Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 8

“Pretty dull, actually. I was born right here in the city, just over twenty-eight years ago. My father retired from the local PD. Must be five or six years since he did.”

  “Ah, hah. That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Explains why you knew exactly what to do with the gun, unloading it and all.”

  “Nah. I know about them, but I don’t like ‘em. It doesn’t take much practice to unload an automatic.”

  “Well, it explains why you do what you do.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Burglary. You’re getting even with your father.”

  A smile spread across his face. “I didn’t think I was coming up here to be psychoanalyzed. Now, do you want to know what my older brother does for a living?”

  “Cop, too.”

  “Nope, but close. He’s an attorney. My sister is a lawyer, too. And she’s assistant prosecuting attorney in Dade County.”

  “Wow. I’ll bet your mother is a judge.”

  He laughed. “You know, you may have something there about my rebelling. She quit work when she married Dad. Before then she held down a security job. That’s how she met him. Like I said, I was born and raised here in the city. By the time Dad bought a house in the suburbs and kept up with the mortgage, there wasn’t much left. We weren’t exactly poor, though. I had to work at the Golden Arches part time to pay for college. Hated every minute of the work, and didn’t much care for classes, either. Graduated from Northwestern U, but just barely. Gypped around mostly, for awhile, enough to know that a nine-to-five job is not for me.”

  “How many hours did you spend checking out my place and Estelle’s?”

  “You got a point. Maybe I just prefer working for myself. Some time after graduation I went to a local gym where they try to suck you in with one-session free offers. That’s when I learned where my talents lie. They had one of those scaling walls. A little practice, some special equipment like these.” He peeled off his gloves and passed them over to her, watching as she felt the soft, pliable surface. “That’s all I needed. Been at it off and on for the past five years. No record so far. Some luck, but mostly careful planning. Of course, sometimes things go wrong. Like tonight.” He hesitated before adding. “OK, now you.”

  Why not, she decided. She would never see him again. Topping off their coffees, she said, “You’ve got two years more college than I had, and six fewer siblings. I was born in San Francisco. Dad was a longshoreman.” She paused. “We lived pretty decently, in spite of strikes and layoffs—until he died. One of those truck containers fell on him. My family’s Catholic, and you know how they are about having an open casket at the funeral. Well, Dad’s wasn’t an open one. The money from the Teamster insurance would have kept us all going, me and the kids who were still at home, but Mom came down with stomach cancer. She died when I was two years into UCLA. I’d been planning to go into medicine, but there wasn’t a hope in hell of doing that, after her long hospitalization.

  “It was about then I picked up with—I can’t even remember his name now. But, anyway, I was at the edge of the drug scene back then and easy pickings. He talked me into moving in with him. That’s believable enough, but what follows isn’t. The first thing I knew was that he had me out on the street working for him. He had me convinced that he loved me, that this was only for a short time, that he needed to get his feet on the ground, that… fill it in! You weren’t far off when you called me a dumb broad.

  “One morning I woke up and saw him shooting up my whole night’s earnings. By that afternoon I was on a Greyhound heading east. Stopped in Las Vegas. Funny, but I hadn’t really minded supporting him. I was bringing in plenty for both of us, but he lied to me over and over again, about how much he loved me, about… never mind.

  “Well, the only work I’d ever done besides whoring was a little bit of hashing when I was a high school senior. I tried that again in Vegas. Great way to get varicose veins. Not a great way to make a living. So I hunted up one of those houses just outside of the county where it’s legal and went back on the trade, only legitimately this time.

  “I was amazed at the way the money came in. The couple who ran the place were actually kinda sweet. Seemed concerned about their girls. Said grace at meals, would you believe? Even so, that’s not the healthiest business in the world. Jeez, but there are some weirdoes out there in that world. The bad breath was getting to me, and when one of the girls got cut up bad, that did it.

  “By then, I had enough money to last a while. Went back to Vegas and did a little looking around. They must have been hard up at The Little Roundup because the manager asked me if I’d care to do some topless dancing. I told him, “I can’t dance.” He grinned and said, ‘What difference does that make?’

  “Well, it beat whoring, paid almost as well, and it turned out that the dancing, or the lack of it, didn’t make a difference. Back then, before cellulite became standard, I had the necessary equipment to keep the audience appreciative.” The comment made his gaze drift. He was also appreciative.

  “But, pretty soon, 36 C’s didn’t stand out in the midst of 44 DD’s and up. I wonder how some of those dancers can straighten up. And I wouldn’t be surprised if inflatable dolls don’t replace the whole kit and kaboodle one of these days.” She paused.

  The question had occurred to him earlier and now resurfaced. “What about your family?”

  “You gotta be kidding. I think my brothers and sisters knew about my working the streets, but they didn’t seem to mind, especially since I’d send my nieces and nephews a twenty apiece at Christmas. But you should have seen the letters I got when I showed up on the front page of a tabloid in my dancing costume, with my own name in the caption. No way was I ever to darken the doors of any of those households again. I didn’t either. Wouldn’t have, even if I’d been starving. But I didn’t need to, as it turned out.

