Honolulu (35 page)

“I’d give anything to have that football scholarship you had, Joe,” I told him. “If you don’t use it, maybe I will.”

Joe laughed. “I’d pay good money, Auntie, to see you make the starting kick against the Micks.”

We all had a good laugh at the image of little me wearing Joe’s enormous football jersey, and then I moved on to the children’s table, making sure the keiki had adequate supplies of hamburgers and ice cream. Harry and Woodrow, each seven years old, were now the best of pals-they spent endless days together at the beach, swimming like fishes and bodysurfing under the tutelage of Panama and Tarball. I was happy to see Grace talking animatedly with Tamiko’s son Jiro-my daughter was slowly outgrowing her painful shyness-even as I was unhappy to have to inform Charlie that ice cream was not to be used as a hair tonic, as he seemed to have convinced Wise Pearl’s youngest son, Louis. After taking away Charlie’s dessert and washing out Louis’s hair in the kitchen, I was finally able to sit down and join my fellow picture brides at the next table.

Beauty was still moping over Panama: “I just don’t understand it,” she insisted. “He was always so happy to see me-right up till the day he didn’t want to see me anymore.” She burst into tears, not for the first time that day.

Wise Pearl patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “None of this is your doing. He is just not the kind of a man to settle down, at least not yet.”

“I thought that would change,” Beauty said despondently.

Jade Moon took a swallow of the bootleg “Hawaiian moonshine” that Steamboat had brought, and spoke up.

“With all respect,” she said, “why should it change?”

Beauty blinked in surprise. “What?”

“The man practically lives on the most beautiful beach in Hawai’i, is paid hundred-dollar tips for making rich men laugh, has love affairs with beautiful wahines from the mainland, and gets tipped for that, too! Why should he change? And where might Iapply for such a position?”

Beauty said in a small voice, “I thought he would change for me.”

Jade Moon emptied her drink and sighed. “Your problem,” she said emphatically, “is that you are a romantic. You think love will solve everything, when in fact it rarely solves anything. My God-you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, you could have your pick of any man in Hawai’i. And who do you pick? The one least likely to become a husband! Why, if I looked like you, I would be married to a millionaire!”

Her voice was loud, as usual. I glanced over at the next table, where our husbands were chatting, unmindful of what was being discussed at the women’s table. “Mr. Ha might fail to appreciate that remark,” I said.

Jade Moon laughed shortly. “Mr. Ha induced me to Hawai’i with claims of being an affluent man, even as our friend’s late husband purported to be young and virile, and not the withered old mummy that he was. We were all lied to, or have you forgotten? What was so romantic about that?”

“Our lives might have been even worse,” Wise Pearl pointed out, “had we stayed in Korea.”

“Of course-in Korea we would have been bartered like chattel to the best marriage prospects our parents could find for us. This is my whole point! Here, we have say over who we will marry. Here we have that power. Use it!” she urged Beauty. “Use it to better your lot in life, as our clans would have married us off to better themselves.”

Beauty looked quietly thoughtful. As cold and calculating as jade Moon’s argument was, I could not rebut it on the facts.

“Do you not have wealthy men come into your barbershop?” she asked Beauty. “Do any of them ever ask you out?”

“Some do.”

“Have you accepted any of these invitations?”

“A few.” She shrugged. “I just haven’t felt anything. No … tingle.”

Jade Moon rolled her eyes. “Tingle? A bee sting tingles. Take my advice: Forget about romance! Find a wealthy man who will provide for you and your daughter, while you’re still young and beautiful enough to attract one.

Beauty thought about that some more, then slowly nodded.

“Perhaps you are right,” she said. “What has romance done for me? The first man I loved gave me a baby but no marriage, and the next one gave me even less than that.”

“Now, wait …” I started to say.

With surprising vehemence Beauty said, “No! She is right. Men will not always look favorably upon me. I should use the blessings God has given me to my advantage, while I still can. Do they not say it is as easy to marry a rich man as a poor one?” She turned to jade Moon. “Thank you for your advice. I will strive to be a new woman-the kind of woman you would be in my place.”

I shuddered a little at the thought, but I confess that I did not take Beauty’s pronouncement very seriously-not even as jade Moon began earnestly counseling her on how best to ascertain a prospective husband’s assets. I knew that Beauty often tacked into the wind like a swift but rudderless sampan, and when the wind shifted direction a few minutes later, so would she.

