Like Nobody's Watching

by Tara Frejas

  “Come on, Cleo. Your alaga has been chasing Tito Chinggoy for months now, asking for meetings—”

  “Because I believed in this project!” Pio raised his voice, fists clenched over the table. Cleo placed a hand over his wrist to pacify him. “If Tito Chinggoy thought I had an underlying motive for all those meetings I requested, that’s not my problem, is it? I never asked for a car, or a backer, or to become a bigger star. I sought him out so I could get the chance to audition for this role and nothing else.”

  Queenie looked offended when he pushed the car key toward her.

  “I don’t need this,” he said with finality. Cleo sounded rattled when she asked him to calm down, but Pio grabbed the contract and went on to say, “And if this contract is tied to that gift, then I don’t need this either.”

  He placed a couple of bills on the table, enough to cover the food and wine he ordered. Both Cleo and Queenie tried to keep him from bolting out of there, but his mind was set. Pio excused himself from the table, told Cleo he’d call her later, and went straight for the exit.

  He needed a walk. A long one.

  Or maybe he needed to run to get this stuffy feeling off his chest.

  Pio turned the corner leading to the parking lot and nearly crashed into a happy middle-aged couple heading to the restaurant strip, arms linked and all. He bowed his head in apology, but felt his blood run cold when he met the man’s eyes—intense light-brown ones that resembled those of his brothers.

  No words were exchanged, and the couple walked past like nothing happened. In a few days, Pio knew a hefty sum of money would be wired to his bank account, a bribe to shut him up.

  He scoffed. Like he would willingly break his mother’s heart.

  Nauseous all of a sudden, Pio propped himself against a nearby post. Unbelievable, he thought as tears stung his eyes. After everything Mom endured for you—you still haven’t changed one bit.

  Shedding tears was part of Cecilia Alvez’s job description, Pio had learned early on. She was a respected theatre actress who devoted her life to only two things: the performing arts, and her family. Some thespians call the theatre their second home, but that took on a literal meaning for Cecilia, and by extension, her youngest son.

  He was seven when he first saw his mother cry like the world was about to end. He had gone to the master’s bedroom to have his report card signed and found her sitting by the foot of her bed, crying so hard, her pale skin had turned beet red.

  The sight confused him. Whenever Cecilia Alvez cried, it was always on stage, in plain sight, with a spotlight on her. Never at home and hidden away from everyone.

  She had tried to keep the truth from him, saying she had this thing called a migraine and it hurt so much she couldn’t help but cry. But his Yaya Lagring said a migraine was a very, very bad headache. Why did his mom keep on clutching her heart whenever the “episodes” came?

  In hindsight, Pio realized being a child had been convenient. Adults could get a little too reckless with their words, throwing him scraps of information without realizing he was using them to piece together a puzzle.

  Seeing the big picture broke his heart.

  “Hey, Mom.” Pio tried his best to sound neutral when his mom answered the phone. “No, I just—I wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Oh, sweetie. Did you have a bad day?”

  “Little bit. Nothing I can’t handle though,” he said with a laugh and remedied his parched throat with a swig of beer.

  “Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?”

  Pio rubbed his temples. He was already five bottles in, and a dull headache had started to bother him. But even in this inebriated state, he knew not to prattle on about this upsetting day to his mom. Nothing about the project he actively pursued but ended up abandoning, and certainly nothing about discovering how his father had returned to his womanizing ways.

  “Nah...I’m good.”

  “It’s not about that girl you told me about, is it?”

  “No,” he replied and felt guilty over not answering Audrey’s calls and texts yet. Her messages sounded so positive and hopeful, he knew she’d be disappointed if she learned the truth. Not like she needed to know.

  “Good. I thought you got basted again.”

  The hearty chortle that left him sounded more genuine this time. “See, I just knew calling you would make me feel better. Your voice is my drug.”

  His mother sighed. “Hay naku, Pio. Quit the sweet talk and just find a nice girl you can talk to about things you won’t tell me.”

