“I go by Moko,” he said as he stepped up to shake my hand. His hands were calloused. He seemed ill at ease in the posh surroundings.
“It’s great to meet you both,” I said.
“We better get seated,” said Stu. “These people don’t operate on ‘island time’.”
“You’ve been here for high tea before?” I said.
“Oh, yeah. My wife’s a big fan. She likes to get all dolled up and come down here. Thinks it’s a great time.”
“I thought your wife would be joining us today,” I said.
“Yeah, that was the plan. But she’s got a bun in the oven and she’s being real careful. She was worried she might catch a cold or something if she came out in the rain.”
There was an awkward silence.
“So, you’re going to be a father?” I said, trying to keep the conversational ball rolling. From the way things were going, it looked like it was going to be a long hour.
“Yep, first time.”
“Congratulations,” I said. I looked over at Moko. “Pretty great news, don’t you think?”
“I already got four,” said Moko. “So for me the last thing I want to hear is, ‘Honey, guess what’?” He talked with a heavy local accent, dropping final consonants and not bothering with diphthongs. It came out like, I ‘ready gah fo’. So fo me, las’ ting I wanna hear is, ‘Honey, jess wha? It seemed odd that he and Stu were from the same family, and only a year or two apart. They seemed like guys from two different walks of life.
The maître d’ didn’t seem at all pleased with Stu’s tardiness. “Your reservation was for two pm,” he sniffed. He glowered at his computer as if he was going to have to rearrange a complicated seating arrangement to accommodate us. There were more than a dozen tables on the veranda and less than half of them had someone sitting at them. It was hard to believe fifteen minutes could create so much angst.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He blew out a sigh and left us standing there.
Once he was out of earshot, I leaned over to Moko. “I guess we messed up.”
“How dat?”
“For being late.”
“Like hardly,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m kind of hoping this guy can’t find us a table. I’d rather go down there,” I pointed to the beachside bar.
“Fo’ sho’ dat.”
The maître d’ returned. “Follow me,” he said. He grabbed three menus from a stack on the podium and, with his chin up and modeling erect posture that would do a Marine proud, he marched us to a table set for four.
“Can we sit out there?” Stu said. He pointed to a table at the far end of the veranda overlooking the beach.
The maître d’ shot him a look of utter contempt.
“I mean,” said Stu, tapping his watch. “This tea only goes for another forty-five minutes. You expecting a last-minute rush or something?”
There was a silent stand off as the maître d’ stared down Stu while Stu resolutely eyed the beachfront table.
“Very well,” said the maître d’. But as you noted, we conclude our formal high tea service at three. Promptly at three. We need to get the tables set up for dinner.”
“No worries,” said Stu. “We won’t occupy your table one minute longer than necessary.”
Moko whispered in my ear, “Stu got attitude just like the ol’ man.”
“And how about you?” I said.
He shrugged. “I guess I mostly take after my mom.”
Once we got seated I looked at the menu. At first I thought maybe there’d been a mistake. Thirty-five bucks for a cup of tea and a couple of tiny finger sandwiches?
“Whew,” I said. “Look at these prices. Do they put real fingers in the sandwiches or something?”
Moko smiled but Stu shot me a hard look. “Oh spare us, Pali. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
When my father died he’d left me in charge of his estate, much to the dismay of my newfound half-siblings. I’d taken the high road and made sure everyone got taken care of, but it obviously still rankled some.
The waiter sidled up to the table and we ordered. Moko asked if he could have a beer instead of tea and the waiter shot him a pained look.
“Look,” said Stu. “Your establishment serves beer right down there.” He pointed to the beachside bar. “How much trouble can it be to just bring a bottle of it up here?”
“This is our high tea service,” said the waiter in a low voice. “White glove.” He shot a look at the maître d’ stand and bit his lower lip.
“So, where are your gloves?” Stu said. The waiter’s hands were bare.
“It’s a form of expression, sir. It means this is a formal service. Silver pots, china serving ware and scone towers. We serve clotted cream and jams, along with a delightful array of finger sandwiches.”
“But it says here we can have our tea iced.”
“Yes, you may.”
“So use the same glass you’d put the ice tea in and make it a beer instead.”
“I’m not sure I can—”
Moko broke in. “No worries, man. I’ll take the iced tea.”
“No you won’t,” said Stu. “You want a beer, you get a beer. Do you know who we are?”
The waiter looked around the table, ostensibly trying to put a name to any of our faces.
“No, sir, I’m afraid I don’t recognize you.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Because if you did, there’s no way you’d be hassling my brother about his order. Make it three beers and that’s that. We don’t want any of that other stuff.”
The waiter’s face had paled to a shade just a tad darker than the crisp white tablecloth.
“Very well, sir. I’ll bring your order right out.”
As the waiter turned to leave, Moko leaned toward me and whispered. “See what I mean?”
The beers came and soon we were talking like old friends. “So you went to public school over on Maui?” said Stu. “How was that?”
