She paused while dabbing her eyes. "If that will make you happy."
Watching her cry was hard. She then smiled unexpectedly and looked at me with warmth.
"Ted, can I ask?"
"Of course."
"Why did you find interest in me?"
I fiddled with my silverware, thinking of how silly it was that she thought to ask. Anyone with eyes and ears would take an interest in her. So I bluffed.
"I liked your boobs."
She laughed and threw the handkerchief at me before I decided to become serious.
"It's because of the way you see people. You are somehow able to look past everyone's faults. Even this idiot kano who says all the wrong things." I took a breath, wondering how much truth I should be sharing. "It's like you see a version of me that doesn't really exist."
"Like what? How?"
"Like the way you're looking at me right now. Even in my darkest moment you told me I had a purpose on that island, and I didn't believe you."
"You should learn to listen to me."
I felt like she was making an appeal, and it crushed me.
"If I had more time." It's all I could say.
She immediately stood up, crossed over to me and gave me a tight hug. It was quick. Then she was back in her seat.
"I will miss you, kano."
"Same here. But they need you. The Island of Ted needs you. And take my bedroom. I insist on it."
"I prefer the sitting chair," she said. "Suits me better."
Lanie folded her napkin and placed it in her lap, then sat up straight and smiled through watery eyes.
"You will write to me," she said, not asking. "A lot."
"Of course I will. You're my girl." My face felt warm as I took in her reaction. "Always will be."
Lanie and I waited outside the restaurant while Nako went to fetch a taxi. We tried not to look at one another.
"I hope your flight is safe," she said.
"It's the ferry I'm worried about."
"Ferry is so fun. It's adventure, kano."
Nako pulled around with the taxi driver and waved us over.
Standing still, I told her, "Nako's going to take you back. I didn't want to draw this out too long. You understand."
She nodded yes.
I touched her shoulders and said, "My mind is saying goodbye but my mouth can't seem to say it."
Lanie touched my lips and said, "Goodbye."
And with that, she crossed the street, got into the taxi and drove away. I stood frozen, for what seemed like ten minutes, with my hand in the air, waving at the car as it got smaller and smaller in the distance. It was the hardest moment of my entire life.
Two
Los Angeles looked like an alien planet as I stepped off the plane. Thirteen hours of sleep in a posh downtown hotel couldn't even clean out the cobwebs. It wasn't all bad news though: I needed a job and Roger Graham had one waiting. His alien movie was in post production and Roger had already set up meetings for me to supervise the edit and get things locked up and ready for a summer release. I sat through a three-hour cut of the film and almost lost my mind. It was tedious, to say the least.
Everything here in the States felt like it was moving at warp speed and my phone never stopped buzzing. I was constantly on the run, checking my e-mail and text messages, in and out of meetings -- I was already worn out after just two weeks back on the job.
One such meeting brought me to an upscale Greek restaurant, where I was to meet with a market analyst. However, I very quickly found out that Roger had called this meeting just to set me up with someone -- his way of saying, "Welcome back." I sat at the table, uncomfortable and bored, as the conversation wore on.
"Ted, it's like so cool that you got to go overseas and visit those poor people," my chipper twenty-five year-old date said with a faux LA accent. "Rog like told me all about it."
"Yeah. It was actually..."
"Totally. Hang on for two secs."
The girl then giggled as she read something on her Blackberry and decided to type out a lengthy response as I looked around the room.
"You writing a book over there?" I joked.
"Nah, just my girl, Jen. We were supposed to hang tonight but I think she got an STD from some New Jersey douche with a tacky tongue bolt. She like wanted me to meet up with his boy later but I was like... you freak! I'm not hooking up with some house-painter who thinks he's an actor. What a loser!"
"Listen, I'm not sure what Roger told you, but I'm not looking to get into a relationship with anyone. I just got back into town and..."
"No probs. If you just want to party, I'm down with that. Hey, do you know if they are casting for the new Toby Maguire flick yet?"
The girl then turned her attention to some chipped paint on her nail and almost fell into hysterics.
"Dude, that is like the last friggin' time I let one of those chinks touch my nails. And to think... they're supposed to be like the best at manicures! Those bitches have totally ruined my day!"
It probably took her five minutes to realize I'd thrown down a few bills and walked out of the restaurant.
I spent that evening in a luxury suite at the Hilton that Roger had booked for me until I found a more permanent place to settle. Sleep was difficult. I wondered what Lanie was doing.
Was she wearing that white doctor's coat out of habit, even inside the house where there were no mosquitoes? Was she wearing her hair down or in a ponytail? Did she find the box under my bed that I'd left there by mistake? Was she lonely at night or did the kids keep her occupied?
Those thoughts swirled in my head, as did other questions, like, "What would Pops say right now?" and "Would he be proud of me?"
I never knew how to answer that last one. In fact, it was a strange question to ask myself because there never was a time, in all my memories, in which Pops acted like he was disappointed in me. Bewildered, yes, but not disappointed. So where was this coming from? I simply didn't know the answer to that. In the evenings I worked on my screenplay, which I hoped to finish in the next few weeks and hand to Roger at just the right time.
Three
It was a quarter past four when I rolled into the theater room to watch the trimmed-down, two-hour-and-forty-minute cut of the film. The edit was smoother, but something still bothered me and I couldn't put my finger on it. The pacing seemed fine, the acting decent -- for this genre -- and the action beats were well timed. Still, it felt like there was a missing piece. And then, in a moment of epiphany, it came to me.
