Chapter Fourteen
“Lora?” Elaine, another of my employees, stood in my office doorway. “Could you help me with this customer, please?” She leaned in to whisper, “He's asking if we have any more indigenous art.”
Ah. Yes, a whale. An indigenous art whale. My employees knew I was the best at harpooning them. It helped that I was so obviously Native American. And that I knew my shit.
I pasted on a grin and stood up. “Of course.”
Elaine turned and led me up to a man in jeans and a button-down shirt. When I saw his blond hair, my heart started to race. But then the shade registered. And the length. Too dark and too short to be Rune. The man's body also had nothing on Rune's. Not that he was unfit. He had a very nice physique. And when he turned around, I saw that he had a very nice face too. Not Caucasian as I'd first thought. His hair was bleached from the sun, his body built in the water, but his skin was a deep brown because of his race, not a tan. He had tropical features with a hint of Asia.
The customer's dark eyes widened when he saw me, his smile widening as well. “Hello.” He extended his hand. “I'm Kaleo Chang.”
Mixed race, then. I was right. Oh, how I loved the mixtures.
“Hello, Mr. Chang. I'm Lora Hermokrates.” I shook his hand.
“Wow.” He blinked. “What a name, you got. Is that Greek?”
“Indeed.” I inclined my head. “Elaine tells me you're looking for indigenous art.”
“Oh, yeah. I like to support native artists.” He had a distinct accent that I recognized as from Hawaii.
I say from Hawaii instead of Hawaiian because they are two different things and people don't have to be Hawaiian to have that accent. That goes for all accents, but people always get confused about Hawaii.
Mr. Chang went on, “I have a large collection of Hawaiian art. Supporting my people, you know? But I want to branch out.” He waved his fingers and spread them. “This piece is interesting, but kinda sad, yeah?” He lifted his chin, using it to point at the Seattle bust. “The artist is throwin' shade, I think. Says on the description here 'Chief Seattle.'” He leaned in to whisper. “I didn't know Seattle was a Native American name, much less that he was a chief.”
I chuckled. “Don't feel bad. A lot of people don't. And technically, it isn't a Native American name. It's the anglicized version of his name—Si-ahl.” I motioned at Elaine. “Thank you, Elaine.”
“Sure thing.” Elaine nodded at me, then at Mr. Chang.
As she left, I whispered, “You know, I thought it was obvious, what with the artist working with trash, but you're the first person to understand that this is a statement piece, and the statement is negative.”
He snorted. “People are funny when it comes to art. They see a lot that isn't there or don't see what is. But then, that's the point, right? Art is supposed to make you think and prompt different feelings in each person.”
I shrugged. “Or it can just be pretty.”
Kaleo Chang grinned broadly. “Right on, sista.” He nodded. “I don't want every piece I own to make me think. I like to look at pretty things too.” His gaze slid over me. “Do you have anything that's a good representation of the artists of this area without being . . . this?”
His accent ebbed and flowed like the tide, leading me to suspect that this was a man who had been taught to speak “proper English” but who loved his roots. Judging by his shoes and watch, he'd done well for himself and could now speak however he wanted.
“I certainly do. In fact, I have some pieces that just came in yesterday that I think you might enjoy. They're in the back. If you don't mind rooting around a storeroom, I'd be happy to show you.”
“I grew up in a shack. I don't mind a storeroom.”
“Come on now,” I chided. “I know people don't live in grass shacks in Hawaii.”
“Did I say I was from Hawaii?” He grinned. “I'm from Canada.”
I snorted, the laugh surprising me, and Mr. Chang laughed with me.
“Nah,” Mr. Chang drawled. “I'm from Oahu. But I was raised in a shack. It was an old plantation house, not a grass shack, but the thing was riddled with termites and ferns were growing out of the roof. A grass shack would have been sturdier.”
I lifted my brows, thinking of my first home—a simple thing of wood poles and animal hides. At least we didn't have to worry about termites.
“Well, then my storeroom should be a step up.” I waved him after me. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
“Champagne? Nah. Thanks though. You got any coffee?”
I looked at him over my shoulder and grinned. “Oh, yes. I even have Kona coffee. We get a lot of imports from Hawaii up here.”
