Kiki Krugman

Restaurant: Passages

Leilani: Shrimp and Crab Avocado, Whiskey Bread Pudding a la mode

Jade: Blackened Salmon Salad, NO avocado, no dessert

Kiki: Cobb Salad with Chicken, dressing on the side. Hold the bacon. Halve the eggs. Double the onions. Lemon-Caramel Cake a la mode, whipped cream on the side, hold the raspberries, "can you please substitute strawberries instead?" and "drizzle some chocolate syrup on top of the ice cream?".

Topic: We have no idea. Kiki's been prattling.

Kiki likes to talk a lot. She has interesting ticks that make watching her entertaining. For instance, she likes to touch her upper lip with her forefinger and then have a questioning look on her face at the end of her sentences. She has huge, teacup blue eyes that she likes to open wide, making her look somewhat innocent or child-like...though the dichotomy between that expression and her somewhat wrinkly face simply exaggerated her age. She has crooked teeth that were once bleached white but have now turned yellow again. Her hair is naturally curly but she likes to iron it straight and won't wash her hair until it's absolutely dirty and greasy. She likes to wake up early to clean her house...daily. There is a place for everything in her immaculately clean and tidy house and she has no compunction about throwing out anything that doesn't have a place to roost.

Kiki is also Jade's pilates teacher. If there's anything that Kiki can do well, it's counting calories. All she has to do is look at food and she can tell you with 98% accuracy how many calories one is about to consume.

And so, Jade and I wait in our places, ready to order while Kiki peruses the menu very carefully. She is very perky. For someone who's a compulsive exerciser, Kiki is inlove with food. She studies every item on the menu, asking impertinent questions that neither Jade nor I can answer. Jade glances at me through the menu as Kiki fires off her questions at the poor waiter. She signals at me and I realize that I needed to close my gaping mouth.

"You guys, do you think I should order the pasta? I wonder if they really know how to make a proper white sauce. You guys, I'm afraid to order the creme brulee 'coz the custard might be too thick. Hmmm....You guys, I don't like curly endive... do you think they can pick it out of the mesclun salad? You guys, what if the bananas are overcooked? You guys, do you think they make the cake from scratch?"

And so on ad nauseum. "You guys."

After she finally decided on the Cobb Salad, asked several questions about the dressing, if she can substitute vinagrette for the ranch dressing, if the greens contained curly endive, and on and on, the clearly exasperated but patient waiter took our orders. I have to admit I was a bit embarrassed by her demeanor. She was talking like a ditzy airhead dressed in a white T-shirt under a denim jumper and sockless Keds.

We talked about stray cats, her disdain for shopping and her stuffed bear collection--all of which, neither Jade nor I had any interests in pursuing. We listened trying hard to appear intrigued.

"I also like to read books."

Finally! A passion Jade and I both possess. As she shovels a forkful of greens in her mouth, I made a quick remark.

"Jade just finished reading Elie Wiesel's new book 'Night' and she raves about it. After I finish reading 'Dispatches from the Edge', I'd very much like to read it too."

Then with much excitement, Jade begins to explain what the book is about. We all listen with great interest.

"Kiki, what books do you like to read?"

"Oh I like to read children's books."

"You mean, like, Harry Potter or Anne of Green Gables?"

"Well, yeah, but I like Dr. Seuss books."

Jade and I paused for a bit, confused that perhaps Dr. Seuss had other books for the more 'mature' readers that we didn't know about.

"Really? Like which of his books is your favorite?"

"I have several I like but I guess if I had to pick one, it would be 'Green Eggs and Ham. I read it over and over."

As she prattled on and on about Dr. Seuss and his volumes, Kiki began to dig into my salad with her fork and lifted a lump of shrimp and avocado--I was saving the best parts of my salad for last. I watched as part of my salad disappeared into her mouth. Taken aback, I froze for a minute disbelieving what I just saw. Then Kiki dipped her fork into Jade's salmon and took a chunk of it into her mouth. That's when Jade stopped eating her lunch. I, on the other hand, hurriedly finished the last couple of bites. I'll be damned if Kiki takes another shrimp from my plate!

Kiki began discussing her Kinkade collection and recipes that she had collected through the years. Jade and I tried to appear as enthusiatic about the subject matters but Kiki mostly did the talking.

Ordering dessert was a whole new experience for me. After a long quiet lull in the conversation while Kiki studied the dessert menu, all the while muttering more questions to herself----or maybe for us to answer, she finally decided on the Lemon-Caramel Cake.

"Is that served a la mode?"

"No, ma'am. It has a rich ricotta and whipped cream topping."

"Well. Can you just have them put half the amount of that topping and then top it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream?"

