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(IJCH) “Clark Kent Strikes Back” - A Story of Hard Facts, Betrayals and Consequences

IJCH - Inside JaiChai's Head (meaning: My warped, personal opinions and musings)

From the Author

Salutations.

I am JaiChai.

And if I haven't had the pleasure to make your acquaintance, it's always nice to meet a fellow Steemian.

The events depicted in this story are based on true life events. The only deviation from absolute authenticity is the intentional and liberal use of aliases for real people and places. - JaiChai

Prologue

After her straight-forward, but tragic story of her childhood, Evelyn paused momentarily to take a sip of her Red Horse beer.

When she looked at the freelance hookers at her table, she could see that all were revisiting their personal pasts too.

The one girl who had almost caused a fight between me and one of the vacationing foreigners had watery eyes and a trembling-lipped frown. In spite of the deep, introspective moods of the girls, the most outspoken hooker led the group's pleading requests for Evelyn to continue.

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Obliging, Evelyn's eyes grew cloudy again, slipped into her previous trance-like state, and continued - in the native tongue of her audience (Visayan) - her saga:

Dave was an ok guy.

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Granted, he was kind of shy and quiet, almost boring most of the time. But just two beers made him go from Clark Kent into a friendly, smiling, Superman in no time at all.

He had been an English teacher for many years and never missed an opportunity to correct my basic English.

Generous with his time and money during our holiday, I mistakenly believed what most of the other working girls believed:

Those foreigners ALWAYS HAVE LOTS OF MONEY.

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When they need more money, they just go to the ATM and get it! It's not fair! We should get as much of it while we can 'coz they always lie about themselves, make fake promises, and leave us!

And if you're better than they are at lying, you can get them to send you money from their home country. But we all know that setup never lasts too.

It's just not fair!

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Years later, I would learn that this way of thinking was common amongst criminals.

That is, in order to justify their own actions, they paint their victims as the evil ones; undeserving of all that money, expensive toys, and care-free lifestyle. In other words, the criminals delude themselves into believing that they're doing the normal working Joe a great and honorable public service.

Then, confident in the righteousness of their noble cause, they proceed to steal, swindle, and bully as much as possible from any rich bastard who has never worked a day in his whole spoiled life!

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I waited until Dave began his nightly pre-sleeping ritual.

He carefully arranged two pillows under his head; molding the top pillow to fit his neck like a supporting neck brace. Then he opened the current novel of the week.

He'd done this ritual every night for the last three weeks.

“Honey ko, I no tired. I go to listen to band by pool, ok?” I asked.

“Sure, Honey”' he said, "And by the way, it is: I AM NOT tired. I AM GOING to listen to THE band, ok?” and stuck his nose back into his novel.

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Sometimes Dave's habit of correcting my English was irritating, but I kept telling myself it was a good thing for me.

The most successful working girls could speak English very well - complete with weird slang, cursing, and strange jokes that only foreigners could understand.

Of course, about wanting to listen to the band was only half true. Yes, I wanted to enjoy the band, but I also had an ulterior motive.

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I knew that the young foreigner I spotted earlier when Dave and I checked into the resort was going to be at the pool area too.

How did I know this?

Well, I'd already got his contact details while Dave was out looking for another book a couple days earlier. The young guy and I had texted each other a few times and even chatted online twice. I only got his first name, Danny, and he was always polite and cheerful.

We agreed to meet at the pool to listen to the live band together today.

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Eager to finally spend some time alone with Danny, I did a last check of my make-up and new outfit (i.e., a form-fitting mini-skirt, beige silk blouse, and matching gold (plated) ear rings, necklace, and heels) in the mirror of the CR. Hiding my excitement, I left the hotel room as fast as I could.

Once outside of the room, I literally hopped and skipped towards the pool area. I saw Danny before he saw me. He was sitting with another Filipina.

The woman was very pretty, taller, and slimmer than the average Filipina. Maybe she was half Asian? Her hair was cut to collar length. Her smart-looking jacket and skirt business suit ensemble was navy blue.

There was some kind of logo on the jacket and two small lapel pins: one of the American flag and one of the Philippine flag.

Overall, she looked like one of those girls from a rich family (i.e., classy, carrying herself with grace and confidence.).

