"Careful," Joe said.
"Maybe you could write a story about it," Edie said. She made it sound
completely possible, like--why not have it done by dark?
"Maybe I will. Good choice, the Moana, by the way."
"A friend told me that they have windows that actually open," Edie
said. "I want to hear surf. Then we're going to the other islands."
"Some of the other islands," Morgan said.
"Molokai, and Kauai, and Maui." They swept up to the front of the hotel
and arranged to meet at the banyan bar in an hour and a half. Joe
called Mo.
"The eagle has landed. Can you make it, 6:30 at the Moana? I'll
probably be there a bit before."
"See you there."
He went over to the International Marketplace and lost himself in
wandering groups of tourists. A balding caricaturist with rimless
glasses bantered with a line of haoles waiting to be drawn.
"Hobby? What do you do on weekends?"
"Golf." A few pen strokes and a driver curled around the subject's
neck, the ball untouched on the tee.
"Tennis." A racquet appeared with strings burst by an opponent's serve.
Two or three minutes and he was done, asking each person's name,
titling the drawing beneath its over-sized head, signing it and
wrapping it in clear plastic. He was magician and entertainer, eyes
blue and shrewd, working hard, keeping the crowd alive. It was six
o'clock before Joe realized it. He scooted back to the Moana.
"Glenlivet and water, please, Gilbert."