Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 9

  A ripple of laughter. “A man's a man. Caucasian men are no different from Hawaiians, or Japanese, or any man for that matter.”

  “No. Haoles are different. There's a built-in arrogance to them. Do you know what haole really means? It means 'white pig'.”

  A howl of laughter. “Did you tell him that?”

  “I did-just before he slammed the door.”

  Again, concern crept into Akiko's voice. “I've got to do some last-minute shopping. Care to come along?”

  A long pause. Nani looked around her apartment. She knew what the concern was about. She resented it, and yet was touched by it. “OK.”

  She put the phone back in the cradle after promising to meet Akiko downtown, then had an overwhelming feeling that was all too familiar. Stepping over to the kitchen sink, she reached into the cupboard above it and took out a bottle of cooking sherry. Though not much of a cook, she had nevertheless convinced herself that she would one day put together one of those mouth-watering recipes calling for sherry. She never had, nor had she opened the bottle for any other reason. In a sense, it was proof to herself that she would never go back to drinking—that she needn't even be concerned.

  Carefully peeling back the foil on the neck of the bottle, she discarded it in the trash, then rocked the round stopper back and forth to loosen it, gradually drawing it out of the bottle. The smell of the sherry struck her. She inhaled the aroma of the cheap wine. Memories of binges, of hangovers, of mindless partying came back, while some memories couldn't come back—blackouts which had frightened her into giving up drinking. Looking at the clock, she stuffed the cork back into the bottle and replaced it on the shelf.

  Akiko was waiting outside the boutique.

  “You closing up? On Christmas Eve?” Nani asked.

  “I've got help now. She's going to stay on until the last straggler has come in desperate to buy the last present for the last one on his list-very likely his wife who he forgot until just now.”

  “I'm just going to window shop.”

  There was worry in Akiko's eyes as she looked at her friend. “That's fine. Let's walk the windows. Feeling any better?”

  “Some.” Nani smiled as she anticipated what was coming.

  “Been thinking of drinking?”

  “You always were good at reading my mind. As a matter of fact, yes. And I wouldn't tell that to anyone but you.”

  “There's an AA meeting tonight. The chapter always has one on Christmas Eve. It's a tough time for a lot of us. Care to come?”

  Nani shook her head. She'd been to a meeting, had been astonished to see a local, well-known surgeon, an equally well-known attorney, as well as expensively dressed businessmen from the community, not only attending but actually standing up and confessing to being alcoholics. She wasn't convinced she could tolerate that humiliation in others, let alone herself.

  “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  “None.”

  “Then how about helping out at Father Duffy's mission? He puts on a big spread for the homeless. It's early, around four. You'd still have the evening.”

  Nani laughed aloud at the suggestion. “I can't see myself ladling out soup.”

  Akiko turned, a serious look on her face. “Nani. Have you ever thought that you might be every bit as arrogant as Chad? Why would it hurt for you to just once try a little humility?”

  The conversation swiftly became argument, an argument which reminded her of the day Chad had stormed out of her apartment. But Akiko was persuasive. Nani thought, “What the hell!” They arranged to meet at the storefront mission at three-thirty on Christmas Day. Akiko extracted a solemn promise that Nani would be there.

  Nani woke with a hangover. Her first wry thought as she looked in the bathroom mirror was that she might as well have been drinking and enjoying herself the previous night since there was the same penalty awaiting her that morning. The night had been a bad one, her insomnia worse than ever. A shower in the tepid water that was inevitable in that part of town revived her somewhat. The coffee helped even more. The weather didn't.

  Rain had settled in and, for the Big Island, it had turned surprisingly cold. Perhaps down in the fifties and, with the rain being whipped by the trades, feeling much colder. Low, shadowy clouds had closed down over the town and were emptying their contents on the glistening streets. “Not much like Christmas,” Nani decided, remembering the snow that morning in Seattle, tightening the cord on her bathrobe, settling down with her coffee in her favorite overstuffed chair and flipping on the TV.