"It's the script," I said aloud.
The other executives who were sitting with the editor turned to me.
"Sorry, Ted?"
"I said it's the script. The story is what's flawed here. Our hero ends up with the wrong woman."
"This is what the audience wants to see... we've tested this part of the film and everyone agrees it's the right move."
"I don't see it, though. It's obvious he's in love with the Star Queen's maidservant so I don't buy the ending. Why does he choose the Queen instead?"
"Uh..." the executive stammered, expecting the answer to be obvious. "Because the Star Queen is Angelina Jolie."
I was surprised to see Roger standing in the doorway, gently gesturing for me to come over. As I approached, he took my arm and said, "Walk with me, Teddy."
We ended up at a café down the block where Roger complained about his food to a waitress in such a caustic tone that she actually began to fear for her job. I did manage to calm him down with a bit of effort.
Between bites, he told me, "These schmucks, they don't know story. They know action, they know delivery... but they don't know story. I'm with you on that."
"It still feels too long. Maybe we have them cut it down to two fifteen?"
"Hey!" Roger barked at the waitress again.
He pointed to his half-full glass of iced tea with his chubby finger and raised an eyebrow.
"You want me to get my own drinks from now on? Maybe I'll go ahead and tip myself while I'm at it, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry, sir," she responded before filling his glass so nervously that she overfilled, causing some of the tea to run down the sides.
"Why don't you just get lost before you screw up my lunch even worse. Go ahead -- scram."
Roger Graham, ladies and gentlemen.
Somehow, at that moment, my mind traveled back to Delores and the Christmas tree -- sitting with her and her kids, drinking tap water and laughing at one another.
As my thoughts returned to the current conversation, Roger was in the middle of some rant about poor service and "the good old days."
Over the next few weeks I began to seclude myself in the suite. The edit was rolling along well enough without me and I was beginning to feel that loneliness which plagued me eighteen months earlier, before I bought an island and fell in love with a girl. I looked around my 2,000-square-foot hotel room and wondered how cool it would've been to show it to Manny and let him run around and play.
I was constantly surrounded by people and, yet, I felt extremely hollow inside. Did I make the right choice with Lanie? Of course I did. She belonged in the company of better souls. But for some reason, time wasn't healing that wound yet.
I watched another re-run of Jimmy Fallon and channel surfed for a while before landing on a guy in a suit talking to me in a deep voice.
"Coming up next on Turner Classics: Richard Goldstone's 1962 classic, No Man Is An Island."
I shook my head and thought, "Tell me about it!"
Another two months passed and I had finished my screenplay. I gave it to Roger on a Wednesday and we met in his office to discuss the project that Friday. He called me into his cigar-lounge of an office and I took a seat in front of his huge desk. His chair was always elevated so he could literally look down his nose at people during a meeting. He was smiling though, and that's a good sign.
"So what did you think?" I launched right in.
"I won't lie to you, Teddy. You know I always shoot from the hip."
Uh oh.
"The script, it's sorta, well... horseshit."
"Beg your pardon?" I said, trying to swallow.
"It's awful, Ted. Where's the action?"
"It's not that kind of story. I went in a different direction with it. It's a love story."
"There's nothing believable about your plot. Ted, when you popped up in LA five months ago I thought my right hand man was back. But this..." he said, pointing to my script. "This is not the Ted I mentored. This is... corny."
I looked away, hurt.
"Look," he said. "Don't be like that. You had to know this script was crap. I mean, the female character, what's her name... Lanie. I just don't buy it. Nobody talks that way in the real world... she's a complete phony."
"Roger," I interrupted.
He looked startled. I don't think anyone had ever cut him off mid-tirade before.
"Um... yeah?"
"Don't say that name."
"What name?"
"The one you just said. I'd rather you not say that name again."
"What, Lanie? It's your character, not mine."
"Just don't say that name, okay?" I said, my voice loud and firm. "When you say it... it sounds profane."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
His eyes were growling at me. And I didn't care.
"Just don't say that name out loud. Not in front of me. Not ever."
"Excuse me, where do you even get off..."
"I have to go," I interrupted once more.
I stood up and walked toward the door. Then I heard him call after me.
"Ted!"
I turned to face him.
"What happened to you over there?" he asked. "I've been meaning to talk to you about this but... you are not yourself anymore."
"Good," I declared. "Maybe I'm finally someone else."
Four
From that moment on, I knew exactly what I wanted. And, more importantly, I also knew that I could -- would -- be the man she needed and deserved. No longer did I see myself the way Roger or Teresa saw me. Now I was beginning to see myself the way Lanie saw me. And that was good news.
Pops had once said, "Love is forgetting faults and remembering only the good."
It was strange how much influence my late father's words were having on my life. It was almost as if he knew the battles I was going to fight in life and that he, for whatever reason, knew that he wasn't going to be there to fight alongside me. I'm sure Pops had his faults, but I never knew him to tell a lie, or even to exaggerate a tale in order to get my attention. He was an entirely decent man. I was seeing more and more of him in me every day. Maybe that's what Lanie saw too, only she saw it first. Relationships had always been difficult for me, but now I knew one thing for sure: I was meant to live out my days on that island, with the people I loved. Especially her.
