by Lisa Freeman
Never walk into a party alone.
Lord Ricky growled, “Let’s have a ball,” as he passed around a bottle of tequila, the kind with a worm at the bottom. Disgusting. His pals had already gone through the medicine cabinets inside and were handing each other pills like they were Milk Duds. They had a stash of other things too: silverware and a whole bunch of jewelry they had stolen. It made me cringe. Lord Ricky was holding a baggie of quaaludes, and a wad of cash stuck out of his pockets.
“Busy night,” I said.
This one guy, who was just wearing trunks, slunk toward me. He looked like a swamp rodent with a long neck, pointy nose, and limp arms. He held up a shrunken head, probably convinced it was real. But up close I could smell the plastic. “Hey, foxy lady,” he said. Then he took the bottle of tequila and chug-a-lugged the rest of it, showing me the worm on his tongue before he chewed it up like a piece of gum. I gagged.
“Where’s my kiss?” Lord Ricky said. I felt my legs tremble as the circle of creeps closed in even more. They had me surrounded and were moving toward a windowless van. I felt dizzy and cold. My fingers went moist. Lord Ricky’s expression darkened as he slid the side door open. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over anything. This’ll be over in no time.”
I looked into the unlit van, and saw there were two faceless men already in there, waiting.
“Hi, Nani!” Jerry walked by, completely clueless. I was terrified. I wanted to call to him, but I couldn’t. It was like a nightmare I’ve had where I try to scream but no sound comes out. Thank God he turned around again and saw the look on my face. In a completely different voice he said, “Come on, Nani. Let’s go inside.”
The circle broke open for him to pull me out. Jerry was too famous for these guys to mess with.
I immediately followed him.
“I need a smoke,” I said.
“No! You’ve been doing so great!”
I was mad at myself, at him, at Rox, and at Nigel for being in Calcutta and leaving me here alone. I grabbed the first cigarette I saw and waved to the lineup standing outside by the pool. I didn’t care what brand I smoked or if it was menthol or regular. I just needed to clear my head, and a deep inhale would make that possible.
Then I saw Windy standing by a glass door on the other side of the living room. I dropped the cigarette into this girl’s beer as she walked by, and popped a Fireball into my mouth.
Windy looked amazing. She was wearing the same wedges as me, plus cutoffs and an oversized T-shirt. I liked the fact that she didn’t have big boobs. I didn’t want to be around any girl who reminded me of Rox.
Our eyes locked. We rushed together and just about fell into each other’s arms.
That was when Ellie Katz, the feminist from Pali, almost slammed into us. She was wearing baggy denim overalls and an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, and she was quick on her feet—a real smooth sailor, who impressively held two plastic cups filled with beer.
Windy and I laughed as she almost drenched us and then walked by. The music was too loud to talk, so we danced. I wanted the rest of the lineup to meet Windy, but I didn’t dare risk leaving her side ever again. She raised her voice as loud as she could, “Did you get the books I left you?”
I nodded.
“Have you read them all yet?”
“Alice!” I yelled back.
“What about the others?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“I like what you’re wearing,” she said as she touched my feathers. I wanted to bite her finger and keep it between my lips. Windy was better looking than I remembered, with her shirt hanging off one of her shoulders. She bumped her hip into mine, and I nudged her back.
She told me, “I’m going to Pali.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Some VPMs tried to pogo between us, but Windy and I dodged them. You’d think after all this time, I’d have a clever conversation-starter ready, but I was so nervous my mind went blank. Maybe if I could get her outside I could gather my wits. Just as we were moving, Pete appeared and signaled her to the door.
I grabbed her hand. “No,” I said. I didn’t let go. I had just found her. She pulled a pen out of her tiny suede purse. It gave me chicken skin as she unfolded my hand like a piece of paper and wrote her number gently on my palm.
“Call me.”
Pete urgently tapped her, nodded at me, and said in one breathless sentence, “Hi—hurry—let’s go.”
“Cops!” Coco yelled. And a stampede broke loose.
