Like Nobody's Watching

by Tara Frejas

  How could you not like flowers? Are you allergic? Pio once asked.

  It’s not that I don’t like them, she replied. It’s just that I can’t eat them.

  Practical as usual, he said, and went on to ask her random questions.

  Adobo or sinigang?

  Eraserheads or Sugarfree?

  Audrey’s reply was “You evil, evil person,” but she remembered wearing a smile on her face as she keyed in those words. She refused to give a definite answer, but cooked sinigang for him the next time he slept over. And when they randomly decided to lip-sync battle each other one lazy Sunday afternoon, she put on Sugarfree’s Tala-Arawan album on full blast.

  Ikaw Pala wasn’t a track Pio lip synced, though. By the time it played (it was the twelfth track), they were both draped over the couch, exhausted from all the jumping and bouncing they did. Head dropped onto her lap, Pio held her hand and made sure his fingers filled the spaces between hers. When he sang to her, Audrey allowed herself a moment of kilig. It wasn’t every day a handsome young man sang to her about being his rainbow behind the clouds, after all.

  Piolo Pascual or Pio Alvez?

  The question had made her giggle, as it did so even now. It was even funnier when Pio called her right after she replied with Piolo Pascual, of course. He sounded a little betrayed.

  Truth is, she would choose Pio any day.

  So why was this so difficult?

  The easy answer: She was the one making things difficult for herself. She was the one who came up with all these excuses to justify pushing Pio away.

  She made her bed, and now she must lie in it.

  Was it too late to take back everything she said?

  TWENTY-THREE

  O ne month later

  Falling asleep anywhere was an art form Pio had mastered long before crossing over to an industry where 24-hour shoots were considered a norm. Busy and often packed theatre green rooms were the training ground that prepared him for chaotic film crew tents, and the three-monoblock chair-slash-sleeping-bag combo was his weapon of choice.

  Today, he fell asleep in the makeup chair, leaving the bags under his eyes and his unruly hair under Gina’s (his makeup artist) experienced hands. His nap was short-lived, though, disrupted by the grating sound of audio feedback that rang in his ears. He woke up with a start, catching Gina’s crass string of expletives, some of which he didn’t really understand.

  “Ay, sorry Sir Pio,” she quickly said, hiding her mouth behind a makeup brush.

  Pio dismissed her apology with a laugh which morphed into a huge yawn. “Where’s Cleo?” he asked, stretching his arms up in the air before checking out his reflection in the dresser mirror. Not too shabby for someone who’s running on three hours of sleep and two venti cold brews.

  He might need some Biogesic in a bit, though.

  “I think she’s talking to the organizers outside.”

  Pio never took the frustrating “Tito Chinggoy Incident” out on Cleo, but she had since been hell bent on making it up to him, scouting for work she felt he would be happy to do. Her efforts have paid off, because the past two weeks have been all about work.

  His mornings often began with screen tests, table reads, and production meetings that sometimes lasted hours. Some days were dedicated to making branded pieces of clothing look good in front of a camera, and some involved attending film premieres, product launches, and other social, by invitation only events.

  A bunch of TV appearances were on his calendar next, a way to reintroduce him to the fickle Pinoy audience who had not seen him in any new projects for months.

  Exciting times, if you asked him, but it didn’t come without a price. He had barely clocked in decent hours of sleep since the slew of activities started. But he could hardly complain. Not only did he find the work worthwhile, it was also therapeutic; Pio wasn’t idle long enough to drown himself in thoughts of Audrey all the time.

  “Good, you’re awake,” said Cleo, her arrival backstage prefaced with the steady clacking of her pumps. “I’ve already turned over your CD to the sound guys.”

  “Oh. Explains the feedback, then.”

  “Not my fault.”

  “Of course not,” Pio agreed with an impish grin. He nodded toward the brown-paper-wrapped package Cleo held against her chest. “What’s that?”

