Winning the Lottery - 35. Chapter 35 - A transformation

Gwyn:

I maintained a very serious countenance when Michael, stumbling over his words, came out to me. The devil in me wanted to laugh, and say, Well Duh! However, I knew from a module I’d studied on diversity that uttering that initial statement: “I’m gay,” is a huge, huge step for an LGTB person.

“Am I the first person in the family you’ve told?” I asked.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told.”

“Oh, Michael, then I’m honored you trust me!”

“It wasn’t really a surprise, was it?” he asked.

“Well...sort of. Well...maybe not...I suspected.”

“Why? Do I act gay? Sound gay?” he bristled.

“No...well, again, maybe a little. If you know what to look for. But I don’t think most people would think one way or the other about it.”

“Don and Marco figured it out!” he said. “I’m not blind. I saw the look they gave each other!”

“Is that why you chose to tell me today?” I asked.

“Yes. I didn’t want them saying anything to you before I did.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you told me,” I said. I also knew from that module that coming out was very personal. It was up to Michael to spread the news or not. I added, “Michael, you have my word I won’t discuss this with anyone else. I leave it to you to tell whomever you want whenever you want.”

“Well, I don’t want Mom and Dad to know. At least not yet,” he said.

I nodded agreement. Then, thinking that we’d become awfully serious, I suggested celebrating his declaration with a bowl of chunky cherry ice cream.

“You know what I’d like, Sis,” he said a few minutes later between spoonfuls of ice cream. “A boyfriend.”

“You and me both kiddo!” I laughed.

“Seriously,” he said. “How would I meet other gay guys my age?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe there’s a gay youth group on the island....”

“At home I could go to a bar. Here, I can’t,” he lamented. “In Hawaii the stupid drinking age is twenty-one.”

I’d forgotten to tell Michael about the upcoming party to which we’d been invited. “Oh, by the way, some friends of Don and Marco are throwing a big party for them. A real Hawaiian luau. Next weekend. We’re invited. From what I’ve heard they have a huge extended family and tons of friends. We’ll get to meet lots of people. And it will be a real gay friendly crowd, because Kelly and Jordan, who are the hosts, are gay. Then there’s Don and Marco, and Don’s cousin Derrick and his husband Gabe. Robert, their butler, who by the way is a super nice bloke, and his boyfriend, Keno, will be there too.” I reflected for a moment and added, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to let word that you’re gay leak out. I’m sure once that crowd finds out they’ll all try to match make like crazy! And besides, if you don’t let it be known that you’re gay all the young girls are going to be swooning over a handsome bloke like yourself!”

The next day Michael had a briefing from Don and Marco’s security supervisor. Apparently as well as going over security protocols Michael was expected to follow, he was also read the riot act on ‘appropriate’ behavior. He was told that a huge part of the family’s security was the goodwill of the local citizenry, and if he did anything to ‘fuck that up’ he’d be sent packing before he knew what hit him.

“Did the guy get specific about that?” I asked.

“Yeah. He said no getting drunk in a public place. No using drugs. No dangerous driving. No rudeness to or provoking the locals. No getting into fights. Stuff like that.... Oh yeah, he told me that news spreads like wildfire on the island. That’s why I have to be ‘extra vigilant’ not to do something negative that gets noticed.’”

“Did you tell him that you’re gay?” I asked. We’d discussed the issue before he spoke to the supervisor, and I thought it would be best if Michael got his cards on the table.

“Yeah, he said that my sexual orientation wasn’t important. How I behaved was important.”

Buoyed by the positive reception (or the absence of a reaction) from the security supervisor, Michael decided to tell Don and Marco, which he did right after the briefing. As I’d expected, they were positive and supportive. Michael gave them permission to tell Kelly, Jordan, and Derrick and Gabe, after Don had reassured him that these people would absolutely rally around him. “Hey,” Don said encouragingly, “We’ve all been in your shoes at one time or another!”

