No Ordinary Love (11 page)

“Mmmhmm.” I shoved my hands into my pockets to give myself something to do.

When Zo blabbed about clothes, there was nothing to stop him. And truth be told, I enjoyed his enthusiasm. He had a way of getting me fascinated with something as meaningless as a glove outlined in pearls or screaming with glee about a pair of boots that he claimed were made from dried elephant skin.

“Have I told you about the Lolitas yet?” Zo asked.

“You mean the character from Vladimir Nabokov’s novel?” I squinted as sunlight hit my eyes.

“Who?”

“The story about a sicko, old man that was obsessed with a twelve-year-old girl.
Lolita
, the novel?”

“Oh, no. Sure, the name comes from the novel, but this is different.” He quickened his pace and widened his smile. “When a Japanese teen takes on the Lolita style, she's rejecting male-created beauty standards and knocking down the idea of sexualized clothing—”

“But regardless, you're telling me that these girls are dressed up like creepy school girls? Cause that I can’t do.”

“Creepy school girls?” He paused and considered it. “Well, sort of, but this is different. It’s rebellious.”

“Yet, creepy?”

“Well, not creepy.”

“Disturbing?”

“No.”

“How can anything referencing Lolita not be strange?” I twisted my lips to the side. “I don’t want to check this style out.”

“Come on. You haven’t even seen it.”

“Lolita is creepy. To own the name is even odder.”

“Oh, be quiet for once. Where’s your adventurous spirit?”

“The adventure tends to end at pedophilia.”

“For God’s sake, I’m not taking you to a place where old men are raping children. This is a fashion trend.”

“One that’s creepy.”

“Oh, shut up.” He marched on in front of me. Satisfied that I’d ruffled his feathers, I trailed behind him. A wicked grin hit my face, but I remained quiet. “You’ll see the damn Lolitas and love them,” he declared.

“Well, I do believe I was an old, moody man in my other life. Perhaps they’ll turn me on.”

He grumbled and said nothing else.

We left the station and walked on the street. A high, glowing arch announced that we’d entered Harajuku district. Stores with bright ads outlined our path. Most signs had English as well as Japanese. Still, I had no idea what some of the places sold. I spotted some sunglasses made out of plastic fingers and another full of metallic clothing reminiscent of the gaudy 80s.

Sunlight decorated the hip youth as they strolled, strutting their fashions. Although tons of people crowded the space, not everyone was dressed to impress. However, there was enough fashionistas present to make me happy that I’d come.

Elaborate outfits trapped my gaze. Some wore solid black leather and ridiculously high platforms. Others donned leg warmers and leopard prints. Even a few kids rocked hip-hop gear that would make most American rappers envious. Within the crowd, a small, scattered group of people had surgical masks covering their faces.

“Where are you, Lolitas? Come to me.” Zo scanned the space. He must’ve been the tallest person out there and surely could see farther than all of us.

“What’s up with the masks?” I spotted another person with the thin, white material wrapped around her nose and mouth. “Is that a specific style?”

“Not really.” He placed his hand over his eyes as if to shield them from the sun. “It’s pretty rude to walk around sneezing and coughing while maskless. I once got a cold and coughed on the train. Several people politely told me to get a mask. I was like, ‘What? I’m not going to wear a mask!’ My girlfriend at the time was aggravated. She acted as if I was intentionally trying to get the whole world sick or something. Needless to say, she was hot, so … ”

“You wore a freaking mask.”

“Yes, of course I did.”

“Was she a model?”

“Of course she was.”

“I forget how you love gorgeous faces on stick figures.” I tossed him another little jibe, but he was used to this complaint and waved it away. “So people wear masks here because they’re sick?”

“And some wear it to be left alone.” He screamed with glee which made me jump. “There we go. Right there. Sweet Lolitas!” He dragged me around a packed corner.

“Look at those two sitting on the ground.” He pointed to the girls.

If they hadn’t been talking to each other, I would’ve figured they were dolls. Massive pink bows topped their silky curls. One had blond hair, the other brunette. Frilly pink dresses covered their small frames. Layers of lace petticoats peeked out from the hooped skirts. Both wore white opaque stockings with a tiny line of kittens near their knees. A peach color painted their eyelids, while the rest of their faces appeared pale like a china doll. Stuffed pink kittens rested in their arms.

