We cruised along the highway in my Mustang.
I looked around at the Maui landscape, marveling. I was surprised how much I was enjoying Hawaii. I looked out at the view. "It is beautiful!"
Ivy was frowning, annoyed. "If it's beautiful, there's no work. No work means no money. No money and nothing to spend it on is no fun. Maui is no fun." She crossed her arms in protest. "All I want to do is get outa here, go have some fun somewhere."
"The bright lights of Vegas maybe."
"Maybe."
"You willing to dance topless?"
"Maybe."
I took my time speaking. "I could see me living here."
Ivy was amazed.
"I like the idea of an island. A place where I can just get away from it all."
Ivy scoffed at that. "There's no here anywhere here!"
"It's true enough. Maybe I've just seen too much of the real world."
Ivy understood. "You must travel a lot."
"Yeah. Mostly the East Coast, though. I don't get much chance to work Out West. Even then it's only LA or San Francisco."
"Out West," she said, then giggled. She caught my puzzlement. Then she felt uncomfortable and felt she had to explain herself. "Maui people don't think about Hawaii being Out West. Out West is ... " She gestured toward the Mainland. "Back East from here."
I was amused. "I guess Out West is Back East from here."
We parked in front of her apartment building. We sat in the Mustang, both of us unready to make a move.
She was timid. "If I went to Vegas ... ?"
I nodded. "I'd help you out. Help you find a job, a place to live."
"D'you think I'd like it there?"
I wasn’t sure. "Maybe. It's like an escalator. You just step on the escalator and you get whisked along. The floor you stop at is a matter of luck, of course. How long you stay there is up to how good you are at playing the game." I thought of all the years I had been a player. Too many years. Too many games.
Ivy stopped me. "I just want to be free. Really free. I want to have fun. I don't want to end up a slut."
"Nobody with me is a slut," I said, and I meant it.
We made eye contact. I could see she wanted to believe me.
"I'll see you for lunch, Ivy." I kissed her.
"I got the whole day off," she told me.
I shook my head, pained. "I gotta go work for a living."
We kissed again. Then I left.
On Front Street in beautiful Lahaina, the tradewinds were rustling the leaves of the palm trees. Tourists meandered in aloha shirts, shorts and sandals. Most never saw a weather-beaten two-story wooden building at the far end of the commercial strip. "The Shell Shoppe," a commercial business dealing in seashells for the tourists, was the storefront on the ground floor. Upstairs, a placard in a window said: "Income Tax."
I stopped in front of the Shell Shoppe. Flea Nichols came down the outside staircase and climbed inside. Then we drove off.
"You got dinner okay last night?" Flea asked.
I nodded, watched a sheriff's patrol car pass us.
"Where'd you eat at? The Pier Inn? Pretty good food, right?" Flea had a long pause. "D'you see Ivy Lawson there?"
I frowned. "Magenta-haired chick, right?"
"Pretty, isn't she?"
I was curious. "You know her?
Flea was distant. "She's wonderful."
I noticed this. "You getting any of that?"
Flea was wistful. "I wish I could. But she's too good for me."
"Yeah. When you're right, you're right."
Flea was confused. He wondered what he had missed.
Flea and I watched the boats in Lahaina Bay. Behind us, Corky Collins parked his truck and then walked over to us, covertly looking to see if anyone was watching them. Any fool would have recognized what he was doing.
"Go set it up," I said to Flea.
Flea left us, walked to his car and drove off. Corky and I walked off together.
"Now we can get down to business," Corky said.
"Why should we even talk with you?" I wondered.
Corky didn't know what to say to this.
"We don't need you. We have our own ways to make money, and we make a good living at it. What you would pay is ... that's nothing."
"I guess that's right," Corky said.