Feeling very intimidated, I thought I looked plain, well below average and cursed myself for wearing such a small mini-skirt. “Damn it! Compared to her - a woman who could easily model high-end women's clothing, or expensive jewelry and accessories - I must look like I belong in a bar or on the street!” I thought.

Nevertheless, I forced myself not to appear self-conscious or slouch.

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The body language between her and Danny indicated that they were either really close friends or possibly lovers.

But that didn't stop me from approaching the table and saying hello, smile, and park myself in a chair of the table next to them. Acting like I was waiting for someone else, I just watched the band setting up their sound system on the stage about thirty meters away from the poolside tables.

I sent a text to Danny saying that maybe I should leave 'coz he looked busy. I saw him put his hand up toward the Filipina, read my text, and apologize, "Sorry, but I really should reply to this now. It will just take a second, ok?"

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Then he texted back with, “Nonsense, I will be free in about ten minutes. Please just wait."

As he promised, ten minutes later the other woman stood up, squeezed his shoulder, waved and smiled at me, and walked away. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about the woman was strange. But then I brushed it off and concentrated on Danny.

He was absolutely charming.

We talked during the band’s rest periods in between their sets. He was so easy to talk with; prefering to listen to what I had to say rather than talk about himself. I swear, I must've done ninety-nine percent of the talking!

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He ordered dinner for us.

He wasn't drinking alcohol, just Sprite, but said that I could order any kind of drink I wanted. I had to admit, I was really attracted to him. Before I knew it, the band was ending their last set and the bar was taking last orders for the night.

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I looked at my watch.

Oh my God, Danny and I had been at the poolside table for over three hours!

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We had just finished our after dinner cafe lattes when Danny's phone buzzed

He put up his hand and said, “Excuse me for a moment, ok?” He looked at the text and quickly replied; putting the phone back into his pocket.

“Your girlfriend?” I asked.

He laughed and said no and that it was the woman from this afternoon.

"She misplaced her handbag, something she frequently does and asked if she left it here. She usually carries a knapsack, not a handbag and seems to misplace that a lot too!” he explained.

We searched under the table and the two empty chairs at our table; finding her handbag in one of the chairs. He texted her immediately.

While he was holding the handbag, I noticed the logo on it. The logo was from one of the many NGO's that were peppered all over the Visayas. Then, like being shaken awake, I realized another thing about that particular NGO: almost all the workers were Nuns, Ministers, or persons on an evangelical mission in my Third World country.

“That pretty Filipina, she is Nun, no?” I asked.

Danny said, “Yes. You are familiar with our organization?”

“Uh yes. But me think you some priest, minister, and religious man too, no?”

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Smiling, he pulled a priest collar out of his pocket, adjusted the chinese collar of his shirt and fitted the plastic device in place.

Then this very handsome man said, “Right again. Pleased to meet you. I am Father Daniel O'Brien and I thought we could talk about your future in this world and the next...”

My heart sank as I realized that the chances of him becoming a future customer were slim to none.

“What a shame,” I thought, “He is so handsome and nice.” I would have really impressed and caused a lot of envy in all my friends who saw us together in public; but I knew that it was a moot point and a waste of my time now.

He continued his recruiting pitch, but I really wasn't listening at this point.

All I wanted to do was to get away as soon as possible, erase his contact details from my cel, and go back to Dave in the hotel room.

I politely excused myself from the table, saying I needed to go to the Ladies' CR. My plan was to sit in the CR, text Danny - who was Father O'Brien to me now, say thank-you, and give some kind of excuse for not coming back to the table.

Then I would erase his contact details and return to Dave, who was probably asleep by now.

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Inside a stall in the Ladies' CR I put down the toilet seat cover and sat down. I fished for my cellphone in my handbag. Not feeling it, I stretched the bag wide open and looked inside more closely.

My cel wasn't there!

My precious tool for survival was not to be found anywhere in the bag!

Almost panicking, I tried to remember the last time I had used it...Ah yes, then I remembered.

The last time I used my cel was in the CR of the hotel room. I was secretly texting another customer and must have left it on the shelf near the toothbrushes.

Making sure that Father O'Brien didn't see me, I snuck out of the poolside CR. While walking/jogging to the room, I hoped that Dave was asleep and that he had not seen my cel.

