by Di Morrissey
Catherine just smiled and thought that although Donna’s comments were well meant, they contained a few sour grapes, but they challenged her. Bradley hadn’t given any indication of wanting to take her to bed, but he kissed her quite nicely and he’d never mentioned another girl back home. He was always so decent and thoughtful, she felt sure he would have mentioned any other girl so as not to lead her on.
Catherine couldn’t help comparing him to some of the boys back home. Bradley was so sophisticated, he’d certainly never get drunk. He wouldn’t fall in a pool, or make a fool of himself. He’d once told her how naval officers were always on show, representing the navy, in or out of uniform. He didn’t often talk about his work, instead they talked about the world in general, things that interested them, the shows, films and theatre that they saw in London. And they shared stories of their families and growing up.
‘So what are you going to do in Paris?’ Bradley asked over dinner two nights later. ‘Have you friends there? Is anyone going with you?’
‘No. I thought I’d strike out on my own. I’ve been surrounded by friends here. I have a very detailed list of places to go and see, things to do. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘To Paris? Or being on your own?’ he asked.
‘Why Paris, of course,’ she laughed.
He took a mouthful of food. ‘It doesn’t seem right – going to Paris on your own. Unless of course you’re looking for a romantic interlude . . .’
‘With a stranger? I don’t think so.’
‘What about me?’
Catherine blinked. ‘You? You mean, come to Paris with me?’
‘I’ve never been. I didn’t like the idea of seeing the city of lights on my own. Perhaps we could . . . well, do it together. I’ll find my own pension or something. Where are you staying by the way?’ When Catherine didn’t answer straight away, he hastily added, ‘That’s only if you’d like some company. Purely platonic of course.’
‘Of course,’ she smiled. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’
‘You do? Fantastic.’ He sounded relieved. ‘I hope you don’t have the wrong idea or anything.’
‘Of course not. But I insist we split expenses. Meals and travel and so on.’
He went to protest, but then nodded. ‘Agreed. That’s very fair. And it’s only for a week. I’ll have to see if I can get leave.’
The next day he phoned her to say he couldn’t get time off. ‘I’m very disappointed.’
‘Me too,’ said Catherine and realised how much she’d been looking forward to their trip together. Bradley was such good company.
She adored Paris but occasionally as she sat in a café watching the crowds she wished Bradley was with her. She wished she could talk to him and share her feelings and experiences of the beautiful city. She dutifully worked her way through her list of must-see places, but occasionally she just followed a boulevard, wandered through a park or along the Seine to see where she ended up.
On her way to join the queues at the Louvre, Catherine passed a small gallery that was holding a photographic exhibition. Intrigued by the poster and the photograph on display she decided to go in and look around.
She was riveted by the photographs – mostly black and white images of people, places and streets scenes in a grainy, gritty Paris she’d never imagined. A bed on a floor with rumpled white sheets beneath a curtainless window that framed a chimney stack. A beautiful naked Indian woman in an old white claw-foot bath. A long-haired man in a doorway in a shaggy sheepskin jacket smoking a joint. Two girls in beads and kaftans behind a stall selling knick-knacks, old lace and books. A wet cobblestone street with a hunched figure in a bulky coat beneath a large black umbrella.
The exhibition was titled A Slice of Life and it made her think of the contrast with her own life – clean, comfortable, safe. As she continued on her walk she filed away the idea that maybe one day she’d pick up something more than her instamatic camera and document her home, its town, landscape and people.
Back at the flat in London, there was an envelope on her bed. She didn’t recognise the writing, and there was no stamp. It was from Bradley.
Dear Catherine,
Terrible news! I’ve had to leave London. Been transferred to Pearl Harbor in Hawaii as an urgent replacement for an officer. It’s a far more interesting assignment than London and I’ll get back to the sunshine which appeals! However I am so very disappointed to miss seeing you to say good-bye. Or au revoir. I hope you had a wonderful time in Paris. You said you had a ticket home via Honolulu . . . so I hope you’ll let me know and plan to stop over as I would very much like to see you again. If I may, I’ll call you. My contact address is below. I haven’t a home phone as I’m in quarters.
