TroubleinParadise (5 page)

“You okay, baby?” he asked.

“I’m better than okay. I got it. I got the idea.”

Desperate to document the design before she lost it in her
drunken haze, she dashed off for her sketchbook.

Hector sat back in his chair and studied Clarissa’s design.
A rub of his stubbly chin, then a sigh.

He hates it
, Clarissa worried, preparing to be
leveled. What did she expect? She’d thrown the project proposal together early
this morning while battling a fierce hangover.

He put down the papers and took off his glasses. “I like it.
Nice idea.”

“Really?”

“Really. I love it. The design, the title, the philosophy
behind it. I’m impressed, Clarissa.”

He probably wouldn’t be as impressed if he’d known how she’d
come up with the idea, but who cared—a flash of brilliance was a flash of
brilliance no matter the origin.

She’d designed a six-foot banyan tree, the trunks, branches
and leaves to be cast from bronze. The long, open-air roots that dropped from
the branches would be made of strands of keys linked together by rings. The
banyan, not indigenous to Hawaii, symbolized the various cultures that had come
to the islands and put down roots. The keys worked in three ways―one, to evoke
the idea of opening doors, two, giving the piece the function as a musical
instrument since the strands could be strummed to make a sparkling, chime-like
sound, and three, as a visual pun for the musical meaning of the word “key”.
The title of the piece echoed this double entendre—
In Key
.

First obstacle cleared, she faced the task of finding funds
to bring her genius idea into reality. One worry at a time. Still, she couldn’t
help but think that Mika wouldn’t be happy about such a large withdrawal from
their savings. The condo-and-baby fund. The sacred cow. But somehow she’d have
to convince him.

This could be her big break, not unlike when he’d taken a
pay cut to migrate from a line chef position at a mid-quality chain restaurant
to that of prep cook at the resort. In the long run, the swanky hotel offered
him more training and a more aggressive platform on which to make his mark.

Tough competition marked the battle for culinary supremacy
in the islands. His innovations were more likely to be noticed in a gourmet
kitchen than a place that defrosted much of its menu. This was her
haute
cuisine
. He’d have to understand.

Mika’s entire clan had descended on Kailua Beach. There were
more aunties, uncles, cousins, parents, grandparents and great-grandparents
than Clarissa could shake a stick at.

The picnic tables overflowed with salads, grilled fish,
sashimi, sliced fruit and of course the star of the show, the kalua pig. Mika
had traded shifts with a coworker to attend the gathering. Clarissa hadn’t yet
worked up the courage to broach the topic of her sculpture budget with him, but
watching him clown around with his brothers and sisters, a beer in one hand,
barbecue chicken leg in the other, she thought he looked more relaxed than
she’d seen him in ages.

“He one good-looking boy, isn’t he?” Mika’s mother nudged
her, handing off a dish of macaroni salad.

“That he is, Momma Na’ilah. You make beautiful babies.”
Clarissa made room for the umpteenth salad.

“When you two going to make some beautiful babies?” Tutu
Lelani, Mika’s grandmother, arched an eyebrow.

“Soon.”

“You keep sayin’. You two having trouble…you know?”

Both women looked at Clarissa expectantly as if ready to
dole out sex advice. Her throat constricted to the point of choking her, but
Clarissa forced a smile on her face. “No, no trouble with that. Thanks.”

“’Course not.” Na’ilah went back to arranging the food. “I
bet he like his father. Sex, sex, sex all the time. Why you think I have so
many kids?”

The women dissolved into giggles.

This wasn’t happening. Clarissa was not going to discuss her
love life with her in-laws, much less listen to stories about theirs.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Where’s Sione?”

At this Na’ilah’s face pinched into a scowl. “Dat boy. He
stood up my hair stylist’s sister’s daughter last night. I worked for weeks to
set up that date. I don’t even want to talk about it. He knows better than to
show up today.”

“Oh.” Clarissa nodded, simultaneously relieved and
disappointed that Sione would not be making an appearance.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of food, music and
“talking story”—the tradition of connecting with the family, sharing one’s
triumphs and tribulations, listening to tales one had heard a thousand times,
but which bore repeating to keep the legends alive. It was one of the many
things Clarissa loved about Mika’s family. No one buried their nose in their
iPad or smartphone. They all gathered, laughing or even arguing, but they did
it as a family. Together.

Mika and Clarissa stole a moment to themselves, watching the
sun move lower in the perfectly blue sky.

“You been distracted all day. You okay?” Mika asked.

“Yeah. I just need to talk to you about my piece for the
competition. Hector loves the idea.”

“Great. We’ll chat when we get home.” He kissed her cheek,
letting his mouth meander to her lips. “Too bad I have to go to work tonight.
We could stay for the night, slip away to one of the dunes…”

As he nuzzled her neck, his lips and tongue brushed over
sensitive skin, giving her shivers.

