The Adventuress
by Jessica Zafra
for Jeffrey Jeturian
She was very beautiful, so she always had her way. Throughout her childhood people told her parents that her beauty would bring them great fortune. To her parents, low-level bank employees this meant she would become a beauty queen or a famous actress, and they would never have to work again. Her education was spotty—what was the point, she wouldn’t need it—and she was shockingly ignorant. Barely was she out of diapers when talent scouts came knocking. As a child she appeared in TV commercials. In her teens when she entered beauty pageants the other girls fell silent and burst into tears, for how could they possibly compete with her? One fashion designer declared that she looked like Rita Hayworth—this was before the Internet, so no one could Google what he meant. She automatically qualified for the semifinals on the basis of sheer beauty, but she was lazy and petulant and made no secret of the fact that she thought everyone was beneath her. Her parents begged and wheedled to no avail, and soon she was a perennial also-ran and there were no more contests that would have her.
A talent manager got her parts in a few movies, but she always came late and unprepared and couldn’t be bothered to remember her lines. Not even the casting couch, where she held sway, could make producers abandon profit. And then it was the Nineties and she was 25.
At a bar in Malate she was chatted up by a Saudi Arabian man in his late 30s. His Armani shirts, Ralph Lauren jeans, Gucci loafers and gleaming Rolex announced that he was the man she and her parents had been looking for. A week later she was living in his suite at the Hotel Intercontinental, which soon became crowded with shopping bags from Manila’s most expensive stores. She only had to look at a dress or a piece of jewelry, and he would buy it for her. She had found her calling, which was to be kept by a rich man. It was not as if she had negotiable skills. The objections of her parents, church-going people, were quickly overriden by gifts of large flasks of French perfume, a Louis Vuitton clutch bag, and the latest Nike sneakers for her younger siblings. Six months later the Saudi Arabian bought her a condominium in a nice building in Legazpi Village—a studio, but it was just the beginning. When she had a child they would move into a posh gated subdivision like Corinthian Gardens, where she could have maids and drivers.
Two months later, without a word of warning, he announced that he had to return to Jeddah to marry a proper Muslim girl. There was nothing he could do, his parents had commanded it. She railed and threatened to slit her wrists, but three days later he was gone.
So she went to Malate, to the bar where she’d met the Saudi Arabian, and got roaring drunk. By midnight she had kicked off her shoes and was dancing on top of a table surrounded by ogling, cheering men with their tongues hanging out. At 3am she passed out. When she woke up at noon she was lying naked in bed with a man who was also naked. He gazed at her, and said in a funny accent, “Would you like to marry me?”
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As with most of my stories, this one is mostly true. I heard it from my friend Ligaya who has lived in Paris since the 90s. I wrote it for my friend Jeffrey, whom I met in 2000 when I interviewed him about his movie. The following year I tagged along when he presented the movie at the Venice Film Festival. It was my first trip to Europe.
Suddenly my Patreon account has come to life with people who want to read the rest of the story. Thank you! Whenever I finish a short story I will post an excerpt and make the whole story available to patrons. Hmm, I should post my unfinished stories as well, maybe you can tell me what happens next.
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