His Name Is Rusty, He Was A…

Across a TV station, a few blocks off the major thoroughfare, and after the Kamuning flyover, we were brought by a taxi driver to a known stripping joint, a club where men perform on-stage with nothing more than just their smiles.

We were dropped off at the very steps of the club. It’s 11.30 pm, the show was already ON when we got inside. The place was filled with people, mostly women and it was pitch-dark. Only the stage was visible and the colorful lights hanging above it had hit upon the man gyrating and undulating on the platform.

We settled in our seats. Our table was just several meters away from the stage, a bit distant from the tentacles and tails of the midnight dancer. As we sat down, Mr. January was on stage, in his very short cut-off denims, high boots and tight brown shirt. He was dancing slowly to a recent R&B song. He was not staring at anyone. He simply watched himself dance.

Our drinks came. I was with my friends and we talked about things in between performances. The gay bar was somehow not the best place to talk about each other’s lives. One of my friends had been single again after she called it quits with her husband. She got pregnant a couple of times but then they were not as lucky because the babies died even before they were born.

She said her marriage was doomed to fail. It took her several years to realize that her marriage to the guy was wrong. Her husband was into drugs. Often times she was beaten hard by the crack head. In spite of the beatings and the terrible fights, she tried to hold on to what she thought could be fixed.

Yet she decided to let go. Her marriage was beyond repair. After giving birth to a dead child for the second time, she split up with her husband and she moved back to the arms of her older sister. She had slowly built back her life again. Her life had since been different. She’d never look at a man the same way as before.

During the dance interval, I asked her where her ex-husband had gone. She said she’s not quite certain where the guy was. It had been 7 years since she last saw Ronnel. And if by any chance she’d meet him again, she said she’d be ready and okay to face him.

Several dancers had performed. Some of them were in hideous costumes and routines. Others made pathetic efforts to dance and look sexy. But most of them were just too plain and boring to watch. Their tacky song choices did not even matter.

I remembered her story several months ago in one of my business trips to Davao City. She told me that her husband may have worked as a macho dancer in some clubs. Someone told her about it. She was also told that her husband was seen dancing under the stage name RUSTY.

We tried a couple of times to look for RUSTY in some gay clubs in Mindanao. We could not find him in General Santos City and even in Davao City. Finding RUSTY was not our mission at all. It’s just that every time we went inside a strip club, we wished that no RUSTY would be called to dance on-stage.

Now, my friends and I got inside the popular club in Timog Ave. We still were hoping that no RUSTY would perform in front of us. More than 20 dancers had performed already. It’s past 1 am when we were about to leave and hit the road again. Then the DJ introduced a dancer by the name RUSTY.

I saw how shocked my friend was when she heard the name. It took her a moment to look at the stage and check if the dancer was her husband. I watched a guy go up on the platform. A female ballad song was played. He wore a white printed top, short denims cut and folded way up above the knees. A thick silver chain was dangling from the waist to the side of his jeans. He wore a camouflage bandanna on his colored hair.

I looked back at my friend and I saw her gone from pale to dead white in shock. I waited for her to say something. I saw how terrified she was. A long pause.  “Yes, that’s him. That is Ronnel, my husband.”

The story was finally confirmed. Now we were placed in a very awkward position: us, sitting in the audience watching him dance and strip to the music. I was praying that he would not go all the way. He danced his way through the song, staring straight towards us. My friend was wondering if RUSTY was able to recognize her. He was able to finish the song; at least he didn’t take off his shorts.

Quite unbelievable but it was so true. My friend had crossed paths with her former husband. Of all the possible places, they met again in a strip club. I could see that my friend was ready to talk to her husband again; in fact she wanted me to call the club manager and request for Rusty.

Before we could even ask for Rusty, it was Rusty himself who approached my friend and said hello. And they talked for about half an hour. Their conversation was drowned by a Bryan Adams song. A few more dancers performed one after another. Rusty sat beside my friend and they were left in their little world, trying to catch up with the times. I let them be.

I turned my head back to the stage and saw Mr. January perform for the second time. You may wonder what happened after the encounter. Nothing. My friend told me that the guy had been in a relationship with another girl and is now a father of 2 kids. She’s happy that Rusty has moved on. I was happy that both have finally moved on.