Love and Loathing in the islands: Searching for Gauguin

By Adriana Bardolino

In this sequel to the memoir Confessions of a Hippie, author Adriana Bardolino struggles to make her art and work synonymous. She falls in
and out of love with masters of distance, while seeking true love. She still records her feelings and life events in journals, and she tucks precious
photos away in albums as unsolved mysteries.

Approaching thirty, Bardolino searches for something to replace the security of the old commune. She seeks therapy to unlock her self destructive habits. On a month’s vacation to Hawaii, she experiences an artistic rebirth and decides the island of Maui is where she belongs. A
tragic turn of events in her life thwarts her dream. She is tossed into an abyss of longing and regret. Filled with love, art, romance, humor, sex, and history, mostly on a tropical island, Love and Loathing in the Islands shares Bardolino’s story from 1975 to 1981 when she faced a crossroads in her life. Will Adriana find Gauguin and true love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663228239

Book preview

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Other Books by Adriana Bardolino

Confessions of a Hippie, Always Searching for Love

Love and Redemption in the Tropics, Missing Gauguin

LOVE AND

LOATHING

IN THE

ISLANDS

Searching for Gauguin

ADRIANA BARDOLINO

LOVE AND LOATHING IN THE ISLANDS

SEARCHING FOR GAUGUIN

Copyright © 2022 Adriana Bardolino.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-2824-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-2823-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022908810

iUniverse rev. date: 01/18/2024

Some people fall in love with a person forever I fell in love with a place.

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1 I Left My Heart on Maui

Chapter 2 Bois Froid

Chapter 3 Alice in Wonderland

Chapter 4 Escape from Babylon

Chapter 5 Not an Ordinary Life

Chapter 6 Stormy Weather

Chapter 7 Birds of a Feather

Chapter 8 Monkey Business

Chapter 9 Mango Breath

Chapter 10 Girl on Fire

Chapter 11 Barking Dogs

Chapter 12 Hooked on You

Chapter 13 Poor Butterfly

Chapter 14 Two Peas in a Pod

Chapter 15 Hot Blooded

Chapter 16 Bad Case of Loving You

Chapter 17 Blush like You Mean It

Chapter 18 Hair Makes the Man

Chapter 19 The Madland

Chapter 20 Aloha Oe

PREFACE

I never had a dream of being a starving artist in a tiny apartment in New York City. I was twenty-eight, and my goal was to make my art and work synonymous. I was also maneuvering my way through the second decade of the sexual revolution, which began in the sixties and continued into the seventies. After a few failed love affairs, I was looking for true love, hoping that such a thing really existed. I was seeking a relationship where my sense of self did not disappear into the mundane of everyday life. Along the way I realize I am addicted to romantic love, which I need like a drug to feel alive. I also discovered that even paradise has a loathsome underb elly.

A break in the harmony of my communal family, whom I had lived with during the late sixties and early seventies, forced me to search for a new home. We’d spent eight years traveling between New York and California until politics split our commune apart.

I experience renewed artistic inspiration in Hawaii and see a possible future path open before me. Romance is sparked when I meet a young artist, a New York transplant, who lives on the island. I fall in love with the island of Maui. I want to leave everything I know and everyone I love behind to pursue a life in Gauguin (in other words, art). Upon returning to the mainland after my vacation, I decide that Maui is where I want to live and vow to return to the island, until a tragic event thwarts my plan. When everything goes up in flames and turns to ashes, I seek therapy to release myself from a self-imposed bondage. My life begins to spin out of control like a roulette wheel, and I want to get off.

Upon leaving one’s friends and family there is always apprehension, but for some, the need for a change in one’s life, and well-being, supersedes everything else. We tend to romanticize our friends while apart, but when we are with them again, we are stuck in the character they see us as. My communal brothers and sisters, mentioned in my first book, Confessions of a Hippie: Always Searching for Love, remain an integral part of my story. Although I leave my hippie days behind, I maintain many of the spiritual beliefs, as well as the concept of free love (well, when it suits me).