"I'm sure that won't be a problem ma'am."

"What kind of garnish do you put around the plate?"

"Some raspberries and blueberries."

"Can you substitute strawberries instead?"

"I'll let the chef know, ma'am."

I could tell the waiter was getting annoyed. Kiki was clearly oblivious to this fact.

"Oh...I changed my mind. Can you just scrape the topping off altogether and put it on the side?"

"Ma'am the topping comes with the cake but I'll personally scrape it off the top if that's what you'd like."

"Well, ok. Just scrape off half and can you bring me some more whipping cream on the side and can you drizzle more caramel on the cake?"

"I'll do what I can, ma'am."

Of course, Jade and I were simply speechless and unable to put a stop to the insanity. To protest, Jade didn't order dessert. When the desserts came, Jade and I had nothing more to discuss with Kiki. We really didn't need to. She did most of the talking.

After Kiki ate her dessert and most of mine, Jade suddenly remembered that she had a 2:00 dentist appointment. After Jade tipped the waiter an extra $20 to atone for Kiki's impertinence, we stood out in the parking lot for a few minutes to say our good-byes. Jade and I waited for her to drive out into the street.

I hurriedly said good-bye to Jade, mindful that her dental appointment was only 10 minutes away.

"Good grief, Lei, I don't have to see Dr. Neslin! For Pete's sake, let's go shopping!"

From the look on Jade's face, I knew what she was thinking.

Kiki would never be invited to lunch again.

Florence Whipple

Restaurant: The Original Pancake House

Jade: Apple Pancake, Hot Chocolate with whipped cream on the side

Leilani: French Crepes, Hot Chocolate with whipped cream on top

Florence: Plain egg-whites-only omelette, dry whole wheat toast, cranberry juice

Topic: Pearls

I was trying not to gag when Florence ordered brunch after her careful study of each item on the menu. We wouldn't have invited her to join us but we needed to discuss the details of our book club meeting. Florence was the founder and hostess of our ladies' book club and it was our turn to help Florence with the hors d'œuvre and hosting 'privileges'. We were new to the group and we wanted to make a good impression.

Florence is a tall and slender woman in her early forties. She has that airy patrician look: blond, albeit chemically enhanced, chin length hair, aquiline nose, high cheek bones, long swan-like neck and long, sinewy arms. At times she claims to have been born into a wealthy family from Marin County. At times, her snippy comments implied that she had a difficult, "humble middle-class" life--implying that she 'used to be' just like the rest of the world. She married into a family of seven sons, Mortimer, her husband, being the fourth.

The Whipples are a family of accomplishment and are very well-respected and well-known. All of the Whipple boys sing and were the legends of the high school band. All have trophy wives and the requisite number of children who have mostly inherited blue eyes, long bodies and angular features. All live in prestigious hamlets of suburbia--Cardiff-by-the-Sea, Madison Park in Bellevue, Scottsdale... The Whipple boys are either lawyers, bankers or doctors---except for Morty who works for a large retail company and 'only' has a Bachelors in Business. Which is where the problem stems. Keeping up with the rest of the family proved too much for Morty.. . and especially, Florence. It was important for her to "look and sound" wealthy. It simply is a case of trying-too-hard of which, many of us can be guilty of.....sometimes. For Florence, it was a job 24/7. And she worked hard. The cracks were beginning to show.

"That's a lovely necklace you're wearing Lei. Are they Tahitian black pearls?"

Florence liked to intimate that she was a connoisseur of fine jewelry. Unfortunately for her, so was I. Incidentally, I was wearing a lovely set of layered "pearl" necklaces that I got at a reduced rate of $35.00 at the spa where I got a lovely mani-ped.

"Florence, you know I never wear fakes!"

I think I detected some drool on Florence's chin.

"Did you get those in Hong Kong?"

I think Florence has always been intrigued by that part of me that was Asian even if she knows I was born and raised in Kailua, Hawaii.

"Actually, my husband got these from a friend who travels to Papeete often. You know of course, that black pearls are a lot cheaper in Tahiti. You can save yourself at least a couple of hundred dollars."

Florence was beginning to annoy me. Jade, on the other hand, had a huge grin on her face to compensate for the laugh that she was trying very hard to subdue.

"How much do you think a Tahitian black pearl pendant would cost if your friend can get one for me?"

If Jade doesn't compose herself, I am going to get myself in heaps of trouble.

"Well, Florry, it would just depend on the quality of the pearl."

I began to tell her about pearls: the thickness of the nacre, clues and rules to know about their sheen and lustre, grades, surface, color, saltwater and fresh water pearls, their shapes, how they match.. Florence began to stare at my fake pearls.

