Fractured Slipper

by Adrienne Monson

  The world starts to dim. There’s a buzz, buzz, buzzing in my ears.

  This time I really do faint.

  Chapter 15

  When I come to, I’m laying on the chaise lounge. Ilima is holding out a glass of water.

  “Don’t worry. It’s a new one from the kitchen. I didn’t even lick it.”

  I sit up too fast. The blood rushes from my head.

  Don’t faint. Don’t faint.

  It’s all over if I faint.

  Ilima puts a hand on her hip and waves the glass near my face.

  “Take it. Drink. Trust me. It’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

  The water is cold against my tongue as I gulp it. When it hits my stomach, I feel more awake.

  “Better?”

  I nod.

  “Good.” She holds out her hand and pulls me to my feet. The towel starts to fall, but I catch it and wrap it tighter against my chest.

  “Jerry, huh?” She circles behind me. “A girl could do a lot worse.”

  She snorts bitterly. “Many have.”

  She prods my back.

  “Tall, but not too tall. Slender, almost willowy.”

  She runs her fingers through my hair.

  “Good girl,” she says with a snicker.

  Is she petting me?

  I bite my lip.

  Don’t lose it, Rell. Don’t laugh.

  “Nice hair. You’ve given me a lot to work with.”

  “Work how? What’re you going to do with me?”

  “Give you a birthday present, of course. What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She faces me again. “Look,” she says, holding up a mirror.

  “Where did—”

  But then I see the girl in the mirror, and it doesn’t matter where the mirror came from.

  “That can’t be me!” I say.

  Ilima smirks. “Of course it is.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever seen the real you?”

  It’s me, but a me I’ve never seen before.

  I’m wearing a silk floral shift tied over my shoulder. My hair is swept high and to the side with cascading curls. The smell of the gardenias in my hair mixes with the twisted lei of tiny white flowers around my neck.

  I reach up to touch them.

  “Pikake,” she says. “A kind of jasmine. Don’t touch or they’ll brown.”

  My makeup is subtle. Just a few sweeps of mascara on my eyelashes, a kiss of blush along my cheekbones, and a light coral lip stain. My skin looks radiant. Dangling from my ears are simple gold drops in the shape of the flowers in my lei. On my feet are thin leather flip flops that show off my newly manicured toes. A glance at my fingers shows the same finishing touch.

  Oh, no.

  I reach down and run fingers over my shins.

  Smooth as a baby’s bottom.

  Ilima smirks. “Pits, too. I’m guessing your razor is in your bag.”

  “How—”

  “Granted, Jerry probably would have preferred you in the towel, but let’s not throw ourselves at him any more that we already have, shall we?”

  “Why—”

  “So you can go to the party and dance with your beau. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  I turn sideways in the mirror. “But this—”

  “You were expecting a poufy blue dress and impractical heels? Mainlanders,” she scoffs. “No sense of style.”

  “How—”

  She lowers the mirror and tsks. “Good grief, child. Speak in complete sentences. I know you can.”

  She raises the mirror again, holding it in front of me like a wish.

  “See? Perfect. Jerry is waiting. You want to go or not?”

  I swallow.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “But I don’t have my car keys—”

  A car pulls into the driveway and beeps its horn.

  “Gecko,” she says. “Much better than your Mini pumpkin coach, even if we had the keys. Come along, Rell. We don’t have all night.”

  As I get in the car, the driver doesn’t say a word, just twitches nervously. In the rearview mirror I see that his eyes are slit like a reptile’s. He sees me watching and quickly slips on a pair of dark glasses. His fingertips are odd, too big and puffy for his hands. Before I can look further, Ilima pushes the door closed and stands outside the car twiddling a finger at me. I roll down the window.

  “Here’s the deal: The car and driver will be waiting for you as soon as you step back into the parking lot. No need to call. The driver will only bring you back here, so don’t bother trying to get to the airport or some place crazy like that. You kiss that boy, the one you wished on, the car won’t come. In fact, if you kiss him, you’ll go back to standing in a towel with wet hair dripping down your back. Transitions are funny. The towel may shrink a little, too, so keep that in mind.”

