The Pharmacy(TM)

Six years before my friend and I saw them again at a local watering hole, the deadly quartet began as a regular lunch group of college girls who one day before Stat class, we overheard having a heated conversation:

"I don’t believe in dating. I think the odds of finding a remotely decent guy out there is close to nil and I’m not going to debase myself by getting all touched up for a dinner or a one night stand for a potential pig," Tangerine (or Tanj for short), who was also the tallest of the four, was up on her feet, arms akimbo to emphasize her exasperation the thought she just described.

"Hmm? Can you qualify that? What is ‘remotely decent’? What is ‘pig’?" Violet, oldest of the group, was just beginning to have enough confidence to participate–having just finished the homework assignment for the next class.

"I say, you can’t play if you don’t bet. If you don’t bet you can’t win." Jade, who was second tallest and had meztiza looks, was also arguably the prettiest of the four–at least in the eyes of the eighteen men (running total) she has dated in the past six months.

"All I’m saying is that my life as I see it is pretty ok now–I do what I want, I go where I want, I read what I want. Why should I gamble that away?"

"But Tanj, don’t you ever get lonely? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die alone." Jade was slipping into her "weird-mode" where she talked in an eerie sing-song voice.

"You know, Jade, you’ll never convince Tanj that way. You guys are coming from opposite poles. Just think about it, rather than die lonely you’re gambling to end up with a pig–so to Tanj, you’re a lover of risk. Meanwhile, in your eyes, Tanj prefers a lonely life, to the chance of more fulfilling companionship–so it looks like she wants to avoid a better gain. If I put the two of you together, so much for rational thinking."

"That’s rich, Ate Vi. So are you going to make us a stat problem, why don’t you?" It was Jade’s turn to stand up from her seat.

Tanj took a different tack. "Wait, let’s describe it in a language that Violet understands. Let’s say for the sake of this sick topic that our goals are the same: to end up with a nice decent guy–"

"Hey–qualify!" Violet interrupted.

"Okay– smart, handsome, caring, good pedigree, not gay, not taken. How’s that?" Tanj was deadly serious.

"Ok."

"Just imagine the combined chance of that one. Meaning, hard enough to find a handsome guy, but a imagine handsome guy who’s not gay and not taken." Tanj, still serious, was shaking her head. "Granted there are quite a number of couples (and dare I say, triples) out there. Still I think despite the number of relationships, really good relationships are rarer than we’d like to think."

"You know I’ll write a book about you guys one day. And all of your biases." Violet was looking at her notes, pretending to review her work. "On the other hand, if you were a doctor seeing a cancer patient about a treatment that has an 80% success rate, would you tell your patient that he has a 2-in-10 chance of dying or an 8-in-10 chance of surviving? People will hear what they want to hear."

"You know guys, you think too much. Whatever you do, just remember that there’s always that one special person out there for each one of us. I hope you’re not too busy to see him when he happens by." Amber, youngest and shortest of the four, normally kept mum, especially when Tanj was into her usual monologues.

"Amen Amber. While Tanj may not believe in the chances of finding a good relationship, I don’t believe in not trying." Jade was a little relieved to have Tanj interrupted. "Tanj misses the while point. It’s not about quantity, but quality. I’m not in it to have as many boyfriends as I can–"

"Hah, can we have a survey on that?" Tanj found another opponent. "Amber, when are you going to realise that Paul and you are a fluke! Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the both of you. But still, just because you were lucky enough to find that deep relationship doesn’t mean we would–or should."

Violet was beginning to pack her bag. "In Tanj’s defense, did you know that more people think the chances of them dying in Mindanao are lower than of them dying in Mindanao of a bullet fired by the NPA? Or of them losing their cellphone in general is lower vs. losing it at a holdup in an FX? Even if the latter is more specific. So it’s really true that most people might overestimate the chances of conjunctive events–in this case, finding the ideal guy vs. just finding a guy, just by trying."

"I think you’re just afraid to fail. Amber has a good point that no matter how many times you tried and failed, the moment you find that one meaningful person in your life, it more than makes up for everything." It was Jade’s turn to be serious.

"But Jade, think about it, what you said doesn’t make any sense. There’s a flaw in decision theory called the St. Petersburg Paradox– imagine a coin-toss game that paid more the longer it took for the coin to end up what you call. Say you called heads–if it came up heads on the first toss, you earn 1 peso. If it took two tosses, you earn 2 pesos, three tosses, you earn 4, and so on. Given a remote enough probability, the payout would be so great that you’d be willing to gamble anything to play it. Just like the odds of finding your mythical perfect guy–the longer it took to find him, since as you said that the one payoff would make up for all the losses, the more you would gamble to find him. Until you wake up one day and you realise you’ve given up your entire life. Especially if you end up marrying the wrong guy, which is more likely to happen than we’d like to admit. Real life just doesn’t work that way."

