Free The Descendants by Kaui Hart Hemmings Page A

do.

 
     
    10

     
     
    AT THE CLUB the shrubs are covered with surfboards. There has been a south swell, but the waves are blown out from the strong wind. We walk on the sandy walkway alongside the dining room, an open terrace with coral pillars and ceiling fans. My cousin’s grandfather, a lover of water sports, was the founder of this club one hundred years ago. He leased the beach-front property from the estate of the queen for ten dollars a year. In the lobby next to a picture of Duke Kahanamoku, a plaque reads, LET THIS BE A PLACE WHERE MAN MAY COMMUNE WITH SUN AND SAND AND SEA, WHERE GOOD FELLOWSHIP AND ALOHA PREVAIL, AND WHERE THE SPORTS OF OLD HAWAI’I SHALL ALWAYS HAVE A HOME . Today anyone can commune with sun and sand and sea at a starting price of fifteen thousand dollars, monthly dues, and an initiation process that tends to blackball those with unfavorable pedigrees. I tried to explain this to Scottie when her friend’s father wasn’t accepted. Board members believed he had ties to the Yakuza. She didn’t understand.
    “Unfavorable pedigrees?” she asked. “Like a Pekingese?”
    We all hate those little dogs.
    “Sort of. Well. No. It’s not a good process, sweetie.” I liked her friend’s dad. He was quiet. So many people I know gab your ear off, but whenever I happened to come across him, we never ventured into the land of small talk, and our brief exchanges always managed to be comfortable. The rumors that he was connected to the Japanese mafia made me like him even more. I mean, everyone wants a friend in the mafia.
    I follow Scottie past the big open windows with the wooden jalousies. She walks to the outer terrace and up the steps to the dining room, which is relatively empty. Everyone is outdoors, engaging in the sports of old Hawaii and the sports of new Hawaii—the club is also credited with the invention of beach volleyball, and balls are constantly being lobbed out of the courts and onto the heads of unsuspecting sunbathers.
    “We can’t leave until something funny, sad, or horrible happens to me,” Scottie says.
    “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
    “Nuh-uh!”
    “Uh-huh. I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not leaving you alone.”
    “That’s not fair. That’s so embarrassing.” She looks around.
    “Just pretend I’m not here,” I say. “It’s nonnegotiable. All your friends are in school anyway.” I should just put her back in. I could work, she could learn. I don’t know why I need her in my constant sight all of a sudden.
    Scottie points to the tables on the perimeter of the dining room and tells me I can sit over there. There are a few ladies playing cards at one of these tables. I like these ladies. They’re around eighty years old, and they wear tennis skirts, even though I can’t imagine they still play tennis.
    Scottie heads to the bar. The bartender, Jerry, nods at me. I watch Scottie climb onto a bar stool, and Jerry makes her a virgin daiquiri, then lets her try out a few of his own concoctions. “The guava one is good,” I hear her say, “but the lime makes me feverish.”
    I read the paper that I borrowed from one of the ladies. I’ve moved to a table that’s a little closer to the bar so I can listen and watch.
    “How’s your mom?” Jerry asks.
    “Still sleeping.” Scottie twists atop her stool. Her legs don’t reach the metal footrest, so she crosses them on the seat and balances.
    “Well, you tell her I say hi. You tell her we’re all waiting for her.”
    I watch Scottie as she considers this. “I don’t talk to her,” she says to Jerry, and her honesty surprises me.
    Jerry sprays a swirl of whipped cream into her drink. She takes a gulp of her daiquiri and rubs her head. She does it again. She spins around on the stool. She snaps a picture of Jerry and then begins to sing: “Everybody loves me, but my husband ignores me, guess I’ll have to eat the worm. Give me a shot of Cuervo Gold, Jerry baby.”
    Jerry cleans the