Beating The Curse Of Lahaina

This is a long, slow moving romance...in six easily digestible parts. I hope you enjoy it at your leisure. Please send feedback and vote at its conclusion. Thanks for your support.

Part 1

In early 2003 I went to the medical center for a complete check-up, not having had one since I was in the service. When I first saw Karina, a nurse in the doctor's office, I thought that I'd never seen a more attractive, desirable woman. Though she was dressed in a baggy green "scrubs" uniform, which effectively hid everything but her smooth arms, gorgeous creamy complexion and long, nearly black hair to the middle of her back, I was convinced that I'd gotten my first glimpse of an exotic Pacific Island goddess.

Karina is no more than five feet tall in stocking feet, weighing 100 pounds at the most. Her black brows and very long lashes highlight dark brown almond eyes that indicate an Asian heritage. Yet her light pink lips and a flush in her creamy cheeks betray a Caucasian lineage as well. Her narrow, straight nose emphasizes that influence and blends the two ethnic lines in a stunningly feminine way.

At first glance, my breath caught in my throat as I watched her hold open the door for an elderly female patient to enter the examination area. She gave a dimpled smile and spoke softly with the woman as they disappeared behind the door and it closed slowly. I folded the magazine I'd been reading, exhaled, and tossed it onto the table at my side. God! I hope she's

my

doctor's nurse, I muttered to myself.

"Christopher Commanday!" I heard, which snapped me out of my reverie.

It was she – the gorgeous nurse – calling my name. I jumped up, almost to attention, and banged my knee on the magazine table...very hard.

"Oooh," she said, "...are you all right?"

"Yeah, just a flesh wound," I joked, lamely, yet she smiled radiantly – showing deep dimples – at my hokey attempt at humor. Her pearly white teeth spoke well of whomever had been her orthodontist.

"Mr. Commanday, I'm Karina," she purred in a soft, lilting soprano voice, losing her smooth hand in my paw as she shook it. "Please come this way," she said, and strode ahead of me to a small room with a scale and other equipment. As she walked, I noticed her hips twitch under her scrubs and their lively animation made my pulse race. A fresh scent came off of her that didn't smell like perfume. "Please remove your jacket and shoes. I need to weigh you," she requested.

"Two hundred and ten pounds," I said. "Wanta bet?" I threw in, trying – as usual – to be disarming.

"Wagering is against the rules," Karina said light-heartedly, as she moved the weights on the bar, the heat of her arm warming my chest. "Hmm, 212. Must be something heavy in your pants!" she said, glancing up at me with glinting, yet non-committal, almond eyes. Her look seemed to bore through me, almost as if I were naked.

I gazed down at her, nearly a foot-and-a-half below as I stood on the scale, and restrained an impulse to grab and ravage her, given what I considered to be a suggestive comment. Should I acknowledge it? I wondered. No, dummy, I told myself. She's just showing you that she's adept at the give-and-take.

"Now, your height," Karina said, as she raised the telescoping height bar to place it on my head.

"Six feet two," I said, wanting to continue the game.

"You're right! Even with socks!" she beamed. "Now, sit down here...for your blood pressure, please."

While cuffing me, her warm hands caressed my upper arm and she asked, "What sort of work do you do?"

"Architect," I said, my heart beating soundly as she leaned forward to place a thermometer under my tongue. As I opened my mouth, she opened hers as well – automatically, as nurses and mothers do for some reason when taking one's temperature – and I beaded with perspiration as I saw her pink, satiny tongue, wet with saliva.

"Really!" she said, surprised. "I expected you to say 'construction' or something...what with your...your build."

"Nope. Just a picture draw-er," I responded, intentionally trying to sound like a simpleton, thinking it might draw a smile.

"A little more than that, I imagine," she said, soberly, eyeing the LED numbers on the console. "Your blood pressure's a little high, Mr. Commanday...especially for your age of 32. It's 160 over 90. And your temperature's 99.2."

"Must be the surroundings," I said, trying to capture her eyes with mine. "I'm a little nervous."

"What's there to be nervous about? You look pretty

healthy to me!" she said, turning away and saying, "Come with me, please." She led me to an examination room, leaving the door open.

"Please take off your shirt. Doctor will be in to examine you in a minute," she said, and started to leave.

"Uhh...Karina," I said, pulling my polo shirt over my head as she stopped in mid-stride. "What's his name?"