I watched Windy sneak past the police like some ninja, while I walked right into them, blinded by a stream of light. Officer Walzcuk and a few other cops were on the street, busting people. The party bolted in a million different directions. Jerry surprised me as he grabbed my hand and pulled me along. He said, “Let’s get to the van.” But Lord Ricky stopped us just long enough to stick the baggie of quaaludes down the back of my shorts, hiding it under my hair. He gave my butt a pat.
“I’ll get my kiss later,” he drooled.
“Like hell you will, Rick,” Jerry said, pushing him back into the shrubs, which, of course, got Officer Walzcuk’s attention.
“Run!” Jerry yelled as he took off. As if running were even possible on the damp grass and three-inch wedges. What a bonehead, I thought. I could see Lisa, Jenni, and Julie hiding in a thick gardenia bush across the street.
“It’s after curfew, missy,” said Officer Walzcuk, stepping in front of me and blocking my way. “You’re going to come with me. And why are you the only one wearing a costume tonight?”
“These are my regular clothes,” I said, grateful that he didn’t recognize me from the notorious bust last year.
He looked at his partner and said, “Doesn’t she look like Gypsy Rose Lee?”
“The stripper?” his partner asked.
As Officer Walzcuk took me by the elbow, I told him, “I live right there,” and pointed to the house directly across the street.
“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Let me see you go in that front door. Once I see your mother, we’ll say good night.”
I walked away, clasping my hands behind my back to hold my hair down over the baggie. I knew people got sentenced to years in jail for pot. I couldn’t imagine what would happen to me over this many pills.
Officer Walzcuk kept his flashlight on me while I walked through a smushed bed of daisies toward the house. I opened the mailbox to make it look real. “Guess Mom already got the mail!” I gave Officer Walzcuk a thumbs-up.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Lisa, Jenni, and Julie crouched low in that bush, all of them looking terrified.
I marched up the front porch and rang the bell. An old Buick was parked in the driveway, and the house smelled like it had been sprayed for termites recently.
I saw the lights turn on upstairs and then in the living room. I tried not to look scared. There were chimes by the front door just like at my house. Maybe that was a good omen. I looked over my shoulder. Officer Walzcuk was still watching me.
When the door finally opened, an old lady peeked out. I waved at Officer Walzcuk and called, “It’s my grandmother,” and pointed to her.
“May I please use your phone?” I whispered. The old lady was confused, but she opened the door a little further. “That party is too much for me. I have to call my mom to pick me up.” That did it.
“Oh sure, sweetie.” She ushered me in. I waved at Officer Walzcuk triumphantly as she closed the door behind me. The house didn’t have very good ventilation. It was like no one had visited in a long time. It made my eyes itch.
She handed me the phone. It was an old model: clunky, big, and black. I pushed the receiver button down with my thumb, and dialed my number. I waited, pretending it was ringing.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “Uh, could you please pick me up at Coco’s house? Thank you.” I pretended not to even let my mom finish her sentence, so it sounded natural, and put down the phone. I glanced out the window and saw Officer Walzcuk herd a few unlu
cky kids into his patrol car and drive away. Looking around the old lady’s living room, I gasped at what I saw.
There were cats everywhere: short-haired, long-haired, some cats with tails and some without, spotted tabbies and striped tigers, even a Siamese with crossed blue eyes.
“Honey, would you like some tea while we wait for your mom?” The old lady had a nasally voice, white hair, and a terry cloth robe wrapped tight. A litter of kittens were meowing in a laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh!” I couldn’t help myself. I went over to the basket and picked one up. He was a creamy shade of white and purred as he curled into my arms.
“These little fellows are Maine Coons. They’re gonna get really big!” The old lady touched her fingertips to my forearm and said, “Elliot likes you. I think you should have him. Let me get a box,” she said, shuffling into the kitchen.
I wanted Elliot more than anything in the world. He could be something to love and have for my very own. But how would I take care of him? I couldn’t ask my mom for money. She had enough on her plate, and so did I. Carefully, I placed Elliot back with his brother and sister kitties, all mewing and licking their paws. I didn’t want to leave him, but I forced myself to walk out the front door and not look back.
