No Ordinary Love (10 page)

“You’re an artist, and I’m intrigued by you, more than I’ve ever been with other women. The best way to learn about an artist is to explore their art, and even analyze it.”

Oh goodness. Breaking down my dad’s and my relationship would be like lifting up a sewer cap to sniff the city’s sludge.

“That book doesn’t represent who I am.” I placed my hands in my lap and twisted my index finger from side to side.

“I believe I’m learning a lot about you.”

“Oh really? And what have you learned?”

“Your dad hurt you somehow.”

I shrugged. “He didn’t.”

“And you don’t like to admit when you’re injured.”

“Not true.”

He grinned. “And I’ve also gained some valuable information for myself. One should never hurt you because like an injured tiger that’s released from a cage, you’ll tear them apart until they’re gazing down at their bloody innards spilled out over the floor.”

“Gee, was the book that bad?” I grabbed my sake and took a gulp.

“No, it’s actually fascinating. Although he’s the judge, you’ve seemed to hold him on trial for the life he’s led. I just haven’t gotten to the final judgment yet. But there’s clear analysis on each page.”

I had nothing to say. No funny retort or smart remark. Nothing. This didn’t happen much. If Zo had been here, he probably would have cheered.

Kenji looked down at his own cup of sake. A neutral expression spread across his face. “You’re courageous.”

“Or a spoiled brat that didn’t appreciate what my dad gave me.”

He laughed a little, but the usual humor didn’t show up on his face. “Is that what he told you?”

No, that's what the world said.

Kenji displayed a sad smile. “It seems we have more in common than most.”

“Maybe.”

Sighing, he rubbed his hands together. “So tell me about Brooklyn. You’ll be learning all about my district and city, I would love to hear about yours. I’ve been to New York, but never to that part.”

“Well, if you love hip-hop, then you’ll be happy to know that all the best hip-hop artists came from Brooklyn.”

Chuckling, he waved my comment away. “Surely, that can’t be true. Tupac was from California, right?”

I snatched up my tape recorder from the table, dropped it in my pocketbook, and did a big show of leaving. “That’s it. This meeting is over. The deal is off. I cannot partner with someone who believes Tupac is not from New York. It suggests bad character.”

“Oh really?”

“Tupac was born in East Harlem. Write that down, please, and never forget it.”

He raised his finger as if he could have a point after messing up so badly. “But see, that messes up your argument. You said all of the best rappers came from Brooklyn.”

“I’m Team Notorious BIG, baby. He’s Brooklyn born and raised.”

“Should I write that down, too?”

“Yes, and then when I’m done schooling you, maybe you can tell me about some of the hip-hop artists here.”

“I would love that.” He called the waitress over and ordered another bottle of sake, and we did just that—discussed hip-hop in both of our areas. For hours we sat there, sampling green tea ice cream and this stuff called hakuto jelly which Kenji explained was made from the juice of ripe hakuto peaches and mineral-rich spring water. It was served on a spoon and cut into cubes that melted in my mouth and coated my tongue in this light, floral aroma.

He made me laugh. The Dragon had me giggling with tears.
Who would have thought the maddening beast had a playful side? He kept me in a comical trance, first from freestyling a really bad rhyme in English, and then with his mimicking my Brooklyn accent which he apparently found entertaining.

The night ended with him walking me to his limo and a kiss that should've never happened, but lasted for several enchanting seconds and made my legs wobble in Zo’s uncomfortable heels.

Keep your mind focused. This is about the book, nothing else.

I repeated that over and over in my mind as I watched the bright lights of Tokyo rush past the limo’s windows. Kenji’s kiss still sizzled on my lips, so hot there would be nothing to cool them.

No sex. Maybe a few more kisses, but in the end
…
this is all about the book, and then I leave when the trip is done.

It made sense. There were no worries to further think about. Nothing else to fear. I had this situation together.

At least that’s what I told myself.

Yet, every time I closed my eyes, a fierce dragon appeared before me. His gold wings flared like fire and almost blinded me. They flapped violently against the wind, lifted high above his muscular back, and extended out to his sides, and instead of running away and screaming or even shutting that damn image out of my mind …

I dreamed of riding that magnificent dragon through cool wind.

Chapter 10

KENJI

Last night, I slept for hours.

What was the difference in my routine from other nights?

Tora's beautiful face flashed in my mind. Could it have been that easy? There was no way that she could be the cure to my insomnia and nightmares.

The only change in routine was Tora.

There was something I couldn't see. In my dreams, I sat on the floor drenched in darkness, doing my best to search for the door to escape. For years, I screamed in my head over and over, hoping the doorknob would appear.

Last night, I slept, and in my dream, cold fog layered the area around me. Someone cried off in the distance. Blood thickened the air. I sat there on the same floor as I always did in all of my other nightmares, waiting for the dead bodies to fall around me. That was what always happened. Corpses rained down, crashing to the ground and splashing torn skin and hot blood all over me.

And I would scream with fisted hands until I woke up.

Not last night. I sat on the floor in cold fog listening to distant crying. I waited. Nothing came. So I stood, my body on edge, heartbeats racing through my head. Nothing occurred—no rainstorm of the dead, not blood or skin.

And so I walked in darkness, until it was time to wake up.

What changed? Was it Tora and the hunt for her? Did the emotional game exhaust me or was it that she triggered a calming presence inside me? Or maybe it was something else altogether that had nothing to do with her.

I gripped the edge of my desk hard.

What stopped the nightmares?

I released the desk and placed my hands in my pockets. My Tora’s panties rested in my hand. Without even realizing I'd moved my fingers, I held the panties to my face like some sick little pervert. Each time I inhaled her lush fragrance, my cock jerked in my pants and I yearned to roar.