Warmest wishes,
Bradley
‘Well, that’s that then,’ said Donna after Catherine showed the girls the letter.
‘Why do you say that? I’ll definitely look him up in Honolulu,’ said Catherine.
‘A fling maybe. Listen, don’t hold your breath over that one. We met some groovy blokes who’re in a band. Come with us to the pub tonight. They’re playing in the back room and they’re terrific. We can all hang out with them afterwards.’
‘I’m tired. Maybe some other time.’
‘Yeah, righto.’ Donna left Catherine and whispered to the other two girls, ‘Let her get over the Yank sailor.’
‘American officer,’ Catherine called out before shutting her door. Loudly.
She lay on her bed and fingered the blue notepaper with Bradley’s curling, tidy handwriting. She’d go to Greece and Spain, she’d go to the Lake District as she’d planned, and go to Hawaii on the way home. She was not going to mope about the handsome American. Anyway, two boys from home were due in London and she’d promised to show them around. One of them was Dave who’d fallen in the pool at her party. She hoped he wouldn’t get drunk, or fight, or fall over in her company. But she was glad to be seeing someone from home.
Catherine sent Bradley a polite note telling him a little of her trip to Paris, that she was sorry she missed saying goodbye, she wished him well and said she might just stop into Honolulu on her way back to Australia in several months time.
She then booked her flight to Hawaii just to be sure. But she didn’t tell anyone. Even if Bradley wasn’t there, her parents had given her a week in a nice hotel as part of her twenty-first birthday trip.
Knowing sunny Hawaii was booked made the greyness of London more bearable.
2
THE AIR WAS PUNGENT. Sweet. A tradewind lifted the damp curls on Catherine’s neck. The sun was warm. In the background she heard Hawaiian steel guitars playing. Her body was relaxing after the long flight. The snowy stopover in New York had been tiring and the weather had been freezing. Here in Honolulu the bright sunlight, the colourful clothes, the flowers, made her feel the plane had landed on a different planet. These initial sensations would stay with her the rest of her life.
In the airport terminal everyone was smiling, welcoming, greeting people with ‘Aloha, aloha’. Walking through the exit Catherine saw waving palms outside the glass doors and a blur of faces.
And there was Bradley, just as he’d promised.
In the last few months, Bradley had surprised Catherine with letters and occasional phone calls and this had strengthened the bond between them. The distance had given them time to develop a different relationship where they’d exchanged thoughts and feelings on all kinds of subjects, the kind of things that might be difficult to say face to face. And without the physical closeness there wasn’t any pressure to move their friendship to an intimate level.
Strangely, she felt she knew Bradley better because of this space between them, rather than if he’d been by her side. He wrote to her about his new job, telling her that he might be based in Pearl Harbor for the next few years or so. He described his commanding officer and his organising wife. In his letters Bradley summed up his colleagues and the people he met in a few pithy senten
ces that were often quite hilarious. Catherine really enjoyed his sense of humour, which she hadn’t appreciated in the short time they’d known each other in London.
They had arranged to meet on her way back to Australia so that he could show her round Honolulu and take her to dinner and a show. Catherine’s father had insisted on treating her to a final fling before she came home and ‘got back to work’, so here she was booked into an old but stylish hotel on Waikiki Beach.
Catherine walked towards Bradley and found she was shaking at the sight of him. He stood out from the crowd not only because he was so tall, but he also looked handsome in his crisp white naval uniform. His arms showing from under the short sleeves of his shirt were tanned and he held his peaked officer’s cap under one arm while he carried a lei made of perfumed creamy flowers. He was smiling broadly and Catherine couldn’t help noticing the second glances he got from other women.
‘Hello, hello!’ He embraced Catherine, kissed her cheek, took her luggage and put it down beside them as he lifted the lei over her head. ‘Local custom.’ He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips.
She lifted the lei and inhaled deeply. ‘How gorgeous. Are they frangipani?’