  She placed the package on the dresser. “Postcards. Three hundred of them.”

  “Three hundred, wow. They think that many people will line up for a signed postcard?”

  “Stop underestimating the power of your face, P.”

  An obnoxious laugh came out of him. “This is why I like you, C. You feed my ego really well.”

  “Anyway…” One hand on her waist and the other resting on the package, Cleo ran through Pio’s schedule for the day as a reminder. “Show starts at three sharp, meet and greet at four. They’ll have a table set up for you so you could sign the postcards for your fans. You can afford to be chatty this time, if you want. You don’t have anything else on your schedule tonight, anyway.”

  “Right. Because who books an event in Manila after an event in Lucena, right?”

  A province south of Manila, Lucena was a five-hour drive from the far-flung parts of Quezon City where Pio had a shoot the day before. He was only making a cameo appearance in an evening teleserye, but he ended up waiting in the crew tent until past midnight. When the production staff informed him that they were done filming his scenes, it was already almost three in the morning. Pio didn’t bother taking a nap. He took a shower in his apartment and drove straight to Lucena, worried he wouldn’t make it to his call time if he got caught in traffic at the expressway.

  “Don’t worry. Your Sunday is all clear,” Cleo said. “But maybe don’t party tomorrow. You have a seven o’ clock on Monday.”

  “Nah, I’ll go home to San Pablo tonight.”

  “Good.” Cleo looked pleased to hear he was heading to his mother’s instead of another club. And before Pio could needlessly defend himself, Cleo pulled out a thick folder from her gigantic shoulder bag. “And here…”

  Pio’s eyes widened as he stared at the folder, at his name under the screenplay title. “Cleo!” he exclaimed, hands shaking as he took the folder from her. Next to the project that fell through, this movie musical was something he had had his eye on as well.

  “They want you for lead, P.” A rare smile appeared on Cleo’s face. “Merry Christmas in advance.”

  He almost toppled his chair over trying to get to Cleo, and when he did, he gave her a big hug. “You’re the best, C!” he said and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.”

  As though mildly annoyed, Cleo wiped the spot he kissed with the back of her hand and stepped away from his embrace. “I’ll be back before the show starts.”

  And just like that, Cleo exited the makeshift dressing room, leaving a trail of sharp clacks behind her.

  Pio allowed himself to plop down on the chair he just vacated, still overwhelmed by the fact that he held in his hands a screenplay with his name on it. As lead, no less. When Audrey said she felt like he’ll smash through some pretty big doors soon, he didn’t really think it would happen in just a month.

  Things were definitely looking up.

  Wanting to tell Audrey the good news, he grabbed his phone on instinct and dialed her number. He ended the call before the first ring.

  You idiot, he thought. Enough. She already made it clear she doesn’t want you.

  But instead of putting his phone away, Pio tapped on his inbox and pulled up the last few messages Audrey sent him.

  I’m sorry I lied to you about Lui, it began, confirming what Datu had suspected all along. Reading that first line hurt, but it soothed Pio’s heart all the same. It was such a strange mix of emotions, he wondered if something in him had gone haywire.

  That wasn’t how I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.

  You are an amazing man, Pio.

  You deserve so much more than a girl w
ho has to unlearn ten years’ worth of habits.

  I’ll always remember to wear the smile you gave me.

  Thank you for being my ligaya, if only for a little while.

  It took him three full days to send her a reply.

  If I told you I’m willing to wait for you, he said. Would you let me?

  Audrey never answered.

  “This is a fricking nightmare. Why am I here again?”

  “Because you need to grovel, Ate. You need to tell Pio you want him back!”

  Audrey hissed, eyes darting to a group of girls standing behind her sister. Said girls who glared at both Vivien and herself were all wearing the same shirt—bright red, with the words “Pio Na Ang Puso Ko” printed in front. Vivien caught the will-you-stop-talking look Audrey threw at her and quickly glanced over her shoulder.

