Primitive Secrets

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  Storm woke when morning’s light caressed her face. She smiled, burrowed into the pillow, and smelled Hamlin on the sheets around her. She opened one eye. A note and a sprig of mock orange from the fragrant shrub in the garden lay on the pillow next to her. She raised her head. The warm lump lying along her leg was Fang. Damn.

  She picked up the note. “Couldn’t wear this shirt to court—might get confused with my client. Love, Ian. P.S. Love your pig.”

  Storm snorted, then sat bolt upright. She laughed out loud and twisted around to regard the tattoo she’d told him he’d never see.

  The light coming in the window was brighter than usual and the clock said seven fifteen, an hour later than her usual wake-up time. Thank God she didn’t have any appointments, but Wang would be dropping in around eight, stacking file folders in her in box, wanting to check the status of the Certificate of Need for Unimed.

  A half-hour later, Storm was fluffing her still-damp hair with the windows down in the VW and applying her mascara at the traffic lights along Kapi’olani Boulevard, thinking how much easier all this would be if she had an automatic transmission. Or if she’d not overslept. Or if she could wear shorts to work. And so on. Not that she would have passed up last night for anything.

  It was quarter of eight and she would be pushing her luck if she stopped at Leila’s bakery for goodies, but if she didn’t, she’d be practically shaking with hunger in an hour, scavenging for stale donut crumbs or the petrified caramels that sat next to the office coffeepot in a Santa Claus jar. Maybe Bruce, Leila’s baker, would put some of their fresh-squeezed orange juice into a paper cup to go.

  That did it. She swerved into the alley, crawled around the delivery trucks, and blocked the back door to her friend’s shop. Ten minutes later, she was holding the rolled rim of the paper cup in her teeth to turn the knob to the front door. The aroma of the sticky bun in her laptop briefcase made her salivate.

  She turned on the office lights and set down the orange juice, her purse, and the heavy case and sighed. A stack of files sat on her desk, covered with little yellow notes. “Rats, he beat me,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I’d like to see you before my afternoon appointment.” Wang’s voice surprised her. She looked up to see him in the doorway.

  “I have time now. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “I have a meeting in five minutes.” He handed her a folder. “How about three o’clock? Meanwhile, I need you to look up some data at the university law library.” His eyes traveled over her.

  Storm resisted the urge to check her zipper. “Shall I meet you in your office?” She looked him in the eye. When your knees are shaking, act like you know what’s going on.

  “Fine.”

  Wang left. Storm waited a few seconds, then pulled out her purse compact and checked her face. A little puffy-eyed, but passable. The lipstick she had applied in the parking garage wasn’t even on her front teeth. She smoothed her blouse front and skirt. A tiny run in her stocking was climbing above the heel of her shoe. Damn, but Wang couldn’t have seen that.

  She’d have to knock his socks off with her research. She also needed to buy a new pair of stockings before her lunch with Ray Tam, the union man. Storm downed her orange juice while she scanned the reference list Wang had given her. His lists were invariably incomplete; they were jumping-off points. He hadn’t been in the university law library for years.

  She’d better get going. As it was, she was going to have to return to the library after her lunch, jam for another hour, then dash back for her three o’clock appointment with Wang. Storm sighed, gathered her laptop, and hoped she could eat the sticky bun undetected in the library stacks, where no food was allowed.

  On the way out the door, her direct line rang. Storm paused and glared at the phone. Few people had that number; most of her calls were routed through the front desk. It might be Martin, Leila, or Paul Andrews with a report on the coffee mug. She picked it up. The crackle of a long distance call greeted her.

  Chapter 29

  “Don’t you ever check your messages?” Aunt Maile’s voice teased, but held a note of exasperation. “I was worried about you.”

  “I guess I’ve been busy.” Truth was, she’d been too distracted last night to check the answering machine.

  “Uncle Keone and I are coming to Honolulu. We’re at the Hilo airport now. He needs some new tack, so we’re going to that saddle shop out in Pearl City. Then we’re going to Ala Moana Shopping Center. Can you meet us for a bite of dinner?”

