by Sonia Patel
The restaurant is packed with tourists. Mostly couples. We get seated at the best table. The one in the corner with the most breathtaking ocean view. Probably because Mark knows pretty much everyone that works at Kaluakoi. There’s a bottle of Moet & Chandon on ice beside the table. My eyes are riveted to the placid ocean not far on the other side of these ceiling to floor windows. Right off the bat, Mark pops the cork of the champagne and pours me a glass. I try my first sip of bubbly. It tickles the back of my throat, but tastes crisp and refreshing. I glance at the bottle. It looks expensive. I know I should probably drink it slow. But I’m nervous so I down the entire glass.
Mark refills my glass and says, “I’m so sorry about the other day. It’ll never happen again.” Stroking my hand on the table he says, “I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”
“I love you too.” My eyes fill with briny regret. “Don’t hurt me again,” I admonish through my tears. I take a gulp of champagne.
“I won’t. I promise.” He reaches over and with his thumb wipes away one of my tears. “Don’t cry.”
I blot my eyes with my dinner napkin, but the tears keep coming. I’m about to bury my face in the napkin and bawl when I spot Pono’s reflection in the window. He’s walking towards us.
Uh-oh.
I stop crying. I lay the napkin back across my lap. By now he’s at our table, filling our water glasses.
“Hi Pono,” Marks says, turning his head towards Pono. Mark’s lips are pressed together and one side comes up.
“Hey Mark, hey Rani,” Pono mumbles. His lips move up slightly, but there aren’t any wrinkles around his eyes.
They stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Mark with his smug smile and Pono with his fake smile. My eyes move back and forth between the two of them. Like I’m watching a tennis match.
“Sorry I can’t stay and talk. It’s super busy,” Pono practically growls.
“It’s ok. No worries,” Mark says.
What the heck is going on?
Pono picks up my glass and pours in the icy water. Some of it splashes onto the table, but I make like I don’t notice. “Thanks, Pono,” I say. I try to catch his eye.
“No problem,” he mutters, not looking at me. Then he whips around and stomps off. I watch him disappear into the kitchen.
Pono’s mad. I know why. The guilt starts a tug of war in my mind: Pono’s warnings about Mark versus Mark’s attention. But then the champagne hits me and I can’t help but join Mark’s team. Pono’s side has no chance. I lean back in my chair and look at Mark. The tears from a little while ago seem like a distant memory. Like the champagne, his eyes intoxicate me. I’m aware that he’s about to wine and dine me into capitulation. With my full consent. Well, with my underage, drunk consent.
Our food—and more champagne—arrives. We both got the surf and turf, potatoes, and asparagus. I’m famished and I scarf down the mahi and ribeye as I listen to Mark recount stories about his youthful escapades. The champagne turns into a love potion. I feel more and more enamored of Mark. He’s still working on his steak when I push my plate slightly away. It’s practically licked clean.
“Damn girl. You eat like a horse,” Mark says. He chuckles and nods his head in approval.
“Uh-huh. And this mare wants dessert,” I say with a sultry voice, lowering my glasses down my nose with one hand and eyeing him provocatively. When the waitress stops by our table, I order the chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream. It arrives quickly and it’s humongous. I devour it before Mark’s done with his dinner. We finish our champagne as we wait for the check. When it arrives, Mark pulls out his wallet and pays cash. I’m not sure how much everything costs, but there’s a big pile of twenties on the small tray. Then he gets up and continues his gentlemanly behavior by pulling out my chair for me. I stand. He takes my hand. He whispers in my ear, “Time for my dessert.”
The almost four glasses of Moet & Chandon I consumed make me giggle. “Masala chocolate, I hope.” Breathy and soft like Marilyn Monroe.
“Dark, spicy, and luscious.” He licks his lips and stares at me all sexy.
The banter ends with me because I crack up. I’m laughing hysterically. He wraps his arm around me and hauls my wasted ass out of the restaurant.
Not fast enough.
Because as he’s leading me out, my dad creeps up from behind us and throws one arm around each of us. Like we’re all chums. He smells liquored up. Whiskey, I think. “Rani, I see you and Mark are…” Dad almost yells but then stops himself. He kisses my cheek. Wet and sloppy. Then it’s like time stands still and everyone in the place is gawking at us, their breath sucked in as they wait to see what happens.