"Lei, let me take a closer look at your pearls. I'd like to see what you're talking about."

"Listen. I can't take my pearls off right now, if you don't mind. Besides, my husband put these on me this morning and only he can take them off."

Jade simply erupted with laughter and snorting. I looked at her incredulously and began to laugh as well. Florence, on the other hand, looked confused. We were just horrible.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh just a private joke between me and Jade."

"Are you sure? I'd like to know."

"Florence, don't worry about it. We're just being stupid."

The rest of the brunch was just an exercise in small talk. Florence seemed animated a few times especially when we talked about Mortimer, his promotion and the new VW bug that he bought for her. We asked her a lot of questions and made sure we complimented her on the important things: her hair, her shoes, her outfit. After a brief conversation about the bookclub and our assignments, Florence excused herself and begged off to run to another engagement.

"Well that went well." Jade said. I agreed. But somehow, there was something about Florence that disturbed me though I just couldn't figure out what it could be. Until late into that afternoon.

*************
I was just getting into my reading when the phone rang. It was Mortimer Whipple.

"Hello? Lei? How are you?"

"I'm doing well, Mort. Did you want to talk to Jim?"

"No, I wanted to talk to you."

He sounded very cordial and polite. Perhaps, too polite. And very measured.

"What planet did you come from?"

I thought I heard wrong. It was beginning to feel surreal.

"What?"

"I said, what planet did you come from?"

Something malevolent suddenly hit me and I could feel my skin bristling--a visceral reaction that signals imminent danger. Other than the thumping of my heart as adrenalin surged through my system, I remained silent.

"Did you poke fun at my wife?"

Later, I would find out through a mutual friend that Florence had called her husband in tears telling him how we mistreated her and called her names.

"Listen, Lei. If you ever come close to any member of my family, I am going to come after you with everything I've got."

I was incredulous.

"Mort, is that a threat? Did you just threaten me?"

"You better believe it!"

The rest of the conversation was just bizarre. I thought I was in a bad murder mystery movie starring Martha Stewart. Here was someone's husband, threatening someone else's wife. There was a coldness, a disconnect in his voice. It was menacing and calculated. I could not, for the life of me, intellectually and emotionally connect Mortimer's menacing phonecall with the quiet, friendly Mortimer that everybody knew. It was as if he had shown me a part of him that no one ever saw. I suddenly got the heebie-jeebies.

There is more to the story. Like a knight in shining armor, my Jim got involved. Mortimer demurely confesses to Jim that what he did was classless. Mortimer calls me later to apologize as if he were his old charming self again. Everybody has moved on and the Whipples continue their charming ways as the rest of our neighborhood fawn over them just because they are the Whipples. Florence struts about town still trying very hard to live up to being a suburban trophy wife with all the accoutrements of suburbia-dom. And Mortimer continues to posture, trying desperately to prove his importance. But Mortimer knows that I hold the secret of who he really is...or who he can become. That brief but starkly threatening phone call defined what kind of a man lurks inside his charming demeanor and implicitly manifests the possibility that Florence may be a simmering pot of emotional stew ready to boil over anytime someone sprinkles salt over her. That I am the sole witness and victim of his malevolence renders me locked in a victim's prison where no one can fully appreciate the insidious duplicity of a charming man with a subtle veneer of malice.

When I see Mortimer or Florence, they pretend not to see me. I play along.

And screw the book club.

Florence would NOT be invited to lunch again.

Winnie Kuykendahl

Restaurant: Brasserie Bhuvi

Leilani: Yellow Fin Tuna Tataki Salad with Avocado, Lemongrass Creme Brulee

Jade: Grilled New Zealand Sea Bass with Black Truffle Vinaigrette, Warm Croissant Bread Pudding with Dulce de Leche Ice Cream

Winnie: Free Range Chicken with Mango Chutney, White Chocolate Truffle Cake with Passionfruit Glacee

Topic: Miscellany

Winnie is half-Vietnamese and half-Belgian. She is a stout, short woman with little feet and a bulbous nose. She has little beady eyes that she accents with thick, dark green eye-liner and mascara. Her hair nearly matches the color of corn silk with a tinge of violet. I am convinced that the woman has rosacea because her skin appears sunburned all the time. Though she buys her clothes at the nearby chichi boutiques, she somehow looks like she just came out of the neighborhood thrift shop. Yeah--the one by the liquor store. Now that may not sound very exotic but for some odd reason, men find her appealing. I don't get it. But I accept it. Maybe because in my heart of hearts, I know she's found some mojo voodoo spell that lures men into thinking that she's all that. I, on the other hand, don't need any mojo spells. Humph!

