Free Dogeaters by Jessica Hagedorn Page A

first arrived in Manila, but now she had Romeo Rosales, a bright star in her hazy constellation.
    Weeks went by. She didn’t respond to her father’s letter. If her father cut off her stipend, she would just have to work full-time as a cashier at the Odeon. Or supplement her income by taking a second job as salesgirl at SPORTEX, the department store owned by the prominent Alacran family. It was something Trinidad actually wanted to do. She spent long hours browsing through the chilly, air-conditioned floors, avoiding the scorching heat outside. She fingered the overpriced dresses and tried on patent leather shoes, dreaming of the day she could use a salesgirl’s twenty-percent discount.
    Trinidad Gamboa was elated by her plans. She was sure she could always manage. She had never defied her father and had always placed her parents’ concerns above her own. It was time for a change. She felt giddy with her newfound freedom, yet still unsure about her momentary happiness with Romeo. There were days her uncertainty gnawed away at her.
    Romeo Rosales was not living up to all her expectations. In unsubtle ways, Trinidad hinted she would like to take him home to Cebu to meet her parents. All expenses paid, of course. Romeo refused, not even attempting to make any excuses. She then reminded him that she was anxious to meet his widowed mother, that she would like to accompany him on his monthly visits to the tiny village in Batangas where she lived with his younger brother. Romeo diverted Trinidad with his boundless capacity for sweet talk, something he’d learned from countless hours of studying Nestor Noralez movies.
    “Your eyes are mysterious, deep, dark pools that never fail to hypnotize me,” Romeo would whisper, taking the frail Trinidad in his arms. She would allow herself to be led to the big round bed covered by a red satin sheet, the only piece of furniture in their regular meeting place, the mirrored Room #223 in the seedy and inexpensive Motel Tropicana.
    Her face might be plain, and her body much too slender; Romeo had never gotten used to her sharp, bony angles and gold front tooth. But Trinidad Gamboa was receptive and eager in bed, and he would simply close his eyes and imagine the torrid siren Lolita Luna, ecstatic beneath his own pumping body. He could hear Lolita Luna moaning as he murmured in Trinidad’s ear: “My sweet, perfumed flower—my darling madonna—my whore—”
    His insatiable lust made Trinidad Gamboa feel like the most desirable woman in the world. She forgave him everything, even his erratic moods and reluctance to meet her family. Every Friday, she went to confession at the old Santa Mesa Church, one block away from her Aunt Teresing’s boarding house. The swarthy priest always said the same things to her: “You are committing mortal sin. You will definitely burn in hell if you don’t put a stop to your impure relationship. For penance, say the rosary seven times.”
    Obediently, Trinidad Gamboa would say her rosaries and light votive candles at the foot of a life-size statue of a fair-skinned, fair-haired Virgin Mary. The statue looked down at her with an impassive, blue glass gaze, which Trinidad mistook for divine compassion. Always sure her heart was in the right place and that she would eventually go to heaven, Trinidad Gamboa would leave the church at peace.
    She waited patiently for the moment when Romeo Rosales would come to his senses. He would fall on his knees, repentant. He would bury his pretty face in her skirt and weep, begging her forgiveness and thanking her for all she had done for him. He would praise her selflessness and ask her to marry him. Just as Nestor Noralez finally asked the saintly and equally generous Barbara Villanueva, in that memorable Mabuhay Studios musical Serenade.

Tsismis
    (H OY, BRUJA! KUMUSTA? ANO ba —long time no hear! What’s the latest balita? Sige na —sit down let’s make tsismis. You want Sarsi or TruCola? Diet Coke or San Miguel? Dios