Blood Moon

by Rose Smith

  She’d eyed it on a piece of paper tacked onto the refrigerator. A magnet of a two-legged pig dressed in workout gear that read: once on the lips, forever on the hips held it there. For two solid weeks, terrified to pick up the phone, she’d looked at his number. Once she finally gathered her nerve, she’d dialed. Her father’s new wife had answered. Even with his new wife’s urging—he’d refused to come to the phone. Rejected, Brianna had cried for two weeks straight. Once she’d dried her tears, Brianna had resolved she’d never shed any hurt-filled tears again over any man.

  Some of those married men at the shop, buying flowers for their wives and donning wedding rings—had the unmitigated gall to hit on her. All while she’d ring up their purchases and make out the enclosure card or love note to their wives! It rankled her how obvious they were about hitting on her when she knew they were with someone else. Pure p-i-g-s.

  The Valentine’s Day she’d decided she’d give taking her clothes off for a living a try came into focus. One married guy had not only hit on her, he’d handed her a $100 tip. That was more than the roses he’d bought. She’d turned him down. But she’d remembered one of her college friends who worked at the Rino. Ashley was a looker with smooth olive skin, thick ebony hair and big brown eyes. She’d met her in Algebra class. Ashley told her she was making $1,000 sometimes $2,000 a week stripping.

  If men leered at Brianna when she’d walk into the florist cooler, and everywhere else she went, shit, she’d determined she might as well get paid for it. Ashley had explained to Brianna why she’d started stripping. She told Brianna that while working her way up the ladder as an aspiring actress; she had served as an assistant for a famous actor she’d really admired.

  He was a huge box office draw, Brianna remembered Ashley telling her. But my awe of him didn’t last a week. I don’t think anyone needs to meet their idols up close. Finding out they have bad breath and fart like everyone else is a total letdown. Sometimes fantasies are best left that way.

  Anyway, he turned out to be a real creep. He was like a damned octopus with his hands, Ashley had admitted to her. Brianna remembered Ashley sweeping loose strands of her dark mane behind her ear before continuing.

  I don’t know how many times I told that jerk no. It just made him more grabby. I didn’t want to lose my job, so I put up with him for a while. I was only 17. The last straw was when I went to his dressing room to take his breakfast order. He took his time—looked me up and down then said, ‘I’ll have a hard-boiled egg and a soft-boiled clitoris.’

  The joke alone made me want to puke. But the clincher was that he told it in front of his entourage. I’ll never forget the stupid looks on all those jerks’ faces. They burst out laughing as if cued by a director in a bad movie. I went into the bathroom and cried. How would they feel if someone humiliated their own teenage daughter that way? I quit a few days after that. I walked away from Hollywood altogether. A few weeks later, I ended up at the Rino.

  Brianna vividly remembered looking at her friend after she shared that story with her. Behind all that natural beauty was once a thriving flower that had been trampled upon. What might she have done in Hollywood if it weren’t for that experience? An actor way too full of himself with way too much power, willing to abuse it. Though Ashley’s experience had enraged Brianna—she’d realized it was too common. And the things guys like these disgusting men did to turn women on were about as inviting as an itchy rash.

  It made her want to take a Brillo Pad to half the men she knew. She wished she could scrub their private parts until she rubbed all the grossness off their little brains.

  “If I have multiple partners, I’m a whore.” She’d fumed aloud while she’d driven home with her special shoes. “A man does it and he’s a stud. The last thing we should call the Rino Club is a Gentlemen’s Club. A Prick’s Club. Or even A Dick’s Club. But not a Gentlemen’s Club.”

  She’d vowed she’d use her sexual prowess on her terms. Stripping had served as a means to an end for Brianna. And once she’d gotten a whiff of the money some of those rich clients had thrown around, she’d developed an insatiable appetite.

  She’d decided she wanted to be somebody’s wife. That’s why she’d plunked over $400 down on those red shoes. And that’s why she’d dubbed them her Dorothy Shoes.

