Chapter 23 Humble Pie

By the first light of dawn Sunday, I’d made up my mind to have a talk with Esther. It couldn’t wait. I had to catch her before the HandiVan picked her up at eight for her ride to church. At seven-thirty I made the twenty-yard walk to her front door, prepared to eat humble pie. Peeking through the kitchen window there was no sign of her, but the remnants of her breakfast littered the table.  

I gave a tentative knock. “Esther? It’s Lillian.”

“The door’s open,” she called from somewhere in the depths of her condo. “C’mon on in.”

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Water ran in the bathroom sink.

Esther appeared. She wore a purple skirt and jacket that were a size too small, offset by a necklace of fat lavender beads and matching earrings. “I’m just getting’ ready to leave for church,” she said.

 “I’m really sorry to bother you. I won’t take much of your time. I just really wanted to apologize for last night.”

“There’s no need—”

“Yes, Esther. There is. You invited me to your Bible study. I’m the newcomer here—a guest, really. I meant no disrespect, but I’m afraid I was disrespectful of your beliefs. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, though her voice and expression said otherwise.

“You are one of the dearest people I’ve ever met. You’re the one person here who’s gone out of your way to make me feel welcome. I’m afraid I ruined your Bible study.”

A slight smile played on her lips. “You certainly did put a new spin on an old story, one we’ve had told to us in Sunday school since the age of two.” She finally met my eyes. “Are you serious—Adam had a first wife and they broke up because she didn’t want to have sex in the missionary position?”

I allowed myself a laugh. “It’s one of the racier stories in Jewish folklore. You’ve heard of Lilith, haven’t you?”

“I’ve probably heard the name, but until last night I’d had no idea who she was.”

“Lilith is mentioned throughout literature. Even once in the Bible, in the book of Isaiah.  She’s a she-demon, the wife of Satan.”

Esther’s eyes grew large. Her hands waved in front of her face as if to ward something off. “Oh please, no. Uh uh. Don’t go there.”

“Back in New York, I enjoyed the Torah studies at my temple. We would embark on heated discussions in which we questioned traditional interpretations of the Bible—even questioned the existence of God. Debate was not only encouraged, it was expected.”

“Christians are different.” She looked at me. “My daddy was a preacher.”

“I had no idea.”

She nodded slowly, as if remembering. “In my church, when I was growing up, no deviation from the written word was ever allowed. We were taught that God revealed the one and only true interpretation of His word to our spiritual leaders, who then interpreted it for us. Anyone who questioned them was said to be possessed by demons. The few times someone dared challenge the leader’s understanding of scripture, the congregation would wrestle him—or her—to the floor and cast the demons out.”

“You witnessed this. As a child.”

“Yes.”

“You grew up conditioned not to question.”

“I grew up in fear.”

Esther found her purse and checked its contents. She grabbed her Bible. “Thank you for coming here to clear things up, Lillian.”

I nodded. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

“You’re coming to water aerobics tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“After last night, I’m not at all sure I’d be welcome.”

She paused. “How should I say this? If you want to be accepted here at Kon Tiki, and I know you do, you’re gonna have to put forth the effort—”

“I have tried. You know I have.”

“Sometimes it’s best to play along.”

***

Filtered afternoon sunlight made its way through the half-closed blinds, throwing slatted shadows across my bedroom. I gazed at the woman on the ceiling. I could swear she’d aged since we last talked, just two days ago. She smiled down at me—pityingly, it seemed.

“Esther’s right,” I told her, with a deep sigh. “The problem is, all my life I’ve been  a failure at ‘playing along.’ As much as I want to fit in, I always manage to say or do something that sets me apart from the crowd. Usually, that something is met with disapproval. I mean, I was the blonde, blue-eyed girl who ran off and married an African man. How’s that for not playing the popularity game? I didn’t do it for shock value, I did it because I fell in love with him. But back then, in the 1950’s, it made me a pariah. Even my own parents didn’t come to see me off when I got on the train that would take me across the country to New York, to get on a cargo ship headed for Ghana.”

