Fractured Slipper Page 7

  “Ha!” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Try to keep up.”

  We sway for a couple of beats, then his palm gently presses me backward and we’re off. He leads me in a few simple steps, and I follow with ease.

  “You’ve done this before,” he says.

  “Six years of dance lessons.”

  “I thought you went to a fancy all-girls school.”

  “Yep. That means I can lead, too. Need a few pointers?”

  He pulls me closer. “Oh, no, babe. We’re just getting started.”

  He lengthens his stride, and we glide and swoop, my heart pounding one-two-three, one-two-three. He spins me in double-time, and I keep my eyes glued to his face, the one thing in sharp focus as the rest of the world whirls by. He pulls me tighter to his chest. I inhale cedar, cinnamon, cloves, and wintergreen mints.

  One-two-three, one-two-three.

  Ocean waves. Sand between my toes. Sunlight and tradewinds caressing my hair.

  One-two-three, one-two-three.

  Stepping over tide pools at Piko Point. Yellow tangs and snowflake eels. Feathery corals and translucent fins.

  One-two-three, one-two-three.

  As the song reaches the chorus, he signals for a dip.

  One-two—

  CRASH.

  We tumble to the floor, the strands of my lei tangling between us.

  Chapter 18

  “Rell! Are you okay?”

  I feel a tug on my foot. I try to lift my leg, but my flip-flop is caught on a cable. As I kick it off, I realize my dress is riding high on my thighs. I quickly sit up and tug the hem down.

  “Oh, yeah,” I mutter. “This is much more practical than high-heels and poufy skirts. Bloody Ilima!”

  “Ilima? She’s here?”

  “No, she didn’t get in the Gecko car with me.”

  “Rell, look at me. I need to check your eyes. Did you hit your head?”

  “No. Just injured my pride.” I gather my flip-flop and slip it back on. “Are you okay?”

  He rolls to his side and props his head in his hand. “It feels like the scrape on my knee might be bleeding again.”

  “Oh, Jerry! I’m—”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. You’re not allowed to say that anymore. The tragedies of the world aren’t your fault.”

  “Tragedies of the world?” I grin.

  He sits up and bumps my shoulder with his. “I meant comedies of the world. If it makes you feel better, you can take the blame for the trip. See you next fall.”

  “But you were leading!”

  “I accept your apology,” he says.

  I punch his shoulder.

  “Abuse! Abuse!”

  “Right.”

  He laughs and wiggles his fingers menacingly. “Tickle retaliation!”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  “Here’s your mic, Ms. Watanabe.”

  Three people enter backstage and stand by the audio board.

  “Call me Regina,” says my stepmonster. “Like Cher or Beyoncé.”

  “Oh, like in that movie—”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says in a voice icicle cool. “There’s only one Regina.”

  Regina?

  “Eep!” I squeak and dive under the stage. Jerry hesitates for a split second, then slides next to me.

  “They can’t see us,” he whispers.

  I’m too afraid to do more than nod.

  Regina and Mr. Lucius stand near the stage stairs. An audio tech fiddles with Regina’s mic. At the audio board he says, “Can you give me a little test?”

  Regina says, “Test one, two, three.”

  Mr. Lucius says, “Eeney, meenie, miny, mo.”

  The audio tech watches the dials and frowns. “Mr. Lucius, could you repeat that please?”

  “Catch a tiger by the toe.”

  The audio tech pats his pockets and looks around. “Your battery is low. I’m going to have to get a new one from the truck. Be right back.”

  As he disappears outside, Regina puts her hand on her hip. “The incompetence of these islanders is stunning.”

  I feel Jerry bristle.

  Sorry, Jerry. My stepmonster’s a jerk.

  “A few more hours,” Mr. Lucius says, “and it will all be over. Once the deal’s done, you don’t have to stay on this rock.”

  Regina lowers her voice. “The bribe worked?”

  “There are no bribes, Regina. Only meaningful campaign contributions.”

