by Claire Adams
My life was a fucking garbage fire. Maybe it would still be a mess when I got back, but there was a chance I'd get my head out of my ass long enough while I was on the island to actually sort it out. If nothing else, I could just pretend that everything wasn't completely horrible. I could get massages and be a tourist for a while. And when I went back, I'd just cut everyone off and become a hermit.
Or maybe I'd spend so much time in Hawai'i I wouldn't want to go back at all. There was an idea, I thought. Isn't that what people did? Sort of like moving off the grid, but not really because Hawai'i was not the middle of nowhere. I'd change my name, get a boring job like selling cars, get really fat, and be happy. Anything was better than my life now. It literally could only go up from here. This was the fucking bottom.
I managed to sit through the entire flight without killing myself. It was an early morning flight, but they were serving booze, thank God, so it could have been worse. They only had wine, which I didn't usually drink, but after like three glasses, eight hours really flies by.
I was feeling okay by the time we landed. No shaking. No sweating. Nobody on the plane asking me for autographs or taking my picture, either. Honestly, one of the better flights I'd taken commercially — but I made a mental note to just spare myself the bullshit the next time I wanted to go somewhere.
As I got off the plane, I immediately regretted wearing my hoodie. It was hot, but there was a nice breeze, so it wasn't too humid. I'd take the hoodie off, but I wasn't in the clear yet. It was better safe than sorry. I wasn’t on the Big Island, but all it took was one person recognizing you. If word got out that I was here, then I could kiss my vacation goodbye.
Had my assistant said anything to the hotel about privacy? I hoped so. Why hadn't I done all this shit myself? I knew what the actual answer to that question was, but I decided I hadn't because it was Casey's job to do things like that for me and that was what I paid her for. Yeah. That reason was better than me just being too strung out to do it myself. The point wasn't to be truthful — it was to make myself feel better about being a junkie.
I went through arrivals, grabbing my luggage off the carousel, and exiting the building to the parking bay where drivers were waiting to pick up passengers and hotel shuttles were filling up to take people where they needed to go. Casey had told me that the Four Seasons had sent me a car so I didn't have to worry about getting one myself. Good, I thought. The more things they could do without me having to ask them, the better.
I was on vacation. I was officially tapped out. Whatever was happening in LA, with the band, with Kirsten, I didn't want to hear it. I didn't give a fuck. I was officially too far away for it to touch me.
Three months of sand, sun, and hot Hawai'ian girls. I walked up to the car. The driver was this older Hawai'ian guy, about my dad's age. He was wearing a uniform with the Four Seasons logo and holding a card with my name on it. He smiled, seeing me walking over to him.
"Mr. Stone?" he asked.
"Call me Nate. The hotel sent you?" I asked. He said they had as he reached for my suitcase. I stopped him because I could do it myself. I was also a little shifty about people handling my bag when I knew what I had in there.
"Is this your first time on Lanai island?" he asked. I heaved my suitcase up into the trunk.
"Yep. First time." He said something else, but I didn't hear him from where I was at the back of the car. I felt a drop in my stomach, and my palms started sweating. Oh no. It was happening. It had been ten hours since my last dose, and I was feeling it. I shut my eyes and tried to stop it.
I had been mostly fine the entire way here on the plane. Even if I had wanted to, there would have been no way that I could have shot up in the middle of a full first-class cabin. I wasn't on the plane anymore, though. My kit was right in my suitcase. My suitcase was right in front of me.
Don't do it, Nate. Come on. You just got here. You left all that shit behind. I was here. I wasn't stressed anymore. No. It had nothing to do with stress — I was just a junkie.
"Hey, could you wait a second for me? I just gotta go take a leak," I said quickly to my driver. He said I could take as long as I needed. I only needed a second. Just something so I didn't get dope sick. I quickly got my kit out of my suitcase, sliding it under my hoodie. I went back into the airport building to find a restroom, locking myself into a stall.
