by Pam Richter
"There now, we can sit in front of the fire. You'll be toasty warm in a minute."
Omar indicated a couch on a white fluffy rug by the fire and they sat down. Michelle looked at his face in the firelight. The dark eyebrows were arched expressively and he was looking at her expectantly. His eyes were exceedingly black. She felt again that he could see into her very soul. It was not a nice feeling.
The tea had a spicy taste of cinnamon and nutmeg, with a touch of lemon, and Michelle felt the welcome warmth moving all the way down to her stomach. She felt she had to explain why she had her boss, Nakamura, at her apartment the night before. She didn't want him to think she was promiscuous.
As she was explaining about Nakamura, Michelle could hear a telephone ringing from behind a closed door off of the living room. Someone must have picked it up, or an answering machine did. Then the enormous, scary looking giant, Samson Stoker, came from that room. He stood in the doorway, appearing apologetic. Behind Samson, Michelle could see that the room was filled with business equipment, computers, faxes and file cabinets. She wondered what Omar did for a living as he apologized, saying he had to take care of a business matter.
When Omar disappeared inside the home office, she wondered how the two men communicated. Samson had just looked at Omar and he seemed to understand immediately that there was business to attend to.
Michelle could hear what sounded like a garbled argument from inside the office. Since Samson was unable to speak, she knew it was Omar yelling at someone on the phone. It sounded like he was talking in rapid Spanish for a long time. When his voice softened, the sound was menacing.
Omar opened the door to the living room. He was faced away from her, talking softly to Samson, but Michelle could hear him. "If they're late again on a shipment from Columbia, we'll close down their business. He must have used it all himself, if he can't pay. And he knows the consequences. You can travel to Bogota, if it becomes necessary."
Michelle felt a sharp tingle of alarm zip down her spine. Omar had momentarily demonstrated an icy demeanor she had never seen before, because he had now closed the door to his office and was coming toward her, smiling charmingly. She wondered if Samson was his muscle. It almost sounded like Omar had made a death threat. Maybe he was a drug dealer, if he was receiving shipments from Columbia.
If the man Omar had been speaking to on the telephone had used the shipment himself, he must have ingested it or cheated Omar by selling it himself. How else could he use it?
Michelle decided she was out of her mind, planning to let Omar touch her intimately. She was totally uninformed about him. It would be crazy to go through with her plan tonight. With that thought came a feeling of complete, profound relief. Of course, the next thought was that she must really be mentally imbalanced because Omar was such a beautiful and charming man.
Omar took her arm and pulled her up from the couch, smiling, and said he wanted to show her his Whirlybird. He led her outside the condominium, through sliding glass doors, and to the platform where he kept the fragile looking machine. She had never even been close to a helicopter before. It looked like a high-tech insect, and totally incapable of flight.
"Shall we take a ride?"
Michelle was unaware that she was grinning as he helped her climb in.
Omar explained how the machine worked as he took off, pulling up on the collective pitch stick with his right hand. He demonstrated how he could hover, move forward, backwards and sideways by controlling the angle of the rotor blades.
It was such a fun, exhilarating experience, listening to the whirling thump move faster and faster and then the smooth liftoff, watching Omar fly that machine, sitting beside him and zipping around the beautiful island of Oahu, that she decided she was going to let him seduce her. That was that.
As they reentered the apartment there was a discrete knock on the front door. Omar ushered in two men wearing spotless white uniforms. They carried enough silver covered dishes to feed a large crowd in white gloved hands. Wonderful aromas wafted into the room as the caterers placed the covered platters on the table, lit the candles, and then left.
"I hope you like Chinese food," Omar said. "It's a combination of Szechuan and Mandarin, prepared by one of the finest restaurants in the islands." Omar seated her at the formal candle-lit table in the dining room. "I do this at least once a week instead of going out to eat."