Her eyes scanned my bare broad shoulders, pecs, arms and muscular stomach. My vivid imagination told me – no, I wanted it to tell me – that she liked what she saw. "Oh!" she said with a slight giggle, "Dr. Wong."

"Thanks," I said, and she was gone.

The doc examined me, which included the humiliating, gloved finger up-the-ass bit to feel the prostate, and I was pronounced superficially fit. He re-took my blood pressure and temperature and both were normal. He smiled knowingly and told me that when Karina pre-examined other men, their readings spiked as well. He gave me a lab requisition for a blood work-up and chest X-ray. I admitted to a minor neck injury suffered in the service and he told me to get my neck X-rayed, too, and to bring it back to Karina after it was taken.

On the way out I passed her in the hallway and she smiled. "See you next time, Mr. Commanday," she said. Then she looked at my neck, and reached up. I shrank back like a nervous pre-teen when she reached for me. She pulled the collar of my shirt out, since it was folded inside against my clavicle. "There," she said softly, looking into my eyes. "That's better."

When her fingers touched the base of my throat, I felt light-headed. Covering my awkwardness, though, I said with bravado, "See you in about an hour, with X-rays. Shall I carry my shirt so you can dress me properly?"

What a wit I am. She just smiled that incomparable smile and patted me on the arm to acknowledge my lame remark.

In about an hour I was back with the X-rays and my dream girl had gone on a break. I told the receptionist that the nurse was waiting for the films and bullied her into telling me that Karina was in the cafeteria. Minutes later, downstairs, I spied her – alone at a table, reading – and I boldly invaded her privacy.

Forget good manners, I told myself. "Here're the X-rays of my neck...and please call me Chris," I said, sitting down.

She looked up from her book, a bit startled, then smiled, saying, "Thank you, uuh...Chris. And... no, I can't go out with you, for two reasons. Want to know what they are?"

Wow! I thought. She's way ahead of me! I'll bet guys hit on her all the time. "Okay," I gulped. "Why?" I asked, sitting down across the table from her.

"Because you're a patient," she said. "And," she hesitated, "...because you're a

haole

...a white man," she murmured, fingering a small, round black stone on a long silver chain around her neck. It was thin, flat, about an inch in diameter with a hole in the center. Around the center hole and the stone's outer edge was hammered silver.

"Wha-a-a-t?" I gasped, dumfounded.

"We're not encouraged to date patients," she explained. "And, in my case, the women in my family have had bad luck with men in the military."

How did she know about my hitch in the service? I wondered. "But I'm in the Reserves!" I objected. "My active duty is over!" I'd spent four years in the Marine Corps, separating as a non-commissioned officer, after my first two years at the university, then returned to complete my five-year architectural degree, which took six.

"Sorry. I don't have time to talk about it now," she said, looking at her watch. "I've got to get these back to the doctor," she said, picking up the X-ray envelope. "Maybe next time you come in."

"How 'bout tomorrow?" I asked. "I've got an eye appointment across the street," I said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. One of my job's benefits – though I'm the junior man in the architectural office – is a complete health plan with the HMO, and I was taking full advantage of it...getting everything checked.

"I'm here every day at this time...reading," she said, as if to underscore her preference for being alone.

"Okay. See you tomorrow...Karina," I mumbled, somewhat deflated.

That night I jerked off to her tantalizing image. I could hardly wait to see her again. The following day I kept my eye appointment and waited for her in the cafeteria. She was as punctual as she was sensual. I waved to her after she'd gotten her cappuccino and she slid onto a chair opposite me, gliding butt-first onto the plastic seat in that ultra-feminine way that brings to mind a dainty bird lowering itself onto a nest.

"Your eyes okay?" she asked, looking into them.

"Slight astigmatism," I replied. "I use glasses for work."

"Such a nice, deep blue," she said, absently, her thoughts wandering as she stirred her coffee and looked around. She then said, "Anyway, you probably guessed that I'm Hawaiian...a mongrel...lottsa' different Asian bloods, Portuguese, French, English...you know,

Hawaiian

!"

I'm a typical sort of WASP – a Yankee mongrel myself, with French, German and Scottish blood – the kind that populates much of the North American continent. The archetype of such folk evokes a rather basic image: if it doesn't concern food, sex or money, then it's worth little. So, I tried to embellish my humble background – and seek a smile from her by saying – "French? Maybe we're distant cousins." She responded by tilting her head and half-smiling with mirthful eyes, as if to say, "Yeah, right!"

