Sisterchicks Do the Hula (10 page)

W
hen I look back on the decision to use the artificial tanner, I remind myself that even though Laurie initially had the idea, I did give my full consent.

An older woman was running the register by the time we entered the gift shop in the late afternoon. No blushing young man appeared on the premises. That was a big disappointment to Laurie.

Of the two types of skin-bronzing formula available, Laurie recommended the smaller, more expensive one. Budget-minded me went for the larger, less expensive one, even though Laurie offered to pay for it. I told her she could treat me later to an ice cream cone or something. I felt funny having her buy an item that came from the “personal needs” section.

With the instant suntan in hand, Laurie and I stopped by the concierge desk to sign up for a luau that evening. To our dismay, the luau we had agreed offered everything we wanted
was booked up. Instead of settling on one of the other luaus, we decided to make our reservation for the next night. The concierge gave us a list of recommended beachfront restaurants within walking distance of our hotel, and we returned to our room to get ready for dinner.

“Are you thinking of taking a shower?” Laurie asked. “Because you should probably take it before you tan up your legs so you don’t wash it off too soon.”

“Good idea.”

I showered and thoroughly patted my legs dry before applying the heavily-scented lotion. It came out of the can in foam, and the little bubbles tingled as I smoothed them over my skin. I made sure to rub the color all the way up my legs so I wouldn’t have an artificial tan line to go along with my artificial tan. I even covered my feet and toes.

Then, because it seemed silly to have cocoa-brown legs while the rest of me remained white, I went for further coverage. Arms first. Then shoulders and neck. I guessed that any part of me that could be seen in a bathing suit should be the same color. I stretched my arms to reach the back of my shoulders and my upper back.

My face was the final territory to conquer. I applied the foamy lotion generously, as the slightly metallic fragrance filled the small, fogged-up bathroom. Task completed, I wiped my hands on the white hand towel, and a burnt orange smear appeared. Sticking the towel under cold water, I was relieved to see that the mark diminished. The hotel certainly must bleach
all their towels, so it wouldn’t be a problem to lift out the final tinge. Nonetheless, I understood how my boys must feel when I lecture them about doing a better job with the soap and water before they dry their hands on the towel.

Laurie tapped on the bathroom door. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I’m finished, if you’re ready to get in here.” I slipped into my robe and opened the door.

Laurie looked me over. “How long is it supposed to take?”

“Do you mean I’m not an instant, happy cocoa-bean shade?” I checked my arm. “It looks a little rosy-toned, don’t you think?”

“It’s the lights in here. Not to mention all the red in the wallpaper. You can’t gauge true colors under these lights.”

I noticed that while I showered and “tanned,” Laurie had drawn the curtains to block the intense afternoon sun. The room was too dark to tell if the bronzing potion was working properly.

“Did you decide which restaurant we should go to?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Laurie responded.

“How about Beachcomber Bob’s?” I shook the wrinkles out of the one maternity dress I had brought with me. “That’s the one next door, right on the beach with the live music.”

“Okay.” Laurie headed for the shower, but I didn’t think she sounded too convinced Beachcomber Bob’s was the spot for us. I wondered if she was disappointed about not going to the luau since this was supposed to be her fancy birthday dinner. I decided I’d ask her about her preference again, once she was out of the bathroom. First, I had an important
appointment with my personal salon specialist.

Stepping out on the lanai, I was immersed in sunlight. The evening breeze greeted me with a ruffled hello.

“Swims with dolphins,” I said to the wind, as if ordering up my favorite hairstyle by name. All I had to do was sit with my eyes closed and let the invisible fingers do their creative styling with my wet hair.

Basking in the comfort of the moment, I thought of the Hawaiian woman on the beach that morning. She said her song came from Psalm 104. I ducked back inside for my paperback copy of the Psalms and returned to the brilliantly-lit lanai to skim the chapter.

Laurie stepped onto the lanai with a towel around her wet hair. “What are you reading?”

“That was fast,” I said, surprised.

“You learn to be fast in a house with two bathrooms and four women.”

“I was reading Psalm 104 in a contemporary version.”

“Is that the ‘garlands of hosannas’ verse?”

“No, this is the chapter that the woman on the beach this morning said she was singing. Listen to this.” I read Laurie the parts I had just skimmed.

As I finished, she said, “Hope, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? Why? This is beautiful. I wish I’d known what she was saying in Hawaiian when she was singing this.”

“I’m sorry because I made fun of you this morning, when you said you thought she was an angel.”

“It was the way the light was coming through her white hair,” I explained.

“I know, but I thought she was some crazy, Mother-Earth-hugger type of woman when you said she was singing to the ocean.”

“No, she was definitely worshiping God. The right God. The only God. You could just tell.”

“Read that last line again.”

“ ‘Let G
OD
enjoy his creation.’ ”

Laurie slowly brushed her hair. “Do you suppose God enjoys us? I mean, I know He loves us and provides for us, but do you think He enjoys us as His artistic creation?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“I never considered that before.” Laurie lowered her head in quiet contemplation. “It seems that the artwork—the creation—that an artist enjoys are those pieces that mean something personally to him. At least that’s how it is with the photographs I enjoy the most. I know it’s the same with Gabe. I just never thought of God as enjoying His creation or having parts of it that mean something to Him personally.”

“Like us,” I added. “Humans seem to be the object of His affection.”