My heart was pounding in my head. I got my kit out, unzipping it quickly. I tore the wrapper off the syringe and nearly dropped the vial of heroin trying to fill it. I held it between my teeth, belting my arm, and quickly sinking the needle into my skin.
Not enough to take me out. Just enough so I didn't start withdrawing. It was dangerous quitting cold turkey, anyway. Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, you fucking piece of shit, I thought.
I took the belt off my arm, letting my head fall back against the door of the bathroom stall. At least I wasn't homeless, robbing a 7-11 for money to buy dirty stuff on the street. At least I didn't have hepatitis from sharing needles. As far as heroin addicts went, I could have been a lot worse. I was still using, but at least I wanted to quit.
That had to count for something. I wasn't doped to my eye sockets, just passed out all day. I hadn't lost my house or alienated myself from all the people who loved me.
Okay, maybe I had done that second one.
I felt myself coming up. As much as I wanted to quit, I couldn't pretend I didn't fucking love that high. It was like looking at everything underwater. Like it wasn't so sharp or hard anymore. Soft focus.
I could quit later. It wasn't a big deal. The road to recovery was a long one. Baby steps, that was what mattered the most, right? I only used enough to keep me from getting sick anyway, not even really to numb out.
You really had to master ninja-level denial when you were a drug user. I could make excuses all day long, but the hard truth was I hated it. I hated that I had to use that shit. I hated that my body literally became sick when I hadn't injected poison into it. I hated that it controlled me.
I hid my kit under my hoodie, coming out of the stall. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I walked back outside, heading for the car.
I realized I must have looked suspicious and dropped the hood. The crowd of people still waiting for rides was a lot smaller. If someone was going to recognize me now, it didn't matter because I was leaving anyway. My kit from the outside just looked like a smaller, black instrument case. I just stuffed it into my backpack and got into the backseat of the car.
"Are you all right?" the driver asked. He was looking back at me sort of concerned. I tried to smile at him.
"Yeah, I'm great. Let's just go." He started the car.
"Did you have a good flight?" he asked. Wonderful, I had gotten Chatty Cathy as my cabbie. The dope had taken the edge off, though, and I was finally here. It was beautiful outside. The sun was shining. The air smelled clean, and it was quiet. He was just doing his job. I didn't need to be an asshole to this guy.
"It was great. Long, though."
"Where did you fly in from?"
"Los Angeles."
"Vacation?"
"Yeah, I just needed a little break."
"You came to the right place. Tell me, do you golf?" he asked.
"No, I don't," I said, wondering what he would say to that.
"It'll help you relax. The Four Seasons has one of the best courses on the island."
"You think I need help relaxing?" I asked, amused. I knew something that was really relaxing. I shot heroin; that was the most relaxing habit there was.
"You must if you need a vacation," he said. I smiled, looking out the window. He was all right. Making conversation with the people in the back of his car was probably what got him through this job.
I couldn't relate. I'd had my eye on a music career since I was a teenager. I had never really done anything else. I wondered what it was like driving a cab for a living. Probably not great, but if I had to do it, I'd probably choose doing it here rather than
in LA.
"Yeah, I just needed to get away. I haven't been here in years. I forgot how beautiful it is."
"Lanai is the only island that's still wild," he said matter-of-factly. "Miles and miles totally untouched. The hikes are amazing," he raved. "You'll love it." I smiled. I already sort of did.
"You here alone?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just me."
"Your family isn't joining you? Your wife? Girlfriend?"
"No. I'm not seeing anybody," I said, answering a question I usually hated. I'd usually be suspicious if anyone else asked. Back in LA, when people asked that question, they already had an answer; they just wanted you to say something so they could pretend they cited you as a source in the fake article they would write later. I was sure that this guy had no idea who I was and was really just trying to make me feel welcome on the island. He was genuinely curious.
