Anatalia Ayala had promised Bellisima Cua that the story and photos about her winning the Volzhacker Prize would appear in the newspaper’s online lifestyle section this week. These had not seen print in any of the inner pages of the main broadsheet’s news sections. The Volzhacker Prize was another bullet point in BC’s truncated stub of a resume. It was in dire need of lengthening so that she might get closer to that board seat in the Asian Aspirers Association, or AAA. She was already the president of the Filipinas Aspirers Association, FAA for short, so this was but the logical next step. Anatalia had a special commission to make this happen.
BC, as she preferred to be called had given Anatalia a reproachful look bordering on the stinky eye, but had temperately stopped short, though just barely. She practically had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding Anatalia of all that was owed her. Why, she had even gotten her into the FAA, and paid for all her dues. They knew each other from high school, after all, the same self-consciously snooty and exclusive St. Claire’s Academy. This was where each had acquired a facility in English that was vulgarly termed spokening dollar by the very type of people that such exclusivity strove to keep out. However, Anatalia had to use her language skills to earn a living, as a publicist or a PR practitioner, subject to the whims and venalities of powerful clients like BC, who could choose whom they spoke to or were silent with. Of course when BC was abroad, the people whom she spoke to, outside of her own traveling companions, were usually the Filipino resort or housekeeping staff. There is no place like home.
That Anatalia shared a family name with one of the wealthiest and most illustrious business dynasties, yet could claim no actual blood relationship with them, was a discomfiting irony, but still useful, nonetheless, in her line of work. The initial impression of being well-connected worked in her favor. People were generally careful around those who were perceived as being up there or alta, as those who were beneath, called it. Furthermore, BC was one of her most generous clients. Anatalia lived rent-free in a three-bedroom unit in a building owned by Cua Holdings. Their shared youth still counted for something, although they had never actually been close in school. It was known when they were at St. Claire’s that Anatalia did not belong to the wealthy Ayalas but from a different branch altogether, while Bellisima Gonzalez was already one of the most desirable girls even in high school. Remington Cua, a founder of First ASEAN Unibank, was her father’s boss. He had divorced the first Mrs. Cua who had conveniently remained in Hong Kong, and married BC as soon as she had graduated from high school.
BC didn’t go on to college but had lessons at home instead: in conversational French, flower arranging, Cantonese cooking—everything that Remington Cua believed made him even more the envy of his peers, with his little home-schooled trophy wife. Since they had three professional chefs in their household employ, one each for Occidental and Oriental cuisine, (Remington did not like Filipino food), and a pastry chef because desserts at their parties had to be unique, BC only went to the kitchen to ensure that dishes were prepared to her husband’s liking. Since his passing, and with their three boys away at boarding school on the east coast, there had been a void in her life which the Asian Aspirers Association sought to fill.
As an only child, BC had been adored and cosseted all her life. Her second name was Beata, as her doting parents held her as a blessing. During her first international AAC convention, she realized that using the initials BBC for Bellisima Beata Cua tended to confuse her with the British Broadcasting Corporation (and they were here first), so BC it was. Her mother Catalina Gonzalez was also with FAA, a one-time president as well, so for BC to make it to the international board of the Asian Aspirers Association, would be along the upward evolutionary trajectory which should be the God-given order of the universe.
Bellisima may have been the second wife, but Anatalia was now on her third husband, technically another partner, since she had only been married to the first and that had long since been annulled. None of these men had ever been of much use to her, so to call them her partners was a euphemism at best. The second one did leave her with her only child Felicity. Felicity, just entering junior high, also at St. Claire’s, was the reason that Anatalia worked so hard. Lately, the pre-teen had been sulky because she had to wake up before dawn just to take the school bus. She was exhausted throughout the school day, since she secretly stayed up late on Reddit chats.
