Victoria, British Columbia, Canada
been no problem with authorities entering Canada through the Port of Victoria. Still, walking away from the marina toward the hotel, he was on edge. It was a ridiculous, irrational image which grew with each step he took. A single bullet penetrating his head, shot from the rifle of a SWAT team sniper… his chest tightened, and his heart raced. Hank forced himself to move forward and used the excuse of the hotel steps to zigzag from side to side. When he passed the doorman into the lobby, he steadied himself, breathed deeply, and allowed the anxiety to pass. By the time he received his key at the front desk, he was calm and ready for anything. Hank reached his room and opened the door, looked in and exhaled, “No way.”
He had never had a room like this. Like an excited child, he stepped onto the bed and turned it into a trampoline. But even at the apex of his bounce, the ceiling was a dozen feet overhead. Pillows landed on the floor and the edges of the duvet lifted into the air and fell back out of place. There was a knock and Hank opened the oversized door.
“We fly out in one hour,” Willy said. “You don’t have to come to the party, but Mr. Ou asked me to express to you how much he wants you to join the family.” Willy stood in the tall doorway and peeked around Hank. He smirked when he saw the disheveled bed. “Not bad digs for a swabbie. And I’ll need your answer now. So, are you coming along or should I tell the boss you have other plans?”
“Sure, I’m game. What should I wear?” Hank said.
“Just take a shower and I’ll send in Stephanie.” Willy made a smart about-face while grabbing the door and closing it behind him.
To say Hank’s private bathroom was large would be an understatement. White marble throughout, a bidet next to the commode, and a fixture he never expected to see—a urinal. At least that’s something he understood. The bidet, however, not so much. He knew the basic principle but had never used one and would not start today. The shower could fit Hank and a compact car at the same time. He saw no advantage to the pretentious size of the bathroom. The hard, cold marble never would warm, and the wasted space seemed frivolous, but the mirror didn’t even fog up by the time he finished his shower.
A cheerful humming came from his room through the half-open door as he finished a close shave. Stephanie? He mouthed the name Willy mentioned. “Hello?” Hank called out around the bathroom door.
“Come right out here. I need to check your size,” said a woman with a crisp British accent.
Awkward, Hank thought, but it didn’t seem like he had much choice. He wrapped the biggest towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom. A slender woman had her back to him and was fussing with clothes hanging from a garment rack. She turned her head and studied him. Without saying a word, she turned back to the garment rack and peeled two sets of formalwear off the rack and laid them on the bed.
She turned to face him again and explained, “Now there, dear, you must dress appropriately for Irina’s birthday celebration.” She took another look at his face. “You must be somebody, but I’ve never heard of you before. Should I have?” she asked with a rhetorical pause. “Whichever you choose will be yours to keep.” Her long bony fingers aimed at the clothes to the right and passed across the jacket, over the white shirt with French cuffs and a black bow tie and rested at the kilt. “Mr. Ou made it a point to get your clan tartan correct. Gunn is a handsome tartan.” She lingered, as if to emphasize there was only one choice. And then added, “The family will be dressed with ancestral respect tonight.” Her fingers waved at a deer-hide sporran and pointed to a pair of black brogues carefully placed on the floor. “Or you can just wear the tux. It’s up to you,” she said. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes in case you need assistance with the bow tie.”
Stephanie’s return was prompt, and she explained the creative and proper process of fashioning a bow tie. As a sailor, knots came easily, and though he got the general idea, the woman would not allow his help. They both looked into the mirror, she declared him presentable, and then ushered him out of the room and directed him down to the lunch buffet.
The food spread was spectacular, but Hank knew he was running late when another woman approached him with an agenda. Her skin was the color of ebony and she had short silver-gray hair. It was impossible to tell her age, but he guessed somewhere over seventy.
“You must be Hank since you’re the only one in a kilt here.” She looked him over. “Mighty fine. I hope those man-skirts come back. But my-oh-my, aren't you a skinny one! Never mind me. I’m a chatty one.” Her eyes opened wide. “Horrors! You need to go! They told me to get you… the plane leaves in…” She checked the old-fashioned watch pinned upside-down onto her white blouse so she could read it by looking down through the bifocal glasses perched low on her nose. “Oh, my! You just have ten minutes to get to your ride. Just wait one second and I’ll have Richard take you.”
She turned without another word and walked away through a pair of catering doors. Before the door swung to a stop, she was pushing Richard through it, filling his ear. She carried a paper food box in one hand. “Hank, this is Richard. You fill this with anything you want but be quick. Then follow Richard. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hank said. He needed no further encouragement and didn’t want to anger the woman. He filled the box with what was within easy reach and said, “Nice to meet you, Richard. Let’s go.”
The woman looked satisfied, turned partway, and stopped. She threw up her hand, palm out, and said, “Take a fork.” She finished her turn and pushed through the doors.
“We’re flying?” Hank said to Richard, wishing he hadn’t asked such an obvious question.
“I guess so. Maxine said to take you to the floating terminal on Wharf Street.”
A woman in a navy business suit approached them with a smile. She thanked Richard for retrieving Hank, then dismissed him by palming a tip into his hand. Turning, she said, “Hi, Hank. Today I’m Irina’s mother, but please call me Maria.” Avoiding the box and fork he held in his left hand, she grasped his extended right hand and pulled him in and kissed his right cheek. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ou—I mean Maria.” In his head, he assumed all rich men marry beautiful tall women—supermodels. Maria was stunning, but in a way which made him rethink stereotypes. She had a radiant smile, and her bodacious frame looked great in her tailored outfit. He realized, not for the first time, he was shallow. Someday I’ll grow up. This woman was ravishing, confidence radiated from her, and she embodied an infectious enthusiasm. Her flawless olive complexion, raven-black hair, and vibrant eyes captivated him as he sorted his rattled feelings.
The year following his father’s death, he spent way too much time on the couch watching movies. His mother allowed him to watch a kids’ movie for every old classic she chose. They sat and ate popcorn and tried to keep their minds off of being alone in the world. Without a father, without a husband, streaming movies helped. Hank grew to enjoy his mother’s picks, and he often noticed his mother getting into the plot of one of his choices. Mrs. Ou triggered a vivid memory from those days. If the Italian actress, Sophia Loren, had a plus-sized older sister, she would embody the physical characteristics of Maria Ou. He wanted to say something but couldn’t without being foolish. “I’m honored to be included. Thank you, Maria.”
She grabbed his arm and led him off to the waiting seaplane. The tilt of her head and the tone of her voice was conspiratorial. She got closer and spoke louder as the high pitch whine of one of the plane engines increased. She said, “I know exactly what’s going on.” Her breath brushed his face. “You need to be part of this family.” She stopped on the bottom step and turned around. From the raised vantage point, she was eye to eye with Hank and steadied herself by holding on to his shoulders. She locked her eyes on his and smiled. “Let’s get this party off the ground.” She laughed and mounted the last steps into the chartered twin engine floatplane.
Seated without a companion, he was glad to finish his food in peace. It was a good thing he had brought his own food box and fork because there was no food service. It was a comfortable flight but still loud, leaving Hank to his thoughts for the quick hop over to the mainland city of Vancouver. I know exactly what’s going on. It was the way Maria Ou said it. What did she mean? By the time they landed on Coal Harbour and taxied over to the Westin Bayshore dock, he was no closer to an answer.