I meet some crazy characters along my tropical journey, each one adding richness and beauty to my life. I almost miss the disco era completely, having been a hippie during its peak craze, but I catch the tail end when I meet a tall intriguing stranger. My life in paradise becomes a novel, and explodes in beauty and passion. What could possibly go wrong?

There are a series of journals I kept during the late sixties and seventies that my memoir is largely based on. They include so much detail of my life and experiences. I entered my thoughts and feelings in those notebooks in an effort to unravel the mysteries of life. My thoughts and emotions flow out in poems, drawings, and watercolors on the pages. I describe in detail the carnival ride that becomes my journey. I find that life is indeed complicated and sometimes poses difficult choices. I recorded excerpts from books I’d read in an attempt to define an experience that paralleled my own, perhaps in a way I couldn’t express myself. I jotted down lyrics of songs to explain my feelings at a specific moment in time. Isn’t that the wonder of music? How it prompts us to remember, with graphic detail, a certain person or event in our lives.

My memoir is written in the language and expressions my friends and I used at that time. I describe people the way I saw them and events the way I experienced them, which may not have been theirs. The names of the characters are all fictitious, as well as some of the places we inhabited. There are explicit sex scenes that were part of my story—well, they are part of life and love. Irish poet and playwright Oscar Wilde said, Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.

Writing my memoir has tossed me back into my past, reacquainting me with people I loved and memories, as well as times of great loss. I’ve always found people I’d loved hard to put aside. I think that once we love someone and share our lives, there is no forgetting. Even after their physical presence is gone from us, they remain part of our being. I hope you will enjoy my story and even have a few laughs along the way. Perhaps you will find something of yourself in me. It was a crazy but wonderful time.

As the plane was circling the airport I stared out the window at a large mountain. I could see fires burning below as we descended through the clouds. The airport was much less constructed than I expected, with an open-air terminal surrounded by fields of sugar cane as far as the eye could see. For a moment I felt uncertainty. Walking onto the runway the trade winds were so strong they almost knocked me over. The palm trees were swaying wildly, and I could see a rainbow in the distance. Then the sweet smell of the air enveloped me with an intoxicating sense of freedom, and I felt a thrill. It was like entering heaven.

ONE

I LEFT MY HEART ON MAUI

Millions upon millions of years ago, when the continents were already formed and the principal feature of the earth had been decided, there existed, then as now, one aspect of the world that dwarfed all others. It was a mighty ocean, resting uneasily to the east of the largest continent, a restless, ever-changing, gigantic body of water that would later be described as pacific.

—James A. Michener, Hawaii

T here I was on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The island was Maui, part of the Hawaiian chain, one of the remotest places on earth. It was a beautiful spring day in 1975, and I was looking forward to a month’s vaca tion.

I walked up a dirt driveway to a small cottage in Haiku. It looked scanty compared to the Garden of Eden I had just left. I assumed someone was home because there were two cars in the driveway. I nervously knocked, wondering if I should have let my new friends leave me and drive away, but when I looked back, their jeep was already far down the road.

After a few minutes, a guy opened the door. I knew right away it was Loretta’s ex-boyfriend, because he was just as she’d described him. He looked like a Greek Adonis with dark, curly hair and dark skin and eyes.

He said, Yeah. What can I do for you?

You’re Sammy, right? Samuel Cooper?

Yeah, that’s me.

I’m Adriana, Adriana Bardolino. I’m Loretta Perino’s friend. Didn’t she tell you I was coming?

He glanced down at my backpack a little dumbfounded, maybe even a bit annoyed. No, I haven’t talked to her in months.

I was at a loss for words and stood there pondering my options.

I guess you’d better come inside, he said, taking my backpack and tossing it on the floor.

His place was a one-room cottage, and I wondered where I would sleep. I noticed a woman standing in the kitchen area. She looked eerily like Loretta. She was cutting up avocados and tomatoes.

She looked up and asked, Are you hungry? I was just preparing lunch.

I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so lunch sounds good to me, I replied.

Sammy said, That’s my girlfriend, Rain. He walked over to her, squeezed her around the waist, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

So Loretta sent you here to find me, huh? He shook his head, laughing. How the hell is Loretta doing these days back in Brooklyn?

