Lucia City Times Business Section. Headline: Amasio Macedo, missing. Son inherits AMC TV
That was it. This is the first time I had the front-page story written by myself. Outside the headquarters of Lucia City Times, we have a booth set-up to sell our papers. I can see that even the busiest of office workers stop by to buy the paper. I take one from the booth and read my article. There it is, front-page story. Oh, my god. I can't believe it.
As I was about to enter the building, I hear my phone ring. I look at the contact head, and there it is. Another unknown number.
Ysabel, I am ready for you.
I answer my phone with a fiery heart. I am ready for you, Ysabel. Face me right now without your blindfolds.
"Rose, what are you doing?"
That voice. I do not hear the sly voice of a woman ready to kill me. In fact, it was not even a woman. Even though I never talk to him that much, I know who it is.
"Attorney Guevarra, what's going on? Why have you called?"
There it is. We talk to each other again after such a long time. I take to the side to keep this call going. "I should be asking that, Rose," he says through the phone. "What is going on? 'Lucia City Times: Amasio Macedo, missing. Son inherits AMC TV.' Mateo is now awake and yet you could write this article without telling me what's going."
"Attorney, I would have told you sooner, but – "
"Not now. Stop talking. Let's talk."
"Alright, I'll come by your office after work."
"No, meet me at the Metro Arts Theater. 5 pm sharp."
"Why not your office, surely – "
"I say we meet at the theater, Rose. Just listen and meet me there."
*
I don't even know why it had to be the theater.
After a long shift at the newsroom, I take a cab heading for the Metro Arts Theater. If the headquarters of Lucia City Times is at the city center, along with other media companies, the Theater is just slightly away from the city center itself. Probably to keep the decorum of 'fanciness' for these folks that want to show their 'fanciness'. Even in my dull reporter clothes of black and white, the driver says nothing. Surely, he must think that I'm just there to report for a new show hosted at the theater. Attorney Guevarra wants to meet me there, and yet he gives no explanation.
After a short 15-minute drive for the theater, I pay the cabman a generous amount for his service. As I step out the cab, I can see Attorney Guevarra leaning by a streetlight. He leans as if he would embrace the streetlight to his sleep. So, this is what it must feel like to be a lawyer – tired, sleepy, sluggish. Yep, just like a reporter. In his hand, he holds rolled-up papers. On another, it's just another briefcase. Just a like a reporter indeed. I approach him with a brief smile on my face.
"Come on, show's gonna start," he says as he hands me a ticket.
Beethoven's Classics: A Night of Music. Sounds like some concerto that Emma Concepcion would attend if not perform in. I could feel myself almost laughing. I don't even know what he's doing. "What's this?" I ask him.
"A show I want you to see. As I said, I want to talk to you at a proper place."
"Why not at the office?" I ask him again.
"I believe you will understand better if you see it for yourself."
Like brother like sister indeed. Both of them just apply the principle of 'see for yourself' when they would like to prove a point. I don't get this whole game, alright. I believe I can understand if we were just talking to ourselves. We can just talk in private. There is no need to watch a show just for a talk. So, this is how the elite discuss problems – over a concerto.
He leads me into a building of grand splendor. Yes, I have been here. Emma performed here years ago. I watched it with just a general admission ticket because the special tickets cost half of my tuition fee. The double doors of the general admission section stand before me, and yet, he guides me upstairs. Upstairs. So, I guess we are not watching a show. I follow him up and the second level is just a hall filled with smaller double doors. Then, I realize. These are not just double doors for rooms. These are double doors for the box section. I look at the ticket I'm holding, and it matches the numbers above the double doors.
There it is, Box 5. Attorney Guevarra is not even asked of a ticket. Instead, the guard standing at the double doors of Box 5 just opens the double doors. I, however, have to wave up my ticket to indicate that I'm with him. The guard just looks at me with suspicion. It took a guiding Attorney Guevarra to let him know that it was alright. I know, he looks down on me with contempt. As I enter through the double doors, I could already hear the clamor of the people. I guess some people would like to experience a night of glamor for themselves. These are middle-class men trying to understand how the elite lives every day. With the elite's lives looking like this, it's no wonder why people like Emma and Eloisa grew tired of it.
I look below me, and for once, I am on top (literally). From up here, it's just a view of glitters and jewels of people trying to belong to a world not fit for them.
"Champagne, miss?"
I look to my side, and it is only a waiter. I don't even know what to say. I don't even know if I should pay him for this service. I just freeze in front of him, not knowing what to do.
Then, suddenly, Attorney Guevarra just takes the two glasses on the waiter's tray.
