by Carrie Asai
“What are you putting in?” Time for a subject change.
“Don’t avoid the question. Um—Elvis. Should I do ‘Love Me Tender’ or ‘In the Ghetto’?”
“ ‘Love Me Tender.’ Seventies Elvis is a little more than I can take.”
Cheryl finished with the jukebox, then crossed her arms and stared at me. “It. Is. Time. To. Give. It. Up.”
I shook my head. Cheryl was unstoppable. “Okay, okay. I think he’s really cute. And nice. But…”
“But what? What’s the problem?”
“Well, for—for one thing, we work together,” I stammered.
Cheryl waved a hand dismissively. “That’s crap. I’ve gone out with tons of guys I work with. How else are you supposed to meet people?”
“But…”
“But what?” Cheryl was in attack mode. I didn’t know why she was so worked up about this A. J. thing, but it was making me a little uncomfortable.
“But you’re you!” I blurted. “You know how to talk to people. You know how to flirt!”
“Don’t be silly,” Cheryl said. “I’ve seen you flirt before, Miss Heaven Kogo. You can do anything you want if you put your mind to it.”
I sipped my Cherry Coke thoughtfully. “Honestly? I think I’m still too wrapped up in the Hiro thing.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, something clicked open in my brain. I realized how true those words actually were—and how nice it felt to admit my feelings to somebody.
“Now,that’s a good reason,” Cheryl said. “But you have to get over it. It’s just not going anywhere.”
“I know, I know.” The tension between us had dissolved, and she was back to her old fun-loving self. I decided I might as well bring up the Marcus issue while things were good. Just in a casual way.
“So what about Marcus?” I asked. “How’s that going?”
“Awesome,” Cheryl said. “But no big thing. We’re just having fun. And there’sa lot of fun to be had.” She winked.
“Has he asked you to any parties yet?”
“Not yet. But he told me he has a bunch of events coming up next month, and he’s going to give me VIP passes for all of them. It’s going to be fabulous.”
The more Cheryl talked, the less inclined I was to burst her bubble. But if I didn’t, I’d be doing exactly what Hiro had done to me. Keeping it to myself wasnot an option.
“So Cheryl—there’s something I have to tell you,” I mumbled, sipping my soda. Might as well get it out of the way.
“Uh-oh. Sounds serious.” Cheryl drew the corners of her mouth down in mock severity.
“It kind of is….” I struggled for the right words. Friendship wasn’t exactly something I’d had a lot of experience with, and I didn’t want Cheryl to be angry.
“Spit it out,” Cheryl said, ever the practical one. “I promise I won’t be mad.”
“Okay. It’s just that…A. J. told me tonight that Marcus is a gangbanger. I thought you should know.”
For a moment Cheryl just stared at me. Then she threw back her head and let out her signature deep, throaty laugh.
“Heaven, you are too much!” Cheryl said, recovering herself. “You can be such a baby sometimes! I mean, it’s like you were raised on an island!”
“I was.” I didn’t see the joke.
“You know what I mean.” Cheryl laughed again and shook her head. I tried not to be irritated, but it was clear she was laughingat me, notwith me. I didn’t see anything funny about it at all. “But really,” Cheryl continued, “thanks for telling me and all, but I already knew.”
“What?” Just then our pancakes arrived, and we both kept our mouths shut until the waitress refilled Cheryl’s coffee cup and left us alone.
“So what?” Cheryl answered, hacking at her pancakes. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” I asked, shocked. “He’s a gang member. Doesn’t that bother you a little bit? I mean, it’s probably not the safest thing to be hanging out with him, you know.”
“Don’t be silly, Heaven. You’re really making a huge deal out of nothing. I mean, half of L.A. under twenty-five probably thinks they’re a gangbanger these days just because they have a posse of friends. You’re unfamiliar with this territory is all.”
“Just because I’m not the most experienced person in the world doesn’t mean I have no morals,” I snapped. “Stop being so condescending.”