  “Sure, it’ll be great to see you.” It would, but their timing could have been better. Plus, she’d bet her left shoe they’d want to eat at the Hibiscus Diner, where even spaghetti was served with a side of rice and tsakemono, or pickled Japanese vegetables. The vegetables were mostly daikon, which was a big, white radish and gave off a smell like swamp gas. It got worse with the digestion process. Storm stashed Tums in her purse when she went to the Hibiscus Diner.

  “Let me take you to the Chao Phraya, this terrific Thai restaurant. You’ll love the satay. They have sticky rice and fresh catch—”

  “Oh, honey, Keone’s got his heart set on the Hibiscus Diner’s oxtail soup. They still serve it with boiled peanuts, don’t they?”

  “Probably,” Storm sighed. “How about six-thirty? Can you spend the night with me?”

  “I’d love to, but Keone wants to sleep at home, show up at the ranch next morning with the new equipment. Bebe’s going to shoot me when she finds out we came over and didn’t stay.”

  “When’s the last plane?” Storm’s shoulders were climbing with tension. She needed another deadline today almost as much as she needed another visit from one of the partners.

  “Seven-thirty. Could you meet us at the Diner at five?”

  “I’ll try. If I’m late, go ahead and order.” Storm dropped the receiver back in the cradle. She gathered her briefcase, closed her office door, and peered hopefully toward Hamlin’s end of the hallway. All looked quiet down there; he was still in court.

  Storm found a remote desk at the back of the stacks in the university law library and wolfed the now-cool sticky bun while she typed up pages of references and case studies for Wang on her laptop. Hours later, her growling stomach reminded her to glance at her watch. She had barely enough time to get to the Kahala Country Club dining room. Forget about buying new stockings.

  The hostess seated her and told her that Mr. Tam had called to say he would be there shortly. Storm sank into a plush dining room chair with relief. It was better form for her to be waiting for him than vice versa. This way, too, the runner in her stocking was hidden under the table.

  She stared out at the golf course through floor to ceiling tinted windows. The contrast of white sand traps against brilliant greens, juxtaposed against azure waters and cloudless sky, looked like a color-enhanced post card. She took a grateful sip of ice water. It took a hot sun to bring out the blues in water and sky like that.

  “Ms. Kayama, I’m sorry I’m late.” Ray Tam grasped her hand warmly.

  “I was enjoying the view, glad to be in the air conditioning.”

  Tam recommended the papaya halves filled with lobster salad. They both ordered it and Storm savored every bite. When she had scraped her papaya down to the mottled green skin and followed Tam’s lead again in ordering lychee ice cream, he opened his briefcase. He slid a sheaf of papers across the table to her.

  “This is the contract. Read through it in the next day or two, then we’ll meet for your signature. I want you to do the work for us.”

  “Mr. Tam, I appreciate your confidence. I’m sure you realize that there are others in my firm with more experience.”

  “You’ll be gaining experience daily.” Daily? It would certainly beat sitting in the library stacks. She should genuflect with gratitude for this show of trust. Wang would be delighted, and the steady, lucrative jobs coming through the powe
rful Hawai’i labor unions could give her a solid position in the firm.

  “We trust your maturity,” he smiled, “and your former mentor, Mr. Hamasaki.”

  Storm put out her hand. “Mr. Tam, thank you. I’ll work very hard for you.”

  He shook her hand and stood up to leave. “I know you will.”

  Storm nabbed a great parking place back at the law library, which was a rare find. A good omen. She had an hour and a half to finish her research for Wang and get back for her meeting with him.

  In an hour, she had finished with the resources the library had to offer on Wang’s cases. She scanned through her notes again. Great, she had time to go back and plug the laptop into the printer. She’d be able to hand a neat hard copy to Wang at the meeting.

  The office was quiet. No clients sat in the waiting room and the receptionist was busy transcribing dictation while she fielded the phone. She merely nodded a greeting instead of stopping Storm with messages.