“It was good. Things aren’t so hectic over there. The public schools are pretty decent. We had our share of lowlifes and screw-offs, but mostly it was just a bunch of regular kids from the neighborhood.”
“Huh. Well, Dad insisted we all go to private school. Moko messed up a little and ended up in a Catholic high school, right Moko?”
“Yeah. It was just boys. No girls.”
“But it didn’t slow him down. He got his girlfriend pregnant twice before he graduated.” Stu laughed and clapped Moko on the back.
Moko shook his head. “Big mistake. First time she got rid of it and I felt so bad. Still do. But the next time, I do right by her. We got married right outta school.” He reached into a shorts pocket and brought out a worn canvas wallet. “You wanna see a picture? This one’s a little old, but it’s my favorite.”
Moko’s kids were darling, with big dark eyes and mischievous grins.
“Two boys, two girls,” he said. “I got one extra of each.”
“Wow. So that makes me an auntie,” I said.
“Yeah. These kids already got a bunch of aunties to spoil them rotten but I’m sure they’ll be excited to find out they got a new one.”
The conversation turned to Stu’s anticipation over the birth of his first child. After that, things started to wind down. The dregs of our beer had grown warm and the veranda had emptied out. The waiter had come back twice to inquire if we needed anything else.
Stu had a flashy watch strapped to his wrist so I asked him the time. He extended his arm my way so I could read the time on it myself, as well as to show off his Rolex Oyster.
“Whew. That’s quite a timepiece you’ve got there.”
“Yeah. It was a present from my dad. When I graduated from the U of Dub.”
“You went to the University of Washington? My brother, Jeff, went there. You guys might have been there at the same time.”
“When did he graduate?”
I did the math. “He’s three years
younger than me and he got a five-year master’s, so it would’ve been around 2004, maybe 2005.”
“Yeah. I got out in 2005.”
As if on cue, my brother Jeff appeared at our table. He didn’t look pleased.
“Did you turn off your phone?” he said in lieu of a greeting.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” I rummaged through my beach bag purse. My phone wasn’t there. “I must’ve left it in the apartment.”
“Don’t you think I would’ve heard it ringing if you left it there?” Jeff said in his ‘cranky’ voice.
“I don’t know. Maybe I set to ‘vibrate’ or something.” Then I remembered my manners. “Jeff, these are my half-brothers, Stuart and Michael. And guys, this is my other brother, Jeff Warner.”
At hearing my brother’s last name both men seemed to wince ever so slightly. The sad connection between the Warner and Wilkerson families was painful for both sides. But the two men stood to shake Jeff’s hand.
“Hi, I’m Stu,” said Stuart.
“And I go by Moko,” said Michael.
“Good to meet you,” said Stu. “Pali tells us you’re some kind of rocket scientist. That true?”
“Something like that.”
“And you work for the feds on some top-secret weapons project?”
“Not exactly.” By this point Jeff was shooting me major stink eye.
“You have anything to do with that drone stuff? You know, killing unarmed people from a mile up or whatever.”
Jeff said nothing but kept the stink eye going.
Moko spoke up. “So, you and Pali are related through your mom’s ohana?”
“Yeah,” said Jeff. Actually, Jeff was also related to Stu and Moko via my father’s family but from the look on his face I knew better than to whip out a genealogy chart and make the connection.
“It’s past three,” Jeff said. “You said we had to leave at three.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I turned and put a hand on Moko’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I need to run.”
Stu took the leatherette folder containing the bill off the table and held it up. “You want me to handle this?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it. You guys leave the tip, okay?”
“I can give you my part,” said Moko.
“No. It’s my treat. I’m the big sister.” I smiled and Moko returned it but Stu’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s right,” said Stu. “Dad put you in charge of all us ‘little’ kids, didn’t he?”
I let it slide and gave Stu and Moko a hug good-bye.
It was still raining when we left. When we got about a block away, Jeff said, “Did you set it up so I’d have to come down and meet those two?”
“No. It was an honest mistake and I’m sorry. But they’re actually nice guys. In fact, Stu was at the U of W when you were. He graduated in 2005.”
“Huh. Well, I’m not surprised. From all appearances, it looks like he’s made excellent use of his BS degree.”
CHAPTER 11
We headed to the Shore Bird restaurant that night. I hoped grilling his own steak would improve Jeff’s sour mood. At least it gave us something to do besides sitting at the table staring each other down.
“You think this thing is done?” said Jeff as he hoisted a thick slab of beefsteak off the hot grill. He’d speared it on a long barbeque-style fork and it dangled from the implement like caveman food.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Ask the guy.”
There was a “grill sergeant” stationed by the huge grill racks to help those who found cooking their own dinner a challenge. Jeff flagged the guy and after a quick probe with a thermometer, the steak was declared “medium-rare.”
I’d ordered the fish. I was given a fat chunk of mahi-mahi that only required a few minutes on each side. At home, Steve is the cook in our household. I’m an appreciative diner, but the extent of my cooking prowess pretty much ends with soup (out of a can) and salad (out of a bag).