“Oh, so now it’s a moral thing?” Cheryl asked, her smile fading.
“I’m not saying that—”
“That’s what you said,” Cheryl interrupted, fixing me with a steely gaze. She could be really fierce when she wanted to be.
“Okay, that’s what I said,” I admitted. “Yes. Yes, I think it’s a moral issue. I mean, who knows what his business is, how he makes his money? What if he sells drugs? Why would you want to be involved with that?”
“He doesn’t sell drugs,” Cheryl said coldly.
“Do you know that for sure?” I asked, pushing my pancakes away. Whatever appetite I’d had was gone. “Believe me, I’ve had some experience with the kind of people who get involved with organized crime. And it’s not like in the movies. People get hurt. People die.”
“What experience? What are you talking about?” Cheryl looked unconvinced. “You’re starting to sound like one of those weird commercials—you know, like, if you fill up your car with gas or you go to a party where someone’s smoking a cigarette, you’re helping out terrorists.”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. You’re twisting my words. I just want you to be safe. That’s the bottom line.”
“I think this conversation is over,” Cheryl said, looking away as she threw down her fork. The people at the table next to us looked over, and I blushed.
“Cheryl, please listen,” I whispered. “That’s not all—there’s something about him….” I took a deep breath. “I think he was hitting on me the other night.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted having said them. Even though I knew it was true, I could tell that Cheryl wasn’t in a believing mood.
“You are so full of it.” Cheryl shook her head. “Why are you trying to sabotage me?”
“I’m absolutely not. I just don’t want to keep any secrets from you.”
“Well, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” Cheryl’s eyes blazed. “Why so trusting all of a sudden?”
I started to panic. This was not going like I’d planned. “This is different,” I pleaded.
“You’re right. It’s different because you’re acting like a jealous baby. You totally don’t understand the kind of guy Marcus is. He was probably just being sweet to you because you’re my roommate. And you overreacted, as usual. You know, men are not the enemy, Heaven.”
“I know,” I said. I didn’t want to argue anymore.
“So why don’t you just mind your own business from now on?” Cheryl snapped.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said quietly, and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, I slipped into one of the cherry red stalls. My stomach hurt from nerves. I stared at the silhouette of a roller-skating girl on the inside of the stall door and tried to think what to do next. Should I apologize? For what? Caring enough to not want Cheryl to get hurt? I wondered if Cheryl would ask me to leave the apartment. Then what would I do?
Everything seemed suddenly overwhelming. If Cheryl didn’t want to be my friend anymore, then who would I have left? I imagined myself moving into some seedy motel until I saved enough for my own place, shuttling back and forth between Vibe and a dangerous, depressing motel room. No one would know who I was, and no one would care what I did. I’d be completely, finally, totally alone, just another nameless, faceless girl walking the streets of L.A. And if whoever it was that was after me finally succeeded in getting to me, then it would be sayonara, Heaven. Poof. I’d disappear just like Teddy had.
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling chilled. My watch said 5:00A.M. Thank goodness I had the next day off. I took a deep br
eath and decided to apologize. Better to smooth things over. I’d done all I could, and it was clear I couldn’t risk this last, delicate friendship over something as silly as a bad news boyfriend. Cheryl was a big girl. If she wanted to be with Marcus, then who was I to tell her not to?
When I got back to the table, Cheryl was staring into her compact and applying lip gloss. She ignored me when I sat down.
“I’m sorry,” I said lamely. “I shouldn’t have overreacted that way. You’re right. It’s none of my business.” Cheryl kept applying her gloss, still not looking at me. “I just thought you should know,” I added.
“Well, thanks for nothing,” Cheryl said in a steely voice, snapping the little mirror shut. “Next time keep it to yourself.” She picked up the check and dug through her bag, looking for money.
“Let me get it,” I said, picking up the check. Cheryl looked up at me for a second, then shrugged.
“Well,that’s a change,” she said sarcastically.