I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, remembering the hopes and dreams of a twenty-year-old bride-to-be. The very real fears of what awaited me as a white woman on the Dark Continent weren’t enough to dampen my spirit of adventure as I stood at the railing of the ship watched the United States grow smaller and smaller, until it wasn’t even a speck on the horizon.

In spite of my strong individualistic streak, I still wanted to belong, even here at Kon-Tiki Sands. But so far I’d proven myself lousy at fitting in. Maybe that was my fault. Apart from Esther, and perhaps Kaulana, I didn’t really care for this group of women. They seemed so cliquish, so petty and gossipy. I had nothing in common with most of them.

Could my days at Kon Tiki Sands be numbered?

I gave up on napping and climbed off the bed. Making my way through the living room, I stood by the window. My gaze fell on the heart-shaped hot tub, just visible beyond the yellow ginger, and my resolve strengthened. Pearl had been a rebel, much like me. I was the one who found her body, and I felt I owed it to her to find out what happened to her on that fateful night.

 

Chapter 22 Bible study

 

Saturday night, the tight circle of women barely fit in Esther’s small living room. Kaulana took my left hand in hers, Coralee held my right. Eyes closed, murmurings of Thank you Jesus, Thank you Father, Praise your name, and Hallelujah rose from the group.

I cracked one eyelid. Everyone was there. Well, everyone but Arnie and Romy. Later I’d have to remember to ask Esther if Pearl had attended the Bible studies. Somehow I imagined she was more the type to go out dancing on a Saturday night than to pursue spiritual enavors.

The words of praise rose to a crescendo, finally fell to a whisper, and died away.

Esther said, “Kaulana, would you lead us in prayer?”

“Dear heavenly father,” Kaulana began. “Thank you for allowing us to come together once again in fellowship. We thank you for bringing our new sister Lillian into our midst.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Guide Esther as she leads us in the study of your word. I ask this in the name of our lord Jesus. Amen.”

There was a chorus of amens, and the women dropped hands.  Coralee, Tiare, and Violet sat on the sofa. Kaulana wedged herself into a tufted armchair. Mae, Sylvie, and I brought dining chairs from the kitchen. Francesca was the only one who sat on the floor, crossing her legs Indian-style, her Bible in her lap.

Esther reigned over all, queen-like, on her red velour recliner. “This week we are gonna start a new study,” she announced, holding up a paperback book. “Women of the Bible.”

There were nods and murmurs of assent around the room.

“Tonight, of course, we’re gonna to start at the beginning with Eve, the first woman God created. Everyone open your Bibles, and we will read Genesis chapter one, starting at verse twenty-six. Who would like to go first?”

Pages fluttered. Tiare began, ^“Then God said, ‘Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness. So that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground. So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.’”

She continued to the end of chapter one. Coralee began with chapter two. Mae, and then Violet, finished the chapter.

“Lillian, would you like to read the first part of chapter three?” Esther asked.

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t bring a bible.”

The women gaped at me. Who comes to a Bible study without a Bible? I had one somewhere among the books I’d shipped from New York. If I was going to continue coming to these weekly studies I’d better dig it out.

Sylvie set her bible on my lap.

“Thank you—let me find my glasses.” I rummaged in my purse, found my reading glasses. Chapter three told about the serpent tempting the woman to eat the forbidden fruit, and how she, in turn, gave some of the fruit to Adam. And he ate.

I passed the Bible back to Sylvie and she picked up where I’d left off.

While Francesca continued the reading in her thick accent, my thoughts began to stray, as they often do, of their own accord.

I’d been living at Kon Tiki eight days now. Already I’d discovered some of these women’s secrets. The police were treating Pearl’s death as a random killing, but what if it wasn’t? Was it possible one of these women knew more than they were saying?