“Dad…”
Mark steps out of Dad’s arm. Then he walks around and lifts Dad’s other arm off me. “Pradip, don’t.”
Dad glances around the restaurant. I hold my breath hoping Dad will walk away and leave us alone.
“You were mine first, Rani,” he says, his voice sharp but hushed. Then he turns and ambles away.
I watch him walk back to the bar. That’s when I see Wendy sitting on a barstool. Dad whispers something into her ear. They both look at Mark and me for a second, then turn away.
I exhale slowly. “Close call,” I say to Mark.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here before your dad changes his mind and I have to kick his ass.”
My eyelids droop and my balance is off. I focus on walking straight in the parking lot. Mark laughs at me as I stumble. I’m relieved when we make it to his truck. He starts the engine and I search through his CDs. I pick Naughty by Nature and teehee as I skip to O.P.P. I crank it. Then I proceed to rap every word of it like the ill MC I think I am in my plastered state.
The lights are on at Omar’s house when we pull up in front of Mark’s.
“Let’s get Omar and hang in your house,” I garble.
“Naw, let’s just you and me hang out. I want you all to myself.”
Arm in arm we walk into his house. I fumble with the straps on my sandals and it seems like it takes me forever to get them off. I follow him into the living room. He turns on a sleek metal lamp, lighting the area just dimly. I notice that he cleaned up his crib. Everything seems neat and tidy. The coffee table is bare. All the boob girl clutter is gone. The white carpet is spotless. He sits down on the angular brown leather sofa and pats the space next to him. I stumble over and flop down. My eyes fix on the three evenly spaced modern paintings on his wall. They remind me of a life-size Rorschach test. I tilt my head to the side, trying to determine what image I see.
Today, definitely the Phallic Rock.
I cover my mouth with my hand and laugh.
He leans back. “How’re you doing over there?” He eases me over so I’m nestled against him.
“Rilly good.” I give him a dippy smile with my eyes half closed. Then I nuzzle my face into his burly chest. He smells like Drakkar Noir. I breathe him in. Long and slow.
“Come here.” He pulls me onto him. He takes off my glasses very slowly. “Let me look at chu, girl.” Then he runs his hands up and down my smooth, bare legs, now on either side of him. “Damn Sutra, you’ve got legs for miles.”
He becomes a European conqueror, fully exploring his South Asian conquest. His lips skim my forehead. My cheek. My neck. His hands, like feather fans, lightly brush my arms. My spine. Red blouse and crimson bra become cabernet stains on the carpet. The front of my body, his canvas. He glosses over it with his velvet tongue.
I close my eyes and lean my head back. Love sounds unexpectedly come out of my mouth, arousing me more. Then he hikes my skirt up and firmly grips my waist. One of his hands drifts down.
“Oh my god, Rani.” Hand lower. “You’re the…” he utters, breathing heavy, “…the hottest woman.”
Woman? I’m only sixteen.
“I love you, Rani baby.”
Woman or baby?
Fingers slide under to dewy softness. I arch my back, gasping. “You’re mine, Rani, only mine.�
��
Really? What about boob girl? She’s the woman. Did you tell her the same things?
The thought of Barbie sobers me up. Fast. Imagining Mark doing all this to Barbie kills my erotic vibe immediately. “Mark, stop. Please.” I sit up and pull my skirt down. My thoughts jump, I can’t stop the leapfrog in my mind. I know he said sorry. I want to believe his promise that he’ll never hurt me again. But I’ve learned that words are easy to say.
With his words, Dad promised me the world. But all he ended up delivering was misery.
Now Mark is laying on the “I love you’s,” promises, and tantalizing caresses.
But the bitter taste of both their two-timing lingers.
Mark’s head drifts back onto the sofa. He catches his breath. His eyes bore through the ceiling. “It’s ok.” He’s working hard to keep his voice in check. Trying to sound patient.
It’s his stonewalled face that makes me feel in the wrong. I turn towards him and put my hand on his. “So sorry, Mark.” I try to show him sincerity with my eyes.
