Page 100 of Pride and Protest
“Okay now, punch up that tight little dress with some jewelry. You’ll catch some eyes tonight, little sister.”
“Yeah, eighty-year-old Filipino dignitaries’ eyes!” Liza quipped.
“If I were you, I would take what I can get!” Janae joked.
Liza pressed the end button and finished up her gloss in the mirror. “Dress how you want to feel,” she mumbled to herself.
Liza took the train in five-inch heels and remembered the comfort of Dorsey’s town car. The way he had searched for the seat belt and grazed the peaks of her aching breasts with his knuckles. He didn’t know it, but he’d had her then.
Liza chided herself for acting like a spoiled princess.You’re wistful over a damn town car.
Janae had been right about her dress. It was getting a lot of eyes. Unfortunately, in the subway, most were the eyes that threatened instead of appreciated. She would Uber home for sure. She checked her Instagram, just to confirm. A picture of Dorsey in Seoul, Korea, popped up. Liza was more than a little relieved. She had seen Pemberley on the donors list and had feared Dorsey might be there. The last thing she wanted was for Dorsey to think she was keeping up with his whereabouts. But he was off living his best Gangnam-style life.
Dorsey regretted coming as soon as he sat down. Everyone was uncomfortably reverential to him. A fifty-year-old man gave himmano po, a customary respectful greeting usually reserved for elders. He would be out of here in the next half hour, he determined. He would thank everyone, smile for pictures, grab Gigi, and slip out the back.
Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, he found a side door and closed it quickly behind him—moving farther outside to the wrought iron gates. Surely that was enough glad-handing for a lifetime. Hands shaking, he reached for his Treasurer cigarettes and noticed the gold heels as they caught the light of the flame in his lighter.
She was walking from a metro station. She looked like she owned the street, and her knee-length body-con dress fit her like a second skin. The deep V-neck in the front had some crisscross strappy details that stretched over her breasts and demanded his attention. She still walked like the heels hurt, but it didn’t take away a damned thing.
He must have been staring openmouthed because his lit cigarette tumbled out of his mouth, flickering into the wet pavement.
The flitting light caught her attention, and she froze. “Who’s there?” she said.
Dorsey stepped out from the shadows. “Hi, Liza.”
“Oh my god. Um, hi. I didn’t think...” Liza stammered. It was the first time Dorsey saw her positively flustered. Good. It was his constant state around her. “Aren’t you in Korea?” she said.
“Right now?”
“Yes.” Liza doubled down. “At this moment.”
He dragged his eyes up to hers. “I’m right here.”
“They give you all such nice uniforms,” Liza said with a smile and touched the organza and silk of his barong tagalog, a traditional high-necked tunic shirt with intricate swirls elegantly embroidered down the front with gold thread. Dorsey’s stomach jerked at her touch—such a tangible visceral desire he had for this woman. It was thick enough to cut with a knife. He’d spend the rest of his life making up for what he said if she would let him. But she wouldn’t let him. She would be polite and smile that thousand-watt smile and kindly leave him to his “Pretty Womanfantasy.”
He heard Gigi clodding behind him and rolled his eyes. “Datu, I swear to God, if you’re smoking out here...” Gigi burst into the light. She was winded, like she had been looking for Dorsey for a while. Her gaze shifted to Liza. “Whoa.”
“Whoa is right,” Dorsey mumbled.
“You’re such a fox,” Gigi burst out.
Liza smiled, big and beaming, and Dorsey’s heart sped up in his chest at the sight of it. She nodded in Gigi’s direction. “You’re not too bad yourself, lady,” Liza said. Gigi hugged Liza warmly while Dorsey still stood awkwardly.
“So, Liza,” Dorsey started. “What, how—”
“What brings you here?” Gigi finished.
“I was an invited guest. My”—Liza corrected—“OurPinoy hip-hop event was an enormous success.”
“I listened. You curated such a perfect list for the Philippines,” Dorsey said.
“It was your list, Dorsey.”
“And you curated a fire playlist that told a story with tracks I wouldn’t have thought to put together.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
“No, thank you.”