  Oh no, here we go.

  “Mom—I think you’re breaking up. Hello?” Pio rubbed his phone over his jacket for a few seconds and spoke into it, garbling his sentences deliberately. “I’mmahaft—cally—‘morrowinstead. Mmkay? ‘oveyabye.”

  He ended the call, finished his bottle of beer, and left the bar. On the way out, his phone buzzed with a new notification:

  AUDREY: Guess you celebrated without me.

  Make it up to me when I return, okay?

  SIXTEEN

  “W hat do you mean...return? Where are you going?”

  Audrey was in the middle of watching episodes of Pio’s old teleserye on iFlix when the actor called, his voice overpowered by a heavy, repetitive bass beat. She hit the space bar on her laptop, and the video paused on a close up shot of Pio kissing Liezl Escueta. Wow, what timing.

  “Baguio. Ad Summit,” she replied and shut her laptop instead. “Are you at a club?”

  “I—well, yeah.”

  “Partying without me, I see. Congratu—”

  “I’m not partying, Audrey. I was drinking. By myself.”

  A pause. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is...everything okay?”

  For a few seconds, Audrey heard nothing else but music and a mishmash of voices. And then, silence. Or a semblance of it. “Pio? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you really alone? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, and yes. Listen—I’m drunk, and I don’t feel like going home to an empty apartment right now.” His words were followed by a long sigh. “I’ve had a really bad day, and I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but...can I come over and crash at your place?”

  “A little girl was selling these on the street,” was how he said hello, holding up a bunch of red roses individually wrapped in plastic. “Got them for you.”

  How many hues could a single smile have? Audrey has gotten acquainted with several shades of emotions from Pio’s smiles—mischief, triumph, pleasure, appreciation, understanding—but the one he wore right now was of a new hue. Gloomy, with a tinge of light.

  Audrey took the roses and let him in, noting how his eyes were a little glazed, but not unfocused. Three buttons of his dress shirt were undone, the familiar scent of cologne and fabric softener subdued by the potent smell of alcohol and smoke.

  She watched Pio put his duffel bag on the floor before taking his leather shoes off and placing them on the shoe rack. As he padded barefoot toward the couch and let himself collapse on it, Audrey observed the uncharacteristic droop of his shoulders and decided this was new too.

  “Are you okay?” Audrey sat on the wooden coffee table in front of him, placing the flowers beside her. She nudged his knees with hers when he didn’t reply. “Pio. What happened?”

  He sighed, threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t get it.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s fine, I’m all right. This is just the third project I didn’t get, anyway,” Pio said with a joyless laugh. He didn’t disclose a lot of details about the project, but seeing him this miserable about getting rejected must mean it was a huge deal for him. Perhaps he had pinned his hopes on this one, thinking it could be a comeback vehicle after his career went on a downward spiral.

  His skin was feverish under her fingertips when she reached out to touch his cheek. “Well—you know what they say. When a door closes...” She paused to brush away a tear. “You
smash it down.”

  Pio’s shoulders shook with laughter even as more tears ran down his cheeks. “I would. I’m just...really tired right now.”

  Something’s wrong, Audrey thought as she wrapped her arms around him. Pio could have told her the truth, but she refused to believe this was everything. She didn’t poke her nose further, though. He was smashed and exhausted and probably needed to sleep his frustrations off.

  She ran a hand down his back and pulled away. “A good night’s sleep will do you good. I’ll get you a towel so you can take a shower.”

  “I didn’t smoke,” he said defensively, running his hands over his clothes. “This is all—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Pio.”

  “Right.”

  “Thanks for the flowers.” The crinkling sound of plastic hung in the air as Audrey picked up the bunch of blooms and held them to her chest. She got up and left the roses on the kitchen counter before disappearing into her room to grab a bath towel for Pio. When she returned, he was still seated on the same spot on the couch, head thrown back on the backrest as though he had fallen asleep.

