“His breath smells. Don’t know what he eats but it is foul. I don’t think he believes in taking showers either,” Melda describes her latest suitor, Genitorio Surexa Camotim – Gino for short. “Matter of fact, he has bad hygiene – he is bad hygiene. He smells like an Egyptian Mummy.”

“Come on, I’m trying to enjoy my chicken,” reminded Linda. “Eat your chicken nuggets before they get cold.”

Genitorio Surexa Camotim worked for IBM-Asia. He is the only one left of the many college educated Engineering Technicians IBM hired right after the Korean War. He knows Peripheral equipment like no other – Card Readers, Card Perforators, Encryption machines, High Speed Printers and Magnetic Tapes and Drums. Likewise he also knew intimately the workings of the water-cooled mainframe IBM computers that drove these peripherals and crunched the numbers. In short, he was the IBM product support engineer for IBM-Asia.

He chain smoked those unfiltered cigarettes by the pack. He carried no less than seven packs on his person at any one given time, stuffing four packs in his socks, two in his front shirt pockets and one in his left trouser pocket. Even his fingers were yellowed, not to mention his hairy nostrils that dripped with that nicotine stuff.

His nasty habits notwithstanding, Gino was a very kind hearted man. “I may be Egyptian but I have a Filipino heart,” was his favorite line – specially when he was around the Filipino people. He frequented Manila, Baguio City and the Cebu hot spots and had his eye on the young, slim and trim Filipinas who worked in the city hospitality and service industries.

His story is somewhat not unlike the so many stories you may have come across – he is the product of an Egyptian father (a doctor) and an Asian mother, a Filipina nurse to be more precise, originally from Narvacan who worked in a Cairo Hospital.

Gino spoke broken Taglish, mixing it all up with a little bit of Spanish and some Ilocano. That endeared him to the jet setters – fellow travelers who frequented Hong Kong, Manila, Tokyo, Singapore, Christ Church, Canberra and other ports of call in Asia.

Melda and her friend Linda continued eating their lunch as they tried to stick to a common thread in their somewhat scattered conversation. Melda spoke between bites. . . “There are things I like about him.”

“Like?. . .” Linda paused for effect. “Like what for instance?”

“He is so kind hearted and generous. My mother thinks that I have hit the jackpot – you know. He wouldn’t let my mother spend even a peso when we went to the market. I would point at something and he would say to the vendor, ‘Sold… to the lady with a pony tail. Wrap it up’ – without even looking at the price.”

“Hmmm…. sounds like he is trying to impress you and your mother,” said Linda, her voice clearly sounding cautionary.

“I don’t know. Do you think people would despise me for settling for an old man – I mean, it would be obvious that he would be as old as my grandfather.” Melda was reflective. “I don’t like the smell of old men… you know?”

“Yeah but look beyond the cosmetics… er… aesthetics, or is it the olfactory factor – I don’t know what I’m trying to say but never mind. I see diamonds, precious stones, money and tons of gold,” reminded Linda. “He will bring at your feet the riches of the Nile. You will be his Queen Nefertiri… or is it Cleopatra? He is in his early 70’s, yes? There, how much sexual activity do you think he’ll be able to exact?”

“That’s not the point,” Melda insisted. “There is such a thing as pride. And I come from a family that has lots of pride and heritage.”

“You are talking history now girl. That may have been the case before the government took away all your family properties and redistributed them to the share croppers under the agrarian redistribution movement. Remember? Hello? Earth to Melda. Besides, what’s that got to do with the price of tea in China? Look, you stand to inherit a ton of wealth with this one,” Linda was emphatic. “Don’t mess this one up.”

“I’d rather die than have that old, limp thing climbing up and all over me.” Melda turned pensive for a moment. “Horror of horrors! Do you suppose he can still get it up?” She motioned with her forearm jerking up from the crook of her elbow.

“He might surprise you. He is Egyptian… tsk tsk tsk… maybe he is a Mummy… whoa ha ha ha… a mummyfied ‘thingy’ could be a very hard and erect thing. You’ll never know,” Linda was totally going crazy now.

“Yikes!” Melda almost choked on one of her chicken nuggets. “But I don’t think I can bear it.”

“My God, what’s a little sacrifice? First you spread ‘em wide; he puts it in. You do the piggly-wiggly and bam! He goes into convulsions; he is done! End of excursion!” Linda was bordering on graphic. “You can hold your breath while he does his thing. Believe me it won’t take long.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Melda feigned a burp. “Are you about done? Because this is getting old already. I have heard it all before. Just put up with a little bit of discomfort. You will reap your reward.” Like a machine gun, Melda was going over her concerns rapid fire. “What if he likes anal or some kinky thing like that? Then what am I going to do?”

“Look. You do what you have to. You put up with that biker psycho maniac, what’s his name, Rico Vacillon. And all you got for all your troubles was a motorcycle ride. Think hard girl – he took you for a ride. Think of this thing with Gino as getting a new lease on life. It’s time you took somebody for a ride. He might actually enjoy it.” Linda was right on.

Through all those years before she met Gino, Melda put up with the maniac Rico Vacillon and his biker ways. She lived a gypsy existence and was forced to turn a trick or two here and there, a hand job now and then and even some kinky stuff just to earn gasoline money. How quickly she had forgotten.

Now it was time to take stock of the present and inventory for the future. How much longer will she be able to hold on to that girlish charm that men find so alluring and irresistible? How much longer before she has to rely on surgical intervention and many trips to the spa to maintain some semblance of her youthful looks? Could she afford to miss out on this opportunity to mine for gold albeit from Gino’s deep pockets? The clock was ticking and the movement was not in her favor.

Finally finished with their meal, Linda and Melda got up to leave. They bused their table, collected all their plastic ware, paper cups, used napkins and took their tray to the trash bin to empty it. Then they went their separate ways – Linda going back to her digs in Intramuros and Melda to her place of employment – The Moulin Rouge night club on the strip.

The crisp city air carried with it the usual smells of the neighboring businesses, accented by the fumes of diesel and gasoline vehicles, and blended with the household aromas of various vayands cooking. Melda felt good about the future. She had a certain sprightliness to her gait. Soon she will have it made. No more one night stands. No more bargaining with hacks who wanted to have their cheap thrills at her expense. No more freebies given to the bouncer, the chauffer, the purser – and God knows who else she had given favors to. She is off to her new gig. Melda will be the next Queen of the Nile… the next Mrs. Genitorio Surexa Camotim.