  I reach through the open window and touch her arm. “Thank you, Ilima. It’s a wish come true.”

  She lifts my hand off her arm and gives it a little squeeze. “I’m not a fairy godmother, Rell. I don’t grant wishes; I pay my debts. That’s all this is.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She sees the look on my face and softens. “It’s your birthday, Rell. Go have fun.”

  Chapter 16

  The tent at Keikikai Beach glows like a candle. As we pull up, I hear live music; guitars and ukuleles strum as a velvety voice caresses a melody filled with Hawaiian vowels. The driver takes me all the way to edge of the red carpet where a perky young man in a blue aloha shirt opens my door and presents me his hand.

  “Aloha!” he says. “Do you need parking assistance?”

  “Um,” I mumble as I exit the car.

  “No,” croaks the driver.

  As soon as I’m standing on the edge of the carpet, the driver hits the gas. The valet barely has time to get the door closed.

  “Whoa!” yells the valet. “Where’s the fire?” He turns to me. “Are you okay?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “That guy’s crazy. Do you know him?”

  “No. He’s a hired driver.”

  He pulls out a cell phone. “Which company?”

  “Gecko.”

  “Gecko? Never heard of them.” He raises an eyebrow. “You sure he’s legit?”

  I stifle a laugh. “He was provided by my—”

  By my what? My dog? I shudder. Ilima’s not my dog. Definitely not my fairy godmother, either. My gift horse? I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  The valet’s eyebrow goes higher.

  I’m taking too long to answer.

  I cover my hesitation with a cough.

  “Oh, excuse me. Sorry, got a frog in my throat. The driver was sent by my, um, benefactor. He came highly recommended.”

  The valet holds out his phone. “You should report him. There’s no excuse for that.”

  “I will.”

  Although I don’t think a dog who isn’t a dog is going to care very much.

  The valet wiggles his phone.

  Oh, no. He’s still waiting for me to make the call.

  “But thanks. I’ll call later,” I say. “No need to spoil the evening.”

  He slips his phone back into his pocket and holds out a hand. “Your invitation, miss?”

  Invitation?

  Crap.

  I’m not carrying a purse. I run my hands down my sides, but the shift has no pockets. I hold out my empty hands, give a weak smile, and shrug.

  His eyes do a quick sweep from head to toe, assessing. He must like what he sees, because he smiles and says, “It’s okay. Just tell me your name so I can have it announced.”

  Double crap!

  “That’s not necessary,” I stammer. I try to step past him, but he takes a step sideways, forcing me to stay on the edge of the red carpet.

  “I know it s
ounds silly, but it’s an old-fashioned tradition the organizers are insisting on.”

  This is the last thing I need.

  “I don’t want to bother everyone,” I say. “After all, I’m late. The event has already started.”

  “It’s not a bother. Look, other people are waiting to be announced.”

  I peek around him and see a short queue of guests lined up at the top of the red carpet. At the archway leading into the tent stands a seven foot mountain of a man in silver brocade livery. Two teenage boys in loincloths block the doorway with crossed wooden staffs topped with white cloth balls.

  At the giant’s nod, a couple hands a gilt-edged card to him. He regards it for a second, then nods again. The couple steps forward, the staffs are uncrossed and whisked aside, and another man in a loincloth and a short feathered cape softly blows on a conch shell. As the echo dies, the giant announces the couple’s names and ushers them in. Once the couple enters the tent, the wooden staffs are crossed again, and the whole thing starts over.

  I sigh.

  Only Regina would insist on something so pompous and ridiculous.

  Inside the tent, nobody seems to be paying much attention to the guests’ arrivals. The music doesn’t pause, and I can see people talking as they wander between the tables filled with auction items.

  Maybe it’s no big deal. Even if he announces me, it’s unlikely Regina will hear it.