I was given permission to tell Robert who, in turn, was given permission to tell his boyfriend, Keno.

We knew by the time Saturday night rolled around—given what Michael had been told about the local gossip mill—there wouldn’t be a person in that huge crowd that didn’t know Michael was gay!

That week, Don delegated to Michael the task of finding me a suitable car. He was delighted to be given the responsibility. He was told to look for something that, once modified, would meet security’s standard for transporting the children. An SUV was pretty much the only suitable vehicle, but I insisted that it not be too large. Don and Marco told Michael that it was to be ‘high end’ meaning BMW, Mercedes, Lexus.... Michael, of course, was thrilled. He’d get to test drive some very luxurious cars. Don asked him if he’d be buying a car for himself, and when Michael replied, yes, he had almost one thousand dollars, and did Don think he could get something decent for that price? I watched an expression of near pain wash over Don’s face.

“Um...well...I suppose so....But I doubt at that price it would be safe,” said Don, overcoming his shock and warming to his subject. “Michael, you’re here with your sister, but you’re under our protection. I can’t allow you to drive a car that’s not safe.”

“Oh,” said Michael dejectedly.

“So I’ll add another thousand so that you can buy a safe car,” said Don. “And I think Gabe knows a man who’ll give you a good deal. He mentioned that he bought a car—a Toyota Solara, I think; Gabe loved that car—from a recommended vendor when he first arrived in Hawaii, and I think that man is still in business.”

I appreciated Don’s tact. He could have simply purchased a new vehicle for Michael (not that he had any obligation to, but I was learning that this family was naturally generous). However, he knew instinctively to let Michael feel good about his own contribution.

I mouthed ‘thank you’ to Don who winked at me in acknowledgement.

Meanwhile, I had a million and one things to do at work, and as my belly expanded workdays became more wearying. Michael was my rock. He put his heart and soul into being my ‘nanny.’ “Sit down, Sis. Put your feet up. Would you like a cup of tea, Sis? I’ll bring you a cold cloth for your head, Sis. ....” He also indulged me in my wacky cravings. Pickles at midnight—no problem. Chocolates at breakfast—no problem.

He volunteered to be my birth coach and came to prenatal classes with me. He drove me to my obstetrics appointments. He picked up prescriptions and vitamins. He did all the housework and cooking. When I was tired and frustrated and snappish he was kind and patient. What would I have done without him?

The night of the luau arrived. Michael was understandably excited and more than a little apprehensive. I lumbered beside him as we entered. Kelly and Jordan, who I hadn’t met, greeted us warmly. Kelly was quite a surprise. A big Hawaiian dreamboat! Was it just my imagination or did they give Michael a special sort of greeting? A gay thing? Something like the Mason’s handshake, only gay? Whatever it was, I could tell by Michael’s body language that he ‘got it.’ I observed him physically relax.

There were people arriving just behind us, so while Kelly stayed at the door to greet them, Jordan took Michael and me out onto the front lawn to meet what seemed like hundreds of other people. He called for attention and introduced us to the masses. He told everyone to show us the ‘Aloha spirit’ and added several Hawaiian words I didn’t understand. We were pulled into the melee. The ‘aunties’ and female ‘cousins’ surrounded me and made me comfortable. They nodded knowingly when I described what I was experiencing and how I was feeling. I saw Michael disappear into a crowd of youths who led him to a fire on the beach. Dane came up to me and gave me a big ‘Aloha’ and introduced his friends, Alfy and Tyler. Derrick and Gabe came and said hello. Robert introduced his boyfriend, Keno, to me. (Lord, this island is overflowing with good looking men!)

And the food! Luau pork, poi, macaroni salad, and one hundred and one other tempting dishes. Don’t get me started on the desserts!

The young children did a ukulele and hula show which was received with great enthusiasm Many of the older people, who obviously knew the music and dance, could be seen swaying and making graceful hand motions along with the children.

