“He didn’t pack very much,” I said.
“Bathing trunks, hiking boots, and a surfboard. What else does he need?”
Ah, to be young. And male.
We walked back to the patio and faced our own substantial pile of junk. “Let’s decide on our bungalow and come back for it,” I suggested. “It’s not like it’s in anyone’s way.”
We agreed we wanted a garden-view bungalow and set out to explore. Garden views would be easy. But choosing which garden view would be the difficult task. The Wakilulani was veritably drenched in foliage and flowers.
“It’s like the Garden of Eden,” I said as I stopped to admire a particularly lovely thicket of flowering somethings near the swimming pool.
“And you, Jessica Hewitt, are the epitome of Eve!” Louise called out. “A big, blond, beautiful, slightly menopausal Eve!”
I looked up the hill and saw my agent and my mother sitting on the porch of Blue Waters bungalow, admiring the blue waters of the swimming pool below them, and sipping some sort of pink drink decorated with tiny gold umbrellas.
“Eve?” I said skeptically as we took a few more steps in their direction. “Exactly what’s in that drink, Louise?”
“Who knows? But they’re fantastical!”
Mother giggled. “They are delicious, Honeybunch. Y’all should join us.” She took a rather large drag from her straw to demonstrate and waved down toward the tiki bar located next to the swimming pool. “Davy will be happy to mix up another batch, won’t you, Davy?” Mother fluttered a few fingers at the bartender.
“Davy’s a genius!” Louise added. “Genius, genius, genius!”
We approached the bartender. “I take it you’re the genius?” Wilson asked.
“Davy Atwell,” he answered, and they shook hands. “Can I get you guys something?” He turned to me and winked. “Everyone likes my punch. I call it Pele’s Melee.”
“Pele, as in the Hawaiian volcano goddess?” I asked.
He winked. “Hot and feisty—like all women should be.”
“Feisty.” Mother giggled from above us and considered her beverage. “These Pele’s Melees do have a certain zing to them, don’t they?”
“Zing, zing, zing!” Lousie agreed.
“Zing-zing!” Bee Bee screeched from overhead and flew in for a landing on Louise’s porch railing.
Mother and Louise took it in their stride, but Wilson seemed as startled as I. “He’s allowed outdoors?” he asked the bartender. “Won’t he run—I mean fly—away?”
“Why would he do that?” Davy said. “The Wakilulani has been Bee Bee’s home for decades.”
“Decades?” I said.
“Oh, yeah. Bee Bee’s an Amazon. He’s about thirty now. But he’ll live at least as long as you and m—”
“Jessica and Wilson!” Louise had moved to her porch railing to give bird the attention he deserved, and to scold us with a bit more vigor. “Get yourselves some pink drinks and come join us!”
“Later,” Wilson said.
“Soon,” I promised. And as everyone, including the bird, reminded us how fantastical the Pele’s Melees were, we continued onward and upward in search of our bungalow.
“Privacy,” Wilson reminded me as we got out of earshot of the others.
“Garden of Eden,” I reminded him.
And thus we found Paradise, the most remote of the bungalows, tucked away in the farthest corner of Eden.
“Perfect!” I said and raced Wilson down to where our luggage awaited.
“We’ll have a view down to the ocean from the bed,” he called out just as we jogged past Blue Waters.
I heard my mother giggle from behind us. “If he weren’t so darling, I’d be scandalized,” she told Louise.
***
Okay, so the pink drinks really were fantastical.
Our entourage, plus Bee Bee and minus Chris, had reconvened at the poolside tiki bar before dinner. My mother, Louise, and I had lined up our lounge chairs with views out to sea, and Bee Bee was perched on one of Louise’s ankles. Wilson was perched on a barstool close by and was interrogating Davy the genius bartender about hiking trails on the Kekipi Crater, our very own friendly neighborhood volcano.
I studied my beau. “If all his deep dark secrets are as scary as that shirt he’s wearing, maybe I don’t want to know about his past,” I mused.
Louise tore her gaze from the Pacific to assess Wilson’s attire. “It’s not every man who can wear fuchsia butterflies and get away with it, Jessica.”