Certainly not Kaulana, in her sweeping mu‘umu‘u, sweet-smelling flowers adorning her silver hair. She’d been off-island when Pearl was killed. And half-potted Sylvie? There was no telling what went on in that head of hers. There was the obvious ringleader, the elegant, aloof, and sometimes disdainful Tiare. The woman rolled up her boobs like a pair of socks, and I suspected she put Esther up to buying her Depends. What else was Tiare hiding? Francesca, the hardy German, roamed the complex during the wee hours in an Ambien trance, clutching a baby doll to her chest. Mae, whose girlish behavior was certainly compensating for something, entertained a male visitor in her condo. Coralee, the exercise fanatic who’d lost half her bodyweight, was rumored to give herself diarrhea to stay thin. Rumored, that is, by Violet who was a toxic gossip.

Even good-natured Esther, with her open smile and ready laugh, must have her secrets. We all do. There isn’t a person alive, no matter how honest, who doesn’t have something to hide. Every single one of us lies about something.

Esther set her Bible aside and opened the study book. She pulled out a page of handwritten notes and began a discourse on Eve, the first woman. Through Eve, sin entered the world, and she became the mother of us all.

A lively discussion on original sin ensued. After a while, Francesca rose stiffly and excused herself. She made her way across the living room, into the hall, and entered the bathroom. The door closed. Over the noise of conversation, I heard the toilet flush. Water ran in the sink.

The bathroom door opened and Francesca emerged. She paused to study a painting that hung in the hallway. She glanced quickly at the women in the living room. I averted my gaze, but could still see Francesca out of the corner of my eye. Apparently satisfied no one was watching, Francseca reached for the painting and tilted it, ever so slightly. She came back to the living room and resumed her seat on the floor.  

I remembered finding the painting behind my couch slightly tilted. It had to be Francesca’s doing. When had she done it—and why?

Esther’s voice broke through my musings. “Lillian?”

“Sorry—what?”

“Any thoughts on today’s Bible story?”

I hadn’t been paying attention to the discussion, and spoke on the fly. “Well, I do think it’s interesting that there seem to be two different stories in the Bible about the creation of woman.”

Esther’s forehead scrunched. “What do you mean?”

I borrowed Sylvie’s bible again. “You see here, in Genesis one, verse twenty-seven, on the sixth day of creation, it says God created them, two humans, male and female. Then on the seventh day he rested. Then, in chapter two, after creation was complete, God saw that Adam was alone and needed a companion. That’s when God put Adam into a deep sleep and created a woman from Adam’s rib. According to Jewish folklore, the woman God created in chapter one was Adam’s first wife, Lilith. Adam and Lilith were created at the same time, in the same way, from the earth. They were equals. Lilith refused to be subservient to Adam—really, tradition says she refused to have sex in the missionary position.” A glance around at the women told me I had their rapt attention. “Adam tried to force Lilith. She fought him, and fled the garden. It was after that, in chapter two, that God created another woman from Adam’s rib, so she would be submissive. It’s said that Lilith returned to the garden in the shape of a serpent, and tempted Adam’s second wife—her replacement—with the forbidden fruit.”

Every one of them gaped at me as if I’d grown horns. Esther squirmed, her mouth working silently. Too late, as usual, I snapped my mouth shut.

“That’s not in the Bible,” Mae said.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t. But it Lilith is an important literary figure—”

“We’re here to discuss the word of God,” Tiare interrupted. “Not literature.”

I nodded and mumbled, “I’m sorry.” Point taken.

The study was over. The women stood and made their way to the kitchen where Esther had a pot of hot water, tea bags, Starbucks instant coffee, cream, and sugar on the counter top. Kaulana uncovered a Bundt cake and set out disposable plates and forks.

No one looked my way as they got their refreshments and resumed their seats in the living room. Mortified, I took a slice of cake and sat on the edge of my hard chair. Quiet small talk broke out around me but I was not included. I tasted the cake. This one was lemon with poppy seeds. It was moist and delicious and melted in my mouth, but I barely noticed. Even Esther, the only friend I’d had among them, avoided eye contact with me.

Everyone behaved as if I’d committed blasphemy. In their minds, no doubt I had. I sensed I’d crossed a line tonight that I may never be able to uncross.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21 Breathe!

 

I settled in with a cup of tea and attempted to bolster my flagging brain cells with the New York Times Saturday crossword. I was on my second cup and halfway through the puzzle when I heard a man’s shout from the direction of the pool. It sounded like, “Breathe!”