• • •
I had closed all of my credit cards the first time I left for the island, leaving only a bank and savings account open. I headed to the bank early in the morning because I didn't want to wait. I was even more anxious to leave the States this time because what awaited me was no longer a mystery, but a destiny. I told the bank manager I'd once more be traveling overseas and that any foreign charges to my account were completely normal, and that a freeze should not be placed on my funds for any reason whatsoever. They temporarily halted any fraud protection for Japan and the Philippines, my only two stops.
Knowing my flight would be leaving at ten o'clock sharp the following day, I headed to the mall to pick up some new clothes -- hoping to further impress the girl -- and to grab a few gifts for Rene and his family. I also found a cute wooden sailboat and some new baseball mitts that I picked up for Nako. After so many months away, I really missed my friends. I also perused some diamond engagement rings but remembered how Lanie had once told me she thought expensive rings were such a waste. The way she put it was more like, "Girls with big diamonds work on red light in Manila." That was her way of calling them whores, I think. No -- she was a simple girl who desired simple things. A big engagement ring might actually offer an unintended offense. It's so hard to adapt to another culture's way of seeing things, especially if said cultures share only the faintest of commonalities.
• • •
It was 72 degrees in LA when I boarded a Delta flight to Narita-Tokyo. There I'd have a four-hour layover before heading to Manila. From there it was just like last time: cab ride to the nearest hotel to sleep off the jetlag, then wake up and catch a long ride to the docks where I'd be on a boat for twenty-seven hours to reach Cebu. From there I'd meet up with Nako and an hour later, I'd be on the Island of Ted. I had already taken the trip once, and another time in reverse, so I knew it would be painful. But not nearly as painful as leaving. On the flight back to LA I couldn't get an image out of my mind -- it was Lanie's face, wet with tears, the last time I saw her on the street outside the restaurant. Talk about breaking a guy's heart, I thought I was going to die right there in my seat on a dodgy airplane. But once I got to LA everything was so hectic and distracting that it was easier to forget about her.
This time it was different because I wasn't running from love, but toward it. So I didn't mind the grueling travel one bit. I had called Nako earlier in the week and relayed my itinerary, but warned him not to tell Rene or the others. I wanted to surprise them. Nako's voice was excited on the phone and when he talks fast he breaks into spontaneous Japanese and totally loses me. But I got the gist of his sentiment -- he missed me.
The flight seemed longer than usual because I couldn't sleep a wink. I was too excited to sleep, thinking only that I'd be back on the island in three short days. I felt like a kid the night before Christmas, waiting to open all of his presents on what was always the longest night of the entire year!
After a great many hours and a severely cramping back, we crested over Tokyo and I felt a mix of emotions as we hit the tarmac at Narita Airport. I was almost home.
Five
Night had fallen when I boarded the plane to Manila. I felt uneasy for some reason. My life had been one big irony after another so dying in a plane crash when I was so close to seeing Lanie again gave me pause. A rush of energy hit my tired body when we took off and immediately encountered turbulence.
"No turning back now," I thought.
The next two hours would find me twice puking in the air-toilet from nervousness. I tried to watch a stupid movie, which our studio had produced, on the plane's shared jumbo screen. I then felt like puking for a different reason.
The plane's metallic hiss kept me on edge until the captain came over the radio and announced that we were making our final descent into Manila. The approach was slow, taking twenty or so minutes. I could've crawled right out of my skin from the mounting anxiety and tension. Then, finally, we landed. I stepped off the plane and into the tunnel at Ninoy-Aquino and felt a massive, invisible hug forming around me. The place felt familiar and warm.
"Almost there," I thought... again.
I'd anticipated standing in line for hours, but it didn't matter; I was grounded, at least. After grabbing my luggage, I looked around for a place to exchange money, something I forgot to do my first time here. All of the counters had long lines and my leg muscles were beyond shredded. Then I spotted a lineless kiosk and headed over to exchange five hundred dollars for Filipino Pesos. I took my wad of cash, stuffed it in my shorts and headed out for a taxi, familiar with the routine.
Coming out of the airport terminal, I was hit with a blast of Filipino aroma -- the sweet smell of gasoline and barbecue smoke to welcome me home. This time it made me hungry. I asked the taxi driver, in broken Tagalog, if we could pull over for a bite to eat. I told him he could join me and I'd pay for his food.
He surprised me by pulling his car onto the sidewalk to park.
"Oh yeah, they do that here," I remembered.
We ducked inside a busy food shack and despite being two in the morning, I was already sweating from the heat pouring out of the kitchen. The air outside was also more humid than I'd remembered. We ate a plate of pancit and lumpia and the driver drank a couple of beers. About that time I decided to check for any missed calls from Nako and dug around in my pocket for my cell phone. But it wasn't there.
I stood up, frantic. My hands searched all over my body, looking for the phone. I got up and ran back to the taxi, looking for it everywhere. Then I re-traced my steps into the restaurant, but there were far too many people standing around. I asked a teenager if he'd seen a phone on the ground and he blew cigarette smoke into my face as his friends laughed.
I went back inside the restaurant and the cabbie walked over, looking concerned.
"Is there some problem?" he asked.
"Yeah -- I think I lost my phone. I need it to make the rest of my travel plans."
"Well, if you don't find it, they have phone at the hotel you can use."
"I know, but it had all my contact numbers in it."
He shrugged and the waitress handed me a tab. Our total came to 264 pesos. That's around $6 US, a day's wage over here. I counted out the money and handed it to her. She looked at the money with a strange expression, and then handed it back to me.