Omar served her a portion from each bowl and handed her ivory chopsticks. He handled the beautifully carved utensils expertly, like he had been doing it all his life. The food was delicious and Michelle could feel herself relaxing. When she discreetly tried to find out Omar's occupation he kept changing the subject, putting more food in her plate or asking her questions about her own work. She still didn't know anything about him.
The food had warmed Michelle up some more, but the air temperature seemed even more chilly. Goose-bumps were sprouting on her arms but she put it down to her own psychosomatic problems. She was feeling cold because she was apprehensive. Omar suggested she try another tea after dinner. At least he hadn't had the bad taste to suggest anything alcoholic.
They moved to the couch in front of the fire again. Michelle knew the seduction would start in a few minutes. She fiercely longed to be out of there, afraid she couldn't go through with it. Her heart was thumping much too fast and she wanted to run, screaming out the door. She would live a virginal life forever. It was an okay way to exist. She would never get a horrible venereal disease and she could adopt pets to keep her company in her old age. She couldn't have children anyway. Yes, abstinence was the intelligent way to go.
Michelle sat perfectly still and concentrated on making air go in and out of her nose. Omar handed her a cup of tea and she had that to concentrate on too; she could stir it, swirl it and sip, putting off the inevitable, but when she tasted the tea it was distinctly licorice and she almost spit it back into the cup reflexively. She had hated licorice ever since Bobby, her brother, had dared her to eat an entire package of Licorice Twists when she was ten years old. She remembered her mother holding her head over the toilet, later, when she had regurgitated the entire thick black mess. Ever since that incident she couldn't even stand the smell. To be polite, she went through the motions of pretending to drink.
Oh shit, Michelle thought, as she saw him deliberately put down his cup. He said she didn't seem to be enjoying her tea and she said, yes she was, it was delicious, and took a tiny sip. She felt like throwing up. Really, if he didn't hurry up, do it and get it over with, she might really throw up all over him. The tea made her nauseous.
Oh God, he was sliding nearer. This felt so alien, his hands giving her electric shocks on her arms as he pulled her next to him. Jolts went zipping down her arms, a nasty buzzing feeling that jangled nerve endings. She tried to pull away, but he was oblivious and started stroking the back of her neck. She could hear tiny electrical sizzles in her hair.
Michelle gritted her teeth and remembered she had made a solemn promise to herself. To both of them, because Omar was certainly aware that this would happen tonight. Of course, she had to expect the first time, after such a long abstinence, would be scary. The problem was, she was repulsed by the whole situation. She was uncomfortable and nervous and her brain repeatedly, annoyingly reminded her that she didn't know this man at all.
Omar was being gentle and she repeated to herself, like a litany, that he was a nice man who didn't want to hurt her. She forced herself to slide closer to him. His hands were moving up to her shoulders. The electrical charges were not shocking her anymore. It must have been the cool air that had caused the phenomenon.
Michelle forced herself to put her arms around his neck. His hair felt crispy and alive when she touched it. The back of his neck was warm, but the hands on her back were freezing, making her shiver.
Omar must have felt the shiver. He murmured something about her being very responsive. Michelle was so surprised she made the mistake of opening her eyes. She could see his face inches from hers, his eyes
appeared to be the whole universe. The impression that his eyes could suck the soul out of her was a little exaggerated, she chided herself, but they were black and exotic up close. And wide open. She again had the impression that there were no pupils. The total eyeball, from inches away, appeared consistently black.
She closed her eyes and willed herself relaxed again, telling herself she was a pathetic chicken-shit, a lily-livered coward. Every time Omar took his hand away from a physical part, and then replaced it, she got an electrical jolt. Finally she had to mention it.
"Yin and Yang," Omar said, kissing the side of her neck. His lips were freezing, too.
"Pardon?"
"It means we are truly opposites."
Michelle pushed him away and sat up. "I don't understand."
"It's natural. Nothing to be alarmed about. You are truly a good, sweet person."
Then he started the assault again.
Did he mean he wasn't a nice person, or that he was male and she was female and that was the yin and the yang? Michelle didn't know much about Oriental philosophy, but she tried to remember as his hands drifted over her. It was a distancing ploy, her mind trying to analyze when it should be turning off and concentrating on physical sensation.