By 10pm I was exhausted—I’d stayed longer than I should have for Michael’s sake; he was having a lot of fun—so I drew him reluctantly away from his new friends and we headed for home.

“You had a good time?” I asked.

“Oh, Sis, the best! It was brilliant! They tried to teach me Hawaiian words and some of the hula movements, but I was hopeless, and they laughed at my efforts. But in a good way! Everyone was so nice! And I might have a date!”

“A date?”

“Well, maybe...I think. This kid asked me if I’d like to try surfing. He said he’d come out to Don and Marco’s beach and give me a lesson. Well, I’m not absolutely positive, but I think....”

“How old is he?”

“Siiiiiis,” he said, dragging out my name theatrically, “I know what you’re asking. Don’t worry. The security guy filled me in on the age rules. At eighteen I’m considered an adult for everything but drinking. The age of consent is sixteen for you-know-what. Paco is seventeen, only nine months younger than me. See? It’s all cool.”

“Well, good luck! But Michael, if he breaks your heart I’ll break every bone in his body!”

To his great credit, Michael didn’t remind me of my own stupidity—getting left high and dry by a French wanker.

Paco was a sweet, very shy boy. His eyes were dark but often restless and downcast; he hadn’t quite learned the importance of eye contact. His smile was lovely, when he actually smiled. I would describe him as a ‘cute’ boy who had the potential for handsomeness. At any rate, Michael was taken with him, and he with Michael. After their first ‘surfing’ date they became almost inseparable.

I often observed Paco’s expressive eyes, worshipfully trained on Michael. And Michael hung on every word Paco uttered. Paco’s opinion was sought, and followed, when Michael chose an affordable car for himself. A ten year old Audi convertible (which I thought was lovely) was declared an ‘old man’s car’ and thus rejected by Michael. A twelve year old Toyota Tacoma pickup truck was declared ‘cool’ so that’s what Michael bought. (What Michael didn’t know, and I found out later through the grapevine, was that there was a behind-the-scenes contribution from Don. The car was ‘affordable’ because Don subsidized the price. And once Michael chose the truck it was taken into the repair shop under the guise of fixing the brakes, but the truck was, in fact, thoroughly refurbished mechanically.)

I was working at home one morning that week when security alerted me to a female visitor approaching. A quick check of her car’s license plate told them it was Paco’s mother. My first thought was that she’d come to ask me to thwart the boys’ relationship That wasn’t the case at all. In her hands she had a beautiful boxed cake to ‘welcome’ us to Hawaii. She introduced herself as Mary Pa`ahona and before she set foot in the house, she told me what a wonderful boy ‘my’ Michael was, and (surprise!) didn’t he and Paco make a wonderful couple? She handed me the cake, telling me she had to retrieve something, and returned to her car where she pulled a box from the boot and carried it to me.

Recognizing its shape, I said, “Is that a....”

“Yes! A sewing machine!” she announced cheerfully.

Why ever would she bring me a sewing machine? I wondered.

Seeing my bewildered expression, she said, “It’s for Michael! He wants to learn to sew!” (Every sentence she uttered seemed to end with an exclamation mark.)

“He does?”

Finally, remembering my manners, I invited her in, put the sewing machine aside and placed the cake on the counter. I offered her a cup of coffee and a slice of cake, both of which she accepted. I directed her to a seat in the family room area adjoining the kitchen.

Preparing the coffee gave me a chance to collect my wits, notwithstanding Mary’s steady stream of exclamations. I served the coffee and cake, seated myself, and mentally prepared to chat with this remarkably friendly woman.

Mary’s conversation didn’t follow a linear path; there were several branches, asides and returns to the main topic. But, ultimately, there were two main points to her visit:

The first was to deliver the sewing machine to Michael, who, unbeknownst to me, had expressed an interest in learning to sew. He’d seen Mary’s sewing room and learned that Paco was, secretly, a moderately good sewist himself.

