No Ordinary Love (5 page)

I rose.

Zo scrambled up to his knees and pulled me back to him. “How do we know it’s not a trick?”

I snatched my arm away from him. “Because if Kenji is truly as bad as you say he is, we would’ve already been dead. Why wait for someone to nicely knock on the door at midnight, posing as a gift giver?”

The person banged louder. “Please, Ms. Palmer. You’re to sign for this.”

He said my last name. How did he figure that out? Maybe I told Jun.

I tensed. My fingers shook a little. Zo tossed me an
I told you so
look.

“What do we do now?” Zo chewed on his right thumbnail.

“I’m going to grab my Mace and open the door.”

“I don’t think Mace will be enough,” Zo said. “He’s the damn Dragon.”

Really?

“Look,” I said. “Dragon or not, if my knee can bring him down, I bet Mace could do the job, too.”

“No.”

“Just go in the bedroom. I don’t think anything will happen, but if something does, climb out your window and get help.”

“Climb out my window?” Zo frantically shook his head. “Are you mad? We’re on the second floor.”

“You can leap or something.”

“Leap?”

“Just go hide.” I stepped around Zo, picked up my Mace from my bag, and headed to the front door.
Poor Zo. How can somebody so huge be so scared all the time?
Anytime he stayed at my place in Brooklyn he jumped and shrieked when he heard a popping noise or the police sirens blaring by, as if I lived in a crack den in the center of the hood.

“Nyomi, maybe I should stay.” Still, he edged away from me.

“Just go. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Zo rushed to the bedroom and slid the door closed.

The person knocked again. “Please, open the door, Ms. Palmer.”

“I’m coming, sorry.” I could have sworn I heard a sigh of relief from the person on the other side.

What are you up to now, Kenji?

Kicking away the boots that I left by the entrance, I opened the door. A teenaged boy with light blue hair to his shoulders gazed back at me and held a big box that looked about three feet long and a foot wide. Silver rings pierced his right nostril. Baggy jeans hung on his slim waist, yet he had the nerve to look me up and down as if I was the different one.

“Are you Ms. Palmer?” A huge smile expanded over his face. Curiosity lingered in his eyes. That seemed to be the expression I got from people here. As I explored the city, many did double takes, kids pointed like I was a peculiar creature, and some even snapped a picture. The good thing was that they all seemed entertained by me passing them, so I never felt insecure. And if I was truthful to myself, I studied them with the same inquiring wonder.

I tucked my Mace into my back pocket. “Yep. I’m her.”

“This is a gift from Mr. Sato.” The boy handed the box to me. I grabbed the big package wrapped in shiny gold paper, thanked God it was light, and set it on the carpet.

“You said I needed to sign something, right?”

“Yes. You also have to answer the question in here.” He gave me a crimson envelope. “I’m to stay until you read and answer the letter.”

“Alrighty.” I opened it with no problem and slipped the crisp red sheet of paper out. Black lettering decorated it. Kenji hadn’t wasted a lot of words. Only one sentences existed on the page.

To my Naughty Tora,

Be dressed and ready for a date with me at 8pm tomorrow.

“How is this even a question?” I scrunched my face in confusion. “This is an order.”

The boy shifted his face to the ground and did a horrible job of hiding his chuckles.

So Kenji wanted a date, even after I harmed his special area.
Maybe he liked getting kneed.
I’d have to ask him tomorrow, right when I begged for the return of my recorder. After Zo’s consistent frenzy all night, I had to make sure that Kenji and I were cool. It wasn't right to come visit Zo in Tokyo and leave with a yakuza gang pissed at him.

I’ll go on this date for Zo,
I said to myself, like that was the only reason I would go, and ignored the way my body warmed at the thought of seeing Kenji again.

“Do you have a pen?” I asked. “I have an answer for his order.”

“Here you go.” He pulled out a rainbow-colored one and gave it to me.

I balanced the sheet on top of the box and wrote down my own message.

