Chapter Fourteen
“Lora?” Elaine, another of my employees, stood in my office doorway. “Could you help me with this customer, please?” She leaned in to whisper, “He's asking if we have any more indigenous art.”
Ah. Yes, a whale. An indigenous art whale. My employees knew I was the best at harpooning them. It helped that I was so obviously Native American. And that I knew my shit.
I pasted on a grin and stood up. “Of course.”
Elaine turned and led me up to a man in jeans and a button-down shirt. When I saw his blond hair, my heart started to race. But then the shade registered. And the length. Too dark and too short to be Rune. The man's body also had nothing on Rune's. Not that he was unfit. He had a very nice physique. And when he turned around, I saw that he had a very nice face too. Not Caucasian as I'd first thought. His hair was bleached from the sun, his body built in the water, but his skin was a deep brown because of his race, not a tan. He had tropical features with a hint of Asia.
The customer's dark eyes widened when he saw me, his smile widening as well. “Hello.” He extended his hand. “I'm Kaleo Chang.”
Mixed race, then. I was right. Oh, how I loved the mixtures.
“Hello, Mr. Chang. I'm Lora Hermokrates.” I shook his hand.
“Wow.” He blinked. “What a name, you got. Is that Greek?”
“Indeed.” I inclined my head. “Elaine tells me you're looking for indigenous art.”
“Oh, yeah. I like to support native artists.” He had a distinct accent that I recognized as from Hawaii.
I say from Hawaii instead of Hawaiian because they are two different things and people don't have to be Hawaiian to have that accent. That goes for all accents, but people always get confused about Hawaii.
Mr. Chang went on, “I have a large collection of Hawaiian art. Supporting my people, you know? But I want to branch out.” He waved his fingers and spread them. “This piece is interesting, but kinda sad, yeah?” He lifted his chin, using it to point at the Seattle bust. “The artist is throwin' shade, I think. Says on the description here 'Chief Seattle.'” He leaned in to whisper. “I didn't know Seattle was a Native American name, much less that he was a chief.”
I chuckled. “Don't feel bad. A lot of people don't. And technically, it isn't a Native American name. It's the anglicized version of his name—Si-ahl.” I motioned at Elaine. “Thank you, Elaine.”
“Sure thing.” Elaine nodded at me, then at Mr. Chang.
As she left, I whispered, “You know, I thought it was obvious, what with the artist working with trash, but you're the first person to understand that this is a statement piece, and the statement is negative.”
He snorted. “People are funny when it comes to art. They see a lot that isn't there or don't see what is. But then, that's the point, right? Art is supposed to make you think and prompt different feelings in each person.”
I shrugged. “Or it can just be pretty.”
Kaleo Chang grinned broadly. “Right on, sista.” He nodded. “I don't want every piece I own to make me think. I like to look at pretty things too.” His gaze slid over me. “Do you have anything that's a good representation of the artists of this area without being . . . this?”
His accent ebbed and flowed like the tide, leading me to suspect that this was a man who had been taught to speak “proper English” but who loved his roots. Judging by his shoes and watch, he'd done well for himself and could now speak however he wanted.
“I certainly do. In fact, I have some pieces that just came in yesterday that I think you might enjoy. They're in the back. If you don't mind rooting around a storeroom, I'd be happy to show you.”
“I grew up in a shack. I don't mind a storeroom.”
“Come on now,” I chided. “I know people don't live in grass shacks in Hawaii.”
“Did I say I was from Hawaii?” He grinned. “I'm from Canada.”
I snorted, the laugh surprising me, and Mr. Chang laughed with me.
“Nah,” Mr. Chang drawled. “I'm from Oahu. But I was raised in a shack. It was an old plantation house, not a grass shack, but the thing was riddled with termites and ferns were growing out of the roof. A grass shack would have been sturdier.”
I lifted my brows, thinking of my first home—a simple thing of wood poles and animal hides. At least we didn't have to worry about termites.
“Well, then my storeroom should be a step up.” I waved him after me. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
“Champagne? Nah. Thanks though. You got any coffee?”
I looked at him over my shoulder and grinned. “Oh, yes. I even have Kona coffee. We get a lot of imports from Hawaii up here.”
Mr. Chang laughed. “Now you're talkin'.”
“This way.” I took him into the back room but we made a pit stop at the little kitchen along the way.
Once Mr. Chang and I both had a cup of coffee, I took him to a worktable covered in pieces I had yet to price. He went straight for my favorite—a warrior woman mask with abalone shell eyes, a horsehair wig, feathers, and a handprint painted over her mouth.
“She's wonderful, isn't she?” I asked. “It's my favorite piece. I'm a little impressed that you went right to her.”
“It's a woman?” Mr. Chang looked up. “That makes it even better.”
“Yes, but it's also a statement piece. I don't know if you'll be interested after I tell you.”
“What?” He went still.
“The red handprint over the mouth—it's come to represent the MMIW movement.”
“The what now?”
“The Missing Murdered Indigenous Women Movement.”
As I mentioned before, the world was improving, but bad shit still happens. Some races are still looked down upon by some people. They don't get the justice that they deserve. The improvement is that now, indigenous women can speak about it. There wouldn't have been a movement even a hundred years ago. Change can sometimes feel slow, but from an immortal's perspective, I can see how fast it comes once it gets started.