By this time, none of them seemed to be listening to Tanj.

Ten years after this fated conversation (which would make it roughly four years after we saw them in the bar), we would find out that the deadly quartet would continue to lead relatively "deadly" lives:

Tanj, ever the pessimistic idealist/realist, eventually joined a radical leftist feminist movement, and quickly rose to become one of the organisation’s spokeswomen. She currently plans to mastermind the dramatic ouster of a local government official, but is quite undecided on who to target (and exactly what cause to champion). In the interim, she and her fellow quasi-feminists busy themselves gathering blackmail material on local government officials–mostly by getting these dirty old men photographed and videoed in compromising situations with unknown women (who are also actually members of her own organisation). Consequently, all newly-inducted members are given new Nokia camera phones, just in case.

Amber, who got employed at an major IT multinational, broke up with her "soulmate" of 4 years when she was assigned to Canada where she lived a pretty mundane (albeit cold) life for a few weeks until she met a tall, blue-eyed stranger on an evening bus in Toronto. After a stuttering whirlwind romance lasting exactly one month they got married. She has since resigned her job and is now a housewife, adding a regular visit to her husband’s parent’s house in Quebec at least once every month to her somewhat less mundane (albeit occasionally awkward) life.

Jade, despite remaining single, is a full-time mother to two daughters–owing her first-born to the statistical improbability of a burst condom. She lives with her existing boyfriend (also the father of her second-born) in a small one-bedroom unit in a condominium building very near the Metro Rail Transit. She never knew who the father of her elder daughter was (although she has very strong suspicions about his identity)–but she sometimes dreams about suddenly meeting him again one day along the street. Once in a while, while she takes a crap, she fantisizes what their dialogue might be like.

Violet proceeded to take her Masters degree in Statistics. Her bestselling book, "The Probabilistic Confessions of Serial Daters" is on its third printing. Meanwhile, she is currently debating the marginal utility of beginning her second book (i.e. money) or getting back into the dating scene herself (i.e. sex, fulfillment, love, etc., sex, etc.). Currently, she lives alone in Cebu.

<End of Part 4>

"You keep interesting company." My friend was smiling as she emerged from the kitchen, two cocktail glasses in one hand, a frosty bottle of vodka in the other.

"Actually, we only met recently, under not so common circumstances." I eased back into my seat, loosening my tie and rolling up my shirtsleeves.

"Another one of your: what do you call it? — black swans?" My friend kept her eyes intent on me as she delicately cracked open the bottlecap and poured small helpings of the clear liquid into each of our glasses.

"Maybe. Or not. I should introduce you. From what I know of him, you two might actually get along. Are you still open to dating?"

It was my friend’s turn to ease back into her chair. Glass in hand, she took a few moments to tong two ice cubes into her vodka along with a splash of lime. She made a few sips before returning her glance in my direction.

"Well?"

"Do you always pick a stupid time to bring up the obvious? Besides, from the looks of last Friday, seems he’s already hitched–twice."

I snatched the tongs from her and dropped some ice cubes into my own glass.

"So you are! Forgive me–the idiot. Fortunately, woman’s intuition notwithstanding, that was one of those times when looks were definitely deceiving. Those two, may I say–delectable–females you saw wrapped around him: Anie and Mayi, if I remember correctly–"

"Give me a break–"

"–don’t interrupt! Uh… Anie and Mayi work for him silly girl." I took a sip out of my own glass as I finished.

"Wow," my friend nodded briefly and stirred her glass.

"Wow?"

"Who knew I’d finally know someone who knows someone who actually… well… does that… sort of thing."

"Funny. I thought the same thing."

There was a brief silence in the room as we both sat staring at each other’s glass. Comfortable, fortunately. My friend stopped stirring her glass and placed it on the coffee table, then walked towards her CD player on the opposite end of the room.

"What do you want?" She was running her fingers across her CD rack.

"Anything’s fine." I picked up the bottle of vodka as I finished my glass and proceeded to pour myself a second shot.

My friend returned to her chair and her drink just as the air filled with some slow bossa nova.

"We met five years ago–at night. We both joined this firm that traded US stocks and currencies–so our working hours were at night. New York City is exactly 12 hours opposite our time. We stayed for about a year in the trainee program pretending we knew what we were doing. I left that company first to sign up for brand management, and I learned from friends several months later that he quit as well. He apparently made a one-time killing when the US market crashed during the 9/11 thing–some ridiculous amount like, I dunno–eighty-thousand dollars or something. Five years later we meet again in Chinatown–where he opened a massage parlor."