"No, you can keep the change. It's all right."
She shook her head "no."
The cabbie grabbed the bills and inspected them for all of two seconds.
"This fake pesos."
"What do you mean?" I said, snatching the bills.
The waitress then handed me the correct bills from her fanny pack for comparison. Mine were definitely fake bills. I turned to look at the cabbie and his expression was grave.
"I'm sorry, I... this is all I have. Is there a place to exchange money around here?"
"Only at the airport," he said, while opening his wallet and handing the waitress some money. I felt terrible.
"No, you don't have to pay -- I'll go find someone to exchange with me!" I shouted over the noise of the room.
I ran outside and bumped into some teenage girls, who gave me the once-over and rolled their eyes. The street was unfamiliar and packed with nightlife. I had no idea where to go, so I stepped into the street, looking for a MoneyGram or Western Union sign. There were none. I then heard the taxi's engine and I turned around. The cabbie was leaving. I rushed over to his car and he looked up at me, peeved.
"Listen, I'm sorry... I didn't know they were fake. Just take me to an exchange center and I'll pay you back for the food and for the ride."
I tried to remember some Tagalog in my frantic state and said, "Magbabayad ka! Bayad ako!"
He sighed, looked down, and then reluctantly signaled for me to hop back in.
We drove a few blocks and he spotted a 24-hour exchange. I exited the cab, apologizing all the while, and rushed inside. After five minutes of waiting in line I put down my bank card and said, "I need to exchange five hundred US dollars."
The lady behind the glass partition took my card and swiped it through her machine. Her eyes narrowed a bit and she swiped it again. And again.
She handed the card back to me and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but do you have another card?"
"Another card?" I said, getting angry. "This is my personal debit card from the US -- I should be able to use it. It wasn't a problem the last time I was here."
She took my card again and swiped it. Then nodded.
"I'm sorry, sir -- there is a problem with your bank. You will need to contact them."
"Do you have a phone?"
"No, sir. But there's a pay phone you can use in hotels. Do you need a directory?"
"No," I said. "I don't have money to use a pay phone. That's what I'm trying to get right now. I need to exchange money."
"I'm sorry, sir but we don't have a phone for international calling."
"Well.... can you just tell me what the problem is? What does your screen say?"
She looked at the monitor and said, "Says here there is fraud alert on your card."
"Dammit!" I yelled. "I told them I'd be traveling overseas! I hate banks!"
She just looked at me.
"I'm sorry, sir. Can you please resolve with your bank and step aside for the next person?"
Her voice wasn't mean. She just had no way of dealing with a frantic American in her limited English. I stepped outside and saw the cabbie leaning on his hood, smoking a cigarette. He looked up at me and I shrugged.
"I'm sorry," was all I could say.
He nodded, almost like he expected as much, and opened the trunk so I could take my luggage.
"Someone stole my phone and my bank cut off my funds. I didn't mean to waste your time, sir."
I took off my watch and offered it to him. He took the watch and gave me a pat on the shoulder.
"It's worth six hundred dollars," I said.
He got back inside the car and pulled away as I stood with five bags of luggage on some unknown street in downtown Manila at three in the morning. Things were not looking good for my survival.
Six
A couple of kids rushed over to grab my bags, hoping they were going to get a tip. They looked like good kids, too, and reminded me of Manny. I felt terrible telling them "no" but I had nothing on me except for some counterfeit bills that would probably get them thrown into jail. My eyes were heavy; I'd been awake for a very long time. So I loaded up my bags, using every appendage like a coat rack, and began walking. After a few blocks I found a concrete building carved out of an alleyway -- that looked like some kind of hotel -- and headed in that direction. I waddled through the door, catching it hard against my shoulder as it sprang back, and then dropped all of my luggage in the lobby. The thud probably woke up half the guests.
There was a dilapidated wooden desk with a flower pot on it. Below my feet was chipped hardwood and there was a mirror at the far end of the room, from which I caught my reflection. My hair was a mess, I was drenched in sweat, and my clothes were twisted in every possible direction.
A man in a yellow, collared shirt stepped out of a back room and smiled at me.
"Hello, sir. How many guest?"
I approached the desk, trying to remember how those Hollywood actors could create sympathy with just a look. I tried to mimic that look.
"I'm sorry to bother you but I lost my cell phone and I need to call my bank."
"Is it local bank?"
"No," I admitted. "It's in the States."
"I see. You can dial out and we charge the call to your room."
I wasn't sure how that was going to work out, but I gave it a shot. Of course, the number brought me to a menu of options, so I held 0. After twenty minutes of waiting, I heard a voice.
"Hello, and thank you for calling..."
"I need help!" I said in a panic. "You guys cut off my account and I told you I was going overseas. Can you please..."
"I'm sorry, sir -- can you slow down? Did you say there was a fraud alert on your card?"
"Yes, but this call is costing me fifteen dollars a minute so you'll excuse the rush. My name is Ted LaSalle and I need you to unfreeze my account."
"Okay, sir -- let me transfer you over to our fraud alert department."
"Wait!" I exclaimed. "Don't put me on..."
And I was once again on hold. This time they left me on hold for twenty-five minutes before I heard the sound of doom -- a muted click followed by a dead dial tone.
"Would you like to call again?" the man asked me in a worried tone.
