by Cindy Jacks
“You been distracted all day. You okay?” Mika asked.
“Yeah. I just need to talk to you about my piece for the competition. Hector loves the idea.”
“Great. We’ll chat when we get home.” He kissed her cheek, letting his mouth meander to her lips. “Too bad I have to go to work tonight. We could stay for the night, slip away to one of the dunes…”
As he nuzzled her neck, his lips and tongue brushed over sensitive skin, giving her shivers.
Momma Na’ilah’s voice interrupted his momentum.
“Der you are. Don’t mean to butt in. I packed you some plates fo’ take wit’ you.”
“Thanks.” He nodded. “Sorry, I have to get to the resort.”
“You work too hard.” She cupped her son’s face in her hands.
“I know, Mom. But that’s what youth is for.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Then the woman engulfed Clarissa in a bear hug. Na’ilah smelled of plumerias and ti leaves. “Thanks for taking care of our boy.”
“I try.”
* * * * *
Once they got home, Clarissa laid out her plans for the banyan tree piece and, as she’d expected, Mika was not pleased.
“No way, Kala. It’s not like you’re even guaranteed a spot. We could fork out all this money for nothing.” He shook his head and leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.
“Well, it’s not like the piece would just evaporate. The bronze I can reuse if the piece is a failure. But who’s to say that someone else wouldn’t buy it? A private collector or another gallery. Besides, I’m going to win the competition so your point is moot.”
“It’s not that I think you can’t win, but you can’t control what the board is going to find appealing. You’ve said yourself that jury selections don’t always come down to the quality of the art. There are a lot of other considerations.”
“Hector thinks I have a good shot.”
“Hector has to tell you that. He’s your adviser. It’s his job to encourage you.”
“I was under the impression encouragement is part of your job description as well.”
Mika let out a heavy sigh. “It is. You know I support you, but this is too much money. You’ve allotted fifteen hundred for key blanks alone. Fifteen hundred for key blanks, Kala. That’s not something you can reuse if the sculpture doesn’t fly.”
“Think of it this way, we can make lots of copies of the house key when we buy a home.”
Her attempt at a joke fell flat.
“Listen,” she switched tactics, “when I win the competition, we’ll be reimbursed for the cost of supplies, plus twenty grand. That’s a damn fine down payment on a condo.”
“If. The keyword there is ‘if’.”
“You really have no faith in me, do you?”
“It’s not you I don’t have faith in. It’s that the decision is out of your control. And you’ve got some pretty stiff competition.”
“So, what, exactly are you saying? That you think Sione’s a better artist than I am?”
“That’s not what I said. His work is different. But you have to think about the fact that he’s local.”
“I see. Just because I’m a haole, I won’t win?”
“Sometimes it’s like that and you know it, Kala.”
“But that’s the whole point of the piece—the outside cultures that have taken root here, that brought their arts and traditions here. That’s the beauty of Hawaii today. It’s a true melting pot.”
“And maybe the Arts board doesn’t want to celebrate outside cultures.”
Clarissa slammed a hand on the counter. “That’s the whole fucking point of the Performing Arts Center. Theater, music and dance from Polynesia, Asia, Puerto Rico, Portugal, all the arts of the people who call Hawaii home.”
“Let’s just drop it for now, okay? We’re getting all worked up and we don’t know if it’ll fly. Let’s see how the scale model works out and we’ll go forward from there.”
“And once again you dictate when we’re finished discussing something.” She set her jaw.
“What else do we have to talk about?”
“Nothing.” She snatched up her purse. “Nothing at all.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out.” The front door slammed behind her.
She stomped up the sidewalk to Koko Head Avenue, the main street that cut through Kaimuki. This area of Honolulu had an old-time feel, many of the buildings and storefronts art deco in design. Mom-and-pop businesses stood shoulder to shoulder with a couple national chains, but the franchises were few and far between. Located behind Diamond Head with no beach in the immediate vicinity, the neighborhood was ignored by tourists and corporations alike.
