Here Today, Gone to Maui (6 page)

“Could you get another job?”

“On Maui? Probably not. Nothing better, anyway. I’d have to leave the island. Lot of my family’s moved to Las Vegas.”

I thought of Vegas: the neon, the cigarette smoke, the sprawl. “Isn’t that a bit like trading heaven for hell?”

She laughed; a full, hearty sound. “Me, I think there’s things more important than a fancy job and a big house. I don’t mind working here. Most guests are nice.” She picked a crumb off her paper towel. “Some even bring me food.”

She looked at me, considering. “You still need to use the Internet?” she asked. “ ’Cause you can use my computer. Long as you don’t tell nobody.”

 

 

After I read Bob Wills’s e-mail and sent back my comments, I asked Mary for directions to the nearest beach. She told me that if I walked along the rock wall, I’d eventually reach a small stretch of sand.

Back at the condo, I stuffed my tote with a rough, white bath towel (Maui Hi did not supply beach towels); my new snorkeling set and flippers; a bottle of No-Ad suntan lotion; and a paperback; some frothy story about a city girl looking for love. My swimming attire—board shorts over a navy-blue racer-back tank—was uninspired. I’d save my other suit—floral print, bikini top, little, flirty skirt—for Jimmy.

The beach was a bit farther down than Mary had said. It was nothing special, at least by Maui standards, but it was fairly empty, and the sun felt warm on my exposed skin. I sat on the towel and read for a while. When I got hot, I pulled out my snorkeling gear and adjusted the strap on my new mask. I spit on the glass to keep it from fogging up, a tip I’d learned while vacationing in Mexico a few years back.

The water was colder than I expected, but it didn’t take long to get used to it. I swam over to the darker water, searching for fish. A wave splashed over my head and into my snorkel; I sputtered and blew the water out. A yellow fish darted between the rocks; another chased it. A school of silvery-white fish sped by, looking like swimming coins. Water seeped in along the sides of my mask.

Back at a sandy spot, I stood up, awkward in my flippers. I pulled off the mask, tightened the strap, and put it back on. I swam back to the rocks, where I saw a black fish with little white dots, a white angelfish, the yellow guys again. My mask fogged.

Emerging from the water at the shoreline, I shivered. I pulled off my mask and smoothed back my hair. Far out in the water, there was a splash; another whale. My face felt funny: I was smiling. Here I was, alone on a little beach, abandoned by my boyfriend, with nothing but a flimsy towel to dry me. My condo sucked; my mask leaked. I should be cranky, whiny, and disillusioned. But it was impossible—because I was finally here, in Maui.

When Jimmy announced that he was taking me out to dinner, I tried to keep my expectations in check. In our five months together, he’d taken me out only a handful of times, always to places he described as “fun.” He claimed that no restaurant could match my awesome cooking (he was especially fond of my chicken parmigian) and that he liked nothing more than sharing a cozy evening at home with me. Between his business lunches and his side job waiting tables, fancy restaurants had lost their allure.

“Something nice,” Jimmy said when I asked him what I should wear. He had a fresh sunburn on his nose because his lunch meeting had been by a hotel pool.

“What does that mean? Nice shorts or a nice dress?” According to my guidebook, there was a restaurant in downtown Lahaina called Hamburger in Paradise. That sounded like Jimmy’s kind of place.

“Just—nice.” He was wearing white linen shorts and a pale yellow silk shirt. It didn’t look like hamburger attire.

Philippe’s was a first-date kind of place, in the same league as the oceanfront spot in Laguna Beach where I had met Jimmy. Our table, covered with a white tablecloth and decorated with a candle and an orchid, was on a patio right next to a beach. The golden sun, low on the horizon, made me squint.

“I should have brought sunglasses,” I said as the maître d’ helped me into my chair.

“I’ve got mine,” Jimmy said. “Here—sit on this side. It’s not as bright.”

There were a few groups on the beach, enjoying the end of the day. A tiny girl with flyaway brown hair ran around wearing nothing but a swim diaper, holding an orange sand shovel over her head like a torch. An enormous white cruise ship sat anchored offshore.

“Nice spot for a cruise,” I said.

Jimmy stared out at the ocean, his chin resting on his hand. “I don’t know. I’d hate to be cooped up like that.”

“Yeah, our place is much nicer,” I said.

Jimmy shot me a sideways glance. We both laughed.

He reached for my hand. “You’ve been really great about that. I know it’s not what you expected.”

I smiled. “I don’t need a fancy resort. All that matters is that I’m with you.”

A waitress came to take our drink orders. She was a pretty girl, with exotic Hawaiian looks: shiny black hair, full lips, almond eyes. Her flowered halter dress showed off a tiny hibiscus tattoo on her shoulder. I checked Jimmy’s face, steeling myself for any expression of lust, but he was merely polite, ordering a bottle of champagne before returning his gaze to me.

“Champagne,” I said. “What’s the occasion?”

“Any day with you is an occasion.” I beamed at him, forgetting for an instant that our usual occasions involved beer and pasta.

On the beach, the little girl’s mother rubbed the sand off her back with a frayed towel and pulled a pink T-shirt over her head. The little girl danced in place, the orange shovel still clutched in her hand. It made it harder to get the T-shirt over her arms, but the mother managed, somehow. The mother’s hair was brown and flyaway like her daughter’s. She wore a tank top over her bikini, an intricate tattoo blooming between her shoulder blades. The little girl’s father was there, too, folding up the beach chairs and throwing empty potato-chip bags in the beach tote. He had a tattoo, also. I was starting to feel like the only person in Maui without one.

