Hotel Honolulu

78 Ashes

The risk taker, madly signaling for attention, is always preparing you for his death, and as time passes, this interminable anticlimax is more maddening than morbid. When death finally comes you just feel angry and want to blame the sadistic son of a bitch. That is what I had thought. It wasn't true. I wasn't prepared. It was worse than I had ever imagined, and I badly missed Buddy from the moment he was gone — missed him more because in his place was the strange, starvedlooking, alien figure of his widow, Pinky.

Years before, Buddy had devised his own mendacious obituary. After his death, this was printed in the Advertiser exactly as he wrote it. From the outside he seemed a clown, a fool, an incompetent, but deep down he was very serious, often weeping on the inside. He was proud of his ability to fix anything that was broken. He was proudest of being able to mend a broken heart. .

Pinky presided over the funeral, which was a mockery of the pointless pantomime we had rehearsed when Buddy had vanished for the sake of a practical joke. Bula pronounced a eulogy: "He a people person.

He real nurturing. He like talk story. He a communicator. He a class act. He break down barriers. He so rich."

Hearing this, Peewee began to sob. His whole body shook. He covered his face and said sorrowfully, "Buddy go dancing."

As Buddy's friend and manager of his hotel I had been asked to say a few words. Peewee's sobbing embarrassed people, so I tried to strike a lighthearted note.

"Who was Buddy?" I said. "He was the man in the baseball hat who always sat in front of you in the movies, his head blocking the screen. The man who laughed out loud when an accident happened. The man who stopped to stare at horrible car crashes. Who spilled his drink in his lap and yelled, 'I'm not housetrained!' Who pushed the shopping cart too fast at Foodland, saying, 'Beep! Beep!' Who held up the line to tease the checkout clerk. Who shouted into his cell phone in the elevator. Who always wanted extra whipped cream and four sugars and extra cheese. Who argued with the man passing out leaflets. Who was the first to buy the newest gizmo, and the first to break it. Who hated the government and never voted, and maintained he was a good American. Who was always unconsciously auditioning for a part in a novel."

A stillness had settled over the ceremony. My eulogy had fallen flat. I sensed they felt I was being disrespectful, and yet that was what Buddy loved most — insult and anarchy.

Lamely, hoping to satisfy the mourners, I added, "Buddy was a man who never failed to pick up a hitchhiker, or loan money, or take in waifs and strays. I was one of those."

Buddy's ashes were scattered offshore, within sight of his beachfront estate. That same afternoon Pinky ordered everyone out of the house, for the day she became an American citizen, she had also become, as Buddy's widow, his heiress. In his fury, months before, when he moved into the Owner's Suite to escape his quarreling family, Buddy had cut everyone out of his will, leaving Pinky as his sole beneficiary. The sorry document was something even Jimmerson could not mend. Buddy had intended to rectify that, but he died before he could banish Pinky and make a new will. So Pinky had his millions; she had the Hotel Honolulu and the North Shore house; she had everything.