On the corner near their apartment, a little bar called Pau Hana made a mean vodka martini. The décor played into every hackneyed tropical stereotype. From the inflatable palm trees in each corner to the paper lanterns and flowery garland strung around the perimeter of the ceiling, the place had been her and Mika’s hangout since they’d moved into the neighborhood. The desire to brood alone pulled her inside.
She swung open the heavy wooden door and headed for a barstool. The bartender, Jared, waved to her. Without exchanging a word, he mixed Ketel One with the tiniest splash of vermouth and garnished it with a twist of lemon.
Clarissa gave him a weak smile and ten dollars. “Thanks.”
“You look like you need ’em.”
Wasn’t that the truth? She sipped at her drink and tried to clear her head. Mika would come around. He always did. At least she hoped he would. What was with him and his freaking obsession to buy into the American dream? Clarissa didn’t care if they ever bought a home. Not to mention they were both in their twenties. What was the rush to start a family? Plenty of time to put off all that responsibility, at least for a little while longer.
Exhausted by the same old outrage swimming around her brain, she dug change out of her purse and put a few songs on the jukebox.
“Kala, Kala.” A familiar voice behind her drew her attention.
No. No, no, no! Why is he here? Her stomach clenched, her posture stiffening at the sound of his rich baritone.
“Hey, Sione,” she replied without turning around.
“Somebody’s in a bad mood. What happened?”
“Your cousin’s an ass sometimes, that’s what happened.”
“Ah. I coulda told you that. Come on, I’ll buy you another drink.”
She made her last play selection and headed to Sione’s booth, collecting her martini along the way.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Getting over a bad night.”
“I heard Na’ilah’s none too happy with you.”
“Auwe. Auntie keeps pushing these girls on me. I never ask her fo’ set me up. Why she gets so bent out of shape when I don’t wanna go?”
“Yeah, well, I’m just a walking uterus, so…”
Sione took a gulp of beer and studied the table. “What you and Mika beefing about now?”
“Same argument, different twist. I wanted to take some money out of savings for my Performing Arts piece and he doesn’t want to dip into the precious ‘Enslave Clarissa Fund’.”
“Why you call it that?”
“You’re not dumb, Sione. You know once we start having kids and doing the family thing, my options will be vastly pared back. Mika will still be free to make his mark on the world, but I won’t. I’ll be expected to stay at home with the rug rats all day, doing laundry and dishes and changing diapers. I’m not ready for that right now.”
“But you want kids one day?”
“One day, sure.”
“Didn’t you talk about all this before you got married?”
Clarissa rubbed her forehead and took a sip from her drink. “Yes. We did, but I suppose we weren’t specific enough about it. I told him I wanted to wait a little while before we have children. And he agreed. I guess our d
efinition of ‘a little while’ differs.”
“You guys been married for three years.”
“Don’t you start with the shit too.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Nah, nah, nah. I get what you’re saying. It’s the same reason I don’t want to get married in the first place. All that responsibility. No, thanks.”
The Patti LaBelle song she’d chosen, If You Don’t Know Me by Now, came on. How many times had her mother sobbed into a glass of Jack and Coke listening to Patti croon? Softly, Clarissa sang along, thinking the songstress made an excellent point. If Mika didn’t know her by now, he would never, never, never know her. Ooh, ooh, oooooh.
Sione played the clown, lip-syncing the words of the song and got to his feet. “Come, sistah. We dance.”
“No. I don’t feel like it.”
“Come on. Don’t make me bust out fa’ataupati up here by myself. You know I will.” He started to smack his chest and thighs, a wicked grin on his face.
“Christ, stop it. I don’t even see how you could do a slap dance to this song.”
“Then you better get up and dance with me.”
People around the bar had begun to stare at them. Not that it mattered to Sione, but Clarissa wanted to sink into the sticky carpet and disappear.