“Could you see yourself staying here?” Jimmy asked.

“At this restaurant?”

He reached out as if to chuck me under the chin but didn’t actually touch me. “No, I mean here. In
Maui
.”

“You mean—to live?” What was he asking me, exactly?

“Yeah. Could you see that?”

“Well . . . I have my job.” I considered that for a moment. “Not that it would break my heart to leave it, but I don’t know what kind of work I could find here.” I looked at him and then dropped my gaze flirtatiously. “Plus, I have this boyfriend in California. I wouldn’t want to leave him behind.”

“What if he came with you?”

“Then I’d . . . I’d think about it.”

The waitress came and opened the champagne. Jimmy kept his eyes on me. My whole body felt hot. My heart raced.

When the waitress left, Jimmy held up his glass. “To the future. Whatever it holds.”

I gulped some champagne to give me courage. “Could you move your business to Maui?” I asked as casually as I could manage.

He shrugged. “Probably. Or maybe I’d just—I don’t know. The business takes so much out of me, I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth it.”

“But it’s your dream,” I said, feeling oddly alarmed.

He shrugged. “It was. But . . . what’s wrong with just being a waiter? With just enjoying every day as it comes?”

“Nothing,” I said, my voice cracking slightly.

“And you could get a job in a kitchen,” he said, leaning forward. “I mean, you’re a really good cook.”

“I—couldn’t see that.” I drained my champagne.

“Why not?”

I poured myself another glass of champagne and topped off Jimmy’s. “The hours would get to me. The pace. I like quiet evenings.” Wow: could I sound any more boring? The real reason I liked quiet evenings was that I had such busy days. In my job. My real job. That I had worked ten years to achieve.

“You could open a bakery, then,” he said. “Hasn’t that always been your dream?”

“No,” I said. “But it’s something to think about.” I thought about it: it sounded awful.

We ordered our food: scallop ceviche, pork with pineapple, mahimahi. The sun turned red and slipped below the horizon. The cruise ship lit up like a Christmas tree. Jimmy and I stopped talking about moving to Maui—but I didn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe we should forget ambition, seize the day, catch the wave. We could live in a little house and have children who ran naked on the beach. The more champagne I drank, the better I liked the idea. I could work in a restaurant kitchen, chopping lettuce, breading fish. Sure, why not?

By the end of the meal, Jimmy and I had scooted our chairs next to each other so that we were both staring out at the ocean. I leaned my head against his shoulder. I felt pleasantly fuzzy all over. We drank coffee, trying to sober up for the drive back to the condo.

When the waitress brought the bill, I reached for it out of habit, but Jimmy stopped my hand. “This one’s on me.”

“You sure?”

“Business has been good lately. Really good. Plus, I think I just got a new account today.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his worn blue canvas wallet. He slipped out a credit card and dropped it on the bill without even checking the total. “From now on, I pay the bills.”

I blinked at him and smiled, not knowing what to say. An hour earlier, he was ready to ditch his career and become a waiter on Maui. Now he was embracing the idea of himself as a thriving businessman. I wanted to love him either way, to say that I’d follow him to the ends of the earth no matter what path he chose, but I had to admit: I liked the ambitious Jimmy better than the slacker Jimmy.

The waitress whisked away the bill. Jimmy put his arm around me. He smelled like coconut mixed with lemon.

“I could get used to this,” I said.

“I’m already used to it,” he said.

The waitress reappeared. She cleared her throat. “Uh, sir?”

“Mm?” Jimmy turned around. The waitress looked apprehensive.

“Your Visa? It, uh, wasn’t accepted. Do you have another card I could put this on?”

Suddenly we were both sober. Jimmy reached for his wallet and then stopped. “I don’t—I mean, not with me. It’s back at the hotel. I’ve got some cash but probably not enough.” His voice cracked. He blinked furiously.

“It’s okay,” I said, reaching behind my chair for my purse. “I’ve got it.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Jimmy said.

“It’s no big deal,” I said. “You get the next one.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

We were quiet on the ride back to the condo—not a comfortable silence, but an awkward “are we still friends?” stillness.

“I’ve been putting a lot of business expenses on my card,” Jimmy said, his eyes on the road. “Must have exceeded my limit.”

“It happens,” I said casually. “No biggie. You’ve got another card, you said.”

“Right,” he said. “Except the thing is, that one . . . I know I’ve already hit my limit. I just got some new office furniture—Ana’s desk was a piece of crap, and Scott’s got a bad back, he needed one of those ergonomic chairs. I probably should have waited, but I like to treat my employees right.”

“You’re better to your employees than you are to yourself,” I murmured.

“Is that bad?”

“No, it’s good. It’s why I—it’s what makes you the person you are.” Suddenly I wanted to make him feel better. “Tell you what. Tomorrow I’ll cook dinner. Fish, maybe. We don’t need any fancy restaurants. I mean, we’re in Maui. What else could we possibly need?”

As I once told anyone who would listen, I met Jimmy on a blind date . . . with someone else. That is the punch line. Let us now pause to chuckle.

Technically, it wasn’t really a blind date, at least not in the traditional sense. I met Geoffrey on MySpace. And yes, that’s Geoffrey with a
G
. His MySpace tagline was “Geoffrey with a
G
!” The first time he called me, he said, “Hi, this is Geoffrey with a
G
.” Actually, that’s what he said every time we talked.