I came here directly from San Francisco, but I spoke to her a few weeks ago. She’s fine. Look, I really feel uncomfortable and don’t want to put you guys out.

No worries. You’re already here, so we’ll make it work. As you can see there’s not much room, but you can sleep over there, he said, pointing to a space on the floor in a corner of the cottage.

Rain rolled her eyes.

So how’d you ever find me? Sammy asked.

Well, it’s a crazy story, but I met a young couple on the plane who live in Haiku, and they took me home with them last night. We went to the Haiku post office this morning and found out where you live. Loretta had given me your post office box number.

You mean to tell me you got on a plane blindly and headed to the islands? Wow, that’s brave.

Samuel Cooper was a good-looking guy with a heavy Brooklyn accent. He reminded me of Tony Curtis, who played a slave in the movie Spartacus. As he talked to Rain, I pictured Tony Curtis in that Roman bath washing the emperor. None of us said much during lunch, and I was hoping something would break the ice to make me feel less like an intruder.

The next day was another beautiful day, and I thought, I could get used to this. I woke early and sneaked out of the cottage to give Sammy and Rain privacy. There was a rainbow in the distance, so I figured it was raining somewhere on the horizon.

Sammy opened the door, walked over to me, and said, I’m taking you to work with me today because Rain has some things she wants to do on her own.

Where’s work?

Lahaina. It’s a small town, used to be the capitol of Hawaii when this was a monarchy. There are quaint shops, so you can roam around town while I’m working.

It was about an hour and a quarter drive, and we chatted all the way. Sammy asked if I’d heard about Bill Gates and Paul Allen, who owned a company called Microsoft. He said they invented something called a computer. It all sounded Greek to me.

The ocean glistened as I gazed out the window along a narrow two-lane road that wound its way over a mountain pass.

We just drove over the Pali, Sammy said as we descended to sea level again.

I told him I had been living in San Francisco for the past year, but I needed a change. I explained the roller-coaster ride I was on between New York and California over the past eight years or so and was looking for a new place to break that pattern.

Do you think you’ll ever go back to New York?

I don’t know, Sammy. I just don’t know.

When we arrived in Lahaina, he drove down a side street on the back side of town and parked. We walked just a little way to an outside restaurant in a banana grove. It was really just a hut with some outside wooden picnic tables right on the dirt.

So this is the place I manage, he said. I started this place from scratch. There was nothing in the way of fresh, natural, organic food restaurants when I landed on the island. We serve mostly Mexican food, all fresh ingredients, and we make our own tortilla chips.

I looked up at the sign, which read La Tortilla Natural. He put me to work in the kitchen for a while, I guess to earn my keep. When I was done in the kitchen, I sat outside at one of the tables. Sammy brought me a burrito, and I tried the chips with fresh-made salsa. I sat there for a while watching people come and go, mostly young people with unkempt sun-bleached hair, wearing shorts and T-shirts, many barefoot.

Sammy was going to be busy all day, so I told him I would cruise around town for a few hours and would return before he closed the restaurant. I wandered through the sleepy side streets. I noticed quite a few mango trees, which I recognized from the summer I spent in Colombia, South America. The fruits were small and still green. There was a laid-back atmosphere, and I felt easy and serene. The peace and tranquility of the island gave me a feeling of safety.

When I reached the main drag, Front Street, it reminded me a lot of Provincetown in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. At the time I was not aware there was a direct link between Cape Cod and Lahaina from the old whaling days. I learned that in the early 1800s, King Kamehameha sent his son to school in Boston and visited there often.

I walked along the sidewalk parallel to the ocean. I smelled the sea air and felt the gentle trade winds. A couple of surfer dudes ran past me with their boards in tow. I stopped and leaned against the seawall to watch them for a while. They walked onto the beach and jumped in the water, paddled out a ways, and sat on their surfboards waiting for waves. I stayed there for quite a while watching them on their quest to ride the perfect wave.