“Fine.” She pushed her way out of the booth. “Just stop acting like an idiot.”
He held out his arms in a proper slow dance posture. She shook her head and took hold of his hands. Surprised at how well he led, she allowed him to sweep her around the small dance floor.
The heat radiating from his broad chest filled her nostrils with his fragrance—a mixture of sporty deodorant, spicy body wash and his natural scent that was similar to Mika’s but different. While Mika’s skin smelled warm and strong, like brown sugar or coffee, there was a decadent undertone to Sione’s body chemistry. Like cinnamon or cardamom. Both pleasant, but one more sinful than the other.
Banishing thoughts about Mika, she rode along on the warmth of Sione’s embrace…and the heat building between her legs. The slow pulse of arousal matched the easy beat of the song. The pounding of her sex intensified with every measure. Why did he have to feel so damn good? Why was she feeling this way? Tears of frustration flooded her eyes but she blinked them away.
Acting on an impulse she knew she should fight, Clarissa leaned her spinning head against Sione. He didn’t rebuff or scold her. His heart pounded. She closed her eyes and tried to block out thoughts of anything but here and now. His body heat enveloped her and she imagined the two of them intertwined, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, his cock filling her. Would she find peace then? She knew the answer to that question, but railed against it.
The peace she sought didn’t come. It would never come. His heartbeat tapped out the wrong rhythm, his scent was all wrong. This was nowhere she could hide, nowhere to find shelter. Instead, uneasiness prickled at the back of her neck as though trimmings from a haircut had fallen down the back of her collar.
She looked up at Sione. He grinned down at her, the picture of a nervous schoolboy at the homecoming dance, his palms a little moist.
“Kala?” another voice came from behind her. She turned to see Mika’s face. Written across it were lines of worry. “I looked for you at your studio and at the Gardens. This was my last guess. Lucky for me I guessed right.”
Her once-heated blood now turned to ice water though her cheeks felt as though they’d caught fire. Jesus fucking Christ, what was she doing? Shame clawed at her heart. But it was just a dance…wasn’t it? Nothing bad had happened. Only in her mind and that could happen anywhere…couldn’t it?
“Hey, brah.” Sione waved to Mika, releasing Clarissa immediately. “Just keeping an eye on your girl.”
“Mahalo, cuz. I’ll take it from here.” Mikaela nudged out Sione without a hint of the usual playfulness.
“Yeah. You two talk it out, ’kay?” Sione made his retreat.
Mika stepped in to dance with his wife. His familiar moves, the comfortable way their bodies fit together, the scent of his skin felt right, as though she’d come home from a perilous journey. Desperate to say something—anything—she opened her mouth, but no words came out. She should explain, though an explanation would only make her look guilty. She was guilty, wasn’t she? Of exactly what, she wasn’t sure. An emotional betrayal perhaps. She’d sought comfort with another man. It was almost as bad as bedding him. Or was it? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this was all nothing and she was being melodramatic.
It didn’t feel like nothing. It felt huge. A two-thousand-pound gorilla parked in the corner of the room, staring at her and scraping its pointer fingers together, scolding her.
Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the cacophony of thoughts and fears.
“What’s he doing here?” Mika asked, jerking his head in the direction of his cousin.
Clearing her throat, she managed a reply. “He was here when I came in. Trying to forget a bad night, he said.”
Could be her imagination, the guilt of being found in an intimate moment with Sione, but Clarissa thought she saw a look of annoyance travel across Mika’s chiseled features, a flash of granite in his eyes. Oh God, he knew. He knew. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead.
He broke the uncomfortable silence. “Come on. Let’s go.”
It occurred to her she’d come here because she’d been angry with Mika, but now she found she couldn’t muster the indignation to refuse, considering the circumstances. As she followed him out of the bar though, she noted he hadn’t bothered to apologize for upsetting her either.
