"Pain killers," I suggested to my client's wife. "You should take painkillers."
"Why?" She replied with a lilt in her voice that accentuated her privileged attitude, even though she was clearly a gold digger. "I'm not in any sort of pain."
"But you are a pain in the ass," I quipped.
"Jerry," my client intervened. "C'mon now, she's my wife."
"Yes, and she's clearly getting in the way of my blessing your house that you called me for and asked me to do," I said. "Do you want the blessing or not? Just let me know because otherwise, there are more things I'll say to your wife."
"Greta, hunny, please go take a drive to the mall, or go visit your watercolor friends at Thomas Square," my client begged. His name is Ron and he's stuck between a rock and a hard on. His home was in dire need of a blessing, but his trophy wife, Greta, decided at the last minute that it was beneath them to have a brown man come and perform a Hawaiian blessing on their home. In her limited mind, she felt that there are Hawaiians who are acceptable in their appearance to be let into your home, and to socialize with. Then there are those Hawaiians who are too aboriginal in their appearance that they should not even be spoken to, for fear that they might be feral in every capacity. To her, I happened to represent the latter.
"The sight of this Jerry gives me a headache," Greta moaned with great affectation.
"He comes highly recommended," Ron countered. "And he's very well respected in the Hawaiian community."
"Still, make sure we lock everything up and hide anything of value that he might steal and take to the pawn shop," Greta insisted.
"I can't believe you, Greta," Ron shook his head.
The second I arrived at the home, after I introduced myself and shook hands with Ron, Greta stepped into the foyer. "I don't like you," she told me.
"And I don't like assholes," I replied. "Yet, here you are, puckering proof that they exist."
Ron was there to quell the moment from devolving into chaos. "This is why your house needs a blessing," I told him. "It's her that needs the exorcising!"
I performed the blessing like I was supposed to, and I left nothing behind that Greta would pick up and throw away. But I later found out that she brought someone of her own liking back to Ron's place to undo the blessing I had already done. I couldn't be mad at Ron for that. I did what I was asked to do, and that was it. A few days later, while Ron sat in his Bishop Street office brokering a deal for some clients, one of his employees interrupted the meeting, insisting that Ron come with him to the break room.
Everyone was standing, watching the TV monitor as a news report came over it. Greta and a man by the name of Fredrich Halstead both died in a helicopter crash over the island of Lānai. Frederich was the pilot, and he owned the copter. The two were scouting out property for a possible real estate venture when the copter plummeted out of the sky for no apparent reason. It just stopped working, and two people lost their lives.
It turns out that Friedrich Halsted was a real estate developer who had more money than Ron. Greta met him at a champagne breakfast, which was being hosted by her Watercolor club. Friedrich happened to be a friend of the club's head. Introductions were made, and before she knew it, Greta was having sex with Friedrich in his Ala Moana office. Questions from Friedrich's wife surfaced regarding just who the fuck Greta was and why she was in Friedrich's helicopter with him on that fateful day?
Could my blessing of Ron's house have included a curse as well? Why would you ask me such a thing?
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