The Samoa Seduction

by Alan L. Moss

  THE SAMOA SEDUCTION

  BY

  ALAN L. MOSS

  W & B Publishers

  USA

  The Samoa Seduction © 2015. All rights reserved by Alan L. Moss.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

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  ISBN: 9781942981299

  Book Cover designed by Dubya

  Dedication

  PJM

  The Life of My Love

  PROLOGUE

  AWAKENING

  May 17, 2004

  Beach Haven, Long Beach Island, N.J.

  If the ambulance arrived ten minutes later, Michael would have died. No one knew who made the nine-one-one call. Their best guess was a maid happened into his hotel room during the attack, panicked, and called for help from a gas station pay phone a few miles away. Whoever made the call was credited with saving Michael’s life.

  In spite of a battery of tests, they weren’t sure what happened. A stroke that damaged parts of his brain remained their best guess.

  Michael couldn’t walk unassisted or communicate well. He received a disability retirement from the federal government. Then, he and Karen, his wife of twenty-five years, moved into a two-story cottage one block from the beach on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. She hoped the sun and salt air of the Jersey Shore would provide good therapy.

  Most days, Karen pushed Michael’s all-terrain wheelchair up the Maryland Avenue ramp to the beach and down to the water’s edge. Michael watched children playing and thought of happier times when his family vacationed there. He wondered if Karen knew of his disinterest in therapy, in getting better.

  He took a chance, played outside the rules, and paid the price. Left a defeated man, he didn’t care to fight any more battles.

  Some days he thought of Stephanie and wondered if she played a part in his downfall. That last night at the resort in Tucson remained a blur. In any case, Michael believed he was dealt the hand he deserved.

  Karen saw the sadness in Michael’s eyes and mourned the loss of his defiant spirit. Yet, suspecting foul play, she feared the day when he would will himself to recover and seek retribution.

  ***

  Michael Bloom’s rebirth began when Karen rejected the doctors' prescribed regimen. She cancelled his medical appointments and set a new course, determined to treat him as a man who needed life’s stimulation, not large doses of physical therapy and sympathy. If she had to, she would bully him into making the effort she knew he could.

  Instead of pushing him to the ocean in the wheelchair, she forced him to trek through the sand only assisted by his cane.

  “Look, lover, I don’t care if it takes you all day, and I don’t care if you have an audience of a thousand beach bums all feeling sorry for you. Just get your ass in gear and get to the water before the sun goes down.”

  His strength and coordination improved. He could navigate the sand and reach the water without attracting too much attention. At the water’s edge, she would tease him until he waded out into the waves, buoyed by the salt water, remembering the fun they used to have when the kids were little.

  She drove him to Philadelphia for a Phillies game, to the Camden waterfront to the aquarium and then a concert, and to Lakehurst, New Jersey to see where the Hindenburg blew up with thousands standing breathless below. Her training as a psychologist, her intimate knowledge of the man she loved, and her instincts were bringing him back.

  ***

  This day she drove him to Atlantic City to walk the boards and explore the new outlet shops in town. Sitting on a boardwalk bench, looking at the spring crowds, Michael instructed Karen to go off on her own and buy something extravagant.

  “Look, you’ve been terrific. I almost feel like myself again. Let me sit here and watch the people go by and you do some serious shopping. Then, I’ll take you out to lunch.”

  It was the first time in three years Karen saw him take some initiative. Tears welled in her eyes and she kissed him seductively on the lips.

  “Welcome back, my sweet. I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  The ocean breeze filled Michael’s lungs with optimism. Perhaps, his life wasn’t over.

  Michael sat on the boardwalk bench watching children clamor for a piece of saltwater taffy, a handful of caramel popcorn, or a chance to ride the coaster on Steel Pier. The world around him seemed friendly and familiar. He could cope with life on the Jersey Shore.

  He watched the crowds move up the boardwalk, pass before him, and disappear. Michael focused on individuals who caught his interest and he speculated about their stories – a family enjoying the ocean air, teenagers looking for summer dates, a gambler taking a break from a bad day at the tables.

  A jitney rolled in front of Michael’s bench, blocking his view of the latest subject, no doubt a dancer at one of the casino nightclubs.

  “Stop, Mommy,” shouted a child within the rolling car pushed by a scruffy-looking man. “Stop, Mommy, my ball!”

  Michael looked ahead of the jitney and saw a red beach ball floating with the breeze. It landed against the metal railing protecting strollers from falling to the beach below.

  “Sir, could you hold up for a minute while I get my son’s ball?” asked a lady inside the jitney.

  Michael could see the back of a young mother leave the car. The wind jerked the ball ahead and the woman lunged forward with the skill of a professional athlete, grabbing the ball before it could escape.

  As she bent down to secure her target, a gold Hawaiian fishhook on a chain around her neck left her blouse. She looked back, returned the pendant against her skin, and climbed inside the jitney with her prize.

