The Biggest Elvis

by P. F. Kluge

  Mrs. Darling is still nice. Tell us to make ourself comfortable and rest from long trip. Later that night, after we eat, we should come over to club for meeting. Sign outside club says watch for grand opening, SEXY DYNAMITE DANCERS FROM MANILA. Lucy smiles. No talk about cultural dancer. Inside the club is puddle on floor and small stage with poles up and down and smell from toilet and paint can on the bar. Inside is Darling and Gregorio sitting at table.

  This is new business, she say, and we are partners and team. If they are making money, we are making money and everybody is happy. If we are lazy girl, then no money. Up to us. Some good Filipinos on this island, some not so good. Our big opening is one week and we have so much to do before then. Clean and paint and polish and make everything extra nice. I look at Elvira when I see that we are supposed to do janitor work. Elvira look at floor. Dolly speaks.

  You say what you want from us and you say we work together, Dolly says. Mrs. Darling nods. Husband don’t say anything. He just look at us, one after another. Biggest Elvis, you know how customer look on slow night when he choose a girl and we pretend we don’t notice? Gregorio look at me in that Olongapo way.

  I’m needing some things from you, Mrs. Darling, Dolly says. I need screen in my window, for keeping mosquito out. And new mattress also. Cockroaches in my mattress now and it sits on floor, no springs, no bed. And no water in toilet or sink, only oil barrel with plastic bucket in corner. I’m needing sheet and towels and I’m wondering where is dressing room in night club. Also, I’m wanting my passport back, Mrs. Darling. You take at airport to help with immigration, thank you very much, but we like to have our passport back.

  Biggest Elvis, from this minute, Dolly is finish. She is finish before she start. It is taking one month before she go but after she speak, so brave, they know Dolly is troublemaker. She is bad girl. Now, Darling and Gregorio speak in their own language, back and forth. When Darling speak she is not so nice no more. We invite you to our island, she say. We pay your recruit fee. We pay your ticket. We meet at airport, give you food. We do this with our own money. This is how you are thanking us, my husband and me, before we begin? We are good friendly people. Ask anybody. Friendly island. But we bring you here for work, not play. We don’t want to hear all the time complaint. You work, we work. We don’t want no bad, lazy girl here. We work together, make your room nice. The more money, the nicer we make it. We fix bar together. For start bedroom is dressing room. Or make change in toilet.

  The passport, Dolly ask. You get when you need, Darling say. I keep in safe place, no worry. How come, first day you arrive, not lifting one finger yet, you ask for passport?

  Later we go have talk in Elvira’s room. No better than my room but, like in old days, we go to Elvira’s place. Elvira saying we should complain about our room and this nightclub. Lucy Number Three say complain to who? About what? Cockroaches? No running water? Dolly says no. We complain about our passport. Too early to complain, I say. Wait until club has grand opening, maybe better then. If not, we call Baby Ronquillo and she will help us.

  I say this and everybody is quiet. What did I say? Dolly and Priscilla look at each other, Elvira and Lucy Number Three.

  “Whitney,” Priscilla say. “You borrow money like the rest of us from Baby Ronquillo, no? What for, please?”

  “For placement fee. And airplane ticket. Like all of us.”

  “Yes. Like all of us. And like all of us you hear Mrs. Darling tonight. She talks. You listen? And hear … what?”

  “We work hard. We not complain. We make money when business is good.”

  “Yes?”

  “We open one week, grand open and—”

  “We hear that, Whitney. Anything else?”

  “And she pay plenty money for … oh …” Now I see that Baby Ronquillo is not our friend and not Mrs. Darling’s friend and Mrs. Darling is not our friend. Baby Ronquillo collects twice for tickets and fee. And Mrs. Darling will make us pay double.

  “I’m sorry. Sometime, I’m feeling stupid.”

  “On your good days?” Priscilla asks. Then I’m crying, Biggest Elvis, and she is hugging me. And I’m thinking it does not matter so much about our passport because we have no place to go. I almost say it and decide no. Maybe they will laugh at me again.