Outside, Lisa, Jenni, and Julie grabbed me from behind. They were laughing so hard I thought they would pee in their pants as they picked leaves out of each other’s hair. I could see that Julie fit right in.
“That was so bitchin’!” Jenni said.
“Don’t we smell good after being in that gardenia bush?” Lisa asked.
“I think I’ll start wearing gardenia perfume,” Julie said.
They pulled me forward and started skipping down the street. We didn’t stop until Jerry and the VPMs came into sight. Jerry tipped his hat at me. We all laughed. I was having fun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Honey Girl
Jerry Richmond seemed to know every hot dog place in LA. His other favorite, The Hot Dog Show, was in the Palisades—not too far from Coco’s. It was crazy crowded. Jerry squeezed the van next to the VPMs’. We were about to have a major tailgate party. The lineup set up backrests and towels. One of the VPMs had a kerosene lantern and an oversized umbrella.
Since Jerry was buying, I ate two chili dogs with tons of onions and fries. I chewed with my mouth open, pushing ostrich feathers out of the way, and gobbled up french fries. “This is living,” I told Jerry.
I loved breaking The Rules. As far as I was concerned, girls can eat in front of guys. And besides, Jerry and I were just friends. Being kind of gross was how I kept it that way.
Between you and me, I was on such a high after outsmarting the cops that when Jerry finally drove me home, I took my shoes and knee socks off and placed my feet strategically on the dashboard. The rule is: always smell good, but I say:
Let him get a whiff of these babies with that super sniffer of his.
This was the beginning of the New Rule Revolution. My tootsies reeked. I spread my toes wide to let the wind tickle through them, and I kept a beat to T. Rex as we curved down Chautauqua. I even stuck one foot right in Jerry’s face and laughed, shifting my weight to avoid the lump of the pills still in my shorts.
It dawned on me as we drove toward 33 Sage that no one but Lord Ricky knew about the stash I had. The question now was: What was I going to do with it? I sure as hell wasn’t going to give it back to him, so he could dose some other unsuspecting girl.
“Julie is kind of neat,” Jerry said. “Do you think she’ll make it in?”
I couldn’t believe he was asking about the lineup. But he was right. Julie was cool. She had passed with flying colors.
“It looks really good for her.”
“I like her butt,” Jerry said. I slapped his shoulder and pushed him to one side. He continued, “I never noticed how much you guys, I mean, you girls, have to go through. It seems like you have to deal with so much. I’m not going to take my eyes off that Ricky Lord. And don’t you either. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I wasn’t looking forward to going home. I felt that irreversible sadness when I thought about 33 Sage. It made me feel empty.
When we got there, I noticed a shady-looking Mustang parked in front of my house. A guy was slouched down in the driver’s seat. His bare arm dangled out the window. A cigar burned bright between his fingers. It smelled good. I was jonesing so bad for a cigarette. I would even have smoked a stranger’s stogie.
Jerry, being Jerry, pulled right up to the car’s bumper with his brights on before he even realized there was someone in there. The guy kind of waved us off.
“Do you know him? Are you expecting someone?”
“No,” I told him. “Go check him out.”
I was definitely not getting out of the van. From now on I had to be cautious to a fault.
Jerry slowly got out of the van, all the while burping nonstop. I waved the air around me; it stunk of sauerkraut.
I told him, “If you need to get rid of him, just go burp in his face. That’ll do it.”
He approached the car, shuffling sideways with his hands in his pockets, then dropped his head down to look inside the car. I watched him just stand there for a minute, like maybe something was wrong. I was locking the doors to the van when Jerry grabbed the sides of his head and shouted, “No way!”
I riffled through the glove compartment, looking for something I could use as a weapon. There was comb, a can opener, and a roach clip. I wished Nigel were here.
Jerry came running. When he couldn’t get into the van he knocked both fists on the front window. “Nani, Nani, come out. You’ve got to see!”
He practically dragged me to the car and pointed inside. “Look! It’s Solomon Kekahuna from Mākaha!”