"I'm so, so sorry but -- I can't afford another call. In fact, I can't afford that call."
"Do you live close to here?" he asked.
I drew in a long breath and said, "I live off the coast of Cebu."
"That's... very far from here," he nodded.
"I just need some help. Is there any way you can help me?"
There was a long pause and the man looked around, then suspiciously wrote something down in a register book. He quickly handed me a key.
"Go up stairs," he said in a low voice. "Stay in room thirteen. If goes past noon I will have to charge you."
I felt like reaching over the counter and giving him a big hug. I grabbed my bags and headed up a short staircase to a landing. The hallway led me to room thirteen and I stepped inside a tired, but thankful, man. I lay down without changing clothes and fell into a deep, coma-like sleep. I dreamed about Lanie.
We were in a dark room with no doors and couldn't find our way out. I began kicking the walls as hard as I could until a pinpoint of light shone on the wall nearest her. She placed her hand on my shoulder and I became calm instantly. I reached out and put my fingers into the light and it slowly enveloped my whole body. At once I was free but I looked back through the tiny pinhole and saw Lanie still in the dark room with no doors. She was calling out for me but I couldn't get to her. There was no way to get back inside. Then the pinhole closed and I lost sight of her.
I snapped awake, sweating and disoriented. Sitting up, I saw the bedside clock was showing 10:15. I took a quick shower and changed clothes before heading into the street with all of my luggage, thanking the clerk with a head-nod on my way out. I immediately flagged down a taxi and he pulled to the curb, got out and walked over to place my bags in the trunk.
I quickly stopped him and said, "Can you take me to the US embassy?"
He shook his head no. "Embassy closed for national holiday."
I realized that it was also Friday here in the Philippines, which meant that the embassy would not re-open until Monday. I was now convinced that I would be sleeping on the streets for the next three nights. I was also convinced that I may not survive these streets.
The cabbie said, "Sorry," and headed back to the driver's side.
"Wait!" I hollered, thinking fast. "Can we make a deal?"
"Ano?" he said.
"Magpalatin," I told him, trying to remember the right term. "Me and you... kalakalan."
"You want a trade?"
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Can you drive me? I need to find a way to Cebu."
"You need boat to Cebu."
"I know that. Can you drive me to the docks?"
I saw him eyeballing my luggage.
"I'll give you two suitcases, including what's inside, for bayad."
He took a long moment, flipped a cigarette into his mouth and then unzipped the bags, picking the two that were filled with my newly purchased clothing.
"You give me these two?"
"Fine," I sighed, running out of options.
"You don't have money -- how you pay for boat to Cebu?"
I shrugged, looking down at my remaining bags. He smiled and put my luggage into the trunk. I hopped onto the front seat of the cab and we were off. The temperature was rising into the upper 90s and my cabbie refused to turn on the air conditioner. To make matters worse, my window was jammed and wouldn't roll down, so the long ride to the docks felt like being stuck in a sauna. I had no money for water and the cabbie was apparently used to long treks in the heat. To keep my spirits up my thoughts returned to Lanie and how great it was going to feel to see her again. I just wished it would happen sooner!
A couple of miles from the docks, the cabbie pulled onto the gravel shoulder; we had a flat tire. He jumped out, removed his shirt, and retrieved a spare tire from his trunk. It began to dawn on me that, in light of these recent events, God might not want me to make it back to the island. It was only a passing thought, but one that scared me terribly.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the docks and I thanked the cabbie and bid him farewell. He happily drove away with two thousand dollars' worth of clothes, the only apparel I had left. As always, the docks were bustling with activity, so I searched for a friendly face or anyone with a captain's hat. Finding the latter, I rushed over with my remaining bags.
"Are you going to Cebu?"
He looked at the sweaty, panicked American in front of him and shook his head. He then pointed to the ticket booth.
"No, I need to find a vessel heading for Cebu. No ticket."
He just stared at me so I lugged my bags to the next official-looking guy I saw.
"Excuse me... I'm trying to get to Cebu."
He nodded, smiling.
"Yes, sir. Show your ticket to the man standing behind the ropes and he get you on."
"I don't have a ticket. I only have these bags."
He looked at my remaining luggage.
"Can we make a deal -- the two of us?"
He looked around suspiciously like the guy at the hotel had done, then nodded and grabbed my bags and instructed me to step over the rope. He then personally escorted me onto the bow of the ship and said he'd return with my ticket -- which he did, five minutes later. I then stood on the boat and watched the man walk away with the only possessions I had left, except for a few counterfeit pesos and the sweaty clothes I had on. But it didn't matter; I was another step closer to the island and that made it all worthwhile.
Seven
I wasn't sure about the legitimacy of my ticket, so I slept on the deck of the boat with several other vagabonds in order to go unnoticed by security officers. I caught a few of the others smiling and staring at me as if to say, what on earth are you doing way out here? It would've been hard to explain, so I simply returned their smiles.
I missed the island. I missed my home. I missed Rene and his family. Most of all, I missed the girl. And this time, I knew I wouldn't be facing rejection. I knew she loved me, so this would be a sure thing. I could finally pour my heart out to a woman and not have my soul ripped out in return. I entered into a deep sleep and dreamed about her. We were playing on the green lawn of the mansion with several small children of mixed ethnicity. They were our children, I supposed. She was so great around kids and it was enjoyable just watching her throw them into the air and catch them, smiling all the while. I was falling more and more in love with her by the minute, if that was possible.
