Kathy

IV: Photoshoot (1)

PART IV

They had agreed to meet at Starbucks in Robinson’s Place, Malate. But the air was thick with a sense of confusion over the time and place. Anna, too shy to sit inside Starbucks—where the prices felt like a luxury reserved for the well-off—decided against lingering near the entrance of the mall, where the “freelancers” gathered like shadows, seeking male “clients”. Most clients were from the small Indian and Arabic communities nearby, adding an air of desperation to the scene.

Opting for a more discreet location, Anna found refuge behind a large hoarding inside the mall, just out of sight of Starbucks. She could sense John’s growing impatience as countless messages pinged on her phone, each one intensifying her apprehension.

Finally, they met.

“Hi Kathy! I’m John, Professor John McClean. It’s nice to finally meet you. You look stunning, dear!” His voice was rich and inviting, yet filled with the authority of a man who had spent years lecturing in front of captivated classrooms.

“Tank yu, Sir! A’im Kathy – nice to meet yu too,” Anna replied, her words tumbling out in her thick accent, a mix of shyness and eagerness.

This moment marked the beginning of Anna's transformation. No longer the vulnerable child overshadowed by her mother’s strictness and abuse, she was now “Kathy,” a more assertive and alluring version of herself. John was the catalyst for this metamorphosis, drawing her out of the darkness of her past and into the colorful world of possibilities.

It was as if she had shed the skin of a larva and emerged as a butterfly, vibrant and full of life. John, entranced by this young woman who straddled the line between girlhood and womanhood, found himself captivated.

Despite the years that lay between them, John exuded an ageless charm. Tall and athletic, with the grace of a man who had maintained his physique, his distinguished features—like those of Jeremy Irons in “Lolita”—drew attention. His greying hair at the temples gave him a distinguished air, and his educated accent only added to his allure.

The striking contrast between them—John’s tall, muscular frame against Kathy’s petite 5-foot stature and slim 40-kilo build—would have raised eyebrows back in Guildford, Surrey, England But here in Manila, such pairings seemed to blend seamlessly into the vibrant tapestry of life, where beauty was often defined by the warm, welcoming smiles of Filipina women.

In the eyes of poets like John, the sand-swept features of Asian women held a beauty that transcended the “beefy” visages of English women. As Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem “Mandalay”:

- I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,

- An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;

- Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,

- An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?

- Beef face an' grubby 'and,

aw! wot do they understand?

- I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!

-On the road to Mandalay . . .

As they settled into their conversation, John inquired, “Is Kathy your real name?”

“Ah, no, Sir. My real name’s Anna. But I like Kathy better. It feels… fun,” she explained, her eyes brightening.

“Anna was always so… sad. I want to be Kathy now, for my new life.”

She spoke of her strict upbringi , of a childhood snuffed out before it could even ignite. She was determined to reclaim that lost innocence and hoped John would be the one to guide her, to show her the fun and freedom she longed for. Yet there was complexity in her desires; she wanted John to be more than a mentor—she craved a deeper connection, someone to fill the voids left by her past.

“You look very uncomfortable. Are you okay?” John asked, his brow furrowing with concern as he noticed her unease.

“Ah yis. Ai’m jus a little shai, Sir,” Kathy admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Please call me John – not ‘Sir’ even my students in England call me John.

“Oh so sor, y Sir, I mean John,” Kathy giggled, looking down – a young girl shyness that charmed John.

She was nervous; John was the first foreigner she had encountered, and the age gap felt monumental. Yet, she also saw in him a potential partner who could help her achieve the dreams and stability she had only dared to fantasize about.

After their initial meeting, they ventured to an American restaurant, Fridays, within the same mall. The prices were astonishing to her—one meal could feed her family for a week. Yet, John’s ease and generosity made her feel like a princess, and she reveled in the experience, savoring every bite.

“Would you like to go shopping?” he asked after dinner, his voice warm and inviting.

“Ah, if yu don’t mind, John… maybe a phone? I borrowed this one, and I need to keep in touch with you. My little brother needs school things too,” she said hesitantly.

John nodded, purchasing the latest Sony Xperia for her, complete with a high-quality selfie camera. “Remember to send me some pictures of you,” he said with a smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

As they parted ways, he handed her a few thousand pesos for “transport and other costs,” his kindness leaving her both grateful and bewildered.

Kathy was captivated by John. He was not just handsome—he was a kind of man she had never encountered before. Intelligent, sympathetic, and respectful, he was a far cry from the men she had met on the dating site or the crude propositions thrown her way in the Carinderia. Yet beneath her admiration lurked uncertainty. Was he genuinely interested in her, or was he merely indulging in a fleeting whim?

