“And she means it,” Asami said. “She was inconsolable when they cancelled Sex in the City.”
They laughed. When had Deena last sat with women and done something so simple and pure? Maybe never.
Asami stood and began clearing dishes. June rose to help her.
“You’re so young,” Yukiko said. “Your family must be awfully proud.”
Deena lowered her gaze and said nothing. But when she looked up, she had their undivided attention.
“Anyone would be,” she continued softly. “To have a girl like you in their family.”
Deena sighed. Would you? she wanted to ask.
Wanted to, but didn’t dare.
Deena and Daichi didn’t work that first day, on Christmas Eve, or on the second, Christmas Day. Though there were no lights and mistletoe, none of the traditional trappings of a Christmas, there was still a decidedly festive atmosphere.
Deena spent the morning on the terrace chatting with the Tanaka women about nonsense matters like clothes and makeup, movies and celebrity gossip. Afterwards, June took her into the bathroom and demonstrated a few techniques for concealing her freckles. The women marveled at how well Deena coped with being away from her family on Christmas Day. It was all she could do not to smile. Somehow, she didn’t miss the shouting and fighting, or the crass and belligerent way the Hammonds celebrated the holidays.
That afternoon Daichi and Yoshi stood before the stainless-steel gas grill with its six individual burners and watched the meat cook. Behind them, their children splashed in the pool and sunned on the deck. Deena stretched out on a lounge chair, her face in a book, as Michael sat next to her with a smear of sunblock on his nose.
“You know, Daichi, you should’ve gotten a charcoal grill. The food would taste better,” Yoshi said.
Daichi prodded a skewer of chicken, onions and green peppers. “Charcoal masks the tastes of food while propane provides a purer experience.”
Yoshi scowled at him. “Dad used a charcoal grill for thirty years and you never complained.”
“If you wanted your food from a charcoal grill, Yoshi, you should’ve brought one.”
Yukiko arrived with a tray of seasoned chicken and Daichi added them to the grill. He basted half with barbecue sauce and the other half with sweet teriyaki.
“Where’s the yakitori?” Yoshi demanded.
“There is no yakitori. There are chicken breasts and wings, legs and thighs, beef and pork ribs, lamb chops and steak, hamburgers and hot dogs. Certainly, even a man with as robust an appetite as yours can be sated with this selection.”
Yukiko’s eyes narrowed. “When did you start adding lamb chops to the menu? Was that after you made the first or second million?” Yoshi said.
“There are some of us with more discerning palates. I am one and Ms. Hammond is another. But for you there are hot dogs.”
“When we were kids hot dogs suited you just fine,” Yoshi said.
“And you enjoyed flying kites and playing baseball.” Daichi lowered his gaze to his brother’s stomach. “But clearly you’ve given that up.”
“Daichi! You know that your brother struggles with his weight! You should support his efforts, not ridicule them.”
Daichi closed the lid on the grill. “I’ll be sure to do that, as soon as I witness them.”
Yukiko sighed. “Daichi—”
“No, okasan, it’s okay.” Yoshi turned to Daichi, his stomach round and solid looking beneath the tuck of his polo shirt. “Maybe I’m not some hot shot architect that people look up to. And maybe I’m not rich and fit and important. But I’d rather have people like me than fear me.”
Daichi eyed him with amusement. “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I suspected.”
Yoshi squared off, fists clenched. “This fool might not have your money, but he could teach you a thing or two about being a father.”
Daichi nodded. “Foremost among fatherly duties is the ability to provide shelter for your brood. Take you, for example, Yoshi. You still find it necessary to rely on your mother for monetary assistance from time to time.”
Yoshi turned to Yukiko, his face beet red. “You told him? You told him about the foreclosure?”
Yukiko looked from one son to the other with helplessness. “I had no choice. There was no one else that had that much money.”
“But you let me think it was from you.”
“You wouldn’t have taken it otherwise, Yoshi!”