  Jerry and I exchange a glance. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits record.

  “And was our contribution meaningful?”

  “Very. Once the permits for the surf camp’s access road and utilities are filed with the county, the planning commission will be forced to approve our development behind it. It’s just a matter of paying the filing fees. We’re prepared to cover whatever doesn’t get raised tonight.”

  From her purse, Regina pulls out some lipstick and starts smearing it along her lips. “Don’t be too hasty, Lucius. Let them sweat and be grateful when we save their project. Public gratitude now will make it impossible for anyone to believe they didn’t know about the eighty story high-rise we’re building on the property behind them.”

  Jerry sucks in his breath so fast, I’m afraid they’ll hear us. He holds the phone closer to them.

  Mr. Lucius says, “Marketing is ready to go. Did you see the mock-ups of the sales campaign? We’re positioning it locally as bringing jobs and technology to a blighted economy.”

  “Technology? That sounds expensive,” says Regina.

  “We’re donating a few computers and upgrading the internet connection to the high school. That’s it.”

  “Because we care,” Regina says.

  “Of course.”

  I want to smack the smirk right off his face.

  “In the Euro and Asian markets we’re positioning the development as the perfect island escape—a real life Bali Hai. We’ve already shot the beauty scenes of the beaches for the media campaigns.” He sighs. “But have you thought this through, Regina? Do you really want an ugly, low budget surf camp of cripples to be the first thing your clients see?”

  Regina laughs, and it’s the sound of nails on a chalkboard and the last wormy apple as it falls off a tree.

  “You’re funny, Lucius. The camp is never going to be built. With my development, taxes and land values are going sky high. My analysist predicts that most of the land will be in foreclosure in less than five years. I’m going to own all of Lauele.”

  “I still don’t understand, Regina. Other than the beach, there’s nothing here. The only store or restaurant for miles is Hari’s.”

  She puts away her lipstick and rubs her lips together. Her mouth is shiny and red, like she’s chewing glass.

  “The first thing I’m going to do is knock down that ugly convenience store across the street and build a nice, modern natural foods kind of place.”

  “The lot’s too small. You won’t have parking.”

  “We’ll raze the beach pavilion and expand the parking lot on this side. Once everything’s private, there won’t be a need for public works anymore.”

  Mr. Lucius holds up his hand. “The beach laws are ridiculous in Hawaii, Regina. You have to allow public access—even through private land.”

  “People won’t come if the entire area’s gated. We’ll keep the riffraff out. Even the beaches will belong to the Bali Hai tenants.”

  “I don’t think we can make that—”

  “You can and you will. Increase our campaign contributions if necessary,” she snaps.

  Waving a black box and cord, the audio tech slips through the doorway. “Got a whole new set-up right here, Mr. Lucius.”

  “About time,” mutters Regina.

  The audio tech replaces Mr. Lucius’s mic and pack.

  “Let’s test again,” he says.

  “If he hollers, let him go,” Mr. Lucius says.

  “Perfect.” He pla
ces the old set next to the audio board. “Regina? Can you give me one last check?”

  “Eeney, meenie, miny, mo.”

  Chapter 19

  Above us, the waltz fades. As the applause dies, the band scurries down the stairs and exits backstage. Tuna’s voice says, “Mahalo, gang. Before we get started with the auction, Uncle Kahana wants me to introduce someone who has become dear to our hearts: Regina Watanabe. Aunty Regina!”

  “Aunty Regina?” Regina hisses. “Cow, I’m not related to you. These people!”

  “Mic-ay on-ay,” whispers Mr. Lucius. “Smile!”

  Regina’s fake smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  Maybe it’s not Botox.

  As Tuna exits stage right, Regina and Mr. Lucius climb the stairs and enter stage left. The audience is still applauding when Tuna stops backstage and bends down.

  “Howzit, Jerry,” she says.

  “Hey, Tuna,” he says. “This is Rell.”

