My Kind of Town
>>Honolulu Soap Co. Troublesome stains
If Lily Ah Sun wasn't so blinded by her own anger and hurt, she would have seen that this was not easy for her father. But all she could see at the moment was that he was wrong.
"I was going to announce it after Laird's graduation," Sheets continued. "But since you raised the issue, Lily, I'll tell you now. I'm naming Laird president and CEO of the Soap Company, immediately upon his graduation. I'll remain chairman of the board.
"But I do have good news. I'm also promoting you to vice-president of the Soap Company and appointing you to the board of directors."
She knew it was pointless, but Lily protested: "I've already shown I can run a company and grow it!"
"Yes, you have, and that's why you're moving up -- you deserve it," her father said in a way that was almost fatherly and at the moment seemed way too patronizing. "But this has always been the plan for Laird. In the end, you'll profit, Lily. We all will."
But it wasn't just about profit. It never had been.
When Sheets Ah Sun's soul needed soothing, he walked down to the production center. He'd pass through the first of two vacuum-sealed chambers, scrub his hands with an anti-bacterial soap of his own making, and don a sterile suit, cap, mask, gloves and booties. Passing into the second sealed chamber, he watched his people making his soap, and breathed deep the cleansing aroma of "the purest soap on Earth."
With enough soap, maybe he could wash away the stains on his life.
>>Eden Off Kuhio
Now that he'd made his big decision to stand with Greg at the Capitol demonstration in support of the hate crimes bill, Lance Ah Sun's big concern was what to wear. He could just blend in, he'd been doing it for years. Or he could go outlandish. No need. His mere presence would be his loudest statement. It said, for the first time in his 23 years, I'm gay and I don't care who knows!
>>Makiki Heights
Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka rolled over in bed and with his eyes still closed reached for Serena. But instead of the warm skin he desired, touched cool sheet. Slowly he opened his eyes, looked around the hillside hideaway he kept for his secret paramour. She and this cottage were his escapes. Through the open bedroom door, he saw a coffee table full of empty glasses and bottles. Which reminded him of their little party last night. But he couldn't remember a lot of the details.
"Serena?" he called. "Serena!"
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com