The eight eyes on her head looked up at Paul’s falling body. In an instant her head changed—into Kalindi’s.
Rasa was lost in her dream, so lost she didn’t hear the knock at the door. Her eyes jerked open when the knock became a constant pounding.
The dream. Kalindi.
She was groggy as she hopped up and stumbled to see who it was. Maybe it was her mother. But why would Kalindi knock?
It was Paul.
“Kalindi’s not home, huh?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.
Rasa shook her head. “No. I thought she might’ve been with you. I’ll tell her that you…”
Paul cut her off. “And the kids?”
“They’re napping.”
A devilish grin spread across his face. “Looks like you need company.”
Before Rasa could say anything, he forced a plastic CD jacket into her hands. It had an image of a naked baby in a pool. “It’s for you,” he said. “But we have to go to Kalindi’s room to listen to it.” He wrapped his arm around Rasa and led her to her mother’s bedroom.
Rasa pried apart the CD jacket. She was counting the blue squiggles on the shiny disc when Paul fished it out of her hands.
“It’s an oldie, but you’re gonna love this,” he promised. He dropped the disc into Kalindi’s boombox, then pressed play. “Better than your mom’s hippie music,” he said, winking.
Rasa wasn’t so sure. The word “Nirvana” printed over the squiggles sounded pretty hippie dippie to her.
But then an intriguing guitar melody floated out of the speakers. Five seconds later a barrage of harsh bass and drums blasted through the room. Rasa had never heard anything like it before.
“Nirvana is one of my favorite bands,” Paul bellowed. He turned the volume down. “Wouldn’t want to wake the kids.”
His half smile creeped Rasa out a little, but she nodded and smiled back. “What’s this song?” she asked, tapping her foot to the beat.
“Smells Like Teen Spirit,” he said with a weird look on his face. He walked to the bed. He plopped down, then leaned back on his elbows. “I got the CD for you.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“I like this song.”
“Cool...” He paused, then said, “Hey Rasa, you look tense.”
She shrugged.
He patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”
Rasa parked herself next to him.
“You’re so stiff. Loosen up, girl. I’ve got an idea. Lemme give you a massage.” He reached behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He began kneading. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good,” he said with a chuckle. “Does it feel good?”
Rasa nodded.
One of his hands meandered down her back. “Stand up for a second,” he said.
Rasa stood.
“Face me,” he whispered.
She did.
He gripped her small wrists and pulled her onto his lap.
And though she didn’t say yes, she didn’t say no.
She didn’t resist when he peeled her clothes off. She didn’t reject the advances of his rough fingers and cracked lips on her soft body. And though the pain was sharp, like the stab of a knife, she mimicked her mother and melted into his body. Like caramel and vanilla soft-serve in slow motion.
After, while Kurt Cobain screamed the lyrics to Stay Away, Paul stood up. Facing the wall he pulled up his pants. He buckled his belt then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He thumbed through the bills and plucked one out. He turned to Rasa. “Bet you’re hungry,” he said. He put the cash on her bare thigh.
She didn’t hear him or notice the money. Her eyes were fixed on his glistening sculpted torso. She was sticky with sweat herself. She ran her hand over her tummy and inspected the clear fluid on her fingers.
“The money’s for you,” Paul said. He was pointing at her thigh. “You’re hungry, right?”
She looked where he was pointing—a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
Something clicked in Rasa’s mind. Her hungry eyes danced in visions of plate lunches. The thought of watching her siblings enjoy the kalbi and mac salad she planned to buy made her forget the piercing pain down below. She grinned. “Starving,” she said, licking her lips.
“Oh, and here’s twenty more,” Paul said. He motioned with his chin to the bright red blood stain on the beige fitted sheet. “You’re gonna need new sheets before Kalindi gets back.”
Kalindi.
Rasa nodded without looking. This was more money than Kalindi ever got.
That evening Rasa let her siblings eat their fill first. Only after they’d finished did she dig in. She closed her eyes to more fully enjoy each slow chew of tender meat. She breathed deeply the way she’d seen Kalindi do during meditation.
The dream from that afternoon popped into Rasa’s mind.
Kalindi, the black widow spider.
Rasa took a sip of passion fruit juice. As the sugary liquid went down, she connected the sweet and tangy dots.
Maybe I can do what Kalindi does too.
That would make life easier for Ach, Nitya, and Shanti. Rasa pictured them with overflowing takeout containers. Ample school supplies. New clothes. New slippers. Maybe even shoes.
It wasn’t long before Rasa, who at twelve looked sixteen, transformed her hunger and her worry for her siblings into hustle.
She discovered that Kalindi’s black widow prowess was also part of her own DNA.
And so Rasa became the junior black widow of Hau’ula. She preyed on older men. High school boys who tried to crawl onto her web with their ten or twenty bucks didn’t cut it.
Sanjay and Jayshree were at it again. Their angry voices shot around the mansion, bursting into Jaya’s bedroom.
Jaya stopped fingerpicking and listened. More shouting. He laid his guitar on his bed.
Why were they fighting on his birthday? Had he done something wrong? What was going on with them this time?