“I like that. The object of His affection.” Laurie looked out at the ocean. “Would you mind if we didn’t go out to any of the touristy restaurants for dinner tonight?”

“No. Whatever you want. You’re the birthday girl.”

“I’d like to eat dinner right here, just the two of us, with God’s huge stage in front of us providing the dinner show.”

We ordered a scrumptious dinner complete with coconut cream pie instead of birthday cake. Laurie started a new roll of film and used her remote clicker so she could take shots of both of us while we ate on the lanai, all dressed up, barefoot and wearing our orchid leis looped twice around our heads like birthday crowns.

“Tell me about your new house,” I said, as we started in on the pie.

“Potential new house,” Laurie corrected me. “It’s only a few years old. Something like five thousand square feet.”

“Five thousand?”

“I know. It’s huge. That’s the crazy part. It has four bathrooms. Well, actually, three full baths and a downstairs half bath. Here we spent all those years in a house with two bathrooms, and now that the girls are gone, we’re thinking of moving into a mansion.”

“Is it a mansion?” I asked. “I mean, would you consider it a mansion?”

“I would, but I don’t know if any of the neighbors would. This particular house is small compared to the rest in the area we’re looking at. It’s on the east side of the bay and has some acreage.”

“Do you like the house?”

Laurie’s mouth twitched back and forth, as if she were swishing her answer around before spitting it out. “Not really. It’s a gorgeous house, and I agree with Gabe that the price is great and the potential is all there. I just don’t want to move.”

“I can see why that would be hard. You’ve been in the same house since the day you guys were married. A lot of life is wrapped up in that home.”

“Not to mention all the family we have in the immediate area. You know, the more I think about it, Hope, the more resistant I am to moving anywhere. If we were going to make such an upheaval in our lives, we should have done it years ago. Not now. We’re too busy to move.”

“Even with the girls out of the house?”

“Especially now that the girls are out of the house. And that’s another thing.” Laurie put down her fork. Her face was
turning as red as the wallpaper. “If we were going to move, why didn’t we move years ago, when we had three daughters who all wanted their own rooms, not to mention their own bathrooms?”

“No money?” I suggested flippantly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Laurie said, playing along. “I keep forgetting.”

“Do you really? I mean, does it seem as if your life has always been what it is now?”

“Sometimes. I miss the way everything was simple back when we were first married. We had so little money it meant our options were few. Now it seems all we do is have meetings with people who tell us what to do with the money that keeps coming in.” Laurie gave a funny little sigh. “I’d complain, but who would feel sorry for me?”

I didn’t respond to her quirky statement. Of course I didn’t feel sorry for her in the wake of her husband’s success. But I still felt for her. I just wasn’t sure what I should be feeling.

The sun was about to dip into its evening bath when, from our perch on the eighth floor, Laurie and I heard uproarious laughter coming from the beach below us. We spotted three rather round women, all in long pants and T-shirts, bellowing out the kind of shared laughter that comes from the very bottom of the giggle barrel.

“They must have just arrived,” Laurie said.

One of the chortling women went charging into the water, arms first, as if she were going to embrace the entire Pacific
with a big kiss. Not to be outdone, the other two women stormed into the salty brine. With supersized squeals followed by supersized splashes, the three of them—clothes and all—were up to their necks in the water.

“What a bunch of sisterchicks!” Laurie exclaimed.

“What did you call them?”

“Sisterchicks. That’s what our Realtor called us yesterday when I told her about this trip. Penny said you sounded like the perfect ‘sisterchick’ to celebrate the big 4-0 with me. She also said she hoped our vacation would be a ‘sisterchick adventure’ we would never forget.”

“That was nice of her. Although, I suppose if we were true sisterchicks, we would be out there with the bobbing Betties.”

“But we’re wearing dresses,” Laurie said. “And we already showered.”

“I know. And we just ate.”

Silently, from our plush box seats in the balcony, Laurie and I stuffed the last bites of coconut cream pie into our faces and watched the bobbing Betties until the sun disappeared with a faint sizzle. The trio of giddy gals emerged from the water and giggle-hopped their way through the sand, holding up their soggy pant legs. They were such a merry sight.

“Sisterchicks, huh?” I said. “Well, good for them.”

“Yes, good for them.”

Laurie and I weren’t exactly risk takers at the moment. Even the room service pot of coffee we ordered was decaf.

T
he outdoor light on our lanai snapped on automatically in the darkness. Laurie kept looking at my legs.

“What?”

“It’s the lighting, I think. It gives you a sort of an amber glow.”

I looked at my arm. An orangy stripe was visible on the inside of my arm where the skin was paler. The stripe ran all the way to my palm and along the outside of my thumb.

“It’s not turning to a happy, cocoa-bean shade, is it?”

“It’s more the shade of an unhappy smashed pumpkin,” Laurie said. “But I’m sure it’s the light out here.”

“I’m going inside to have a look.”

Laurie went with me, turning on all the lights. I stood in front of the mirror and made my pathetic declaration. “I’m orange!”

“It’s the shadow from the red wallpaper. Try the bathroom mirror.”

The bathroom mirror revealed the undeniable truth. I was o-r-a-n-g-e. As o-ran-ge as an orange with a capital
O
.

Quickly pulling my dress over my head, I stood in front of the mirror in my full slip and examined my disastrous handiwork.