This is insanity.

I shoved those panties into my other pocket and pulled out the rope.

I need a sign. The answer is around me. I just have to look for it. Something has changed. I have to self-reflect and see what it is.

An ink illustration of Matsuo Basho hung behind my desk. I twisted around in my chair and stared at the image. One of my favorite haikus was written above the great poet’s head.

Year after year,

the monkey’s face

wears a monkey’s mask.

Basho wrote it when his social surroundings had trapped the poet into unease. Like me, other people’s needs had crushed him. He could find no calmness of mind. That similarity was why I’d picked that haiku over all his others. It reminded me that even a lyrical genius could be imprisoned within the soul.

We all can be caged with the right type of wiring.

The monkey wearing the mask was all symbolism of course, stressing that within those years Basho had only seen more façade than actual human worth. Like a street performer’s monkey, people did the same old evil tricks over and over. Others made the same mistakes. Some people backstabbed each other every day. The wicked ways of life remained unchanged. Days blurred together into habitual truths that were hard to swallow.

Not with Tora. You don’t wear a mask. You try, but it’s all over your movements and in everything you write. Maybe she did stop those nightmares. But how? She wasn't supposed to be anything more than a conquest in my need to break myself. Maybe she is more?

I turned away from the illustration. That was why I loved haiku, and Basho’s haiku most of all. Once read, those three lines remained in my head, expanding my thoughts and satisfying an inner hunger. Each reading gave me a new interaction and different interpretation.
Maybe now, I have haiku and Tora to keep the
…
things out of my head. If she proves to be the solution of my insomnia and nightmares, then I won't let her go. She'll have to learn to be more obedient.

Even on our date last night, her claws had ripped from her fingers the moment I got too close and pressed my lips against hers. She thought she didn’t want my advances, but her desire glared from the corners of her eyes. I could smell her arousal all over her. She craved me as much as I did her. There was nothing that would stop us when the moment came. She was lucky my men had surrounded me or I would’ve taken her right there. Those wet panties assured me it was possible.

It’s just too bad that my idea of pleasure came with deadly notions.

I twirled the rope in my hands, unable to hide it in my pocket anymore. My men eyed it a few times as I gave them orders to collect money from this business or that. And when my cousin, Emi, set down my tea for the afternoon, she questioned me about it. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Then why sit there and play with it?”

“Because it calms me.”

She huffed, “Well, you
do
need something to calm you. I, for one, am tired of you stomping around and yelling at everyone.”

“Thank you for the tea, Emi.”

“You slept last night. Everyone has been talking joyously about the Dragon's snores. Why did you pass out in your office? Why not go home to your bed?”

“I was close by.”

She glanced at my hands. “Where did you get the rope from?”

“Someone.”

“Who?”

“A woman I knew a long time ago,” I lied.

Excitement showed all over her face. She’d been trying to get me married to someone for years. “Who?”

“Not that sort of friend, and not the type of story that I would share with my favorite cousin.”

She snorted. “Favorite? You say that to all of us. Don’t think we don’t talk. Sakura claims she’s your favorite, but only I know the truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“There are no favorites with you, cousin. You love us all equally.” She bowed. “I hope you continue to sleep. Was it the tea I gave you last week?”

“Yes, I think it was.” I nodded and returned to twisting the rope as she walked out the door.

The more I played with it, the stiffer my cock became. I had many women throughout the city to take care of me, even more inside the soapland’s walls that would be happy to drop to their knees and suck my length into their mouth. None were Tora, so none would do.

I studied the black rope with its thick cords wound together.

What will she say, when I show you to her?

I would just have to wait and see. Hope, for the first time, thumped in my broken heart. Salvation could come, if she’d give it a chance. I needed it. And after reading her book on her father, she deserved as much.

She just needed time.

And then my cock took over with my thinking. That dress wrapped tightly around her body, hugging every curve. She should’ve been naked, but with the beauty of that soft material slipping along her skin, it was well worth my being deprived of her nudity.

How would that beautiful cunt look when bare and revealed to me? Did it taste as good as it smelled?

Yanking out her panties, I sniffed at the cloth again like a madman.

Would she moan loud like the tiger she was, or would sensual whispers leave her lips as I stroked this feminine creature from behind?

A low growl escaped my mouth. I had no idea I’d even had it open or that one hand gripped the black rope hard, while the other held Tora’s panties up to my nose. If anybody had walked in on that image, I could only imagine the myths that would travel in the streets.

The Dragon’s gone crazy. He’s under a spell, and it’s linked to a woman’s panties. Maybe she’s a witch.

“Chikusho.”

Three weeks won’t do. I can already tell that I’ll have to cage her. Something like this doesn’t die away from boredom. It lives and gets stronger with each meeting.

I gritted my teeth. “Chikusho.”

I may need to use my rope for more things than pleasure. I may need to trap my tiger.
 

Chapter 11

NYOMI

“The doors on the right side will open.” The computerized feminine voice blasted from the train's speakers. “Please change here for the Chiyoda line.”

Harajuku lit up in English words on the screen above Zo and me. This was my first Sunday hanging with Zo. Everyone who knew him understood that he spent his Sundays immersed in Tokyo street fashion. Apparently, designer-savvy teens gathered around Harajuku station every week on that day, draped in various styles.

“You won't believe this.” Zo grabbed my hand and guided me down the stairs. Giddiness bounced with each word. “Kids have been dressing up and showing their clothes off since the 80s. It's just something about this area that draws the most creative fashionistas. Every now and then I discover a new teen to intern for me. I love the ones with rough edges and serious street smarts, not the art institute geeks that are too busy reading about fabric and silhouettes instead of coming out into the real world and touching those threads themselves.”