The second was to invite me to a ‘girls’ get-together at her house on Thursday evening. She said one of her friends sold Mary Kay cosmetics and was doing a demonstration. I didn’t have to buy anything, of course, but she was quite insistent that I come to ‘meet some people!’ There was simply no polite way to refuse, so I agreed to go.

I did, however, want to clarify what she’d said about Michael and Paco. “So, you don’t mind that Michael and Paco are...um...dating?”

“Oh no! Hawaiian culture is very open and accepting about gays! There’s even a name for gay couples: aik­­āne. It was only when the missionaries came in the 1800’s that it became illegal. Isn’t that stupid? Those people! Anyway, we’re just happy that Paco’s found himself a nice boy! I told him, ‘Michael’s a keeper! You should marry him!”

“Marry? But...but...they’re far too young for that!” I said, using my own exclamation.

Mary waved away my objection. “Why? I got married at eighteen! Had my first baby at nineteen!”

Her logic made a twisted sort of sense. I prudently decided not to argue. After all, who was I to judge?

Later, when Michael arrived home, he was delighted to see that Mary had dropped off the sewing machine. In the box there was also a length of printed cotton, a pattern for a simple short-sleeved shirt, scissors and thread. Mary told him he might as well dive into a ‘real’ project; making an apron or a cosmetics bag was just a waste of time! I thought this sewing business might be a passing fancy to follow, or impress, his boyfriend, until he said, “I want to be a tailor. Maybe apprentice later on, after I take a degree in fashion design and merchandising.”

“A tailor?” I asked. Today was certainly a day of surprises. “I thought you were going to pursue a business degree at uni?”

“No,” he said disdainfully, “That’s what Dad wanted me to do. Not what I wanted.”

“But isn’t this all rather impulsive?” I asked, reflecting guiltily as I said it, that everything had been so focussed on me since Michael had arrived that I hadn’t asked him about his career plans.

“No,” he said again in a tone that implied I was a complete dunce. “Let me show you something.” He disappeared into his bedroom returning with a sketchbook.

Handing it to me, he said, “Here’s some of my work. This book goes back a few months. I’ve got other books that go way back. I’ve kept quiet about it because it’s not really something you want known in school....”

I opened the book randomly and saw sketch after sketch of mostly men but some women, all beautifully posed and draped in the most intriguing clothes. I’ve seen designer sketches before, of course—skinny models with impossibly small waists—but Michael’s models were all different shapes and sizes. There were even some pregnant ones that looked suspiciously like me! Michael was a good artist, but he was also, in my opinion, a talented designer. I was simply stunned.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Michael, they’re brilliant! Tell me about your plans.”

Michael, full of enthusiasm, began, “Well, Sis, I’d like to be a bespoke tailor. Like Savile Row. Maybe design suits, like Giorgio Armani. Eventually, I’d like to have my own shop that caters to a really good class of customer.”

“Well, you’ve got artistic talent. I would imagine that would be transferable to sewing and tailoring?”

“Mrs. Pah [Pa`ahona] said I should start sewing right away. Paco can sew pretty well. He mostly makes all his own shirts and shorts. She said next comes jackets. Maybe a suit jacket. But I’ve got a ways to go before I can do that!”

Michael, tired of talking, excused himself to go play with his ‘new’ sewing machine leaving me to reflect on this latest development. I’d certainly do whatever I could to help him. Where there’s a will there’s a way, right?

On Thursday evening I made my way to the Pa`ahona’s home, a modest two story house in the Haha’ione Valley. I wasn’t keen on buying any cosmetics, but I did think that meeting new people, and seeing again some of those I’d met at Kelly and Jordan’s party, would be pleasant. You can imagine my shock when I was greeted with a chorus of SURPRISE! It wasn’t a cosmetics party at all. It was a baby shower for me! They had a little ‘throne’ set up with a canopy of streamers above. There were pink and blue streamers draped about the room with bobbles hanging from them. It was absolutely charming, and so very, very heartwarming. Naturally, I began to cry, but the women, who all had children of their own, knew to interpret the tears as ‘happy,’ and laughed at my discomposure.