  Christmas carols, holiday parades on the Mainland, decorations, commercials featuring Santa Claus and reindeers-there was no escape. Nani snapped it off and hunted around for the book she had been reading. She could remember neither the author's name nor the title, but there was enough suspense in it to keep her from thinking about herself.

  Even so, by two that afternoon, having come to the unsatisfactory ending of the novel, she began to roam restlessly around the apartment as the wind whipped sheets of rain against the windows. Her eye caught the kitchen cabinet. She opened it, took out the sherry bottle, popped the cork and began to search around for a glass. There were no wine glasses, so she took out a water glass, placed it on the sink counter, slowly tilted the bottle and filled the glass almost to the top. The smell of the sherry was pervasive.

  The glass felt cold but comforting in her hand. She lifted it, made a gesture with it toward the rain washed kitchen window, brought it to her lips-then in one sweeping motion she poured the contents into the sink, reached over for the bottle and emptied it as well. Almost running to the closet, she took out her raincoat, picked up her purse and started out into the downpour.

  Even though she was early, some of the servers—including Akiko—had already arrived at the mission. Quick introductions produced several members of AA but also others from the community who Nani recognized. Father Duffy was running a tight ship. Tables were already set up, and benches along the walls had been made available for the early arrivals who were eager to get in out of the rain.

  Serving began early, with an apronned Nani dishing out the meat portions-turkey, pork laulau and the inevitable spam. It surprised her at how many of the homeless she recognized, some even by name. Jennylee Tamaka, whose stout figure was a familiar one downtown, pushed her tray up to where Nani was serving, and her broad smile showed her missing front teeth. “Hey, Nani, how 'bout some extra spam. You can skip the turkey. Never tastes like nuttin' but cardboard. Maybe one laulau.”

  Nani actually found herself enjoying the task, the banter with the servers and the served, the festive atmosphere that reminded her that Christmas could be a joyful time. And the time went by quickly. Before long there were only a few newcomers along with a sprinkling of others coming up for seconds.

  Akiko came by and tapped Nani on the shoulder. “How about a change? I'll take over the meat section and you can try your hand at pouring coffee.” She gestured to the end of the serving counter. Nani wasn't unhappy at the suggestion, since there was a stool set up for the coffee server, and she suddenly realized that all the standing was getting to her. By the time she was set up, the crowd had thinned considerably. Father Duffy was passing out sheets of Christmas songs, and one of the regular workers was tapping out tentative notes on the mission's sadly out-of-tune piano.

  Finally, one last man, bundled up in a raincoat, with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes was working his way down the serving line. Nani thought he looked familiar but couldn't see his face. As he approached her end of the counter, a fork slipped off his tray, Nani got off her stool to retrieve it, and they came up face to face.

  “Chad!” she said, startled at the apparition.

  He grinned that familiar grin of his. “Hi, Nani!”

  A feeling of anger swept across her. “Akiko set this up, didn't she?”

  Chad nodded. “But I wanted to see you again.”

  The anger passed. “I guess I wanted to see you, too.”

/>   “Nani. I love you. If you'll marry me, you can work as long as you want to.”

  “I love you, too.” The sound of the piano, the clatter of dishes, the voices raised in various conversations faded, as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Cheers and applause resounded through the hall.

  It was afterwards, as they were walking hand-in-hand toward her apartment, that Chad stopped, pointed up at a sky now crystal clear with the last rays of sunset shining on Mauna Kea. The massive mountain stood there, covered halfway down its sides by a cloak of cottony-white snow.

  ____________________

  BURIDAN’S ASS

  The parable of ``Buridan's Ass'' is attributed to Jean Buridan (1300-1358), a French philosopher and logician, The tale, intended to illustrate the dilemma involved in choices, relates how a hungry donkey stood between two haystacks, both of which being equally appetizing. Unable to decide which stack to start eating first, the animal starves to death. Opponents of Jean Buridan’s view insisted that the creature wouldn’t starve since there would always be external forces pushing more strongly in one direction rather than the other.

