Blue Hawaii
Harry Mayer
I squirmed in my seat as I waited with Sandy for our first couple’s therapy session at the Kapiolani Counseling and Wellness Center. Six months in the Persian Gulf had taken its toll on our marriage. The center tried to create a welcoming atmosphere with soft lighting and New Age background music. Despite their attempt to make clients feel welcome, I was on edge. I had long resisted counseling. People tend to judge you when they find out you’re in therapy.
In one corner of the waiting room a flickering television was tuned to CNN. The sound had been turned off, but it was possible to read the closed captions scrolling at the bottom of the screen. In the opposite corner, a colorful floral display of anthuriums, orchids and ginger surrounded a babbling lava rock fountain. Sitting in a rattan chair with my arms crossed, I watched Bernard Shaw move his lips on the soundless TV.
I glanced at a quote on the wall, Feelings are just visitors, let them come and go. If that was supposed to be an inspirational quote, it left me uninspired. Sandy sat on the other side of the room, she shifted in her chair, occasionally biting her upper lip. Neither of us spoke. There was no air conditioning in the building. The thumping bamboo ceiling fan provided little relief from the tropical heat. I picked up a copy of Psychology Today and pretended to read an article about the impact of technology on society. It would take more than New Age music and meditation to heal our relationship.
The receptionist said, “Dr. Young will see you now.” Neither Sandy nor I made eye contact when we entered the doctor’s office. Dr. Young, an attractive middle-aged Asian woman smiled and asked us to take a seat. Windchimes tingled in the breeze from an open window. She asked, “What brings you in today?”
Sandy toyed with her wedding ring while fidgeting in her chair. She pointed at me and said, “Why don’t you ask him?”
I shrugged.
Then Dr. Young asked, “How long have you two been together?”
I said, “About 9 years.”
The doctor jotted down a few notes on her steno pad. Then she said, “Tell me how I can help you.” Neither of us spoke. “That’s OK, sometimes I find it helpful to talk to each client separately. Harry, would you mind waiting in the reception area while Sandy and I chat?” I left the office annoyed and returned to the waiting room. Fifteen minutes later Sandy came out of the doctor’s office looking smug.
Now it was my turn to talk to the doctor. Dr. Young said, “I’m going to ask you a question, and it’s important that you be completely honest.” She looked me square in the eye. “Do you love Sandy?”
“Hell no, but not anymore.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Then why did you come today?”
“It was Sandy’s idea.”
Soon the receptionist invited Sandy and me to return to the doctor’s office. Once we were seated Dr. Young said, “It’s obvious that you both cared for each other once. But relationships often change over time. Sometimes it’s better for all concerned to end a bad marriage. It doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re in a different place than when you first met.”
I tried to suppress a smile. Sandy started to cry.
In the parking lot I said, “What do you think? Divorce?”
Still weeping she wiped her nose and nodded.
Elated, I drove back to my room at the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters at Naval Station Pearl Harbor where I had been staying since our separation. I felt so much better having gone to counseling and it only cost a hundred dollars. This was the best hundred bucks I ever spent; who would’ve thought a marriage counselor would recommend a divorce? If I had only known, I would have gone to counseling a long time ago. A tremendous weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
The next day I made an appointment with a lawyer. Sandy didn’t contest the divorce, we sold the house and split everything down the middle. By the end of the month, I was free. Before the ink had dried on our divorce decree Sandy moved in with a guy she slept with while I was deployed.
Now that I was single, I decided to pursue a lifelong dream. I bought a sailboat. A beautiful 45’ Columbia sloop became my new home. Her name was Venture, the new love of my life. She was a little bit older than most boats at the marina, but her grey sturdy hull made her sound and comfortable. A spiderweb of hairline cracks in the gelcoat revealed her age, but I didn’t care because she was mine.
Venture’s interior was stunning, varnished mahogany paneling, two staterooms, and two marine heads each with its own shower. The V-berth in the bow became my stateroom. Its large bed required custom made sheets. While the galley was small it was adequate. Yes, this was now home.
It didn’t take long to fall into the bachelor routine. Friday nights I would hit the beach with my friends. On paydays I would head out to the clubs with $300, only to wake up the next morning with a headache and an empty wallet. If I was lucky there might be a few crumpled dollar bills remaining in my shirt pocket.
One Friday I met a girl at one of the clubs, and we hit it off immediately. She invited me to her apartment, I couldn’t refuse. The next morning, I sat in her kitchen while she was getting ready for work. She called from the bathroom. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge for breakfast.” Just as I turned on Mr. Coffee, she came out of the bedroom wearing a Navy summer white uniform with a third-class petty officer rank insignia. I said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were an enlisted sailor.”
“You never asked.”
“You’re going to get us both written up for fraternization.”
