JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby

by JoAnn Bassett

  “Ah, yes. I’ve been hoping you’d call,” she said. “Leonard told me you were putting on a wedding out at Mr. Bustamante’s place.”

  “Leonard?”

  “Yes, my son. He probably called himself ‘Lono’ when he talked to you. He’s named after my favorite uncle, but Leonard never liked the name. I guess that happens sometimes, you know?”

  “Oh, yes. I know,” I said.

  “Anyway, tell me how I can help.”

  “I guess Leonard told you I’m from Maui,” I said. “I have a wedding planning business over there, and I have a bride who wants to do her wedding here on Moloka’i. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of a fish out of water over here. I’d really like to meet with you and see if we could work together on this.”

  “I’d be happy to get together with you,” she said. “Where and when? You pick.”

  “I’m in Kaunakakai,” I said. “And I’m free all this morning.”

  “Good. I’m out in Maunaloa, but I need to go to town today, anyway. You want to meet somewhere closer to you?”

  “I don’t know the area. Do you have a suggestion?”

  “How about Moloka’i Burger?” she said. “You know where that is?”

  “I know exactly where it is.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you there in an hour.” She hung up, leaving me with a good feeling that if her brevity and efficiency in rounding up vendors and putting on a wedding was even half as good as her ability to schedule an impromptu meeting, I was home free.

  I got to the burger place a half hour later and Malama was already there. She waved me over, which was a good thing, since I’d forgotten to ask how I’d recognize her. She bore a striking resemblance to Lono—brown-skinned, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair that fell to her shoulders—but then so did most of the other people in the restaurant. She had her hair combed straight back and secured with a bright pink headband.

  “I knew it was you,” she said. She stood and reached a hand across the small table. “Since yours is the only face I’ve never seen in here before.”

  We shook hands and she got right down to business.

  “How many guests are you expecting?” she said.

  I told her at least fifteen but no more than twenty, but I added that George Bustamante had made it clear everyone had to stay outside.

  She smiled and shrugged. “No worries. Mr. Bustamante can be a little demanding, but he’s good people. Leonard tells me he’s something of a hermit. I’m surprised he offered up his place.”

  I explained that the groom was his business partner. “He may have felt obligated. Maybe he hoped his partner wouldn’t take him up on it.”

  “Ah. Well, tell me what you’ve got lined up so far,” she said.

  “I brought their file with me,” I said. I pulled out Richard and Amanda’s consultation folder and we went over their choices of flowers, music, food, and so on.

  “Looks good,” said Malama. “What can I do?”

  “You can help me find all this stuff; I have no idea where to begin. I could get everything sent over from Maui, but it seems like a waste. Especially if there might be people here on Moloka’i who could use the work.”

  Malama smiled. “There are many people around here who need work. As you can see, we don’t have the booming tourist business you have over there.”

  “From what I’ve heard, people on Moloka’i like it that way.”

  “We do, and we don’t. We don’t want to be overrun with mainland visitors. But we’re kind of tired of being thought of as the poor relations in the ‘ohana, you know? I’ve been doing my party business since back in the days when the Moloka’i Ranch was still open. Since it closed, it’s been tough to get visitors to Moloka’i. Especially to get married.”

  “So, do you have local vendors you can recommend?” I said.

  “Everything but the cake. I always order my cakes from Honolulu or Maui.”

  “Great. I’ll get the cake, but I’ll hand everything else over to you if we can agree on a price.”

  “How about you split your fee with me?” she said. “I’ll give you the invoices and you pay the vendors. You can pay me when it’s all over.”

  “Great. I charge clients fifteen percent, so how about we split it down the middle—seven and a half for each of us?”

  We shook on it. I left the meeting feeling I had lots to think about but, thanks to Malama, nothing to worry about.

  ***

  Hatch called while I was waiting at the airport for Amanda to arrive.

  “Hi, babe,” he said. “How’s it going?” He sounded edgy.

  “I’m good. How about you? Are you okay?”

  “Not much going on today. But I’m a little concerned about a situation up at your place.”

