“We can get a gardener and maid here for half what I pay my cook at home. Lala cooks fairly well, too. Did you know that she is a high school graduate?”
“Really?” I felt that familiar rise of the hackles again. With the excuse of helping Troy, I went out to the kitchen. He was struggling with ice cubes from the battered trays in the old refrigerator.
“Make mine light,” I told him. “We’re going to a party tonight.”
“Same for me,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”
We heard laughter from the other house and Troy went to the screened door, hesitated, then came back. At my questioning look he said, “Thought I’d ask them over for a drink. They’d be glad to see you.” He lowered his voice. “The gang used to come over often. Recently they’ve stayed away. For some reason, they’re uncomfortable here.”
I cast around for some acceptable excuse. “Is it since Mavis began decorating?”
He nodded and regarded me with that perplexed look he so often wore.
“It might be the fishnet,” I said. “Many Hawaiians are superstitious, especially about fishing, probably because from early times their survival has depended largely on it. And since Keoni makes his living from fishing, and Mavis has—”
“And what has Mavis done now?”
Troy and I turned guiltily. Mavis stood in the doorway.
“Do tell me,” she urged. “Troy knows that I wouldn’t for the world do anything to offend his precious Hawaiians.”
I could feel my face growing hot. “It’s the fishnet on your windows. Many Hawaiians believe that a net should never be hung overhead, or draped around a room in any manner which suggests its actual use.” I added lamely, “Of course, it is just superstition—”
“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Troy will take it down.”
The big man hesitated, holding our drinks. She took them from him and turned her back to us as she began setting glasses on a tray. “Go ahead, Troy.” Her voice shook. “Take the net down. Now.”
Troy didn’t say a word. He went into the front room, unhooked the net, carried it to the rear door, and tossed it outside. Then he came back and picked up his glass, still silent. I studied him, puzzled. There was a change in him I could not identify. He had lost a lot of weight and it could have been that, and his deep tan, which made him look more vital. No. There was something else. Then I realized — Troy had also lost his tic.
Mavis had been putting cheese crackers on a dish. She led us to the front room, carrying the tray. She handed me a drink, sipped her own, and said in a hostessy voice, “You know the Erickssons, I believe? I understand he is a very successful architect?”
“Yes,” I said. “His wife was in Anne’s graduating class at Punahou. They have a very beautiful house at Black Point.”
“I’ve heard about it,” she said. “They’re giving a party for us tonight. We’ll probably see you there.”
We saw them there, but not for long. That was the night Troy got hilariously drunk and broke a table lamp when he tried to do a hula. Joe and Helen Ericksson helped Mavis get him into Umi’s old car, and after they had gone Helen looked ruefully at the shattered lamp.
Her husband said, “I heard that Troy goes on a spree before he starts a job — but isn’t he almost finished?”
“Yes. He is almost finished.” For a moment I thought there was a significant tone in Anne’s voice.
Half an hour later the telephone rang and Joe answered.
“Mavis? I hope you got home all right.” He listened and said reassuringly, “If he shows up here we’ll take good care of him. And we’ll see that he gets back safely. You just go to bed and don’t worry.”
He hung up and explained, “Troy wouldn’t go into the house with her, insisting he was having a fine time here and wanted to come back to the party. Before she could stop him, he started the car again and drove off. The poor girl is terribly concerned.” Troy never showed up. Our party was spoiled; we spent the balance of the evening in an atmosphere of strain, waiting for him. As we said good night to the Erickssons, Joe said, “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to know Troy Purcell better. They’ll be leaving soon, won’t they?”
“Yes,” I answered, and added fervently to myself, “I certainly hope so.”
Another week went by. Anne told me one day, when I came out of my office at the end of a morning’s work: “David called. We’re invited to a Iuau tomorrow. At Waimanalo. Given by the Kealohas.”
“Swell! What’s the occasion?”
“It’s a double celebration. For Troy, because he has delivered the last illustration. And for Lala. She and Keoni are getting married.”
So that was why Umi’s orchestra had been rehearsing the wedding song. “I didn’t know,” I said. “When?”
“As soon as they return to Kauai. Keoni is leaving immediately. Lala will stay long enough to buy her kitchen equipment and a trousseau.”
“With the money she got for modeling,” I said slowly. “Does Troy know?” At Anne’s shrug I said, “I’m going to call him and see what I can find out.”
All I found out was that Troy seemed in a high mood.
“My check’s on the way,” he said. “Tomorrow’s the day we really ‘go for broke.’ Why don’t you ride over with us? You haven’t lived until you’ve traveled in our jalopy. Vintage 1936. Bought it for sixty-five dollars from Umi’s father.”
The Purcells arrived just after the mailman, and we saw that Troy had not exaggerated the condition of his car. It was an ancient Chevrolet with battered fenders and rattling doors which Anne and I regarded with suspicion as we rounded sharp turns down the Pali road. The doors stayed closed, however, and we stowed our beach bags at each side of ourselves and braced together in the center, being careful of the flat package which stood against the driver’s seat.
“What is it?” I asked, and all Troy would say was, “Surprise. You’ll see later.”
The old car chugged along and Troy sang jubilantly, “Oh, we’re going to a hukilau, a huki, huki, huki, huki hukilau.”
Anne and I exchanged glances, wondering if his ebullience could be genuine.
Mavis seemed happy, too. She glanced back and chattered about furnishing the cottage: she had found some nice little bamboo tables, she said, and Grossman-Moody had really wonderful fabrics — she thought of using hand-blocked linen in a ti-leaf design.
“We’ll paint the floors dark green,” she told us. “And with lauhala mats and some reed furniture, with our Kelly etching and the Tennant and a few of Troy’s things, it will be quite charming.”
“Aren’t you spending a lot of effort,” Anne asked, “on someone else’s house?”
Mavis turned completely around then, and her smile was very bright. “Oh, it’s going to be our house. That’s what Troy plans to use his check for.”
“And when we sell the stuff we left in New York,” Troy called back, “we’ll get a new car. This heap’s going to be put out to pasture.”
We had begun to descend the steepest section of the road and he held the hand-brake as he drove. “She froze once,” he said. “Nearly scared us both to death. We had started to a party—”
“That was the night we went to the Erickssons,” Mavis put in.
“What a night that was!” Troy said. “As we started out, I parked on the drive and went back to close the garage door; Umi’s father left tools there and we keep it locked. The car rolled down the drive and the hand-brake stuck. Mavis tried to cut off the motor and yanked the key out instead. This girl’s a quick thinker. She jerked the wheel and landed against a papaya tree at the bottom of the road. You should have heard those melons squashing!”