No Ordinary Love (2 page)

Stepping into this place after strolling through Kabukichō alleys was like entering a whole new world. Kabukichō served as an entertainment and red-light district in Tokyo. Locals nicknamed it the Sleepless Town and I could see why. A fluorescent glow of many colors lit up the area. It was an adult amusement park full of kink. Everything could be discovered there, from love hotels to masturbation bars, hostess clubs to pink salons. However, Castle in the Sky was the district’s diamond. It reeked of money and lavishness laced in pleasure.

“I know you're feeling weird about this place, but the other ones you took me to were dingy and depressing. I want a break from the gloomy stuff, and to get a peek at extravagance.” I opened my huge bag and made sure I had everything—camera with video option, pen and paper, English to Japanese book, as well as a Japanese culture manual. “Besides, Jun said I could do the study.”

“How did you get this guy to do that, by the way?”

“Like I said, I bribed him with money. Almost one-fourth of my budget.” I was scared to check my credit cards' remaining balances.

The chubby man had demanded five thousand dollars, just to get one-week access to Castle in the Sky. I would be able to interview the employees and walk through bathing areas, as well as observe an erotic cleansing session if the customer agreed.

I’ll have to take another loan out to stay in Tokyo, but it’ll be worth it.

Not much English literature existed on Tokyo’s sex industry. The culture closed their doors to outsiders, which they called
gaijin
, literally meaning “outside person.” Although Zo had lived in Tokyo for ten years, he’d still be considered a gaijin, even if he stayed in the city for the rest of his life. Not many of the kinky spots serviced foreigners. The few that did remained silent to sociologists, anthropologists, and basically non-fiction writers like me who were fascinated by the whole scene.

At least money talks here like it does in the States.

I stepped around Zo and rushed to the manager’s office. “Come on, before I’m late. Jun says I have to meet the owner before I start the observing. Once I get the owner’s permission, we begin an adventure in soapland luxury.”

“Hold up. Owner? You never said anything about an owner.” Zo hurried to me and captured my arm. One of the guards snapped their attention our way.

A fake smile spread across my face as I edged back to Zo. “Now
you’re
going to get us kicked out of here. Relax. I just have to assure his owner that I’m not going to give any of my information to the police or government, and when I write the book, all names will be confidential.”

“You said nothing about this.” Zo dragged me back down the hall. “Do you have any idea who owns all the soaplands in this district?”

I had to slap his arm three times before he would let me go. “What’s the big deal?”

Zo tilted my way. “The yakuza probably own this place.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It's the Japanese mafia,” he whispered.

“You're loony.” I tried to walk off.
This is getting old.
“Dear God, I have no idea why I brought you here. You’re an anxiety attack waiting to happen.”

“You brought me because I know the language, culture, and city, whereas you have no idea what you’re doing or how dangerous of a line you’re walking on.”

I poked at his chest. “You're tripping.”

“I'm trying to keep us safe.”

“No, you're about to have a heart attack.”

“Well, you keep this up and you’ll be dead before you reach twenty-two.”

The door down the hall opened. Chubby Jun peeked his head out, sporting a big white shirt with some sort of green and black food stain spotting the front. Jun gestured to his office. “There you go! Come. Mr. Sato doesn’t like to wait on anyone. Hurry.”

“I’m so sorry.” I picked up my pace.

Zo trailed behind me.

I couldn’t see his face, but I’d bet the rest of my funds he wore a frown as he said, “Remember. No excessive smiling, hugs, or that cheek-kiss thing you always do. Don’t shake the owner’s hand, unless he offers it first. Do a half-bow from the waist while your hands are on your thighs with your fingers touching.”

“Got it.”

“And if all else fails, you’ll probably be okay.” He grabbed my hand. “You’re a gaijin so he’ll think you don’t know anything anyway.”

When we got to the office, I looked inside and froze in the doorway. Zo had to nudge me forward. My tape recorder remained heavy in my hand.

