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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Make that to go
>> Kahala
Fon Du wanted to keep dinner quick and simple, and then get home for dessert -- the lovely Bodhicita Guzman. He'd gone two days without her, felt her absence in his loins. He also wanted a little romance to warm up the evening. And it just happened to be lamb shank special night at the Olive Tree. Throw in Savos' mussels ceviche, hummus and tomato-feta salad, and Fon Du was in heaven. They found a table outside, sat down with a bottle of Guenoc pinot noir he'd brought.
Honolulu was a fantastic posting for a Te-Wu officer. Sure beat the heck out Lhasa when it came to restaurants, though it must be said he enjoyed working in the Tibetan capital and knowing the world was not watching -- and didn't care -- what the Chinese were doing there. But the Chinese secret police were skilled at flying under radar, and in Honolulu he was known as vice-president of the Bank of Lhasa, offices on Bishop Street.
Yet as much as he loved Hawaii, it was Hong Kong he wanted. Hong Kong, where the people needed to be reminded -- or perhaps for those too young to remember, shown for the first time -- the will and wisdom of the motherland. Especially those shouting about democracy. They needed to be shown lessons, just as Tibetans had been shown back in 1959. Fon Du was too young for that. Hong Kong was his chance.
But that brought a problem -- what about this lovely girl, this Bodhicita, who was softly tracing circles on his thigh? The most beautiful, exciting, desirous woman he'd ever been with in his 34 years -- good enough to keep him faithful for six months, a personal record.
He was almost ready to "pop the big question," as the Americans put it, but how would his superiors in Beijing react if he brought her along to Hong Kong?
A question for another day. "Fon," he heard his name called, "your order is ready." Need any help, babe?"
"Just pour the wine, sweetheart."
As he went inside to fetch their food, her back to the door, Bodhicita did refresh their glasses, and as she set the bottle back on the table with her left hand, with her right she deftly emptied the clear contents of a small vial into Fon Du's glass. She'd miss his slight British accent.
"Cheers!" she said when he was back at the table with their appetizers, raised her glass. "I missed you the last two days, babe."
Glasses clinked, they drank. "I know. Oh how I know."
They shared a countdown-to-naked look.
The contents of the vial, given to her by Kamasami Khan, kicked in by the time they finished the mussels and hummus. "I can't wait to have you," he said. "Let's get the rest of the order to go."
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com