Walking back to La Tortilla Natural, I passed an old, abandoned, walled-in prison. The gates in the high stone wall were open, so I wandered inside. There were crude holding cells, and I wondered what sort of offenses people were imprisoned for in those early days. I imagined Lahaina was a wild place a hundred years in the past, with all those whaling ships in the harbor. I figured there was a constant battle between the missionaries and the sailors who settled in the islands to bring Christianity to the native peoples, only to kill a large portion of the population with imported diseases.

On the ride back to the cottage, Sammy directed my attention to the kiawe bushes along the roadway. He informed me that the missionaries planted the thorny bushes so the islanders would learn to wear shoes. That gave me an unpleasant chill. What a loathsome thing to do, I thought.

At the cottage, I got the vibe that Rain wasn’t happy with my presence, which made me uncomfortable. I felt foolish for showing up on Sammy’s doorstep and wanted to wring Loretta’s neck for telling me it was a great idea. This uncomfortable situation went on for days. I spent each day going into Lahaina with Sammy, wandering around town while he worked in the restaurant.

Sometimes I’d find a spot on the beach and lie in the sun watching the surfers. Hawaiian men were big and strong with cocoa skin, rough island features, and light eyes. Women surfed as well, and the Hawaiian wahine (women) were big girls, yet they were as graceful as a Gauguin painting. I got friendly with some local girls, and we talked for a while. They took me on a walk to the harbor to show me the sacred birthing stone used by ancient royalty to have their babies. It’s called the Hauola Stone and is partially underwater. They also told me that Hawaiian queens were fat because it was considered a mark of wealth and beauty, and that they could have more than one husband. I laughed, thinking that my mother, being a big woman, would feel at home in the islands.

Some days I’d just wander in and out of the many shops along Front Street. Everyone was super friendly. One of the shop owners told me that most of the storefronts were around for more than a hundred years. The buildings were once all grog shops that served liquor and beer to the sailors who passed through town back then. She told me it got pretty wild during the winter whaling season. These seafaring men spent their days out on the ocean hunting whales and their nights in the grog shops looking for drink and women. I was thankful to hear that the Hawaiian Islands eventually became a whale sanctuary. Knowing it was whale season, I was hoping to catch sight of some.

When I woke the next morning, Rain was doing yoga on the floor of the cottage. I watched her silently for a while. Then she sat up, closed her eyes, folded her legs, and began to meditate.

I thought, Well that’s a good sign! I lay in my sleeping bag for quite a while, not wanting to disturb her. Afterward, she got up and walked into the kitchen area and made breakfast. It was nothing I wanted to eat, and by now I realized she was a vegetarian.

I went outside, and Sammy was already out there picking fruit off a papaya tree in their yard. That I could eat. I’d developed a liking for them in Colombia, South America.

I’m going into Lahaina alone today. I have a lot to do in the restaurant and will probably be there late into the night. Besides, Rain wants to take you to a happening.

This surprised me since she didn’t seem to have much use for me. It was the fourth day of my vacation. I was getting bored with the daily routine and was ready for something different.

Rain said, There’s a festival up on the crater today, and I thought you’d enjoy it.

What kind of festival? I asked, gazing at her eyebrows, which were not plucked.

It’s a Krishna festival. A holy man is visiting Maui, who will be speaking. There will be lots of music and food. It will be fun. Or you can hang out here at the cottage if you prefer.

No, I’d love to go with you.

I thought, Maybe she’s warming up to me.

After breakfast, Rain and I headed out driving up a winding road, way up on Haleakala Crater. As we ascended the volcano, the weather became cooler and less humid. I noticed an odor in the air I was familiar with, eucalyptus. These trees looked a little different than the ones I’d seen in California. Their bark was multicolored, but upon closer inspection, I noticed their branches had the same tiny blue acorns. Rain told me they were called rainbow eucalyptus and that perhaps their colors were due to the volcanic soil.

As we drove along, Rain continued talking about this and that, but I was fascinated with her natural eyebrows. Mexican artist Frida KahIo came to mind.

About four thousand feet up the volcano, we began to see people walking along the road, mostly hippie types. We drove down a bumpy dirt road and parked. As we got closer to the festival I heard music: drums, sitars, guitars, and flutes. Women wore saris, men wore white turbans, and some had white symbols painted on their faces. It was a chaotic scene yet seemed peaceful in contrast. There were exotic foods, some of which I didn’t care to sample, and everything reeked of curry.

