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My Kind of Town

by Don Chapman

Thursday, June 14, 2001


Calling home

>> Kalanianaole Highway

The closing strains of "Hello Stranger" by Mauka Showers faded away. It was, as of today, the song that Lily and Quinn Ah Sun would always refer to as "our song." At least, they would if they weren't first cousins.

"You mean I have a cousin I didn't even know about?" Quinn said as his Dodge truck cruised past the Niu Valley Shopping Center. "A gay cousin?"

"That's what happens when we don't see each other in 21 years," Lily said. It wasn't their fault that their fathers had quit speaking when they were each 7 years old. Today was their first contact since then. Contact was exactly the right word.

"Speaking of which, I was surrounded by more gays today than you'd believe there are in the world!"

"Oh?" Lily said with raised eyebrows.

"At the Capitol, for a rally about the hate crimes bill," he said rather defensively. "In the line of duty." Quinn was a cop.

"Lance was there! His big coming out, he told me."

Hmm. Lance was the name of the kid who was attacked by the skinhead, fell and hit his head on a concrete curb. Naw, couldn't be the same Lance. The town isn't that small.

Lily took her cell phone from her purse. "I need to call Rosalita and let her know I'm coming home."

"Your maid?"

"Right," Lily said, dialing. The bag of Popsicles at her feet were for Rosalita's sick daughter. The little girl answered. "Elizabeth, how are you feeling, sweetie?"

>> Portlock

Rosalita pulled the sliding screen door open. Miss Lily liked her home to be open-air as much as possible, so during the day when someone was home the back door was open. Rosalita was on her way to get some ice out of Miss Lily's refrigerator, to make a cold press for her daughter Elizabeth's fever, and then she'd retrieve Miss Lily's fresh-dried sheets and put them on her bed.

>> Mickey watched from the kitchen door as the Filipina maid approached the house. Somehow today the front door had also been open. So when Mickey tried it after following the house's owner for two days, he walked right in, made himself at home. He'd already had the better part of a bottle of white wine, taken a dip, and at the moment was wearing only a bath towel wrapped around his stretch-marked beer gut. The house's owner should be home soon. This Filipina cutie would be his warm-up act. He ducked back in the kitchen. Grabbed a very large kitchen knife. Heard her footsteps approaching.




Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com



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