‘Plumeria. Slightly different. Is this all your luggage? I’m parked out the front. You must be exhausted. Such a long flight.’
As they drove to the Moana Hotel they fell into easy conversation, picking up where they’d left off in their last phone call. She felt as if she’d known him for years. Bradley pulled up under the Corinthian columns of the portico at the hotel entrance as a smiling bellboy opened the car door and took her hand luggage.
‘I’ll see if I can park out on Kalakaua Avenue,’ called Bradley as Catherine followed the young Hawaiian into the lobby.
As she looked about her, she realised that the hotel had gone through many stages – the old wood panelling, the touches of art deco, some fifties modernisation and the Italianate entrance made it an odd mixture, but the breezy open plan looking out to a courtyard flanked by wide verandahs was definitely tropical.
‘First order of the day – a drink under the banyan tree,’ said Bradley as she signed the registration card.
‘I don’t know what time of night or day it is,’ laughed Catherine.
‘A fresh pineapple juice, with a splash of coconut milk,’ suggested Bradley. ‘Or a coffee?’
‘Juice sounds wonderful, thanks. Wow!’ Catherine gasped as they came to the steps leading to the courtyard flanked by the polished wood floor verandahs. The hotel was at the edge of the beach and the sand was swept and lined with deck chairs where holiday makers lounged. Beyond them glittered the blue ocean where long low breakers lazily rolled towards the shore. Further along the beach jutted the unmistakable outline of Diamond Head. In the centre of the courtyard was a magnificent banyan tree, its branches shading several tables and chairs.
‘The tree’s very historic. Been here since 1904, planted a few years after the hotel opened.’ Bradley drew out a chair. ‘Great spot for an evening cocktail.’
‘I don’t think I’ll move from here the whole week of my stay,’ sighed Catherine.
Bradley had to work the next day so Catherine used the time to explore a little on her own, though all she did was walk along the beach and browse in the shops on Kalakaua Avenue. She preferred to sit in the shade of the banyan tree in the hotel courtyard watching the people on the sands of Waikiki. This was such a long way from Peel and from London. It all felt so exotic and romantic. The locals stood out. Fit and tanned wearing colourful – if sometimes sun-faded – casual clothes. She decided she had to buy a beach sarong. She noticed the women hotel staff, generally older and all smiling and friendly, wore long full and loose muu-muus that fell from a yoke at the top. Most of the women were plump but looked cool and comfortable in the flowered print dresses.
When Bradley arrived that evening to take her to dinner, she was wearing flowers from the lei he had given her in her hair.
‘Glad to see you’re getting into the aloha spirit,’ he said, giving her a light kiss.
‘I went shopping in that International Marketplace but got utterly confused with all the different Hawaiian prints.’ She pointed to a woman in a bright muu-muu. ‘Is that the traditional dress?’
‘Now it is. They were originally introduced by the missionaries to cover up all that decadent naked flesh. No more grass skirts and bare breasts.’
They sat on the terrace at the Ilikai Hotel which was further down the avenue and watched the sunset ceremony of lighting the tiki torches as an Hawaiian warrior blew a large conch shell to summon the men and women dancers to gather on the outdoor terrace. Musicians appeared and as the sky glowed red and orange and the sun sank below the horizon the dancers performed popular hulas.
‘It’s a bit hokey, but it’s kind of nice,’ said Bradley.
‘I like it. Where else are tourists going to see this kind of thing?’ said Catherine.
‘Oh, lots of touristy places do cultural shows. One drink and we’ll head back to Waikiki for dinner and we’ll see some wonderful classical dancing.’
‘In the heart of Waikiki?’ Catherine was hoping they’d head away from the tourist strip and go somewhere more local, though there was time for that she figured. It was nice of him to show her the glamorous side of the city. Waikiki was what everyone came to Honolulu to see.
Bradley took her to yet another famous old hotel – the Moonflower – explaining, ‘There’s a woman I want you to see, and it’s a lovely setting. The hotel is named after a sweet-smelling flower that only blooms at night.’
They walked onto the terrace that faced the sea and settled at a table and Bradley ordered two mai tais. ‘Also a tradition. Basically pineapple juice and rum.’