Umm
…

“What do you think?” Zo snapped some pictures of them. They stopped and did a quick pose before returning to their conversation. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“This is super creepy.”

He rolled his eyes and moved on. “Sweet Lolitas are the best.”

“Oh goodness, are there more types of Lolitas?”

“Sure. You have Punk Lolitas, Goth, Elegant, and Classic. I mean, there are even mixtures.” He disappeared into the crowd. I had to rush to keep up with him. This was worse than hanging with him backstage at a fashion show. He was like a little kid with money-stuffed pockets and free rein of Disney World.

“Zo! Wait!” I got behind him and panted. “Would you slow down?”

“Oh, sorry.” He took my hand again. “So are you going to tell me about your apology to the Dragon or shall I digress more on Lolitas?”

“My vote is for digressing on the creepy school girls. Have you ever dated one?”

“No, as you like to point out, I'm pretty hooked on my tall stick figures. Wait a minute.” He stopped and frowned. “What did you do with the Dragon?”

“What? Nothing.”

“I’ve asked you to tell me about your date all morning and you avoided answering me. What happened?”

“We ate. It was cordial and everything.”

“You did something. What happened?”

Every time Zo said the word “dragon,” I cringed inside. There was something that freaked me out about it. It should’ve made me laugh to hear the name, but I’d seen Kenji in anger-mode. There was nothing funny about that at all. Dragon had been fitting.

That being said, I decided to let it all out, right in the middle of the district. The goal was to tell Zo about last night in a public place so he wouldn’t freak out and get anxious. Harujuku station would probably be the best place to do it.

“Okay. This is what happened.” I unloaded it all, every single detail. Too bad my plan didn’t work. After I told him everything, his face tinted to red and his eyes popped open.

“Y
OUR UNDERWEAR?
” Zo yelled.

“Really? You're just going to yell it out like that?” With unease, I looked around at the few people who had paused from talking to stare at the giant white man screaming at me about my undies.

“Your underwear?” he asked again.

“Would you keep your voice down?”

“You gave the Dragon your panties and then you kissed him? You don’t even know him. He’s a psycho. You kissed him … and gave him your underwear?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“I only had one pair of panties, you know?”

“Not funny. How many times did you kiss him?”

I combed my fingers through my hair. “Enough.”

“Please say you’re playing about the panties.”

“Nope.”

“Jesus. I've seen you do some stupid things and open your legs to the wrong men, but this takes the cake.”

“First of all, do I judge who you sleep with?”

“As you've pointed out, the majority of women I sleep with can barely lift their bony hands to harm me. Meanwhile,” Zo leaned his body down to me and whispered, “you're sleeping with someone that kills people for fun.”

I shook my head. “Firs of all, you keep ruining that damn line from
Scarface
. It's ‘I kill a communist for fun,’ dickhead.”

“No, it's not. I've seen
Scarface
more than you.”

“You wish.”

“Fuck the movie.” Sighing, he raked his fingers through his blond Mohawk. “That's not the damn point. This guy is dangerous. Why must you deal with these type of guys?”

“I don't have a type.”

“Yes, you do. Any guy that's dangerous”—he leaned in closer—“your panties get wet. I think if you met up with a terrorist leader you might drop to your knees and start sucking him off right there.”

I pointed at him. “I freaking dated you. That ruins your theory.”

“I don't even call those few weeks dating. It was a dirty old man messing with a sad little eighteen-year-old. And at the time, for you, I was dangerous. Gossip had already spread all through New York's fashion week of how I'd been in and out of every new and upcoming model that walked the runway. For you, I was dangerous enough in regards to breaking your heart.”

“You didn't.”

“Of course not.” He looked away. “It might be sad to say, but I did fall in love with you, but it wasn't enough. What we have now is perfect. I get all the benefits of an emotional connection with a fabulous woman without the nagging and annoyance with me sticking my dick in every hole I can find. However, we're not on me.”