  “Aloha, Rell. I like your lei. Don’t stay under the stage too long. Get plenny spiders. Laters, gangies.” She waves with just her thumb and pinky outstretched as she heads outside.

  I turn to Jerry, eyes wide in the darkness. “How—”

  He shrugs. “It’s Tuna. We used to call her Tunazilla when we were kids. Voice of an angel, body of a linebacker. She just knows things.”

  Above us, Regina begins speaking.

  “As you know, Watanabe Global has deep roots in this community. From the first moment I heard about the International Abilities Surf Tournament and its goal of expanding into a surf camp, I knew this project was exactly aligned with everything Watanabe Global stands for. Its value is immeasurable—”

  “My father would never have torn down a community for money,” I say. “She’s going to ruin Lauele.”

  “There won’t be a Lauele,” Jerry says.

  “This is my community, too. I’ve got to stop her.”

  “Rell—”

  I grab Jerry’s cell phone, crawl out from under the stage, pick up the abandoned mic set, and switch it on. There’s enough juice in the batteries to make the needles bounce.

  Suck it, Regina!

  I hold the mic next to Jerry’s phone and press play.

  Nothing.

  I press again.

  Nothing.

  I look closer.

  Locked!

  “Jerry, what’s your password?”

  “Ua mau ke ea o ka ʻaina i ka pono.”

  “What?”

  “Just hand me my phone.”

  Jerry stands next to me, flicking his fingers over his phone screen.

  “Ready,” he says.

  “Let’s do this!”

  The file starts to play, but nobody can hear it over the loudspeakers.

  “The battery’s too weak,” Jerry says. “Cut the other mics and boost it through the board.”

  I pull down the audio faders for Regina and Mr. Lucius’s mics, cutting her off mid-sentence.

  This is for you, Mama.

  For you and our ohana.

  I twist a dial and bring up the volume on the mic I’m holding above the cell phone.

  “Is this better?” my voice booms over the loudspeakers.

  “Rell?” shouts Regina from the stage.

  Over the speakers Regina’s voice says, “The camp is never going to be built. With my development, taxes and land values are going sky high. My analysist predicts that most of the land will be in foreclosure in less than five years. I’m going to own all of Lauele.”

  Chaos.

  The audio tech comes flying backstage. “What are you guys doing?” he shouts. “Get away from that equipment!”

  Jerry steps in front me. “Just listen, Darin! The whole thing is a scam.”

  “Jerry—”

  “LISTEN!”

  Darin pauses.

  Regina’s voice says, “We’ll keep the riffraff out. Even the beaches will belong to the Bali Hai tenants,”

  Darin mouth drops. “Oh my—”

  “Stop this immediately!” shrieks Regina. Her lipstick’s smeared in a long red streak across her chin. Her hands go to her hair. “I demand that you give that illegal recording—”

  “Fake illegal recording,” shouts Mr. Lucius. “This is a fraudulent attempt to malign my client!

  Darin stands next to Jerry, blocking access to the cell phone.

  “Play that again, Jerry,” he says. “I wanna know which politician we’re impeaching.”

  Regina spots me cowering behind the guys.

  “This is all your fault, Rell! When I get through with you—”

  I turn and flee.

  Chapter 20

  My foot barely touches parking lot before the Gecko car screeches up. The valet runs up, but I’m faster. I fling open the door and jump into the backseat.

  “Rell!” shouts the valet, “Is it true? Is Watanabe Global planning to build a huge—”

  “Yes!” I say. “Sorry!”

  I slam the door shut.

  “Hit it!”

  The driver snaps my head back as he accelerates out of the parking lot, smoke billowing behind.

  The whole way to the house, I shake.

  I stare out the windows at the empty beaches and modest homes that line the main road. The moon shines over the ocean, the light reflecting off coconut trees and hibiscus hedges as we speed by. I burn each image into my brain, trying to create a lifetime of memories in just a few minutes.

  I can never come back.

