Love in All the Right Places (Chick Lit bundle) (24 page)

Epilogue: The Beginning

After pressing the buzzer, I was welcomed by the host, who, apart from a white button-down blouse, a red-black plaid miniskirt, and knee-high boots, was also wearing a long blonde wig.

“I
love
it!” She, or rather he, surveyed me up and down. “So which one are you? Paraluman?  Nida Blanca? Or Gloria Romero being launched in her first Sampaguita film?

I glanced down at my polka-dotted halter dress—which had finally fitted me after the necessary alterations, looked up, and said firmly, “Gloria Romero!” I had always considered the classic actress incredibly talented and beautiful until now. 

I took my time studying my host critically. “And you are . . . ?”

“Alicia Silverstone from Clueless, of course!” He joined his thumbs while jutting out his pointy fingers to form a
W
. “
Whatever!
Come in, come in!”

I gave him my gift—a bottle of red wine— and pressed my cheek to his. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jay thought of the whole come-as-a-film-character party just so he could play dress-up.

I proceeded to the living room, where the others were waiting.

“Crissy!” a voice piped up. “You look fabulous!”

I sat down next to an unbelievably sexy pirate, her white off-shoulder midriff top showing off her fabulous abs. With her looks and body, Carol could easily pass off as an actress instead of an aspiring director. She reached out to touch my curled hair. “I love the whole package, and your dress—how wickedly authentic!”

“Thanks.” I grinned. “It was my grand-aunt’s.”

From across the room, a chunky figure in full-on Boy Scout gear beckoned to me with his small red flag. It was our class teacher, Sir Pepot. He leaned toward me and said, “I’ve read your script, and it still needs a bit more tweaking.”

I inwardly groaned. 

He continued, “But it’s fresh and funny. I think it’s a shoo-in for the Cinemalaya.”

My eyes widened. “You really think so?” Every year the Cinemalaya Foundation gave ten lucky filmmakers a seed grant so they could produce their own films.

Sir Pepot nodded. He should know—he had been chosen as a grantee many times.

I squealed. “Thanks, sir! I’ll get the revisions done in time for submission.”

I didn’t realize I was staring at his sash, studded with badges. “Crissy,” he said somewhat irritably, “I’m Russell from
Up
.”

“Of course!” I said and walked away, stifling a giggle. Only Sir Pepot would think of dressing up as an animated film character.

Happily I looked around the room and marveled at how much this class had done for me. Not only was I step closer to fulfilling my dream, I had also made a cool bunch of friends. I loved Bea to death, but it felt great to have widened my circle. These past months, I had spent countless hours with these people—watching movies, drinking, or just plain hanging out to discuss our dream films.

Jay’s screech shattered my reverie. “You’re late! And just
what
is that you’re wearing?”

We turned to see Paolo, the class clown, wearing a bathrobe. 

“Relax, Jay. This isn’t my real costume.” He looked at all of us, pausing for dramatic effect. “THIS IS!” He ripped off the bathrobe, and we all simultaneously broke into screams and laughter. 

Paolo was wearing nothing but a diaper!

He went around the room, sucking his thumb, and we cracked up all the more.

“Who are you supposed to be?” gasped out Carol, wiping tears from her eyes. 

Paolo held up his finger. “Wait, there’s more!” He turned around and slipped something over his head. He started growling and swung around, a hideous mask covering his face. He ambled toward Jay and mock-bit his neck.

“
Tiyanak! Tiyanak!
” someone screamed. “It’s the monster baby!”

We all laughed like crazy for a good five minutes before finally settling down.

Paolo removed his mask and grinned mischievously. “Oh, I brought along a friend. I hope you won’t mind, Jay.”

Jay raised an eyebrow and said in his best imperious voice, “As long as your friend’s in costume.  You know how strict I am with my dress codes.”

Paolo laughed. “That’s what I thought.” He motioned to someone behind him. “Come in. They won’t bite.”

A tall guy slowly walked in, wearing the most colorful outfit of the night—a red bow tie on a yellow polo with its sleeves rolled up, red pants, and a pair of differently colored high-cut Chuck Taylors—black on the right foot and red on left.

Wait a minute. I knew this guy.

Paolo announced solemnly, “Ladies and gents, I’d like you to welcome another character from the eighties! From the teen flick that took the whole nation by storm, please welcome boy-next-door Aga Muhlach of
Bagets
!”

Everyone laughed and applauded as the poor guy blushed.

Someone hooted, “Do the moonwalk, Aga!”

After Paolo’s
tiyanak
stunt, everyone’s spirits were on hypermode. Soon they were all chanting, “Moonwalk! Moonwalk! Moonwalk!”

With his face even redder, the guy stood in the middle of the room and started sliding his feet, giving the illusion of being pulled backward. But he didn’t end there. He started popping his shoulders and arms, doing the robot dance, and finished off with an impressive side-to-side strut. He bowed, and everyone hooted and clapped like crazy.

“Guys, this is my friend Vince!” Paolo swept his hand to us. “Vince, this is everyone!”

“Hi, everyone.”

A smattering of friendly hellos filled the air. 

But Vince wasn’t looking at any of them. Instead, he was looking straight at me.

* * * *

Heaven knew I tried my best—I really did. But having Vince in the same room kept me from enjoying the party. I could feel his eyes constantly on me, and so far, I had been successful in treating him like furniture.

Why should I acknowledge his presence? The last time we met, he made it clear that we were over. I would not go all swoony and gaga just because a guy I used to like suddenly showed up. Nope, those days were over. This was the new-and-improved Crissy—strong, sassy, and most of all, sane.

