Selecting what to wear for work was a secret pleasure Lory relished. She had begged her husband to let her convert his study adjacent to their second-floor bedroom into a walk-in closet. In exchange, she had converted the patio into a lovely study for him and then had an oversized pergola built in the middle of the lawn. Yes, it had been a good idea to buy the empty lot next to theirs; expensive but worth every million. It would be their weekend sanctuary - the pool, the pergola and the hundreds of pink and green anthuriums and red bromeliads, and her extensive collection of rare orchids. She could invite the entire office for their Christmas party and show off her landscaping expertise.
But at the moment, all she could think of was the dozens and dozens of clothes hanging in her closet. Even more than landscaping, fashion was her obsession. She was the self-declared fashion denizen of the university, and each day as she walked to the cafeteria she carried her head high and measured each step, imagining she was on her very own catwalk, sure that all eyes were on her and the latest creation she donned. She was right, although she mistook the looks of disdain for appreciation.
She was partial to prints and ruffles and light flouncy material. But once in while, just to take everyone off-guard, she would come in her variation of Chanel suits. She didn't really care for them, as she felt that fashion for the 20-some- things really suited her 48-year old figure best, but she thought suits did give off a corporate air. So, once in awhile, she conceded.
She sifted through the blouses, arranged by color and sleeve length. She had once considered arranging them by material - linens, cottons, silks, voile. Blends irritated her, and she was not sure how to classify part-cotton, part-polyester. But she knew how to opt for the simpler classification, so she went with color/sleeve length.
She felt like red today. Red was the color of life, and she needed a boost for the meeting she would have today. A red linen top, with a Chinese collar. That would do with a slim black skirt. Linen, too? Or silk to complete the Asiatic effect? Yes, one with slits on the sides. A mini Cheongsam. Maybe she would put chopsticks in her hair today. No, she thought, or she may be tempted to stick them in someone's eyes. Those men. Peering into my business!
Shoes were never a challenge, even if she had 231 pairs. She needed a pair of heels, very high ones that would make her entrance more regal and allow her to tower over those awful board members who were going to interrogate her. The jerks, she told herself.
She laid her outfit on the bed, as always making mental calculations of what her outfit would be worth today. Top, 3,425 pesos. Skirt, 5,240. She remembered her shopping trip with her daughter at the DKNY store and how she had drove home with this skirt and over a hundred thousand pesos in the latest fashions. Satisfied at what she had selected, she turned to the breakfast tray on the coffee table by the 40" Bravia. Her husband was already in L.A. catching up on business. Thank God. She enjoyed these private breakfasts when he was away. She sank into one of the leather armchairs and examined the ornate silver-plated tray. She sighed, this new maid still had to learn now to fold the cloth napkins. But at least she had selected a very pretty cattleya for the silver-plated single-flower vase. After breakfast, Lory completed her morning ablutions then joyfully dressed herself.
For a few minutes she stood naked in front of the full length, gold framed mirror. She did quarter-turns, squeezing the flab on her tummy, jiggling the flesh under her upper arms, tensing her thigh muscles. She decided she would definitely go in for liposuction after she consulted with her doctor. She was sure that removing some of the fat should help reduce her high cholesterol, which in turn would help reduce her hypertension. Yes, of course that was logical. Less fat, less cholesterol, less hypertension. Why didn't everyone who had high-blood pressure get lipos, she wondered.
Next, she examined her face. She didn't like the sag. But she didn't want a facelift because of the downtime. If she came in with scars from a long absence, the staff would know. She had gotten away with the eye job because she had it done in the States when she took the summer off to visit her daughter in L.A. Where better to have cosmetic work done than in the City of the Stars? She made a pout, considering herself as Angelina Jolie. She would consider those new non-surgical methods. But for now, make-up was the answer. She felt good with make-up; make-up could hide a lot. She finished off with the new shade of lipstick she had found at Beauty Box. She went for something pale, as she thought her lipstick should not compete with the red of her suit. She returned the tube, finding its proper place among the 53 others arranged in colors from deepest to lightest shades.
The next two things she would have to do were her favorite part of dressing: slipping into her shoes, and spritzing the perfume. The shoes she had selected were in a cabinet she had customized. She smiled. The cabinet was her pride. She had it specially made to match the baroque Kapampangan furniture in her bedroom. She loved the curvings (why did people insist on calling it carvings, she wondered, when the design was full of curves) and the gold and silver metallic spray paint she had chosen to mimic gold and white gold jewelry. She felt she was sleeping in a bed of Bulgari.
The perfume cabinet was made of glass with the same gold/silver frames. It displayed her complete perfume collection gloriously. She always leafed through magazines to see the newest scent and made sure her daughter would send it over in the next balikbayan box. She knew her collection of 200 bottles was worth at least 800,000 pesos. But it was an investment she said, she would smell good always, and in time, she could sell it as vintage collectibles, so in twenty or thirty years people would still know what women smelled like in the beginning of the millennium. Although, sometimes she questioned why the older perfumes didn't smell so good. She attributed it to her outgrowing their scent.
She slipped on the black Jimmy Choos her daughter had found on sale on Rodeo Drive. Three hundred fifty dollars, they were. She knew the four inch stilettos would mean she would have to walk very, very carefully, but she had to wear them today to feel more confident. The last touch was four sprays of Poison. She laughed, that was what she wanted to do to those board members today. Poison them. Chopsticks or poison? Or chopsticks with poisoned tips like those arrows the rainforest natives use. She laughed loud, believing herself to be extremely witty.
