We
pulled into Ala Wai Harbor and I was shocked by the condition of the water.
Garbage and litter floated freely among the boats and there was a wide ribbon
of oil sheen twisting in and out of the moored boats.
“Ick,
this place is filthy,” I said.
“Yeah,
they’ve been vowing to clean up this harbor for years now. They make an effort
in starts and fits, but it just never seems to get done. It’s fed by the
Ala Wai Canal, which goes through town, picking up wastewater and garbage—even
though it’s illegal to dump stuff in the canal—and by the time the water gets
here it’s pretty foul. Also, there are a lot more vessels coming in and out of
here than in Lahaina, so the harbor gets dirty from all the traffic.”
We
motored into a mooring marked ‘Honolulu Yacht Club’ and Chico jumped out and
tied us up.
“How
does this work?” I said to Ono. “Do we have permission to dock here?”
“Sure
do. This is Tomika’s slip. She pays a fortune to lease both this one and the
one in Lahaina. But don’t worry about her, you can bet she’s not missing any
meals to pay her moorage fees.” He winked at me, and I had the prickly feeling
I was colluding with a gigolo.
“Well,
lucky her. What should we do to get ready for tomorrow’s party?”
“You
mean right now?” said Ono.
I
nodded.
“Nothing.
Chico will run to the liquor store and get the stuff we need, and the caterers
will come aboard about an hour before we sail tomorrow night. You’re pretty
much off the clock until then.”
“Okay,
good. One more question: how do I get into town from here? Do busses come down
this way?”
He
looked puzzled. “I suppose they do. But Tomika will send her driver. You don’t
need to worry about getting around town.”
I
went below deck and picked up my overnight bag. I’d packed light—a couple
changes of underwear, a Hawaiian-print sundress to wear at the party, and my
make-up. My idea of full-blown make-up is mascara, blush and lip gloss. Just
like the catamaran, I’m pretty much ‘what you see is what you get.’
We
slipped on our sandals and hopped onto the dock. Ono pulled a few bills out of
his wallet and handed them to Chico.
“Be
back here by four tomorrow. If I don’t see your
pupuka
face by four
fifteen, you’ll find yourself swimming back to Maui,” he said. He grinned and
slapped Chico on the back.
“Don’t
worry, man,” said Chico. “I never been late on you yet.”
We
walked out of the harbor and when we reached the street I was hit by the wall
of sound that characterizes Honolulu. ‘Honolulu’ means ‘sheltered harbor’ but I
think it should mean ‘tall and loud’ because that’s what it is. I gazed at the
forest of soaring skyscrapers that seemed to have doubled since I was in
college here only six years ago. In Manoa, the neighborhood where the University
of Hawaii is located, it’s still pretty much low-rise. But Ono and I were on
Ala Moana Boulevard, looking right into the heart of the bustling city. I felt
like a country hick in my wrinkled khaki shorts and tee-shirt.
“Any
ideas on where I should go tonight?” I said.
“You
want to go out? Like to a show or something?”
“No,
I’m planning on turning in early. Today was way more fresh air and excitement
than I’m used to. I need to find a reasonably-priced hotel.”
Ono
stopped and turned to face me. “You’re not planning on staying at Tomika’s?
She’s looking forward to meeting you.”
Okay,
this was getting awkward.
“I
didn’t know I was invited,” I said. “I thought you and Tomika might want to be
alone.”
“Heck
no, we see each other plenty. She’s fussing over having another girl around.
She’s hired a fancy restaurant to make us dinner tonight and she’s hoping
you’ll go shopping with her tomorrow at Ala Moana Center.”
“Why
didn’t you tell me? I didn’t pack enough clothes to go shopping.”
“Only
a woman could say something like that. Don’t you go shopping to
get
clothes? It’s like a guy saying I don’t have any fish in my freezer so I can’t
go fishing.”
“No,
you don’t understand. You can’t go…oh, never mind.” By this time, a sleek white
town car had pulled to the curb.