  Every week for two years, she’d shower, rub lotion on her silky cream colored skin. She’d slip into her sexiest, most expensive plunging red corset and black satin panty hose. At the time, she owned dozens of expensive outfits. But the red corsets were her favorite. She’d donned those at least once, sometimes twice a week. Her platinum locks fell over her shoulders like a golden water-fall. They’d shimmered even more against the red silk. She’d brush through her long locks. Next, she’d apply black smokey liner. Then glue sparkly rhinestones on each side of her green eyes. She’d patterned her look after model Bettie Page sans the dark hair. She prided herself on still having the curves to match.

  Brianna Kamehameha still idolized Bettie Page. She’d watched her story on television. Religious fanatics convinced Bettie to be ashamed of her gorgeous, sensual body. So ashamed that Bettie Page quit modeling and became penniless. Hugh Hefner sued photographers who were still making money from her royalties. Classic photos paid Bettie thousands in royalties due. Before that, she was broke and near homeless in her sixties. Brianna vowed that would never happen to her. She’d get something out of her good looks—even if it killed her. She’d never be broke.

  Brianna thought back to the final part of her weekly ritual. The shoes. Slipping on those luxurious shoes. The last thing she’d do before leaving for the club was stand up and click those ruby-red heels together three times. Just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. She’d pray some rich man (unmarried) checking her out at the Rino would magically fall in love and whisk her away. Then she’d drive her red Tacoma to the Rino and give those horny bastards a show they’d never forget.

  The night she’d about worn out her Dorothy Shoes—over two years after she’d bought them—is the night she’d met Hanale Kamehameha. He could trace his royal lineage all the way back to the 1800s. That’s when Kamehameha III secured Hawaiian independence. A royal Hawaiian billionaire—and he was crazy about her. He had wolf eyes for her all right, but it was more than that. He’d instantly fallen in love the minute he’d laid eyes on her.

  “Shit!” The curse word brought her thoughts back to the present as she almost fell. She fought to keep her balance on her too slick garage floor. Hanne had the concrete floor of their five-car garage replaced with this slippery marble. He saw one of his friends in Los Angeles with this type floor. And Hanne always had to one up his friends. It was pretty she had to admit, but damned, it was as slippery as an ice skating rink—especially in high heels.

  The swirly grey and white marble pattern gleamed. It was as if 1,000 buffers had shined it for an entire year. She couldn’t do anything but slow down. Something she resented because she was running late. She had cleverly navigated a night of fun. But someone was trying to throw a kink in her plans. Brianna needed to make a quick stop off. She relished being dressed in her clingiest, sexiest off-the-shoulders ensemble.

  She stood by the driver’s door of the Bentley. Brianna pushed her Manolo leather bag around her hip so it rested on her butt. Grabbing the clingy lycra material on each side of her hips, she smoothed out the short dress. She gave her breasts a shove upward, making sure they spilled out. “Hanne got his money’s worth with these muchachas,” she mused aloud.

  Then she got in her Bentley and pressed her index finger on the remote to set the huge garage door in motion. She couldn’t help admiring her freshly manicured hands—red nails with encrusted rhinestones. They matched the crystals on her Manolo shoes. Brianna backed out into their private drive making her way to the main gate.

  She held the down window button on the driver’s side, inhaling the salubrious night air. The clear air in Hilo beat the smog in Los Angeles any day. The night breeze danced through the tow
ering trees along the drive. She eyed the humongous monkeypod trees that looked like giant umbrellas with several twisty limbs.

  Brianna Kamehameha remembered back to when she’d asked Hanne what those huge trees were. It was the first time he’d had her driven to the mansion in his stretch limousine. As the limo snaked through the island on the way to Ainanani Place, (i naw naw knee) he’d told her they were monkeypod trees. “And no, they aren’t full of monkeys,” he’d laughed. At the time Brianna found him funny and fairly easy on the eyes. She’d giggled at his joke and batted her eyelashes on cue. With all those billions and a house on a tropical island that was almost as big as an island itself, Brianna knew she’d hit the jackpot.

  “How do you pronounce it—again? I keep wanting to say Hawaii,” she’d asked, her voice dripping with flirt.