  “It was right about then that I met Stephen J. Funny how my happening to sit at his table that night changed my life, changed me, changed everything.” Her eyes focused on some distant object and he was certain she was no longer talking to him but just thinking aloud.

  “He was old enough to be my grandfather. Seventy-two. I was twenty-one. It was obvious that he was lonely. His wife had died the year before, after forty-four years of marriage. I listened and, surprisingly, he listened too. We hit it off. I don’t know why. At the time, I figured I’d soon get bored and then move on. Surprisingly, I didn’t get bored. Even more surprising, he didn’t either. After all, I didn’t have much to offer beyond sex, and at his age it wasn’t exactly a pressing need.

  “The money was a factor, of course, as far as I was concerned. He had plenty of it. He’d quit high school and gone to work in a container factory, making the same kind that killed my father. I sometimes wondered if Stephen J. might have put rivets in the one that fell on Dad. Anyhow, he moved up in the company, and fast. The day came when he was the outright owner, and by the time I’d met him he’d long ago retired with an enormous golden parachute.

  “Funny.” Her eyes refocused on him. “You’ve probably heard of Pygmalion. Well Stephen J. did a lot of that for me. Here he was a high school dropout, and I’d been to college, but he was self-educated, in the best sense of that word. He introduced me to books I would never have read if it hadn’t been for him. And I graduated from country to classical.” She tilted her head in the direction of the living room. “Mahler was his favorite.”

  “I didn’t get bored. What actually happened is that I fell in love. Stephen did too. Twelve wonderful years were the result. But maybe what I valued most at the time, and certainly was unaware of it, was his complete honesty. He’s the only man I’ve ever met whom I could trust. That did a lot for me. I never cheated on him during those years. Actually was never tempted to. Didn’t even think about it.”

  There was a long pause. Her coffee had gotten cold, his was gone, but he didn’t want to have her get up to make more. “Then?” he prompted.

&
nbsp; She sighed. “Then he died. A year ago to the day.” He could see moisture in her eyes. “It was a massive stroke. So sudden, I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.”

  Shaking herself, as though waking up from a dream, she smiled and said, “That’s what was happening tonight. I was planning to go out with his favorite music in the background, right at that massive drum roll near the end of the third movement.”

  “You made it through a year, why did you decide now?”

  “Men,” was her answer. “After the initial shock of his death, I thought that maybe I could lead something resembling a normal life. I’m sure he would have agreed. The men I met were everything Stephen J. wasn’t. Sure, I didn’t object to their falling in love with my money, but I did object to how dishonest they were. There was an old song one of the dancers at The Little Roundup used to ask the musicians to play after hours. I’m not sure what the name was, but one of the lines went, ‘he’ll tell you more lies than crossties on a railroad.’ That’s what all the men have been like—before, and after Stephen J.”

  She paused before asking. “Do women lie to men the way men lie to women?”

  “I can’t testify about women’s honesty,” he said, picking up on the topic, “but I’ve never had much reason to lie to them.”

  She stared into his eyes across the table. “You mean you don’t lie?”

  He laughed. “If I claimed I didn’t lie, I’d be lying. I avoid it, because it’s easier to tell the truth. You don’t have to remember what you said. But, there are times when lying is the lesser of several evils. You have to adapt. That’s known as situational ethics.” He grinned at the frown that greeted the remark. “I was a philosophy major in college. Some of it did rub off.”

  She inspected him with renewed interest. “And you intend to just keep doing what you’re doing the rest of your life.”

  “Why not? It’s a living.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Why should it?” He laughed again. “I’m a Robin Hood. I rob from the rich and give to the poor.”

  “And you are the poor, I suppose.”

  “Of course. And I am, usually, when I go out on a job. Besides, I’m not exactly stealing from the indigent. What would you have done when you found the jewelry missing?”

  “Insurance, I imagine. I might not have bothered, though. Trying to explain how it might have been stolen or lost would have been a bore.”

  “Exactly. And I do watch out for sentimental value.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  He seemed embarrassed as he answered the question. “I check the lost and found section regularly.”

  “You would actually return something on that basis?” The tone of her voice clearly expressed her skepticism.

  “I did, once. It was the only time I saw any mention of what I’d taken. An emerald brooch. Reward. No questions asked. I just mailed it back. Anonymously, of course.” His embarrassment now began to bother him. To cover up, he interrupted her questions with one of his own. Its off-the-wall quality was effective in fending her off. “Why did you pick a gun? Women usually don’t do that. And think of what it would have done to the poor cleaning lady in the morning.”

  That same melodious laugh greeted the question. “Don’t think I hadn’t thought of that. I had the chain on the door. She would have had to call the building manager, who would have had to cut the chain, who then would have been the first one in. Creepo Peepo would have been all pompous know-it-all, would have come in, and then thrown up his guts.”

  “Phew. What a sense of humor!”

  “Do I really sound that bad? Actually, I wanted to be sure I did the job. No poison that works only half way and leaves you a vegetable. And I’m afraid of heights, so I wouldn’t have just thrown myself out the window. I would never have done very well in your trade.”

  Their laughter joined as he replied. “You have to hug the wall, real close, if you’re going to climb. You just don’t have the right build.”