Rain grabbed my hand and dragged me into a circle where women were dancing. Some were adorned with beautiful, flowing garments and large, intricate jewelry. I began dancing in the circle with the other women, and a feeling of joy and unity came over me. When we’d had enough, the men got up and replaced us dancing together, some holding their children in the air. When the drums and symbols got faster, the men were almost running. Then all became silent. The dancing stopped, and everyone hugged and chanted.

I sat at the foot of a large tree and rested my head against the bark. A woman sat near me nursing her baby. All became silent when the yogi began to speak. He was seated on a large Persian carpet with a few of his close followers. He didn’t have a loud voice, but it had become so quiet that it was easy to hear his words. I listened intently to his sermon and understood his message. Occasionally, people clapped or asked him questions. This culminated in a group chant with music. People sang joyfully: Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare … Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama, Rama, Hare, Hare …

It was late afternoon when Rain said, Let’s go before the crowds start leaving.

Okay. Whenever you want to leave is fine with me.

On the drive back down the mountain, Rain asked, Have you met Hank yet?

I stared at her blankly.

Sammy’s brother, Harvey. Everyone calls him Hank, she said.

I didn’t even know Sammy had a brother.

He doesn’t hang out with us much, likes to do his own thing. I think you’ll like him. He’s an artist and a musician. He lives in Kahului.

I smiled and said, I look forward to meeting him.

That evening we were sitting at the counter in the kitchen area of the cottage.

Sammy said, My brother is playing at a café in Wailuku with some friends tonight. We’re going, and you’re coming with us.

Since that would get me out of the cottage for a change of scenery, I was all for it. Besides, it sounded as if I had no choice in the matter.

When we arrived at the café, people sat around drinking coffee and talking. I didn’t notice a bar. We sat at a table and ordered coffee and desserts to share. I wondered which of the musicians was Hank. We got to talking and laughing and I didn’t even notice that the music had stopped.

A guy walked to our table, looked straight at me, and held out his hand. I’m Harvey Cooper, Sammy’s brother, but everyone calls me Hank. My brother told me all about you.

I thought, That doesn’t sound good, and wondered what Sammy told him. I accepted his hand, smiled, and said, I’m Adriana Bardolino

My brother asked me to show you around the island since he’s busy with the restaurant.

I’d really like that, Hank.

Why don’t I pick you up at Sammy’s tomorrow, and we’ll make a day of it.

Sounds good. I’ll be waiting for you to come by.

I have a late set tonight, but we’ll talk more tomorrow. With that remark he walked away.

Harvey Cooper, aka Hank, was nothing like Sammy, except for the Brooklyn accent. He had wavy dirty blond hair and soft blue eyes.

On the drive back to the cottage, I got the feeling Sammy and Rain had had enough of me and were pawning me off on Hank. I felt uneasy and had no idea what was in store for me.

The next morning, when Sammy went to work, Rain and I lay out on the grass in our bathing suits taking in the sun. As I listened to the myna birds chattering, my mind drifted off to a pleasant place. I was just about to say something when I heard a motor coming up the driveway. It was Hank Cooper in an old Jeep Wrangler.

He got out and walked over to us. You ready to experience Maui?

It’ll just take me a few minutes to throw some shorts on over my bathing suit, I answered.

He shot me a big smile as I ran inside.

Driving away from the cottage, the breeze scrambled my hair. I felt not a care in the world as I was living in the moment once again.

Where are we going?

I’m taking you on the road to Hana.

What’s Hana?

It’s what the real Hawaii is all about. You’ll see, he said.

We drove for a long time on a narrow road filled with switchbacks that went over bridges and past waterfalls. In some places the road was only one lane and it was necessary to pull over to let oncoming vehicles pass. We stopped and walked through a bamboo forest with filtered light, jungle plants, and exotic flowers. Once in a while the road came out along the ocean. I made Hank stop the jeep quite a few times to take photographs. He was really laid-back and patient with me. He told me that he moved to Maui because of his brother, that they had a really tight bond. I mentioned that Loretta told me to look Sammy up, that he’d take care of me and show me around the island.

