THE TAVERN
On Wednesday after work, on a freshly squeezed sunshiny day, Gloria invited Isabel to join a few of the girls for a quick round of drinks in Honolulu. Drained from the extra energy it took working underground, Isabel wasn’t in the mood and politely declined.
“I won’t take no for an answer, young lady. You can’t just hole up with those kooky men downstairs and never interact with the rest of the human race,” Gloria said with her hands on her hips.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Oh, please. I have just the perfect thing for you. And then you and I are going shopping first chance we get. All those navy blues and blacks are not meant for a tropical climate. You look like you’re going to a funeral every single day.”
“Fine, but I’m on a budget.”
“We all are.”
Isabel was coming to see that Gloria could talk people into almost anything. She always did it with a smile on her face, but there was a hidden power behind her words.
Linda, a freckled beauty with a shock of red hair, picked them up and drove them to a restaurant at the edge of downtown Honolulu called the Peacock Tavern. The place looked a little suspect, but unlike the Black Cat Café several blocks down, there wasn’t a line of sailors halfway down the street waiting to get in.
Malia was already there, saving a booth near a jukebox. Her warm smile put Isabel at ease right away, even though Isabel had come not wanting to like her. Though that was more than unfair, she knew. Gloria had filled her in about the two girls, both raised in the islands, and swore that they were the kind of people you wanted on your team.
They were all a-chatter about the latest news. “Have you heard they’ve begun to ration shoes? Three pairs a year is all we get,” Linda said.
“Shoes I can do without, it’s not having butter that’s killing me,” Gloria said.
“I go through three pairs a month just walking back and forth to the filing cabinet. There are so many official documents it makes my head spin,” Malia said.
Speaking of her head, Isabel couldn’t help but admire the thick waves of sun-streaked hair that cascaded nearly to her hips. She and Russi would have made a fine pair.
Soon, a round of whipped coconut and rum drinks showed up, along with a bowl of boiled peanuts, and a plate of small rice patties wrapped in seaweed and a thin slice of meat on top. Spam musubi.
Halfway through the drink, Malia said, “Gloria tells me you two went hiking with Matteo Russi the other day.”
Here it comes.
“We did. He was friends with my late brother, Walt,” Isabel said.
“She mentioned that, too. What a devastating loss.”
“Thank you, it’s been hard.”
“No one should have to go through that. And that’s why I feel obligated to warn you about Matteo. He’s a nice guy, but the last thing you need is any more heartache, which is precisely what you’re in for if you keep seeing him.”
Isabel shot Gloria a look. “I’m not seeing him. He’s just being a good friend to Walt. No one needs to be concerned.”
“Us girls need to stick together, and you seem really nice. I only wish someone had warned me,” Malia said. Her big eyes and unusually long lashes gave her a certain innocence.
Linda joined in. “Not only will he drop you as soon as someone else strikes his fancy, that man has a death wish.”
“What do you mean?” Isabel asked.
“Madge, who works with us, is married to one of his pilot friends. He says that Matteo is always the first to volunteer for the most dangerous job, the most impossible mission, and he takes risks that no one in their right mind ought to,” Malia said.
Isabel sipped the rum drink, which was going down in record time. “That’s his business, I suppose. And why does it seem so impossible for a man and a woman to simply be friends?”
“Some men, yes. Not men like him. He was no doubt flirting with the nanny when he was still in diapers. And the nanny fell for him.”
Despite herself, Isabel asked, “How long did you two see each other?”
“About a month. Which is longer than most, from what I hear. This was last year, right before Midway. Things were hot and heavy and then he left and I missed him and worried the whole time he was away. But when he got home, we went out once and he drank himself silly and never called me again,” Malia said, cheeks flushed.
Gloria said, “Sounds like he needs a taste of his own medicine. That usually cures them.”
“I appreciate you looking out for me, but like I said, I have no interest in dating him,” Isabel said, holding up her glass and ready to change the subject. “Cheers, ladies.”
Malia held up her glass. “To new friends.”
“To victory.”
“To victory!” everyone said in unison. Two men at a nearby table raised their glasses, too, and before Isabel knew it, they had pulled their chairs up and had become part of the group. One sat close by her side, knobby knee bumping hers, the other next to Malia. Vern and Dickie were their names.
Gloria honed in on Dickie right away. “Where are you fellas stationed?”
“Here and there.”
“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before,” Gloria said, pressing.
Blond and tan, Dickie smelled strongly of aftershave. “They keep us busy,” he said with a wink. “I thought I was seeing a mirage when I walked in. You don’t happen upon a table of four beautiful broads every day around here. What’s the occasion?” Dickie said.