"Thank you, boy," he says as he hands me the glass. The waiter just bows and leaves us be. I realize. I'm still standing in awe of this. This crampy box suites I thought of as tight turns out to be quite spacious. I take my seat beside Attorney Guevarra. I don't know what he wants with me, but he sure is beginning to convince me. Even as I sit, I could still see a clear view of the stage. At the middle of it is a grand piano, one Emma would usually play on. So, this is a solo performance.
"So, are you going to make me pay for the ticket?" I ask him as I take a sip of the champagne. I can't tell if it's flat or something. I don't even drink.
"No," he says. He takes a short sip of the champagne. All of a sudden, he takes to his side and unrolls the paper he was holding. So, it is the paper of Lucia City Times with my article at the front-page.
"I'll cut to the chase, Rosanna," he says. "We have not seen each other for weeks. The last update you gave of me is that Mateo is in a coma. It felt wrong at that time to reprimand you, but now, what the hell? I told you not to interfere with the mafia! You are pricking a beast. Let me deduce something. Mateo is awake and yet he is not with you finishing this case. That could mean he might have had a change of heart when he got out of coma. However, he can't have had a change in inheritance along the way. He was disgraced. So, Ysabel might have something to do with this. He might have taken the Macedo family out of the picture and put Mateo in the spotlight."
It only took him an article to try and figure things out. For me, it took a talk with him. Sometimes, he shocks me. I drink the champagne as a whole as if I would attempt to get drunk on it. "Attorney, he does not remember me," I say to him as I put the glass down.
"No, but he may only act that way. Rose, Mateo owes Ysabel a favor for giving him the company."
"If only you could have seen him. He speaks like an entirely different person. 'I do not remember these events of which you speak.' Who talks like that?"
He does not even say anything. All he does is let out a smile of scorn as he tears the paper in half. "None of these would have happened if you listened to me. You couldn't just wait a while to not confront Ysabel, can't you? It's like oil and water. Oil settles once you leave it enough time. With enough time, everything becomes clearer, but now, you stirred oil and water together, Rose. It's now a mess that you can't even pick the oil away."
And suddenly, the lights turn into a dim. The light centers at the blank stage. And then, suddenly, a pair of performers come on stage. Everyone claps for the performers. I do the same as I felt compelled to follow the norms. Attorney Guevarra does not even clap. He just looks with contempt on stage.
"What are you?" he says to himself.
And then suddenly, an announcer speaks. "Ladies of Gentlemen, Beethoven's Classics: A Night of Music begins with violin soloist David Diwa and his piano accompanist."
As I hear the announcer introduce the performers, I look on stage. Yes, it is indeed him. It is the same David Diwa of my life. Oddly enough, he does not look like the David Diwa I saw at the church. He looks the same as the day we trespassed Ferrydell University and the time I saw him at the hospital.
"You ask of who he is," I say to Attorney Guevarra. "That's David Diwa, the man I told you that knows Ysabel."
I look at him from above this box suite. He takes a bow with his accompanist. He helps the accompanist sit on bench. After a brief tuning session, he takes to his bow.
"Rose, did you hear what I said? I said, 'what are you' not 'who are you'. There is a clear difference. I know him. David Diwa. You told me. But I do not know what game he plays. How could he say nothing yet know everything? He even knows Ysabel."
At the stage, I see him gently playing his violin. He plays notes of slow and beauty. I do not know the piece, but it is really peaceful. It's like entering heaven and seeing the light. And then, the accompanist plays the same notes. After that, together, they join. Then it turns kinda cute, actually.
And then…
Oh, my god. I was wrong. It was not a peaceful piece. It is a piece filled with anger and agony. I look at him from above, and there he is. He plays as if the world has already failed him. The accompanist hardly keeps up with the pace he is keeping.
"The Kreutzer Sonata," Attorney Guevarra says as he interrupts my thought. "The very piece that represents David Diwa. Tell me, do you know just before this show that David Diwa is actually a violinist?"
"No – "
"Exactly. I did not know either until my sister told me."
And then, I look at the stage again. That striking black hair when I first saw her.
"She looks exactly – "
"Yes, that's my sister," he says through gritted teeth. "You claim him to be nothing, but look at him as he looks at her with his piercing eyes. It is as if he would take her soul. You say he is a noble man who teaches for good, but you are wrong. What was that rumor I heard? There was a woman. I don't know how old, but four months into the pregnancy, the child was miscarried. I do not know if it is merely a cover-up for 'aborted' or something. Next, another child was conceived from another woman. It was prematurely born, but it died early. He did not acknowledge the child as his."
That rumor. It rings a lot like… that Coffee Shop day. It was a day when a woman haunted him of his past. I cannot remember the woman anymore, but it rings a lot like.
"It's not – "
"True?" he interrupts. "Do you believe everything he says? Rose, he has fooled you. He is not innocent. Do you actually believe he is not involved with Ysabel? You are a fool, Rose.'