“Who cares, I hate the Navy. Anyway, if I get pregnant, they’ll throw me out with an Admin Discharge under honorable conditions. That’s fine with me.”
I soon discovered how hard it was for a Naval Officer to meet a single girl in Hawaii. I didn’t know any local girls, and all the single ones I knew were enlisted sailors. The Navy was Draconian when it came to romances between officers and enlisted personnel.
The following Saturday I ran into Todd, a friend from Officer Candidates School. He was shopping at the Navy Exchange with his fiancé Debbie who worked as a nurse at Queens Hospital. After swapping a few sea stories I told them about my divorce. Debbie made an empathetic sigh. “Are you dating anyone?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, there are six visiting nurses at my hospital and they’re all single. They work for six months, then rotate back to the mainland. It might be a good way for you to meet someone nice.”
“That sounds great, do you think they would like to go sailing?"
After that, Saturdays were reserved for offshore cruising. Every week I would take Todd, Debbie, and a different nurse out on the blue Pacific. Sometimes we would see dolphins or a sea turtle off Diamond Head. At the end of the day, we would drop anchor near Waikiki Beach and swim until sunset.
Nightclubbing and the life of a beach bum soon grew old. I was lonely and wanted a girlfriend. I missed simple things like going to the movies with someone, or just having someone there to talk to at the end of the day after work.
One Saturday morning the sunlight steaming through the open hatch above my bunk woke me. Half-asleep I rolled over to look at the alarm clock. It was already 9:30 AM. After dragging myself out of bed and splashing cold water on my face I went topside to enjoy a morning cup of coffee. Gentle waves lapped against the hull tenderly rocking the boat. Each small wave caused the snap clips on the lanyards to clank against the aluminum mast. My next-door neighbors, David and Kai were preparing to get underway. I called to Kai, “Where you guys off to?”
“Fishing, brah, we gonna hit the deep water off Waianae. Maybe we bring you some Mahi Mahi for dinner tonight.”
“That would be great. Happy hunting.”
I returned below to the galley to make some breakfast. After opening the cabinet, I realized that I was out of just about everything. I needed to go grocery shopping and dashed to Safeway to buy food for the coming week. As I pushed a shopping cart with a wobbly wheel, I started to think about how I could find a steady girlfriend. Standing in line at the checkout counter, a stack of orange flyers next to the TV Guides caught my eye. I picked up a flyer.
Comp-U-Date
Let technology find you the perfect match, True love is just around the corner.
10 dates guaranteed or your money back.
The cashier, a heavy-set Samoan girl in a too tight red t-shirt and a blue Safeway apron, caught me checking out the flyer. She smiled and said, “What you thinkin’? You gonna do it?”
“Maybe.”
She blushed then giggled, “Well, maybe I try it too, then.”
I put a copy of the flyer in my pocket and headed back to the Marina. Computer dating? Wasn’t that for losers. Had I really become that pathetic. I would meet someone soon; I was sure of it. A week later, curiosity got the better of me. I picked up the phone and made the call. A woman answered: “Hello, Comp-U-Date, let us find your perfect match.”
I showed up for the appointment not knowing what to expect. I looked around to make sure no one could see me going in the office. I was relieved to find out I was the only customer. A middle-aged woman in a pair of dress slacks and a floral blouse named Doris greeted me. A personal computer with a large cathode ray tube monitor sat in the middle of her desk. Next to it was a stack of black 5.25 floppy discs. A dot matrix printer rattled like a machine gun in the back room. A poster on the wall read “Find your perfect match in the digital age. Love may be just a click away!” A border of red hearts and white cupids surrounded the bulletin board. It looked like a giant elementary school Valentine. In the center were snapshots of happily married newlyweds. Doris and I exchanged pleasantries, then she invited me to sit down. “So, you’re interested in our service?”
“I’m willing to try. Does computer dating really work?”
“Certainly, I’ve made many successful matches. In the last four months six of my clients have gotten married.”
“I’m not interested in getting married. I only want to go out and have some fun, nothing serious. I just got out of an unhappy marriage.”
“Did you ever stop to think that your marriage failed because you were never compatible in the first place. That’s the beauty of Comp-U-Date. We scientifically find your perfect match.”
“How?”
“We build a dating profile of each client then we enter the information in our database. Our algorithm searches the profiles looking at several compatibility factors. We only send you a contact when there are multiple matches. It takes all the guesswork out of dating.”
“Interesting. How much does it cost?”
“We guarantee that you will have 10 dates for $200 or your money back. What do you say, you want to give it a try?”
“It seems like a lot of money.”
“Not really, think of it as a small investment for a lifetime of happiness.”
Reluctantly, I wrote a check for $200 and handed it to Doris. Then I filled out my profile questionnaire.
Hank Mathews, Caucasian, 5’ 8”, 155 lbs. Age: 31.
