Brett Battles - The Pull of Gravity

Drinks were ordered, and it looked like everyone was settled in. “You guys have a good night,” I said, intending to go back to my place at the bar.

“You American?” one of the more drunk guys asked. He was a big one, at least six foot three and two hundred thirty or two hundred forty pounds, all of it muscle.

“You betcha,” I said.

“You serve?” he asked.

“Navy,” I told him. “Twenty years.”

He thought about it for a second, then nodded. “That’s okay. At least you weren’t a grunt.”

“I’d join the Coast Guard first,” I said.

They all laughed at that.

“Yeah,” one of them said. “Army’s where you go if you can’t get in anywhere else.”

More laughter. It was an act I’d learned how to turn on whenever I needed to. The Good Sailor. Mr. Military. I knew the language. I’d heard it for twenty years. I guess it was another way for me to be the perfect host.

When I finally got back to the bar, I found that Larry was no longer alone. Nelly had shown up and was squeezed between the barstools, rubbing up against his leg.

“I see you found a little company,” I said.

“I thought you sent her over.” He sounded slightly annoyed, but there was a smile on his face.

I shook my head. “Not me.”

I had completely forgotten that Nelly had caught his attention that first night. Now I realized that maybe she was the reason he had come back. I had told him, after all, that if he didn’t find anyone else, I’d try to hook him up with her before he left town.

Cathy approached us from the other side of the bar. “You want to buy her a drink?” she asked Larry.

Nelly looked at Larry, smiling expectantly.

“Okay,” he said, looking back at Nelly. “One drink. But this doesn’t mean anything.”

Nelly shrieked a little louder than necessary, then threw her arms around Larry’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Some girls had a natural way of making a guy feel like she liked them, while others couldn’t hide the fact they were acting. Nelly, unfortunately, fell in the latter category. And while some guys either didn’t care or didn’t notice if a girl was faking it, Larry wasn’t one of them.

Nelly had flipped his off switch without even knowing it. I could see it in his eyes. He had seemed to be enjoying her company, and even though he’d said he’d buy only one drink, I could tell that one drink could have led to two, and then to who knows what? But when Nelly’s act became obvious, it was like he could barely stomach the fact she was standing next to him.

I wanted to ask him why he had even come to Angeles. I wanted to know what could have triggered the desire in him. Had he expected something different? He said he had been having a great time, but was that true? Maybe Aunt Marla would have been able to figure him out, but to me, he didn’t fit into any of the stereotypes of the guys who came to Fields.

Usually I wouldn’t have even cared. The mystery would have remained a mystery, and I would have forgotten everything by the time I woke up the next afternoon. But the truth was, I liked the guy. There was something about him that made me feel comfortable. He didn’t want anything from me, and I didn’t want anything from him. I guess that’s how friendships are born. Real ones, anyway.

So I did something I had never done since working at The Lounge. When Nelly finished her drink, and before she could start angling for a new one, I said, “Why don’t you go dance for a while?”

My suggestion-command, actually-surprised her so much, she didn’t even react at first. Cathy was a few feet away trying not to laugh. She was a smart one and had picked up the same vibe I had. Nelly, on the other hand, was having a hard time processing it.

“Go on,” I said. “Larry and I need to talk.”

If I had been anyone but the papasan, she wouldn’t have left.

“Okay,” she said. She looked at Larry. “I’ll be back.”

He smiled but said nothing.

Her own smile faltered. That was the moment she realized she’d lost him. As she turned to leave, I could see her scanning the room looking for someone else to nuzzle up to.

“Thanks,” Larry said once she was gone.

“No problem.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’m not a papasan for nothing.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

I heard the sound of a bottle being set on the bar behind me. I turned. Cathy was standing there, another bottle of Marzan sitting in front of her.

“How many more you got back there?” I asked, surprised.

She looked at me for what seemed like an entire minute, the right corner of her mouth creeping upward into a crooked smile. I thought for a moment that she might actually tell me, but instead she said nothing.

Larry raised his San Miguel. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I echoed, picking up my own bottle.

As I took a drink, I could feel Cathy still looking at me. She turned away as I glanced over, but not before I saw her look of mischief become one of resignation. This wasn’t the first time I’d noticed something similar.

I’d been single for a while by then, but the pain of Maureen was still with me. I guess I just didn’t want to believe anyone would actually be interested in me. Experience had taught me all my relationships ended, and usually with pain. I wasn’t ready to experience the pain again.

Around midnight, just after the dancers did their thing to “Love Shack,” one of the girls screamed. It wasn’t one of those mock screams you heard all the time in a place like The Lounge, the ones that came with guys and girls and sexual teasing. This was one of those that signaled anger and infuriation.

I was off my stool and heading around the bar, faster than my weight should have allowed. The scream had come from the direction of where the Marines were sitting, but my view was blocked by the stage. Most of the girls had stopped dancing, startled by the unusual noise.

As I raced around the end of the stage, I saw that the Marines’ party had grown to over a dozen. It took me a moment to realize the problem wasn’t actually with them.

Another guy was sitting a couple tables away. He was a bit older, maybe in his forties. He was sporting a comb-over and a small moustache, and had the smug look of a man who’d drunk enough to think he knew the answer to everything. Several feet away, her knees drawn up into her chest, sat Isabel. She was staring at the man, eyes blazing angrily. With one hand she seemed to be holding up the top of her bikini.

Two of the Marines had jumped up, and looked like they were ready to pummel the guy through the back of the cushion. As I arrived, I said, “Thanks, guys. I got this.”

They relaxed a little but didn’t immediately return to their table.

“What’s going on?” I asked the guy with the bad hair.

He snorted. “Nothing. Which, I’m sure you understand, is the problem.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What kind of bullshit place is this?” the man asked. His accent ID’d him as a Brit. “Look, I come in, buy a couple drinks and expect to be entertained.” He glanced over at Isabel. “Your girl there doesn’t seem to understand her job.”

“And what exactly is her job?” I asked.

Comb-over rolled his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, all right? I’ve been coming to the Philippines for years. I could get you into a lot of trouble.”

I took a deep breath, then reached down and grabbed the man under his arms, yanking him to his feet. It wasn’t hard to do. He was actually a pretty small guy. I started pushing him toward the front door.