  He got startled when she threw the towel on his lap. “Come to bed when you’re done showering.”

  “Uh...I’ll take the couch for tonight, thanks.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t want to bother you with my tossing and turning.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll just get you a blanket then.”

  “I’ll...make it up to you next time?”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  The mischievous light in his eyes came back, but only for a fleeting second. “I promise!”

  “Freshen up. Get some sleep. Worry about making good on that promise some other day.”

  Pio was still asleep when Audrey left the apartment at seven in the morning. She would have given him a good morning/goodbye kiss, but didn’t have the heart to wake him. Not when on the way to the bathroom at 5:30 a.m., she discovered he was still awake, quietly sobbing under the blanket.

  That was unnerving, to say the least. The Pio Alvez she had known so far was a jovial, if a bit smart-alecky, young man whose life purpose seemed to be geared toward making people’s lives a little brighter. Every now and then, he’d be upfront about certain frustrations that come up in their conversations, but they were mostly superficial concerns they end up laughing about. Not once had he opened up about anything significantly emotional, leaving Audrey confused and unable to help.

  And so she did the next best thing: Prepare something for him to eat when he woke up.

  She left two bacon sandwiches, a bar of chocolate, and a jug of water on the coffee table, together with a note that said:

  Pio,

  Eat. Sleep some more.

  Left the spare key in case you find the need to crash in again.

  I’ll be back Saturday night. Guess I’ll see you then.

  Audrey

  P.S. I don’t know what you drank last night, but hangovers are the worst. Hydrate.

  She was at a panel discussion at the Camp John Hay Convention Center at five when she received a message from Pio. He had attached a picture of the empty sandwich plate and captioned it with, Thank you, Audrey. Come back safe.

  It was enough to keep her smiling all night long.

  Yes, even in Luigi Blanco’s company.

  SEVENTEEN

  PIO: I found some interesting sketches stuck on your fridge.

  AUDREY: Interesting good, or interesting bad?

  PIO: Good. What are they for?

  AUDREY: My walls. They look neat and pretty now, but way too bare.

  PIO: Oh! This is a mural design? Pretty impressive.

  AUDREY: You think so? I haven’t decided yet if I actually want a mural, though.

  PIO: Yeah, they’re cool. What else have you thought of?

  AUDREY: Not much. Do you have any ideas?

  A half-unwrapped chocolate bar dangled from Pio’s mouth while he studied the sketches on Audrey’s fridge. They were held together by ref magnets, collectibles from various domestic trips—Palawan, Boracay, Vigan, and Batanes. If they were souvenirs from actual trips Audrey went on, or gifts from people who traveled to these places, he might never know, but one thing was for sure: Her sketches had potential.

  They, however, didn’t seem to fit this living space.

  He had seen the frame stains on the walls. He knew how futile Audrey’s efforts were to scrub them off. It was why she had to paint over them in the first place. To keep them from reminding her of the things she cherished and lost.

  Perhaps those things have left this place when Luigi hauled the box marked X out of here.

  Pio moved the sketches around and left the kitchen to stare at the blank teal-and-mint-colored wall Audrey wanted to liven up.

  He took a huge bite off his chocolate bar, smiling, when an idea came to mind.

  “Viv told me you wanted to see these photos?”

  Audrey’s mother, Sandra, placed a bunch of old photo albums on the dining table, right beside Pio’s coffee cup. “I had to dust them off a bit. We haven’t touched this in years.”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve had photos developed anyway,” Vivien said. She was sitting across the table, rolling sliced plantains and strips of jackfruit in lumpia wrapper. “Everything nowadays is on Facebook and Instagram.”

  “That’s true.” Pio nodded and looked back at Sandra. “Thanks, Tita—er, sorry. Can I...call you Tita?”

  “Sure, hijo.” The woman gave him a pat on the shoulder before taking the seat beside him. “What are you planning to do with these?”

