“I’d be willing to risk traveling through Pierce land. I run there almost every morning and haven’t been bothered.”
“Well, we can’t go now. What’s the point of drive all the way to Tamashiro’s and spoil the fish driving round?”
“OK, Uncle Yosh. You’ve got a good point,” I said, thinking there was no reason to force the point any further. He didn’t want to go. I was going to have to make the trip on my own, perhaps following tips from Kainoa, or-the thought struck me suddenly-going via the military side with Michael.
Despite the bit of awkwardness at the end, my trip out with my uncle had been a success, I thought as I dropped him back off at his house with his sea urchins before returning to Kainani. As I put the three fish in the coldest part of the fridge and programmed the rice cooker to switch on at five, I thought about what I’d learned. There was more he had to say, I was sure, but I’d learned the virtues of patience at my father’s knee. The truth would come out in time. And now it was time to see Michael, so I could stop thinking about family business for a while. I changed my clothes, swept up the minivan keys, and left.
13
THE WAIKIKI YACHT Club was situated on the fringe of Ala Moana Park, the beach known as Honolulu’s safest place for children to swim. I puttered along the parking driveway that edged the beach park, looking in vain for a spot large enough for my vehicle. As I drove, I couldn’t help noticing how many of the mothers holding children’s hands shot untrusting glances toward my Odyssey, as if the vehicle’s rust, dirt and pure ugliness indicated a thug was at the wheel.
I gave up on finding a parking spot near the water, and as I returned to Ala Moana Boulevard, I decided to leave the minivan in the large parking garage attached to the Ala Moana Center. I backed easily into a generous space near Macy’s, locked up and emerged from the shadowy garage into bright sun, and waited for the light to change so I could walk across the busy boulevard to the yacht club.
Entering the low white stucco building made me slightly anxious, as entering members-only places sometimes did. When I’d called Georgina back for more information on the timing of the boat’s arrival, I’d thought about asking her what I should wear, but decided against it for fear of being gauche. Now I wish I had. The halter back of my clingy orange and turquoise striped silk sundress, and my high-heeled turquoise-studded sandals seemed too feminine against the backdrop of club members wearing either polo shirts and shorts or bright cotton shift dresses. But that wasn’t the biggest difference between the club members and me; as Edwin would have said, it was a haole place. I was the only Asian, hapa or otherwise.
I walked around the pleasant, teak-ceilinged rooms decorated with hundreds of nautical flags, choosing to linger in the trophy room, where there were almost a century’s worth of cups, statues and plaques celebrating feats of sailing and surfing. I did a double take at a series of trophies engraved with the name of Duke Kahanamoku, the world’s fastest swimmer and most famous surfer during the first part of the twentieth century.
If Duke, who was indisputably Hawaiian, was a member of this club in the old days, that was a good sign. And then I saw another name that made my skin prickle: Pierce. Someone called Lindsay Pierce, a big handsome blond man photographed in 1968 holding a mammoth trophy. If Lindsay was in his thirties in 1968, the date of the picture, he’d have been too young to remember real-estate transactions taking place in the thirties. But the sight of him reminded me of how badly I wanted to talk to someone in the Pierce family. Now I’d found a connection.
I asked around until I was directed to Georgina Dobbs, the woman who’d telephoned me about the boat’s arrival. She turned out to be a graceful woman with a mahogany tan and helmet of silver hair. Her trim figure was flattered by her slim-fitting floral cotton sheath dress, just like the others but somehow more Hawaiian in appearance.
“Why, hello, Rei!” she said warmly when I greeted her. “Funny, I thought you’d be Japanese, because of your cousin who answered the phone-what good English he speaks!”
I eyed her more cautiously. “I’m half-Japanese.”
“Oh, hapa-haole, just like my grandkids. My daughter married a Hawaiian, so the children, good Lord, are they gorgeous! Now I’m so glad that you’re here, because the gal I’d been counting on to help me carry mai tais had to take the shuttle over to the Honolulu Yacht Club for some reason or other…”
“Any update of when Four Guys on the Edge is arriving?” I asked.
“Maybe an hour or two away. Can’t tell for sure, but don’t leave.” She smiled at me. “You could kill the time with a few drinks in the bar. Our mai tais are infamous.”
The characters in Juanita Sheridan novels were always sipping mai tais, but I couldn’t risk getting tipsy when I had to drive back to Kainani and serve dinner to nine people. “Maybe later. By the way, I noticed a picture in the trophy room-a man called Lindsay Pierce. Is he involved with Pierce Holdings?”
“Hmmm. Lindsay is the younger son, and he left fifteen or twenty years ago for California. As far as I know, he’s retired. Pierce Holdings isn’t actively run by the family anymore, just its corporate people.”
“Is there an older son?”
“Yes, Josiah Pierce, or JP Junior, as people used to call him in my parents’ day, when his father was still living. He retired back in the 1970s, but I believe he lives up on Tantalus at the old family house.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” I said. “There’s a little real-estate deal I’m looking into, with a Pierce connection. I’d love to talk to him directly.”
Georgina raised her eyebrows, as if measuring me in a new way. “Like I said, JP’s still in Tantalus, but I’m sure he’s unlisted. And…I really shouldn’t do this, but…there’s got to be an old club directory lying around somewhere.” She said a few words to the bartender, who produced one from under the counter.
“Let me mark this down for you,” Georgina said, writing on the back of a bill.
“Thank you.” I chatted a while longer with Georgina, and when she was called away to the telephone, I took advantage of the break to step outside of the building toward the water and tried the number she’d given me. It rang almost ten times, an unusual occurrence in a world now filled with answering machines, but at last an aged-sounding male voice answered.
“My name is Rei Shimura,” I said, after I’d ascertained I was speaking with Josiah Pierce the Second. “Actually, I’m a friend of a friend-Georgina Dobbs.”
“Oh, from the yacht club. You’re calling to try to get me to contribute to a fundraiser?” His voice sounded dismissive.
“No. I’m trying to put together an accurate historical record. I hope to interview you about something relating to the plantation.”
“You shouldn’t disturb me at home about that kind of thing. It’s all handled out of our offices in Kapolei.”
“I’m afraid the officers of Pierce Holdings may be too young to help me. They weren’t around sixty-some years ago.”
He paused. “Who did you say you were? And what’s your company-or is it a magazine?”
“My name is Rei Shimura,” I repeated. “And I’m actually just visiting from the mainland. I know it sounds forward, but I would very much like to talk to you, face to face.”
“Well, then.” He paused, as if making a decision. “Can you come to me?”
“I’d be very happy to do that.”
“How about tomorrow, say one o’clock?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“My house is close to the top of the road in the last stretch of houses before the parkland at the top.”