I slid the steaming fish onto my dinner plate and made my way back to our table. Luckily, we’d arrived early enough to get a table out front, near the beach. The tables in the back were like sitting in a smokehouse since the trade winds pushed the rolling smoke from the six grills back that way and it got trapped by the rear wall of the restaurant.
“Sheesh. Who’d want to sit there?” I said.
“A ham, maybe?” said Jeff. “Or maybe a side of bacon or beef jerky. They smoke jerky, don’t they? Or is it just dehydrated?”
“How’s your steak?” I said. I had no idea how meat was processed and I didn’t want to dwell on thinking about it while I enjoyed my fish.
“Great. It’s huge, though. I’ll probably need a doggie bag.”
We sat in silence for a minute or two.
“You want to talk about it?” I said.
“Not especially.”
“Well, let’s talk about something. How about we discuss what we’re going to do tomorrow?”
“If this rain keeps up, it narrows our options.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I hate to think we’ll be reduced to going to the movies or shopping, but that may be the best we can do.”
We both looked outside. The rain was still coming down hard.
“I thought you said the Channel Five weatherman predicted perfect weather,” said Jeff.
“He did. They all did. I don’t know where this came from.”
“I guess your friend, Ono, was right in not heading out today,” he said. “You thought he was wrong but he wasn’t.”
“Are you still mad about having to come get me at the Moana?”
“No, I’m just pointing out the obvious,” he said. “You think you’re always right, but you’re not. And whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re not always a hundred percent in control.”
I shot him a little stink eye but didn’t argue. After a few beats of both of us staring at our plates, I said, “You should probably ask the waitress for a box.”
“I’m gonna pass on that,” he said. “My girlfriend’s a nurse. She told me I should only eat red meat once a week.”
“Your girlfriend? We’ve been together three days and you’re just now getting around to mentioning her?”
“It’s nothing serious.”
I grabbed his arm.
“No, really,” he said. “It’s more of a ‘friends with benefits’ thing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, let me put it this way. If Melissa and I ever need a wedding planner I’ll give you a call. But don’t sit by the phone. We’re talking decades, if ever.”
We paid our check and made our way back to the penthouse. When we got inside, Steve was stretched out on the sofa.
“How’d you get in here?” I said.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” said Jeff. “I left a key for him at the front desk when I went to rescue you from your ‘tea date’.”
“How’d your interview go?”
“It went great. In fact, they made me a job offer right on the spot.”
“A good one?” said Jeff.
“A fabulous one.” Steve looked at me and winked.
“Just how ‘fabulous’ is ‘fabulous’?” I said.
“Fabulous enough to live quite comfortably in a downtown high rise with an ocean view.”
“Huh,” said Jeff. “That must be a pretty good offer.”
I stared at Steve. “Are you telling me I need to look for a new roommate?”
“I’m not committing to anything. But I’ve got to give it some thought. In fact, if it’s okay with you two I think I’ll stick around until Wednesday. I’d like to check out some apartments. Maybe look up some people the Go Hawaii people suggested I talk to.”
“It’s okay with me if you stay here if it’s okay with Pali,” said Jeff.
I nodded. I felt as if I’d been dumped by a boyfriend who wanted to ‘still be friends.’ But that was irrational. Right?
***
The next mo
rning was September 11th. Every American knows the date and what happened on that day. But in Hawaii it was already an infamous day nine years before 2001. On September 11, 1992, Hurricane Iniki slammed into Kaua'i’s south shore wreaking havoc of biblical proportions. Trees were completely stripped of leaves and the storm surge sucked tons of sand from the beaches, making old maps of the area obsolete. The 145 mile-an-hour winds caused almost two billion dollars in damage. For days, people on Kaua'i were left glassy-eyed and speechless with shock.
Originally the storm was headed for O’ahu but at the last minute it veered north. Kaua'i’s loss was O’ahu’s gain as the amount of damage a big storm like that would’ve caused in a city the size of Honolulu is beyond comprehension.
So it seemed almost fitting that on this September 11 it was still raining. The sky was thick with clouds and raindrops trailed down the window panes like tears.
We sat at the table hunched over our Hilo Hattie coffee cups like old men at a country store. Finally Jeff spoke. “You decide yet if you’re going to take the job?”
“Still not sure,” said Steve. “I’m weighing the pros and cons.” I felt him look over at me but I didn’t look up. “I mean, professionally, this is where I should be. But personally, I love my life on Maui. It would be hard to leave it for what’s over here.”
“You mean horrendous traffic and astronomical rents and a crime rate that’s pretty much the main topic of every newscast?” I said. I thought I was simply pointing out the obvious but both guys glared at me so I figured maybe it’d come out more snarky than I intended.
“Yeah.” Steve didn’t sound like he wanted to discuss it. Which was a good thing, since I was about a breath away from throwing a full-blown guilt trip at him.
I got up and made a pile of toast. As we chomped on sweet bread toast with guava jelly, Steve perked up. “Say, are you guys planning to use your car today?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why?”
05-O'ahu Lonesome Tonight? Page 6