“Fuck,” Mr. Chang whispered. He stared at the piece. “That's both sad and stirring.”
“Yes, it is.”
He looked over the other pieces, sipped his coffee, but went right back to the warrior woman. “How much is she?”
“The sadness doesn't bother you?”
“I prefer to see the strength.” He lifted his head. “This mask reminds me of my mother.”
I didn't want to ask what his mother had been through that the red handprint would remind him of her. Instead, I also focused on the strength of the warrior woman. “That's beautiful.”
He grinned. “So how much?”
“One moment. Let me check the invoice.” I went to the packing crate and pulled out the plastic sheath with the invoice. Doing some quick math in my head, I added on my fee, and came up with, “Eight hundred.”
“Really?” He grinned, then set his coffee down so he could pick up the mask. Turning it this way and that, he nodded. “Shoots. I'll take her.”
“Good choice,” I murmured as I went over to admire the piece with him. “I admit I'm a little sad to see her go before I've had a chance to enjoy her. But I'm glad she's going to someone like you who can appreciate her and what she represents, instead of just putting her in a safe.”
“In a safe? Why would I do that?”
“Oh, a lot of collectors store most of their art. They collect for resale. Or they rotate pieces. Some loan them to public places for display.”
“Ah. I guess it's a good investment.” He shrugged. “I just want to spread the aloha, help out some native artists, and get something to make my house look choice.”
“Choice,” I repeated. “I like that.”
“You guys don't say that here?”
“We might. There are a lot of people from Hawaii in Seattle.”
“Yeah? I thought they all went to Oregon.”
“They seem to like the Pacific Northwest in general.”
“Cuz it's a lot like home.” Mr. Chang shrugged and handed me the mask. “Colder, but similar. Actually, with all the construction they're doing in Hawaii, this is nicer.”
“But your beaches are better.”
“True. I got a property right on the beach in Haleiwa. Bit of a drive to get to Honolulu, but worth it.”
“Heleiwa. That's on the north shore of the island, right?”
“Yup. You been there?”
“A long time ago.” As in fifty years ago.
Or was it longer? I had gone to see Elvis in concert. Let's see, that would have been 1957, I think. Most people know about his concert there in the 70s, but I saw his first performance in Hawaii. Elvis arrived in the islands on a Navy ship out of L.A. and he performed at the old Honolulu Stadium. It was the last concert he did before enlisting in the Army.
“Ms. Hermokrates?”
“Huh?” I lifted my brows.
“I think I lost ya for a sec.” Mr. Chang chuckled. “Thinking about Hawaii?”
“Yes, actually. I should go back.”
“Well, if you do, give me a call.” He pulled out his wallet, then fished out a business card, and handed it over. It read: Kaleo Chang, Restaurateur. Then he handed over a black American Express card.
“Thank you,” I said as I took them both. “You own restaurants?”
“Yeah, several. We've done well. I'm actually here to look at a restaurant for sale.” He paused. “Hey, uh, you wouldn't want to join me for dinner tonight? It would be partially work for me. I'm checking out the dining service and the food of the place I'm thinking about buying, but I promise not to be a boring date.”
I stared at him.
“I'm sorry.” Mr. Chang held up his hands. “I didn't mean to be creepy.”
“No, not at all. I was just trying to remember if I had anything planned for tonight. I don't think so, but can I check my book first?”
“Yeah, of course.” He followed me out of the storeroom.
“Jenny, could you wrap this up for Mr. Chang, please?” I passed the mask to Jenny.
“Absolutely.” Jenny hurried back into the storeroom to box the mask.
“One moment, please, Mr. Chang. I'll ring you up and check on my schedule.”
“Call me Kaleo.”
“And please call me Lora.” I nodded and went into my office. I already knew I was free that evening. I just needed some time to think. And get past my insane infatuation with Rune Demos. It had been a week, and he had made it clear that he didn't want to share. He wasn't coming back. Now, here I was, handed a handsome opportunity on a plate. Kaleo could help me move on.
I ran his card, got the paperwork together, and made a show of checking my date book because I knew he could see me through the office window.
“Kaleo?” I called to him from the open door.
“We good?” He came over.
“Yes.” I waved at the seat before my desk. “Please. And here, let me take your mug.”
Kaleo gave me his coffee mug and sat down to sign the receipt and the paperwork. I folded his copies up and placed them in an envelope before handing them over. With business over, he stood up and grinned.
“You busy tonight?” he said with a knowing grin.
“No, actually. I'm free. What time is your reservation?”
“Really? Great! Uh, it's for 6.” He winced. “I'm an early eater. Is that all right?”
“We close at five, so yes. That's fine. Meet me here around 5:30.”
“Here? Oh, right. It's good to be careful.”
“What?”
“You don't want some guy you just met to know where you live. You're being smart.”
I laughed. “Actually, I live here. I own the building.”
“Oh, damn!” Kaleo laughed. “Maybe you shouldn't have told me that. What if I'm a stalker?”
“I think I'll be fine.”
“Here you are, Mr. Chang.” Jenny said as she came in with a large box tied with black ribbon.
“Thanks.” Kaleo took the box, then nodded at me. “See you later, Lora.”
“Just ring the bell beside the door.”
“Gotcha.” And he left.
Jenny widened her eyes at me. “I swear, you get more men by not doing a thing than I do by swiping through Tinder.”
“I do all right,” I murmured, thinking about Rune again.