“Forget it, Rani.” He doesn’t look at me.
I feel super guilty. I don’t know what to do. So I sit there. At some point I whisper, “I better get home.”
He drives me home. We don’t speak the entire time. For twenty-one miles, the Rule of Men is on constant replay in my mind.
SCHOOLED
On most days, the banyan in front of school is my safe zone where I hide, retreat, and avoid. Not today. Pono and Omar are standing under the tree. Their hardcore b-boy stances seem to forebode trouble. I cross the street from the parking lot to the school, slowing down as I approach them. I swear the outrage on their faces grows the closer I get. Instinctively I want to flee. I turn around and hustle back to my 4runner.
“Rani!” Omar hollers.
I stop. My back’s still to them. I let my head drop.
Oh no. Can’t escape this.
I take a deep breath. Then I pivot and schlep from the parking lot to the banyan. As soon as I’m within earshot, Omar shouts, “What the hell, Rani?”
I know I’m about to get the third degree. And I have an inkling it’s about Mark. I hang my head and avoid their eyes. “Hi guys,” I murmur.
“Where do I start?” Omar challenges. He’s shaking his head like he’s disappointed big time.
“What’re you doing, Rani?” Pono demands. The dirty look he gives me makes my heart hurt.
My pissed off big brothers go ahead and scold the living crap out of me. And me the naughty little sister cowers. Tears fill my eyes.
“Let’s see if I can sum it up,” Pono says. By now his face is almost red so I can tell he’s reached the boiling point. “I warn you about Mark. That he’s a druggie. That it’s weird for an old guy to hang out with a high schooler. But you ignore all that.” He stops and turns his back to me and it dawns on me that my dad should be the one yelling at me about all this. Not my homies. Pono inhales sharply and faces me again. “He cheats on you. Then he buys you some flowers. Takes you to dinner. And you go home with him?” By now Pono’s yelling and waving his arms.
And I’m sobbing.
Even his arms are mad.
But it’s his eyes that rip into my soul. Even though he’s acting mad, his eyes are filled with agony.
I grab Pono’s hand and whimper, “I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t listen.”
He yanks his hand away. He narrows his eyes. And flares his nostrils a bit. His lips are tightly pressed. So tight that they’re quivering.
Omar continues the rebuke. “I know Mark. I’ve lived next to the guy ever since he moved to Moloka’i. Yeah, it’s great that he started 4eva Flowin’. But he’s a mack.” He pauses, and exhales loudly. Then he softens his voice and says, “Rani, I’ve seen choke girls go in and out of his house.”
More than one Barbie? Choke even?
Confusion festers. But I put the kibosh on their anti-Mark sentiments. I appeal Mark’s case to the judge and jury. I pull myself together, stand up straight and put my hands on my hips. “No, it’s not like that. He said sorry and I think he really meant it.”
They exchange irked glances. Omar rolls his eyes.
I go on, only now I’m pleading. “He says he loves me. We didn’t have sex. He didn’t pressure me or anything.” I contort the center of my face because I can’t believe I’m explaining these details to them.
Pono lets out a frustrated sigh and takes a step back. Then he drags his fingers through his hair and says, “I can’t take watching you crash and burn. You’re killing me.” His eyes are moist. He jams his hands in his pockets and stalks off.
My heart breaks as I watch him walk away.
So this is how it feels to hurt someone you care about.
And let me tell you that it ain’t a good feeling.
I wonder if my dad felt like this.
I’m overwhelmed. All I can think to do is go over my record of straight-up Stan Lee style rejections.
1. Stan Lee to Rani
2. Rani to Mark (recently, overturned)
3. Pono to Rani
I glimpse at Omar. He lowers his head and plods away.
Et tu, Omar?
4. Omar to Rani.
TRUE COLORS
I’m about to explode. Turns out the third verse of “Love and War” doesn’t work and 4eva’ Flowin’ is tonight. My plan was to fix it today because I was supposed to be off.
But no.