  Michael froze as Stephanie’s presence invaded his consciousness and destroyed his demeanor. The blood drained from his head and his stomach fought to hold its contents. He lunged to the railing and lost control, vomit splattering below staining the white sand. The foul smell filled his nostrils and sent pedestrians far away.

  After three years, she was in Atlantic City, still wearing that gold trinket next to her heart. Michael fought off his shock and made his way to a restroom. Relieved that his clothes weren’t soiled, he washed out his mouth with cool water. He ducked into a casino gift shop, purchased some gum, and chewed it on his way back to the boardwalk.

  Waiting for Karen, he sat on another bench, trying to regain his composure. Wild thoughts flooded his mind. Was Stephanie looking for him? Did she live down the shore? Was he hallucinating? It made no sense!

  RETRIBUTION

  May 20, 2004 – June 17, 2004

  CHAPTER 1

  RESURGENCE

  May 20, 2004

  Beach Haven, Long Beach Island, N.J.

  Another warm spring day offered the promise of summer on the Jersey Shore. Michael awoke to seagulls arguing over the slim pickings available until the renters arrived.

  Karen lay next to him in the fetal position, her back turned to him. Michael put his hand under her nightgown and pulled her closer. He nuzzled against her neck and kissed her lightly.

  “Now that’s what I call a friendly alarm. Does this mean you’re ready to get frisky?” Karen whispered, rolling onto her back.

  Michael gazed at this woman he loved for so long. The lines were softer and her blond hair a little less thick but she was still an attractive lady. An ocean breeze ruffled their
white linen curtains and filled the room with cool salt air. Karen kissed Michael’s neck, an instant turn-on in days past.

  Losing his thoughts in her passion, he moved into position and looked into her light blue eyes. Not knowing his own capabilities, he proceeded, delighting both of them with a new dawn.

  An hour later, with Karen back asleep, Michael rose, showered and dressed. He would make them a good breakfast and propose they walk on the beach. Then, he would tell her what he was going to do.

  ***

  It had been three years since Michael left for Tucson and the American Economic Association meeting where he fell ill. Two weeks before those sessions, he was in American Samoa, assigned by the U.S. Department of Labor to coordinate minimum wage hearings and ensure that a designated Committee follow the law and Regulations in determining a minimum wage update.

  Had he survived the Tucson trip unscathed and seen the new Samoan minimum wage published, he would have released information that documented the fraud and abuse that maintained poverty wages there. As the U.S. Labor Department’s officer responsible, he wasn’t going to let politics as usual continue to devastate workers in the small American Territory.

  Now, the shock of seeing Stephanie again got Michael thinking in a sinister way. He remembered her in his hotel room in Tucson. He recalled how they embraced, how she cried, and how he tried to comfort her.

  Michael could see the hotel suite in his mind. They had walked out to the patio and sat at a small table. They looked at the sun setting behind the desert’s Ventana Trail. He popped the cork from a bottle of champagne she brought and toasted to a better life. Michael remembered asking Stephanie why she wasn’t drinking, but he never heard a response. A black curtain fell over his life; the Michael of old was gone.

  ***

  For the first time this Ph. D. economist was putting two and two together. In Samoa, he fell faint after drinking Ava and Stephanie was there, leading him into her bed. In Tucson, he drank Champagne from a bottle she provided. Then, he passed out and suffered possible brain damage. Perhaps, there was more to this woman than he could have imagined.

  What was the motive and who was in it with her?

  The Territory’s largest employer, a tuna cannery, openly opposed increases in the minimum wage to minimize their labor costs, but such firms wouldn’t drug or murder a government official over his efforts to raise wages. Shortcuts with the books, not paying time and a half for overtime, sneaking work off the clock, using political threats to coerce committees — those were the games played by money-grubbing corporate executives and their attorneys.

  Sure, the Samoan Government opposed his efforts, but, why would they use such extreme measures? Admin-istrations in American Samoa hardly lived or died by minimum wage battles. No, there had to be more to it.

  Then, Michael remembered the words of Sammy Finn, Samoa’s most admired bone carver and jewelry designer.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but from what I’ve been told, you’ve done an amazing amount of work to get the people down here a decent wage. If you fail, don’t blame yourself. There are forces at play which have nothing to do with you or the economy of American Samoa. There’s no way you can fight that kind of power.

  “Know too what most Samoans know. Samoa is kind to those who have learned the lesson of not caring, and hard on those who have failed to learn it.”

  Michael had written off the jeweler’s comments to a kind man giving him an out, he shouldn’t take the blame for failing to raise Samoa’s wages. Rather, he should blame it on Samoa, on a world beyond his control.

  Now Michael reconsidered his conclusion. What if Sammy’s words had real meaning? What if there were powerful forces at play, forces that had nothing to do with minimum wages, but everything to do with unknown men and schemes beyond his knowledge and influence?