  Storm plugged the laptop into the printer cable, flicked the on-switch, stood back, and sighed when nothing happened. It wouldn’t be the first time the after-hours cleaning service used the outlet to run the vacuum, then forgot to replace the printer plug. She dropped to her hands and knees and rummaged under the counter that ran along the wall. Sure enough, the plug was dangling.

  “I like the view from here.”

  Storm jerked back and up, nearly clonking her head on the underside of the shelf. Hamlin had put out his hand in anticipation, though.

  “You scared me to death.” She clambered to her feet.

  “I was afraid of that. It’s difficult when you walk into a room and discover only someone’s backside.” He glanced toward the cracked-open door and made sure no one was standing outside, then pulled her to him. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Storm looked toward the door, too. “Careful, what would Meredith do if she saw us? Or Wang?”

  “Maybe we’d have to open our own practice.”

  Storm shook her head with a smile. “I’m a lowly clerk, remember? Let me gather a few more clients.” She planted a kiss on his chin. “Dinner last night was wonderful.”

  “Did we eat dinner?”

  Storm chuckled. “I have to meet my Aunt and Uncle tonight at the Hibiscus Diner. Want to join us?”

  “Hmm…why there?”

  “It’s their favorite place. Every time they come to Honolulu, they go at least once.” Storm chuckled at his expression.

  “What time?”

  “Five.”

  “I can’t.”

  Storm burst out laughing.

  “No, really, I’ll still be in the office.”

  “Nice try, Hamlin.”

  “Tomorrow. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “They’re leaving tonight.” She shook her head and grinned at him. “You got off easy.”

  “Tomorrow, anyway. Just us.”

  “We’ll see.” Storm gave him a push. “Get outta here. I’m meeting Wang in five minutes.”

  Hamlin brushed her lips with his and slipped out the door. Five minutes later, Storm stood outside Wang’s office and paused to make sure she’d stifled her goofy grin.

  Diane, Wang’s secretary, smiled at her. “He’ll be ready for you in one minute. He’s on the phone.” She lowered her voice. “You want the key to Hamasaki’s office?”

  “I’ve got to meet family for dinner tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow after work.”

  “I’ll leave the key in an envelope on your desk tomorrow when I leave. Can you get it back to me first thing the next morning?”

  “Sure.”

  Diane glanced down at the phone. “Go on in, Storm.”

  Wang gestured to a chair facing his big rosewood desk. Silhouetted against the setting sun outside his huge windows, he looked small behind it.

  She sat down and handed him a folder with the recently printed references. “I did a computer search and found almost all of the volumes in the stacks.”

  Wang ran his eyes down the first page. He settled back in his chair and got out a gold pen, which he used to make marks next to certain lines. There were eleven single-spaced pages. He flipped the first page over and proceeded as if he were alone in the room.

  Storm gazed around his office. The top of his rich, rosewood desk was clear except for the papers he was reading, a fine leather blotter, a leather penholder, and a matching notepaper holder. A rosewood cabinet filled the entire wall to her left. The doors were fitted with glass panels so that one could admire the jade pieces displayed on the shelves, which were also glass. The back of the cabinet was a mirror, so that Storm could see under and around each item. Some of the jade carvings looked crude to Storm’s untrained eye, like animals one would see in cave paintings, their large forms recognizable, but without detail. They had to be thousands of years old. On another shelf, hummingbirds, dragons, and mythical creatures in rare dark green hues were perched, every scale and tooth distinct. Below them, daggers with highly decorated blades were arranged in parallel rows. On the bottom shelf sat big slabs of apple green stone, carved into landscapes. The color variations in the stone were incorporated into the scene.

  She glanced at Wang and found him looking at her. “Your collection is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” He gestured to the cabinet. “Some of those pieces just got back from the deYoung Museum in San Francisco. My mother started it years ago and I’ve continued it. I’m expecting another landscape to arrive any day now from Hong Kong.” He bobbed his head in the direction of one of the larger carvings. “There are still pieces in mainland China that survived the Revolution, but they’re hard to find. Citizens are holding on to them, now.”