Yoshi stormed past his mother, pride tarnished. There was now something else his brother could lord over him, and it appeared to be a debt he had no hope of ever repaying.
Over by the pool, Deena closed both her paperback and eyes. Clearly, Michael Tanaka would allow for no reading today.
“We should go dancing sometimes,” he said. “I know you wouldn’t think it, but I’m a great dancer. Not as good as my brother, mind you, but not many people are.”
Deena lowered her shades. “John’s a good dancer?”
She thought back to the nightclub in Manhattan and his spastic thrusts.
“Are you kidding me? When we were growing up John used to run with this group called…Explosion, I think it was.” He shook his head. “They did all kinds of stuff. Like crazy break dancing, break-your-neck kind of stuff. I mean, the guy was amazing. You show him anything and he can repeat it right back to you, just like that. It’s insane.”
Deena sat up. “John? John Tanaka?”
Michael scowled. “You know, you should really hang out with more Asians. You’ll find that we’re a lot more than the stereotypes people attach to us.”
Deena laughed. “I spend plenty of time with Asians, thank you very much.”
Michael sat up. “So, you’re not adverse to…dating one?”
Deena sighed. “Of course not.”
“And do you think that you could find an Asian guy attractive? Sexy, even?”
“The right one, yes.”
He smiled. “That’s good to hear.”
Clearly, it never occurred to him that he might not be the right one.
Mike followed Deena’s gaze to the pool, where Tak and John were midway through a game of water volleyball.
“I know you wouldn’t think it,” Michael said, “but I’m quite the athlete. As children, that was a sport I dominated.”
Deena had heard enough stories of Michael’s childhood—sprains during tee-ball, nose bleeds in flag football and fractures during Frisbee, to know that this was a lie.
“Really, now?” she said, not bothering to feign interest.
“Oh, absolutely. Athleticism comes natural to me—a rarity when combined with my academic prowess.”
“Well then, you shouldn’t let me keep you from doing what comes naturally to you,” Deena said, giving a nod towards the game.
Michael blinked. “Are you kidding me? Even the excitement of competition pales in comparison to you.”
His flattery was nauseating. Deena shifted and gave a sigh of relief when she spied John climbing from the pool. He reached a towel, dried himself, and approached.
“Deena, let’s walk.”
“Walk where?” she said.
John raised a brow. “Does it matter?”
Already she was getting up.
“DAICHI, YOUR BROTHER looks up to you. And your words are important to him,” Yukiko said, closing the patio door. “And too often, you’re careless with them and his feelings.”
“Okasan, if my words were important to him, he would not be a used car salesman with a wife and three children he can barely support.”
“That’s not fair, Daichi. Yoshi did what he thought was best given the circumstances. Both your father and I were proud of him for the tough decisions he’s made.”
Daichi stared at his mother. “I see.”
“Musuko, don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like nothing. Just try to treat your brother better.”
Daichi nodded. “Fine. Are we don
e here?”
Yukiko sighed. “I suppose so.”
“Good. Now please excuse me, Mother. I have…culinary duties to attend to.”
FORCED INDOORS BY the rain, Deena and the Tanakas took their meal and settled in at the dining room table. They drew her into their conversations effortlessly, interspersing talk of sports and food and travel destinations with questions about her. When Daichi presented her with a Christmas gift afterwards, she was grateful for Tak’s warning that he might do just that. He gave Christmas presents to Christian colleagues he said, as a matter of good business practice. It wasn’t a far cry from Tak, who’d given her diamond studs that morning and insisted he wanted nothing in return. Still, Deena was glad that she’d taken the time to find a gift for Daichi.
Daichi unwrapped the paper carefully, folded it and set it aside, before opening the box. Deena watched, her gaze cautious, as he lifted the first book.
“Structure and Nature,” he read. “Finding Harmony in Discordance.” He chuckled.
He dug for the next treat.
“Organic Architecture: Molding Earth and Form.” And finally, “Nature and the Artificial: Man’s Arrogance in Architecture. The lady doth protest too much,” Daichi teased.