How dare they! They should support her without question, after all, all she was doing was helping the university. Those stupid faculty and administrators had no right to questions her policies. It made her work efficient and timely. Her policies allowed her to monitor all money movements so nothing sinister could go undetected. She knew how money disappeared, yes she did. Nothing could pass by her. Her policies made sure of that. The faculty and staff were thieves, all of them. They used the money for other things that had nothing to do with school. She suspected they got free lunches on school money. She was sure they used those cash advances for their own dark deeds. The five thousand pesos for tarpolines they were probably using to buy new shoes for school opening for their kids. And ugly shoes she was sure they were. Oh yes, she knew what ugly shoes those secretaries bought, and that they used school money somehow and only liquidate when they were good and ready. She knew full well how to make money disappear, they couldn't fool her. The least they could do was buy good shoes.
Lory checked her watch. It was almost 8:00 a.m. Her driver was weaving in and out of traffic. She had pulled out her leather-bound Gucci planner, another "gift" from her daughter. She smirked. Her daughter's being in America and able to get such luxuries "on sale" was such a useful excuse. Her first meeting of the day was set for 10:30, a lunch meeting at 11:30, and finally, the Board interrogation at 2:00. She had plenty of time.
The driver pulled into the parking lot of the bank. Lory straightened her skirt and picked up her Prada bag. She mocked all those who thought this was a tiangge purchase. Didn't they know all her possessions were originals? Lory Velasco, carry a fake! That was ridiculous. It only proved how stupid they were.
The bank tellers smiled when she walked in, the bank manager rose and greeted her, falling all over her with praises for her outfit. Lory forced her smile, thanking the bank manager as she settled into a chair. She made a mental note of the heart-shaped diamond on the ring of the bank manager. She would have one made just like it, only bigger. She twisted the ring on her finger suddenly dissatisfied with its one-and-a-half carat tear-shaped diamond.
"Yes Ma'm, we have prepared the ten thousand dollars. But Ma'm are you sure you want to withdraw all that? They may stop you at the airport. Why don't you just shop with your credit cards?"
"Oh, but I am not bringing all of that out! I have some other use for it." She scanned the bank from the corner of her eye, as the manager rose to go to the vault. There he was, across the room eyeing her. She met Joey's gaze. He had nice eyes, why didn't he get contact lenses instead of those stupid 1950s glasses? His head had a nice shape, his nearly shaven head gave it good definition. If he had only asked her nicely, taken her out to a few lunches, gone ballroom dancing with her, maybe accompanied her on a couple of overnight stays in Tagaytay? Why did he have to be so criminal?
She wasn't hard to talk to. A few trysts were win-win. Blackmail was too one-sided; she felt she wasn't getting anything out of it. People, she thought, so selfish. She batted her eyelashes and tried to smile coquettishly. Maybe she could still entice him for a little on the side, make this pay-me-or-I'll-tell a little less unpleasant.
She picked up her cellphone and sent him a message: Let's make the 10:30 meeting at Shangrila Hotel. He read the message and looked up carefully. She raised her left eyebrow and making sure no one was looking, she ran the tip of her tongue on her upper lip.
Joey shuddered. She was ugly. Her beady eyes, her bad skin, her permanent laser eyebrows. She was always bathed in perfume, but she looked dirty, as if her skin was covered by a film of oil. (He had no awareness that it was Shea butter from L'Occitane.) Her taste in clothing was beyond belief, and if she only paid attention to anything outside herself, she would see that when she wore such heels, all hands were ready to catch her should she topple over. What was she doing tonguing her lips? Was she actually thinking of sex? God forbid.
Does she really not remember me? He thought of how Superman managed to disguise himself with just a pair of glasses and a dumb look. But, it had been more than a decade ago, when in college, her daughter had spurned him on Lory's instructions. "Baby, naman, you deserve more than that aktibista scholar. Men like him don't know how to make money." He had cleaned up nicely, gotten rid of the ponytail, the bad skin and the radical streak. But he had never forgiven Mrs. Velasco, and when she had walked into the bank on his first week of work, he knew it was fate. And so for over a year he tracked her transactions.
He texted back: I will fetch you outside Shangrila Plaza. Send your driver home. He lifted his head, averted his eyes, but smiled a satisfied smile, and got up from his desk. She read his message and a thrill ran through her from the top of her professionally henna'ed hair, to the tip of her French-style half-moon pedicure, and she felt like the day would go well after all. This was exactly what she needed before the meeting with the board. Sex always brought out the best in her. She was ruthless after a good lay. She could steal, she could kill, she could wipe out the entire city of Bhagdad after an hour with a boy like him. The board would be chicken feed.
And so Lory did not make her lunch meeting with the auditors. Her secretary tried to call her cellphone. Lory would not pick up, but a minute later she sent a text message: "Please give my sorry. All will be liquidated later." Her secretary shrugged, and went off to lunch.
At two o'clock the board members were all settled in the Board Room, but Lory had not reported to work. The Board Secretary called the Accounting Office. Where was Mrs. Velasco? As Lory's secretary relayed that last text message she had received, there was a knock on the Board Room door.
A courier had a package for the Chairman. This was unusual.
He unsealed the plastic courier envelope and drew out a large black velvet box and a sheaf of folded papers -- print-outs from the bank across the street, indicating regular weekly deposits, each in high eight-digit figures. There were withdrawals as well, and the movement of money indicated millions of pesos. The chairman, now a bit alarmed, drew open the red tissue paper to reveal what was inside the box.
Clutching a hundred hundred-dollar bills was a severed hand, on the ring finger, a one-and-a-half carat tear-shaped diamond, and a note that said: Balance of this liquidation to follow, with a full accounting seven days after completion of the project.