At First Sight

I sullenly wiped the sodden patch on my pants. I didn’t care about the table full of guests watching me, or my father huffing his disapproval from two seats away, or my mother laughing derisively at the spectacle made of me. No, I simply focused on the slow spreading stain creeping across the beige material.

I batted at the red, Chateau Margaux with a napkin soaked in white, Montrachet, wine. Someone at the table suggested it. Whether they knew what they were talking about was anyone’s guess because it failed to improve the stain, it simply added a shadowy corona to the already spreading red blotch. I was wearing over a thousand dollars’ worth of wine and I was going to stink like a damned vineyard.

The poor little server stood over me. Her hands continued to tremble whilst she anxiously twisted a blue sapphire bracelet around and around her wrist. The blue gemstones identified her as Tienimi staff, as if the smart shirt and sharp gold insignia didn’t already determine her status in this room of corporate vultures and their kiss-ass companions.

If I was a shrink, I would tell her that the action was indicative of a subconscious fear of losing her job, but I was no shrink.

She looked wretched and horrified. Her little wide eyes shimmered with the imminent onslaught of tears. Her tray, sans glasses, still shuddered against the leg of my chair where it fell along with the glass and the remaining red wine which soaked into the carpet.

It wasn’t her fault. The blame lay solely on my mother’s shoulders—well, step-mother if I want to be straight about it.

Jennifer ordered the glass of red wine in the first place, despite their being plenty of expensive bottles already open on the table. She ordered herself a single glass, took it from the girl, sipped it, screwed her face up in disgust and slammed it back onto the server’s tray. The force of the impact tipped the tray. The glass hit me, then the floor. To top it all off, Jennifer then had the gall to curse at the waitress as though she was the one to suggest the wine in the first place. It seemed good breeding didn’t always equate to good manners in these circles.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Fletcher. Please, if you will let me—” the girl stammered nervously.

She barely looked older than me and I was too young to be here as it was. If my father didn’t part own the Tienimi resort, I would never have been allowed on the island and even this visit was only as a treat for my eighteenth birthday.

Treat my ass.

The truth was, my dad called two hours before the event and told me all about his special birthday treat. As if I wasn’t aware that it was the Tienimi end of season ball and he was scheduled to attend with or without me. As if I hadn’t just heard my aunt screaming at him down the phone to at least try and be a father for once in his miserable life. As if he ever celebrated even one of my birthdays with me before now.

No, he pretended to be the great man everyone thought he was and sent a car to collect me. So, instead of spending the evening with me in celebration—or even just watching a game and eating pizza—my father makes me dance like a chained bear for his business friends.

I barely see him from one year to the next so I am either forced to agree to his demands or wait another twelve months before he graces me with an appearance in Hawaii.

My father and mother—my real mother—met at Tienimi. The resort was quite a bit different back then and nothing like the exclusive millionaire members-only retreat it is now. Back then it was called The Moku Resort and was a run of the mill kind of place. My mother, native to the islands, worked there as a waitress and hula dancer. Everyone still talks about her all the time. They say she was so beautiful and full of life that it was difficult not to notice her, so it was no surprise that she managed to catch my father’s eye.

I never found out for myself if any of it was true. She died twenty-two minutes and seventeen seconds after I was born. I like to think that gave her enough time to see me, to hold me in her arms and see that I had her skin and nose and lips in miniature upon my face but it’s unlikely.

My dad loved her, or so they say. He gave up his life in London to stay on the islands with her and when he discovered she was pregnant, he married her without taking a breath. When she died, it destroyed him. He couldn’t bear to stay in Hawaii without her so within a few weeks of her passing he flew home to pick up the pieces of the life he left behind in the UK.

Sad story huh?

Yeah. Poor Anthony Fletcher.

What he won’t tell you, is that he willingly left his only son behind in Hawaii. That he abandoned me only weeks after my birth and only visits on the off chance he has to fly out here for meetings or corporate events and even then I am not guaranteed to get a call.

My aunt raised me. She was the one who told me all the stories about Anthony and my mom. She explained about his poor broken heart and how she believed he couldn’t face me because I looked so much like my beautiful mother.

Sure, I bought all the stories when I was small, I even carried all the guilt that came with them. For years I wished I looked more like him. I wished she had survived instead of me. I wished I was someone else’s son. They were wasted wishes because I am just a more masculine version of her except for my cold green eyes.

His eyes.

It’s ironic really, that the only inherited feature I acquired from my father is the one that everyone thinks is my most attractive, the one that sets me apart and makes me different when all I really ever wanted was to belong.

Personally, I think the whole love story between them was a croc of shit.

I have never been one to believe in love at first sight. The truth of the matter was my dad played his cards right. He duped my mom into sleeping with him with his money and charm. Then, when he got her knocked up he panicked and married her. When she died, he saw an easy way out and ran.

His aversion to me has less to do with his love for my mom and a lot more to do with his fear: He was afraid to be a single parent, afraid to father a child of mixed ethnicity and afraid of jeopardizing his chances with other women.