  “Hee-lōw,” he’d answered. “And we call our little, or big paradise Ainanani Place—Ainanani means beautiful land, aina means land, and nani means beauty,” he’d bragged.

  Dozens of those tall, twisted beauties stood on Ainanani. Twenty-five acres of lush greens and emerald waterfalls. The main house was a real beauty. She noticed the glorious odd moon shining behind her in her rearview mirror as she drove away. It was a blaze of flame, gilding the edges of the palm trees framing their circular house. Hanne had told her the round shape symbolized true love. He ought to know—he’d ‘truly loved’ three former wives in it before her.

  Like her father, he seemed to turn them in for a younger model once they started getting older. She had no problem cashing in as his latest trophy. He’d divorced his third wife before they met. The house looked like a glass encrusted jewel with its many tall windows set against European architecture. It housed seven beautiful bedrooms and six eye-dropping bathrooms.

  A poor girl’s dream come true. She loved every minute of the billionaire life. Ok, she had to admit, she loved the lifestyle more than her husband. They shared a less than stellar love life. And Hanne’s little blue pill wasn’t cutting it, but Brianna made sure she’d taken care of that.

  She had both her men where she liked them—under her. She bit her lip, as her thoughts drifted to a father who wouldn’t even come to the phone. She shook her head as if the movement could sweep away the rejection she felt when she thought about her father. She pressed the pedal of the Bentley to pick up speed, only to be stopped by the upcoming red light at the next intersection. After minutes seemed to drag by on hands and knees, she raced toward the highway as soon as the light beamed green.

  Brianna Kamehameha pulled up and parked. She gathered her purse and jumped out of the car then sashayed over to her date. Pulling the elastic down on the white silky dress that hugged her bare shoulders, she was proud of her curves. Running late, she breezed up the cobbled steps. She saw the dark figure walking towards her in the inky night.

  Brianna reached out to grab those shoulders so she could plant a kiss. Instead of the friendly greeting she expected, two ember eyes full of hate met her. Perplexed, she had not readied herself when the figure came into the light of the moon with a scream and lunged at her. Sinking bone-hard teeth into her soft peach-colored flesh on her exposed shoulder, Brianna cried out.

  “I hate what you have done to me!” The voice was fuming with such bitterness, Brianna hardly recognized it. When she looked in the rage-filled face, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Her lips tragically parted. A frightened terror gathered in her eyes. Her botoxed face struggled to show the surprise she felt. Framed by a tangle of platinum curls, her face turned scarlet. Her throat throbbed with anxiousness. She leaned forward, falling to her knees, writhing in pain from the bite. The purse she wore on her shoulder fell onto the cold steps and the contents tumbled about. She brought her hands up to her aching shoulder, trying to quiet the throbbing mark.

  “Brianna,” the voice she’d grown familiar hearing now dripping with unfamiliar venom. As her mind slowed everything down to a life-examining crawl, she couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Shock muddied her thoughts.

  She looked up, coming face-to-face with the spiral of death—the matte black cylinder of the gun. A tsunami of terror washed over her before the click of the revolver pointed between her eyes gave way. The sharp crack of the gun sounded. It projected her body backward. Her hand fell from the cheek she’d clutched in fright. Her eyes remained opened, the light draining from them. The look of shock permanently etched her face. The thud of her limp body smashed to the ground.

  “This is to make sure you’re graveyard dead. Pffftttttttttt.” A cement-hard wad landed above her right eyebrow. And now on bended knees, the killer plunged a large knife into her abdomen. Looking at her corpse, her murderer stood there, still gripping the smoking pistol in the opposite hand.

  Tucking the Smith and Wesson .38 revolver between the belt and his dark pants, he took one more look at the corpse before standing. Then he bent to grab her purse and retrieve her keys. Turning around, he rushed to her car to unlock the trunk. He looked around—still not a soul in sight. He raced back to Brianna’s lifeless corpse, scooped her up and laid her in the middle of an old blanket he’d retrieved from his car. Heaving as he steadied himself, he lugged her over to the trunk of the car and stuffed her inside before jumping in her Bentley and speeding off.