I felt tears coming to my eyes again. It wasn’t like Cheryl to be so cruel. She knew I couldn’t help it when I was broke. Or maybe she didn’t know—after all, there was so much I hadn’t told her, and maybe she really did think that I’d quit Life Bytes just out of laziness or boredom.
“Cheryl,” I said quietly, “I know I owe you rent, but I have that money now. I can give it to you when we get home.”
“Whatever,” Cheryl said, and strode out of the restaurant. I paid the check and followed her outside. Before coming to L.A., I’d never thought about money once in my whole life. The money was always there. Sure, there were things my father wouldn’t let me buy, but that had nothing to do with the cost—it was all about what he found “appropriate.” I’d never thought about what it took to stay afloat out in the real world. And now that I knew the Kogo money wasn’t clean, I felt even guiltier about the lavish life I had lived—and the fact that it hadn’t prepared me to support myself. I vowed I would never take a loan from anyone again, no matter what happened. I would make my own way if it killed me.
Neither of us said a word on the cab ride home, and Cheryl went into her bedroom and slammed the door as soon as we were in the house.
I felt empty inside. I pushed away a vision of the dirty motel room I’d imagined earlier.
I’d figure it all out tomorrow. There had to be some way to make it right.
When I told my boys about the job, they were like, “What’s up withthat,G.?” I’ll admit, it’s not the kind of thing I usually get into, but it seemed like an easy gig. And the money? Nothing like the going rates around here, all these cheap washed-up celebrities and folks “in the business.” Uh-uh. They were offering a lot of Benjamins up front. Cold, hard cash. When I told the boys what they’d each be getting for doing their part, they shut up fast—they know what side their bread is buttered on. Only thing they said was, “Why you always get the fun part, G.?” I just laughed. When you’re the leader, you’re the leader. There are perks.
Now, Cheryl, she’s a nice little perk. It was almosttooeasy getting her attention. When I first saw her, I thought she might put up a fight—she’s that type of girl, you know the one, with a tight little body and that punky look going on. Looks like she might be all feminist and whatnot. But she turned out to be just like all the rest of them…can’t say no to the Marcus-grade smile, uh-uh. By the end of that first night she was begging for more of me. The second time I saw her, she was wrapped around my finger.
Heaven, now that’s a different story. My charms don’t seem to have impressed the little princess. The littlelostprincess. But it makes no difference. She likes her friend, and her friend likes me, and that’s all that has to happen. When I first saw her, I thought for a second that I might have been better off putting the moves on her—now that’sa girl who’s got it going on. I like them tall and hard like that. She could be a model if she wanted to, no joke. But no—too much trouble. I made exactly the right move. Get the friend. Like candy from a baby. No mess.
Poor Cheryl. But that’s the way the ball rolls. If Heaven’s the kind of girl I think she is, she’ll do what she needs to do. We’ll take care of Heaven, and that will be the end of it.
Everybody’s happy. Except maybe the little lost princess. But that’s not my problem.
Business is business.
Marcus
8
I woke up at ten feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. My aching muscles and restless mind kept me from falling back asleep. Pulling the covers over my head, I tried to talk myself out of the funk. I could apologize to Cheryl again. Go for a run to loosen up my sore muscles. Call Hiro on the phone and make things right, even if I wasn’t yet ready to commit to training with him again. But where would that get me?
I threw off my comforter and wandered out into the living room. Cheryl’s door was ajar—I peeked into her room, which looked, as always, as though it had been hit by a tornado, and saw that her bed was empty. She must have had to work early again today, which was probably for the best, as she no doubt still hated my guts. I wondered where she got the energy to party all night and work all day. Some people were lucky that way. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of them.