Someone once said there is a very thin line between love and hate – my father and I exist somewhere along that line—our relationship balances precariously upon its fraying edges.

“You really ought to have worn darker trousers to a formal dinner anyway,” Jennifer sniped. Jennifer or Mother as I preferred to call her was only seven years older than me and married to Dad for three of those. A typical trust fund brat, she held a remarkable disdain for anyone other than my father but she especially disliked me.

“I’m not in the habit of attending such soirees Mother,” I said flippantly, knowing that the title would irritate her. She hated being reminded that she had a stepson, particularly one only a little younger than herself.

“Well I suppose that is what comes of being an inhabitant of the islands,” she flung back. She spoke the word inhabitant as if she were describing something foul. Her lip actually curled in disgust as she said it.

“Well, Father has invited me to live with you both now that I am eighteen. Perhaps London would improve my status and fashion sense?” I jibed. Her face twisted into a sharp scowl. The glare she shot at me translated untold threats if I were stupid enough to take my father up on his offer.

“I don’t think you would like it in London. The pace of life is too fast for you laid back types,” she sneered just as my Dad stepped in to distract her with talk of spa treatments.

I wanted to ask her what gave her the right to look down her nose at me. Where did she go to college? Did she achieve straight A’s, as I’d worked for? Had she received offers from the most prestigious colleges and universities around the world as I’d earned? And not because my father was wealthy, but because I worked damn hard to achieve it for myself.

I didn’t even know my father had any money until I went to school. He’d set up a trust fund for my education and insisted that I attend the best school in the state. When he finally explained about his wealth and international business portfolio, I felt as if I hardly knew who he was.

As for Jennifer, well she could look down on me all she wanted, but she was the one who married my father for his money—my father’s money meant shit to me, so that made me the better person regardless.

“Mr. Fletcher, I’m sure I could get you another pair of pants if you would like to come with me.” The waitress whispered so quietly that I almost didn’t hear what she said. I forgot she was even there. I nodded, arose from the table of strangers and followed the rather timid girl into the area beyond the kitchens.

“If you’d like to sit here, Mr. Fletcher.” She pointed to a low wooden bench that pressed up against the back wall of what appeared to be a small staff recreational room.

“Enough with the Mr. Fletcher. My name is Josh and I really appreciate your help.”

“It is the least I can do.”

“That wasn’t your fault. Jennifer was being a complete bitch. Even my head spins when she gets all shrill like that. I’m pretty sure only dogs can actually work out what she is saying.” The girl laughed lightly and then stopped abruptly. She was cute when she smiled.

“So what’s your name?” I asked her after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Kalea.”

“Means bright, huh?”

“You speak Hawaiian?”

“Sure, when I don’t have to impress my Dad’s friends.”

“You looked pretty bored, yea,”

“Unbelievably. Now about these pants—”

“Oh yeah. I will see if we have dress pants for you.” The girl took my size and disappeared, leaving me alone in the room. There were two doors to the left which, if the sound of clanging pots was any indication, led to the kitchens. Another door led to a corridor where Kalea disappeared to, and a final door led back to the ballroom. I was alone for what felt like five minutes when a young woman came stumbling in from the corridor.

She didn’t notice me sitting in my stained pants against the back wall, but I noticed her.

She shone.

Literally shone.

The dim lights in the room reflected off the beads and crystals sewn into her figure hugging gown and lit her up like a star.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my chest began to burn with the pressure. I exhaled slowly and quietly, hoping I wouldn’t startle her—hoping that she wouldn’t notice me here at all—at least not until I figured out what to say to her.

I got the distinct impression that the moment was unique, serendipitous and yet potentially fleeting. It was like coming face to face with a wild animal and as long as you didn’t move an inch; the animal would stay for you to gaze at wondrously, but make one miniscule motion and it would be gone.

Needless to say I moved.

She turned and stared at me for a moment, her eyes as wide as any ensnared doe’s.

“I didn’t know anyone was back here.” Her voice was soft and clear like a bell, it chimed around the room rendering me senseless.

“I wet my pants,” I replied stupidly. I wanted to kick myself for being such an idiot but when she began to laugh my whole face lit up and I would have said anything to make her laugh all day.

“That is unfortunate,” she giggled.

“The waitress spilled wine... I uh—”

“You’re a guest here tonight?” she asked, kindly ignoring my clumsy attempt at conversation.

“Yes, and you?”

“Yes but my father brought me here to sing for them.” She looked distinctly unhappy about it. “I’m terrified. I have never sung in public before and he is trying to impress the new owners.”

“Why use you to impress the owners?” I asked not understanding what she was oh-so-subtly trying to tell me.

“I think I am here to…he wants them to see me.” She sighed and shook her head.

I knew what she was saying. I’d heard the rumors about this place. Men and women meeting for more than just friendship—some even making influential marriages out of their time together here.

“And what about you? What do you want?” I asked her.

“I want to go back to college. I start my final year in September and I have already been awarded a music scholarship at university but my father refuses to hear of it.”