This whole thing was taking much too long, Michelle decided finally. She wanted it over and done with. She had to stop being so scared. Gently disengaging from Omar, she took the pins out of her hair and let it fall softly down her back. Then she started taking off her blouse, telling Omar that she had been injured with a knife. She had a scar. He nodded, but didn't say anything.
Michelle's fingers were trembling. Something about the whole thing seemed unnatural, even inhuman. She had a deep feeling that she should not be doing this, which had nothing to do with old-fashioned guilt. She was a mature woman with several affairs in her past. But there was something wrong. Something alien and evil.
Omar was helping her, the tiny slippery pearl buttons on her silk blouse no mystery to him. His fingers were long as a spider's, but they were nimble. He was helping her out of her silk lounging pants.
Omar reached over and pulled her against him again. She felt totally unresponsive, like a wooden doll he was manipulating. Now she was shaking and could feel tears running down her cheeks. She couldn't understand why she felt so sad, but knew that she had to get out of there.
"I'm truly sorry. I just can't do this," Michelle said. He still held her, looking down into her eyes. She thought she saw worms wiggling in the reflection from his eyes. She thought she saw swarms of insects within the depths.
"Give yourself a little time. Have some more tea."
Michelle shook her head and wiped away the tears on her cheeks.
Omar sat and watched her without expression as she put on her clothes. When he spoke, it was totally without emotion. "Perhaps I rushed you? There's no need to do anything tonight. Maybe we can see each other tomorrow evening."
"I don't know," Michelle said. The awareness of what would happen tonight had been an understanding implicit between them, almost like a disavowed promise she had made, to him and to herself. She felt like a failure.
"The scar doesn't detract from your beauty," Omar said.
Michelle smiled at him sadly.
Later that night she cried herself to sleep. What she had feared was finally proven true. She would never be a normal woman again.
Omar paced the living room for a few minutes like a caged animal as he waited for the arrival of his vassal, Ginger. He had called her, the second night in a row, for the purpose of ridding himself of the sexual tension created by Michelle.
This woman, Michelle, was proving more of a problem than he had anticipated. Usually women melted after a ride in his helicopter.
He had to soften her up. And what better way to do so than with a darling, innocent pet?
CHAPTER 13
Michelle heard the early-morning knock and opened the door, bleary eyed, expecting Heather with her empty coffee cup. Instead, Omar was standing in her doorway, impeccable as usual. Michelle felt disheveled and messily unattractive in an old robe covering her pajamas, with no makeup and her hair tied in the ponytail she wore at night.
"Good morning." His smile was calculatingly brilliant, but she missed it entirely because she was looking at an adorable kitten. It was fuzzy white with a tiny pink triangular nose. The eyes were like blue porcelain, the whiskers and eyelashes coal black.
"This little guy is Lucifer," Omar said. "I'm only going to be gone one night. I was wondering if you could take care of him?"
Omar smiled because Michelle was already reaching out her arms.
"I'll be at work all day." Michelle petted the tiny creature, who was rubbing his head under her hand.
"He's used of my absence during the day. But I worry when I'm gone all night."
After Omar left, Michelle carried the kitten into the kitchen along with a bag of cat food Omar had provided. "Are you hungry, Lucifer? Maybe a nice saucer of milk. You couldn't be more than a few weeks old with all that darling fuzzy hair."
Michelle continued talking to the cat as she took milk out of the refrigerator and warmed it, testing every few seconds with her finger. Lucifer prowled the floor. His tiny tail lashed back and forth as he daintily sniffed the milk. He swatted the dish.
"Okay," Michelle said, wiping up the spill. "Maybe Omar feeds you something else."
She looked into the paper bag, examining a plastic bowl inside. It contained some kind of organ meat, like liver. It looked bloody and smelled strange but Michelle put some in a bowl. Omar had advised her not to cook it, but it was raw and revolting so she put it in the microwave.