Likes: Swimming, Beach, Wind Surfing, Sailing, SCUBA Diving, Movies, Rock and Roll.
Dislikes: Smoking, excessive drinking,
Describe your perfect match: Looking for a woman between 29-36 years old with traditional values, sense of humor, and intelligent. Must be attractive, adventurous, and willing to try new things.
Telephone: 808-383-0923.
Doris said, “Once we find appropriate matches, we’ll send them to you along with the girls’ phone numbers. They’ll be expecting your call. You should receive your first letter from us in about a week.” The following Wednesday I received my first letter from Comp-U-Date. I opened it and looked inside.
I called Leah and set up a date for dinner at 6 PM on Friday night. I arrived early at the Black Orchid, an upscale local restaurant. As the slender hostess was seating me, she said, “You should have been here last week. Tom Selleck and the cast came in for dinner after they finished filming the final episode of Magnum PI.”
“Huh, too bad I missed it. I’m expecting a woman to meet me at 6 o’clock. Her name’s Leah, she’ll be wearing a blue sleeveless dress.”
“Oh, another Comp-U-Date. We get quite a few computer dating couples here. I’ll be sure to bring her to your table when she arrives.”
At 6:20 I looked at my watch. It looked like she was going to be a no show. Just as I started to leave the hostess escorted an attractive woman in a blue sleeveless dress to my table.
“Leah?”
“Hi, you must be Harry.”
During dinner, I noticed that there was something about her that didn’t seem quite right. Her face would twitch involuntarily when she spoke. I tried to ignore it, but the twitch was persistent and distracting. She asked. “Do you like the Navy?”
“It’s great. I get to travel to places I’ve only dreamed about.”
“I like to travel too, but I don’t have a job right now.”
“Oh. Umm where did you grow up?”
“I’m from Chicago but I don’t remember much of it.”
“How come?”
“When I was 17 years old, I ran away from home and traveled around the country with a guru.”
“A guru? You don’t say.”
“Yes, it’s all a little blurry. I finally went home to live with my parents when I was 28. My father was very upset. He took me to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with schizophrenia. Don’t worry, I’m more of a danger to myself than anyone else. I’m fine when I take my meds.” Then she laughed. “But if I miss a dose, oh boy, look out.”
A quick glance at her wrists revealed deep scars. The next day I called Doris. She asked, “How did your first date go?”
“Not great. Did you know she has schizophrenia? Which of my compatibility factors matched me with a suicidal, mental patient. I might be crazy, but I’m not insane.”
“I’m sorry, don’t worry we won’t charge you for that date.”
The following week I received another letter.
Petra Shultz, Caucasian, 34 years old, blond, 140 lbs.
Once again, I made a reservation for the Black Orchid for 6 PM. Petra said she would be wearing a black cocktail dress. At 6:05 an older blond woman in a black cocktail dress entered the restaurant. She appeared to be pushing 60. Excessive make-up and bright red lipstick couldn’t hide her thinning skin. Maybe I can slip out the back door? No, that wouldn’t be right. I’d just have dinner and make an excuse to leave early.
She approached my table. In a heavy German accent she said, “Hallo, guten abend, you must be Harry.”
“Yes. Petra?”
We made idle chit chat during dinner. Finally, she said, “Your profile said you are in the Navy. You know my father was in the Luftwaffe during the war?”
“You’re kidding.”
She laughed, “Yes, he spent most of the war dropping bombs on American and British soldiers.”
I tried to change the subject. “What brings you to Hawaii?”
“Romance, of course, mien Liebchen.” Then I felt her rubbing my foot under the table. “You’re a very attractive young man, would you like to come back to my place?”
I stuttered, “Oh, I’d like to, but I have to get up early for work tomorrow.”
“Liebchen, I promise you I don’t bite. At least not very hard.”
“No, I mean it, I’m sorry, I really have to go.”
“If you change your mind, you can call me anytime.”
All my Comp-U-Dates were disasters. Some were bigger disasters than others. Most local girls didn’t want to date a sailor. Despite Doris’s promise, she ignored my request and matched me with several girls in the military. On one date a Korean girl told me she divorced her husband because he wouldn’t let her watch professional wrestling on TV. I had given up. The 10th week I received my final match. I opened the letter.
Patti Wong, Asian, 31 years old, 115 lbs.
Where’s the phone number. Jeez I couldn’t believe it, finally someone I want to meet, and they didn’t send the stupid phone number. Comp-U-Date. They ought to change their name to Comp-U-Gyp. What a waste of money.
The next Friday night was exceptionally hot, I sat topside with a cold beer watching fishing boats return to port. I reached into the cooler for a second beer when the telephone rang. I picked up the phone. “Hello.” A timid voice answered, “Hello, is this Harry.”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Hi, I’m sorry if I bothered you? This is Patti. I told Doris I would call you.”