Lani, Colt, and Auntie Maile can’t work today. Today’s freight day at the wharf. And there’s no way I’m gonna let Mom unload all those heavy boxes by herself. She’d break her back. Plus, we’ve got extra merchandise and food coming in today’s shipment because we’re prepping for Thanksgiving. That means the hauling and stocking will take all day. No downtime on the porch to write. Oh, and my poor mom will have to run the lunch service at the restaurant by herself because Shawn can’t make it until the dinner service.
And we’re in this predicament all because my dad bailed on us.
You suck, Dad. Did you stop and think that you’d be leaving your wife and kid to manage two labor-intensive businesses on their own. No. Of course not. A selfish bastard can’t do that.
I have to find a way to calm down. Because right now I’m seething. If I can’t settle down, I might mess up my performance tonight. I take a deep breath, determined to chill out.
We’re heading to the wharf. Mom’s at the wheel, and I’m in the passenger seat. Fortunately, by the time we reach town, I’ve defused myself. We turn left onto the long, straight road that juts into Kaunakakai harbor. Sunlight streams into the flat bed’s cabin and Ravi Shankar’s entrancing sitar fills our ears. I angle my head so that I can’t see the road. It’s like we’re skimming the surface of the serene Pacific. For a second, the juxtaposition of the vast sky, open ocean, and sitar takes me somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. I close my eyes and I’m in India, floating on a river boat in Kerala.
The truck makes a beeping sound as my mom backs up to the loading zone. Reality strikes and my eyes jerk open. The truck bounces as the forklift driver adjusts the palates of merchandise on the bed. I look around the dock. Wharf employees dressed in jeans, t-shirts, and hard hats zip about like worker ants. I shift sideways and watch some of them board the huge Matson vessel. People waiting for their cargo stand around the harbor office. Smoking. Chatting and laughing. That’s when I notice Mom and I are the only females here.
After all the palates are loaded, we begin the drive to Maunaloa. Neither one of us has said a word since we climbed into the truck at home. I rest my elbow on the window sill and try to get lost in the scenery that goes by. Maybe it’ll help me reach some kind of nirvana. Unfortunately, by the time we pass the turn off for Kala’e Road, my tranquil mind has become an agitated mess of loneliness and guilt. I’d been trying to think about the third verse. Ways to make its flow more def. But my thoughts don’t want to do that. So now I’m sitting here obsessing about the far-reaching ramifications of Dad’s abandonment. And
about what Pono and Omar said the other day at school. And about how much I don’t want to—no, can’t—lose Mark. And if friendship and love is supposed to be this complicated. Suddenly, I feel drained. I sigh. It must have been louder than I intended because Mom turns her head and glances at me. I keep my eyes fixed out the window.
She looks back at the road. “Rani?”
I don’t say anything at first, still wandering in my head. Adrift in the battling words of two boys and two men.
“Rani?” This time she taps my shoulder.
“Huh?” I don’t look at her. Normally, I’d be stunned that she was initiating talk with me, that she was touching me. And I’d be trying to figure out why she was doing all that. But right now I don’t have the energy to analyze her motivations. I close my eyes again and attempt to clear all the male opinions dominating my brain. I sigh. Again. Louder than I meant. Again.
“Rani, suu thhayu?”
“Nothing.”
“Nah, khaasuu thhayu che. Tell me.”
There’s no way I’m about to explain everything about Mark, Pono, and Omar. I know she wouldn’t get it. She might even get mad.
And though I’ve seen Dad’s true colors, I can’t help but think if things were like they’d been a year ago, I could’ve told him what was going on. He would’ve told me how to handle the situation. Problem solved. Case closed. Most likely, he would have directed me to stop being friends with all three of them. He’d say I only needed him. Even though now I know that’s whack, it would’ve been way easier than this mental turmoil.
“Tell me,” Mom says again.
“I miss Dad,” I blurt out. I regret the words as soon as they flit out of my mouth. I slide closer to the door and press my hands into the seat under my thighs. I peek at her, cringing inside. I’m expecting her to either cry or get pissed. Maybe even start screaming something about wanting to die.
She does none of those things. Instead, she pats my head and with a tranquil face, she says, “I know, betta.”
Though I don’t move a muscle, I’m freaking out inside.