“Looks
like our ride’s here,” said Ono. “You mind riding in back? I usually ride
shotgun with the driver.”
The
driver turned out to be a three-hundred pound local man in a billowing aloha
shirt that probably could’ve sheltered a family of four.
“Eh,
brudda
,” the driver said, coming around the front of the car to
fist-bump with Ono. “Lemme put your junk in the trunk.”
Ono
handed over his small valise and my overnight bag. While the driver was busy
unlocking the trunk and stowing our gear, I cupped my hands against the dark
tinted back windows and peered inside. I jumped a little when I made eye
contact with a tiny face peering back at me.
“Oh!
Sorry.” I sounded as if I’d stepped on someone’s foot.
“Hey,
Tomika,” Ono said, as he pulled the rear door open. “Sweet of you to come down
here to get us.”
Tomika
slipped from the back seat and stood on the curb. She was only a bit taller
than she’d been sitting down. She looked older than Ono—perhaps late fifties or
even early sixties—but I sure as heck wasn’t going to comment on their
May/December romance.
She
and Ono hugged long and hard. If I hadn’t been a tad jealous of their obvious
love for each other, I’d have found the scene touching.
“Tomika,”
said Ono when he finally pulled away, “this is my cabin girl for this weekend,
Pali.” He beamed as if he’d won me in a contest.
“
Aloha
,
Pali.” Tomika extended her hand, and gave mine a little squeeze. “It’s my
pleasure to have you visit my home. Your name, it means ‘cliff’ or ‘steep hill’
in Hawaiian. Do you know why your mother named you this?”
I
wasn’t about to go into the origin of my name—especially since it’s a made-up
name, not my birth name. “It’s actually just a nickname from childhood. It also
means ‘difficult’ as I’m sure you know.”
“Ah,
that is correct. I’ve known quite a few
keiki
who could have rightfully
been named ‘Pali’.”
We
got in and the driver ran around the car closing all the doors. Aside from four
wheels and a roof, the plushy town car had nothing in common with my Geo. First
of all, it smelled like Lemon Pledge, rather than a load of dirty laundry.
Everything, from the electric windows to the multiple stereo speakers murmuring
cool jazz, seemed in tiptop shape. The silky leather seats felt so comfy I was
tempted to lean back and grab a few winks.
“Ono
tells me you’re a wedding coordinator. That must be exciting.”
“It
is, most of the time. Sometimes it’s frustrating. People, especially brides and
their mothers, think everything must be perfect. As if a flawless wedding day
will make up for every slight, every disappointment, every loss they will face
throughout their marriage. If the least little thing goes wrong, some of them
come completely unglued.”
“Ah,
but it’s supposed to be a celebration of love. A time for family and friends.
In my experience some of my most charming memories are of things that didn’t go
quite as planned. That’s the beauty of life, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,
but try telling that to a bride whose silk gown gets soaked by a rogue wave
during the pre-wedding photo shoot.”
“Well,
regardless of the circumstances, I’m sure you do a wonderful job. And to always
be working around happy people—people in love—you are truly blessed.”
The
lady put Pollyanna to shame. They ought to bottle her so I could take a snort
every time I had to handle a hissy fit over flawed dyed-to-match shoes, or I
had to referee a mother versus stepmother catfight over the seating chart for
the reception dinner.
“Mostly
it’s a great job,” I said. “But there are days when all I want to do is go home
and spend a quiet evening with my own best man: Jack Daniels.”
Tomika
stiffened and pointedly turned to look out the window at the buildings flashing
by. Call me paranoid, but I could’ve sworn the temperature in the car dropped
fifteen degrees.
CHAPTER 9
Tomika
Fujioka’s condo was on the forty-first floor of a gleaming sky-blue high rise
adjacent to the Ala Moana Center. I’m not keen on elevators, having ridden in them
only a few times in my life, and zipping up four hundred feet in a matter of
seconds didn’t sit well with my empty stomach. But once we got inside her
condo, the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows made the ride almost worth
it. I guess if you’re stuck living in a big city, this is definitely the way to
go.