“Oh, Hi. I’m glad you called. I didn’t have your phone number. I was hoping you might want to go out for dinner one night.”
“Sure.”
“Where should I pick you up?”
“I would rather meet you at the restaurant.”
We met at the Honolulu Hard Rock Café. The Hard Rock’s walls were adorned with Rock and Roll memorabilia. As always, the place was jumping. Tiny waitresses in short shorts and tennis shoes ran between tables and the kitchen. Others delivered heavy trays of food and drinks to their customers. I sat near an autographed guitar once owned by Stevie Van Zandt. Loud classic rock played in the dining area. Patti said she would be wearing a red dress with a black belt. Just as she walked through the door the song Centerfold by the J. Geils Band started to play. She looked stunning, dark hair, petite. During dinner we shouted at each other over the music. Finally, I yelled, “Do you want to get out of here?”
She yelled back, “OK.”
Once outside we walked two blocks to the Shore Bird Hotel. We took a short cut to the beach through the lobby. On the beach we kicked off our shoes and walked barefoot in the surf. A full moon silhouetted Diamond Head, just like the post cards in the Shore Bird’s gift shop. The bright lights and honking horns of Honolulu faded while we walked. Our quick pace became a leisurely stroll as we dodged the large waves that pounded the shoreline. We talked and laughed while we wandered the beach. I told her about my divorce and my new life aboard Venture. She told me about her family and growing up in Hawaii. By the time we arrived at the Hawaiian Hilton Village I was smitten, neither of us could deny the chemistry between us. Eventually, it was time to say good night. I walked her to her car and said, “The Navy Ball is coming up, would you like to go with me?”
She smiled, “You mean it? I’d love to. I’ve never been to a formal ball.”
“It’s a date then. I’ll pick you up at your house this time.”
After the Navy Ball we were inseparable. We went out every weekend, and when we didn’t see each other, we talked on the telephone. She still lived at home with her parents in Pearl City. Patti’s mom gave me the evil eye every time I picked her up for a date. We spent the weekends going to the movies, church luaus, or just walking around Waikiki. For the first time in a very long time, I was happy.
One Monday, about three months after we started dating, the XO called me to his office. He handed me a Naval message. “We received your transfer orders from BUPERS this morning.”
“But I thought I had another year in Hawaii. It hasn’t even been two years.”
“They’re cutting everybody’s tours short. The detailer has an open position in South Texas for a Commanding Officer at a Naval Reserve Center. You’d be a fool to turn down an opportunity for command.”
My heart sank. Just as I found someone, I had to leave. It wasn’t fair. I broke the news to Patti that night. She accepted the news, but her face told a different story. We discussed maintaining a long-distance relationship, but we both knew those never seemed to last. I considered getting out of the Navy and staying in Hawaii, but it wasn’t practical. We still had a few months before my transfer date. I had to decide. Then it struck me, the answer had been there all along even though I didn’t want to admit it.
It was the weekend before Valentines Day. Patti and I were walking through the Ala Moana Shopping Mall when we passed Kay Jewelers. I said, “Let’s go look inside.”
“Why? What do you need in a jewelry store.”
“I want to look at rings.”
“How come? I never saw you wear a ring.”
“Not for me, for you. We can’t get married without an engagement ring.”
“Stop kidding around.”
I stopped and looked in her eyes. I said, “I’m not kidding, I love you. I knew it the night you walked into the Hard Rock Café. I want to marry you and live with you the rest of my life.”
Patties eyes filled with tears. She said, “But we’ve only known each other for three months.”
“I know, but let’s do it. Let’s get married.”
Three months later we were married in Chinatown. After the wedding we gave Doris a picture for her bulletin board. Thirty-three years and two beautiful daughters later we are still together. As for Sandy, after the divorce we never spoke again. Dr. Young was right, people change over time. Over the years Patti and I discovered that we really don’t have much in common. She likes Star Trek, Godzilla movies and science fiction; I like true crime stories and historical dramas. She likes seafood and fast food. I like Italian food and Irish Pubs. Occasionally I like to have a drink and Patti’s a teetotaler. She hates the beach, she can’t swim, and dislikes boats. All the things I love. But love is about compromise, we make it work. As Patti likes to say, the reason we are still together is because opposites attract. I guess Doris was right after all, $200 was a small investment for a lifetime of happiness. Like the Comp-U-Date poster said, “True love may be only a click away.”
Author's Note: Comp-U-Date is a work of autobiographical fiction inspired by real events, experiences, and observations from the author’s life and military service. Certain names, characters, locations, timelines, and identifying details have been changed, condensed, or fictionalized for narrative purposes and to protect the privacy of individuals. While rooted in emotional truth, portions of this story have been reimagined through the lens of fiction.