Isabel could tell Malia was not impressed. “No occasion, just pau hana cocktails with the girlfriends,” she said, emphasizing friends.
He smiled. “You lost me there for a moment. Come again?”
“Pau hana. It means ‘after work.’”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, right. So, where do you gals report?”
“Pearl. Admin,” Gloria said.
“Dang, how come we don’t have secretaries that look like you? Ours grow mustaches and wear pants.”
Broads. Gals. Secretaries. Isabel was about to excuse herself to use the restroom for a breather when she noticed Malia staring in the direction of the door. She turned. Russi had entered, with a girl hanging on his arm. Three seconds later he noticed Malia, and promptly steered wide. Then he locked eyes with Isabel. Feebly waved.
Gloria spotted him and waved back. “Hey, Russi, come say hello!”
He stepped closer, as if moving through tar. “Ladies, gentlemen. A pleasure to see you all.”
It was so obviously not a pleasure that Isabel felt for him. She held up the watch, which she now wore on her wrist. “We added another hole on the strap. Fits like a charm now. Walt would be happy.”
He looked relieved. “Glad to hear it. Speaking of Walt, this was one of our haunts.” He gestured to the back wall covered in photographs. “You’ll find a picture of him up there, holding a surfboard on Waikiki Beach looking like a champ.”
Isabel perked up. “I was about to use the ladies’ room. Would you mind showing me?”
The girl on his arm twirled one of her curls and cleared her throat.
Russi fumbled for a moment, then said, “Izzy, meet Alice. A friend from work.”
A frown crossed over Alice’s face, but she graciously shook Isabel’s hand. Russi led them over to the photograph, larger than most of the others and right at eye level. Walt stood casually, leaning up against a wooden board twice his height, with Diamond Head rising up in the background. His expression said, I’m up for anything, how about you?
“He was a natural. Me, I had to work at it,” Russi said.
“I doubt that.”
“No really. I love the water, but I’m no fish.”
“Must have been all that time in the old quarries. We went every chance we could. But there are no waves in Indiana,” she said.
“Just you wait. We’ll go this weekend if you’re free,” he said.
The tiniest flutter.
Isabel felt bad for Alice, but hopefully Alice knew the situation with her and Russi. “Do you surf, Alice?” she asked.
Alice rolled her eyes. “Heavens, no. I never even learned to swim. You wouldn’t catch me dead out there. But I enjoy watching from the beach.”
For some reason, the thought of tagging along with Alice and Russi was far less appealing than having Russi to herself. The feeling unsettled her. “I may have to work, but we’ll see.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets. “Rumor has it we may be shipping out soon, so I’d love to take you before I go.”
Time pressed in on them. It was foolish to believe that a person could have a normal life here, but that was exactly how she’d felt on her brief outings with Russi. War was all around them, and yet the intricacies of daily life remained. Waterfalls fell, wind blew skirts up and waves rolled in.
“It’s not up to me,” she said.
He nodded toward the table. “Either of those fellas your boss? Maybe it would help if I asked for you. Say I need you for an important operation.”
Isabel was flattered. “My boss rarely leaves the office, and when he does, he sleeps. Those two just pulled up their chairs and invited themselves in.”
Russi glanced over, assessing the two men. He was about to say something else when Alice grabbed on to his elbow and said, “Sugar, I’m thirsty and we’re running out of daylight, come on.”
“I’ll let you know. Enjoy your drinks,” Isabel said.
“’Night, Izzy,” Russi said, standing there like he didn’t want to go.
In all honesty, Isabel felt the same way. She forced herself to turn away, feeling a burn on the back of her neck as she walked to the restroom.
At the table, Dickie turned out to be smooth as coconut syrup, while Vern remained almost mute. Gloria hung on every word Dickie said as he talked about repairing ships, which was apparently what he did. Poor Malia kept glancing behind them, where Russi and Alice were sitting, even though he had strategically placed himself out of their line of sight.
Just after sunset, Dickie and Vern walked the women to their car. The clouds lit up like orange honeycomb, lighting the sky on fire. While most people were trying to figure out ways to stay out after dark, Isabel was thankful for the curfew. It meant no late nights out, no pressure to socialize when she’d rather be home reading a book or playing chess. Gloria and Dickie hung back, heads close together and speaking in low tones, even when Linda and Isabel had already climbed in the car.
“Hurry up, slowpoke. I don’t want to get arrested,” Linda finally called out the window.
Gloria tore herself away and hopped into the back seat with a dazed smile. Isabel knew that look. She’d seen it a number of times on girls back in Washington. It usually meant that they were goners. Something she had never experienced herself, which was fine by her. Wherever men went, trouble seemed to follow.