  “O, baket?”

  “Vivien Hope!” Audrey grabbed her sister’s arm and shushed her. She wasn’t here to be on the receiving end of dagger-like stares from Pio’s army of dedicated fangirls. All she wanted was to go up on that stage, look Pio in the eyes, and...

  Oh god, can I even do this?

  It was already 4:45 p.m., and the line to the stage where Pio was—flashing his signature smile, shaking hands, giving out hugs, and signing stuff—was a mess. People cut in line, shoved other people, and from time to time, screamed Pio’s name like it was some sort of distress call. Amazing how all these people wanted a sliver of his attention. A fleeting smile. A wink. A wave.

  She had more than that, and she chose to step away from it.

  Dare she say she chose herself?

  There was a lot of that this past month, the choosing to do things she had always wanted. She had to keep reminding herself that it was okay to be selfish at times, that other people’s lives will go on just fine without her trying to make things better for them. The Audrey from six months ago would never have left Same Feather Media the moment Crissy (or anyone, for that matter) asked her to stay. That same Audrey wouldn’t have quit her job without a fall back, and she definitely wouldn’t have considered being a design apprentice at a theatre company that relied on an arts foundation for funding.

  It was liberating.

  On Vivien’s urging, Audrey took a break from her job hunt and watched some musicals, treated herself to a long overdue day at the spa, and even splurged a bit on some new clothes and shoes.

  She was wearing a new dress now, strapless and red, with an A-line skirt that fell a little below the knee. A light denim jacket concealed her shoulders, and on her feet were a pair of mid-length black boots Vivien totally approved of.

  “Are you ready with your speech?” Vivien whispered as the line moved. They were about twenty people away from the stage now. “Did you write it down? It has to be really good, ha?”

  “Viv.”

  “What? What’s wrong with—” The inquiry was cut short when Audrey flashed Vivien her left palm, already lined with notes. “When did you do this?”

  “Oh, while you were busy ogling at Pio.”

  “You can hardly blame me,” Vivien giggled, tugging at her big sister’s wrist when she tried hiding what she wrote. “Hey! Let me see!”

  “I don’t need a proofreader.”

  Vivien relented, but not without an annoyed click of the tongue. “Fine. Just make sure it’s good enough to get my brother-in-law back.”

  Oh, boy.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  H e was in the middle of hugging a teenage fan goodbye when he saw her.

  Audrey, in a dress he had never seen before, was allowed up the stage and asked to wait for her turn. They caught each other’s eye, and the shy little smile that lit up her face was a hook to his soul.

  Heart hammering against his ribs, he sat back in his chair and watched Audrey walk toward his table. If he had ever half-mocked those movie moments where a man—slack-jawed and all—watches a beautiful woman approach him in slow motion, this was the perfect time to apologize.

  Who’s laughing now, Pio? the universe seemed to ask.

  Not him, that’s for sure.

  He glanced at the front of the stage and caught a glimpse of Vivien, waving giddily at him. Audrey’s little sister was holding her phone up in the air, and Pio wouldn’t put it past her to document this…moment, whatever this was.

  “Hi.”

  “Line” was a word actors would say when they forgot their lines during rehearsal. “Line” was also a word Pio had not uttered in that context for a long time. He was, after all, known in the industry to be quite the perfectionist when it came to his craft, and that meant coming to any and all rehearsals ready.

  He was tempted to say “Line” now, tongue-tied and wondering if Audrey were real or a manifestation of a deep-seated frustration. Or sleep deprivation. Either way…

  “I know I only have a few seconds…,” Audrey began. She stole a glance at her palm and launched into what seemed like a rehearsed speech. It took him a second to realize she had written something on her skin.

  Cute, he thought, and decided to annoy her by grabbing her hand and shaking it.

  “Hi,” he said back, finally gathering his bearings. “What’s your name?”