Hank laughed like hell at that remark. How do you know Loretta?

She dated a good friend of mine for a while, Ross Grant.

I know Ross; he’s a funny guy. How’s Loretta doing these days?

Honestly, I haven’t seen her recently. We talk on the phone once in a while.

When we finally arrived in Hana, we parked and walked down to Black Sands Beach.

Hank said, Let’s see if we can find some puka shells.

He described them to me as being tiny white bead-like shells with a hole in the center. We strolled along the beach for a while and then sat in the sand.

Maui’s cool, but sometimes I miss New York, he said, his blue eyes squinting in the bright sun.

Oh, believe me, I know that feeling really well. I’ve tried to live in California a few times over the past eight years, but as much as I like it, I just don’t feel at home there.

Still, he said, I’ve been thinking about going back to New York.

I didn’t answer. I knew exactly how he felt, and I didn’t want to persuade him either way.

Let’s go. I want to take you to the Sacred Pools, he said.

Walking back to the jeep, Hank grabbed my hand and helped me over some rocks. I felt something when his hand touched mine. Our eyes met, and I felt a warm calm feeling wash over me. He let go of my hand, but the feeling lingered.

Oheo Gulch, also known as the Seven Sacred Pools, was a sight to behold. Waterfalls cascaded down the mountains from one rocky pool to another, eventually emptying into the ocean. The water rushed down with such force that the sound was deafening. The backdrop was tall mountains behind us, and the vast ocean was in front of us. People climbed all over the rocks and swam at each level. It was crowded, but we found an empty pool, stripped down to our bathing suits, and jumped in. The water was cool and refreshing, caressing me as I bobbed around enjoying the scenery. Someone dived off a bridge over one of the pools with a thunderous splash. I thought, This is a place I could get used to. I was hoping my vacation would never end, and I dreaded the thought of going back to California.

On the drive back from Hana, Hank and I talked easily with each other. Maybe it had something to do with his Brooklyn accent and my Bronx accent. We clicked and understood each other. Besides, sharing New York accents, we seemed to share similar life philosophies. I felt comfortable with Harvey Cooper and didn’t want the day to end.

When we reached Sammy’s cottage in Haiku, he said, I’m just gonna drop you off and not come in. A friend is meeting me at my house in an hour.

I got out of the jeep a little disappointed and was walking away when Hank shouted after me, I was wondering if you might want to come with me later to a friend’s house. They’re really nice people. Besides, I think you’d be much better off hanging out with me than here with Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

I laughed and said, That sounds like fun.

We waved at each other as he drove off.

I yelled after him, Thanks for today!

Hank turned and smiled back at me.

Later that evening Hank came by to pick me up, only briefly chatting with Sammy and Rain. I sensed a strained dialogue between the brothers and wondered what that was about.

We drove to Wailuku along the Iao River and stopped at a small wooden house. A bunch of people were drinking Primo beer, a brand I’d never heard of, and eating strange snacks that resembled dry seaweed. We all sat around a table in the kitchen. I remember the kitchen windows were right on the river, and the sound of the rushing water drowned out our voices. People sang and played guitars, and one guy played a ukulele.

It was such a windy night, and for a moment, listening to the rushing water and the howling wind, I fantasized being on a ship out at sea. I felt at home among these people, even though they were Hank’s friends. Hank told me I was connecting to the aloha spirit.

When it was time to leave, we said our goodbyes and headed out the door. We climbed in the jeep, and Hank sat there motionless for a while looking up at the stars.

Adriana, why don’t you stay with me tonight? he said, staring straight ahead. You don’t really want to drive all the way back to Haiku, do you?

I didn’t answer but tilted my head sideways.

I live in Kahului, only a few minutes away. So what do you say?

Okay, I answered, tilting my head back and smiling.

Hank smiled, still staring straight ahead. He turned the key in the ignition, and we drove off.

Hank’s house was in a row of old plantation-style houses, which he told me were filled in the old days with families who worked the sugarcane and pineapple fields. The rooms were large, and there was a yard in the back off the kitchen. I loved the simplicity of the house and the fact that artists lived there.

