My Kind of Town
>> PortlockRosalita Resurreccion was on her way to get ice from Miss Lily's home, to make a cold press for her fevered daughter, but made a detour to check on the sheets she had fresh-drying on the line. Even with a sick daughter in their cottage, Rosalita could not ignore her duties to her employer. Besides, she was learning to love Miss Lily for the life she provided her and Elizabeth. After her husband Jesus died a year and a half ago, they faced a life of hunger and living on the streets, like the growing millions of other Filipinos, until her husband's cousin Muhammed Resurreccion got her a work visa to Hawaii. The same cousin who would be visiting Hawaii in another day. But it was Miss Lily who had become like family. She was so generous, so gracious. The best boss Rosalita ever had. She was so good to Elizabeth, spoiling the little girl as only an auntie can.
>> Wrapped in a big bath towel, on his way to the kitchen to find a beverage and maybe some food, Mickey glimpsed Rosalita through the big windows as he entered the living room. The intruder ducked behind the hallway wall, peeked around it. The shock that he was not alone quickly gave way to a more basic urge. Mm-mm. A Filipina cutie, petite, nice figure. Mickey wanted to jump her right now, dispose of her, and be ready when the babe in the teal Beamer showed up. The Filipina had her back turned to him. She was checking some laundry on the line. Mickey scampered to the kitchen.
>> Rosalita gave the sheets the sniff test. Yes, they smelled fresh. Before she put them on Miss Lily's bed, she'd get that ice for Elizabeth.
>> Foodland -- Aina Haina
The only way for Lily to get into the cab of Quinn's big white Dodge pickup was for him to lift her. Which thrilled her earlier. But now it meant that she couldn't cling to his arm because she was too drunk to walk without weaving.
Quinn couldn't help having similar thoughts. The way Lily's hip moved against his, her head against his shoulder, her breast pressed into his arm -- why did this have to be his first cousin? Damn. Unfortunately -- or fortunately, depending --he was sober, and unlike Lily couldn't say his inhibitions were washed away with wine. He opened the door, set the big bag of Popsicles on the floor of the cab.
"OK, one more time, up you go."
Again he placed his strong hands around her waist, his fingers nearly encircling her, and lifted her gently into the cab. Lily had never felt so secure or so suddenly sad, because as wonderful as this was, the first cousins could never go any further. Especially with Quinn being such a man of honor. Damn.
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