"You're lucky. The most beautiful women in the world come from Hawai'i," he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. I smirked. Oh, yeah. I knew that. He didn't have to tell me twice. If everything went according to plan, I'd be getting close to more than a few women while I was here.
He kept going like that, making casual conversation. I didn't discourage him because the more he talked, the less I could think about the heroin literally inches away from me in my backpack. I learned that he worked as a driver during the peak tourism season and was a salesman the rest of the year. He had three kids, two whom had moved to Oahu. His wife ran cultural programs for tourists.
He had been right about a lot of the island not being built up. It looked wild, like people had forgotten about it. He said it had mostly been plantations, and when some of them closed, they were abandoned, so the wild vegetation reclaimed the land. He offered to drive through the city in case I wanted to buy anything before we went to the hotel, but I told him not to bother.
We finally got to the resort. The island was small, only like 150 miles or something, but I was running on fumes. I needed to get inside.
I climbed out of the car, thanking the driver for the trip and tipping him because why not. A couple of porters tried to get my bags, but I told them I could do it myself. I walked into the lobby. It was nice. Flowers and shit everywhere. Looked really clean. Nothing like the Vegas Four Seasons, but still nice.
I could see two girls at the front desk. Pretty young, surprisingly. One was Hawai'ian, the other was a blonde. The Hawai'ian one was smoking hot; she looked like a model. She was sitting, though, so I couldn't get a good look at her body.
The blonde was standing up. She smiled at me as I came towards the desk. Straight white teeth and pink lips I didn't think were that way because of makeup. She was tanned — of course she was, she lived here — and her eyes were blue. Not like the ocean, lighter. Her hair was tied up in a bun. Her face was nice, cute button-nose and high cheekbones. Getting closer, I noticed light freckles across her nose. She was pretty.
She was something else, too. I could see it. After a while, you can spot the look people get when they know it's you and don't want to say anything. They get this smile that they can't wipe off their face. The girls giggled. They looked at you like they knew your secret. She was a fan. Shit, I thought I'd be able to fly under the radar for once. I had wanted this place instead of Honolulu for this exact reason.
She hadn't said anything yet, though, and so far, she seemed to be the only person who knew. All right. This wasn't the end of the world. She was working, so maybe she'd be professional and keep her mouth shut. If she asked about the band, though, I was drowning myself in the ocean.
"Aloha," she said, that smile not dropping for a second. "Welcome to Lanai Four Seasons."
"Hey, uh, thanks," I said. Wow, looked like someone loved their job. The other woman got up and greeted me the same way; she was also smiling and nice, but it was like a regular sort of nice that they probably taught you at hospitality school. Polite, but sort of detached.
"Is this your first time in Hawai'i?" she asked me. I read her name tag. Makani.
"No. I've been here a few times," I said.
"First time on Lanai?"
"Yeah, I usually stay on the Big Island."
"First of many, we hope," she said. I looked in her face searching for any sign she knew who I was. Nothing. I relaxed. This really had been the right place to come. Apparently, Remus didn't get radio play on this island.
"Yeah. Let's hope so." I handed her my credit card and identification so she could check me in.
"You're booked into the Presidential Suite," she said. I watched, suddenly nervous when I saw her give the blonde my stuff. Oh shit. If she hadn't recognized me already, she sure as shit knew who I was now. She was looking right at my goddamn ID. She clicked at her computer.
"Our manager, Mr. Kalo, informed us of your special requests," the blonde said without looking up. "Your suite has been stocked with everything you asked for." I checked her name tag. Abby.
"That's great. Thanks," I said, noticing she didn't say anything else. Huh. Maybe she didn't know who I was. Maybe I was giving myself too much credit.
"If you're ready, sir, Abby will take you up to your suite," Makani said, giving me back my stuff.
"Yeah, sure, let's go," I said. Abby came around the desk and asked me to follow her. She told me one of the porters could get my bag, but I felt better handling my own heroin.
