SIGNED OUT

Epilogue:

She wanted to die. A quick and painless death.

It happened so suddenly that all she could remember was a blur of men in black, guns drawn, swooping at the different cubicles where they were working. Shouts were heard, there was pandemonium as the owner of the chat center was shackled. His computer operators were unlucky: they may have thought they can fight it out against the black-clad men, but they now lay wounded and unconscious.

The man beside her drove easily, out of the streets in Bago Bantay, to the direction of SM North in Edsa. This man whom she had known several weeks ago now knows the deepest secrets she has. She wiped her tears. She is still wearing the jacket he gave, nothing more.

“Major, everything secured. Zero for visitors, three for home.” His radio crackled.

“Copy. Back to base. I’m mobile. Alert all 20’s. Out.”

As the Sportivo gained speed, he glanced at her.

“Are you alright?"

“Why did you not tell me you are in the service?” she sobbed.

“I cannot divulge secrets . . . sorry.”

“You told me you are a car dealer. . .”

“A cover. Anyway, that shop is signed out. All modems and domains will be in our command. Worry no more.”

Prologue:

She graduated with honors at the University of Saint Louis. She took up Mass Communication as a course, and she was number one in her class. She has a well-modulated voice, and her professor in MC 315, TV and Radio Performance always told her: you have the projection, and you are telegenic.

True.

She has the face of Vanessa Hudgens, though sometimes others think she has the Indian sign. Fair complexioned, a body of a model, kissable lips, aquiline nose and eyes that make one look at the galaxies, she always had “take one” in their taping. Her classmates adore her and she complimented them by any assistance she could give in their classes. There had been many suitors but she told them they can only be friends.

After graduation, she decided to try her luck in Manila. Her target: ABS CBN. Armed with an excellent portfolio, resume and recommendations from broadcasters in the region and financed by her father, she took the bus and stayed in a boarding house in Bago Bantay. The boarding house was modest: owned by the De Leon couple, and there were six of them. One is enrolled at the University of the East, two in Ateneo and the other two are working in SM North. They became friends.

Her quest to be a news reporter started. Anchor, maybe? She was thrilled. She was thrilled with the thought of earning a living. More so, she will now work. It is her passion.

Her board mates also gave her support. They briefed her about life in Manila. They informed her of the alleys to be avoided and the safe havens during Sundays. She found warmth in their company. They spent early evenings listening to music and feasting on mangoes, exchanged pocketbooks and watched movies together.

It was Monday. She woke up early and after her morning bread and coffee, she took a cold shower. Wearing her best executive blazer and skirt, she hailed a taxi to Sgt. Esguerra Avenue. This is it, girl, she said. Your life. You have to recall all the lessons for the interview.

After the winding traffic, they arrived at her destination. She composed herself as she gazed at the icon of ABS CBN: parang katol. The guard asked about her business, and she told him she was there to apply. The guard said she may wait at the lounge. She sat on the nearest sofa. Soon, field reporters and cameramen emerged from the left-wing of the briefing room. They stared at her.

There were waves of laughter, and out from the dressing room connected to the other studio came Pinky Webb and Alex Santos. She had seen them before, during their field trip, but not this close. My God! Pinky and Alex. She controlled herself from shouting. She smiled at them. Her heart leaped when the two also winked.

After one hour, the HR staff arrived. She ushered her into the office of the Human Resource Officer.

She greeted the Human Resource officer who was reading something in a folder. It was her folder!

“So, you are a cherry?” he asked. He was wearing blue long sleeve polo, a faded type of denim and a necktie. She remembered her professor in MC 315. He is always wearing a necktie, and pastel-colored polo shirt.

“Uh, uh. No sir. I am applying.”

He laughed. “Cherry. Rookie. Fresh grad. That was what I meant.”

She blushed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Where is the University of Saint Louis?”

“Tuguegarao City, Sir.”

“Where is that?”

“Region II sir. Cagayan.”

“Ah. We have a substation there, and they told me the school is good.” he quipped. The resource manager looked at her resume, her OTR and her portfolio. Then, he sighed.

“I am sorry. We don’t need any news reporter YET at the moment.”

“Any other job that suits my qualification, sir?”

“Well, one who would hold an idiot board for Willie. Can you do it?”

“Sir, I am a Mass Com graduate. . .”

“Look, honey, even our assistant make up artist is a Mass Com graduate. None, really. But if you like to hold the idiot board . . . or, can you dance? You have the figure.”

She lost her composure.

“I am not a dancer, sir. Thank you anyway.” She stood up.

“Ok.” The man said. “Break a leg. You may want to see Ms. Charo Santos?”

To hold an idiot board? Insane! The nerd. To dance? Never. Idiot!

She went back to the boarding house, fuming.

