The Ohana (25 page)

At first trying to find new ways to import drugs into Hawaii was challenging. The thrill of power seduced him. In his own world, he was feared and respected. Importing hashish in the soles of slippers had been outrageously successful. Ironically, he now owned one of the most successful retail outlets specializing in the sale of footwear. It made money in and of itself.

However, George’s most profitable idea came watching the fireworks display at Ala Moana Beach Park one New Year’s Eve. Marveling at the thousands of dollars being blown up-it came to him like a flash from a Roman candle. He would bring in heroin from the Golden Triangle in China stuffed between layers of cardboard in boxes of Chinese fireworks. Excited, he flew to China the following month and set up the deal with the Tong gangs. After that he flew home and set up another deal with the customs officers.

He had more than enough money. He had to find a way to quit.

In the end, it was a branch of government George and his cronies couldn’t touch that solved his problem, the IRS. They had kept wiretaps on George for years. He hired a top gun lawyer, but expected to lose. He authorized his attorney to make a deal for a country club prison, and a light sentence. In return, the government would save the small fortune it would cost trying the case.

George went to Lompoc in California and served two years. He hated having a record and envied Chun because he got out with his reputation and fortune intact. George would now be an ex-felon. He would never have the country club existence and acceptance Chun enjoyed. But when he got out, he would have his money, his legitimate businesses, and his life. He couldn’t complain too much.

Maybe when he got out, he and Sarah could start again.

PART THREE
THE THIRD GENERATION

The Peace Generation

1962-1979

Honolulu: Los Angeles: Europe: 1962-1966

Jackie Han’s problem was she was so beautiful she didn’t have to rely on her brains, her wit, or her personality. She spent most of her time dreaming of escaping the ordinariness of her mundane, middle class existence in the town of Kaimuki.

While growing up, Jackie devoured Photoplay and announced to her mother and younger sister Susan, “I’m going to jet first class to Europe, safari in Africa, and live in New York or Beverly Hills in mansions filled with servants. I don’t ever want to do housework again.”

When her mother described the life her grandmother left in Japan, Jackie was shocked.

“Why would she leave a life like that to marry a poor man?” Jackie asked.

Her mother smiled. “Because she fell in love.”

“I wouldn’t have done it.” Jackie shook her head. “No way.”

One month after graduating from Kalani High School, Jackie left for Los Angeles to follow her dreams. But reality set in when she was told over and over again that she wasn’t tall enough. At five foot four, she was too short to make it as a model, even with her exotic looks.

Jackie’s hard earned money made while working summers began running out. She answered cattle calls for extras where beautiful girls were a dime a dozen and everyone wanted to be a star. It looked like she would either have to return home or find some other kind of work. Desperate, she took a job as an office temp and vowed to continue trying-out for anything in modeling or show business.

After a few months, her agent called and told her he might have something for her. She practically ran to his office.

“I got a call from a magazine. They want someone exotic with a great face and body. You fit the bill,” he said.

Jackie almost bounced out of her chair in excitement. “What magazine?” So far the extent of her modeling was working a few trade and car shows. Handing out brochures and talking about a product didn’t really seem like modeling to her, but it helped pay the rent.

“Foxy Lady.”

Jackie swallowed. “Isn’t it a skin magazine?”

“Yeah, but it’s a classy one. You’ll have a chance to become Foxy Lady of the Year and bring in big bucks and get lots of work,” he assured her.

“But, I’d have to pose nude.”

Her agent leaned back in his chair. “So? Marilyn Monroe did it.”

“Wasn’t she broke?”

Her agent clasped his hands together on the desk, leaned forward and raised his brow. “Well?”

Jackie shook her head. “I’m not broke yet.”

He shrugged. “It’s a great gig.”

Jackie chewed on her knuckle. “My mother will die.”

