The Cost To Play (Slivers of Love)

by Gaines, Oliva

  Olivia Gaines

  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 9716

  Augusta, GA 30916

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events are locales or persons, living or dead, are entirely a coincidence.

  © 2013 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Editor: Kathy Riehl, http://www.riehlfaithproductions.com/

  Cover: http://koougraphics.net/

  Art: Kiara Thomas, http://kiaramotiondesign.com/

  The Vigilantes, All Rights Reserved, Kiara Thomas, Kiara Thomas Designs

  Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  ISBN-13: 978-0615948157 (Davonshire House Publishing)

  ISBN-10: 0615948154

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Davonshire House Publishing January 2014

  DEDICATION

  For Kiara, Katsuo is alive.

  Be forever vigilant!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book was a concerted team effort. I thank each and every one of you for pulling this one together. I have the best team on the planet!

  Write On!

  This is Toshi Yamaguchi.

  Chapter 1

  There are some daybreaks when a body awakens and is ready for the day to commence. It was going to be one of those mornings when a girl felt like she had just stepped into a scene in a Disney movie. The day would begin with that perfect quaint scene in the movie where blue birds fluttered about, flowers bloomed as the pretty girl walked by, and a tune filled the lungs exhibiting how great a girl was feeling. Jayne Wright’s mood was just that good as she parked her Chevy Equinox on the street. Today, nothing could dampen her spirit. She began to sing as she made her way to the office. She bobbed her head to the left, swayed her hips to the right, and moved her shoulders to an imaginary beat as she belted out a few notes to an old R & B song. This day could not be more perfect.

  “Yo baby! You lucky you got an ass like that. It almost makes up for your singing and dancing,” said some man rolling by in a wheelchair on the sidewalk. Jayne gulped as if she had just swallowed a very large bug. The old fart didn’t even bother to look back as he continued to roll down the side walk, now singing the same song, but in tune and in key. Even Wheelchair Willie’s snarky comment was not going to ruin her day.

  Friends often mocked her for giving every person a funny moniker, but it was her thing. It did not matter to Jayne in the least about whether she met with other’s expectations of her. It was irrelevant. She was her own person, with her own mind, and her own way of doing things. Her Grandma Pearl often chided her mother, “that’s what you get for naming a black Chile Jayne.” She liked her name and the person she had grown up to be. Independent, free thinking, and a very talented artist.

  Unfortunately her talent on paper did not translate to her abilities with humans. It was even worse when it came to humans of the opposite sex. Her inability to understand and relate to men who wanted her as an arm piece befuddled her mind. It was almost a rude shock to her existence when a man would take her to dinner and make bumbling attempts to have her for dessert. Jayne LaQueeda Wright was not that type of woman. Most days, she wasn’t sure what type of woman she was exactly, but it wasn’t one that was easy.

  Simplicity, however, was how she lived her life. Cawley Public Relations had been her first real job out of college and five years later she was still there. Serving as the lead designer and project manager, her work was on billboards all over Augusta, Georgia. Grandma Pearl even swore she saw an ad in Atlanta as well. It was humorous to her, even though she tried several times to explain it to her Grammy, only a handful of their clients were local. When she returned home one evening with her Clio award, Grandma Pearl whipped out the bottle of champagne. Jayne had a hell of a time stopping her Grammy from opening it, considering she had purchased the $3 bottle of Champale when Jayne was still in elementary school. There was no way on God’s green earth that she would even partake of that sour bottle of pink vinegar. Instead, Jayne had shown up with an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon. Knowing the frugality of her Grammy, she also brought along a $13 bottle of Freixenet as her back up. Much as she had suspected, Grammy opted for the Freixenet. The bottle of Dom was still in the back of her fridge.

  Soon, she promised herself, there would be something to celebrate and someone special to celebrate with. She just had to be patient. Grammy had taught her years ago not to ask God for something and then sit around like a fool worrying about it. “Let go and let God,” Grandma Pearl always said, and she learned.

  In high school, when the captain of the math club wanted to go all the way and she was not ready, she heeded her Grammy’s words and let Ralph go. The adage still buzzed in her head in college, when the chair of the art department said he would give her a “D” in the class if she would not stay for some extracurricular activities. His activities included helping him relieve the tension in his pants. Jayne took it to God in prayer and left it there. After her professor awarded her the “D” for the course, Jayne took her cellphone and classwork to the Dean and played back the professor’s request. At the end of the conference between the three of them, the Dean and her professor both agreed she deserved that “A”.

  She loved her Grammy and her wisdom, but Jayne firmly believed that the good Lord helps those who help themselves. Currently, her vision in self-help included a comic book with a kick ass female superhero and matching costume that would be available in local retail stores. Outside of Bling and Storm, there were very few black female heroines in comic books and she wanted to change that. Change would come after she figured out how to make it all happen. She had the talent, but the confidence to do it was another hairy animal.