“You sound British.” She nodded in the affirmative.

I couldn’t help but think that sucked until I remembered my father’s invitation and revised my plan to visit him in London, hoping a year or so in the UK would work out well for me if this girl would be there.

“I have to go. I am supposed to be on stage already. I just didn’t think I could face it, you know?”

“Sure. You will do great. If you like, I can distract the crowd with my epic dance skills, you know, to take the spotlight off you for a while?” I teased half-seriously. In that moment if she asked me to streak the ballroom I would have stripped and ran through those doors without a backwards glance.

“Just promise me you will applaud even if I am terrible.” She laughed again, the sound making me smile like a fool.

“Deal!” I winced internally at how overly enthusiastic I sounded. I was trying too hard. She stood up and walked toward the door leading back to the ballroom. The thought of watching her walk through those doors and away from me, made my stomach knot painfully. I needed to stop her. I just needed a few more minutes with her.

“What’s your name?” she asked without turning around.

“Josh. Josh Fletcher.”

“Thank you, Josh Fletcher,” she whispered and then was gone. I hadn’t even got her name.

It felt like an eternity before Kalea returned with a pair of pants for me. As soon as she appeared, I grabbed them from her and pulled them on without a shred of thought for behaving indecently or embarrassing Kalea. Nothing mattered to me except getting back out there to listen to that girl sing. I wanted to watch her and applaud for her, just as she asked me to do. I didn’t care what she sounded like; I would be on my feet and cheering for her.

The black pants were a little big, but I threaded my belt through the loops and tightened it to be sure they would remain up. Within seconds I was back at my seat and a little out of breath. The girl mounted the stage and set up her music at a sleek, black, baby-grand piano. It appeared she sang and she played.

No one announced her. The room didn’t even stop to listen when she started to sing. I wanted to shout at them all to shut up and listen but when she looked over at me and smiled, I didn’t care anymore. She might have well have been singing to me in an otherwise empty room. No one else existed for me anyway.

I’d marveled at her voice when she first spoke, but hearing her sing was like nothing I ever heard before. Her voice was soulful and yet vibrant, soft and deep. It was a mass of contradictions and clichés and, even as I thought them, I knew what really happened. I was as big a fool as my father. There must be something in the genes because I totally fell for this girl. A girl whose name I didn’t even know. Within minutes—no—from the second she stepped through the door and took my breath away, I fell.

And I was still falling with every word she sang and every fleeting glance she shot at me.

I focused on the words, it was a song I didn’t know and I wondered if it was her own composition.

 

If every waking moment

I am dreaming of you,

But every step I take

Walks me further from you,

 

What more can I do?

What more can I do?

 

I wondered whom she might have written this for. She sang each word like a weapon that buried itself deep in my chest. I knew it wasn’t about me. I knew that she probably shared her life with someone back home in the UK, but I felt those words regardless. When she stopped singing the room applauded respectfully but I stood and pounded my hands together like I promised her I would.

She laughed.

I heard it over the sound of the clapping and caught her shake her head at me with a smile. I grinned right back at her and mouthed, “You were great.” She mimed a, “Thank you,” in reply and then was met at the side of the stage by two men. She kissed the older man on the cheek but shied away from the younger one. He looked like he was in his early twenties, he seemed well groomed and was clearly wealthy– but then who at Tienimi wasn’t?

He was blessed with that pretty-boy kind of face, with blue eyes and light brown hair. He was taller than me and looked broader too, like an athlete. It didn’t take much for me to dislike him but when he reached down to take her hand, lifted it to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss upon her fingers, it was right then that I knew I hated him.

She blushed and I fumed.

Who the hell was he and what right did he have to touch her? Was this the man her father chose to ‘introduce’ her to? What kind of father did that anyway? He might as well sell her like cattle for the way he was parading her to that idiot.

“Dad,” I called out rudely, interrupting whatever inane conversation he was having. The fact that I hadn’t called him Anthony must have intrigued him however, because he didn’t reprimand me. “Who is that older man over there with the singer?” I asked not even bothering to hide my interest.

“Dominic Littleton, and the singer is his daughter Penelope,” Dad informed me.

“And the other guy? The younger one, who is he?”

“That is Cameron Blake. He has recently inherited a twenty per cent stake in Tienimi,” my father told me quietly.

I’d heard about the Blake’s. Three brothers and a sister, between them they owned a majority stake in the resort. The others, like my father, made up the remaining twenty per cent. If Penelope was here to meet Cameron Blake then I had no chance.

At least that’s what I thought until I noticed she spent the remainder of the night sneaking glances at me and not him. Was it possible she felt the same attraction to me as I did to her?

I tried my best to get near her. In my desperation I even followed her to the ladies bathroom until I was shoed away by an elderly woman who insisted; “Young men like you are always up to no good, now get,” although with her southern twang, she pronounced it more ‘git’.

By the end of the evening I ran out of ways of getting close to her and when I was forced to watch her leaving with Cameron Blake, my heart damn near broke in my chest.