  None of this is real. It’s all a giant chess match to get a high-rise development approved in Lauele. My father’s company is planning to turn sleepy Lauele into an exclusive version of Waikiki. Regina never planned to support the surf camp. She just wanted the infrastructure permits approved so she could build her high-rise condominiums.

  They must hate us.

  I hate us.

  Even if Jerry convinces people that I had nothing to do with it, there’s no way I can show my face around here again.

  Goodbye, Jerry.

  It’s probably best we never kissed.

  The driver doesn’t bother pulling into the driveway. He just whips up next to the gate and slams on the brakes. The locks on the backdoors pop open when I touch the door handle.

  “Thanks,” I say as I swing my legs and step outside. “I appreciate—”

  SLAM!

  The door rips out of my hand as the car takes off like a cockroach when the kitchen light comes on.

  “Hey!” I’m so angry, I step out of my flip-flops and fling them after the car.

  They miss by a mile.

  Story of my life.

  “Happy eighteenth birthday to me. It’s all downhill from here.”

  Chapter 21

  All the lights are on in the house. It should be cheery and bright, but it feels cold and sterile. I shut the front door and blow on the decorative glass pane set in the middle. Mist coalesces, the patterns as delicate as a snowflake.

  That’s frost, I swear.

  Inside the house is the faint scent of smoke. As I walk through the entry, I hear wood crackle and snap. I follow the sounds to the dining room and discover a roaring fire in the fireplace. Two white wingback chairs flank the fire on either side. Between them is a small table overflowing with a coffee service and trays. Ilima the woman is sitting in the chair to the right, a teacup and saucer balanced in her lap.

  “Back so soon?” she says. “He must’ve not been a very good dancer.”

  “Can you get me to the airport?”

  She takes a sip from her cup and watches me over the rim. “Where are your shoes?”

  “Really? That’s what you’re concerned about?”

  She shifts and curls her feet beneath her. “Come sit by the fire. Poliahu loves the cold, but she’s mindful of the comfort of her guests.” She gestures to the coffee service. “There are cookies, cake, sandwiches. Have a bite of something. Your blood sugar’s low.”

  “How would you know?”

&nb
sp; “Your smell.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  She shrugs. “It’s true. You haven’t eaten a meal in hours. Your body tells me it’s hungry by the sickly-sweet smell that’s coming off you in waves.”

  “It’s probably the flowers you’re smelling.”

  “Nope. It’s you. I’ve learned a lot about humans living with Kahana.”

  “You and Uncle Kahana?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s not like that.” She takes another sip, her eyes never leaving me. “Sit,” she says. “You’re making me nervous.”

  When I sit down, she hands me a plate of cookies and a teacup. “Lilikoi biscuits. I think you call them passion fruit cookies. Hold out your cup, and I’ll pour.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t like tea or coffee,” I say.

  “Good, because this is hot chocolate.” When she tips the pot, the chocolate pours out as rich and thick as molten lava. She fills my cup only halfway. “So you can dunk,” she says.

  “What—”

  “Uh-uh. No talk. Eat.”

  I’m too tired and hungry to argue.

  The cookie is crisp like shortbread with a thin layer of passion fruit jam on the top. I dunk one into the hot chocolate, and it clings to the cookie like a hug.

  I gently blow, then bite.

  Ohhhhh,” I moan. “I forgive you everything.”

  She grins like the Cheshire cat drinking cream. “Eat, child. We’ll talk later.”

  I’m not sure how long I sit there, but when I’m done, the platters are empty. Little pies filled with coconut pudding, rolled pastries filled with cream and candied pineapple, tiny sandwiches filled with watercress and cucumber—I eat them all.

  “More?” Ilima says.

  “I couldn’t.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Well, at least you don’t stink of hunger anymore.” Setting her cup down, she sits forward and leans close.

  “Bali Hai,” she says. “The name isn’t even Hawaiian.”

  “I didn’t know about the development.”

  “But now you do.” Ilima leans back in her chair. “Regina’s bringing modern jobs and prosperity to backward Lauele.”

  “No, she’s not.”