  In the office, she arrived right on time to her desk, with coffee in hand and still a song in her heart. Today, she was leaving for Columbia, South Carolina to attend an anime conference called Banzaicon. This would be her first conference, or con for short, where she would dress in costume for role play. Jayne had two costumes in her car; one for tonight’s ball and one for judging. The one for judging she had made herself and was rather proud of it. Nothing could ruin her morning.

  Or at least, so she thought. The second hairy animal she had to contend with weekly, was her pod mate and fellow project leader, Frankie Vale, who was a very flatulent man. It did not matter what he ate, or how much or how little he put away. The man was
a walking gas giant of methane. It was not just any gas, but the kind of farts that made your eyes water. One day it was so horrendous, she could have sworn his last rip of odiferous death had removed her eyebrows. It made their work relationship contentious. At one point, Jayne had created an online comic strip of Franc the Farter, who was a crime fighter that used noxious fumes to eradicate his enemy. The strip had become very popular, but Jayne forgot to use a pseudonym. Frankie threatened to sue her if she did not take it down. She threatened to sue him for attempted murder with his fumes. He stopped talking to her, relegating their communications to necessity only.

  It did not matter much anymore. She brought a face mask for when they had to work together and often after lunch. She opted to work in the conference room when it was not in use. It was easier for them both and definitely easier on her nose.

  She kept her eye on the clock as she closed out her daily work At 11:58. She yelled into the bullpen, “Have a great weekend!” Jayne had sent in her monies for the cost of admission into the con. It was time to play dress up and Jayne was ready to make her mark.

  Chapter 2

  “Professor!” she exclaimed. She stuck her arm high in the air, as if her fingers could touch the ceiling. When she received no response, she called him again stretching her arm even higher, “Professor! Professor!” She was reacting as a small child in need of a bathroom break, wiggling in the seat. Slowly he looked up. First at the clock, then at Mary Elizabeth, whom he privately named The Riddler. As he made his way toward her work station, thoughts of freedom floated through his mind. Only three hours left in the work day.

  “Yes, Ms. Jones? How goes your project?” He looked over her shoulder at the computer monitor, visually perplexed at what he was seeing. Today’s assignment was to draw the Popliteal Fossa to include the nerves, but what he saw on screen closely resembled a diagram on how to steal cable. Stern, firm, and with some tempered resolution, he finally responded, “No, Ms. Jones. You are somewhat off in your drawing. Please consult my instructions and begin again.” Mary Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but the look he gave her provided caution and did not elicit the reaction she wanted. She was aware that the professor wanted no part of her shenanigans.

  Dr. Toshi Yamaguchi was one, if not the third best, medical illustrator in the country. In his fifth year as Associate Professor at Georgia Regents University at Augusta, he remained firm and detached, but highly proficient in teaching, writing, and publishing. He was on the fast track to tenure. As a Yale graduate, he had many choices of what he wanted to do and where he wanted to teach. At the age of 30, his real dream was comics. In an ideal world, he would be on staff at Marvel as the lead artist for his own original designs and characters.

  In this world, he had broken his wrist in a motorcycle accident, causing some damage to the nerves in his right hand. His parents were broken hearted that he would never be able to hold a scalpel, which was fine by him, but it also limited his ability to hold charcoals, paint brushes, and colored pencils. It wasn’t really such a disappointment to Toshi, since he had not truly wanted to be a doctor. In all honesty, he didn’t desire to be an academic either. Even though he had the letters, people called him doctor, and his parents were appeased. Somewhat. They now craved grandchildren.

  It wasn’t about to happen. He liked being single. He loved the freedom to move about and spend his money as he saw fit. The small student loans he had taken out for his education were paid off. The down payment for his house was still in a bank account drawing interest and there was no one to nag him about where he was going this weekend, or why he was spending so much money on frivolous items so he could play dress up.

  To Toshi Yamaguchi, fandom was about more than dressing up as your favorite hero. Fandom was a way of life, but also an expensive hobby. His girlfriend Ai, often complains when he departs for conferences for several days, stating that he is going to go broke frolicking with his friends. Often he would joke with her about fandom, coming back with a quick retort, “it costs to play with the big boys.”

  Ai reminds him weekly that it costs to play with a grown woman as well. In his mind, Ai was an unwanted expense and a distraction. The sex was mediocre, leaving her place in his space, dwindling in value. Toshi checked the clock again. It was almost time. “Do not forget your homework assignments which are due on Tuesday. Remember the upper and lower lateral and medial borders of the Popliteal Fossa are due in eAssignment and hard copy in color when you walk in the door.”

