"I hate flying," she said. "We encountered turbulence in the middle of the ocean. I asked Morgan if there was any hope. 'There is always hope,"' she imitated. "Baggage claim," Morgan said. A short time later they were in a cab speeding toward Waikiki. "I thought we might have dinner with a friend of mine, if you aren't too tired." "Oh, good," Edie said. "We spent last night in San Francisco to break up the flight. We aren't tired, are we Morgan?" "Certainly not. Where are we?" "Passing the old cannery," Joe said. "That's where Alphonse showed me the right way to drive a fork lift." Morgan explained, "Joe was too--what was it--delicate?" "Careful," Joe said. "Maybe you could write a story about it," Edie said. She made it sound completely possible, like--why not have it done by dark? "Maybe I will. Good choice, the Moana, by the way." "A friend told me that they have windows that actually open," Edie said. "I want to hear surf. Then we're going to the other islands." "Some of the other islands," Morgan said. "Molokai, and Kauai, and Maui." They swept up to the front of the hotel and arranged to meet at the banyan bar in an hour and a half. Joe called Mo. "The eagle has landed. Can you make it, 6:30 at the Moana? I'll probably be there a bit before." "See you there." He went over to the International Marketplace and lost himself in wandering groups of tourists. A balding caricaturist with rimless glasses bantered with a line of haoles waiting to be drawn. "Hobby? What do you do on weekends?" "Golf." A few pen strokes and a driver curled around the subject's neck, the ball untouched on the tee. "Tennis." A racquet appeared with strings burst by an opponent's serve. Two or three minutes and he was done, asking each person's name, titling the drawing beneath its over-sized head, signing it and wrapping it in clear plastic. He was magician and entertainer, eyes blue and shrewd, working hard, keeping the crowd alive. It was six o'clock before Joe realized it. He scooted back to the Moana. "Glenlivet and water, please, Gilbert." Joe raised his glass in Gilbert's direction. "Here's to friends." "Oh, you have some?" "Yok, Gilbert." Mo appeared. "See?" "See what?" she asked. "Sorry, I was talking to Gilbert. You are my friend, aren't you?" "How long have you been here?" "Two minutes." "Very pretty friend," Gilbert said. "Too good for you. May I get you a drink?" "Lillet on the rocks, please." Mo was wearing linen slacks and an open weave cotton sweater. She rarely used make up; touches of eye shadow made her seem especially dressed up. Morgan and Edie walked down the wide back steps of the hotel and across the courtyard beneath the banyan tree. Joe waved. "More friends," he said. They moved to a table. "Did your window open?"