  “One of these days, you won’t make it.”

  He shrugged. “A few years ago I read about this family of acrobats—tight-rope walkers. The head of the family, the old man, went out by himself one night in the empty circus tent. Maybe he slipped. Maybe he didn’t. The family were all agreed though. That was the way he would have wanted to go. Some day, I’ll have two finger-holds slip at the same time.”

  She grimaced. “Suppose, just suppose, you didn’t have to be a second-story man anymore. Suppose you had all the money you wanted. What would you do?”

  He thought that over before finally answering. “Something I’ve dreamed about, then figured it was just that—a dream.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mountain climbing.”

  She broke into a long laugh, rocking back and forth as she did so. “You’re absolutely incorrigible. I know a peak in California. El Capitan. Ever hear about it.”

  “Naturally. Who hasn’t? A massive rock face. Granite. A climber’s dream.”

  “How about a free vacation. I’ll stay at the lodge and drink coffee while you’re out there trying to kill yourself. And, unlike you, I promise I won’t interfere.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Why shouldn’t I do this? If I want to spend money on you, why not? Stephen J. never thought twice about spending money on me. And, who knows, something worthwhile might come out of it.”

  “You know. Just possibly something might.”

  She stood up. “I’m ravenous. I hadn’t intended to eat dinner tonight. I didn’t think it was worth wasting all that food. But now all I can think about is the lobster thermidor at Collette’s. Let’s go.”

  “I’m with you,” he said, getting up.

  She held up a finger. “One thing, though. This is on me. Get used to it.”

  He reached out, took her hand, bowed over it and said, “Already, I’m used to it.

  ____________________

  CHRISTMAS SNOW

  Nani decided to look up “SAD” in her home medical book. Seasonal Affective Disorder.

  Under “Symptoms” she found weight gain, fatigue, loss of energy, an unusual need for sleep and an increase in appetite-none of which applied. She was brimming with nervous energy, was having bouts of insomnia, had lost her appetite, if anything, and certainly hadn't gained any weight.

  The section on “cause” virtually assured her that SAD was not the condition she was suffering from, since it stated that, “SAD is almost completely a phenomenon of temperate and polar countries and probably is related to the shorter day length of winter.”

  That pretty much put paid to her theory. Compared to the Mainland, the winter days on the Big Island of Hawaii weren't much shorter than the summer days. No. It was something more real, something closer to home. The breakup with Chad two weeks before most certainly was a factor. She missed him, but wasn't about to call him. Then there was the week's shutting down of the accounting firm this time of the year, which gave her too much time to think and not enough of anything to keep her busy. And, of course, there was Christmas.

  Christmas in Hawaii always seemed unreal. After having spent four winters at Seattle University working toward her accounting degree and hating the wet and cold during much of that time, she still remembered her enchantment at seeing her first snow up close. It had fallen on Christmas Eve, leaving the city under a cottony-white cloak the next morning when she awakened and looked out the dorm window.

  Maybe she could visit her folks on Oahu. No! The holidays were just an excuse some members of her family used for drinking even more than usual, and she most certainly didn't want to start that again. She should at least call Mom and her step dad. But as she picked up the phone, she found herself dialing Akiko instead. The familiar melodious voice said “hello.”

  Akiko Matsunaga and Nani Kalua had been best friends since their freshman days in high school, helping each other with their studies, partying together, sharing secrets-but by their senior year t
hey were also sharing a growing drinking problem. When Nani went off on her scholarship to Seattle, she had managed to control her drinking, though just barely. Akiko had gone on to the University of Hawaii on Oahu, and for her the problem became severe.

  As Akiko later confessed to her friend, she had managed to become a thoroughgoing alcoholic before age twenty. She insisted that Alcoholics Anonymous had saved her. She had stopped drinking, gone on to business school, and was now running a reasonably successful boutique.

  “Hi. It's me, Nani.”

  “Hey! Nice to hear from you. How's the Christmas spirit?”

  A long pause. “I guess that's why I called. Christmas has me down.”

  “You still broken up with Chad?” There was concern in her voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “What really happened, Nani?”

  “We were talking about marriage.”

  A light laugh. “And that made you break up.”

  Defensively. “You can't believe how arrogant he is. He wanted me to quit working.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He didn't have to. He's so macho, he was afraid that I'd earn more money as an accountant than he would as a construction worker. And he's right. I told him that my name would be right up there with Coulter, Takano and Souza one of these days-and it will be.”

  “What was he proposing?”

  “That I stay home and start a family. That he would make enough money in construction so that I wouldn't have to work. He pulled out all the stops. I told him I wasn't ready to start a family, that I was a damn good accountant, and that I wasn't going to let him or any man interfere with my career.”

  “Has he called?”

  “No.”

  “Have you called him?'

  “No, again. And I'm not going to.”

  “Why don't you try and patch it up? You know you love him, and I've seen the way he looks at you. He's head over heels in love with you.”

  Nani was picturing Chad-blonde, blue-eyed, tall and strong, but he could be so gentle. She shook her head. “Don't ever get mixed up with a haole.”