  We decide, no complain yet. We will wait until we have something to complain about. And, during the next week, we are work hard every day. We never leave that place. We are not permit to leave except on Sunday and Sunday we arrived so we spend whole entire week like busy beaver. We scrub bar, bathroom and sink, we shampoo and vacuum carpet, we polish stage, we wax bars and windex windows and wipe glasses. And we are wondering where do customers come from? This is hard question. Sometimes whole hour go by, all we see is few pick up truck go down road, Filipino worker in back.

  Then, opening night. We truly work hard to make a success. But still we wonder, where our customer come from. Filipino boy works with us—bartenders they are—tell us we need to work hard because plenty competition. Maybe four more places down the road. Some of those places have pool table, some have karaoke. We do not. We have girls. “SEXY DYNAMITE DANCERS FROM MANILA” So do other place. What do we have that is different, Priscilla ask.

  “Room in back,” he says. He is talking about MY room. We take customer to our room. Short walk, short time, plenty money. Other place, girl go into car. Or to beach. Or hotel room. For us, only short walk from club to rooms. Now, Biggest Elvis, I feel sick. But when the night come we are all dress up at six o’clock but very few customer, one table only, local guys, drinking beer, not noticing us, except Gregorio, the husband. He is not dressed for opening.

  We Graceland girls are at table, sitting together, very quiet. Now, I don’t care about work hard, make lots of money. I’m wishing no one come, all night long. At seven o’clock a band comes, local, and begin to play cha cha music. Mrs. Darling arrive, eight o’clock and by then we have two full tables, then four, more cars and trucks coming outside, headlights across the wall, every time that happen, my heart sinks. Full house. Local people. Golf people. Some Japanese and real Americans also.

  “Why you sit here?” Mrs. Darling say. “Is time for work!” Three of us should sit with customer, she say. She point to Dolly and Priscilla and me. We should sell drink to customer. They buy drink for you. You go with them. Why do I need to explain to you, you girls, you are from Subic, you are not from convent. Time to be making money. And you two—Elvira and Lucy Number Three, you dance. Who you want, I dance with, Elvira asks. On stage, Mrs. Darling says.

  So this is what happen to us, Biggest Elvis. I sit at table. I ask permission first. I sit there and they do not talk to me. They tell me to get beer. They talk in their own language and put arm around my shoulder and touch me. Come sit on lap, come give me a taste. And while this is happen I see Elvira and Lucy on stage, in purple light. Lucy Number Three, no problem. She has dance before. Lucy Number Three has so much experiences! But not Elvira. She never perform in public. She is champagne lady, not beer. And this is beer place. Beer on floor, beer on table, beer smell in air, beer trail from table to toilet.

  People love Lucy Number Three. She move up and down around the pole. She slide, she curl, she wrap herself, she pretend all kind of thing, make people laugh, make people horny. And Elvira, she does not do anything, she only stand there, moving back and forth to the music, sway a little bit this way and that, trying to copy Lucy Number Three but not good. And then Lucy Number Three laugh at Elvira and start taking off her clothes. Elvira, she runs off stage, out back door. Mrs. Darling go out after her. I leave table and go back door. I can hear Mrs. Darling shouting at Elvira. You undress, she say, you go all the way. I’m not bring you to stand and pose. She shout for two or three minute. Elvira says nothing. She goes back on stage and people cheer very loud. They are thinking that this is part of act, Elvira is pretending to be shy kind of cherry girl, that she only pretend not wanting to do this. This is turn on for them, Elvira has great body, you remembe
r, but she take clothes off, she fold and put in pile one by one, it is like she is in doctor office, waiting for exam and it hurt me to see this, how she just standing there while these people in dirty t-shirt and jeans and rubber sandal cheer.

  Later I dance, with Dolly and Priscilla and I must go naked too. I’m so happy you are not there to see this. And then we go with men. Now I’m worst lay here. We are take out girl. We are fucking machines. Even me. The customer pay $100 and take us to our own room. We close curtain and do monkey business and open curtain and someone is already there, waiting for next. I hate. They treat us like animal here, animal in cage, cage inside fence, island another cage because no passport. No place is my own. No place to hide. Also, no money. Darling keep all money. She keep track of money. She cut our monthly wage. She gives us $150, not $300, and piece of paper to sign. She says paper is receipt. Dolly reads. This is no receipt, she says. This says we accept lower wage, is okay with us. So we take money but do not sign. Mrs. Darling says Dolly is troublemaker.