I set the newspaper down and listened. All was quiet.

Another shout. “Breathe!” I recognized Romy’s voice.

Dear God, was someone drowning? I grabbed my cane, slipped into my flip flops, and hurried out the door.

“Breathe!”

Through the iron bars of the fence I saw Romy beside the pool. He leaned forward, hands  on hips, and shouted, “Breathe!”

Water splashed. Someone was in the pool. What kind of lifeguard stood on the deck and commanded a drowning person to breathe?

“Breathe!”

I rounded the corner and rushed through the open gate. “Romy! What happened? Is someone drowning?”

“Breathe!” he commanded again, ignoring me.

I hurried to the pool. Arnie was doing a steady freestyle stroke, face in the water.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Breathe!” Romy called out, then turned to me. “I’m helping Arnie do his laps.”

“Huh?”

“Look at his scalp. See how it’s turning red? That means he’s running out of oxygen. Time to remind him to breathe.”

Arnie’s scalp grew redder by the second.

“Hurry—tell him to breathe!” I said.

Romy shouted, “Breathe!”

Arnie’s head turned in time with the stroke of his right arm. He took a deep gulp of air before his face went back into the water.

“He forgets to breathe?” I asked.

“Only when he’s swimming,” Romy said. “Breathe! He can’t concentrate on two things at once.”

“I know he had to go off his medication, but can’t his doctor prescribe something else?”

“Breathe! Arnie says he feels a whole lot better when he’s off the meds. Breathe!”

I could understand that.

The sound of women’s voice made me turn. Coralee, Tiare, and Violet came through the gate with towels and tote bags.

“Oh, hi Lillian,” Coralee said without a smile. At least she was willing to speak to me.

“Good morning, Coralee.” I added, “Tiare, Vee-o-lette.”

Violet gave me a wave. Tiare only tilted her chin and raised her eyebrows.

“Are you here for a swim?” Coralee asked.

“Not today. I just …” How did I explain what had brought me out of my condo?

“She’s probably here to watch Arnie swim,” said Violet.

The three of them fixed me with hard stares.

I said, “I just came by to talk to Romy for a minute.”

They shrugged, turned away. Coralee and Tiare set their things on side-by-side lounge chairs and headed for the pool. Violet settled on another lounge, extended her bird-like legs, and took a bottle of tanning lotion from her bag.

As Coralee descended the steps into the water, it was impossible not to admire her firm figure. While Tiare wasn’t athletic-looking in the way Coralee was, she was also a striking woman. Tall, with wonderful posture and high, firm breasts.

As soon as they cleared the pool stairs, Arnie finished his last lap and climbed up the metal ladder. He grabbed his towel, gave his face and head a brisk rub, and slung the towel around his neck.

“Ladies, I’ll have to hot tub ready for use by tomorrow,” Romy called to us as he and Arnie headed out the gate.

Ever since finding Pearl in the hot tub, I’d avoided looking at it. Now I took a quick glance toward it. The heart-shaped hole in the ground, rimmed by faded red bricks, sat empty, its blue tiles glittering in the sun. “I can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to use it again,” I said to myself.

Violet must have supersonic hearing. “Oh, I know,” she said, peering at me through oversized Prada sunglasses. She wore dangly gold earrings and a shade of coral lipstick that matched her nails. “It’s such a shame Pearl had to die in the hot tub. She really ruined it for the rest of us.”

It seemed a callous thing to say. And yet, I knew what she meant. Sitting in the hot tub had been the one thing I’d most looked forward to when I moved in. I’d indulged in simple fantasies of  warm, tropical evenings enjoying the warm water. Soaking my sore joints, sipping a glass of wine, chatting with the neighbors. “I don’t imagine Pearl’s murderer gave her a choice.”

“Of course you’re right. Come sit by me, Lillian,” Violet offered.

“Oh, I can’t stay—”

“Just for a few minutes? It’s such a lovely morning to be outside.”