Two other people lived in the house, Verity and Milo. Verity DeVoe was an artist. She was petite, very fair, with freckles and flowing strawberry-blonde hair. Milo Wilson was a friend of Hank’s from Brooklyn. He was short with dark curly hair, always smiling, but sparse with words.

We walked through a long hallway into the kitchen where Milo and Verity were sitting at a large table, passing a joint back and forth. We sat down and exchanged names. I overheard Hank tell Milo that I knew Loretta, which put a big smile on Milo’s face.

You know Loretta? Milo asked, after taking a long drag off the joint.

Yeah, me and Loretta are friends. Why?

I haven’t seen or talked to her in ages. We used to be pretty tight, he said, passing the joint to me.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I figured I’d ask Loretta what the deal with Milo was the next time I spoke to her.

Verity rifled the joint from my fingers, saying, Don’t forget me while you guys are reminiscing about people you all know.

Hank laughed and said, "Bois froid" (pronounced bwa fwa), in a very nasal New York tone. Three years of French in high school told me bois froid meant cold wood.

How about passing that Thai stick in my direction? Milo said.

We sat around the table trading stories and snide comments for a long time. Well, there were three stoned New Yorkers sitting at the table.

Verity, who probably felt a little left out by our New York banter, looked directly at me and asked, So what’s your story?

I’m here on vacation, I replied.

From where and for how long?

I’m here for a month, then back to San Francisco, maybe even New York in the summer.

Upon hearing that, Hank glanced at me but said nothing. He grabbed my hand and led me down the hallway. There were bedrooms scattered here and there, like in a railroad apartment.

He stopped in front of his room and motioned me to walk in ahead of him. It was neat with a double bed next to a window. A guitar stood against the wall, as well as an easel with a painting on it.

Did you paint this? I asked.

Yeah, I did. You like it?

It’s interesting. Not tropical though, considering this paradise you live in.

I paint a lot of different subjects. This is just one piece.

Either way, I like it. I paint too. Mostly watercolors, and I like to sketch in charcoal.

I’d love to see your work, Hank said.

Yeah, well it’s a few thousand miles from here.

Hank snickered. He pulled me to him and gave me a long kiss on the lips. I liked him a lot, but my better judgement was not to get romantically involved. That decision should have been made back at his friend’s house in Wailuku, not in his bedroom. We fell on the bed in a tangled mess of tearing off our clothes. There was no talking, a bit of sighing, and it was over pretty quickly.

He laughed and said, Sorry, it’s been a while.

It’s okay, I said. Anyway, it was just the first time.

Hank sat up in bed and lit a cigarette. Are you saying there will be more times?

I guess I am.

Good to know I still have a chance, he said, grinning. His blue eyes disarmed me.

The next morning I woke up alone in an empty room. The myna birds were arguing outside the window. Hearing voices coming from the kitchen, I quickly got dressed and walked down the hallway.

Hank and Milo were sitting at the kitchen table talking and drinking coffee. Hank pointed to a space next to him on a bench along the window and motioned for me to sit. He gave me a quick kiss.

Coffee? he asked. I nodded, then watched him pour me a cup.

Smells so good. Is it Kona? I asked.

What else?

Where’s Verity?

Milo stood up. He wore a pair of OPI shorts, a popular Hawaiian logo. He wore those same shorts every day during the weeks I was there. Sometimes with a shirt, sometimes without.

Verity went to the Dairy Queen to get us something for breakfast.

It was nice being in a small town and able to walk to various places without the use of a car, but Dairy Queen wasn’t my idea of breakfast, maybe dessert.

Hank said, I thought we’d just hang out here at the house today, but tonight I was invited to a big party at a beachfront house in Lahaina. Maybe you’d like to come with me?

That sounds really cool, but at some point today I have to get back to your brother’s place. All my clothes are there.

No worries; I’ll take you this afternoon. Meanwhile … With that, Hank took my hand and walked me down the hallway to his bedroom, leaving Milo sitting at the kitchen table.