“Who knew he even owned a Hawaiian shirt? Or flip flops for that matter.”
“That goes for you, too.” Mother pointed to my own flip flops. “I haven’t seen you in sandals since you were ten. Have you been saving those all these years?”
They were brand new, but Tessie did have a point. Adorned with ridiculous fake daisies, my sandals might well have been exact replicas of a pair I had worn in grade school. And considering my general aversion to open-toed footwear, on myself or anyone else, my new flip flops were indeed the first pair of sandals I had owned in decades.
I mumbled something about when in Rome.
“Trust me, Babe,” Louise said. “No Italian woman in her right mind would be caught dead in those.”
“But they’re perfect for Adelé Nightingale,” my mother insisted as Bee Bee leaned over to take a gentle poke at the daisy petals. “Just her style. Speaking of which, Louise and I have been discussing My South Pacific Paramour.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you remember, Jessica? Tessie and I are here to help you.” Louise waved her glass on front of her eyes as if conjuring up a plot. “Delta Touchette and Skylar Staggs are in for some fantastical adventures! Beyond fantastical!”
“You always think of such clever names,” Mother told me. “And it’s clever of you to try something tropical, what with us being in the tropics ourselves.”
“Tessie and I are picturing a King Kong theme,” Louise said.
“King Kong, King Kong.” Bee Bee liked the sound of that.
“But with no King Kong,” Mother elaborated.
“King Kong, King Kong.”
“So let me get this straight.” I scowled at the bird. “We have a King Kong theme, but with no King Kong?”
“Mm-hmm.” Mother nodded. “But of course, we should begin with Delta Touchette, who has just arrived in the South Pacific at the behest of her spinster aunt. Auntie Whoever owns a large estate on one of the islands. She has lived there, without the benefit of husband or family, for decades.”
“Delta has never actually met this Auntie person,” Louise continued, and Bee Bee hopped over to the arm of her lounge chair to hear more. “She has, however, corresponded with her for years. Much to the consternation of Delta’s frightfully conventional parents, Auntie Whoever is the girl’s role model.”
“Delta just adores her Auntie,” Mother agreed. “The adventurous life she leads, far from the confines of stuffy old England, has always intrigued her.” She jiggled the ice in her pink drink. “Delta has always dreamed of visiting her Auntie Whoever.”
“And let me guess,” I interrupted. “The last letter from Auntie,” I hesitated, “Auntie Eleanor—hinted at some sort of danger on the island?”
“Exactly, Honeybunch! How did you know?”
“King Kong,” I answered. “So Delta,” I sat up a bit and got into the groove, “yearning for adventure, left stuffy old England behind and embarked on a journey to the South Pacific. And at long last she arrived at the port of…the port of Mekipii Hui, on the island adjacent to Auntie Eleanor’s.”
I sipped my drink and contemplated Delta’s dilemma. “But she had a most difficult time finding someone to sail her over to… to Ebony Island—that’s her Auntie’s island. Alas, all of the local skippers refused to assist her. They were vague as to why, but the lovely and courageous Delta surmised they were afraid of Ebony Island. Indeed, she even overheard the word monster mentioned once or twice!”
“Amazing,” Bee Bee echoed the sentiment.
“But Delta finally did find someone to take her?” Mother asked.
“Skylar Staggs, of course.” I glanced down at the Pele’s Melee in my hand. “These drinks are starting to grow on me,” I admitted.
Mother giggled. “They’re a bit stronger than the champagne you usually have.”
I cleared my throat. “Of course, there were instant sparks between Skylar and Delta on the journey over to her Auntie’s island. All was going well until a terrible, terrible gale kicked up. Oh, it was treacherous, indeed. Our lovers were barely able to keep Skylar’s boat afloat and were tussled about dreadfully.” I sighed dramatically. “They fell into each other’s arms just as the waters calmed. And of course, one thing has led to another.” I stopped and let the imaginations of my literary agent and most loyal fan fill in the blanks.
“So there’s your first sex scene!” Louise said.
“Sex scene!” Bee Bee shrieked, and Wilson and Davy glanced over.
“I write romance novels,” I told Davy.