“Tell her it’s art.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Yeah, you think about it real hard. But let me fill in some blanks for you. You get $3,000 and a chance to be Foxy Lady of the Year. It pays $25,000, a car, a promotional tour around the world, and more press and pictures than you can imagine. It will change your life. It’s your chance to crack the big time.” Her agent put his hands behind his head, a gleam in his eye. “Isn’t it what you want? Sometimes the only way to get there is to do things you’re not crazy about. Take it from me; it’s worth anything and everything you have to do to get there.”

Mary suspected something was wrong when she hadn’t heard from Jackie for two weeks. Every time she called, no one answered. Jackie finally called and dropped a bomb just before Mary was about to fly to California to make sure her eldest was all right.

Mary couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Jackie was in the December issue of Foxy Lady. She was appearing naked. Jackie wanted to tell her before someone else did.

 Mary had to sit down. “Your father’s going to hit the ceiling. What are we going to say to our friends and family? What will people think?”

“Tell them all the great artists painted nudes. It’s the same as posing for Rubens or Michelangelo,” Jackie suggested.

 “It’s not the Louvre. It’s a girly magazine. It’s for men to ogle and stare.” Tears sprung to Mary’s eyes. For the first time in a long time, she felt sorry for herself. How would she live down this shame? Everyone in Hawaii would see her daughter naked. What a disgrace. “People will say you weren’t raised right.”

“Why do you care what people think?” Jackie snapped.

“You should care. Everything you do in life has the ability to affect the rest of your life. To your grandmother respect was everything.”

“That was the old days. Besides, I’m making a lot of money and my agent says I’ll be famous.”

“Money isn’t everything.” Mary wondered what she was going to tell her husband and Jackie’s siblings. “This is disgraceful.”

“It’s not like I committed a crime or anything,” Jackie countered. “Are you going to disown me like Dad always threatens to do to us?”

“No matter what, you’re my daughter and I love you,” Mary said in a hushed voice.

“But you don’t approve.” Jackie’s voice was scathing.

“Did you expect me to bless a nude photo spread?” Mary put a hand to her head.

“I thought you’d at least understand what a big thing it is to be picked. You could at least be happy for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary sighed. “I don’t think I can be happy for you. And you can’t expect me to be proud of you doing something like that.”

“You’ve never been proud of anything I’ve done. It has always been about Susan and the good grades she makes and what a perfect child she is,” Jackie complained.

Mary had heard her say, You love Susan more. You think she’s perfect., a thousand times before. “That’s not true. I’ve always been proud of you.”

“What were you proud of, Mom?” Jackie’s voice grew strident.

“You’re my beautiful firstborn.”

“Thanks, Mom. That’s just great. You can’t think of anything else to say. No one else has anything else to say about me except I’m beautiful. That’s it. Nothing about my personality, my ambition, and never, ever anything about my being smart. Just call me the dumb one in the family.”

“Jackie…”

“Forget it, Mom. I’ll talk to you some other time.”

Any regret Mary might have heard in Jackie's voice ended after she became the Foxy Lady of 1962. Even Mary was surprised at how quickly and dramatically things changed for her eldest daughter. And, Mary had to admit, Jackie finally hit the jackpot. Jackie sent postcards and news clippings as she traveled first class all around the world. Evidently the press met Jackie wherever she went, courtesy of Foxy Lady’s public relations department. According to Jackie, she was wined, dined, and feted. She was a celebrity living life the way she wanted to live.

That same year she met and fell in love with Stefano De Felice, a playboy from a wealthy Italian family.

“He’s handsome and rich,” she gushed to her mother.

She sent her mother pictures of herself with the thirty-two-year old playboy in glamorous locales around the world.

Mary didn’t say anything. She privately thought all the drinking and constant partying made for a meaningless life. Maybe the rich really were different.

Mary showed Jackie’s pictures to the family. Susan was awed, which worried Mary. She hoped Susan wouldn’t want to be like Jackie. Susan was sensible and smart. Mary didn’t want her head turned by Gucci, Dior, Givenchy, and Chanel. She wanted Susan to find her own center independent of a man.