  “They didn’t always?”

  “Ten years ago we could pick up a dragon like that one from black marketers. I could pay about a thousand U.S., which was more than two years’ income to most people. It could mean the survival of a family in those times.” He sounded as if he’d been performing a service. “Now, the Chinese government is trying to collect them, too. Prices have increased exponentially. People use the pieces as bargaining chips. Collectors like me have to bid against the government.”

  He shook his head as if disgruntled by the inconvenience and picked up the papers she’d given him. Storm stared at the dragon he’d pointed to, wondering just what the families got in exchange for their heirlooms.

  His voice dragged her back from thoughts of struggling refugees. “This looks good.” He pulled another file from his desk drawer and handed it over to her. “Meredith got some numbers for you. Should be all you need. I’d like to have it in the Department of Health office by tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” Storm stood up to leave.

  “Please notify me when it goes over to the state office.”

  “Okay.”

  It was quarter after five when Storm got to the Hibiscus Diner. She hugged Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone, then dropped onto the bench across from them and picked up the tattered plastic menu from its spot between a big bottle of soy sauce and a refilled ketchup dispenser hand-labeled “Chili Sauce.” Storm wondered if the fumes from the chili bottle had hastened the disintegration of the cracked and yellow menu.

  She looked at the dishes in front of Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone. The service here was fast and friendly; she’d hand them that. Aunt Maile was having what was probably described on the menu as barbecued ribs. Islands of meat sat in a swamp of sauce. Even her two scoops of rice were surrounded by molasses-hued liquid.

  She was using a fork and spoon with enthusiasm. Uncle Keone slurped his oxtail soup, which had peanuts floating like drowned flies in the broth. His side dish of macaroni salad had no vegetables, just swollen pasta and mayonnaise. This was the sustenance of her childhood, Storm thought. Oh, well. Keone and Maile were full of love, support, and unsolicited advice. And whose family was perfect, anyway?

 
; Aunt Maile used a tiny paper napkin to blot her lips. She had four or five crumpled beside her plate already. “I called Bebe to say hello and she scolded us for being in such a rush.”

  Uncle Keone shrugged. “I like to sleep in my own bed. No offense, honey. Just want to get the plane trip over with.”

  “It’s okay, I understand,” Storm said.

  “Bebe wants me to send her noni leaves from the Big Island,” Maile continued. “But I know a farm in Waimanalo where they grow lush and healthy. I told her I’d ask you to help her pick ‘em. They’ll be fresher.”

  “Aunt Maile, work is really busy right now.”

  Maile’s big brown eyes looked sad. “Her arthritic hip has been bad lately.”

  “Then I have to drive them out to Waianae. That’ll take a whole day.”

  “No, no. I asked Bebe to meet you in Waimanalo. She just can’t climb some of the rocks where they grow.”

  “Is this for Tom Sakai?” Storm sounded resigned.

  “Yes, him and a boy with leukemia.”

  “How old is the boy?” She should never have asked.

  “Four.” Maile shook her head sadly. “You would be helping them a great deal.”

  “Okay, okay. Can she meet me out there tomorrow at four-thirty?” Storm felt her shoulders droop. Now she’d have to leave the office early and return after leaf-picking to go through Hamasaki’s files. Not only would it be a long day, but she’d have to turn down Hamlin’s offer of dinner. Plus, she’d be a muddy mess when she got back to the office. Aunt Maile gave her a smile that made the sacrifice worthwhile.

  Storm’s chef salad arrived and she picked at the strips of ham on top. It was the processed kind, nether pig parts pressed into a pink mass and sliced. The colorless iceberg lettuce was flooded with Ranch dressing. But that might be a blessing, because it hid a lot. Storm took a few bites and told herself not to be such a snob.

  “Honey, do you want to get a doggie bag?” Uncle Keone asked. “It’s time for us to leave for the airport.”

  Storm put her fork down. “No need. Can I give you a ride?”