  ***

  “What does she have that I don’t have? She’s blonde. I’m blonde. She has blue eyes, but brown goes better with blonde hair. Wasn’t there a song written about beautiful brown eyes? I’ve never heard of one written about blue eyes.”

  Jeannine turned to view her profile in the full-length closet mirror. “Sure, Marsha’s got a bit more in the chest area, but not much. Besides, I have nicer legs, a smaller waist—just generally a better figure. And she must be getting close to thirty.” She stared into the dark brown eyes looking out at her. “Personality? I can’t see that she has anything on me there. I listen to men when they talk. I’m more intelligent than she is. I can carry on a better conversation. What is it?”

  The one-sided debate had intensified this morning because Marsha had called the night before, with an urgent plea that they get together for lunch as soon as possible.

  Their occasional lunches together generally made for gripe sessions about their respective workplaces, and the drawbacks to living in Washington D.C.—not the least of which was the shortage of eligible bachelors. And their talk involved fantasy fests where they shared dreams of wealth, travel to far-off places and, of course, descriptions of that elusive Prince Charming who would turn all those dreams into reality.

  The shortage of men bothered Jeannine much more than it did Marsha, which fact bothered Jeannine all the more. The reason for the coming meeting served only to spread salt onto that particular wound. Marsha was about to take the plunge, but couldn’t decide between the two men who had proposed.

  “Two! I’ve never had one. How could she possibly have two men wanting to marry her, especially here in D.C., where there’s only one eligible man for every two single women? She just wants to rub my nose in it, I know. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet her. But I have to find out the details. Can she really be serious?”

  That Marsha was deadly serious became immediately evident. The two of them had hardly settled down and ordered their meal when she said, “I just can’t make up my mind. This past weekend Frederick asked me to marry him, and last night Jed proposed too.”

  While she was acting engrossed with her submarine sandwich, Jeannine tried to recall Fredrick Halstead, and Marsha rattled on. Finally, a picture of a rather average looking male, probably in his mid thirties, floated into Jeannine’s consciousness. She had first encountered him at some party Marsha had also attended. Whatever else, he hadn’t made much of an impression on Jeannine—either good or bad. Straining her memory, she recalled someone who was pleasant but unprepossessing.

  Now, Jed Otto III was something else. Tall, broad shouldered, with luxurious blow-dried black hair and a cleft chin that nicely complemented his square jaw. Jeannine remembered him all too well. Her first meeting with him had been at yet another one of those parties under-attended by males, and she had spotted Jed the moment she’d stepped through the door. She had managed to attract his attention long enough for him to offer to get her a drink. All was going smoothly until Marsha appeared. The memory still rankled.

  “Jed is so marvelous,” Marsha gushed as she probed away at her Caesar salad.

  Jeannine tried not to choke on a piece of crust she’d bitten off as Marsha expatiated on Jed’s virtues. “He’s the top player at the Kiley Racquet Club. You should see his trophies. His family is back in San Francisco. I think he said his dad was in the wine business, but they’re definitely well known on the West Coast. I guess the Ottos go back several generations there.”

  It was time to change the subject. “What about Frederick?”

  Marsha’s tone also changed. “Oh, he’s in finance. Something to do with government contracts.”

  “Family?” Jeannine asked, finishing up the last piece of her sandwich and feeling relieved at the shift in conversation.

  Marsha pushed her plate aside. “He’s an orphan. Doesn’t have any family he knows of. Actually raised in an orphanage. Can you believe that? I didn’t know such places still existed in this day and age.”

  “Well that was a few years ago,” Jeannine commented as she tried to catch the waitress’s eye.

  “He’s thirty-two. He worked his way through college. I can’t remember what his degree was, but I guess he did all right, since he went to work right away with whatever company he’s with. Been with them ever since. Sounds like a real workaholic.”

  The waitress, after having spent an inordinate amount of time tending to the needs of two men at a neighboring table, finally found her way over to the women and took their order for tea and coffee. Jeannine wondered whether that might be the difference. She had never learned to like coffee. The absurdity of the thought made her smile—a smile Marsha didn’t notice, since she had shifted back to elaborating on the virtues of Jed Otto III.