I woke up when someone kicked me. It was bright daylight.
"Kano," said an older man. "We here."
I jumped to my feet and saw that we had, indeed, docked in Cebu. I felt a surge of energy knowing that the Island of Ted was only an hour away. I raced down the ramp, catching a lot of stares on the way, and blasted onto the landing. I had told Nako my approximate date of arrival and was surprisingly on schedule despite the recent hardships. I looked around the docks but didn't see his boat; there were too many around. My heartbeat began to elevate as I heard the sweetest sound in the world -- that of my friend's voice.
"Hey there, boss."
I turned and saw that smiling, Yoda-like, Japanese cargo boat captain.
"Nako!"
I grabbed him in a tight hug, which took him by surprise. I was entirely too sentimental these days.
"I'm glad you back, boss. No one to play baseball with. Rene doesn't have the arm."
I laughed. He began sniffing me.
"It's a long story," I said. "Let's go grab something to eat and find a decent place to pick up an outfit."
"You want to go shopping now?"
I pointed to my clothes and said, "This is all I have left. Besides, I need to find a place to freshen up."
• • •
We hit the mall and I told Nako about the nightmarish trip to get there. I cleaned up in a hotel bathroom and changed into my new outfit, remembering to remove the tags first. I told Nako I'd pay him back once I got a chance to call the bank and straighten them out. Nako and I ducked into a seafood restaurant on the shore by the docks, to grab some food before heading out to the island. I needed some fuel in my system after a day of famine and I wanted to pull Lanie aside as soon as we got there so I could tell her everything.
Nako scanned his menu and shot a glance up toward me.
"So what bring you back after all this time? I thought you never come back."
"Well," I started. "It took being away for five months to realize where my home really was."
"That's great, boss. So you back for good?"
"Yep," I said with a big grin. "For good."
He nodded, glad to hear it.
"So what you miss the most?" he asked.
"Of course, Lanie," I said.
Nako's expression changed sharply. He stared into my eyes and then looked down at his hands.
"What? What is it?"
He took a long moment, his eyes avoiding mine.
"Ted, I don't... I don't know how to say this to you. But Lanie is not there."
"Wait... what?" I said, my lips trembling.
"Ted, she leave three months ago."
"She's not on the island? Nako, I came back for her. Where is she? Can we go to her? You have a boat! We can...."
Nako continued looking down solemnly and said, "That's not so possible, boss."
"Why? Where is she?" I said in a panic.
"Rene told me she met a guy in Iloilo. I think they move in together. Ted, I'm very sorry to tell you this. But Lanie is not on the island and... I think she is also pregnant."
The wind was sucked out of the room. I felt a knot in my throat and a sear of heat in my eyes. I took a breath to make sure I was still alive.
I looked down at my menu but couldn't see anything. My vision was blurred.
"Boss, did you come back here for Lanie?"
My head swam and I wanted to puke.
"Yes. I did."
I barely managed to get the words out. Nako then snapped his fingers to get my attention and I looked at him.
"You came all this way for a girl?"
"Yes. I was going to marry her."
Deep sadness penetrated Nako's face. His countenance was grave. It looked like he was feeling my pain. My heart was breaking in half.
"How could she do this?" I thought. I was angry with her. I was angry with Rene for letting her go. But then, slowly, I realized that it was all my fault. I had done this to us. I was the one who left her there with no hope of return. I told her I would write to her and I never did because of my terrible weakness. I was afraid of ruining her life and now I had ruined both of our lives. It was intolerable. My entire life flashed before my eyes in the span of a second and I felt my soul crumble. Of all the mistakes I'd made in my life, this is one from which I would not recover.
In utter sincerity, Nako looked at me with pitiful eyes and said, "It's all right, boss. Cause I'm playing joke on you."
"Holy hell!" I shrieked to myself. I wanted to kill him and hug him at the same time. What a bastard! I threw my fork at him and saw twisted delight reflecting in his eyes. With friends like this, who needed enemies?
Eight
A light mist hugged the island as Nako and I docked. He was like a giddy teenager and I, despite the arduous travel and emotional roller coaster, was much the same. Stepping onto the Island of Ted, I felt reborn. It had been a few months since I left and it took me exactly that long to realize where my home truly was.
As Pops used to say, "Home is here, and it goes with you."
For most of my adult life I had fought to understand that veiled statement from Pops, but only at that moment did it become lucid. Home was Lanie, wherever she was. And right now, she was a hundred yards away. It was difficult to contain my excitement as Nako and I entered that familiar forest of palm trees and I smelled the beautiful, fresh night air that only seemed to exist here. As we hit the clearing and I saw the house glowing in the distance, I had to stop and take a deep breath. Nako, my first real friend on the planet, gave me a comforting pat on the back. He seemed to know what I was going through. It was a sobering moment. We then moved forward and approached the house.
Questions flooded my mind at lightning speed. What would I say to her? Would she react warmly? Would she be angry?
I suddenly found myself standing at the front door of the house. Nako saw that I wasn't moving -- I was stuck -- so he rang the doorbell for me.
In my mind I laughed, once again, at the irony of a doorbell on the Island of Ted, something that seemed less ironic now.
Rene swung the door open with wide eyes and was about to yell, when Nako and I both shot a finger to our lips: we wanted this to be a surprise. Rene smiled and led us inside. The house was warm and smelled of delicious food coming from the kitchen. I waved to the children as I walked past them, telling them to be careful not to say anything. Rene then led me to the kitchen.