Momma Na’ilah’s voice interrupted his momentum.

“Der you are. Don’t mean to butt in. I packed you some
plates fo’ take wit’ you.”

“Thanks.” He nodded. “Sorry, I have to get to the resort.”

“You work too hard.” She cupped her son’s face in her hands.

“I know, Mom. But that’s what youth is for.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Then the woman engulfed Clarissa in a bear hug. Na’ilah
smelled of plumerias and ti leaves. “Thanks for taking care of our boy.”

“I try.”

Once they got home, Clarissa laid out her plans for the
banyan tree piece and, as she’d expected, Mika was not pleased.

“No way, Kala. It’s not like you’re even guaranteed a spot.
We could fork out all this money for nothing.” He shook his head and leaned
against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, it’s not like the piece would just evaporate. The
bronze I can reuse if the piece is a failure. But who’s to say that someone
else wouldn’t buy it? A private collector or another gallery. Besides, I’m
going to win the competition so your point is moot.”

“It’s not that I think you can’t win, but you can’t control
what the board is going to find appealing. You’ve said yourself that jury
selections don’t always come down to the quality of the art. There are a lot of
other considerations.”

“Hector thinks I have a good shot.”

“Hector has to tell you that. He’s your adviser. It’s his
job to encourage you.”

“I was under the impression encouragement is part of your
job description as well.”

Mika let out a heavy sigh. “It is. You know I support you,
but this is too much money. You’ve allotted fifteen hundred for key blanks
alone. Fifteen hundred for key blanks, Kala. That’s not something you can reuse
if the sculpture doesn’t fly.”

“Think of it this way, we can make lots of copies of the
house key when we buy a home.”

Her attempt at a joke fell flat.

“Listen,” she switched tactics, “when I win the competition,
we’ll be reimbursed for the cost of supplies, plus twenty grand. That’s a damn
fine down payment on a condo.”

“If. The keyword there is ‘if’.”

“You really have no faith in me, do you?”

“It’s not you I don’t have faith in. It’s that the decision
is out of your control. And you’ve got some pretty stiff competition.”

“So, what, exactly are you saying? That you think Sione’s a
better artist than I am?”

“That’s not what I said. His work is different. But you have
to think about the fact that he’s local.”

“I see. Just because I’m a
haole
, I won’t win?”

“Sometimes it’s like that and you know it, Kala.”

“But that’s the whole point of the piece—the outside
cultures that have taken root here, that brought their arts and traditions
here. That’s the beauty of Hawaii today. It’s a true melting pot.”

“And maybe the Arts board doesn’t want to celebrate outside
cultures.”

Clarissa slammed a hand on the counter. “That’s the whole
fucking point of the Performing Arts Center. Theater, music and dance from
Polynesia, Asia, Puerto Rico, Portugal, all the arts of the people who call
Hawaii home.”

“Let’s just drop it for now, okay? We’re getting all worked
up and we don’t know if it’ll fly. Let’s see how the scale model works out and
we’ll go forward from there.”

“And once again you dictate when we’re finished discussing
something.” She set her jaw.

“What else do we have to talk about?”

“Nothing.” She snatched up her purse. “Nothing at all.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” The front door slammed behind her.

She stomped up the sidewalk to Koko Head Avenue, the main
street that cut through Kaimuki. This area of Honolulu had an old-time feel,
many of the buildings and storefronts art deco in design. Mom-and-pop
businesses stood shoulder to shoulder with a couple national chains, but the
franchises were few and far between. Located behind Diamond Head with no beach
in the immediate vicinity, the neighborhood was ignored by tourists and
corporations alike.

On the corner near their apartment, a little bar called Pau
Hana made a mean vodka martini. The décor played into every hackneyed tropical
stereotype. From the inflatable palm trees in each corner to the paper lanterns
and flowery garland strung around the perimeter of the ceiling, the place had
been her and Mika’s hangout since they’d moved into the neighborhood. The
desire to brood alone pulled her inside.

She swung open the heavy wooden door and headed for a
barstool. The bartender, Jared, waved to her. Without exchanging a word, he
mixed Ketel One with the tiniest splash of vermouth and garnished it with a
twist of lemon.

Clarissa gave him a weak smile and ten dollars. “Thanks.”

“You look like you need ’em.”

Wasn’t that the truth? She sipped at her drink and tried to
clear her head. Mika would come around. He always did. At least she hoped he
would. What was with him and his freaking obsession to buy into the American
dream? Clarissa didn’t care if they ever bought a home. Not to mention they
were both in their twenties. What was the rush to start a family? Plenty of
time to put off all that responsibility, at least for a little while longer.

Exhausted by the same old outrage swimming around her brain,
she dug change out of her purse and put a few songs on the jukebox.

“Kala, Kala.” A familiar voice behind her drew her
attention.

No. No, no, no! Why is he here?
Her stomach clenched,
her posture stiffening at the sound of his rich baritone.

