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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Jasmine explained
>> Biggie's-Waikiki
"Long time, Cruz," Biggie Kanaka said evenly. "You know Jim Edmondson?"
"We've met," the attorney said, stood, shook Cruz MacKenzie's hand.
"I don't want to interrupt."
"No, I've got an early day in court tomorrow. The Perreira case. Good shot at getting the kid off."
A "domestic" had turned ugly when a Pearl City High girl shot both of her parents with her dad's .22 to get them to stop their incessant, high-decibel arguing while she was studying for her SATs.
"Sit down," Biggie said when Edmondson left.
Where to begin? How to begin? "Look, Biggie, I, um ..." Cruz stammered. "I want to explain about the picture of me and Jasmine in the paper. It's, ah, not as bad as it looked, really, and..."
"What picture?" Biggie said through narrowed eyes.
"You mean you didn't ..."
Biggie threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Pua showed it to me. My secretary showed it to me. My bookkeeper showed it to me. Hell, the gal at the dry-cleaners asked about it."
"It's not what you probably think. In fact ..."
"Never mind. Jasmine explained already."
"What exactly," Cruz said warily, "did she say?"
"That you were very honorable, despite her poor behavior."
"I didn't want to take advantage. Sshe's your daughter."
"She explained that, too. I'm pleased that you considered my friendship that important. And I appreciate your taking care of her. "
"Once in a while I try to do the right thing."
"You did right by me. How about another drink?" He signaled for another round. "Of course, now she wants you even more. But it's OK."
"What is?"
"You two."
This was so discombobulating, Cruz couldn't speak. And even after he regained the ability to at least make gurgling sounds, he still didn't know what to say.
"Cruz, she's a big girl now. That's the tough part of being a father, letting them grow up and make their own way. Hell, I never had a son, so I raised my daughter to be independent. The girl has brass allahs. What am I gonna tell her now, at the age of 27 she has to do whatever I say? That's the fastest way to lose a child there is. So you have my blessing. I told her so. If it works out, fine. If it doesn't, well, my daughter can't blame me -- and she has a long memory. And you and me, we'll still play golf."
"I have to think about this."
"You've got about eight seconds, pallie." Biggie smiled, waved. Across the dance floor, entering like a burst of sunshine, was Jasmine.
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com