“Hot and feisty?” he asked with yet another wink.
Mother tapped her chin. “I don’t believe Adelé Nightingale has ever put a love scene on the open water.”
Dare I say, Tessie was right? Considering how Adelé’s lovers had managed to get passionate in just about every corner of Europe, however unlikely the terrain, how could it be that not once had any of them made whoopee on the water?
“High time to rectify that!” I beckoned to Wilson. “More pink drinks, please,” I asked, and the three of us held up our woefully empty glasses.
“But, Jessica,” Louise said, “something has to happen to take Skylar away from Delta once they reach the shores of Ebony Island. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s the easy part,” I said. “Skylar has to get back to Diamond Island because he’s the only lawman of Port Mekipii Hui, and there’s a dastardly villain on the loose. Someone who’s taken to robbing every gold shipment right as it leaves port.” I sat back and watched Wilson and Davy flip-flop over. “Let’s make the bad guy a pirate-type, shall we?”
Mother said she’d always liked those pirate movies that are so popular.
“But the pirate is so charming and lovable in those movies,” I reminded her. “My South Pacific Paramour will have a truly evil pirate. And Skylar the hero? He’ll be a Tarzan-type.”
Poor Davy seemed a bit perplexed. He set down his tray and handed a drink to my mother. “I hate to burst your bubble,” he said as he handed me the next glass. “But I’m almost sure the South Pacific never had any gold.”
“Davy, Davy, Davy,” Louise scolded and reached for the third glass. “You simply do not understand the ins and outs of these things. If Adelé Nightingale,” she pointed to me, “says there was gold in the South Pacific, then there was gold in the South Pacific!”
“My stories aren’t exactly known for their factual detail,” I explained, and Wilson harrumphed.
“But now, we can’t get too fanciful,” I continued after a long and thoughtful sip. “The King Kong thing will need a convincing explanation.”
“King Kong thing?” the men asked and pulled up a couple chairs.
“Only rumors, of course.” I waved a dismissive hand. “But our evil pirate villain guy will want to capitalize on those rumors.”
“This is becoming a bit complicated, isn’t it?” Mother asked.
“And that,” Louise spoke to Davy, “is why Adelé Nightingale is a bestselling author. Her fans eat this stuff up!”
Wilson shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what’s the evil pirate guy’s name?”
“Oh, Jessie!” Mother jumped. “Can I name your villain this time? Please let me try. I’m sure I can think of something good.”
“Those things should unlock your imagination.” Wilson pointed to Tessie’s glass, and I took a moment to calculate just how many hours my jetlagged, elderly mother had been sipping Pele’s Melees in the hot Hawaiian sun.
“How many of those have you had?” I asked her.
She removed the little gold umbrella and poked me in the arm with the tip of the tiny parasol. “I am of age, you know.”
I confiscated the gold parasol, but otherwise decided to not worry about it. I mean, how much trouble could Tessie get into, surrounded by family and friends, and staying at what had to be the sleepiest resort in all of Hawaii?
Chapter 4
“The Hoochie Coochie Brothers have arrived!” Buster reported as he seated us in the dining room that evening. “They’re unpacking, and then they promised to play!” He pointed to the small stage across the room and scurried away, still holding the menus he had forgotten to give us.
Wilson and I blinked at each other. “Hoochie Coochie?” we asked.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Mother said. “They’re ukulele players. Davy told Louise and me all about them while you were checking us in.” She reached over and patted Wilson’s hand. “Thank you for getting me and my things settled. You are such a darling.”
He blinked again. “Did you say ukulele?”
“Mm-hmm. Evidently they stay here every year for the annual Yuletide Ukulele Jamboree. This year’s the tenth anniversary. Can you imagine?”
I turned to Louise, who nodded ominously. “According to Davy, we’ll be hearing ukulele music all week. The Hoochie Coochies like to practice a lot.”
While I let that unsettling news sink in, my mother elaborated. “Well now, they’ll need to practice won’t they? What with the big competition on Christmas Eve.” She clapped in glee. “I’ve never been to a ukulele contest before. Won’t that be fun?”