If all went well with the AAC, Anatalia hoped that BC might let her have one of the humbler sedans, used by any of several chauffeurs just to run errands, that were in her garage of over two dozen cars. She had once asked BC how many cars she had. “I really don’t know,” had been the honest answer. BC was generally impervious to the usual concerns of lesser mortals. Still she was convinced that most of them envied her and were out to get the better of her. “I never give anything away for free,” she had proudly declared. Deriving some benefit, no matter if this was as intangible as prayers from some obscure order of contemplative nuns to whom she issued monthly checks, meant that no one got the better of her.
When Anatalia mentioned how hard it was for her at times to find a cab, a look of disinterest just glazed BC’s eyes. Anatalia could always coordinate with BC’s secretary Mimosa about using a car and a driver. Letting her have one of the Cua cars for her to use indiscriminately, maybe even for matters unrelated to BC’s interests, would just spoil Anatalia, and make Mimosa feel diminished. BC liked to think that she was no fool. None of her retainers should ever hold too much power.
BC attributed her newfound restraint in dealing with Anatalia’s lapses to the anger management course she was taking. She had learned that this baffling distress was actually a low-grade depression (the only low grade thing there would be about her, she determined), and a manifestation of her grief at losing Remington, her No. 1 devotee. Bereavement caused biochemical imbalances but she was not about to introduce any mood-enhancing pharmaceuticals into her body. Gummies were fine because they originally came from the cannabis plant, so that must be a good thing. She was further taken aback when the life coach had gently explained that her frequent though justifiable outbursts at the shortcomings of her social inferiors, those unfortunates relegated to casual work or endo jobs because, honestly that’s all they were good for, was in the nature of punching down, or, horrors, of bullying.
As to why God had created such an abundance of ignorant salesgirls, inattentive and obtuse concierges, even those occasional substitute masahista or manicurista who couldn’t quite get what she wanted done, no matter how she tried to explain to them, in Tagalog at that (and that’s probably why they were never regularized), was an existential mystery. It was cosmologically irrational that evolution had not created more in Bellisima Gonzalez Cua’s likeness. The unflappable innocence of a lifetime of privilege had convinced BC that her outer beauty was but the manifestation of her near perfect inner soul. “What is within, must also be without,” was the mantra that she had invoked during her early morning meditation, and which she was unaware inadvertently evoked disemboweling and evisceration in the literal-minded many.
Another of Anatalia’s assignments had been to create a stir in the world of multilevel marketing about BC’s own product Belle Breeze—an eponymous line of organic vegan (this was unproven but she just liked the sound of it, and most fragrances did come from plant extracts) atmospheric enhancers, which many mistook for just run of the mill, heat-diffused air fresheners. The thermal glass vials were made in China, of course, but the little velvet and satin pouches in which these were encased were hand sewn, embroidered and beaded by mobility or hearing impaired women and children in sheltered workshops run by various religious orders. Belle Breeze had the virtue of being a gender-sensitive social enterprise, the achievement recognized by the Volzhacker Prize.
As with any purported MLM set-up, there were hierarchies with Lady-In-Waiting for the new recruits, and Empress Dowager at the pinnacle. Since she felt that she was too young to assume such a title, BC had kindly bestowed this honorific upon her own mother Catalina Gonzalez, who had sold Amway and insurance once upon a time long, long ago, and was thus no stranger to the world of corporate commerce. BC then took the title of Queen Apparent for herself. Even Anatalia was a Princess Apriori, and other FAA members were granted royal titles as well, although BC was actually the one who bought most of their inventory then distributed these as gifts at various social gatherings. She considered these as investments in human capital. They owed her.
In order to kill two birds with one stone, Anatalia had gotten BC to agree that she would host an intimate event in her Forbes Park home, where the FAA would recognize the great honor brought by their Queen Apparent, namely BC herself, for winning a Volzhacker Prize, and award BC a certificate attesting to this. It would also be an opportunity to recruit those who had not yet signed up to “Let Belle Breeze be the wind beneath their wings,” as their company slogan went.
