Dean Kapuhoa prayed for Jordan Lono to strike out.

After all, Jordan was only eighteen, he had his whole future ahead of him. Conversely, Dean was twenty-seven, healthy—and as big—as a horse. But he was running out of time.

In baseball years, he was entering the bottom of the eighth inning.

From the on-deck circle next to the bench along the first base line, Dean scanned the two-dozen faces in the bleachers at Keanu Reeves Senior High School. It served as home field for the Kona Diamond Kings of the Hawaiian Islands Semi-Professional Baseball Association, or HISPBA. He saw the usual suspects – old folks, some sleeping, on a field trip from a local skilled nursing facility. Jordan’s mom, kinda hot for an older sistah. Guys he recognized from the auto shop where he got regular tune-ups, taking another three-hour lunch. Some dude in a black tank top and plaid shorts, picking another man’s pocket.

Dean then spotted two teenage girls who got past their parents and out of the house while wearing that. They sat on low-slung beach chairs between the Diamond Kings’ bench and the on-deck circle, drinking Cokes and bathing their chubby thighs in the warm Kona sun.

In turn, they ogled Dean. They had a lot to look at. Dean was six-three, broad shoulders, toned biceps and triceps, Popeye forearms, a V-shape, no fat in sight.

Thing was, he didn’t look like that three years ago.

Jordan, afflicted with allergies, sneezed at the first pitch. The umpire signaled ball one. The pitcher for the Diamond Kings’ cross-island rival Hilo Hula Sox gave the ump stink eye, walked off the back of the mound and rubbed the ball.

The crowd remained apathetic.

Nowhere in the stands did Dean see any major league scouts, nor anyone who might be a scout. He hoped some would be there. He heard a rumor that the night before, a scout from the L.A. Dodgers booked a hotel room. That changed to one from the San Francisco Giants. Then the Arizona Diamondbacks. Then the San Diego Padres, at one of the big resorts up the Kohala coast. Then the Seattle Mariners, at a timeshare in South Kona. An hour later, the rumor went back to the Dodgers and the Giants, but in separate hotels. Then the Kansas City Royals, at a youth hostel. Then the Pittsburgh Pirates, in a sleeping bag down on Kahalu’u Beach.

Dean took a practice swing. Rumors. That’s all they were. He thought, If big league scouts were on the island, Jules would have told me. Because Jules wants me to be in the majors as much as I do. Maybe more.

Jordan stifled a sneeze as he swung at the next pitch. His foul ball stopped dead in the tall grass next to the third base line.

Bottom of the ninth, one out, runners on first and second, score tied, 4-4.

Come on, Dean thought. Strike out already.

On the next pitch, Jordan swung feebly at a fastball for strike two. The third strike came when he blinked his watering eyes at a fastball down the middle of the plate.

A moment passed. Dean rubbed his bat handle with a pine tar rag. He wanted the drama of the moment to sink in.

He heard an old man in the stands cough up phlegm. Another screamed something about his wallet being missing.

The teenage girls jumped to their feet and jiggled and cheered. Dean winked at them as he strolled to the batter’s box, where he dug in and stared down the pitcher. Cocky as a former all-state first-team high school star can be, the pitcher slammed the ball in his glove. He tried to match Dean stare for stare.

He spat toward home plate.

Dean spat back.

Dean knew the smart move for the Hula Sox would have been to walk him. Dean already had a home run and three doubles to drive in all four Diamond Kings’ runs. He also was the only Diamond King to get a hit in the game.

“Okay, Deano, just stroke it, little base hit babe, hit wins the game, base knock here Deano, game winner, all we need,” said Pops Brimley, the Diamond Kings’ crusty yet loveable manager. “Nice little hit here Deano, no need to kill it, a little bingo, drop one in and we’re winners.”

Behind the bench, Dean saw team owner and HISPBA founder Jules Matsuda. They made eye contact. Jules nodded and grinned.