She smiled. “Until I have my way.”
“Your way,” Daichi laughed, “would be an onslaught of low income housing, all with beachfront access, fitness centers, and the latest in architectural innovation.”
“Affordability and innovation aren’t necessarily divorced.”
Daichi grinned. He found her youth and compassion refreshing.
“No,” he agreed. “But affordability and the wealthy architect are.”
Daichi tipped his glass to her and took a drink.
“Well done! Bravo!” Yoshi clapped. “The sooner you abandon your principles, the sooner you can be rich. My brother here can offer you all the guidance you need on that.”
“Yoshi,” June said. “It’s a holiday. And we’re all having such a good time.”
“Yoshi is welcome to air his grievances, holiday or otherwise. He’s certainly entitled to a few, considering the substandard life he’s forced to endure.”
Daichi sipped his tea.
“Daichi. Yoshiaki. That’s quite enough,” Yukiko warned.
“Yes, yes, remind us again of how important you are. My brother on the cover of Time and People and Newsweek. Daichi Tanaka, the most important Tanaka. Everyone take note!”
“The most important Tanaka?” Daichi laughed. “And what does that distinction require? A university degree?”
Tak sighed. John rubbed his face tiredly.
“Daichi!” Yukiko cried. “You’ve gone far enough!”
Daichi shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Deena looked from Daichi, in his white button up and navy slacks, legs crossed and sipping iced tea as though he were bored, to Yoshi, his face bloated and red, clearly flustered, his food forgotten.
MICHAEL SAT ON Kenji’s bed, surveying his spread of comic books. Each one seemed to impress more than the last, and he lifted them with the respect and admiration of a long-time fan.
“You’ve got a few vintage ones here, Kenji. DC Marvel vintage. How’d you ever get this stuff?”
Kenji shrugged. The DC Marvel stuff was for bragging rights. He preferred the graphic novels.
“Got it on eBay. How else?”
“Having a rich dad must be awesome.”
Kenji thought about Yoshi’s job as a used car salesman. “At least your dad was home a lot.”
Michael laughed. “Too much, if you ask me.” He paused. “Can I ask you something, Kenji?”
Kenji glanced at him. “Yeah, sure. What?” He began stacking his comics in order of release, making neat piles on his nightstand.
“Deena’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Kenji froze. “What?”
“That girl, Deena. The one that works for your dad.”
Beads of sweat peppered Kenji’s forehead. “Yeah. What about her?” He was having trouble breathing.
“I saw you with her today. On the beach. You must’ve spent hours with her. And you guys went for ice cream afterwards, didn’t you?”
Kenji swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Well, tell me about her. What’s she like?”
Kenji stared at him. “I—I don’t know.” He lowered his gaze. “I don’t really know her.”
“Kenji, come on. You’re with her all the time. Today you were with her for hours. What did you talk about? What did you learn? What did she laugh at?”
Kenji shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what she likes. And we just talked about stuff. Baseball. Comic books.”
He was lying, of course. They’d talked about him screwing up and greeting her like an old friend on the staircase. They’d talked about the way he dusted the opposition in last year’s state championship. And they’d laughed about Michael not being able to take a hint.
“So, she likes comic books? I knew it! I knew that I’d have so much in common with her. I just felt it. I felt this vibe from her. This meant-to-be thing.”
Michael stood and began to pace.
“I’m putting everything I’ve got into winning her over. And I want you to help me.”
Kenji wiped his forehead. It was damp. Very damp. “Why?”
“Why what? Why do I want to win her over?”
“Yea—yeah. I mean, why do you have to want her so bad?”
Michael shook his head. “Because she’s beautiful, Kenji! That hair. And those eyes. And she’s smart. I’m willing to bet she’s brilliant. And that’s the sort of woman I was meant to be with.”
He stopped pacing. “You know what, Kenji? I think I’m in love with her.”
“What? No! You can’t be.”