And then I saw her.
Lanie was removing a roast from the oven when she looked up and saw me standing there. Lynette put her hand to her chest in surprise, and then grabbed the pan from Lanie, who continued to stare at me in a way that was hard to read. I had no idea what to say and the house had become very still and quiet. Every eye in the room was now fixed on the two of us.
"Hi," I said clumsily.
She nodded with a half-smile that told me things had changed between us. She didn't look angry, but she wasn't going to leap into my arms either.
I looked into her eyes and said, "Can we talk in private? Please?"
She stared at me for a moment, then nodded and moved toward the back door. I looked at Rene, who offered me a friendly shrug, before following her outside.
When I stepped onto the bamboo deck and let the door close behind me, I saw Lanie standing near the edge, looking out into the dark forest. I felt as though that special thing that she and I had shared before was not present. Time had not worked in my favor.
Not having the nerve to face her, I spoke to her back. "I'm sorry that I left, Lanie. It wasn't because of you or anything you did. It was my own insecurity."
I saw that her arms were folded but I wished so badly to see her face. I wanted to know if she was angry, or sad, or frustrated.
I took a step closer and said, "I came back... and you're the reason. I'm back because I never want to be away from you ever again, even for a moment."
She stood at the edge of the deck with her back to me, arms folded, refusing to offer me the slightest reaction. I began to feel ashamed. It was the same feeling I'd had the day I expressed my love for Teresa. I only wished that Lanie would say something, even to curse at me or call me an idiot.
"Lanie, you have every right to be mad at me. The way I left... it wasn't right. It was selfish. And it won't happen again."
The words sounded stupid as I said them. She hadn't given me so much as a hint that she even wanted me to stay this time. A long silence fell between us, and I heard only the sound of crickets taunting me.
"Kano?" she said in a voice so soft I could barely hear it.
I took one step closer. "Yes?"
She turned around slowly to face me, her arms still folded. It was hard to see her face in the dark.
"I'm not staying," she said carefully.
My heart began to race and I knew in that moment that I had made the mistake of a lifetime by leaving. The words trembled as they left my mouth, "Lanie, can I ask?"
She smiled, briefly, before straightening her expression and nodding "yes."
"Why?" was all I said.
She looked at her feet, the night breeze gently blowing her hair in and out of her eyes, making it hard to look at her.
"Kano, I accept a job. Rene and the others don't have use for me now. Nako take good care of them... bring them what they need."
I was hurt, but how could I ask her to stay now? I had already screwed things up by one act of selfishness and I wasn't ready to do it again.
"What kind of job?" I asked, fighting back waves of emotion. I was happy for her, but the pain in my voice was difficult to hide.
"Is an organization," she said softly. "Doctors Without Borders. There is much travel."
I nodded, "I see. But it will make you happy?"
She nodded "yes" and the wind lifted the hair from her eyes. That's when I saw tears. She smiled but didn't try to hide them.
"When are you leaving?" I asked, the hurt in my voice now even more obvious.
"One week more."
Her voice trembled as she spoke. I wanted so badly to give her a hug and never let her go. She took a step closer to me with eyes glistening.
"I'm happy for you, Lanie. I am."
The tears spilled out onto her cheeks and she wiped her face with her sleeve.
"You saved my life," I said without thinking.
She waved her hand at me dismissively.
"When you came to visit me after Manny died... I don't even know what you said to me, but the sound of your voice... no woman has ever spoken to me that way before. Not even close."
Her eyes went down to my chest and then she spoke in a tone I'd heard only once before. "Ted, you save forty lives in your house. You always trying to save people... wherever you are, you always try to save people. I don't know why you don't see this about yourself. But doesn't matter, kano. I see it."
She took a breath and said, "You are the most decent and heroic man I ever knew."
I couldn't believe she was saying such kind things to me after I'd deserted her so many months earlier. She should've been cursing me for what I did.
"And you," I started. "Do you know how I see you?"
She looked at me with shy, wondering eyes.
"I love you."
The moment the words left my mouth, Lanie took a step away from me. I didn't know if she was hurt or just surprised, but the words seemed to jolt her backward. Her face was unreadable and once more I heard only the sound of island crickets.
Then I saw a small grin forming on her lips and she said, "Ah... so what you mean to say is... mahal kita."
My mind immediately flashed back to our first embarrassing encounter in the tent. I extended my hand, just like before.
"Mahal kita. I'm Ted."
Lanie moved closer to me, her body almost touching mine. She wore a mischievous grin.
"I love you too, kano."
I lowered myself and she gave me the sweetest hug I've ever felt. I saw Rene and the others watching us from inside the house. I gave him a "thumbs up" signal, and he threw me a wink. The villagers looked so happy for us.
Lanie broke our hug and took a step back.
"Kano, I can't stay on the island. My work... it's not here. I will travel to dark places..."
"I know," I replied.
"So where this leave us?"
Her eyes searched mine, wanting answers. I simply smiled and said, "Home is wherever you are. You are my home."
"Kano," she started, short of breath. "I can't ask that of you. Is too much. I can't ask."
"We'll be in those dark places together. You and me. Wherever life brings us, we'll be side by side."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Rene is ordained, right?"
She stopped suddenly, and gave me a curious look.
"Why you ask that, kano?"