Despite Pops Brimley’s common-sense approach to baseball fundamentals, Dean hated singles. Simple base hits were for pussies. Home runs were cooler and impressed the babes. They also meant more for his quest to make the majors. That’s what Jules always told him: “Don’t settle for plain cheese on your pizza when, with a little more effort, you can get the works.” Jules had a way with words.

Dean watched the kid pitcher nod to the catcher. Then the kid unleashed a fastball about belt-high and just off the center of the plate.

Dean swung and connected.

The ball cleared the left-field fence by fifty feet.

Those fans who were awake cheered. The noise aroused the drooling sleepers from the retirement home, who asked an accompanying nurse if Ellen was on yet and if they were having lime Jell-O again for dessert. The two teenage girls yelled their phone numbers to Dean. Jordan Lono searched for a pen and paper.

The rest of the Diamond Kings mobbed Dean as he crossed home plate.

“Attaway Deano, game winning tater there, dialed eight on that one, walk-off moonshot, round-tripper, ripped the hide offa it. Didn’t need to cuz a single woulda got the job done but you went and did it anyway so it doesn’t matter,” Pops Brimley said.

Dean thanked Pops as Jules approached him with a smile and an extended hand.

“Nice dinger, Dean,” Jules said. “You’re on your way to another league MVP award.”

Dean shook Jules’s hand, each finger adorned with a garish diamond ring. “Yeah, is all good, but you know I’d rather wanna be on my way to the major leagues. That’s the only thing would be better.”

“You know we’re working on that.” Jules cleared his throat. “So, Veronica still out of town?”

“Yeah, she’s shopping in Honolulu for her birthday. She’s getting back tomorrow.”

“Cool, so come over tonight, huh?” Jules arched an eyebrow. “We’ll work on…it some more.”

“Eh, sorry, not sure I get you there, boss.”

“You know.” Jules lowered his voice. “You, me…the thing we do, the thing which makes us both happy.”

“Ohhhh, yeah, the thing.” Dean grinned. “No worries, brah, there ain’t no way I’m not gonna miss it.”

Dean never did, when Jules invited him over for the thing.

***

From her head to her knees, Veronica Keawe embodied Hawaiian feminine pulchritude.
She sashayed through the Ala Moana Mall in Honolulu in a blue patterned blouse and a pleated white mid-length skirt. Her jet-black hair flowed in a breeze. No wonder when Dean Pahukoa married her the previous year, he proclaimed her the most bodacious sistah he evah laid eyes on.

His smooth talk and his willingness to try a new Kama Sutra position every night won her over.

Still, as gorgeous as she was, there was something different about Veronica that day in the mall. From her knees down. For there, she wore an unfeminine pair of steel-toed black leather combat boots and long white socks.

She had to. For protection.

In her left hand, Veronica carried an iced half-caff imported gourmet cinnamon and sugar-free vanilla non-fat latte. With her right hand, she used her smart phone to exchange texts with her sister, who was somewhere else in the mall. Slung over her shoulders, a black backpack contained her digital camera and boxes of Dean’s favorite gourmet Oahu chocolate truffles.

Veronica had one more stop to make on her birthday shopping extravaganza, before she and her sister would decide where they would have an expensive sushi lunch. Then, the next day, she would fly home to the Big Island and Dean.

She missed the big lunk. What he lacked in gray matter he made up for with muscle. He was hot. Veronica convinced herself his little baseball hobby, with its intermittent paycheck, might one day pan out into something. It helped that he was good, as far as she knew. But baseball was foreign territory to her. Still, even if he didn’t make the big time, in the interim it kept Dean occupied while he pursued his GED at night school.

Maybe when he graduated he could quit his side job working for Jules, the man who owned the team and ran the league. Jules gave Veronica the creeps, the way he acted around Dean, the way he filled his head with silly notions about playing big-league baseball – and how Jules had what Veronica considered an unhealthy interest in Dean’s future.