“Wassup!” Solomon’s voice bellowed like thunder.
When I saw the tattoos on his arm and the single shark tooth dangling from his ear, I knew it really was him. He had traditional tattoos—the kind that were hammered into the skin with bird bones. When he got out of the car I could see he was giant, like Buffalo Keaulana. He looked one hundred percent Samoan with his thick, black hair and had to be six-four and at least three hundred pounds.
Solomon surfed the monster waves of Mākaha. That was his break. He was born and raised at the foot of jagged mountains with a magic that haunted intruders. He had just been on the cover of SURFER Magazine, and up close he was solid as a rock. Those crushing thirty footers that blew other people up like bombs probably slid right off his back. What was he doing in front of my house? I kept my mouth closed so the ostrich feathers from the boa wouldn’t fly up and stick to my lip gloss. Maintaining was of the utmost importance, since Jerry was losing his mind.
The west side of Oahu is different from the rest of the island. Its slogan was: “If you don’t live here, you don’t belong here, so don’t go there.” That’s what we told tourists—except when they wanted to watch the big waves breaking in the winter. The long paddle out will kill most surfers, but not Solomon.
From what I could smell, Solomon was stoned on Swipe, a local home brew made illegally from fermented pineapples and other stuff. It’s the strongest drink in the world. One sip would fry even my dad.
“Eh, Honey Girl. You must be Haunani?”
I flipped my boa and then my hair. A thrill exploded within me. It had finally happened. A surf god called me a Honey Girl. I felt the words melt deep down into my bones. This was the greatest moment of my life. It was a triumph. A dream come true, granted by none other than the Mākaha god, Solomon. And my witness? Jerry Richmond. A sweeter success in girl land there never was.
Jerry grinned at me. “Honey Girl?” he said, nodding as if he had just really seen me for the first time.
“Eh, Nani,” Solomon said. “You Nohea Lady.” I knew that meant I was dressed real pretty. He was tanked. He held up a flask and looked at Jerry. “What’s up, cuz? S-w-i-p-e?”
I backed away. That stuff was
so scary. One sip and you were blasted.
“Annie’s up there,” he said, thumbing toward the house. All the lights were on. I could hear voices.
Annie Iopa was here?! I couldn’t believe it. I jumped up and down. Then I smoothed my hair around my face, pinched my cheeks, and wagged my finger at Jerry. I warned him, “Don’t drink that stuff!” and hauled up the stairs.
Annie was the one who had told me all the secrets of what it means to be a Honey Girl—not just a sweetheart, but an immortal priestess of cool, who can rule a beach without ever having to state a single verbal claim. When you’re a Honey Girl, all your power comes through an inner beauty that shines on any place with sand. I might not agree with the cold way Annie treats haoles, people who aren’t brown like us, but there was no denying her magic on the beach. I picked up my pace as I dashed up the stairs—happy, happy.
I thought my mom would be at work, but she was home. Maybe she was sick. Quickly, I took the pills out of my shorts and tucked them behind a potted plant. The nearer I got to the house, the louder my mom’s voice became. Annie’s shoes were outside the door. Everyone in Hawaii takes their shoes off before coming in, but Jean and I stopped doing that long ago.
“Take it,” Jean was saying when I walked in. It freaked me out when I saw her. She was furiously ripping twenty-dollar bills from the bottom of my dad’s urn and throwing them at Annie’s bare feet. It must have been over two hundred dollars. “Get out! That’s the last of it. I don’t owe you anything. Get out!”
Jean was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, face red as a beet, lips stretched tight over her teeth in a blind rage. The veins in her neck raised, and her hands gripped the wall like talons. She screamed over and over again at Annie, “Get out, get out!” She was wearing the kimono my father gave her. It was falling off one shoulder, and she had spilled something down the front of her nightgown. The damp silk clung to her belly.
It was obvious—she was drunk. She swayed and tipped back and forth, holding the urn loosely under her arm, then she kicked a chair into the kitchen table.
Annie pulled me to her.