Five suited men outlined the walls with menacing expressions. It was so hard to explain why I considered them dangerous. They were short by American standards, possessed no guns or weapons that I could see, and they weren’t even staring back at me. Yet, their eyes and faces held hard edges. A few boasted jagged scars on their necks and hands, which caused the little hairs on the back of my neck to rise.

Fuck. Please tell me Zo isn't right. Are they freaking yakuza?
 

Chapter 2

NYOMI

In the center of the room, a man in his late twenties leaned on the desk with a bored expression. He wore a three-piece black suit without a tie. The fashion demon living inside Zo probably cringed. My friend had a list in the irritated corners of his mind, called “Disrespects to Fabric.” No matter how many popular actors did it, wearing a three-piece suit without a tie rested high on Zo’s list.

But even Zo would’ve agreed that perfection in a male form resided in front of us. This man in the suit oozed sex and motivated my brain to linger toward wicked thoughts of him without a tie—or anything else. He was bigger than most of the Japanese men I’d spotted around the mega city. He wasn’t huge or bursting with muscle, but his suit formed tight around him, bringing attention to taut thighs and thick arms.

I bet he has a body that would make me touch myself when I’m alone.

His tan skin gleamed in the office light. Sensual lines carved his face. A few tiny freckles dusted his pronounced nose. His short black hair was cut close to his head. He looked my way and pierced me with those almond-shaped eyes.

“This is Mr. Sato.” Jun gestured to the sexy guy in the suit.

So the hottie is the owner. Interesting. How does such a young guy own one of the top soaplands in the country?

Mr. Sato stared at me for a long minute, turned to the manager, and spoke Japanese. The foreign words sliced through the air and sent scary shivers up my spine.

What the hell?

I raised my eyebrows at Zo. “What is he saying?”

Zo leaned my way. “Mr. Sato said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful?’ Jun is explaining that he didn’t think it mattered. Then Mr. Sato said, ‘Of course it matters. Any man with a dick and a pair of eyes will be all over her.’”

I blushed. People described me as many things—wacky, nosy, talented, and for the unlucky ones, bitch—but no one had ever referred to me as beautiful. Zo paused from translating as we both realized that everyone was looking at him, especially Mr. Sato, who prowled our way and stood in front of Zo.

“If I wanted her to know what I was saying I would’ve said it in English.” A thick accent laced each word and Mr. Sato’s voice sounded deeper than when he’d spoken in Japanese.

“I’m sorry.” Zo didn’t maintain eye contact and bowed, which looked odd being that Zo towered over Mr. Sato, who I guessed was about five-nine.

“Who are you?” Mr. Sato asked Zo.

“I'm Zo.” He bowed. “It's not short for anything. Not spelled with an e either. My mother loves to be different. It means life, you know. Have you ever read J. D. Salinger's novel
Franny and Zooey
? My mother loved it. She got it from—”

I nudged him. “I think he just wanted your name.” Mr. Sato frowned. “Why are you here with her?”

Why do you freaking care?

“I'm sort of an escort. I'm helping her around the city,” Zo rattled on. Sweat dripped from the sides of his face. “We used to date, you know … ”

Oh God. Would you calm down?

“ … now we're just friends. We talk, hang out, and help each other from time to time. The dating was the worst part of us. I'm not much of a one-woman man. She's not much of a—”

I loudly cleared my throat.

“Thank you. Zo without the e.” Mr. Sato moved my way and stood in front of me, so close only a few inches remained between us. He extended his hand. “Give me the device?”

“This?” I showed him my mini recorder.

“Yes.” He took it without a further word, but didn’t move away.

“Are you going to give that back to me?” I held out my hand.

“Probably not.” His cheeks twitched as if he was holding back laughter.

“I need that back.”

“This old thing?” He turned the little machine over in his hand. “Maybe it’s time to get a new one.”

“No, it has sentimental value for me.”

“Why?”

“My father gave it to me when I was a kid.”

He looked me up and down. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

He laughed, yet still remained so close. I didn’t know if I should bow or step back. There wasn’t enough room.

Why is he so close?