The next day, it was GMA. The same.

“. . .well, if one would quit... .or can you hold the things of Reynica?”

“. . .You can give a cue, right?”

ABC

“. . .how about preparing the teleprompter. . .”

“or edit the idiot board. . .”

All of them. No vacancy. She went to different radio stations. They only raised an eyebrow. Now she believed that Manila is a concrete jungle. Her money dwindled. She tried to budget. She bought shampoos in a sachet. Now, instead of McDO, she eats lugaw. She was reminded of Tuguegarao. Of home. Suddenly, she wanted to go back. She tried to call her father but texted instead. She told him she is still applying. She looked at the calendar. She had been away too long. Three weeks ended up to nothing.

Uwi ka na anak, miz Ka na namin . . . d2 k n lang hanap ng work.

I wish . . . I wish . . . she looked at the cloudy sky that evening. She refused to go out with her board mates. Suddenly, she felt warm tears on her cheeks. She sobbed. She covered her face with a pillow.

Princess Sarmiento, the COED from Ateneo arrived that afternoon. She told her to visit an office in Bago Bantay.

“My classmate works there, night time shift. It is a chat –financing office, and they are earning 60 dollars a day.” Sixty dollars? She could not believe it.

She went the following day. The male receptionist was there, alright, and she greeted him.

“I have here my resume and portfolio, sir.”

The man nodded. Good.

“You know computers? The basic?”

“Encoding? PowerPoint?”

The portly man laughed. “No. YM. Yahoo. AOL. Hotmail.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Go and see the owner, He is upstairs.”

Upstairs, there were girls hunched on their laptops. Webcam and built-in cameras were also there. It is just like the computer shops in the Fountain, she taught. What would be my work here?

The manager looks like a Chinese.

After introducing herself, she handed her portfolio. He placed it on top of his table instead. Her heart sank.

“Sixty dollars. Just chat. But don’t say you are here in the Philippines. You must also have a screen name.”

With the money dwindling, “well, this is Manila. I will earn and apply again,” ABS CBN.

That was the start. She learned that the computer shop was catering to foreigners particularly Americans. In short, the program was embedded in AOL, Hotmail, and Yahoo. They just chat. She underwent a two- day training on that. A gay comp expert tutored her on the terms. LOL is laughed out loud. Hun, dear, babe, cupcake . . . on-screen was a picture, sexy, but not hers. Addresses were in the States. Her address was Winston Salem. Her screen name is naughty_Kim 609.

“Now, the tricky thing is asking about their credit cards. Give this site, and when they enter the site, you earn. Charged from their CC or ATM. Got it?”

Rather than going home faceless, sixty dollars is sixty dollars.

His first sign-in was a jackpot.

Hi. You look pretty.

I am. Well. . . I am alone and I have this new lingerie. Would u like to see, hun?

Yeah. Yeah.

Tnx. Go to this site. Enter ur name and CC number to confirm that you are not below 18, and u can see me. . .

Going.

Name: Hesperus. Atlanta. CC: 0099876548

Without her knowing, in the other room was a computer mainframe, once the CC number was entered, the video started playing. . . .

Her first sixty dollars. Easy.

She became a top rater and a laptop was issued to her. She was given a day off.

She went to SM North. She ordered food at Kenny Rogers and ate her heart out. She shopped. She called home and told them she will send some cash.

After buying some blouses, she proceeded to Starbucks for coffee and cookies. She sat down on a bench under a green gazebo in a quiet corner where there was a wifi signal. She checked her E-mail. There were messages from Sara, Jedahmin, Janford, Jackilou, Webster Christine, Maricel, and Angelika. All her classmates. They chatted a bit.

Then she saw him. Their eyes met. He was also seated adjacent to her. What made her look into his direction? She shivered.

“You are also a computer buff?” he asked. His voice soothing, his eyes twinkling. He was in Blue T-shirt, Levi’s jeans and sketcher pumps.

“Hi,” she said. “I am just checking my Email,” her voice quivered.

He edged nearer. “It is nice here. Quiet. I guess if I were in here when I was a student, I could write many editorials.”

“You are a writer?” she asked incredulously.

“Before. I was the Editor in Chief.”

“Now?” suddenly she was interested. She looked at him directly in the eyes.

“A car dealer.” There is a magnet in his voice. His face is even like Alex Santos! His English perfect and flawless. He offered his hand.

“I am Mark.” In an eternity, she offered her hand. His palm was smooth, his fingers tapered. Suddenly, she became conscious. She blushed, obvious to him. Her jeans revealed her shapely legs; her blouse clung to her bosom. Her pulse quickened.

“I am Anna May.”