Luckily, our waitress came by and saved us from answering. Young and enthusiastic, Bethany touted the dinner specials as she passed out menus. “The Wakilulani has a reputation for authentic Hawaiian cuisine,” she told us. “And our new chef Makaila Isiano? Wait ’til you see. She’s fantastic.”
“She must be fantastical,” Louise agreed. “Just look at all these people!”
I had to agree that the dining room of the Wakilulani was downright crowded. Buster was in the middle of the action, scurrying from table to table, pointing out the empty stage to one startled group of diners after another. He carried a stack of menus but was too excited about the Hoochie Coochie Brothers’ imminent appearance to actually distribute any of them.
Bethany shook her head. “You folks want something to drink while you decide?”
Bless his heart, Wilson suggested another round of pink drinks, and Bethany left to place our order with Davy, who now stood behind the dining room bar. He winked at me, or perhaps at my mother.
“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she said as she fluttered a few fingers in his direction.
“Too young for us, Tessie,” Louise said. “Not everyone has your daughter’s luck at these things.”
I rolled my eyes at Wilson. “Will I ever hear the end of the fact that you’re five years my junior?”
“Five? I thought it was closer to ten.” You guessed it—the ever-charming Christopher Rye had arrived. He smirked down at me and introduced his companion. “This is Emi Ulii,” he said. “Can she join us?”
“Of course she can,” several of us answered, and with a shuffling of chairs we added two more to our grouping. Wilson caught Davy’s eye from across the room and held up two fingers.
“The Pele Melees are quite tasty,” my mother assured Emi as everyone got introduced and situated.
“They sure are, Mrs. Hewitt.” Emi smiled at Mother and explained that Davy’s drinks were famous on Halo Beach. “I work down at the Cabana Banana, but our bartender can’t compete with the Pele’s Melees here. Davy keeps the recipe a deep dark secret.”
“Some men are like that,” I mumbled with a glance at Wilson.
“Are you a bartender, too?” Emi asked him.
�
��Dad’s a cop.” Chris frowned at me. “He doesn’t tell his secrets to just anyone.”
I thanked Chris for reminding me and was happy to see Bethany arrive with our beverages.
And Bethany? She was thrilled to meet Chris, but a bit less enthused by Emi’s presence. Clearly the two young women already knew each other. “Are you still working at Bananas?” Bethany asked her.
Emi sighed. “Yeah, but I’m not getting the hours I want. The manager’s kind of mad at me.”
“More time for surfing, then.” Chris flashed the Rye grin and looked up at Bethany. “I’m starving. What’s good?”
Everything, apparently. With a lot of help from Bethany and a little coaching from Emi, we placed our orders for exotic-sounding fish, fruit, and vegetable dishes, which were, in fact, as delicious as promised. We had made it to dessert, and Louise was quizzing Emi about the macadamia nut soufflé Bethany had just placed in front of her, when Buster leapt onto the stage.
“The Hoochie Coochie Brothers!” he announced, and forks dropped all around the dining room. “Hal and Cal Coochie!” He pointed a menu-laden arm in their direction, and the Hoochie Coochies took the stage amid polite, if not enthusiastic, applause.
For some reason I had expected short, young Hawaiian guys. But the brothers were even blonder than I, almost as old, and at least as tall as Wilson. Their size was altogether incongruous with the teeny-tiny instruments they held. They bowed to their audience, sang a little “Aloha” ditty, and then asked for requests.
Everyone seemed stumped for ideas until my mother stood up. “How about Christmas carols?” she suggested.
“Christmas carols it is!” Hal, or maybe it was Cal, exclaimed, and the brothers delved into an off-key rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
When the Hoochie Coochies veered off onto a “Silver Bells” tangent, harmonizing about city sidewalks, Louise had a momentary spell of homesickness. “Ah, Manhattan,” she said. “I know it’s cold in December, but New York at Christmas is simply fantasti—”
“New York?” Emi interrupted. “Oh, my God! Are you from New York?” She blinked her big brown eyes at Louise. “I’m dying to see New York City someday! To live there, even! Take the subway to work, jog in Central Park, shop in Soho.” She looked at Chris. “It’s my dream for when I graduate.”
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