I grabbed my plastic cup of beer and walked out to the garden. 

The night air was cool and comforting. I took deep breaths to steady myself. Why was it that no matter how far I had moved on in my life, my past always seemed to catch up with me?

“Crissy?”

I gave a tiny scream while whipping around, splashing beer all over Vince’s chest.

Vince just stood there, looking at me while I fumbled with the clasp of my purse to get a napkin. The next thing I knew I was being led to a stone bench. We both sat down, side by side, and I rested my palms on its cool surface. I shivered involuntarily. 

“For you.” He handed me a package wrapped in brown paper.

I looked at him questioningly, and after meeting my eyes briefly, he nodded to the package, which felt hard and solid in my hands. It was an inch thick, and the size of letter paper.

The paper rustled as I gently unwrapped it. The colors were the first thing I noticed; they were painted in soft tones.  Even the strokes were delicate, showing a woman looking out the window, her face framed by a gentle glow. Her lips were slightly parted, as if on the verge of a smile. I gave a small gasp as I realized who she was. Was I this breathtaking in Vince’s eyes?

“Beautiful,” I said softly, my eyes never leaving the masterpiece. “And you’ve captured magic hour perfectly.”

The silence breathed. I felt Vince shift in his seat.

“Really, Crissy, I—” He broke off uncertainly.

More silence. A peal of laughter drifted from the house. At least someone was having fun tonight. I clutched the painting to my chest.

Vince cleared his throat. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just do it straight out.” After a brief pause, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for letting you go.”

I looked at him but his eyes were glued to the ground.

“I really liked you, Crissy. When I got to know you better, the part of me that I thought would remain paralyzed was suddenly functioning again.”

I patiently waited for him to go on.

“But when that thing in Boracay happened, I just didn’t want to repeat history—you know, go after you. Whatever happened, I was going to hold on to my pride. So when you came to see me, I-I had already made up my mind to move on.”

He sighed. “But when I saw the radio that you bought for Dad, I started having doubts. The next day, I went back to the store and found your letter in the paper bag. I called your cell. You were out of reach.”

Oh my god. I had surrendered my office number when I resigned. I gave all my contacts my new number, but of course I skipped Vince.

“I went to your condo but they said you didn’t live there anymore. I went to your office and found out you’ve resigned. You weren’t on any of the networking sites. I was going crazy—I thought I wouldn’t see you anymore!”

Finally he looked at me. “But then one time, when I logged on to Facebook, there you were, smiling at me from the screen in one of Paolo’s photos. I couldn’t believe my luck! I asked him about you, and he said a few guys had asked you out, but that you were still single. I was so relieved—and happy! So when I found out about this party, I just had to go . . .” He gestured to his outfit, smiling sheepishly. “And make a fool of myself.”

I tried to smile back at him, but failed.

“Vince,” My voice trembled.  “I’m the foolish one. I was stupid—”

“Shh . . .” Vince lightly put a finger on my lips. “Didn’t I do the same thing with Anna? I was willing to take responsibility for her choices just so I could be with her.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to let go of someone who has let you go first. It makes you put the other person on a pedestal.”

Yes, that’s what I had done to Benj. I had thought of him as “the one” for so long, that even when he left me, the title had stuck. I didn’t even know why I had held on to him—was it pride? Was it because he was my comfort zone? Was it because ultimately I thought it was my fault that he left me—that I wasn’t beautiful or fun enough?

It was his choice to leave me. And I didn’t have to waste my time understanding the past. The best I could do was to live in the moment.

I reached for Vince’s hand. “Do you think we can start over?”

He smiled and squeezed my hand. The past was past—for both of us. Sometimes expiration dates were something to be grateful for because then you can start anew.

We sat there for a long time, and I stared at the sky, at the brightest star twinkling away. I knew it wasn’t really a star; it was a planet. Venus maybe? The goddess of love? 

But there was something else that I needed to know. I turned to Vince. “
Bagets
? Seriously?”

A blush crept to his face. “Hey! No dissing. It was our version of those John Hughes movies.” He was practically gushing. “Though I would prefer to watch
Bagets
over
Pretty in Pink
or
Some Kind of Wonderful
any given day.”

After an awkward pause, he said, “This is totally ruining our moment.”

I burst out laughing and looked at him slyly. “Now would be a good time to deliver your spiel on leaps of faith.”

“Huh?” Vince looked totally clueless I wanted to kick him.

Instead I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you remember? You said that relationships were like leaps of faith. You asked if I’d be willing to leap with you.”

“Ah . . .” Vince smiled. “So Ms. Hotshot Filmmaker, what’s your answer? Will you take this leap of faith with me?”

Instead of replying, I put down the painting, and threw my arms around his neck.

Our lips met. And I felt like my heart had leapt so high, it landed among the stars.

The End

Acknowledgements

This book wouldn’t have been possible without the help of these people:

#romanceclass for my co-writers’ support, especially Mina for the inspiration;

Maan for being the best beta reader in the universe;

Gerry for doing the fan-freakin-tastic book cover;

Spanky for helping out his photoshop-clueless wife;

The real Mama Maring;

Friends who encouraged me to continue when I felt like slacking;

My family and in-laws, especially my parents Rody and Ping for just being there;

And for all my friends in the TV/Video Prod/Film industry—yes, my characters are based on you guys.

Agay Llanera is a freelance writer for television and video, and a published writer of children’s books. She is a member of KUTING, a private, non-stock, non-profit organization, which aims to be the Philippines’ foremost writers’ organization for children.

Her children’s book Sol is
available online
, and can also be read
here
for free.

Email her at
[email protected]
.