“Nice meeting you, Anna. My full name is Marquin Perez. You love music?” he fiddled a knob in his nano MP 4 player and offered the earphones. She placed the earphones on her ears. Ed Sheeran!

“This is one of my favorites!” she exclaimed.

They shared stories, and she informed him that she works in a computer shop, “pending her application as a News Reporter.” That is good, he said. They exchanged emails and cp numbers.

There was not a day that Mark did not send a message. The man is an enigma. One time, she saw him in the Manila Pen. He was in a tuxedo. He was like a model. “Some social function,” he said. The other day, he was in shorts, cool, breezy Nike and a white T-shirt as he emerged in a sedan in Veterans Village. “Badminton time.” The man seems to be everywhere.

Glennie called for her.

“Are you satisfied with sixty dollars?” She asked.

“Why?”

“Because there are requests,”

“What request?”

“Better ask the manager.”

She went to the manager.

“Look, you can earn up to 100 dollars a day. All you have to do is to pose on the webcam.”

“That is lewd.”

“No. Consider it as an art. You have the body and the face. They like to see a Filipina. Let’s make a deal 150 dollars.”

“Just pose?”

“Well, if they want you to dance, dance. If they want to see flesh, show them. You lose nothing.”

“I can’t do it.”

“This is a new program. It is called G -Fam.”

She swallowed. “I am going to think about it.”

That night, she was not able to sleep.

She decided to go to ABS CBN or ABC once more.

But just like the first, she was met by cold shoulders. She sent a message to Marquin. I am bored. I need a break.

Marquin texted back: “Patience is the Wisdom of the Ages.”

She slept, thinking of home.

She went back to the manager.

“I would like to do it, but only for two days.”

“Don’t you like to become rich?”

“Two days.”

“Ok. See Glennie for the briefing. We will be online in an hour. Use cubicle number 1.”

Glennie was over-exuberant.

“Just face the webcam, dahling and speak. You are good at speaking English. Do what he says. The longer the connection, the bigger the pay. You can see his face on this part of the screen. Don’t worry. You will not be raped because he is a thousand miles away.”

Sam entered. “Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Glennie distributed tanggas and T backs. When she protested, she said, “Visuals, Anna. Visuals .Your screen name is shikushijapdoll.”

She went to cubicle number one. She sent broadcasts. She was torn between running out, and she regretted having accepted. I will go and apply tomorrow, she consoled herself.

Broadcasts.

Doubleday: how are u, doll.

shikushijapdoll: im good baby

shikushijapdoll: asl pls

Doubleday: yap.u are. am a good man too.

shikushijapdoll: that’s good

shikushijapdoll: asl pls

Doubleday: just droppin by, hun.

shikushijapdoll: so ur leaving now

Doubleday: no. let us chat a bit.

shikushijapdoll: ok

shikushijapdoll: wer r u going?

Doubleday: im with u, hun

shikushijapdoll: great

Doubleday: You put on webcam, hun.

shikushijapdoll: so wer u from?

Doubleday: Nebraska.

shikushijapdoll: ok. I have a webcam here in my room, and well . . . (Anna couldn’t continue)

Doubleday: am online, lady. Just put on the webcam. Am payin.

Then followed a series of commands . . . look better if you remove your pants . . . nice . . . how about removing your blouse?. . Good. I don’t like the bra, babe . . . now; let’s see you from behind. . . .

Pandemonium. Shouts. The curtained glass canopy of cubicle 1 erupted. Shots.Then total darkness.

“No one makes a damn move! Hands up! CIDG!” She can see crouching figures in black. They have guns, their faces with black cover-up paint. Phantoms. I am looking at phantoms, Anna in her undies, said.

A muscular arm gently sneaked to her from behind, its palm holding a gun, while the other offered a jacket. It was Marquin. Just like the rest, he is wearing a black shirt, an earpiece, and a body armor. His twinkling eyes met hers. Marquin placed the jacket on her shoulders.

“Come with me this way so no one can see you.”

Swayed by the fastness of the event, she wore the jacket, held the hand that was offered and followed. Marquin was shooting at the darkness. . . .The shots echoing. He was talking to his mouthpiece, issuing orders on the radio. Until they reached the basement.

Antithesis

“When our contact texted, we have to move fast . . . we have a prima facie evidence against that shop. One of the comp experts is my agent. I cannot tell you who I am. Now, you know.”

Anna was still crying. Mark gave his handkerchief. “I am dead,” Anna said.

“No. You are alive.”

“My family would know.”

“They will not.”

“I have to go home.”

“You have to go home with me.”

“Where?”

“Cagayan. Our home. I am from there. After this, you have to apply to ABS CBN. Charo Santos is my aunt. I have talked to her already.”

She embraced his waiting shoulders. She now believed in wishes.

(A work of fiction, and yet. . . .)