Jade and I have decided that we need to "widen our friendship circle' and invite others to lunch. So far, we haven't found anyone worthy of being a permanent third lady who can do lunch with us. Tsk tsk.

Jade starts to tell her about my gardening fiasco. A few months ago, when I was not depressed, I fancied that I could be a "gardening Martha". (Someone really should come up with a Martha Stewart doll...) Jade and I went shopping after lunch at the Bon Jour Cafe. After a quick meal of assorted crepes, we happened upon a quaint gardening shop. With great hopes and enthusiasm, I purchased a pair of bright yellow gardening clogs, a set of garden tools and a couple of trays of colorful annuals. I chattered excitedly for most of that afternoon while Jade laughed at all my clever jokes.

The next day, I donned what I deemed to be my happiest "gardening" outfit complete with dainty, flowered, cotton gloves, a matching apron and my most lusciously brimmed staw hat. I had watched a hundred gardening shows on HGTV so I was very confident that planting annuals would be a cinch. I had never before embarked on this highly domestic feat.

I was in a state of panic when Jade answered my phone call.

"Jade!" I was sobbing as I tried to control my mortification.

"What? Slow down...what's wrong? Is it Jim? The kids? What's wrong?"

I continued to sob.

"Eh....Eh...Earthworms!"

You have to understand that Jade is a kind-hearted soul. She loves animals. She is tender and sweet to her pets. She has no mean bone in her body. She loves to work in the garden. She understood immediately what had happened. She had chided me before about my inability to walk on grass barefoot because I did not want to touch "cooties" who might be living in the grass. And she knew about my aversion....no, abnormal fear of earthworms, snakes or millipedes. She had assured me that I would find no earthworms in the earth when I dig the holes. But what neither she nor I would anticipate is what laid in wait for me when I turned the little pot over to release the annuals: two, big FAT earthworms curled around the roots covered with moist soil! After a shriek of surprise and mortification, I dropped the plant and pot on my glass patio table, making a huge mess topped with the fat worms who now appeared longer and hostile to me. I gave myself up to panic. That's when I ran to the kitchen to phone Jade.

Winnie looked at me with her beady eyes now round like oversized buttons with dark green lines across the top. Then she looked at Jade.

"Did you think that was stupid?"

"Well...no. I just drove over and helped her plant her flowers."

I could tell that she was incredulous that Jade would do that for me. Winnie had always been intimidated by Jade's polished and attractive appearance. And once, she told me that I intimidated her because she found me articulate and intelligent.

"Why would you be afraid of something like that? You need to get over that."

A cold pause changed the density of the air. Winnie suddenly felt superior.

She would no longer be invited to lunch.

Leilani "Keolakaonua" Hochhalter and Jade Orton

Restaurant: A little French bistro.

Jade: Smoked salmon, cream cheese and cucumber on French baguette.

Leilani: French ham with brie on sourdough baguette.

Jade nixes ordering dessert. She is being supportive of my latest attempt to lose weight. We arrive early for lunch but the small bistro is already half full. I am wishing I had ordered the pasta.

Our charming waiter, a delicate wisp of a young man tells us he used to be a dancer at some avant garde show in Las Vegas. I wonder why he isn't anymore. He has a very thick French accent and moves very gracefully. I notice that he has very slim, feminine fingers. I ask which part of France he is from. He is from Montreal. I feel duped. It's like finding out the Louis Vuitton bag that you bought in Honolulu at full retail was a Hong Kong knock-off. I am NOT impressed. But not as horrified at the fact that I couldn't distinguish real French accent from a Montreal accent. Okay, so I don't speak French. But I should. Details.

For seven years, Jade has been intimating the same problem over and over---that is, over lunch. Two evil step-sons. One tall, good-looking, charming RICH husband who seems to have lost total perspective over fathering these little demons effectively. The problem is, the little demons are now 18 and 21. Fat chance.

Fitz is Jade's second husband. Yes, that's short for Fitzgerald. Obviously, his parents were Kennedy-philes. Fitz's name is a product of playground politics instigated by some cruel bully who will grow up overweight, with yellow teeth and wearing dirty overalls to work. The name simply stuck on poor John Fitzgerald Orton who would grow up to be a real estate developer and one of the richest men in the big city. Of course, as fate would have it, Jade wasn't always Jade. Maxine, Jade's mother, married seven times, fancied herself a hippie and named her 2nd daughter, Precious. Precious has been Jade for well over 20 years now---since she decided to reinvent herself and get married at 16 to a Paul Newman clone. Unfortunately, Mr. Paul Newman clone acted more like Tony Soprano. THe point is, Jade has been Jade for far too long to be Precious. And we do lunch together. Every week.

I'd like to write about our adventures in lunching. Yeah. It's mind-boggling.