Lucifer whacked the dish across the kitchen floor with a dainty paw.
Michelle finally put the raw stuff in another bowl, wondering why Heather hadn't arrived. She was usually here by six. As Michelle watched the miniature cat eat, laughing at how it growled furiously, shaking each piece in his mouth, and then ravenously gobbled it, she called Heather. Again, no answer."If you're getting laid, I hope you eventually exhaust yourself and call your answering machine. I'm getting worried."
Michelle practiced karate for an hour, really working up a sweat, while the tiny kitten watched her with unblinking, concentrated attention, like a serious owl. Then she tried Heather again before showering and changing for work.
"You better call me soon. You have to come over and see this kitten Omar gave me for the night. It's darling, but it doesn't play. Just sits and watches me. Anyway, call me at work. We have to talk. I'm moving to Japan."
Michelle thought that message would impel Heather to respond, but when she looked at her watch later, at the office, it was almost one in the afternoon. Really worried, she decided to use her lunch hour to go back to the condominium and use the key Heather had given her. They had traded keys ages ago, for emergency purposes. Nether had an occasion to use the other's before. But Heather had sustained a serious concussion. Now she was missing.
Nakamura popped into her office. "If you haven't eaten yet, let's get lunch. I want to tell you about living in Japan and your new position."
When Michelle explained why she wanted to go back to her apartment building, Nakamura insisted on driving her. They could talk on the way and pick up a sandwich.
Nakamura escorted her into a big black Lincoln limousine in the parking garage and got behind the wheel. "I hate these enormous boats. Heroshi insists, for insurance reasons. Also, I love racing cars. My boss won't let me near a little sports car when I travel on business." He propelled out of the underground parking lot at breakneck speed, skidding around curves in enormous controlled four-wheeled slides, into warm Hawaiian sunshine. Michelle laughed and held on.
"I haven't even visited the beach this trip."
"Because of all the disasters in my department," Michelle murmured.
"That's okay. But it's very strange. Almost like all the buildings got bewitched or something, the way everything happened at once. Which reminds me.
You'll have to find a replacement for your job here."
Michelle nodded. She had to face the realities of moving to a foreign country and finding a place to live, when she hardly spoke the language. It was suddenly daunting.
"Don't worry about where to live at first," Nakamura said, almost as though he had read her thoughts, driving from the downtown area toward Waikiki, scaring the tourists. "Heroshi owns several condominiums. You can live in one of them until you get to know the Tokyo area."
When he quoted her new salary Nakamura laughed at her astonishment. "Even without paying rent, Tokyo is one of the most expensive cities to live in, in the world. Your salary is nice, but not as outrageous as it sounds."
Michelle sat in silence, digesting the information Nakamura imparted about living in the Japanese culture. He thought she would be fine because she had beautiful manners and spoke softly. She'd been learning the language, but decided she would have to be much more diligent, even though most of the people working for Heroshi spoke English. Nakamura said he thought she should make the move in a couple of weeks.
When they arrived at her building, Michelle took Nakamura to her own apartment to wait while she went to check Heather's. As they entered Michelle's apartment, the tiny white cat, Lucifer, was at the door. He backed away from them as they entered. He was growling and spitting. The kitten's back was hunched up and his tail swished back and forth as he retreated before them.
"This is my neighbor's kitten. I'm taking care of him for the night." Michelle was surprised at the cat's hostile behavior.
"I don't think the cat likes..." was all Nakamura got out. The diminutive cat had pounced on his shoe and was furiously pulling on his shoe strings with tiny sharp teeth. Then the cat ran straight up his leg, using it's sharp claws for purchase, as though climbing a tree.
"Lucifer!" Michelle, shocked, reached to grab the kitten, but he had made his way up the jacket of Nakamura's business suite and was staring right into his eyes. The kitten spit directly in his face. That was staggering enough, but the cat also started a high pitched howling yowl, like a female cat in heat, as though preparing to attack.