Jackie was smitten. Her life with the thirty-two year old playboy was extraordinary. They flew in his private jet to the Hotel du Cap in the South of France, to safaris in South Africa, and on shopping expeditions all over the world. They cruised the Greek Isles in his yacht. Stefano’s family had homes in New York, London, Paris, St. Moritz, and Marbella. Life was one big party with Stefano. Their friends were elegant, rich, beautiful, and famous.

Stefano showered her with the best of everything. She wore Bulgari with Oscar de la Renta and Cartier with Chanel. She drove Stefano’s Ferrari. He bought her a magnificent silver-tipped Barguzin Russian sable to wear to parties at the Palace Hotel in St. Moritz.

He introduced her to nothing but the finest, including the best Colombian cocaine.

At first she was hesitant. “Cara,” Stefano coaxed. “It is the best feeling in the world, especially when one is making love. Don’t worry, it isn’t addicting. It just makes everything seem so much more beautiful. You must do a line before we make love. You won’t believe how wonderful it will make you feel.”

Desperate to please her man, Jackie snorted the cocaine. All the best people did it and she didn’t want to seem old fashioned and provincial.

Everyday was Christmas and Jackie had been a very good girl all year long.

Paris-1964

Jackie had a hard landing the day she had tea with Stefano’s mother. A Countess in her own right, she sat like a rare stone in a magnificent setting in the De Felice’s exquisite home in Paris near the Hotel de Crillon.

Jackie was stunned when she first saw the jewel box Stefano grew up in. The butler led Jackie down the elegant hallway to a white and gold rococo drawing room. The ceiling was painted with clouds and cherubs drifting along a blue sky.

Senora De Felice stood when Jackie entered the room. She tilted her head and looked Jackie up and down. Then she put her hands on either side of Jackie’s face and smiled. “You are lovelier than I expected.”

Jackie was delighted as well as surprised. Senora De Felice was quite different from what she expected. “I’m honored to meet you,” Jackie told her.

The Senora sat and bid her do the same.

A maid poured them both a cup of tea and offered pastries from a silver tray. Jackie took one of the sugary confections.

“You may leave, Celeste,” the Senora nodded.

As the Senora sipped her tea, she continued to assess Jackie.

“This home is fabulous.” Jackie wondered what it was like to live in a place like this. She wanted to find out. The thought literally left her breathless. She was just a step away from living her fairy tale.

“It has been in my family for generations. It was part of my dowry.”

 “Oh.” Jackie took a bite of her pastry. It, too, was delicious.

Senora de Felice put down her Limoge cup. “It’s such a pity you can never marry Stefano. You would make such beautiful babies together.”

Jackie almost choked. “We’ve never discussed marriage.”

“But of course you dream of marrying him. What woman wouldn’t?”

Jackie put the half-eaten pastry on the dessert plate before her. “Is it because I was a centerfold or because I’m Eurasian?”

“Everything matters, of course. But surely you must know … Stefano can only marry someone of his own class.” The Senora took a skinny, brown Gauloise out of a gold cigarette case, tapped it on the cover and lit it. All the while, the Senora’s unblinking eyes stayed on Jackie.

“He’s the oldest and heir to everything,” she continued after she took a quick puff. “He must produce heirs with the proper background. Things are different in Europe. We are not as egalitarian as Americans.”

Jackie didn’t want to admit she didn’t know what egalitarian meant, especially since English was her first language and not the Senora’s. “Why didn’t Stefano tell me himself?”

“Because, my dear,” Senora tapped ashes from her Gauloise on a crystal ashtray. “Stefano never does. He’s like a child in a candy store. He’s so busy gorging himself on candy he fails to think about what happens later. I’m sorry. But someone has to tell you the truth.” She waved her thin, brown cigarette in the air. “He should have told you himself, but I’m afraid my son breaks hearts rather carelessly.”