  Jeannine broke into the flow. “What does Jed do for a living?”

  “Oh, he’s between jobs at the moment. He used to be in Representative Solomon’s office. You know; The Congressman from Mississippi. Or is it Alabama? Someplace like that.”

  “What kind of job did he have?”

  Marsha seemed to be trying to think as she sipped at her coffee. “I really don’t remember. PR or something, maybe.”

  Looking back at it, Jeannine was positive that that was the moment of conception. It was just the germ of an idea, but it grew rapidly. Marsha was now waxing eloquent, and the eloquence was reserved entirely for Jed.

  “Have you decided on a date for the wedding?” Jeannine interrupted.

  Marsha looked blank. “Wedding?”

  Jeannine frowned. “You mean you haven’t made up your mind yet? It sure sounds to me as though you have.” As she spoke, she motioned to the waitress and mimicked the writing of a signature.

  “Well…”

  Jeannine smiled. “C’mon. You know you’re in love with him. For the last half hour you’ve done nothing but talk about how wonderful he is.” She took out her credit card as she spoke, “I’ll pick up the tab as your first wedding present. Let’s take off work early and go shopping. I’m dying to look at gowns, and we need to decide where to put your name in for the bridal registry.”

  “But…”

  Jeannine signed the credit slip with a flourish. “I’m keeping the receipt as a souvenir. This is a red-letter day.”

  Marsha was still a bit dazed, but as Jeannine begin to outline plans for the wedding, her face cleared and she showed signs of relief. Then, the thought struck her. “What am I going to do about Frederick?”

  The question appeared to startle Jeannine. “Frederick? Why, you’re going to call him and tell him no—in a nice way of course. And it’s only fair to do it right away. Why don’t you call him on the way to the office?” She looked at her watch. “He must be back from lunch by now, if he’s the kind of worker you say he is. And it will be a lot easier telling him over the phone. Here, use my cell phon
e.”

  A still uncertain Marsha called when they reached the restaurant’s lobby, where Jeannine helped run down Frederick’s office number in the yellow pages. “Yes. Tell him it’s Marsha Thornton.” A pause. “Frederick? Hi! It’s me, Marsha. I know. Yes. I have something to tell you. No. In fact, it’s just the opposite. That’s right. Why?” Marsha looked over at her companion who was hanging on every word and nodding her head. “It’s because I’ve decided to marry someone else. I’m really sorry.” The conversation trailed away.

  Having signed off and now looking really relieved, Marsha took Jeannine’s arm and said, “Let’s go shopping right now. We can just call in and say we’ll be late.”

  “Terrific! Let’s play hooky for the rest of the day.”

  “We’ll need to. There’s lots to do. And we have to decide what you’re going to wear.”

  “Me?”

  “Why, of course. You were there when I finally made up my mind to marry Jed, and I want you to be the maid of honor. We’ll have the wedding at St. George’s Episcopal. Daddy will fall out of his socks when he hears. Because I’m their only child, he and Mom have been counting on me to continue the family line. But even when I was a little girl, I told him I’d never get married. And after I turned twenty-one still talking that way, he began to believe it.”

  Marsha’s eyes were alive with the thought. “Wow! What a big event it’s going to be. Daddy said if I ever did go through with a wedding he’d mortgage the house to give me the best ever. We need to reserve a big hall for the reception. What do you think of the Commercial Center?”

  It took a supreme effort on Jeannine’s part to halt the stream of words. It took even greater effort to convince Marsha that she was terrified of being out in front of a crowd, that Marsha’s young cousin was far better suited to be maid of honor, that she couldn’t consider even being one of the bridesmaids, that she—Jeannine—just didn’t look good in formal dress, that… Marsha’s growing involvement in wedding plans succeeded in overriding her conviction that Jeannine had to participate in the coming ceremony. With little effort, however, the soon-to-be bride did manage to extract a solemn promise from her companion that she would, at the very least, attend the wedding and reception.