  For next Sunday, we make plan. I will walk to Malou’s house to talk to her about what can we do. Malou is smart. They don’t keep Malou in cage. She will help. Dolly goes to police, to local government. We walk everywhere, we look a little crazy, Dolly and me, all along road. Cars and trucks pass by, blow horns, throw garbages, shout at us. They like to see us in nightclub or in bedroom. They do not like us in the open, in public place. Sometimes they offer ride but that only mean they are drunk and wanting to take us into boondocks for monkey business. We can hear beer can rolling in back. We see these drunk red eyes, that way they talk about us, the way they move, after drinking, reaching for zipper, cannot decide whether to piss or screw, they are getting some message but they cannot read it and, piss or screw, it is all the same to them, go to bathroom or come to us.

  When I go to Malou, no one is home. “It doesn’t matter,” Priscilla says when I come back. “She won’t do anything.” She is our friend, I tell them. She was with us at Graceland. “She kept count of what we made,” Priscilla says. “That is all.” Then Dolly comes back. She tells us the police laugh at her. She goes to mayor house. The wife will not let her inside. She goes to house of labor official. Come back Monday.

  Next Saturday night, place is busy. Many people from Guam and Saipan. This island is place to go for fun. Save money on ticket to Manila. And Darling Bar is most popular place, just like at market, when fresh shipment of fish comes in, everybody is running over to see what is there. Mrs. Darling complain during the week but on weekend she make money. She is always wanting more money. Never enough. She decided to have what she is calling raffle. Everybody pay $20 only and winner gets a girl. Lucy Number Three is prize number one, Elvira number two, Dolly number three.

  Biggest Elvis, this night is bad. Some people say what we do is bad, no matter what or where or how or why. But at Graceland we come in the afternoon and we leave at close, unless we stay behind and talk with you. If customer is taking us out, he talk to us. After he pays bar fine, he pays us. And when monkey business is over, we are in our own place, not in some cage like animal. Sometimes customer is nice. He makes friend with us. He take us to restaurant or maybe we have breakfast. And you maybe remember, in back of bar, wall is covered with postcard from all over, Navy guys saying hello baby, how are you, wish you were here, really. All bullshit, we say. And we laugh. Those crazy guys! But we smile too. Here, no smiles. Never ever.

  Dolly comes over to me while we are dancing together on stage. “Tomorrow night I will not be here,” she says. I ask what she does mean. She don’t say. Then we are all on stage and Mrs. Darling make Lucy, Elvira, and Dolly stand up front. Biggest Elvis, she makes them be naked. She tried to sound like beauty contest, announces third prize, second prize, first. “Number One, Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds.” And winner is old drunk man. Loud cheer from his table, people asking is old man able to handle Lucy and old man—he should be home with his grandchildrens—he say no, no, he like to try. “Number Two Elegant Elvira, What You See Is What You Get.” A big short guy—he look like sumo wrestler—blows Elvira kiss. “Number Three prize, a Night In The Dolly House.” And somebody laughs and I do not see what Dolly is doing. She bend down, look away from audience and, before I know what she is doing, before anybody know, she shit on stage.

  Darling scream and run toward her, also Gregorio, but not fast enough because Dolly turn around and pick those dirts up and it hit Gregorio and it go out into audience and Dolly don’t say anything, she just laugh and show her hand to the audience and run finger over her hair and over body. This is Dolly, always so smiling and funny. “The leader of the pack.” Now she is like this, Biggest Elvis, and it hurts me to see. Mrs. Darling and Gregorio drag her out back, tell band start playing, free drink, but we can still hear Dolly laughing like crazy girl. People don’t like. They leave. Even winners, not staying for prize.