Dear Kenji,

I’m sorry for kneeing you in your groin, but I don’t appreciate lots of unwanted groping. If you can keep your hands and lips to yourself, then I promise no further knee battles in your future.

I will meet with you tomorrow, but not for a date. I would love to sit down and discuss a compromise to me carrying on my observations in Kabukichō District. I also want my tape recorder back. As I said before, it means a lot to me.

Sincerely,

Nyomi

I considered underlining my name to prove a point that I wasn’t his Tora, but thought I’d pushed the situation enough with my letter.
Let’s see what he thinks of this.
I folded up the page, stuffed it back into the envelope, and returned it to the boy. “Thanks so much, and be careful out there. It’s pretty late.”

He gave me a weird nod and rushed away.

Once I closed the door, Zo jumped out of the shadows. “What is it?”

I jumped. “Holy shit! You scared me.”

“What did he get you?”

I gestured at the big gold box. “I have no idea.”

“I can’t believe he sent you a gift. You’ll need to give him something back.”

I lowered to my knees. “I will?”

“Definitely.”

“Why do I have to give him a gift? Is this more cultural stuff?”

“Oh goodness yes. Gift-giving is traditional and almost a social obligation at times. I’m always buying things when I go traveling. I store tons of stuff in my closet for these occasions. If someone gives you a gift, you’re to give them something of at least equal value.”

“Awesome. Now he's bound me to buying him something.” I tore off the pretty paper and lifted the top of the box. “Meanwhile, he’s stolen my freaking recorder.”

“Would you let the damn thing go? It barely worked.”

“It served me just fine.” I pouted.

He mocked me, “It served me just fine.”

“Oh just go freak yourself, Zo.”

“I sure will, after we check out what the Dragon has given you.” He finished opening it up.

A plant sat inside. Instead of a vase, it rested in a glass tray with tiny smooth pebbles. A sweet scent rose from it.
What's that beautiful smell?
It reminded me of strawberries mixed with cream. The flower sensually arched forward with two large lavender petals folding over on the sides, inviting the viewer to peer between her opening. In the center were two tiny, pink petals folded inward.
What the hell?
I wasn't a perverted person, but I did try to discover the deeper meaning and origin of things that sat before me. So I could not ignore the erotic vibe radiating from that lush plant. It teased at my senses—captivating my eyes, luring my nose into memories of fingers sliding against skin.

I stroked one of the soft petals. A silky texture greeted my fingertips. “Is it just me or does this flower look like a vagina?”

Snorting, Zo covered his mouth. “Oh no. It’s not just you. The name of it is
clitoria
.”

“Stop playing. That’s not funny.”

“It’s true.”

“How do you even know something like that?”

He snorted. “How do you not? But I've never given one to a woman before.”

“Because you're the cheapest man alive and do your best to get panties without spending money.”

“Sex shouldn't have a price on it. Only shoes and other important things.”

“This from a guy who sleeps with an average of two women a day.”

“Only on the weekends.”

“Man whore.”

“You're one to talk, sweetie.” He winked at me.

“Oh, go back to being scared and pacing.”

“Trust me,” Zo said. “This is one of those flowers that are hard to forget.”

I lifted it out of the box. “Well hello,
clitoria
. This is by far one of the most interesting gifts I’ve received from a man. A vagina flower. I don’t know if I should be disgusted, impressed, or freaked out by it.”

“Confusion and humor were probably his intentions. Put it on my balcony so it can get some sun tomorrow. We don’t want your clit to wither away and die.”

“Very funny.”

“Make sure to keep your clit wet and feed it as much as possible.”

“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, this plant is going to provide me with many jokes during your stay. Now put your blooming clit on my balcony.”

“Would you stop it? And you don’t have a balcony. You have a little place outside with barely enough room to put a plant and maybe a Coke while you lean your head outside to catch some sun.” I carried my flowery vagina to his balcony, which was barely three feet wide and long. According to him, his tiny balcony was one of the biggest on this side of the district.

Insanity.

“You’re just so jealous that I live here.” He laughed.