  “At my shop?”

  “No, your house. It’s Farrah. I went up there last night and her BP’s creeping up. It’s got me worried. High blood pressure is an early indicator of pre-eclampsia.”

  “Pre- what?”

  “Pre-eclampsia. It’s a condition in late pregnancy where BP spikes and there’s protein in the urine. I’d really like to get it checked out.”

  “Did you talk to Farrah about it?” I said.

  “Lot of good that did,” he said. “I told Ono, and he wants her to go to the hospital and let them take a look at her. But Farrah won’t go. She’s hell-bent on having her kids at home, and she’s afraid if she goes in, they won’t release her. She did let Ono call the midwife, though. I’m still at work, so I’m not sure if she’s shown up yet.”

  “Do you want me to come home?” I said. “I’m at the airport picking up the bride, but after I take her to George’s I could get on the next flight back to Maui.”

  “Let’s see what the midwife says first,” he said. “I know you want to get everything set up over there before coming back.”

  “I do. But I met with a local wedding planner this morning and she’s going to help a lot. Let me get the bride settled in and then let’s talk again later.”

  “Sounds good. I didn’t want to bother you with this, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I’m glad you called. Call me after the midwife leaves, okay? I’ll come back tonight if Farrah wants me to.”

  ***

  Amanda’s plane landed shortly afterward. I watched as the passengers came down the outside stairway and crossed the tarmac. Amanda was one of the last people off the plane.

  “Ugh,” she said as she came clip-clopping over in four-inch wedge heels. She’d picked up a small leopard-print suitcase at the cart and was wheeling it behind her. When she got over to me she thrust the handle my way without so much as a “Would you mind?”

  “That was awful,” she said. “I forgot how nasty it is to fly commercial. But Richard took his jet back to LA, so how else was I supposed to get here?”

  “You could’ve taken the ferry,” I said.

  “Really? There’s a boat?”

  “Yeah. But if you didn’t like the plane ride, you would’ve hated the ferry ride. It takes two hours and it’s often pretty rough going.”

  “How do you stand living here?” she said. “People told me Hawaii was nice, but so far everything’s been horrible.”

  “What don’t you like?” I said. I probably sounded defensive, but I was curious to learn what she found so awful.

  “Everyone’s so phony with their big smiles and ‘aloha.’ And the weather’s terrible. It’s hot and sticky, and it’s been windy every day since we got here. It totally messes up my hair.”

  She ran a hand through her lustrous, perfectly-cut and coifed hair.

  “I think your hair looks great,” I said.

  “Well,” she said. “That’s only because you have to look at yours’ every day.”

  “Look, Amanda, I’ll help you get settled in and then I may need to go back to Maui.”

  “When?”

  “Later this afternoon.”

  “What? You can’t leave! Richard wo
n’t be here until tomorrow night.”

  “I’m sorry. But my best friend is very pregnant and she’s having complications. I may need to get back there and help.”

  “You’re not a doctor,” she said. “What does she expect you to do?”

  I sucked in a breath and centered myself using a technique I’d learned from Sifu Doug. Then I smiled through clenched teeth.

  “My car’s right over here,” I said. “Did you check any other bags?”

  She raised an eyebrow as if I’d asked if she’d brought along a clean change of underwear.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’m getting married here, remember?”

  “Well, then let’s go get it,” I said.

  When we got to baggage claim I couldn’t help but wonder how much she’d paid in luggage fees. Four large suitcases and two smaller ones, all in the same matching leopard print, had been stacked on the floor.

  “These are all yours?” I said.

  “Yeah. I had to leave a bunch of stuff back on Maui,” she said. “The guy at the airport said the plane was overweight.”

  She sniffed and went on. “As if my luggage was the problem. Did you see some of the fatties on that flight? I didn’t see any of them paying extra.”

  I wrestled the seven suitcases onto a creaky luggage cart and we headed out to the parking lot. When Amanda saw the blue Geo she gasped. “You don’t seriously expect me to ride in that.”

