27 Kreutzer Sonata (1/2)
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.”