“It’s
spectacular,” I said. She’d probably heard that more than a few times before,
but there really wasn’t another way to say it.
“Some
gorgeous view, huh?” said Ono. “I’m not much for city-dwelling, but I make an
exception for Honolulu. Look at that endless horizon. And the lights at night
will knock you out.”
Tomika
came in carrying a black lacquer tray with a pitcher of fruit juice and a plate
of exquisite French macaroons, those perfect little pastel cookies that look
fake but melt in your mouth. I held myself back to avoid looking like a lion on
a hyena carcass, but after I counted to ten, I snatched up a pale pink one.
“Aren’t
these just the sweetest little treats?” Tomika said, admiring the lemon-yellow
cookie in her hand. Meanwhile, I was brushing the crumbs off my lips from the
pink one that was by now merely a fond memory.
“Oh,
come on,” said Ono. “Those are sissy cookies. I was hoping you’d get some of
those chocolate chip ones from that shop in Ala Moana. You know, the ones as
big as hubcaps with the nuts and the hunks of chocolate.”
“Ah,
my brawny sailor-man,” said Tomika. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some of those for
you in the refrigerator. I was hoping to first tempt your palate with these
lovely French works of art.”
“I
don’t want art,” he said. “I want food.” He got up and strode into the
kitchen—a polished oasis of black granite and stainless steel—as if he owned
the place.
I
heard the refrigerator door open. “Anyone else want a real American cookie?”
We
both declined.
He
came back with an enormous cookie in his hand, and plopped down on the sofa
next to Tomika. They looked at each other with such tenderness I averted my
eyes.
“It’s
wonderful to have you back here,” she said, patting his thigh.
“Great
to be here. The crossing was pretty good. Kinda choppy going around Moloka’i,
but that’s to be expected. It took us a little over twelve hours.”
“Oh,
I meant to ask you,” said Tomika, “are you ready for the party, or do you need
Bub to take you down in the morning to get things set up?”
“Nope,
we’re good. I told Pali you wanted to do a little shopping with her tomorrow,
and if it’s all right with you, I’m going to stick around here and watch some
football.”
“That’s
a good plan,” she said. She rose from the sofa and started toward the kitchen,
but then she turned and looked at me. “You’re not allergic to seafood, are you,
Pali? I ordered some nice lobsters to be sent up.”
“I
love lobster. It’s a real treat for us on Maui; we don’t get it that often. Did
you find some Australian lobsters at the market?”
“No,
they’re fine, but they’re usually rather small. For company I like to buy the
fresh Maine lobsters. More meaty.”
“Well,
you know what I like even more than lobster?” said Ono.
“Yes,
dearest, and so I’m having them send up some
ahi poke
along with the
lobsters.”
Personally,
I’m not a
poke
fan. It’s nearly sacrilegious to admit, because it’s
practically Hawaii’s official state food, but raw fish in any form:
poke,
sushi, sashimi
, you name it, makes me want to spit it out on the floor.
“Oh,
and I hope you like asparagus,” Tomika went on, “I ordered some that they fly
in from California. Very tender, and the cook dresses it with a lovely
hollandaise sauce.”
It
pretty much went that way for the rest of the night. The china was Limoges, the
glassware was Waterford crystal, and Tomika toted dish after lavish dish from
the kitchen until I was worried I might have to unbutton my shorts in order to
stand up. She didn’t offer wine, but after twelve hours of wind-whipped sailing
followed by the stress of being in her foo-foo big city digs, I would’ve
declined anyway. By the time she served the coconut crème brulee I was only a
blink away from dozing off.
Ono
said he’d clear the table and she took him up on his offer. We adjourned to the
living room to admire the twinkling lights of the city and finish our coffee.
When Ono returned, he took a seat next to Tomika, and draped his arm across her
shoulder.