It was indeed a lovely morning. It wouldn’t hurt to be a bit friendly, after last night’s fiasco. “Well, okay. Just for a minute.” I settled on the lounge chair next to Violet’s and stretched my legs out. It felt good to take the weight off my knees and feet, though I wished I’d taken the time to grab my sunglasses as I ran out of my condo.

With my hand I shaded my eyes against the sun’s glare and watched the women in the pool. Coralee swam hard, fast laps along one side of the pool, while Tiare floated on her back on the other side, sunglasses protecting her eyes.

“Coralee certainly is athletic,” I observed.

Violet said, “You know, just a few years ago she weighed three hundred pounds.”

“Coralee? You’re kidding me.”

“I am not. Her knees got so bad from all that weight, she needed replacements. The doctor wouldn’t do it unless she lost at least a hundred pounds. So she had belly band surgery, lost more than half her weight, and had both knees replaced.”

“That’s admirable.”

“Oh, she has no discipline at all when it comes to food. She eats anything she wants, then works out like a maniac to make sure she doesn’t gain the weight back. It’s become an obsession.”

“I can think of worse obsessions than staying in shape. I’d love to look like her but I don’t think I could ever be as dedicated as she is.”

Violet let out a huff. “It isn’t like she has much else to do. I mean, there’s no man in her life.”

There was no man in my life, either. Not since Howard died. But I wasn’t going to share such personal information with Violet. “Was Coralee married?

Violet nodded. “She lost her husband ten years ago. Kidney failure.”

“What about kids, grandkids?”

“She’s got four kids and a bunch of grandkids, all living on the mainland. She goes to visit them every Thanksgiving through Christmas.”

“You’d think she’d want to live near them.” I thought of my own daughter and grandson living in England. I supposed, like the rest of us, Coralee had her own reasons for the distance.

Coralee stopped at the shallow end of the pool, pushed up her goggles, and took a drink from her water bottle. It seemed impossible that she’d ever weighed three hundred pounds. There wasn’t a bit of fat on her.

I was about to ask Violet if she had family, when she said, “Whenever we go out to eat, Coralee binges. Then she excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room and purge.”

“You mean she has an eating disorder?”

“Mmm hmm.” Violet smoothed coconut-scented suntan lotion on her arms and hands.

“That can’t be good for her.” I thought about osteoporosis, among other problems it could cause.

“At home she gives herself diarrhea. She’s got laxatives galore in her medicine cabinet, along with ipecac.”

So Violet snooped in her neighbors; medicine cabinets. Another piece of information t file away.

I recalled that was how Karen Carpenter died. Overuse of ipecac, laxatives and God knows what else. Coralee was making a tremendous sacrifice. I no longer envied her slim figure.

Coralee went back to swimming laps. Tiare floated lazily, her large breasts rising out of the water, as brown and firm as coconuts, but a lot less hairy. How amazing that a woman her age had such a youthful silhouette.

“Tiare looks relaxed,” I remarked in an effort to steer the conversation in a positive direction.

“But her boobs aren’t relaxed,” Violet scoffed. “They’re look like two rockets ready to be launched.”

“I’d say she’s lucky. Gravity usually isn’t so kind to women our age.”

“Kind? Her boobs droop to her waist. They’re so empty, she has to roll them up and stuff them into her bra.” Violet demonstrated with a rolling hand motion.

“What?”

“Naked, she looks like those tribal women you see in National Geographic.”

I’d lived over half my life in Africa and found Violet’s ignorant and possibly racial comment appalling. And I felt bad for Tiare. How had Violet managed to see her sans clothing—does she peek in people’s windows? Around here, nothing would surprise me.

Violet rested her head back and closed her eyes, her face to the sun. I took advantage of the moment and took a good look at her body. She was alarmingly thin with knobby joints, jutting collar bones and hips. Apparently she felt that gave her license to make scathing comments about other women’s bodies. I could just imagine what she was saying about mine behind my back.

Coralee couldn’t be blamed for working to maintain her figure. Weighing three hundred pounds, possibly since she was a teenager, had to have been traumatic. Yet the eating disorder—if there even was one—troubled me.

And Tiare? Who could fault a beautiful woman for trying to mask what must be an uncomfortable problem?