  She looked a little hurt when he asked, but she answered anyway. “Audrey.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Audrey. Where are you from?”

  “Taguig.”

  He squeezed her hand one more time and let it go, pulling out a postcard from the stack sitting by his arm. “Wow. That’s a long way away from here. You must have been waiting in line for so long…”

  “Yeah. About two, three hours?”

  “You hate that.” Pio looked up at her and saw the corners of her lips twitch like she was about to laugh.

  “I do, actually.”

  “What about productivity? All those wasted hours…”

  “It wasn’t a waste.”

  Pio scribbled something on the postcard and signed his name. “Seeing as you travelled all the way here, you must have something very important to tell me.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, we don’t have all day.”

  She peeked at her little “script” and mumbled an expletive, prompting Pio to fake a small cough so he could hide his laughter. The handshake must have smudged the ink on her palm (he didn’t mean to!) and now Audrey looked like she didn’t know where to start.

  In his periphery, the event marshal watched him from the far corner of the stage, perhaps wondering what the hell was taking so long. There were still about thirty fans waiting in line, and though Pio hated making them wait, he couldn’t just tell Audrey to step down now, because we don’t wanna hold up the line.

  If he had it his way, he would just take her hand and sneak off backstage, hug her, kiss her silly…

  Reaching for her hand wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t going to make tabloid subheadlines or gossip sites, and online forums would only dismiss it as fanservice. He was quite good at that.

  “It’s okay, Audrey,” he said and reached for her hand. “Tell me.”

  “I still don’t think I’m ready for this.” She bit her lip right after blurting out the words. “But I was happy—you made me happy—and I would be a fool to deny myself of this chance just because I’m scared I’ll break my heart again.”

  “Is...that a line from a movie?”

  “Can you let me speak please?”

  Ah, the death glare. We meet again.

  “I’m sorry. Of course.”

  “I had a speech prepared and all, and you ruined it,” she whined. “I hate you.”

  “Do you really?”

  “No.”

  “Then…do you love me?”

  “I could,” Audrey replied, not batting an eyelash. “I could fall in love with you, but I’m afraid it would take some time…”

  “I told you I was willing to wait for you, didn’t I?”

  “And I’m willing to try again.”

  “Let’s be willing to do stuff together, then.”


  She nodded. “I would love that.”

  Rising from his seat, Pio reached across the table and hugged her, burying his face against the collar of her jacket. Her scent, the feel of her in his arms were already so familiar they made his heart ache in the best way. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “So much.”

  “Me too.” Audrey’s voice tickled his ear. “But…how long do these hugs usually last—because I think your fans will come after me the moment I step down the stage.”

  “Do you really think I’d let that happen to you?”

  “Fine. But it’s time to disengage, maybe?”

  “Shhh...everyone’s a sack of potatoes.”

  “I’m going to count to three—”

  He clicked his tongue and finally let her go. “Are you going to boss me around like this from now on?”

  One corner of her lips quirked up. “Stop pretending you don’t like it.”

  “Didn’t say that.” Pio took her hand again and lifted it to his lips so he could press a tender kiss over her knuckles. Fangirl screams obliterated the mall’s Christmas playlist all of a sudden, and he knew Cleo was going to give him an earful for being such a troublemaker.

  But behind all the finger-wagging that usually end with “Please stop giving me headaches,” Pio also knew his handler was a sucker for happy endings. So maybe she would end up rooting for him and Audrey too.

  After she was done glaring at him from the side of the stage, that is.

  “Wait for me?” he asked, imploring her with his eyes. “I have a couple more people to meet before I can catch up with you.”

  “Sure.”

  “You might have to wait for me a lot from now on, though…”

  “I’m fine with that. It wouldn’t be fair if you were the only one waiting all the time.”

  It wasn’t until two hours later that Pio caught up with Audrey and Vivien. He found them sitting across each other at a coffee shop three floors up from the mall’s activity center, laughing over something he wanted in on too.