‘This is gorgeous.’ Catherine sighed as the ever present tradewind wafted across the terrace, still glowing in the remains of the sunset. The moon was rising as a band set up and a beautiful woman wearing a figure-hugging Hawaiian dress and draped in long flower leis walked between the tables, pausing to greet the scattering of people around the terrace and verandah of the restaurant.
‘Who’s that?’ whispered Catherine. She was struck by the beauty of the Hawaiian girl and her interesting blend of features, tawny olive skin and dark rippling hair. ‘Is she pure Hawaiian?’
‘She’s just called Kiann’e. I think she’s pure Hawaiian. Wait till you see her dance.’
The dancer smiled at them and made her way to the raised dais in front of the band. She chatted to the musicians and then moved to the centre of the stage as they began to play ‘Lovely Hula Hands’. In her bare feet Kiann’e began to sway, her hips circling, her arms lifted in a graceful curve, her eyes on her fingertips. She moved slowly, like an unfolding flower.
‘Watch her hands, they tell the story,’ said Bradley. ‘I know it’s all a bit old fashioned, but this is so popular.’
‘I was thinking of those rattling grass skirts and shaking fast swinging hips,’ said Catherine. ‘This is exquisite. I suppose you have to be born to it to dance like that.’
‘For sure. They learn as toddlers.’ Bradley sipped his drink served in half a small pineapple decorated with a bright red cherry and paper umbrella.
Catherine was entranced by the dancing.
After the show they moved into the restaurant for dinner and Bradley talked about his work, living in Honolulu and how much he enjoyed it.
‘What about a nightcap?’ he suggested after their meal. ‘Take in a couple of the old Hawaiian institutions – the tiki lounges.’
‘Maybe just one bar or club will do tonight. And no more mai tais, they sneak up on you.’
She wondered where he was driving them as they wound down a lane past a cement plant and came to a lagoon, finally parking near a sign pointing to the Mariana Sailing Club.
Catherine glanced at the marina in the distance. ‘Is this a club?’
‘Yes, but people come here for the Hawaiian atmosphere. It’s been run since the
1950s by this lady. She bought all kinds of memorabilia from some of the old establishments like Trader Vic, Don the Beachcomber, the Kon Tiki Room. Are you familiar with Exotica music? Tourists love it.’
‘No. I only know the latest London groups.’
‘This is the old music started by Martin Denny, Arthur Lyman, Les Baxter and it’s a kind of Polynesian cultural mix of Hawaiian music, jazz, drums and sound effects like frogs and waterfalls. You might recognise it when you hear it.’
Catherine doubted it. This was another world and a long way from the country music back in Peel.
The lounge bar was strung with coloured lights, the ceiling and walls were of bamboo and large carved tiki gods scowled from the doorway. Coloured glass balls on ropes were strung around the room next to plastic palm trees and in one corner a small waterfall splashed into a miniature pond where coloured lights played across the water. A large artificial frog sat on a plastic lily pad. The waiters wore bright Hawaiian shirts and white shorts and the waitresses wore Hawaiian-print strapless dresses with the mini skirts showing lots of tanned legs.
‘A lot of the staff here are from California,’ said Bradley. ‘The surf thing, you know.’
‘You know a lot about Honolulu in a short time,’ said Catherine.
He smiled. ‘Ah, sailors. They find the hot spots pretty quickly so I get to hear about them. Not that I frequent some of the joints they recommend.’
They ordered drinks but when the music started conversation was difficult so they leaned close to talk and at one point, while Catherine was trying to explain how different London disco clubs were, Bradley moved closer and kissed her on the lips. A lingering kiss that made her tingle.
They danced to a slow song, Bradley didn’t like fast dancing.
‘My mother made me go to ballroom dancing classes.
I earned some money during college teaching ballroom. Assisting the lady teacher as her partner.’ He pulled her tighter to him. ‘I didn’t want any of my fraternity brothers to know about that. They were on the football team. There, I’ve told you my darkest secret.’