Chapter Six
Clarissa glanced at her cell phone. Ten o’clock at night. She’d practically lived in her studio since Saturday, perhaps still too chagrined by the scene at the bar to face Mika. She should head home soon, but the scaled-down maquette model for her competition submission still needed a few tweaks here and there. A few more licks with a buffing wheel and it would be ready to patina. Just when she had eye protection in place, ready to fire up the Dremel multipurpose tool, a knock interrupted her work. She turned to see Sione in the doorway.
“Hey, you,” she said.
“Hey. Howzit?”
“Good. Thanks. Just trying to finish this up for tomorrow.”
He stood for a while, staring up at the little models and technical exercises that lined a shelf around the top of the room. Unsure of what to do or say, Clarissa needlessly took a file to the base of her miniature banyan tree.
Finally, he spoke. “Sorry if I was out of line the other night. I felt like Mika wasn’t thrilled, you know?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing damn well what he meant.
“He didn’t say anything at b-ball this week, but he ran over me a couple times. Rougher than usual.” Sione rubbed his jaw. “I felt kinda… You know?”
She did know, but damned if she’d admit it. Bad enough that they’d taken things this far. Her schoolgirl crush would only lead to further trouble, further pain in her marriage. Whatever the trouble between her and Mika, Sione wasn’t the answer. Still, why did the man have to look so damn good in t-shirt and cutoffs?
Clearing her throat, she replied, “Mika hasn’t said anything to me. Whatever you imagined the other night, don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”
He stayed in the doorway, eyes fixed on the shelf above.
After a few minutes, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Sione shook his head but didn’t move or speak. She took off her goggles and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. Standing up, she waited in front of him, forcing him to look at her.
“What’s on your mind, Sione?”
A hand ran through his mop of hair. “You, Kala. You’re on my mind.”
The words didn’t make sense to her at first. She looked up at him, wondering what in the world he was talking about. He cradled her face in his hands. The gesture felt strange for one she’d imagined over and over again. Too intimate, inappropriate. And was he
saying what she thought he was saying?
Clarissa turned her head away, bracing her hands against his chest. “Don’t.”
“But I gotta say this.”
“No. No, you don’t. Please don’t.” She pushed past him and stalked into the courtyard. A deep breath of night air did little to calm her. Talk about blindsiding a woman. This was the last conversation she’d expected to have with him. What absurd, cruel twist was this?
Sione came up behind her. “Kala, I need to tell you this.”
“Keep it to yourself.”
“I have feelings for you. I have since Mika first brought you to the family picnic.”
“That was almost seven years ago. Stop being silly.”
“You were wearing a yellow dress with little white flowers on it. Your hair was shorter then.”
“Really? Because I can’t even remember what I wore.”
“I do.”
“Just hush. If you cared about me you wouldn’t be saying this right now. Or ever.”
“I don’t expect you to do anything about it. Not like this, but if you were free… If I was free then too. You know… Maybe…”
“That’s a lot of ifs. And I don’t give a crap about what you do or don’t expect. How could you do this to me? Put me in this position?”
Casting his gaze upward, his throat strained against the same heavy emotions she felt. “I’m sorry, Kala. Go ahead, hit me. Kick me in the shins. I deserve it.”
Her hands shook with anger, mouth gathered into a tight grimace. “I don’t want to hit you, you dumbass.” She turned to face him. “I want to kiss you. Every fiber of my being is begging me to kiss you.”
His stance softened, no longer apologetic, as if he’d won some victory. The fire in his eyes mellowed but didn’t die out. It turned in on itself, glowing embers replacing dancing flames. He inched closer to her, dipping his head. Ribbons of curls fell across his eyes. His breath grazed her shoulder, mouths too close for comfort. His skin smelled of surf and suntan oil. Heat licked at her thighs, her pussy throbbing. Her stomach churned with indecision—what she wanted to do versus what she knew she must do.