Introductions or made, or re-made as necessary. Everyone was so kind. They had organized silly games that made everyone laugh. There was a secret vote on weather baby was a boy or girl (I’d asked the ultrasound technicians and the doctors not to tell me—I wanted it to be a delicious surprise). The ‘girl’ ballots carried the day. Then there was a betting pool on the actual birth date garnering heavy wagering. There were many, many lovely and thoughtful presents, including toys and clothes, blankets and diapers. My favourite of all was a crib sized, handmade (group effort) quilt in the Hawaiian style with a big bird of paradise flower appliquéd on it. There were even thoughtful and funny presents from the male couples who weren’t allowed to attend a women-only shower.

And the gossiping! Everyone knew everyone else’s business, but in a benevolent way. I wouldn’t describe any of the information exchanged as malicious, just interesting and fun with a lot of laughs thrown in. There were so many interwoven relationships on the island that it was mind boggling. They asked me several questions about my background, which I was happy to answer, but they never strayed into uncomfortable territory. There were absolutely no prying questions about Don, Marco and the children.

One of the women there owned a beauty salon. She insisted I come in on Saturday for a do-over. I demurred, but the chorus was taken up by the whole group. I laughingly gave in. Apparently it was to be a ‘spa’ day with a mani, pedi, facial, hair style, eyebrow shaping and makeup...and did I want a bikini wax? Well, apparently I did! So that was put on the agenda as well.

Of course they knew about Dusty’s upcoming arrival on Sunday. Was he my boyfriend? “No,” I explained, “Just a friend.”

“He’s drop dead good looking, isn’t he?” asked one lady.

“Um...well, yes! Okay...I’ll admit he’s gorgeous! You should see him astride a horse!” This remark got shrieks of laughter.

“And he’s rich!” said another woman. “You should snap him up!”

“Um...I don’t think so. He’s a cowboy. He works on Don’s family’s ranch.”

All the women exchanged puzzled looks with one another. Conversation ground to a halt.

Finally one woman said, “His name is Dusty, and he’s arriving on Sunday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, my cousin is the manager of the Swaying Palms Hotel in Waikiki, and she says that the owner, or the owner’s son, whose name is Dusty, is arriving Sunday because they’re planning extensive renovations. Dusty Millbrook, whose family owns the hotel, will be overseeing the work. It’d be a mighty big coincidence if two Dustys arrive in Honolulu at the same time! Is your friend’s last name Millbrook?”

I honestly didn’t know Dusty’s last name. The whole situation was quite disconcerting. I felt a pang of disappointment. I thought Dusty was coming to see me. But he was coming to Hawaii on business? A business I had no prior knowledge of? Ah, Gwyn, my girl, that’ll teach you for getting your hopes up. You should know by now that men, straight men anyway, are lying bastards!

Perhaps I’m a masochist, because part of me was still very much looking forward to Dusty’s arrival.

On Saturday I was petted and pampered and, quite literally, transformed. My hair was streaked and styled in a cut that suited my face. My eyebrows were beautifully sculpted. I was taught how to apply minimum makeup that highlighted the positive features of my face. With carefully applied liner and eye shadow my eyes seemed bigger, and the color brighter. My cheekbones benefited from a touch of blush. Concealer disguised the ‘tired’ bags under my eyes. New lip gloss imparted a sensual pout to my lips.

After the do-over (including a Brazilian Wax!) I was taken to a boutique shop next door (which was run, of course, by another cousin) and, in spite of my baby bump, outfitted with some stylish, colorful and beautifully feminine clothes.

I’d never considered myself good looking, but after this wonderful team of women had transformed me, I was no longer a dowdy, bloated nanny. I was beautiful and glowingly pregnant. Feminine and confident! Dusty, whoever the hell he was, may be coming for his bloody hotel, but, dammit, he was going to notice me...and I was going to knock his socks off!