My friend was staring at me blankly. A second passed and she realised my little biography lesson was finished. She took a good sip from her glass, nearly finishing it.

"So, when I saw you that night in Chinatown with him and his… employees, that was the first time you met in five years?"

She was listening after all. "Not exactly. That would have been the second. When I first got in touch with him, he proudly told me about his new business and asked to come to ‘opening night’."

"So after we talked, you went to… opening night?" My friend’s eyebrows were raised (comically) as if to punctuate her question further.

"Hey you, it’s not what you think. I know these places have a reputation and I’m not denying it, but believe me, it’s actually the customer’s choice how far he wants to go. For a fee of course."

"Mmm… and I’m sure you were there just for some good clean fun."

"For a massage. Nothing more. Besides, he had invited me along with a couple of his close friends–our first massages were on the house."

My friend wasn’t buying it. "Mmm… right. Hey, hold that thought, I’ll just take a quick peepee. Your story just brings out the Mother Nature in me…"

"Whatever."

I took another long sip as I watched my friend’s lithe form glide and disappear into her bedroom. Maybe it was something about the way she walked that made me remember something–maybe it was the vodka–maybe both. I sat back and closed my eyes for a bit.

* * *

"How was the pressure sir?"

"Ok… perfect."

I lay face down in pure bliss as Mayi, lightly straddled on my back, finished her soothing backrub. This was my second swedish massage for the night–my friend told me that opening night was going to be flexible with our requests.

"The treatment’s finished sir." Mayi stepped off the bed and began to pack up her massage kit.

I remained motionless–completely comfortable doing so. The best massage I’ve ever had in my life! From the few shuffling sounds breaking the tight silence of the chamber, I gathered Mayi was about to leave the room. After a full minute I flipped over slowly, and saw her quietly standing by the door.

"Will that be all sir?" She asked politely.

I looked back at her weakly, still rendered helpless. "Is there anything else?" I managed to mutter.

She quietly approached and sat beside my helpless form on the bed. "We can do the special. If you want." In the faint light, her eyes were tantalizing.

"Special?" I whispered. At this, her right hand slowly dropped her kit on the floor while her left began to undo her blouse.

So they really don’t wear any underwear at all. "It’s ok." I placed my hand weakly on hers to stop her.

"It’s alright, sir. Opening night is free." She looked at me with those wide amazing eyes. Cold, but hypnotic. She had good training. But in those critical seconds in that semi-darkness I briefly saw the truth in her eyes–the fear, the loathing, the pain.

Her training was very good, but Mayi (or whatever her name really was) still had a shred of honesty in her.

I tapped her hands softly. "It’s ok. Not tonight. I’m fine. You were great."

At this, she quickly re-buttoned herself, picked up her kit, and disappeared from the room.

* * *

I shook my head from my reverie, in time to see my friend emerge from her bedroom.

"You know, that damn vodka was stronger than I thought, " I said. A bit too loud.

"Yeah I agree. I’ve only had two shots and I feel woozy."

I picked myself up slowly from my chair, and carried my glass towards my friend’s living room, almost practically falling into her comfortable leather couch.

"You know, I hope you don’t mind if I hang around a bit. Your fault, it’s your deadly vodka."

My friend smiled and joined me, taking the opposite end of her couch.

"Sure. Stay a bit." My friend, just as winded as I was, talked with a faint slur in her voice.

Just then, I realised her CD player was playing This Masquerade.

* * *

I gave my friend a manly hug as I proceeded to the exit. "Hey thanks man. Opening night was great. Congratulations on you business, and good luck."

"Mayi said you didn’t go for the special treatment."

I checked my watch. "No. I didn’t. I really have to go anyway. But tell her the massage was great. I hope she’s not mad."

"Mad? Are you kidding? She is paid well. But it’s a shame you didn’t go for the whole thing, she’s really good, you know. Aside from the massage, I mean."

"Uh–I’m sure. Maybe next time."

"Of course. But remember, next time won’t be free."

"Never is."

I waved briefly at my friend before crossed the front door and quickly left, the sickly neon glare of "Golden Leo’s Health Club" behind me. I spotted my car parked in the cold night and–

* * *

I awoke once again to find myself still at my friend’s now warm leather couch. She was asleep herself on the opposite half, curled into a tight ball for warmth, her delicate hands hugging her long supple legs together. I stood up slowly and found the remote of her condo’s airconditioning, which I promptly switched from "high cool" to "low cool".

I sat back on the couch and found my glass of vodka, now savagely diluted with melted ice. I leaned back and turned once more to my sleeping friend as she remained asleep, beautifully.

I must have stared at her for a full two minutes before my own eyelids fell shut once again.

<End of Part 3>