  “A gift for Ate Aji!” Vivien squealed but kept herself in check a second later. “Sorry, Pio. Go on.”

  Pio laughed softly, suddenly self-conscious about this idea he came up with just a few hours ago. He looked up Vivien on Facebook and chatted her up, asking if he could come over to visit and get access to some of their family’s photo albums.

  “I’m not sure if you know, but Audrey had repainted her apartment recently and now she thinks her walls are too bare. I wanted to surprise her with a wall of your family photos, because I know how much you guys mean to her. And I want her to—” Pio paused and smiled, picturing the blank wall in front of the couch, only partly obscured by a flat-screen TV. “—I want her to feel that you’re always with her even when she’s by herself.”

  Sandra placed a hand over Pio’s arm. “Hijo, that’s very sweet. I’m sure Aji would love that.”

  “That’s the plan. I wanted to choose some nice photos, have them color corrected before getting blow-ups printed, and then have them framed! She’ll have a newly decorated wall when she comes home from Ad Summit.”

  There was a short pause before Sandra spoke again, and Pio thought he saw a discerning look in her eyes.

  “Are you and my daughter living together?”

  Vivien dropped a slice of banana and shrieked. Pio’s jaw fell slack. “N-no, no, Tita. It’s just that I—”

  An affectionate squeeze on his arm prompted Pio to stop babbling for a moment. Sandra didn’t look mad or even remotely upset, but who really knew what went on inside a mother’s head?

  “Hijo, can I be honest with you?”

  “Of course, Tita.”

  Was that a disappointed sigh that came out of Sandra just now? Or was he just overthinking things?

  “Audrey hasn’t really opened up to us about what really happened between her and Luigi, but we all agreed that the breakup was a necessary disaster. You, however, we didn’t expect. I won’t claim to understand how you young ones go about dealing with breakups and relationships nowadays, but I’m sorry to say this…I’m not confident about you.

  “You’re young. Younger than Audrey, who spent ten years of her life with a guy who just dumped her. You’re also very good-looking, and you work in an industry where temptations abound. You understand what I’m driving at, Pio?”

  His eyes darted from Sandra to Vivien, who looked morti
fied, unable to continue her chore. Pio knew full well that his relationship with Audrey had a set expiration date and that he didn’t need to show his face in this house again after this, but no matter how well-meaning Sandra was, he felt upset.

  Huh.

  “I’m...not so sure. Are you trying to tell me to stop seeing your daughter?”

  “What I’m trying to say is maybe you should set your sights on someone else. Someone your age, maybe? Or at least someone who has less baggage to bring into the relationship.”

  “I never once thought age would be a problem...”

  “Audrey is pushing thirty soon. She will have other priorities,” Sandra pointed out.

  Vivien slammed something on the table. “Mamay, stop.”

  “Priorities I’m not sure you’re ready for, Pio.”

  Pio inhaled a deep breath and caught Vivien’s apologetic look. He flashed her a faint smile. “All valid points, Tita,” he admitted with a resigned nod. But though calm on the surface, a blaze had begun to burn from within him. “But with all due respect, I’m willing to prove you wrong.”

  Vivien saw him out of the Alonzo house two hours later. He would have left earlier, but she insisted he wait until she finished packing some ready-to-cook turon for him to take home. The paper bag Pio now held had a small container of the banana rolls and an envelope of photos he selected from their family photo albums.

  “Sorry about Mamay,” she mumbled embarrassedly. “She isn’t usually catty.”

  “It’s fine, Viv. I get where she’s coming from.” Two sharp beeps sounded off when he pressed his car key remote on the way to the car. “It’s difficult to trust someone after they’ve hurt you. Luigi breaking up with your sister didn’t only hurt her—it hurt all of you.”

  “But Ate trusted you. She must have seen something there. Something worthwhile.” A smile appeared on Vivien’s face, and Pio realized then where she and Audrey resemble each other. “I mean, other than your face.”