Coincidentally, last year’s Volzhacker Prize winner was also Filipina, though not a member of the FAA. Katrina Gopez was sui generis. As the highly visible daughter of the COO of one of the Philippines’ oldest agro-industrial conglomerates, she didn’t have to join any clubs. In her youth, she had scandalized and mystified Manila high society by dropping out of Smith College to join a Tibetan ashram. Her father had had to go to her and tearfully beg her to return to the Philippines. The repentant prodigal daughter had come back and savvily set up several non-profit’s, which had enhanced their family conglomerate’s reputation and standing, and served as tax shelters as well. Now there was talk that the newly-elected president would be appointing her to his cabinet as secretary of the department of social welfare and development.
Anatalia had conceptualized that afternoon’s FAA soiree as a dialogue between BC and Katrina Gopez about the significance of two Filipinas winning the Volzhacker Prize. An events company had set up an elevated stage beneath an air-conditioned tent on the Cua lawn. Crystal jars of Belle Breeze proliferated everywhere, casting a perfumed haze over the gilded table settings. Several journalists, a handful of TV crews, and a dozen or so FAA members had already arrived and were sipping Prosecco or tea, while nibbling on hors d’oeuvres. Katrina Gopez was notoriously punctual.
Unmistakable peals of laughter drifted across the lawn. Alarmed, Bea glared at Anatalia. That cackle could be no other than Nory Padilla, her rival for the FAA presidency. And here she was, entering arm in arm with the guest of honor Katrina Gopez herself. They had been schoolmates at the Assumption after all. How could Anatalia have overlooked this? As BC approached Katrina Gopez, the latter was overcome by a fit of sneezing.
“It’s all this smoke,” Nory Padilla explained. “Katrina doesn’t even wear perfume.”
“I’ve always been allergic,” Katrina gasped and wheezed.
“Would you like a Claritin?” BC asked her.
“Oh, I never take pharmaceutical drugs, just homeopathic remedies,” Katrina said.
Anatalia motioned for Mimosa to have the help switch off all the Belle Breeze diffusers closest to the stage. Despite that initial misstep, the program went fairly well. Anatalia had made sure that the professional emcee went over the script with BC earlier. She came off as surprisingly down to earth and genuinely concerned about the women and children who labored for a few pesos to bead and stitch the frothy little bags encasing the Belle Breeze diffusers which sold for several thousands—although that uncomfortable reality was mercifully glossed over. There was even a little kiosk where three workers demonstrated their skill at beading and embroidering. Katrina Gopez graciously acknowledged the positive effect Belle Breeze might have in providing employment opportunities for women, and upon air quality.
To cap off the afternoon, there would be a group photo with Katrina, flanked by BC and all the FAA members, with each one holding a Belle Breeze diffuser in her soft hands. And that’s where the trouble ensued. Imagine several dozen women in heels and tight skirts, shifting about and jostling one another, as each strove to have at least one photo with her face up close to the guest of honor’s, smiling for the cameras as though they were best friends. Somewhere a heel got caught, several Belle Breeze crystal jars fell and rolled on the stage, tripping not just one but several of the suddenly shrieking and discombobulated FAA ladies.
In moments, there was chaos. Anatalia being on the very edge of the stage, easily extricated herself. Nory Padilla’s shrieks of laughter rose above the chorus of “Pakdis shet” and similar sentiments. A bottle of Belle Breeze had broken, releasing fumes that sent the guest of honor scurrying away with her bodyguards and aides. The stage hands and waiters helped the flattened FAA ladies to get back on their feet. From the tangled mess of human limbs, upended bottoms, ripped silk seams, BC’s unmistakable red Louboutin soles waggled like two livid bunny ears as she struggled to get up. Anatalia enjoyed the moment while it lasted, then she ran up to BC, looking worried. It was the right thing for her to do.