  “It’s got four wheels and an engine. That’s all we need to get from here to there.”

  “But, it’s filthy dirty,” she said. “And look at that dent. Did you hit a pedestrian or something? If you did, I hope you reported it. I had some serious crap come down on me one time…” Her voice trailed off.

  “No, the dent was there when I got the car. Look around, Amanda. We’re on Moloka’i. They don’t stand on ceremony here.”

  “What’s that mean?” she said, looking stricken. “Aren’t we supposed to have the wedding ceremony here?”

  I closed my eyes and brought to mind the ever-patient, soothing voice Hatch uses when he deals with panicked car crash victims. I’d witnessed it first-hand one night when we’d come across a three-car pile-up on the Haleakala Highway. While I called 9-1-1, Hatch sprang into action.

  “Amanda, you’ll love it out at George Bustamante’s place. It’s a beautiful beachfront home, right on the ocean.”

  “I’m sick of the beach. It’s windy and sandy and…” She paused, as if trying to come up with the third leg of the stool. “And wet. The ocean is totally wet. And if you get in it, it makes you wet, too.” She shot me a triumphant look, as if she’d done herself proud in succinctly describing the key features of seventy-percent of the earth’s surface.

  I heaved two of her smaller bags in the trunk, and then wedged the other bags into the back seat while Amanda sullenly got herself into the passenger seat.

  I slammed the driver door, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot, sending up a prayer of thanks to Malama for offering to take over the bulk of the wedding chores.

  I had a feeling that once Malama met Amanda Ward she might want to renegotiate our fee arrangement. That’d be okay with me. I’d already decided if she’d be willing to take this whiny gold-digger off my hands I’d be more than willing to give her the whole darn commission.

  CHAPTER 11

  When we arrived at the house, George came out to greet Amanda. He ordered Lono to retrieve her luggage from the car and take it to the poolside ohana. I excused myself and joined Lono as he walked the car. Even though he was a big guy, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to wrangle it all in one trip.

  “Mr. Bustamante said you might be staying here,” Lono said.

  “Oh? I hadn’t heard.”

  “Yeah, he said you could have the maid’s quarters. She’s gone to visit her sister on Kaua'i for a week or so. It’s a pretty nice room, and it’s right next to my place.”

  I helped him lug Amanda’s luggage out of the car. He didn’t comment on the ridiculous number of suitcases, so I assumed George Bustamante wasn’t one to travel light, either.

  “Yeah,” he went on. “My mom says you’re gonna let her do a bunch of stuff for the wedding. Mahalo for calling her.”

  “Don’t ‘mahalo’ me too soon,” I said. “Amanda can be a handful.”

  He smiled. “One of those ‘bride-zillas’ my mom talks about?”

  “I have a hunch that in Amanda’s case it’s not just the wedding that’s bringing out the worst in her. She’s a pretty demanding young woman.”

  “But, we’re used to that with mainland girls, eh?” It seemed that since I’d brought his mom onboard, Lono now considered me a friend and confidant. Fine with me; I’d never turn down an offer of friendship.

  I bid him good-bye and went up to the house to see if Lono had been correct in saying George had extended an offer for me to stay in the maid’s quarters. I knocked. It took almost a full minute for someone to come to the door. The door opened and Amanda came barreling out, nearly knocking me down as she blew past. I stepped back and watched her march down the walkway, arms pumping and chin lifted.

  I peeked into the foyer past the still-open door.

  “Aloha,” I said. “Anybody here?”

  George stepped into the foyer. His narrowed eyes smoldered and he had a distinct red blotch blazing across one cheek.

  “That bitch slapped me,” he said.

  “Oh my,” I said. I tried to come up with a more sympathetic follow-up, but words failed me. What does one say? “Sorry?” The only thing that came to mind was what my auntie Mana would’ve said, “Did you deserve it?”

  He seemed to gather his wits and stepped back, gesturing for me to enter.

  “I’m really sorry to intrude,” I said.

  “Not at all. Please, come in.”