I sniffed the sweetness traveling in the air around me and turned to see where it was coming from. “I smell chocolate. Is there a candy store or something around here? We have to get some of that.”

He grabbed my shoulders and wrenched me back around. “I smell bullshit and you’re reeking of it.”

I took a whiff of my underarms. “No way. Wrong person. I washed this morning.”

“Well you’re still covered in the Dragon’s funk!”

“Are you going to keep calling him that?” I pulled out of Zo’s hold. “His name is Kenji.”

He leaned my way and whispered, “His name is written in blood on every Tokyo street corner.”

“Really?” I did a big show of taking out my cell phone to snap a picture. “I must see this.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“You’re right.” I nodded. “And by the way, this is your fault.”

“What?”

“You didn’t answer your phone. What were you doing anyway?”

“Beating my record, and that’s not the point.”

“Record?”

“Stop changing the subject,” he countered.

“Explain what you’re talking about.”

“My record, damn it. I got to eleven women yesterday.”

Ick. That record.

“And you are appalled at me kissing him? When you’ve spent your lifetime trying to have sex with as many women as possible in one day.” I scrunched up my face in disgust. “You hooked up with eleven different females? How were you even able to keep going?”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Did you use condoms?”

“Of course I did, and I’m not the reckless person here.” He poked my chest with his finger. “You are.”

“I kissed him. That’s it.”

“I should've known you would mess this up. I ask you to be nice to him after kneeing him in the crotch. Instead, you joined his harem.” Zo gestured at the tiger around my neck. “You told me you picked this thing up at a store. I knew you were lying. There’s no way you can afford that. It’s concubine jewelry!”

“Stop yelling.” I checked around to make sure no one was listening to our conversation. “I'm not in a concubine. If I was, I'm sure I would've gotten a car and maybe keys to his place. I've got standards, you know?”

He held his hand to his heart and made a show of hyperventilating. “Not funny. I think I’m having an anxiety attack. I’m going to die just like I want to, right in Harujuku, but unlike my dream, it won’t be in the suit of all suits and surrounded by gorgeous women.”

“Thanks a lot. I'd like to think I'm pretty gorgeous.”

He glared at me.

“Calm down. Kenji and I are only dating while I'm here.” I waved away his ridiculous performance. “We’re just hanging out. Nothing else. Nothing more. And because I'm just dating him, I get access to his district, access that no one has ever had. This could be one of the biggest books of the year.”

“You’re right.” He wiped the sweat off of his face. “It will be a huge seller, even more because the author was found dead and sliced up in the middle of Tokyo. How did the author die? We'll never know. No one had any idea of the murder. All the facts surrounding the silly writer’s death will be a mystery. All the world will know is that she had horrible taste in men and even worse taste in jewelry.” He flicked his thumb at my tiger.

“First of all, I didn't pick the necklace out.” I lifted it up and touched the diamond stripes. “But, it is a bit gaudy. It screams fake.”

“Well, trust me, sweetheart, it's flashy, but real.”

“Real?” I checked it out. “No way.”

“Those ridiculous rocks formed into tiger’s claws are all real. I could sense a precious stone a mile away with a blindfold wrapped around my eyes. It's real and ridiculous. Poncho told me that Kenji is all about threats veiled in symbolism.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Poncho? Who the hell is that?”

“My new photographer, and Mrs. Eleven's husband.”

He had sex with his photographer's wife on a day he hooked up with ten other women, and he’s worried about
my
morals.

“What happened to the other photographer?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Searching around for the store that radiated that haunting chocolate fragrance, I got on the tips of my toes. “Wasn’t your old photographer’s name? Leona?”

“Yes, and she quit.”

“Why did she quit?” I asked.

“What the hell does it matter? I'm trying to tell you about the Dragon and you're focused on my ex-photographer.”

“I swear to God if you say that damn name one more time, I’m out of here.”

“One could only dream,” he mumbled.

“And I thought you really liked Leona.”

Zo looked away. “I did, but it doesn't matter anyway. She left because she's a jackass.”

“Ooo, there's a juicy story here.”

“Nyomi, really?”

“What’s the story?” I softly hit his shoulder. “Come on.”