"Okay," I said, at least pleased with the way she was loosening up and talking. "What else?"

"My folks moved to the mainland in the '80s," she began. "I went to Cal-Berkeley, and now I'm head day nurse in Internal Medicine."

"And your family...," I started to say.

"My Mom fell in love with a Marine – a white man – when she lived on Maui," she continued. "He was killed in the Middle East in the late 70s. Then she married Dad, a Hawaiian. My Grandmother's white lover died in Vietnam in the '60s. She also married a Hawaiian, and still lives on Maui. My Great Grandmother's guy – another white man – went down in a plane in the South Pacific during World War II."

"And she married a Hawaiian guy," I concluded.

"Yep," she said. "Stayed on Maui, too. I don't know if the Curse goes back any further than that," she said, reflectively. "It might, though, since white men have been in the Islands since at least 1778, when Captain Cook was there."

"The

Curse

?" I asked, not sure if I'd heard her correctly.

"The Curse of Lahaina," she said, in all seriousness, taking a gulp of coffee and regarding my smirk. She sensed my skepticism and – after a moment – said, "You don't believe me," fingering the black stone pendant that she'd worn around her neck the day before.

I've always found the notion of curses to be funny. Show me a person who believes that some mystical power can haunt – or even

end

– someone's life and I'll show you a superstitious fool. At least that had been the case until listening to Karina, as I tried to fathom her mystical logic. My cynicism must have shown on my face, though.

"You're a Christian, huh," she said, making it sound like an accusation.

"That's the default setting," I responded. Even the smattering of various Christian faiths of my forebears had failed to trickle down to affect my earthy mindset. It's not that I lack certain emotion-stirring sensibilities; I'm knowledgeable about, and appreciate, good art, music and literature as well as history. But the idea of higher powers influencing life is as foreign to me as are iguanas to Eskimos.

"Karina," I exhaled audibly. "I went to Cal too, and not once in my Pacific Island history course did I ever hear about any

curses

."

"Well, everybody in Lahaina knows about it!" she said, defensively, her piercing eyes flashing. "The lovers of all the women in my family, all guys in the military, all white, have died. If you ever travel there, ask some of the old people!"

"I will!" I said, "...'cuz I'm going there in a couple of weeks to help some clients design their new house!"

"Okay! And don't tell me your service is over!" she said, raising her voice slightly. "Marines are in the Reserves forever! They're the first ones called up if something happens!" she then shrilled, excitedly. Recovering her composure, she looked down at the table and said, quietly, "I read your medical records."

I couldn't believe we were having such a heated difference of opinion, so I was glad later in the day that I got a call from Karina at my office. It wasn't because she wanted to apologize.

"Mr. Commanday?" she said, "Dr. Wong has read your X-rays and wants you to come in ASAP for a conference," she said, rather matter-of-factly. "Is tomorrow okay?"

"Sure, Karina," I said, "and you can call me Chris."

"Not on the phone," she said, "...not on business."

"Oh, I see," I said. "If I show up after your break is it okay?"

"Fine," she said. "He's free then. See you tomorrow."

I waited for Karina in the cafeteria the following day, hoping to charm her and set things straight. She didn't show up at her regular time, so I went to my appointment, disappointed. When she called my name in the waiting room, it was as if nothing had happened the previous day and she was beaming her singular smile.

"Have to weigh you again, an' stuff," she said.

"Karina, I weigh 209, naked and soaking wet," I said, with some exasperation.

"Well, I can't ask you to strip right here!" she blurted out, then caught herself. "Sorry; 212 pounds. Now...blood pressure and temperature. Sit down, please."

"It'll be high," I said, sitting.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you excite me!" I admitted.

"Oh," she responded, breathily, and looked around to see if anyone had heard me. Then she wrapped the cuff around my arm, her fingers trembling slightly.

As she monitored the LED, I asked under my breath, "You're about five feet tall, Karina. How much do you weigh?"

"'Bout a hundred pounds," she said. "Gonna ask my measurements?" she asked, suddenly, almost playfully. I looked up at her quickly. She riveted me with her dark, almond eyes, and slowly articulated, in a low whisper, "32C-20-33." I coughed in quick, lusty surprise and she murmured, "Hmmm, BP and temp are high again."