  “Your name, miss,” the valet prods. “Tell me quick, and it will be over before you know it.”

  Fine. Here goes nothing.

  “I’m Rell,” I say. “Rell Watanabe.”

  The valet jumps back. “Rell Watanabe! I’m so sorry, Ms. Watanabe! Your driver should’ve brought you to the special VIP entrance! Let’s get you right to the front!”

  He gestures frantically to the giant. VIP, he mouths. BIG TIME!

  The giant looks startled, but bows to the couple next in line, executes a snazzy military turn, and starts toward me.

  I want to die.

  My cover’s blown before I can even get into the party.

  I look at my feet still on the edge of the red carpet. Should step back onto the parking lot? How long will it take for the car to return and whisk me away?

  I lift a foot and hold it over the pavement as I scan the parking lot. I spot the Gecko car barreling towards me. While I can’t see his eyes through his dark sunglasses, I can feel his lizard’s gaze lock onto my foot, the heel of my flip-flop perilously close to touching the road.

  Go or stay?

  One shot, one dance. That was my wish.

  I risk looking back. The giant is almost to me when another man sidles next to him.

  “It’s okay, Moki,” he says. “The lady is with me.”

  The mountain pauses mid-stride. “You sure, Jerry?”

  “I got this. Thanks, guys,” Jerry says and holds out his arm.

  The valet nods and moves to the next car at the curb.

  When I slip my hand into the crook of Jerry’s elbow, he tucks it tight. From the corner of my eye, I see the Gecko car swerve away.

  “Okeydokey,” says the mountain. His eyes widen when they meet mine. “Wow, laulau, Jerry. She’s cherry like a ’57 Chevy. You’re a lucky man.”

  He snaps off a salute. “Ma’am.”

  One complicated three-step about-face and he’s striding back to the archway.

  I feel the laughter Jerry’s fighting to stifle as it rumbles in his chest. He turns and leads me away from the red carpet.

  “Cherry like a ’57 Chevy?” I say. “Really?”

  He shoots me a look. “It’s a compliment.”

  “Cherry like a classic car?”

  “Moki works in a body shop straightening fenders all day. To him, something particularly fine is cherry.” Jerry takes my hand off his elbow and twirls me around, giving a low whistle.

  A potted hibiscus lining the walkway twitches.

  I snatch my hand away. “Women are not dogs to be whistled at.”

  Ilima pops into my head.

  Maybe some of us are.

  Can’t think about that now.

  Jerry cocks his head to the side, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “Moki’s right. You look cherry—like you stepped out of an ad from the 1960s.”

  “You and that wolf-whistle belong in the ‘60s.”

  “This is Lauele. Sometimes there’s not much difference.”

  “Cherry and Jerry, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s—” sings a voice from the behind the potted plant.

  “Knock it off, Luna!” I hiss.

  “What?” Jerry asks.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  I hear Luna giggle as his footsteps retreat.

  Chapter 17

  Jerry leads me around the back of the tent to the area near the makeshift kitchen. There’s an open doorway, and we pass through it and into the main tent. As I look around, I realize we’re standing behind the stage.

  Wires and cables run everywhere. Off to the side is an audio mixing board and monitors, the dials bouncing to the rhythm of the band playing on stage. Standing behind the loudspeakers that are pointed toward the crowd, it’s surprisingly quiet backstage.

  Jerry says, “Don’t worry. This is one of the servers’ entrances. You really didn’t want to be announced, did you?”

  I shake my head. “My stepmonster didn’t want me here tonight.”

  “No! Not want you? Impossible.” He clutches my hand to his chest like a B movie hero.

  My heart leaps.

  Chill out, Rell. He’s joking.

  Ilima’s right. I can’t make this too easy.

  I pull away.

  “You mean the boxes at the airport weren’t a big enough clue that I’m not the favorite daughter?”

  “They did make me wonder.”