The suite was on the second floor, so we took the elevator up. She walked slightly ahead of me, and I checked her out while I was back there, not gonna lie. Her uniform wasn't really flattering, but she looked like she had a rocking little body under there if you got her in something more revealing.
"If you're hungry after your trip, there are seven restaurants and bars for you to choose from, open ’til ten o'clock. The bars remain open ’til eleven pm. The option of in-room dining is available, as well, if you'd prefer," she said. "You must have had a long flight."
"It was okay," I said absently.
"The spa is open between eight am and eight pm. You can book appointments yourself or you can phone the concierge to do it for you, if you need to unwind after your journey," she suggested. I grunted in response. It was nice of her to say, but I wasn't interested in getting a massage. "It might be what you need before your day tomorrow."
"My day tomorrow?" I asked.
"There are so many things to do; you aren't spending three months in your suite, are you? It's a nice suite, but look where we are," she said.
I smirked a little. She sounded more excited about my vacation than I even was. This must have been fun for her. This job. Gotta respect someone who was doing something they loved and was doing it well.
"Guess I can't spend all my time inside if I came all the way here, can I?"
"Of course not," she said, looking back to smile at me. She started rattling off a list of things I could do at the Four Seasons Lanai. Golf, snorkeling, and hiking. Horseback riding, nature tours, water sports. Things I didn't particularly care for, but the way she said them made me think they were worth checking out.
We quickly got to the room. She slid the card into the slot and opened the room. I followed her inside. I had known it was going to be a nice place, but I hadn't booked the room myself. Casey had, and I'd never bothered to look at any pictures online. I got the Presidential Suite at every hotel I stayed at, but this was basically an apartment.
"You're a lucky man, Mr. Stone. You have the best room in the house," she said walking in ahead of me. "There is just one bed, but you can request for another. You have two full bathrooms, a private terrace, and prime oceanfront views of the Marine Sanctuary and Hulopoe Beach. In-room dining is twenty-four hours, and housekeeping comes by twice daily." I followed her, taking it in.
The living area looked like it was big enough for a family to use. There was a dining table, couches, and a television. A piano was against one wall close to the entrance. It opened up to the terrace, which overlooked the beach.
"So what do you think?" she aske
d.
"It's nice," I said appreciatively.
"It is, but hopefully you won't be spending too much time up here. The beach is accessible all day. You have full, free access to the tennis courts and fitness center, and the island adventure center is open between seven and six, where we can arrange day long excursions to different parts of the island." I nodded, listening to her. I hadn't really come here to have an island adventure, but I liked her enthusiasm. She made me almost want to sign up for something.
"Thank you. This is great. I appreciate it."
"If you need anything, I'm downstairs all day, every day. If I'm not at the desk, just ask the person you find there for Abby," she said. I said I would and watched her leave, leaving my key card on a table by the door.
I looked around the suite: my home for the next three months. I rolled my suitcase into the bedroom. It was decorated the same way the living space was, with a massive television on the wall and a pair of sliding glass doors that opened out to the terrace. I took my hoodie off and lay down, face up on the bed. Comfy. I could get used to this place.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and realized I hadn't taken it off of airplane mode. You didn't really have to do that when you were flying, but I liked to since it was a good excuse to ignore people who were trying to reach you. The minute I was plugged back in, I saw the missed calls and text messages from Kirsten. Why was she so damn persistent? I knew better than to read them this time and deleted them all.
What was the fucking point, though? Where the hell did I have to go to get away from it all? What if it didn't even matter? I'd always have that bitch breathing down my neck. I'd leave Hawai'i and everything back in LA would just be worse. She'd sue me for more money. The label wouldn't let me out of my contract. Everyone in the band would start hating each other. What if I couldn't fix it?
I sat up. I was too anxious to stay in one place. I needed to do something. I needed something to calm me down. I looked out at the beach. Now seemed like a good time for a drink.