In the middle of the mall, Veronica found Piedi Felici, the finest women’s shoe store in all of Hawaii. She walked in and zeroed in on a pair of black patent leather Jimmy Choos with the Mondrian heel.

“I’d like to try these on in a six, please,” Veronica said. She handed the display shoe to the salesman, sat down, unlaced her boots and removed her socks.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be right back.” The salesman went to the back storeroom. He returned a few moments later. “Let’s see how these fit you.”

Veronica lifted her bare left foot onto the bench. The salesman gasped.

“Anything wrong?” she said.

The salesman stared at her pedicured foot, her toenails bright red, a gold ring wrapped around her second toe. He took a moment to catch his breath.

“Oh my God,” he said, “oh my God, you’re…you’re…her.”

Veronica thought, Gets ‘em every time.

***

Jules Matsuda lived in a big house on Manukai Street in Keahou, south of Kailua-Kona. The backyard boasted a built-in barbecue island, a cabana with a teak dining set, and a pool. A gravel path led from the yard down a slope to a hidden black-sand beach in a small cove on Keahou Bay.

Dean Kapuhoa liked visiting there, especially after games the Diamond Kings won. Jules often invited the players and their wives and girlfriends over for a cook-out with free beer. Dean thought the gatherings were fun, but he never understood why Veronica hated the parties and why she never said anything nice about Jules.

Dean explained to her Jules was an all right dude, since Jules got him his job at his jewelry shop and was pleased with how good he played ball. She disagreed, which led Dean to wonder if he should quit the job. Dean knew if that happened, Jules would kick him off the team. No matter if he was the best player in the islands.

But this evening, after his game-winning home run put the Diamond Kings back in first place, Dean sat in his car outside of Jules’s house. He felt perspiration on his palms. These liaisons over the past three of years, they gave him chicken skin. Like what would happen if anyone found out.

If they did, Dean assumed his dreams of playing big league ball, in the footsteps of such great Hawaiian ballplayers like Mike Lum and Sid Fernandez and Shane Victorino, would evaporate. No matter how good he was.

Yet Jules had convinced Dean these confidential meetings were helping him prepare for the big time. Dean understood, but he also thought hiding this from Pops Brimley and the team—and Veronica—was dishonest. But there was no way he could tell any of them. Ever.

This had to stay a secret. As long as Jules continued helping him, Dean believed he could punch his own ticket to stardom in the Major Leagues.

Dean took a deep breath, wiped his palms on his jeans, and got out of the car. He walked to the front door and rang the doorbell.

Jules greeted him, a glass of wine in his hand. “Hey, Dean, come on in,” he said. “Can I get you some merlot? It’s quite good.” Kylie Minogue played on a stereo in the background.

Dean was a beer guy. Wine gave him headaches and made him fart. He discovered that at his wedding reception. “Uh, no, but thanks anyway.”

“It’s cool.” Jules motioned to a leather recliner in the living room. “Have a seat for a while, you earned it today.”

“Yeah, hey, wish I could boss, but can’t stay long, I gotta get home,” Dean said. “Veronica’s coming home tomorrow and I need to get the place clean. I got crap all over the place and she hates messy stuff big time.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “You know how the sistahs can be.”

Jules nodded. “No worries.” He locked his eyes on Dean’s and sipped his wine. “Well, then I guess we need to make this quick.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s do it in the bedroom.”

Jules led Dean to his master suite, with a panoramic ocean view. As the sun set on the horizon, Dean could see the silhouetted forms of dolphins swimming about a hundred yards out.

“Just get ready and relax.” Jules opened a drawer in his nightstand.

Dean unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and underpants. He bent over the bed, elbows tucked under his chest.

“Hey, uh, boss,” he said, “now don’t go getting no really weird ideas back there.”

“Dean, you’d think after all this time you’d have a better line than that.”

“I know, just saying.”

“I mean, it’s not as if you’re not a good looking guy, you know.”

His face buried in the bed, his bare ass in the air, Dean clenched his fists. “Boss, just do it, okay?”