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If he got curious, he would find out that it was not protected by a security code. This was because I had a bad habit of not writing down my security code or the design that unlocked my screen. Then I would always forget the code or design.

Many times, I had to go pay a Cellphone Shop to have my cel unlocked. It seemed like such a waste of time and money to keep doing that; so I decided to NOT have a PIN/Design lock on my cel.

Besides, I usually had my cel with me at all times; taking it with me to the CR (presumably to play music or games while sitting on the toilet) and even sleeping with it under my pillow.

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I could not imagine what Dave would feel or do if he started snooping around my cel's saved information, contact lists, and naughty selfies; selfies taken in places we'd already visited and places we hadn't; and with men other than himself!

And the feeling of sheer panic was getting closer and closer with each step towards the hotel room.

But I quickly calmed down when I was close enough to see that the lights in the room were off; and as I got closer I could hear the TV on. Unlike most foreigners, Dave shared my habit of sleeping with the TV or radio on.

So, believing that Dave must've fallen asleep while I was listening to the poolside band, I exhaled a long sigh of relief, took off my heels, and quietly unlocked the door with our room key.

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Not wanting to wake him, I didn't turn on the lights and tip-toed into the room. Then with my hands outstretched and bare feet silently sliding over the large-tiled floor, I felt my way through the semi-dark room to the CR to retrieve my cel.

Gently easing the CR door shut and turning on the light, the first of what would become a series of shocks hit me.

Evelyn was breathing rapidly now. She took a few, slow breaths to calm herself down and then chugged a big gulp of beer. The freelancers at her table and myself were riveted by her story thus far and wanted to hear more of it.

Without waiting for someone else, I asked Evelyn to continue. Please! Evelyn nodded her head, closed and opened her eyes, and began speaking to all of us - and none of us - again.

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As soon as the CR light was on, I looked for my cel on the shelf near the plastic toothbrush holder on the tiled wall.

It wasn't there!

The image of me in the mirror above the shelf was a picture of utter shock and disbelief. I got on all fours and searched every inch of the CR, but still found nothing. In a daze, I opened the CR door without turning the light off.

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Then shock #2 hit.

The CR's light - added to the TV's sporadic flashes of light - illuminated the room and bed enough for me to see that Dave was gone!

I ran to the light switches near the front door and turned all the lights on. My cel was on Dave's pillow and what looked like all my possessions were in a pile beside the bed. But all of his belongings were gone.

Then, finally, shock #3 hit with full force!

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Peeking out from under the pillow was a corner of the hotel's fancy, embossed stationary.

I pulled out the sheet of paper and read it:

I left.

There is a little money for transportation in your rubber shoes (sneakers). While you were gone to listen to the band, your cel must've vibrated itself off the shelf in the CR.

Even though I am hurt and disappointed, I applaud your expertise in keeping up the charade with so many men.

In spite of your efforts to act nice to me, I had my doubts from the beginning. And I hope you remember this: It's virtually impossible to lead a double life without someone finding out.

I sent eight text messages to you and EVERYONE ON YOUR CONTACT LIST.

Then I destroyed my SIM card. Good-bye and good luck. Dave.

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His first text (its length dictated sending in two partial MMS messages):

The cel was on the CR floor when I went to pee. The cover was off and the battery popped out. I put it together and turned it on to see if it was still working.

After the power on screen, the sound of many incoming text messages started dinging.

I thought that you borrowed a cel and was trying to text me on your cel. I read the first fifteen texts, by the way, from different men.

It was clear to me what you've been doing before and after I met you; even now on our vacation. The other stuff and photos tells me what kind of woman you really are.

But sorry, the owner of YOUR cel is not the kind of woman I ever want to see again.

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His second text:

This is a note to Evelyn, a very sweet person whom I had the pleasure of knowing for just a few short weeks.

Good luck to you.

Hope you’re happy with your old, fat foreigner tourists and young, poor, stupid backpackers. They are real fun on vacation, huh?

But I'm sure you have noticed by now that most of them always say that they're only looking for an escort; or worse, flat out lie and profess True Love.

Sound familiar?

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Third text :

They come here to enjoy re-inventing themselves (translated: Lie their asses off to soften up their next targets).

They appear so wealthy too, huh?