  ~ Chapter 3 ~

  Caroline’s phone buzzed as she and Wolf stepped out of the elevator in into the sumptuous lobby of the Grand Naniloa Hotel Hilo. She pulled her cell from the pocket of her white shorts.

  The Uber’s outside.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  They both still had on their matching Hawaiian shirts filled with colorful hibiscus flowers in hues of candy red, snow white and lemon yellow against a royal blue background.

  If someone would have told Wolf in his single days that one day he’d be happily walking hand-in-hand with a woman wearing matching Hawaiian shirts, he probably would have accused them of smoking too much crack.

  His days of hanging out in bars with his SEAL buddies were fewer and fewer and they were no longer fueled by sleeping with the many women who were happy to brag they slept with a SEAL. He didn’t mind at all that now his off hours from ferreting out bad guys on his SEAL missions were filled with the woman he’d secretly dreamed of spending the rest of his life with one day. He squeezed her hand a little tighter. She smiled up at him.

  Once Caroline and Wolf matched the driver with the picture on her ride share app, they both got into the backseat of the silver Camry.

  “So is this your first time in Hilo?” Asked the driver.

  “Yeah.” Wolf told him.

  “You’ll enjoy Carl’s Cove. Even at night, it’s quite scenic.”

  “My wife wants to view the blood moon from the beach tonight.”

  “What’s that?” Asked the driver, scrunching his face while he eyed Wolf and Caroline in his rear-view mirror.

  “It’s a total lunar eclipse. It’s called a blood moon because the moon takes on a reddish tinge when it’s in full moon mode. Because the earth’s atmosphere totally filters out blue light during the full moon—the moon turns red.”

  “Wow.” Said the driver, who looked at Caroline with that look that said-She’s not just smart—she’s Jeopardy smart. Wolf couldn’t help but smile.

  The driver dropped the couple off near one of the many entrances to the large beach—one that wasn’t crowded. He’d told them where to go where they could get a little privacy and where they could sit at the steps above the beach water to view the blood moon. They thanked him and waved as he drove off.

  As promised, there was a wooden bench beyond the tall tiki statue outside a closed building resembling a look-out tower. And as the driver stated, this side of the beach seemed to be secluded. No one was sitting on the bench. It was if it was there waiting to be occupied by the two lovebirds.

  “Look at that fabulous moon,” Caroline said to Matthew as they made their way to the bench which sat on a small cliff, overlooking the surf. She
and Wolf sat, side-by-side. He put his strong arm around his wife and pulled her to him for a quick kiss. They viewed the glorious blood moon, shining down on the white waves rolling in. The whooshing sound of the surf was calming. Everything around them was still, except the occasional sounds of nature. It was their very own slice of heaven.

  They gazed at the sky for about ten minutes before the sounds of music inched closer toward them. It came from the bottom of the steep stairs. A group of visitors started up them.

  “This Kiss,” by Faith Hill twanged from the radio one of them held.

  “Aloha,” the man holding the radio said, smiling. Everyone else in the group smiled and said aloha to the couple.

  “Aloha, that’s one of my favorite songs” said Caroline.

  “You’ve got good taste in music,” Wolf chimed to the group.

  “Thanks,” they told the couple. “You all have a good night,” said the man with the tunes. They all waved.

  As the group lingered next to the building Wolf and Caroline could still hear the music. Caroline walked over to the railing where she could hear the song better. She swayed to the beat and sang along with Faith Hill.

  “‘It’s the way you love me baby….It’s the way you love me darlin’, this kiss, this kiss…” she sang along playfully to Matthew. He put his hand around her waist and they danced to the music together.

  As if on cue, the group left right after the song finished. Wolf was still gripping Caroline at the waist. She looked up at him and slipped her arms over his wide shoulders—locking her hands behind his neck. He kissed her deeply—passionately. He pulled her so close to him it was as if they’d become one forever. How they loved each other so. Being here in Hawaii with the man she loved so much, gazing at the rare blood moon along a beautiful beach—it was something Caroline had been dreaming about for months. Now—it was here—better than she could’ve ever dreamed. They broke their kiss and held each other for a while.