  Was warm, sexy, athletic Stephanie their agent? Was Michael the perfect patsy, a middle-aged man having trouble with his marriage, thousands of miles from home, facing the rabid opposition of a billion-dollar global corporation and its million-dollar attorneys? The answers were obvious.

  ***

  Soon after they arrived at Long Beach Island Karen set up their aging computer in the corner of the beach house dining room. Michael had ignored it. He hoped he would never again touch the instrument he depended on for his work, but now he would wait until Karen went out so he could use the Internet to put meat on the bones of his suspicions.

  With Karen shopping, Michael walked into the dining room, sat down at his computer, and turned it on, like a kid sneaking a cigarette with no one home.

  The tower hummed. For the first time in years he gazed at his entryway to the Net. He typed “Stephanie Palaie Moelai” into the computer’s search engine. After clicking on her name, he stared in disbelief at the Portland Times article.

  Attorney Marries Samoan Official

  Paul Pecura, a prominent Portland attorney, has married Stephanie Palaie Moelai, former Director of the Visitors Information Bureau of American Samoa. The two were married by Rev. Gregory Gross at Saint Mark’s Church in Portland. In attendance were the bride’s three children from a previous marriage. The couple met while Mr. Pecura served the U.S. Government, chairing a Special Industry Committee in American Samoa. They will establish their residence in Nedonna Beach, Oregon.

  The article was dated February the twenty-fourth, 2002, just eight months after Tucson. Michael concluded that Stephanie and Pecura had been working together all along. Her flirting, gentle touch, and desperation were just part of a game. As Michael suspected from the beginning, Pecura’s neutrality during the hearings was a cover to disguise his real purpose, to keep Samoa’s wages down.

  Michael typed “Paul Pecura” into the search site. Clicking on his name, another newspaper article from the Portland Times appeared.

  Pecura Elected in Close Vote

  Paul Pecura, the long-time Portland attorney, won the race for our U.S. House seat in Tuesday’s vote. For Pecura, the third try proved to be the charm, winning as a Republican in traditionally strong Democratic precincts.

  Pecura thanked his wife and children for their support and said he would do all he could to “vigorously represent the fine people of the Portland area.”

  Experts credited what seemed to be unlimited personal wealth that propelled him to his first victory. In his concession speech, his opponent, John Fitzpatrick, made a backhanded statement regarding Pecura’s resources.

  “I congratulate Mr. Pecura on his win and his ability to generate substantial funding from a legal practice no one knew was that prosperous.”

  Pecura’s wife, Stephanie, said she and the children would stay in their Nedonna Beach home and see Pecura mostly on weekends and holidays. In the meantime, the Pecuras will be taking a two-week vacation on St. Barts.

  Michael didn’t know how the dollars were generated but he knew the payoff must have been huge. A successful Congressional race and a vacation on an Island reserved for billionaires and movie stars required big bucks.

  Pecura’s exceptional payday must have been related to the hearings in Samoa. Once Michael figured out the linkage, he would get even. They put him out of the game for three years. Now, it was time to let them know he was still kicking and they were not safe.

  ***

  Karen woke again, this time to the sizzle of bacon, the smell of freshly ground coffee, and the clank of Michael rummaging around the kitchen. She showered quickly and put on shorts and a Jersey Shore sweatshirt.

  Hungry from their early-morning lovemaking and the ocean air, they ate with gusto and headed down to the shoreline where the firm sand posed little problem for Michael and his walking stick. Feeling almost whole again, Michael let Karen know what was on his mind.

  “Honey, I need to get into the office files we brought with us. Before Tucson I prepared packages for the Inspector General, the GAO, and the Senate Labor Committee documenting the underhanded methods used to keep Samoans in poverty. Ther
e’s no reason why I shouldn’t send the material now. I can explain the delay and let them know that the rates continue to be the result of a grievous inequity.”

  They walked along the shore, waves breaking onto the beach the only sound intruding on their thoughts. Finally, Karen stopped, held Michael’s arm, and looked into his dark blue eyes. They shined with the initiative she hadn’t seen for a long time.

  “You know, Michael, you spent more than thirty years fighting those kinds of battles, and I love you for that. It’s not all that common that a Georgetown Ph. D. dedicates his entire career to government service and working men and women, but this is a new phase of our life. The kids are grown and we need to focus on getting you completely well. Then, I want us to travel and have some fun.

  “I loved our life before, but we always put things off, squeezing the budget for the kids’ music camp, college, and a wedding. There was always something. Now, it’s our turn to relax and enjoy ourselves. After a few years of that life, if you want to do some volunteer work, fine, but honey, let’s leave the past in the past.”

  Karen let go of Michael’s arm and they resumed their walk. She was amazed at how his dark brown hair turned pure white and how his need for the walking stick made him look older than his fifty-nine years.

  A few minutes later, as they continued to walk, Michael responded.