This was a good time to make my exit. I’d had enough of Violet’s petty comments. I stood.

She peeked out from under her sunglasses. “Where are you going?”

“I have things to take care of.” I turned to leave.

“Arnie likes his women thin, you know,” she said.

I faced her again. “What?”

“Coralee thinks she has a chance with him if she keeps the weight off. I don’t have to worry about that. Arnie loves seeing me in a bathing suit … or nothing at all. He stands at attention—if you know what I mean—the moment I drop my clothes. He says I have the body of a twenty-year-old.”

More like a ten-year-old. Was Arnie’s vision as bad as his memory?

“You know, Lillian,” she continued, “you’re gonna need to lose a few pounds if you want to catch Arnie’s eye.”

And you could use a personality makeover. “He’s not my type.” I cast a deliberate glance at Coralee and Tiare. “Though I’d say you have some tough competition around here.”

“One day we did it five times,” Violet called out to me and I headed for the gate. “I could barely walk afterwards!”

She didn’t see my eyes roll in disgust. It was my sincere goal to stay on good terms with my neighbors, but it wasn’t going to be easy to remain civil to Violet LaFontaine. She was a vicious, cruel gossip, and I suspected a liar to boot. I had my doubts that a sweet man like Arnie could ever be attracted to her.

 

Chapter 20 Cook-off Winner

 I waited till eight a.m. before texting Esther. You awake?

Sure. What’s up?

Something very strange happened last night.

Say what? Again??

Can I come over?

Yes!

I stepped outside and made sure my door was locked behind me. There was a tinge of cigarette smoke in the air. That was odd—no one at Kon Tiki smoked. But in my hurry to get to Esther’s door, it barely registered in my mind.

I knocked.

“It’s open,” Esther called out over her blaring TV.

“Is everybody here insane?” I said as I stormed into her living room.

She was lounging comfortably on a heavy burgundy velvet recliner, a coffee mug in her hand. On the TV a Bible-thumping evangelist ranted and paced across his stage in front of an audience of hundreds. She muted it with a remote.  “You look like you could use some caffeine. Help yourself to cof—”

“Who wanders into someone’s home without asking, and how do they magically get through locked doors?”

“How ’bout somethin’ to eat? I just had me some eggs and fried ham.”

“I’m  not hungry. Esther, do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Okay, okay …” She set her mug on a side table, lowered the footrest, and gave me her full attention. “So tell me, girl. What happened? Did you get another visit from Francesca?”

“Not Francesca.” I sunk onto the flowered sofa and let out a long breath. “Last night I took my casserole out of the oven and scooped some onto my plate. When I turned around, I nearly dropped the plate.” I held Esther’s gaze for a long moment. “You won’t believe who was sitting at my kitchen table.”

“Ahh … uh huh. I’d believe you if you said it was Arnie.”

“You knew? You knew and you didn’t warn me?”

“I thought you always kept your door locked.”

“I thought so too. In New York it was a habit. But since I’ve been here … maybe I’ve been distracted. I don’t know what happened. It’s possible I forgot. I should be more careful.”

“Most of us leave our doors unlocked during the day. We almost never get any strangers comin’ through here. But at night? You really should lock up at night. ’Specially if  you don’t want visitors.” She settled herself back in the chair. “One thing about Arnie, he doesn’t cook. And considerin’ how forgetful he is, that’s probably for the best. He might burn the place down. But the man does enjoy a nice, hot meal. In the evenings he’ll walk around the complex, followin’ his nose. When he picks up a scent he likes, he wanders into the unit it’s coming from and sits down to eat like an invited guest.”

“And no one stops him?

“Are you kidding me? Evenin’s around here are one big cookin’ competition. Whoever can entice Arnie into their kitchen wins. Looks like last night you won.”

“What? Why didn’t you warn me?”

She gave a little shrug. “The man likes his meat. I figured you wouldn’t even be in the runnin’, being a vegetarian and all. Whatever you made last night musta smelled really good. ”

“It was a broccoli casserole.”

“Hmmm. That does surprise me. I hear he doesn’t eat broccoli.”

