Hawaii - James Michener [558]
"She look maybe two nights, maybe four," Kelly calculated, for he had found that women who spent unusual care on their appearance were often more tardy in climbing into bed than their sisters who called to the world, "Here I am, wind-blown and happy!"
Kelly, who like the other beachboys was privileged to climb aboard the Moana Loa before disembarkation started, elbowed his way along the crowded deck and touched Mrs. Henderson on the arm. She turned and smiled at him, a clean, unconfused greeting. When he shook hands with her he asked, "You name Dale or somethin' else? Seem like nobody can't speak man's name, woman's name no more."
"My name is Mrs. Henderson. Elinor Henderson," she replied in the crisp and self-possessed voice of a New Englander. "I'm from Boston.
Kelly very much wanted to ask, "Who dis Rennie wahine cable me? I no remember nobody in Boston." But he didn't speak. One rule he had learned in his beachboy business: never mention one woman to another, so that even though most of the customers he met had been referred to him by others, often intimate friends, he never mentioned that fact. Culling his brain furiously, he still failed to recall who Rennie was and he did not refer to her cable. But Mrs. Henderson did.
"A college classmate of mine at Smith . . ."
"Dat doan' sound like no wahine college, Smith."
"Rennie Blackwell, she told me to be sure to look you up."
Quickly Kelly composed his face as if he knew well who Rennie Blackwell was, and just as quickly Mrs. Henderson thought: "After all she told me, and he doesn't even remember her name." Wanting perversely to explore the situation further she added, "Rennie was the girl from Tulsa." Still Kelly could not place her among the nameless girls that populated his life, and now he was aware that Mrs. Henderson was playing a game with him, so he lapsed into his most barbarous pidgin and banged his head with his fist. "Sometime I no akamai da kine. Dis wahine Rennie I not collect."
Mrs. Henderson smiled and said, "She collects you, Kelly."
He was irritated with this secure woman and said, "S'pose one year, bimeby I say Florsheim, Cable here speak Elinor Henderson.
Who dat one wahine? Florsheim he doan' collect. I doan' collect."
"Who's Florsheim?" Elinor asked.
"Da kine beachboy yonder 'longside tall wahine," Kelly explained.
Mrs. Henderson laughed merrily and said, "Rennie told me you were the best beachboy in the business, but you must promise me one thing."
"Wha’ dat?"
"You aren't required to talk pidgin to me any longer. I'll bet you graduated with honors from Hewlett Hall. You can probably speak English better than I can." She smiled warmly and asked, "Aren't you going to give me the lei?"
"I'm afraid to kiss you, Mrs. Henderson," he laughed and handed her the flowers, but Florsheim saw this and rushed up, protesting, "Jeezus Crisss! Kanaka handin' wahine flowers like New York?" He grabbed the lei, plopped it around Elinor's head and kissed her powerfully.
"Florsheim's been in New York," Kelly joked. "He knows how to act like a Hawaiian."
"Florsheim? In New York?" Mrs. Henderson reflected, studying the huge beachboy with the long hair and the wreath of maile leaves. "I'll bet the city'll never be the same."
"He married a society girl," Kelly explained. "Stayed with her three months and came back. He got a Chevy convertible out of it. In fact, we're riding back to the hotel in it."
At this point Florsheim's girl from Kansas City hustled up, heavy with leis and mascara, and giggled: "My God! Aren't these men positively divine?" She grabbed Florsheim's dark brown arm, felt the muscles admiringly and asked, "You ever hit a man with that fist, Florsheim?"
"Nevah," the beachboy replied. "Only wimmin."
His girl laughed outrageously, and when the various bits of luggage were piled into the Chewy, the two couples headed for the Lagoon, but when Florsheim drove up King Street and past the old mission houses, Elinor Henderson abruptly asked him to stop, and she studied the