I flopped onto the couch and flipped on the TV, much like I had in the weeks after I quit Life Bytes, when I was recovering from the Karen kidnapping nightmare. It was late morning, andThe View was on, which I hated. What was more boring than watching Barbara Walters preside over a bunch of stupid, boring conversational topics? I reached lazily for the remote but came up empty-handed. It was sitting on top of the TV. Too unmotivated to get it, I watched the girls talk about “men who say no but mean yes” and learned the interesting fact that sometimes, men who say no actually mean yes. Fascinating stuff. Disgusted, I hurled a cushion at the TV in an attempt to hit the power button off. The TV cut off with a squawk.
Pathetic. I was pathetic. I had the day off, and I couldn’t think of anything constructive to do. This was my life, and it was ticking by uselessly. I looked at the phone, and it reminded me about my decision not to call Mieko. I felt so lonely, I almost changed my mind, but it would be the middle of the night in Tokyo—and I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do, anyway.
I sighed, staring at the ceiling. Now I had a job, and I could pay my rent, but without training, my life here in L.A. really was pointless. I was a shot girl, with no prospects, no college education, and no family. And now it seemed like I would never be able to figure out who was trying to harm me. That is, until they finally caught up with me. Then I’d know everything, but it would be too late. I’d be well on my way to dead.
I thought about Konishi. Mieko had told Hiro that his condition was still the same. No better. But he had said my name. I wondered for a second if seeing me might help him to recover, then discarded the thought. Everyone around me seemed to get hurt, and the best thing I could do for my father was to let him get well in peace—and safety. I buried my face in the sofa and tried to clear my head.
Corn Pops? Maybe food would help. I fixed myself a heaping bowl and brought it back to the couch, tripping on my messenger bag along the way. As I wiped up the milk that had sloshed onto the floor, I suddenly remembered the Funkitout CD that A. J. had given me. I slipped it into the CD player and munched on my cereal.
The song, like most raps, started with a thumping bass line. After a few measures a higher melodic beat started up and surged over the bass. I nodded in time to the music. It was a catchy tune, all right, with a great sample. After a few grunts and groans the lyrics kicked in:
I wanna check you out
Check you out, hey yo yo
I’m packin’ cash like Konishi Kogo
I stopped in midchew.Please tell me I’m still asleep and this is just some crazy nightmare, I thought.
Got my girls in a huddle on the club couch
I jumped up and jammed the back button on the CD player, starting the song over. Had I really heard what I thought I heard?
Yes. And this was no nightma
re. The song went on:
When I go out I don’t need to say much
All the boys they ask, “Where’s Heaven at?”
If I knew I’d have to kill you with my gat
Nobody knows where baby has gone
Sing hey, hey…
Oh. No. I sat frozen as the song continued, multiple voices chanting theheys andhos of the chorus. How many people had heard this song? How many understood the lyrics?
She was a red, a red-hot ma-ma,
Society girl in her silk pa-ja-mas,
Disappeared in a cloud on her weddin’ night,
Kogo style, maybe Daddy was right,
Nobody knows where Heaven has gone
Sing hey, hey…
After three more similar verses the song ended. I listened to it one more time. The song was obviously about me.Think, Heaven, think, I told myself. What did it mean? I resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call Hiro. First I had to figure out what the hell was going on. Who was Funkitout? How much airplay was the single getting? I picked up the CD case—DJ Slavo had printed out the picture of the band from the original cover—four nondescript Japanese guys in baggy pants and sunglasses. There was no information about them at all.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to think clearly through my fatigue and nervousness. I knew there had been articles in the Japanese papers about my disappearance. That wasn’t unusual. My father was one of the most famous men in Japan, and the tabloids had regularly tried to get dirt on Ohiko and me, heirs to the “Kogo Empire.” When my engagement to Teddy Yukemura was announced, the seedy journalists had tried just about every trick in the book to get information about the wedding—as far as I’d been able to tell at the time, that was one of the reasons the ceremony had been moved to L.A. In the States we were just a bunch of rich Japanese—not the national celebrities we were back home. Soon after the wedding, though, someone had leaked my photo to the American press, and they’d run it on the news—“Heiress Missing After Bizarre Incident at Beverly Wilshire” or something like that.