“Well, apparently he forgot. He seemed to enjoy it. That, and the challah I baked.”

“That bread did smell mighty good. So what’d you do—show him the door?”

“I almost did. But then I felt sorry for him. He seemed so … expectant. He’d taken extra care to dress nicely, and acted as if he belonged in my home. I didn’t have the heart to throw him out.”

“Sometimes I wonder if his memory is really as bad as be pretends.”

“You think he’s faking it? It didn’t seem like an act to me.”

“Seems pretty convenient, you ask me. But it was very kind of you to let him stay.”

“It was the timing. I’d just lit my Shabbat candles and said the blessings, and a Jew magically appears at my dinner table.”

“Like God was testing you.”

I nodded. “It just didn’t feel right to kick him out.”

“So how was it, having Arnie as a dinner guest?”

“Once I got over my shock, I have to admit I enjoyed his company. We had a pleasant conversation over dinner.”

“Hard to imagine Arnie having any kind of conversation.”

“At first he seemed confused. I did my best to humor him. Then I asked him about his younger days, and it was like a light came on behind his eyes. He told me about growing up in New York as a young child, then moving to Las Vegas. He was around twenty when he came with his father to live in Hawai‘i. He’s been here since before statehood and has some interesting stories to tell.”

“Looks like you know more about Arnie than I do now. What happened to his mother?”

“I wondered about that, too. He never said, and I didn’t want to ask.”

“All these years I’ve lived here and never heard that man say more than a couple words. He mostly lets Romy do his talking for him.”

“Has he visited you at dinnertime?”

“I’m not interested in being part of that competition. When I’m cooking dinner I make sure my door is locked and close my kitchen curtains so he can’t even peek in.” Esther looked me in the eyes. “He didn’t make a pass at you or anything, did he?”

“Oh, no. He was a perfect gentleman in every way.”

“So … is he someone you’d be interested in getting to know better?”

“You mean like dating?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“No.” I gave my head a hard shake. “I don’t date younger men.”

Esther dipped her chin and gave me a stare. “Well, even so, I would strongly advise you to keep last night to yourself.”

 “Why?”

“You won the nightly cook-off. You don’t want the other women to see you as competition.”

“Come on—competing for Arnie? Nothing happened.”

“They won’t believe that. So tell me, how late did he stay?”

“He left early. After dinner we moved to the living room. Being in a different room must’ve reset his memory. He started rambling about a woman named Tilly Washington.”

“Who’s she?”

“Apparently someone his father helped get into show business, back in the fifties. Arnie insisted he’s seen me with this Tilly. That she and I are friends.”

“So what’d you do?”

“I told him I’ve never heard of her. But by then he was already distracted, searching for something. He mumbled that he couldn’t remember where he left the remote. Then he looked around and asked me what happened to our TV. When I told him I don’t have a TV, he gave me the strangest look. Without another word he got up and headed out the door.”

Esther glanced at her TV screen, where the preacher was dong a one-footed chicken hop across the stage, Bible raised above his head. “You’re comin’ to Bible study tonight, aren’t you?”

I’d been trying to think of a way out of it. On the other hand, Esther was the only ally I had in this place. I needed an ally.

“Six o’clock, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll be here.”

***

As I left Esther’s place, the smell of cigarettes drifted on the slight breeze. I remembered smelling it earlier. Maybe someone had a visitor.

Mae lived in 105, between me and Esther. I was almost even with her open kitchen window when I heard a man’s deep voice in her unit.

I’m not normally one to eavesdrop, but I was so taken by surprise, my feet stopped moving. Mae with a man? Maybe she had a brother. I took two steps back so she wouldn’t see me, and listened. The cigarette smoke was definitely coming from inside Mae’s condo. The man was speaking Japanese so I didn’t understand what he said, but I was pretty sure this was not Mae’s brother. From the tone it was clear he spoke words of endearment.

Every now and then the man paused, either to puff on his cigarette or allow Mae to reply. I didn’t hear a word from Mae, and I imagined her soaking up his sweet nothings in girlish silence.

So much for Mae batting for the other team.