But the truth is that they have to work and work and work and save their money ALL YEAR 'round in order to blow it all on someone like you in the few days or weeks that they visit here.

Us foreigners call them “two-week millionaires”.

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Fourth text:

Oh yeah, you are bound to get lucky; just by the sheer volume of your contact list and "sincere" messages. How do you keep all of the stories straight?

But after he leaves, the support from abroad eventually dries up, doesn't it?

And I know that you know why: He quickly gets tired of all the games, secrets, lies, and boyfriend shuffling required to maintain your lifestyle.

In other words, he soon realizes that he's been played.

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Fifth text:

I'm not judging you.

Everyone does what they believe they have to do to survive. I'm just saying that maybe your view of the world doesn't match what you say you want?

How can you expect a man to trust you when you are always looking for another? Your little, cruel cat-and-mouse games inevitably devolve into a race to see who rejects who first.

You attract what you fear...and you are always afraid of losing him, right? Contrary to your belief, just because a man is with you doesn't mean you should not have a real job too.

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Sixth text:

To: Evelyn and her best friend Malou - especially Malou, AKA: Ms. Whatever-You-Want-To-Call-Yourself these days. Is it Bazooka Oh-My-Man? Mocha Shit Sandwich? Or whatever your current name is on those skank dating websites.

Too Bad, So Sad...It's a very sad thing when kids do not have a father figure; or even the father's surname, no?

And it's also rather tragic that your little girl only identifies with your "working girl" or druggie friends. Why do you think she is the way she is? You are so hard on her big brother, but so wimpy when dealing with her abnormal behavior.

Why?

Does she remind you of you?

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Seventh text:

To Malou, And your boy, although polite, has never stood up for himself.

But he sure enjoys when you're gone for days or weeks with your escort clientele. At least when you're gone you aren't nagging him about trivial shit.

Of course, he gets angry (and rightly so) when he needs help taking care of his little sister and doesn't know you're whereabouts, or even when you are coming home; especially when there's little or no food at home!

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Eight and last text:

Yup, life's kind of tough when the customer pool is shrinking at the bars and on the street, huh?

What's that?

TWO OF THOSE OTHER GUYS stopped sending money? And you need help?

Imagine that?

Those latest suckers finally realized they were being used too, no? Good luck to both of you, Dave (Or as Evelyn calls me - Clark Kent). Quid Pro Quo.

[End of Dave's texts.]

Evelyn was spent.

While blotting her eyes with a handkerchief, she looked into the mirror of her flip-top, circular compact.

Then she stood up, excused herself, and said she needed to go to the CR.

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I thought that Evelyn’s gripping story would surely make the freelancers examine their current lifestyles.

Maybe it would encourage them to think about their post-hooker future too?

Sadly, while Evelyn was away, the only thing the young hookers did was to make sure they had a secure PIN or design lock on their cellphones...

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Epilogue

When the group of young hookers left to go hit the streets, Evelyn grabbed my hands, looked into my eyes and said:

"That foreigner whom I left you for (Dave) so many years ago, wasn’t pogy (good-looking) or as crazy fun as you. But he was stable and sincere. He arranged for me to go back to the states with him and get married.

He had a steady job at the university as an English professor.

In spite of the deep feelings I had for you, I made the only choice I could at the time.

And I know you will probably never understand this: Yes, romance is wonderful, sinfully delicious at times, but darling, YOU CAN’T EAT LOVE."

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Awestruck, I looked away from Evelyn and those beautiful brown eyes.

Even though Evelyn was just inches away, I couldn't remember the last time I felt so alone.

Turning away from her to face the ocean, I heaved a melancholy sigh and truly wished I could just "do over" so many, many things...

By JaiChai

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Many thanks for reading my post. And if you enjoyed it, please: Upvote, Follow, Comment and Resteem.

- JaiChai "My mind was a terrible thing to waste..."

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About the Author

He is a retired U.S. Military veteran. Believing that school was too boring, he dropped out of High School early; only to earn an AA, BS and MBA in less than 4 years much later in life – while working full-time as a Navy/Marine Corps Medic.

In spite of a fear of heights and deep water, he freefall parachuted out of airplanes and performed diving ops in very deep, open ocean water.

He spends his days on an island paradise with his teenage daughter, longtime girlfriend and three dogs.

Parting Shot -

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