An all-consuming presence radiated from his flesh. It pushed against my chest and constricted my breathing. His scent surrounded me. It smelled citrusy, causing me to reminisce on sipping mimosas under a cabana along the Puerto Rican shore. He studied me with a blank expression.

Why is he staring at me like this?

I forced myself not to squirm. He sniffed at me and let out a low groan. My body responded with heat shooting to my core. I hadn't reacted that way since a fling with a cute waiter in Rio de Janeiro.

And now this is getting weird.

I checked to see if anybody else had noticed what occurred between us. The men along the walls continued to stare in front of them. Sweat coated Zo’s trembling face. Jun planted his gaze on his shoes.
Sighing, I tried to give off an air of unconcern as an uncomfortable quiet settled in the room.

This is ridiculous.

“You can keep the tape, but I want the recorder,” I said.

“That’s fine.” Mr. Sato smiled. “I’ll give you the device back, if you promise to stay out of my district.”

I considered what Zo had translated to me earlier. “I don’t think that’s necessary. The way I look won’t mess up my observations of your place.”

“No?” Mr. Sato leaned his head to the side and placed my recorder in his pocket.

“I’m a professional,” I said. “I can stay out of the way.”

“Men pay a two-thousand-dollar monthly membership fee just to walk through these doors and never hear the word
no
. Once they get to the bar or go upstairs, they continue to pay, but the whole time the word
no
is never spoken, unless they ask for it. If you’re out there around them, I’m going to have to tell them
no
.” He touched one of the curls dangling near my shoulder.

His sleeve lowered a few inches, revealing a dark tattoo that coated his wrist. I couldn’t make out what the image was, but it appeared as though the tattoo continued all the way under the fabric on his arm. I tensed.

Okay. Just because he has a tattoo doesn’t automatically mean he’s part of the mafia. Not every tattooed Japanese man signals yakuza. Or does it?

I’d seen many pictures in my books of yakuza gang members photographed with their backs to the photographer, in order to not give away their identity. Elaborate and colorful images decorated their entire arms. Others’ ink continued down their backs and chests. The truly badass yakuza tended to have a full bodysuit of tattoos, indicating to all that they could endure pain for many hours.

How much of Mr. Sato's body is tattooed?

He continued to play with my hair like it was the normal thing to do. I found it unnerving and weirdly erotic.

“I love these curls.” He ran his fingers through my kinky strands. Each time his fingertips made contact with my scalp, I fought to not shiver.

Who just walks up to a stranger and messes with their hair like this?

Glancing at my recorder, which now lay in his pocket, I cleared my throat. “What does men not hearing
no
have to do with me being unable to do the study here?”

He placed one of my curls to his nose, inhaled my hair, and twirled it around his finger. “The club members will see you, prancing around with your rich chocolate skin, those full bouncing breasts, and that soft curve of ass that I can see from the front without even having to turn you around. When they see you, they’ll crave you, and I’ll have to say no. That’s bad for business, my reputation, and my … co-owners.”

“I can stay in the background. No one will see me.”

“We Japanese like to play with new things. You wouldn’t be out there for five minutes without someone asking to purchase you. Do you want to work for me?”

I frowned. “No.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nyomi.”

“I’ll call you Tora for ‘tiger.’” He released my curls and laughed. The men lining the walls joined in on the private joke.

So this guy runs a soapland, but during his off time he plays with strangers’ hair and assigns them nicknames.

Zo stirred. “I think Nyomi and I get the picture, Mr. Sato. We can go to another place. We’re very sorry, sir.”

“No.” The amused expression left Mr. Sato’s face. He didn’t even look Zo’s way. “You won’t go anywhere else. Your observations in this district are done.”

“Why?” I asked.

Mr. Sato smirked. “Do I need a reason?”

“No, sir,” Zo said.

“Yes, sir.” I nodded. “You
do
need a reason.”

Zo loudly inhaled. Tension thickened the room. Smiling, Mr. Sato wagged his finger at me. “Naughty Tora.”

This Tora shit is getting old.

Mr. Sato kept his gaze on me. “Everyone leave.”

Fine by me.