  We are still in club, closing, when a car comes in the gate and these guys take Dolly away. Biggest Elvis, I don’t know what happen next. That was the last I see of Dolly, maybe ever. Cloud of dust and headlight going away down road. I don’t know. One of our Filipino boy talk about “the midnight special.” I ask what is this, maybe they kill her in the boondocks. Who would know? You hear talk, all the time, bad things happen. He says midnight special is flight from Guam to Manila. People who make trouble, they put on flight: deported. Sometime, they stop on the way to the airport. Have party. Maybe this happens to Dolly. Maybe that is why she rub her dirts in her hair: to keep the men away.

  After Dolly goes our life is the same. Week nights, nothing happen. A few young boys and old men. Local. Sometime, Mrs. Darling and her husband send for me to their house. They want massage, both of them. Why me, I ask. I am not so strong. Because you are lazy girl, nobody miss you if you leave bar, they say. Last week I go to house and Gregorio is alone and he is wanting … you know what he is wanting. Not only because I am woman or Filipina or bar girl but because I am Whitney and he has his eye on me from first day at airport.

  So, Biggest Elvis, this is story of the girls at Graceland. Maybe I’m not doing favor, writing you this letter, making you feel bad. This is not what you want for us, I am sure. Not what we want, when we go to “AMERICA.” But I’m thinking you are only person in the world, caring what is happen to us. One time, you know, I finally find Ms. Malou. She is so smart, I ask what should we do. She tell me we come so far already, we need to work hard and keep hope and save money. And maybe the right man come walking through door. But I do not believe this. She does not believe what she tells me, I think. I do not believe. The door has open many many many so many time and men come through but, Biggest Elvis, it is never the right one. Goodbye. Always remembering you and Graceland.

  Whitney

  III

  Ward Wiggins

  Spin the globe again, not even a spin, just a nudge. I kept staring at the island out the plane window, not letting it slip away when I wasn’t looking. The colors got brighter, the lines grew sharper, details of coast and cliff.

  What you had to remember about islands in this part of the Pacific was the depth of the sea they came out of, four or five miles down. So they were all mountains, survivors, tough guys. They came off the floor of the ocean like uppercuts, thrown in anger from way down below, from dark buried places under endless pressure, the whole weight of the ocean bearing down. Up they came, propelled by God knows what, up toward the lightening of the water, the breaking surface, daylight, the Northern Marianas. That wasn’t the end of it, though. No sandy lagoons and lazy atolls here, these islands broke water and kept going, punching up into the clouds, forcing rain, as if they were making heaven cry, evening some ancient score.

  Closer now. A coastal road came into view, curving along a shoreline that was lava and coral, dark and sharp-edged. Waves crashed against rock, water pounded into underground caves, geysering upward out of blowholes. There were cars on the road. Inland, uphill, I saw steep hillsides, rough-looking cliffs, and, at the
center of the island, green uplands, almost like meadows, with plowed fields and smoke coming off of brush fires.

  In the late seventies, the Northern Marianas—that was all of the islands north of Guam—had voted to become a United States Commonwealth. Before then, they’d been part of a United Nations Trusteeship. Then the trusteeship split up. You had the Republic of the Marshall Islands, the Federated States of Micronesia, the Republic of Palau, all still tied to the United States, depending on Washington for aid, but at least with the appearance of sovereignty. The United States offered—and the Northern Marianas accepted—a different kind of deal. Outright U.S. citizenship. Permanent. Washington wanted military options, access to bases on Tinian and Saipan. It was cold-war thinking; a fall-back perimeter, if we got moved out of Japan and the Philippines. The Marianas wanted in. So a little America was born, halfway around the world. Born and boomed. Location was everything. Japanese hotels sprang up on Saipan. Garment factories sewed made-in-USA labels on shirts and sweaters assembled by Chinese and Filipina women on Saipan. Real estate went crazy. Everybody was in the business, joint-venturing, leasing, agenting, commissioning. The money poured in and, as usual, the Filipinos followed the money, first to Saipan, then to the other islands.

  Coming off the plane, I inserted myself in a party of sport fishermen, Guamanians and Statesiders. I chatted them up while we passed through customs and immigration. We talked about marlin while we waited for our baggage. They were a jovial, weekending crew, out for a good time. They talked golfing and fishing and hinted about nightclubs “where they go the whole nine yards.” Fish by day, philander by night. It was all the same, except at night they didn’t throw the small ones back.