As proud as I was of the success of the Liliha Cafe, it was my husband’s dream, not mine; and after six years of cooking, cleaning, and waiting tables, I was growing weary of the restaurant business. Jae-sun truly loved devising new recipes and new menu items, but for me creative expression came rarely these days, as when I would sew a new tablecloth, a new dress for Grace, or a pair of trousers for Harold. In truth, I missed my job at Mr. Ku’uana’s tailor shop: I missed working with needle and thread, the challenges that walked into the shop every day, the almost hypnotic tattoo of the sewing machine as it stitched.

I admitted as much to Jae-sun who, far from taking offense, pointed out that we now employed two kitchen staff and two full-time waitresses, and any of the latter could easily take on my hostess duties as well. “Why not open a little shop of your own,” he suggested, “and take in some work as a seamstress?” This possibility had not even crossed my mind-I had been thinking merely of asking Mr. Ku’uana for my old job back, if only part-time. But Jae-sun noted, “This way you can set your own hours.”

He suggested I open from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, which would allow me more than enough time to cook supper for the children, assist them with their homework, and tuck them into bed, while Jae-sun and his staff readied the restaurant for opening. I found myself growing excited at the idea, more excitement than I had felt in some time.

I borrowed a little money from the kye, enough for a rental deposit on a small shop on King Street, with just enough room for a counter, a sewing machine, an ironing board, and a small cutting table. It was situated next door to a dry-goods store, C. K. Chow’s, which specialized in imported fabrics from Japan and China. I reasoned that the nearness to such a store might send some business my way, and I turned out to be right.

Like so many girls in Korea, my shop was nameless: I merely stenciled the words
TAILOR
SHOP
onto the front window and opened my doors for business. At first my customers consisted entirely of friends from church. However, my proximity to Chow’s store soon yielded customers who came in with fine European broadcloth to be made into shirts, or colorful Japanese yukata fabric to be fashioned into a kimono. It would be a while before I earned enough to pay the full rent on the shop, but even so I was content to sit at my sewing machine for hours, keeping one eye on little Charlie playing with his toys behind the counter, interrupted only by the chime of the door as someone entered the shop.

I was surprised to find that many of the patrons of Chow’s store were not just Japanese and Chinese, but well-to-do haole ladies from the Nu’uanu or Manoa valleys who appreciated “Oriental fabrics.” One who wandered into my shop early on was a Mrs. Quigley, a handsome woman in her fifties, impeccably attired in a white shirt-waisted dress and a lauhala sunbonnet. (Close-fitting cloche hats were all the rage on the mainland then, but in Hawai’i the bright tropical sun necessitated something more practical.)

“I usually go to Musa-Shiya,” she told me, referring to the well-known tailor and clothier farther down King Street, “but I had a bit of a tiff with Mr. Miyamoto over some silk pajamas and Mr. Chow says you’ve done fine work for other customers of his.”

“He is too kind.”

Mrs. Quigley showed me some fine white China silk, which she desired to be made into a holoku for her daughter’s evening wear. “She says she’s bored to death of these old-fashioned Mother Hubbards, as she persists in calling them, and asked if there’s any way I might-quote unquote-‘jazz it up a little.’” She rolled her eyes. “God forbid anything these days isn’t jazzy enough. I suppose I should be grateful she doesn’t want one of those flapper dresses with their hemlines somewhere north of modesty yet south of complete disrepute.”

I smiled. “Ah, but the two styles have much in common. Both are simple shifts-no cinching at the waist. Now, I have seen holokus with short sleeves, or no sleeves, like the flapper dresses …” I drew a tubular shape on a sheet of writing paper, sketching in sleeves that ended just below the shoulder. “I have even seen them without the yoke. If we do away with that, and lower the neckline a bit …”

Mrs. Quigley nodded, intrigued.

“Hmm,” she said judiciously, “why don’t we make that … two `bits’?”

I looked up at her, surprised.

“My daughter has a good bosom. And I do hope to see her married someday.” She gave me a wink. I liked this amusing old haole woman.

“We could add some ruffles along the neckline,” I suggested, “make them look like a lei, very Hawaiian …”

“Yes, that’s quite nice. But I must ask you, dear: Have you worked with Chinese silk before?”

I wanted to say, “Yes indeed, I dressed some of the most fashionable ladies at Iwilei,” but wisely left it at, “Yes indeed.”