Her apprehensions were dispelled the next day when a message from him appeared on her phone, direct yet considerate.

“Hi Kathy, this is John. I really loved meeting you yesterday. How would you like to relax for a few days by the pool at the Pan Pacific Hotel? I can book a separate room for you. I know you had to pause your studies—let me help with that and get you a laptop too. Also, could you send me some “nice” pictures on Skype?”

Kathy, still a bit naive, didn’t even have a Skype address. She turned to her friend Lisa for help. The idea of sending “nice photos” made her blush, but she was eager to please John, who had treated her with such respect.

“Just send him some old photos in your school uniform,” Lisa suggested, her voice dripping with enthusiasm. “You have such a slim and attractive body; he’ll love them!”

Kathy felt a mix of embarrassment and excitement. She wanted to catch John’s attention, to show him that she was worth his time.

The Photoshoot

Anna spent the afternoon in Lisa’s dormitory room, where the pale light from the window softened the narrow space and made it feel briefly like a studio. Lisa moved with quiet authority, arranging the chair, adjusting the curtain, stepping back to look at young Anna as though she were already a finished image rather than a living person.

“We want you to look attractive,” Lisa said, not unkindly, “but still innocent. Like a respectable young girl. That’s what men like John notice first.”

She nodded toward Anna’s backpack. “You brought the clothes I told you about? Your Sunday things—the lace blouse, the bikini and your old school uniform?”

“Yes,” Anna said, touching the zipper as if to reassure herself. “They’re all here.”

“Good. Start with the Sunday outfit. Conservative. No makeup. A professor will expect respectability.”

Anna changed while Lisa adjusted the camera. When she stepped back into view, Lisa lifted the lens and smiled with approval. She took her time, capturing Anna’s quiet poise, the gentleness of her expression, the way she held herself as if unsure of being seen and yet willing. Later, Lisa asked her to change again, and the atmosphere shifted slightly. The bikini revealed Anna’s slender figure, the ease of her youth, the unstudied grace of her movements.

“Try to look innocent,” Lisa said thoughtfully. “Appealing, but unaware of it.”

Anna did not quite understand how one could “intend” such a thing, and she needed guidance—where to place her hands, how to tilt her head, when to smile and when not to. Yet there was something instinctive in her response to the camera. Like her mother, she possessed vanity, a knowledge—half-conscious—that boys and men found her attractive. Without meaning to, she learned quickly.

By the time they finished, dusk had thickened into night. The city beyond the window hummed with restlessness, and Anna knew it would not be safe to return alone, as the Manila streets at night were full of wolves – that is, male predators. She accepted Lisa’s offer to stay, though the room held only one narrow bed.

As she prepared for bed, Anna felt suddenly shy. Changing clothes was one thing; undressing for the night was another. Lisa handed her a thin pink silken nightie, light as breath.

“There’s no need to hurry,” Lisa said gently.

Still, Anna blushed as she sat on the edge of the bed, aware of herself in a way she had not been all day. She slipped into the nightdress quickly and disappeared beneath the covers, her face warm with embarrassment.

Lisa laughed softly. She was older—how much older Anna could never be quite sure—and she carried herself with a confidence that made such moments seem trivial. They lay down together, the bed forcing a closeness neither commented on. Lisa lay on the outer side; Anna faced the wall.

“Turn around,” Lisa said suddenly.

Anna did so at once. “What is it, Ate?”

Lisa drew her into her arms with an ease that surprised her, holding her as one might hold something valued and fragile. She kissed Anna lightly on the lips, almost as if in reassurance.

For a moment Anna was reminded of her girlhood in Compostela Valley, of girlfriends who had linked arms and laughed through the streets, who had embraced and kissed in play, rehearsing affection before they understood its weight. But this felt different. Lisa was older, and the gesture carried a gravity Anna could not name.

Still, she told herself it was kindness. Perhaps this was how people were in the city. She returned the kiss awkwardly, with the earnestness of someone wishing not to offend.

“I want us to stay friends,” Lisa said quietly.

“I know things have been difficult for you. You carry so much tension.”

Anna felt the truth of it settle in her body. “I am tired”, she thought. “I am holding too much.”

“Lie on your stomach,” Lisa said. “I’ll help you relax.”

Anna hesitated only a second before turning over, her heart beating faster than she understood, as the room fell into a deeper, more intimate silence.