I heard the screen door and figured Verity was back from Dairy Queen. Hank threw me on the bed and began kissing and touching me all over. We had sex amid the sounds of talking and laughter coming from the kitchen. Afterward, we walked into the kitchen holding hands. Hank made me bacon and eggs while I sat at the table talking to Verity and Milo.

I really need to wash up, and I didn’t notice a shower in the bathroom, I said.

Hank smiled and said, I guess I’d better heat some water.

Hank walked out the back door of the kitchen into the yard, and I followed him, a little befuddled. I watched him get some wood and place it under a large water tank and light a fire. His actions were precise and seemed like a strange ritual to me.

You’re going to love this, Adriana. I’ll let you experience this alone, even though I want nothing more than to take a shower with you.

He handed me a towel and led me into a medium-sized shed. He smiled at me and then turned and walked back to the house.

I got undressed and stood there nude, looking around for the knob to turn the water on. I finally found it and flipped the lever. A torrent of warm water flowed from the ceiling and covered a large portion of the interior of the shed. It was a glorious experience, and I was happy to enjoy it all by myself (at least that first time). Afterward, I dried myself off, got dressed, and walked back into the house to join the others.

Hank and I drove to his brother’s cottage to collect my belongings. It was a short visit, and I had the feeling Sammy and Rain were happy to get rid of me. I guess I was right in thinking Sammy’s aim all along was to pawn me off on his brother. For me, it turned out to be a wonderful thing.

Later that day we stopped in the town of Wailuku, filled with antique shops, secondhand stores, small cafes, and the historic Iao Theater. We decided to see the movie Shampoo. We walked up to the ticket booth, and I noticed that the guy selling tickets was wearing a white turban. Inside the theater, the people selling candy behind the counter also wore white turbans, as did the guy who walked us to our seats. I’d even noticed the turbans pumping gas at the local station when we drove into town. It was all so surreal!

I whispered in the darkness of the theater, Hank, what’s with all the turbans?

Hank breathed out slowly and said, The swamis have taken over!

That night we went to a party at a house in Lahaina that sat right on the beach. It was a rather large house, but people were encouraged to not walk through the rooms. I talked to one of the women inside and told her I had to use the bathroom. She ushered me down a hallway where there was a bathroom inside her bedroom. Music was playing on the stereo in the living room.

I said, I’ve always loved Jefferson Airplane.

She said, They’re called Jefferson Starship now.

While sitting on the toilet, I noticed a whale painted on the tile inside the shower stall. It was impressive. The whole house was beautiful. We had arrived late, so midnight came quickly. The moon was large and hypnotic.

Hank and I sat on the beach staring at the moon while the waves washed up on the shore. Little sand crabs danced around our feet. Hank put his arm around me and pulled me toward him. I rested my head on his shoulder. He rubbed his hand along my arm and I shivered a little.

Cold? he asked.

A little.

He took his jeans jacket off and placed it around my shoulders. We French kissed for a while. It was warm and tender yet thrilling.

Maybe we should sleep here on the beach tonight, he said.

Yeah, let’s do that. We’re both pretty drunk, and I don’t think we should drive back over that mountain pass to the other side of the island in the dark.

Driving over the Pali can be dangerous at night; not many lights, he said.

We slept on the beach that night. When I woke up the next morning, the sun was just rising. Hank was still asleep. I could see the Island of Lanai off in the distance across the channel. Hank had pointed the island out to me when we arrived the evening before. Fishing boats were setting out from Lahaina Harbor for a day out on the ocean.

I sat up. ALL of a sudden, two huge whales jumped out of the ocean and crossed over each other in an awesome breach that formed a heart.

Hank sat up, rubbing his eyes.

I said, You have no idea what you just missed!

I felt content with Hank. He was an artist like me, and we spent some wonderful days just hanging out drawing and painting. I enjoyed watching Milo and Hank fish for our evening meals, while I bobbed around in the ocean. Of course there were torrid nights of sex, and hints of love. I knew I’d have a hard time forgetting us taking showers together in the shed in the yard at the back of their house. Hawaii had a down-to-earth, laid-back way of living, and I liked it. Maui was definitely a place I