  I stood in the foyer, my eyes adjusting to the light. The ten-foot tall walls were covered from floor to ceiling with paintings. The canvasses were so closely spaced it was hard to determine the color of the walls.

  “Wow,” I said. “Your artwork is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. It’s all genuine, you know. No prints or tacky giclées in the bunch.”

  “Oh.” I had no idea what a giclée was, tacky or not.

  “You’ve probably heard by now what Richard has done,” he said.

  “I understand there’s been a problem.”

  “Oh my dear girl, it’s more than a mere ‘problem.’ It’s a disaster. I was attempting to explain the magnitude to that silly, stupid child when she hauled off and abruptly ended the conversation.”

  “I see.” After five years in the wedding planning business I’ve learned that if you want someone to give you details, it’s best not to ask.

  “Poor, dear deluded Richard. Have you ever heard that old saw, ‘If it seems too good to be true, it probably is?’ Obviously my business partner hasn’t.”

  George slowly shook his head. I thought he was referring to Richard’s choice of a wife, but he cleared it up as he went on.

  “A Matisse for fifty thousand? A Degás for thirty? Even an idiot who doesn’t know the first thing about art would smell a foul odor coming off a deal like that.”

  Being unversed in the finer points of fine art, I probably fell into George’s “idiot” category. But I’d taken an Art History class in college, so even I recognized the names “Matisse” and “Degás.”

  “Hmm.” I murmured sympathetically.

  “And long lost originals? Come on. That old ruse, ‘we found this in a barn on the family farm’ is as trite as they come. Why on earth would Richard fall for something like that?”

  I gave a slight shrug, as if it were a mystery to me, too.

  “So, here we are. Our reputation is smeared; our business is ruined. Who will ever provide provenance documents to anything we sell? It won’t happen. It’s tough enough to get skittish art experts to authenticate anything as it is. But with Richard getting caught trying to pas
s forgeries? We might as well set up a booth at a swap meet and sell velvet paintings of dogs playing poker.”

  ***

  Hatch called at three that afternoon. He said he’d just talked to Ono, and he’d told him the midwife agreed Farrah’s blood pressure was a bit high, but she said that happens sometimes with multiple births. She ordered Farrah to bed rest and told Ono to take her blood pressure every hour. She said to call again if it rose more than ten points.

  “You can imagine how Farrah reacted to being told she had to stay in bed,” he said.

  “Is Beatrice going to be able to run the store by herself?” I said.

  “Probably not for long. But Ono’s lined up some guys to take over his catamaran trips, so he’ll be able to help out some.”

  “I need to get back there,” I said. “George offered me the maid’s quarters, but I’d like to come back home tonight. Malama’s coming over in an hour and I’m hoping she and Amanda hit it off. If they do, I’ll leave and just come back for the wedding day. That reminds me, I need to order a cake from Keahou.”

  Hatch ignored my comment about the cake and said. “I’d like it if you could come home. And not just for Farrah. I miss you. A lot.”

  His sentiment choked me up a little. We weren’t generally corny romantics, but I liked hearing I was loved and missed. Who wouldn’t?

  “I miss you, too. Wish me luck with this hand-off to Malama. If all goes well, I’ll be on the next thing smokin’.”

  Lono escorted me to the pool area where I was to wait for Malama. George had allowed me to move into the maid’s quarters, but he’d made it clear I wasn’t to “receive visitors” there. A smiling woman, probably one of the kitchen staff, provided me with a glass of iced tea and a tiny bamboo bowl of taro chips.

  Sitting under a green canvas market umbrella, with my tea, my chips and a five-million- dollar ocean view, I reflected on Hatch’s remark about me marrying a “humble smoke-eater.” I’d inherited a huge sum of money from my guilt-ridden father, and I’d invested it to provide my previously-unknown siblings with a trust-fund income. They’d grown up with money; I hadn’t. I think money is like beauty. If you had it as a child, it’s difficult to live without. If you’ve never had it, then it throws a wrench in things to acquire it later. I wasn’t willing to spend the rest of my life trying to prove I deserved to be filthy rich.