In the exam room, she handed me a paper gown and told me to strip completely. "Doctor wants to examine your spine to see if it's out of whack," she said, apparently waiting for me to begin undressing. I peeled off my shirt, kicked off my loafers, unbuckled my pants, and dropped them. She stood there and watched me neatly lay the trousers on the exam table, maintaining the crease. Then she said, "Take off your briefs, too!" and looked down at my full basket as I looped my thumbs in the waistband. I wondered, with some trepidation, if she was going to watch me disrobe completely. Right at the moment of truth she turned, uttered a nervous giggle, and closed the door behind herself.

Part 2

The doc found some inflammation in my neck vertebrae...something that might cause arthritic problems when I'm old and gray, and sent me to the Neurology Department for more tests. I made an appointment for a few days hence, hoping to be able to see Karina...on her break, before my appointment.

I was lucky this time. It was almost as if she were waiting for me but, of course, how would she know I'd be going to another department on this day? I caught her looking around, absently, and when she saw me she beamed and fidgeted a bit in her chair, as though she were happy I'd arrived.

"Aloha, Chris!" she purred.

I looked at her quizzically.

"That means 'hello'...," she said.

"I know," I said.

"...and 'goodbye'," she said. "It also recognizes the spirit of life in another person. Hawaiians can't say it without feeling it in their hearts," she explained. She touched my hand across the table and said, "That's why I cleansed myself of anger this morning before coming to work...so that I could say 'Aloha' to you."

"But how did you know I'd be here today?" I asked, ignoring her explanation.

"You're my patient, Chris," she said, seriously. "It's my business to know. Now, when are you going to Maui and how long will you be there?" she asked, as if following a checklist of prepared questions.

"On the 15th. Should be there a couple of weeks," I replied.

"And you'll be staying where?" she asked, as she fingered the black pendant around her neck.

"My boss has fixed me up at the Lahaina Inn," I responded. "He's stayed there and says it's great." When I mentioned the name of the hotel she exploded in a fit of coughing, having swallowed some coffee down the wrong pipe, I assumed. I handed her a couple of napkins that she used to wipe her mouth, and moisture from the corners of her beautiful brown eyes.

"Sorry!" she said, clearing her throat. "You'll have to tell me if you like Lahaina after you see it." We got up and parted, with me off to my appointment. "Stay in touch, okay?" she said. "Aloha!"

I felt encouraged that Karina's mood had improved toward me...and that there was no more mention of her family's curse. That night, once again, I wanked myself silly, dreaming of what her nude body looked like under her scrubs, creating visions of her breasts...the flare of her hips...the softness of her pubic hair... .

On the 15

th

I checked into the Lahaina Inn, a twelve room hotel restored in 1989 with a 1900s ambience. It was quiet, air-conditioned, had a giant bed and no TV to distract me, meaning that I could work at night. The room had a lanai balcony in front...a place with hanging basket chairs for relaxing and watching people stroll the street. The staff treated me like a king, with special drinks and snacks at all hours.

I worked hard each day, gathering info, schmoozing the clients – dot com-ers from Silicon Valley south of San Francisco – and doing computer design work at night. On late Thursday night toward the close of the first week, I'd knocked off for the day and was having a drink when there was a knock at the door. Expecting it to be room service with more unordered but free snacks, or the maid there to turn down my sheets and leave a mint, I opened it and...there was Karina, standing outside with a dimpled, beatific smile on her face.

"Aloha, Chris," she almost whispered. "Well, are you gonna invite me in?" she asked, as I stood there, unmoving, open-mouthed, in a pair of cargo shorts and tee shirt.

"Uhhh...of course! I'm sorry!" I apologized, and stood aside to welcome her. Closing the door, I gasped, "What're you doing here, Karina? How'd you find me?"

"I took some time off and came to visit Gramma, and you told me the Lahaina Inn, remember?" she said, sitting on the bed. "I've known Rich, the owner, since I was a little girl. When you said you were coming here, I called and asked him to treat you like a

wantok

."

I couldn't remember telling her I'd be staying at the inn, but it didn't matter. I knew that her job included noting details. Sitting before me was a vision of loveliness that I'll never forget. "Wantok?" I asked, as my eyes pored over her.

"Close friend...'one talk'," she said, "...a person to whom you have a special obligation. It's Pidgin!" she laughed, melodically, with such easy gaiety that I was breathless.