His words just go over my head. I look again at Professor Diwa's playing, and there he is. He strikes the violin with passion and rage. I do not know if it's all part of his act as a soloist, but something about him strikes me."
"Who were the women?" I ask him.
"I do not know," he says grimly. "But something tells me you do not believe me. You look endlessly for all the evidence against Ysabel, but really, he's just there standing. All the evidence you need is in a man playing a fiddle. You need to get him to your side, or at least, get him to speak. Once he speaks, everything is smooth sailing. Don't deny it, Rose, or are you afraid?"
"Of what?"
"Afraid that you can't deal with him because you love him. You can't make him choose your side because he is your weakness. You don't even want to believe the 'rumors' I have. David Diwa is not your priestly professor, Rose. He lies, just like all the elite families. It's just that he keeps silent because he doesn't want to be seen as a threat."
I cannot speak. The piece turns slower and slower now until it is all quiet. Just when I thought the piece is about to end, he strikes his bow and unleashes all the fire within him. He finishes the movement with the chords that he could play. I look around. I thought the piece has ended. However, after a few seconds, he plays another one – a more serene one. Oh, right. This is a sonata. It has three movements.
"You are distracting yourself from the real issue, Rose," Attorney Guevarra says as he sips from his champagne. "The reason you are still moving is because of Ysabel Javier and her attempts to take the Concepcion fortune. But what made you begin this journey? I know not. You say it's for journalism, but I believe it's more than that. You are just caught in the middle of it all. But, let me tell you this. Rethink your plans. You may seek justice for the family I work with but ask yourself. You can easily get out of this. This is not your job. This is my job. It's good that you are helping me, but if you really want to help, get the man that would help you the most."
He rises from his seat and takes his briefcase. He's right. I can get out of this. I can just let this go, but really, I can't. I'm too deep into this. And this all began when I was just looking for some sort of man that would be tenth on his first or whatever. A pity indeed. "A word of advice, though," he says as he taps me on the shoulder. "Anyone can be bought. Just like she did with him. I have to go. I have another hearing tomorrow."
And I thought he would stay with me. All I could do is just listen to this music – music that some sort of fornicator plays. The waiter pours another glass of champagne for me. I drink it whole as if I would like to get drunk on the sight I'm seeing. I don't even know the person I should believe. Is it that man who claims to act on my best interest? Is it that man who swears secrecy for my sake? Or, should I trust no one?
As the waiter is about to pour me another glass, I stop him short. "No, that would be quite enough. You can rest now. Your services had sufficed."
He just bows as he exits the box suite. I can't even focus on the music anymore. It just turns into a blur to me. The remaining time of performance was just a blur for me. As the performance comes to an end, I can just hear all the audience around me clapping. I did not even realize that it was over until the same waiter tapped me on the shoulder.
"Miss, the performers will see you now," the waiter says to me.
"Huh, I did not request to see them," I reply.
"It's part of your privilege as a guest in this suite, miss. Also, the accompanist genuinely wants to talk to you."
Quite odd. Why would Attorney Guevarra's sister like to talk to me? I just shrug it off and followed the waiter. It turns out that there is a staff-only passageway that leads to the backstage. It was a dark stairwell that leads directly to the spot where the performers ready themselves. In this backstage, I can see employees carefully putting the piano in the basement. As we wind through the backstage, we arrive before two doors – dressing room (one for the males and one for the females). All the waiter need do is knock on the door. Suddenly, there she is – Attorney Guevarra's sister.
I see her open the door with a wide smile on her face, but as she sees me, it all fades away.
"You must have mistaken," she says to the waiter. "I asked to see the guest at box 5."
"Well, she is the guest at box 5," the waiter says in reply.
"You are wrong," she says again. "This is not my brother."
As the waiter is about to explain himself, I cut him short. "Miss Guevarra, your brother was with me earlier," I answer calmly. "He left early into the show, saying he has a hearing tomorrow. I think he wants to be prepared."
From her face, she just shakes her head – shaking in disappointment. "I should have known that he does not want to see the show after the fight we had," she says to herself. "Who are you though? Are you his girlfriend?"
"No. I'm just his client. He wanted a talk about the case. We – "
"I don't believe you one bit," she interrupts. She nods to the waiter to give us some space. "In any case, if my brother wasn't full of pride, we could live our lives in peace without this… mess of the law. That would be all, miss."
That was odd. I barely know her, and yet, she scowls at me as if I had wronged her. All of a sudden, as I was about to leave, I hear another door unlock. The door opens with a man exiting through the door. He walks with a palm over his forehead. He walks as if the world tired him already – Professor Diwa. In his shaky walking, he bumps into me.
"Sorry, miss," he says as he opens his eyes. As he realizes that it's me, I just give him a shrug.
"What are you doing here?" he says, much to his shock.