  A waiter with a loaded tray rushes through the door. “Excuse me,” he says. “Pupus coming through!”

  “Oh, sorry,” I say and step aside.

  The waiter rolls his eyes at me. “The party’s on the other side of the stage, people. This area is for staff only. If you love birds want a little privacy, head to the beach.”

  “Lighten up, Renten,” Jerry says. “No act.”

  Renten sniffs. “Some of us are working, Jerry. Don’t you have cars to park?”

  Jerry stamps his foot and fakes a charge. Renten squeals and quickly rounds the stage.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jerry calls.

  Cedar, cinnamon, cloves, and wintergreen mints.

  I lace my fingers so I can’t reach out and run my fingers through his hair.

  Do I really need the car to bring me back to Poliahu’s? Maybe walking home wouldn’t be so bad.

  Maybe I don’t have to go back there at all.

  I glance at my dress. I’m on borrowed time.

  But how short could that towel be?

  Naked and in public, Rell. Keep that in mind. Do not kiss him!

  When Jerry turns to me, his wide grin fades when he sees the look on my face.

  Awesome!

  I probably have crazy stalker woman tattooed on my forehead.

  “Rell—”

  “I’m sorry, Jerry.” The words rush out like a train wreck.

  He purses his lips. “You say that a lot.”

  He’s got great lips. Soft and pillowy and firm like—

  “Rell?”

  “What? Oh. Sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. I’m the one who’s sorry about how I behaved at Piko Point.”

  I look down, confused.

  Piko Point?

  He tips my chin up. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  He’s talking about the rock.

  This conversation is going to suck.

  I take a breath.

  “No, I do. I was supposed to be watching Ana and Zel. I’m responsible for the disrespectful and disgraceful way they pushed—”

  He places a finger against my lips. Warmth spreads like butterscotch from the p
it of my stomach to the ends of my toes.

  “Shhhhh. I was there, too,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But the rock?”

  “I got it back where it belongs. I actually think Pohaku enjoyed the swim.”

  He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. My knees go weak. Those lips look so soft.

  “…Ilima?” he asks.

  Crap. I missed something.

  “Ilima the dog?” I say.

  It’s his turn to look confused. “Yeah, the yellow dog at Piko Point. I haven’t seen her. That sister of yours—”

  “—stepsister—” I say.

  “—Ana—” he says.

  “—Zel—” I say.

  “—whatever. One of those demons kicked Ilima really hard. I went to check on her later, but I couldn’t find her. Uncle Kahana says she’s missing. Have you seen her?”

  “Uh, no,” I say, eyes wide and face blank.

  I should get an Oscar.

  On stage, the song ends. The room applauds. Someone calls, “Hana hou! Hana hou!”

  I raise an eyebrow at Jerry.

  “It means they want more.”

  The singer says, “Ah, mahalo plenny, everyone. On behalf of Uncle Tiko, Uncle Butchie, and the rest of the band, I want to thank Get Wet Prosthetics for having us here tonight.”

  “Hana hou, Tuna! Hana hou!”

  The singer turns to the band. “You guys wanna do one more?”

  “Shoots,” says the bass player. “Let’s do Ahe Lau Makani.”

  Back into the microphone, Tuna says, “One last song. Everybody out on the dance floor. Shake some loose change out of your pockets for the surf camp. Uncle Butchie, take us home.”

  The lead guitarist counts off. “One-two-three, one-two-three.” The band swings into the intro.

  “Is that a waltz?”

  “Yeah,” says Jerry.

  “That’s going to get everyone dancing? Not YMCA or Boot Skootin’ Boogie or—”

  “This is Lauele, remember?”

  Through a seam in the backdrop, I see people grab partners and head to the area in front of the stage. Young, old, and everyone in between shuffle in modified boxed-steps.

  In the soft glow of lantern light, it’s magical.

  Jerry takes my hand, the challenge clear in his eyes.

  “No way. You waltz?” I say.

  He puts his left hand on my waist. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”