“Ohhh. I get it. You like her too, huh? A little boyhood crush?”
“No! God no. She’s like a sis— Listen, I don’t like her. Not the way you think.”
Kenji lowered his gaze to the stack of comics. God, where was Tak when he needed him?
“Besides, you barely even know her.”
Michael shrugged. “That’s why I need your help. I want you to help me get to know her. Everything I try seems wrong. I can’t make any progress. I need you to get in there and find out what she likes. You’re a kid. She’ll trust you. She’ll think you’re adorable.”
Kenji shook his head. “I can’t help you, Michael. I can’t talk to her, I can’t—”
“What do you mean, you can’t talk to her? You just spent the whole afternoon with her! Make her laugh again, then slip in a good word about me.”
Kenji closed his eyes. What could he say? Denying Michael this would cause him to wonder, to question. Yet, helping him would be betraying his brother. He needed a compromise. Or at least, the appearance of a compromise.
Kenji sighed. “Alright, Michael, alright. I’ll help you.”
After a robust breakfast of steak and eggs, Daichi and Deena retreated not to the study as she’d expected, but to the terrace to work. Donning a floppy straw hat, sundress and sandals, she followed Daichi out, amused once again by his casual attire. On this day, it was a crisp oxford, sleeves rolled up, tan chinos and a pair of Italian leather loafers. Daichi minus a jacket still looked strange.
He led her to what was undoubtedly the most impressive patio furniture she’d ever seen. Curved wicker benches of a deep espresso, padded with thick couture cushions, surrounded a round glass table adorned with bone china settings for four. An oversized umbrella in a soft cream shaded them. They had prime viewing of the private stretch of beach and the volleyball game Tak and John, Kenji and Mike were about to start.
Tak was shirtless, his bronzed, sturdy chest glistening under the morning sun. He ran a hand through his hair, damp with sweat and falling into his eyes. Deena exhaled.
“Are you a fan?”
She blinked. “A what?”
“A fan. Are you a fan of volleyball?”
H
e opened his briefcase, never taking his eyes off her.
“No. Well, not really.”
“Yet they seem to have your attention.”
“No, I was just—I was just thinking that someone should tell them not to play so soon after eating.”
“I see. Would you like to take a moment to do so?”
Deena blushed. “No. Of course not. We have work to do. And in any case, they should know better.”
Daichi nodded. “Agreed. Now let us get to work.”
They labored through lunch, triple checking their work as they snacked on finger sandwiches and sipped iced tea. Deena ignored her cell phone as it vibrated, certain it was her grandmother calling yet again. She had this annoying habit of making frantic calls when Deena was out of town. She turned her phone off and pushed through the sludge that was their work. And when Daichi set aside their stacks of paper and eyed Deena with interest, she stared back warily.
“Something on your mind, Daichi?”
“A curiosity. Unrelated to work.”
Now she was really nervous. “Okay.”
He cleared his throat. “I find you to be a capable architect, Deena—more than capable even. Talented, astute, driven. So my question to you is…what has consumed you so singularly?”
“Sir?”
Daichi nodded as if anticipating her confusion. “I should hardly expect your candor without offering you such accessibility.” He leaned back in his seat.
“My success as an architect was at the expense of my wife and children. There are times when the reality of that consumes me. It prompts me to toil, to accomplish more, as if said accomplishments can assuage the bitterness of my sacrifice. Therefore, I’ll ask you again. What has consumed you? What sacrifice have you made in the name of architecture that now requires such relentless commitment?”
She lowered her gaze. “Maybe I’m just ambitious.”
“You are. But you’re burdened as well.”
She swallowed. When she spoke, her eyes were on the crumb-laden dish before her, and not on her boss.
“When I went away to college my brother Anthony was eleven and my sister Lizzie, eight. They did all the things kids at that age liked to do. Anthony would draw and do puzzles, and Lizzie, well, Lizzie was content with finger painting and dolls.”
Crimson Footprints Page 22