“Hey, Sione,” she replied without turning around.

“Somebody’s in a bad mood. What happened?”

“Your cousin’s an ass sometimes, that’s what happened.”

“Ah. I coulda told you that. Come on, I’ll buy you another
drink.”

She made her last play selection and headed to Sione’s
booth, collecting her martini along the way.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Getting over a bad night.”

“I heard Na’ilah’s none too happy with you.”

“
Auwe
. Auntie keeps pushing these girls on me. I
never ask her fo’ set me up. Why she gets so bent out of shape when I don’t
wanna go?”

“Yeah, well, I’m just a walking uterus, so…”

Sione took a gulp of beer and studied the table. “What you
and Mika beefing about now?”

“Same argument, different twist. I wanted to take some money
out of savings for my Performing Arts piece and he doesn’t want to dip into the
precious ‘Enslave Clarissa Fund’.”

“Why you call it that?”

“You’re not dumb, Sione. You know once we start having kids
and doing the family thing, my options will be vastly pared back. Mika will
still be free to make his mark on the world, but I won’t. I’ll be expected to
stay at home with the rug rats all day, doing laundry and dishes and changing
diapers. I’m not ready for that right now.”

“But you want kids one day?”

“One day, sure.”

“Didn’t you talk about all this before you got married?”

Clarissa rubbed her forehead and took a sip from her drink.
“Yes. We did, but I suppose we weren’t specific enough about it. I told him I
wanted to wait a little while before we have children. And he agreed. I guess
our definition of ‘a little while’ differs.”

“You guys been married for three years.”

“Don’t you start with the shit too.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Nah, nah, nah. I get
what you’re saying. It’s the same reason I don’t want to get married in the
first place. All that responsibility. No, thanks.”

The Patti LaBelle song she’d chosen,
If You Don’t Know Me
by Now
, came on. How many times had her mother sobbed into a glass of Jack
and Coke listening to Patti croon? Softly, Clarissa sang along, thinking the
songstress made an excellent point. If Mika didn’t know her by now, he would
never, never, never know her. Ooh, ooh, oooooh.

Sione played the clown, lip-syncing the words of the song
and got to his feet. “Come, sistah. We dance.”

“No. I don’t feel like it.”

“Come on. Don’t make me bust out
fa’ataupati
up here
by myself. You know I will.” He started to smack his chest and thighs, a wicked
grin on his face.

“Christ, stop it. I don’t even see how you could do a slap
dance to this song.”

“Then you better get up and dance with me.”

People around the bar had begun to stare at them. Not that
it mattered to Sione, but Clarissa wanted to sink into the sticky carpet and
disappear.

“Fine.” She pushed her way out of the booth. “Just stop
acting like an idiot.”

He held out his arms in a proper slow dance posture. She
shook her head and took hold of his hands. Surprised at how well he led, she
allowed him to sweep her around the small dance floor.

The heat radiating from his broad chest filled her nostrils
with his fragrance—a mixture of sporty deodorant, spicy body wash and his
natural scent that was similar to Mika’s but different. While Mika’s skin
smelled warm and strong, like brown sugar or coffee, there was a decadent undertone
to Sione’s body chemistry. Like cinnamon or cardamom. Both pleasant, but one
more sinful than the other.

Banishing thoughts about Mika, she rode along on the warmth
of Sione’s embrace…and the heat building between her legs. The slow pulse of
arousal matched the easy beat of the song. The pounding of her sex intensified
with every measure. Why did he have to feel so damn good? Why was she feeling
this way? Tears of frustration flooded her eyes but she blinked them away.

Acting on an impulse she knew she should fight, Clarissa
leaned her spinning head against Sione. He didn’t rebuff or scold her. His
heart pounded. She closed her eyes and tried to block out thoughts of anything
but here and now. His body heat enveloped her and she imagined the two of them
intertwined, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, his cock filling her. Would she find
peace then? She knew the answer to that question, but railed against it.

The peace she sought didn’t come. It would never come. His
heartbeat tapped out the wrong rhythm, his scent was all wrong. This was
nowhere she could hide, nowhere to find shelter. Instead, uneasiness prickled
at the back of her neck as though trimmings from a haircut had fallen down the
back of her collar.

She looked up at Sione. He grinned down at her, the picture
of a nervous schoolboy at the homecoming dance, his palms a little moist.

“Kala?” another voice came from behind her. She turned to
see Mika’s face. Written across it were lines of worry. “I looked for you at
your studio and at the Gardens. This was my last guess. Lucky for me I guessed
right.”

Her once-heated blood now turned to ice water though her
cheeks felt as though they’d caught fire. Jesus fucking Christ, what was she
doing? Shame clawed at her heart. But it was just a dance…wasn’t it? Nothing
bad had happened. Only in her mind and that could happen anywhere…couldn’t it?