This is chapter one of the novel I'm working on currently.

ONE:

You can tell a lot about a person not only by the style and brand of their clothes, but by its stains. A woman who brings in a wrinkled, knit blouse with armpit discoloration probably wore it many times before having it cleaned. This is the woman that comes into the store wearing a dress suit and scuffed white sneakers. She is friendly and unaware of the new stains forming on her clothes because she is busy asking you about your day and weekend plans. On the other hand, a man who brings in drawstring laundry bags filled neatly pressed dress shirts that reek of cologne and cigarettes is probably less concerned with not having clothes to wear the next day. This is the man that talks on the cell phone while you ring up his bill, spouting off numbers and complaints in one long breath. He is formal and never looks you in the eye and you are always grateful when finally leaves.
'Just these today?'� I asked, sorting a large woman's clothes in front of me.
She nodded, creating an aura of cat fur around her. 'Oh, and I should tell you, Whiskers peed on that shirt.'�
'Great. Thanks. It'll be ready on Monday.'� My Grandma owned a dry cleaning shop in a big name hotel in Honolulu. My younger brother, Mark, stayed behind to help her out after my parents moved to California a few years ago. To be honest, they had packed their things and sold the house in such a hurry, I don't think he really had time to think about it. Instead, he gathered his belongings and moved into an empty bedroom at Grandma's apartment.
Yamamoto Cleaners was next to the lobby, near a convenient store run by an older Vietnamese couple. Many tourists incorrectly assumed we were both part of the same family business.
'Girl, do you speak English?'� a tourist would say, proudly wearing their newly purchased rayon floral print shirt.
'Yes.'�
'Great! Well, can you tell your uncle or whatever that I will not pay $17.00 for a bottle of sunscreen?'�
I put down the book I was reading. 'What?'�
'Your uncle doesn't speak very good English. Can you translate for me?'�
I bit my tongue. 'I would, but you see, that man is Vietnamese. I'm Japanese. I don't speak Vietnamese.'�
'Oh,'� they'd shrug, walking away without a second thought. Before, their ignorance would annoy me and Mark would have to pull me away from ripping the sleeves off their shirts. But now, we both shrug at the same time and the interruption is soon forgotten. For my entire college career, my classmates over-enunciated their words and asked me questions about the form of currency Hawaii uses. During Jewish holidays, the only ones in class would be the Muslim, the atheist, and me. Except us three outsiders never banded together, we just sat separately and alone.
Not surprisingly, I skipped my own college graduation. Nobody could convince me that paying the school $100 to wear a skirt under a thin urine-yellow gown and sitting with a bunch of white kids who thought I was foreign was a good idea. Instead, my grandma sent me a plane ticket to come home and gave me a job since no one else had offered one.
'What are you reading?'� someone asked.
I looked up. 'Sorry. Can I help you?'�
'What are you reading?'� the girl repeated, holding a bloated shopping bag filled with clothes.
'Dry Cleaning manual. Learning about the newest techniques. Important stuff.'�
She was wearing large sunglasses so I couldn't tell where she was looking, but she was grinning. 'Really? Because from here it looks like you're reading Maxim.'�
'It only appears that way. I've actually hidden the manual between these magazine pages,'� I smiled, tossing the magazine to the floor and then using my foot to cover it.
'Is that so?'� She looked about 20 or so with her hair swept up in a messy ponytail, pretty and unassuming. She didn't look like she was local, wearing a white cotton dress with a brown leather belt and matching moccasin boots. When anyone wears suede boots in Hawaii during the summer, you can always bet they're from somewhere else. I surveyed the lobby for a boyfriend or family member, but no one followed behind her. 'Well, maybe there's something in your manual that might help me out.'� She took out a short silk dress from her bag and laid it out on the counter. There was a small, unrecognizable stain on the front. 'It's my favorite dress. I wanted to wear it out tonight, but I guess it's okay because I don't even know where to go.'�
'I could have the dress ready by Monday. Is that okay?'� I said, writing her a sales slip. She took the pen and filled out the rest of her information. 'You know, there are a lot of clubs in this area. You just have to walk out on the main strip to find them. Just follow the drunks.'�
She took off her shades and looked at me with her deep brown eyes, almond shaped and confident. I traced my handwriting twice so she didn't think I was staring. 'Which club will you be at?'�
I was pretty sure I opened my mouth, but I didn't think anything came out. I wanted to tell her that I was avoiding the club scene like the plague because I was afraid of bumping into people I knew from high school who loved sizing me up with their own accomplishments. I wanted to actually ask her out to dinner and maybe take her sight seeing, but all I managed to blurt out was, 'I'm not much a club person actually.'�
'Oh, well that's okay,'� she replied, slipping her sunglasses back on. 'I guess I'll see you on Monday then.'� She brushed my hand when she took the slip and walked like she knew that I was watching her move.
Her dress was wrinkled and smelled like perfume and suitcase. I straightened out the garment, letting the cool silk touch my fingertips. The stain in the front looked like she spilled something on herself during a meal. I imagined that she was on an awkward date with some guy (or maybe girl), and while they tried to hold her hand during dinner, she accidentally bumped her food trying to pull away, spilling garlic sauce on her lap. I tagged the dress and wrote in my best handwriting, notating the stain and its location for the people going to clean it at the plant, and then attached a second tag that would have the dress cleaned by Sunday afternoon. I looked at the phone number she left on the sales receipt and planned on calling Saturday afternoon to let her know her favorite dress was ready earlier than expected.

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