“I actually am, even though the living space sucks in this city. I thought New York was horrible until I came here.”

Zo turned all the lights back on. “Back to the gift, you’ll have to give him something of equal value.”

“So a plant that looks like a penis.”

“You better not! You’re in his good grace, which means no one will die.” Zo clapped. “We can look in my closet for something. I have a case of good whiskey that I smuggled over. I’ll give you a bottle.”

I opened the glass door and set my plant on the ground. Moonlight gleamed on the petals. A chilly breeze wisped by, but the flower seemed fine. Cars passed below and even a few people traveled the sidewalks.

“What else did he want?”

“A date at eight tomorrow.” I closed the window.

“I’m dressing you.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” I shook my head.

“Statement. I can’t trust you to dress yourself. Besides, I know what men like to see.”

I’d met Zo at sixteen years old while sitting in the green room of the
Good Morning America
show. A trash can had sat in front of me. I’d vomited in it twice. The whole time, Zo sat across from me, holding a napkin to his nose and widening his eyes in fear. By the time I threw up for the last time, he’d given up and asked me what the hell my problem was.

I’d confessed that I was nervous. He looked me up and down and admitted that I should be worried to go out in front of cameras in that outfit I’d chosen. To say my anxiety left after his announcement was a huge lie. However, he rescued me—rushing off to the show’s dressing rooms, convincing some stylist to loan him some pieces, and dressing me in time to make my first national interview ever.

Of course, I was there to promote my book and knew they all would want to know about my dad. Zo had been there to do a segment on affordable fashions for spring.

We both did a good job. I’d stayed after my questions to see how he did and thank him. That night we had dinner. The next day, he took me shopping, transforming my teenage closet into a fashionista’s wet dream. Though most of our communication was via emails and Facebook, he’d been my closest friend ever since and the one person to hang around when the media’s love of my book—and me—shifted to disgust and blame. When I hit eighteen, our friendship had grown even more, even though he traveled a lot. He stayed in contact when he could, and we talked through emails all the time. When he returned to New York, I was no longer a virgin or that nervous little girl. That was when the three weeks of dating from hell began and then soon ended.

Nevertheless, after the dating fiasco, he remained a loyal friend. Even when everyone turned on me.
The New York Times
got harder to open in the morning, for fear of seeing more evil headlines:

Enraged daughter slanders her father in a book

What’s the case? Bad judge and father or the consequences of bringing up a money-grubbing brat?

All of my high school friends had supported me when the book landed on
The New York Times
best-sellers list. Years later, when the bad press came out, all of those smiling girls and guys left me alone. People stopped answering my phone calls. Suddenly, everyone had something to do, and no time to be around me.

Not Zo. He flew back to New York immediately. Trashed the newspapers that I’d been crying about and staring at for days.

He even got a few articles and formed them into a makeshift toilet paper roll.

“When you’re out of tissue, use this stuff to wipe your behind. It’s the first step in the Fuck Media cleansing process.”

“You’re disgusting,” I told him.

“Hey, this is what happens when you’re out there in the public eye. They love you one day, and then hate you the next. It’s how people sell the news. Sometimes tearing a person apart is far more entertaining than lifting them up.”

I remember grabbing his makeshift roll and stomping into the bathroom. “Well, then let the cleansing process begin.”

What would I ever do without Zo?
I’d thought.

“Nyomi, I know what you need to wear so don’t fight me on this.” Zo’s words brought me back to reality and his small apartment.

“What?”

“I’m dressing you.”

“Okay. I’m not disagreeing. I’m just saying. I’ve been doing well since your fashion lessons last year.”

He pointed to my scratched up army boots. “Is that what you call an example of what I’ve taught you?”

“What, my boots? They’re comfortable and hip.”

“You’re stuck in the 90s and you were barely alive long enough to be into the style. I don’t get it.”

“Hey, I was a kid then. Well, mainly it was through my toddler years, but—”

“I’m dressing you.”

“In a nice pants suit, I hope. Maybe with some stripes or something.”

He fake growled.

Really?