compared to Hawaii, how is the weather here?” I ask.
“It’s similar, but a little more humid. I think if you like living Hawaii you will like Guam. Same laid back attitude, but we have better food and prettier girls” she says with a smile.
Before I can continue volleying flirtatious conversation with Marissa, the sound of television static fills the room. After a few seconds the static stops and Randy is now standing center stage holding a microphone.
“Bien binidu, welcome, welcome everyone!” Randy’s voice booms through the loudspeakers.
The crowd responds by jeering ‘Raaaaaaandy”, “Hey pahtnaaaah” and “Hafa Randy?” Randy enthusiastically smiles and continues. “Please welcome the new manager of Tropics Gym” he says, pointing at me. I stand up and wave hello to the room. There are a lot of smiles but the people are silent.
“The Chamorro in this room are all very shy” Randy says with a laugh. He begins clapping his hands and the room comes alive with applause. I smile and say “thank you, I feel very welcome” and quickly sit back down. Randy looks over at me and asks into the microphone, “What are you drinking pahtnaaaah?”
“Diet Coke” I say.
“Diet Coke, we only have rum and coke, okaaaaaaaaay? No? I have a vodka tonic, let me get one for you too” he says, handing the microphone to one of the pretty island girls sitting by the stage. The girl holds the microphone close to her chest as the karaoke system starts playing Aaliyah’s “If Your Girl Only Knew” and with a beautiful voice she begins to sing the lyrics scrolling across the screen. This is like a goddamn Japanese variety show, except this isn’t Japan and it seems like everyone here has a great voice. Randy sits next to me and with a snap of his fingers summons one of the servers and asks him to bring a vodka tonic and a Diet Coke for me.
“Hey pahtnaaaah, I saw you talking to my cousin, Marissa. Did you just meet her or did you know her from Hawaii?” Randy asks.
“Just met her, she seems cool” I say.
“Cool? Yes, pahtnaaaah, Marissa is cool and she likes white boys like you, okaaaaaaaaay.”
“You’re not married are you?” he asks.
“No” I laugh, “I’m not married.”
“Oh good, I can introduce you to some single girls” he says “you are going to be popular around here, okaaaaay” he says.
“Thanks Randy” I say.
“Ok, now let me fill you in on what is happening here. It’s like show and tell and you are the “show”. You are the new manager of Tropics Gym and Mr. Saru wants to show you off to his friends, okaaaaay. There are some of Guam’s movers and shakers here tonight. I am the “tell” so I will tell you who’s who, okaaaaay?” Randy says.
“Okay” I say. This is weird, fucking weird. I just got off that fucking plane and walked into the twilight zone. What the fuck is going on here and where the hell is Mr. Saru? Fuck. I ‘m tired and hungry and sitting here with this guy, Randy and he keeps leering at me from behind dark glasses. I would leave but I don’t know where the hell I am. Nestor is gone, I don’t see him anymore. I wonder if he left. Fuck. The only people in this room that I know are Marissa, Randy and Alan. Randy must know that I am getting anxious because he is pointing out a few other the people around the room; “The big man with a silver pompadour is Bert Shino, the governor’s chief of staff and the people with him are his assistant, Mr. Kamu and Mr. Kamu’s girlfriend, Trish. C’mon, let’s go over there I want to introduce them all to you.” He says.
Walking across the room I stop to ask Alan where the bathroom is. He is standing in the corner, scanning the room. His gaze is fixed upon a the framed number fifty two jersey of the Baltimore Ravens Ray Lewis hanging between a copy of a Jackson Pollock painting and a picture of Mr. Saru finishing the Honolulu Marathon. “Lewis was the MVP at the Super bowl this year “Alan says quietly. “Mr. Saru already get one autographed jersey. Damn, he has the best of everything.” As he says this, Alan raises his eyebrows to direct my attention towards the wall behind him, where there is a sculpture of a male torso and a framed poster of Mr. Saru shaking hands with the Chicago Bull’s Michael Jordan. Around the room there is an eclectic mix of artwork and memorabilia. Artwork like a copy of a Frida Kahlo painting hung next to the picture of Mr. Saru with a Marlin that he caught in Hawaii. Eclectic items like the velvet Elvis painting that hangs above a drum set in the opposite corner of room. Randy comes over with a fresh drink, slurping down a mouthful.
“Hey, there you are. I thought I lost you” he says. “I guess I will have to make the introductions later because right now I need to keep an eye on the staircase so I can announce the big entrance.”
“What big entrance?” I ask.
“The Saru’s are making their grand entrance, pahtnaaaah” Randy says “let’s go, come on let’s go to the entryway.”
“Finally Mr. Saru is here. I was wondering where he was.” I say.
“Mr. Saru came in through the garage to avoid being seen by anyone. He likes to make an entrance. And an entrance it will be!” Randy says.
The entryway is filled with a raucous laughter as Mr. Saru appears at the top of the stairs wearing a scarlet red shirt, white slacks and a pair of shiny red house slippers. Slowly descending, Mr. Saru flows with the grace and flamboyance of a Las Vegas show girl. He seems to be eclipsing someone as I catch glances of a small figure moving down the stairs directly behind him. He takes a bow at the bottom of the stairwell and a petite, elegantly dressed island girl steps out of his shadow and stands on his left side. She has long dark hair with a red plumeria behind her left ear and a radiant smile.
“That is my cousin, Mrs. Elisabeth Ke’gacha Saru.” Randy whispers to me.
Mr. and Mrs. Saru walk through the entryway and into the karaoke room with the rest of us following. The girl with the karaoke microphone asks if anyone would like to hear Mr. Saru sing. The crowd comes alive with applause. It’s a strange scene to witness as Mr. Saru, Mr. Shino and Mr. Kamu walk to the karaoke stage to perform. The crowd is reacting as though the Beatles had just reunited right here in this very room. The big screen scrolls the lyrics of the song ‘The Hurt’ by Kalapana. Mr. Saru begins to sing the lead vocal with Mr. Shino and Mr. Kamu joining in on the chorus. How surreal to be standing in Mr. Saru’s house as he sings a Kalapana song. Back in Honolulu at Kapono’s I had wondered if he even liked the band Kalapana. Now here he is singing one of their songs in his house.
“Do they sing karaoke a lot?” I ask.
“Oh yes, they sing karaoke all the time! Mr. Saru is a slave to his every whim and caprice and this is comical . . . like a musical comedy” Randy laughs spilling half of his vodka tonic on the marble floor.
“Oh, my pahtnaaah, let me get something to wipe that up.” He hurriedly walks away to find one of the kitchen staff and I am left standing in the entryway with Mrs. Saru. She smiles at me and says; “Hafa Adai, welcome to Guam. It’s nice to finally meet you after hearing so many good things about you. I am Mrs. Saru, but you may call me Elisa.”
“It’s nice to meet you Elisa” I say just as Randy and one of the kitchen staff walk up and begin to wipe up the spilled vodka. Satisfied that the floor is dry, Randy thanks the staff member, Joe, and asks him to bring another vodka tonic. Randy begins methodically waving both hands in the air, as if
