Cha Cha was now sighting across the lawn, where Laird was wandering alone, his expression inscrutable as he took in the view to the sea. “Is that him?” she asked.

“Yeah, that is him,” I said.

“Well, he’s better looking than I thought he’d be but so dark.” She laughed. “And he’s the one who’s in the sun.”

Just then a group of men showed up in white shirts and black pants. They had lanyards around their necks that dangled official-looking ID. Several of them had cameras. I looked over at Jim, who was talking to a member of his security team. Jim set his gaze in our direction. “Press,” he mouthed.

“Press?” echoed Cha Cha.

Jim walked slowly back across the lawn, his brow creased. He came to stand beside us, looking at the photographers with skepticism. “They say it’s some sort of society spread, but why didn’t they call us in advance?”

“Society spread?” asked Cha Cha, unimpressed. “Do we let them stay?”

Jim considered. “Why not?” His head of security had also joined us, standing at a respectful distance. Jim’s eyes drifted over to him. “Tell them they can stay but only for a few minutes. And no pictures at the chapel during the Mass or interment.” The head of security promptly lifted his radio, barked a few words, and then strode purposefully away.

Jim looked suspicious. “They should be following Gumboc.”

“Gumboc is in Israel,” I said.

“Israel,” said Jim. “First Korea, then China, now Israel. You would think there was nothing here to do.” He considered. “Maybe there isn’t.”

The press men were now walking across the lawn in Laird’s direction. Laird turned, looking surprisingly composed, and they snapped his picture.

“Oh my God, Ting, go! Go!” said Cha Cha.

“I don’t want my picture in the papers,” I said. “Why don’t you go?”

“I have to change my shoes. Ting, hurry!”

“Why?” I said.

“They’re all going to think we look like Lord.”

“Laird,” I corrected her, resigned and already heading for the cameras. “His name,” now over my shoulder, “is Laird.”

Later, I would understand the true purpose of those photos, but at the time I wondered what Manila society would make of the shots of me, Laird, and the group of twelve children who were hamming it up for the camera with an inventive array of cheesy grins and jutting hips. Most of the family had retreated, plates in hand, more interested in the food than the photos. Cha Cha appeared at some point in a pair of easily identified Chanel spectator flats and smiled attractively a few times for the camera, and then, with an imperious wave of her hand she dismissed the journalists.