  Mary Elizabeth’s hand flew up again, but Toshi ignored her. Many of his student surveys would come back, with comments that he appeared to be unfeeling. That was untrue. He felt everything. Right now, the main emotion coursing through his body was disdain. Mary Elizabeth had a crush on him and used any means she could find to get his attention. He’d had it and he wanted her out the door. It was time for the weekend and he had a conference to get to as well as a Samurai suit to get packed. “Have a great weekend,” he told the students as they walked out the door. He looked at Mary Elizabeth. “If you are thinking about how to complete the assignment, then you are thinking too much. Draw, draw, and draw some more.” A quick closing of his MacBook and he was out the door. He popped his head into his office and waved good bye to the office assistant, Ms. Banks, before heading to the parking garage.

  Before he reached the car, he received a call from Ai. “Toshi, we need to talk.” Again, another distraction. He responded in a quick clipped tone, “Fine. Meet me at 5 at the Soy Noodle House on Broad Street.” He did not give her a chance to respond. He hung up and hurried home. Everything was ready to go, he just needed to load the car. He was on his way to Columbia, South Carolina for Banzaicon. This was the first con where he was entering the costume competition. The larger cons are intimidating to some people and even more so to Toshi as an academic, but at this con he was ready to take on the challenge. He had never been to a smaller conference and was excited to debut his new Silver Samurai costume.

  In his heart, at each conference he attended, he hoped to find a friend, or someone who understood him. Someone who would appreciate the craftsmanship of his homemade suit. He knew that Ai, was never going to be that person.

  Toshi arrived at the Soy Noodle House at 4:50 and picked a table in the corner close the window, but also close to the door. In his mind, this conversation was going to be short. Ai arrived five minutes later, still wearing her work clothing and lab coat. At five foot seven with shiny black hair, a perfect set of teeth and a warm smile, Toshi was filled with regret that he could not find it in himself to love her the way she deserved to be loved. Ai Tomita was a great dentist who was loved by all of her patients, anyone who came into contact with her, and others who thrived just being in her light. Yet for Toshi, he felt dim whenever he was with her; further playing into the irony of their relationship. It was more troubling to him that her name meant “love”. For him, he could only get as far as a cordial fondness for her. She whined incessantly about him being cold and unfeeling, but he did not know how to express to her that he had strong feelings about almost everything else. As she walked up to the door, his heart should have skipped a beat to see her approaching, instead what he felt bordered on apathy.

  He rose to greet Ai, helping her with her chair, before reseating himself. He had already ordered a pot of hot tea. She poured him a fresh cup and one for herself. There it was. That sigh. It was a sound that curled his toes inside his shoes. A sound of disappointment and angst in one exhalation, followed by a cluck of her tongue and a nibble on her bottom lip. Then came the condescending words that grabbed a man by his balls and shook him to his core. The private nickname he had given her was Ball Buster. “Toshi, I was hoping that this weekend you would change your mind about the play thing in Columbia and go with me to Atlanta, to be with our friends.”

  Ai’s condescending attitude had rubbed him the wrong way, especially the way she said play thing. He wondered how much it would hurt her feelings if she knew he felt pretty
much the same about her role in his life. At this point, Toshi had already resigned himself to be free, which made him fail to speak his mind. “I was hoping you would change your mind and come with me.”

  Ai sipped at her tea, “I am sorry, but I must say this. You are going to have to decide Toshi. Either we will have a life together, or you can continue to play your dress up superhero games.”

  “Fine,” he said, as he returned his tea cup to its saucer and rose to leave.

  She was shocked. “So does this mean you are coming to Atlanta with me?” He rested his hand upon her shoulder, giving her a saddened look.

  “No, it means that I am headed to Columbia to do my play thing.”

  Ai’s mouth was moving but no words were coming out. Toshi leaned forward, taking her chin into his hand, while pushing the flailing jaws together. “Let me help you Ai. It means that I am not choosing you.”

  She stared at him with lips now taut. He made an attempt to soften the blow. “I like you enough to let you go so that you can be with someone else, who can be all the things you want and need in a husband.” He lowered his head and placed a light kiss upon her cheek. He was going to be late to the ball if he didn’t get a move on.

  Before Ai could say anything to him, he stood in front of the window and took out his cell phone. She watched his practiced fingers move across the screen. She knew he had turned it off for the weekend. It was one of the many traits that bugged her to no end about Toshi, but indecisiveness was not one of them. Once he made up his mind that was the end.

  Toshi Yamaguchi had just dumped her. When he had to make the choice between dressing up as a crime fighting superhero and drawing comics, or being with her, he opted to be the super hero. In her mind, his actions were villainous. He had just made a down payment on a new enemy and she was not going to let this go lightly. There would be no way to explain to her parents how she had managed to run off another potential husband.