"We're leaving in a week. Is that enough time to plan a wedding?"
After a few seconds of silence, Lanie smiled and nodded, "We know how to party on Island of Ted."
• • •
Lanie and I said our vows on the wooden dock, with Nako as my best man. Since Lanie's father was no longer alive, Rene decided to give her away. It was an emotional moment and I had to loan Nako a hankie to dry his eyes. For a boat captain who braves the rough seas for a living, he's a bit of a softy. All of the villagers applauded from the beach as I finally brushed the hair from Lanie's face and kissed her peachy lips. It was like celebrating with old friends. Or better yet, with new family.
The plane landed at Abraham Gonzalez International Airport in Ciudad Juarez at nine o'clock in the morning on a sweltering day. No longer fearing C-grade travel, I hit the ground running with my taxi driver as we embarked on a three-hour drive to an insignificant little nameless town in the Mexican desert.
Pops used to talk of his fondness for these people but until I met Rene and his clan, I never understood that kind of brotherhood. He came here to build a much-needed orphanage and, as he put it in one letter, "Practice true doctrine by taking it out of the lecture halls and into the streets."
When Pops got here, he witnessed a murder on the very first night. Gang violence had been a common occurrence and the police had been bought out years earlier. So it was seriously no-man's land. Thankfully, I didn't know about any of this until after my father had passed or I would've been traumatized by an overactive imagination every time my head hit the pillow.
I had no idea if I was walking into a trap. I hired my interpreter at the airport, so who knows what the guy would do to a hapless American for the right price. I chose to ride in the front seat of the taxi since that allowed me the luxury of jumping out of the car if things got sticky. I had heard of mafia types back in Chicago rigging the back doors of taxis to trap victims for a hit. The paranoia was strong, as was the looming fear in my gut, but I had to see the place where Pops had died. It would, I hoped, bring some closure and I could finally be at peace.
The taxi pulled over to a sidewalk near a well-groomed garden.
"Strange," I thought. A garden? Here?
He looked over to me and said, "It's your stop. I will check into hotel next town over. You have my cell phone when ready."
Wow, I had made it. Alive.
I hopped out of the taxi with nothing but my backpack and cell phone, and strolled the sidewalk into town. A green garden lined the street on both sides, as did well-groomed shrubbery. The place looked nothing like I'd expected. The merchants at their roadside stands all greeted me with warm smiles and waves. Was I in the Twilight Zone?
I asked a few of the vendors if they knew anyone who spoke English and they all pointed farther down the road. One of them gave me some roasted plantain and refused to take any money from me. Continuing on, I saw an older Mexican man and woman standing near the shrubs in the town square. Both of them froze when they saw me. Perhaps these were the English speakers to whom I had been directed.
The elderly man took off his hat as I approached. He looked at me with great curiosity.
"Cómo estás? Habla inglés?"
The old man and woman began talking to one another in Spanish. The man's attention then turned to me and he said, "You remind us of someone."
"My father," I said. "He came here many years ago to build a place for orphans."
At that point the woman raised her shaking hand and pointed to a large, ornate building on top of the hill. I shielded my eyes from the sun and then I saw it. The sign outside the building read, "Casa para Ninos."
Home for children.
I began to beam, the smile stretching across my face. The elderly couple understood that I had come here to learn about my father. They took me into their home and, using well-groomed English, were able to articulate all that had happened since my father arrived. They showed me a monument in front of the orphanage, where I saw my dad's face sketched on a marble stone. An inscription read: "Su vida fue intercambiada por los nuestros," which meant "His life was exchanged for ours."
I paid my taxi driver the following day, but didn't require his services. The old man and his nephew, not taking no for an answer, decided to drive me all the way back to the airport so they could share even more stories with me. I had seen the ugliness of life, the tragedy and heartache. But I had also, over the past year, seen reason for hope.
Lanie stayed in Manila with a friend, since I had insisted on making the trip alone. I kissed her minty lips and touched her nose before promising to return in once piece. Although I'd let go of most of my fears over the past eighteen months, she was still precious cargo. Precious and stubborn. The girl has a way of running headlong into danger, as her job often demanded, but she now had me to block the path of danger -- at least when I could. I had abandoned my career in movies, opting instead for the life of a writer. Lanie proved to be a great muse. She had strange dreams all the time, which she insisted on telling me about in great detail. Whenever I was at a sticking point in the story, I'd ask her if she'd had any interesting dreams lately. That always got things flowing again.
I chose the life of a writer because it allowed me and Lanie to travel with her organization. It was always an eye opening experience when we left our luxurious community home on the Island of Ted and hit the most impoverished corners of the country. But it was fulfilling work, with never a dull moment. After traveling together with Lanie for months on end, we'd return to the Island to be with family for a while.
The girls would always make a big feast and we'd sit around, eating and telling stories. In those moments, I often remembered Manny. He was the first one I had met on the Island and it hurt to know that he wasn't there to see me and Dr. Lanie exchange vows. It was Manny who had introduced me to the Filipino custom of courting, without which I may have entirely blown my chances with Lanie. I missed him a lot. He was someone whose face I longed to see and I had full confidence that we'd be racing again one day. And he'll probably still beat me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jason Cunningham is a screenwriter and novelist who resides in Nashville, TN with his wife, Melanie. The Island of Ted is Jason's first novel.
Author's Website:www.jasonthewriter.com
P H A N T O M
A Division of Tville Books
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