Mrs. Quigley “sized me up,” smiled, and nodded.

“All right, then,” she said. “I like the cut of your jib. Have at it!”

“Have at it” I did. I put more work into that holoku than anything I had ever sewn-hand-gathering the stitches, carefully fashioning a necklace of wide ruffles that looked something like a feather lei. I was quite proud of the finished product, and I had to admit: I was enjoying myself immensely.

Not long afterward, at our next kye meeting, held at my home, Beauty startled us all when she casually announced, “One of my customers, a man of considerable means, has asked me to marry him.”

I looked at her in surprise. “I did not know you were seeing someone.”

“I have only been out with him once.”

“And he has already asked you to marry him?” Wise Pearl said.

“He has, and what’s more, I have said yes.”

“What!” I cried. “You’re joking.”

“I have never been more serious in my life,” Beauty said.

“Now just a moment,” Jade Moon said. “How can you be sure, after only one meeting-”

I was surprised but relieved that jade Moon’s would turn out to be a voice of reason.

“-that he truly is a man of means?”

Truly, would I never learn better?

“He has been a customer for some time, and owns a jewelry shop on Merchant Street,” Beauty said excitedly. “He says I may pick out any ring in his store for my engagement!”

“Does he own a home?” Jade Moon asked.

“A beautiful one, near Punchbowl Hill.”

“How old is he?” Wise Pearl inquired.

“He is forty-two, and widowed. One son.”

“So you have known him a while,” I said. “Is he handsome? Funny?”

“He is neither handsome nor homely,” Beauty replied with seeming indifference. “And I cannot think of a single amusing thing he has said. In the past I put great stock in such things, and where has it gotten me?”

“He does not make you-`tingle’?” Jade Moon said mockingly.

“The rings in his store make me tingle,” Beauty said with a sly smile,

drawing a laugh from jade Moon. Beauty giggled, and their shared laughter sent a chill through my bones.

Wise Pearl said dryly, “Would it be beside the point to ask his name?”

“He is from the Ko clan of Seoul. A prosperous clan.”

I persisted in my foolish queries. “Is he at least a good father?”

This seemed to sober Beauty and she replied sharply, “I would not have accepted if I did not think he would make a good father to Mary. She is the reason I am doing this.” She turned to jade Moon. “Do you approve of my choice?”

Jade Moon bowed her head. “I could not have made a better one myself.” Then she shocked us all by asking, “Have you shared a bed with this man?”

Beauty blushed fiercely. “No!”

“Good. Keep it so, until you are married. He is not the only one with baubles to bestow.”

By Heaven, I should have thrown her over the side of the Nippon Maru when I had the chance!

“How old is this boy of his?” Jade Moon asked.

“Ten years-why?”

“Good, he’s young. Ingratiate yourself with him. Do not let him turn against you as your first husband’s sons did.”

My face felt flush with anger.

Beauty said, “I had not considered that. You are wise.”

I waited until Beauty had left before I confronted jade Moon. “What kind of friend is it,” I snapped, “who would teach a lovelorn girl to love only money?”

“What kind of friend,” she retorted, “would have her waste her life on men who will never marry her or provide for her comfort? All I’m doing is turning her mind to more practical considerations.”

“You are turning her into a conniving shrew!”

“She is simply recognizing her assets at long last, and exploiting them. Just because you married for love does not mean Beauty should, too. She can do much better than you”-she added quickly, “or I.”

Her words inflamed my old insecurities like a poke to a forgotten wound.

Losing my temper, I yelled, “Leave my home!”

Jade Moon opened her mouth to say something, but before she could I repeated, “Get out!”

Realizing the depth of my anger, and perhaps too the line she had crossed, jade Moon quickly left. I would not speak to her again until the next meeting of the kye, and even then, only barely.

Mrs. Quigley so loved the holoku I made for her daughter that she gave me several other bits of piecework to do. When I completed these to her satisfaction, she asked if I might be able to come work for her at her home one day a week, doing everything from sewing together whole shirts to darning socks to mending ladies’ unmentionables. This was a not uncommon arrangement for such affluent haole women-they called themselves kama’aina, Hawaiian for “native born,” though the term had come to be regarded as synonymous with haoles descended from the first missionary families. For one day’s work, she offered to pay me enough to cover my shop’s rent for a week-so, of course, I agreed.