by Donna Hill
She wore a full-length red and gold kimono with a lavish gold sash that cinched her tiny waist. Her petite feet encased in gold silk slippers moved soundlessly across the floor. She stood before him and bowed.
“Brother Mioshi,” she said in greeting.
Mioshi bowed in return. “Sukihara.”
“How did your meeting go with Tasaka?” Reese asked as she prepared for bed. She selected a soft yellow teddy from the dresser.
“Very interesting to say the least,” Maxwell replied, unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s strange,” he said upon reflection, “but it was as if I knew him.”
Reese turned toward him and squinted her eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain,” he said struggling to find the right words. “He seems a lot like me.”
Reese chuckled. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. Mioshi Tasaka plays by the same rules I do. He gives nothing away and has every intention of keeping me in the hot seat.”
“Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full,” Reese added, sliding the teddy over her body.
“But there was something else, Reese,” he said as the thoughts formalized in his mind. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his black Italian loafers. “I felt some sort of…” he frowned, “a kinship.”
Reese crossed the room and sat down beside him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Maxwell let out a long breath. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “But I just felt something, some connection. I can’t put my finger on it. I just felt that I knew him and what’s more eerie, that he knew me. And not because of anything he’d read or had been told. It was in his eyes.”
“What did you see?” she asked in a hushed voice of concern.
He turned to face her, his gaze unwavering. “Recognition.”
“So brother, what is he like, my son?” Suki asked once they were behind closed doors.
Mioshi gingerly sat on the lounge chair of silk brocade, rested his cane against its ornate oak frame, and leaned back against the plush cushion before speaking. “Will you not even offer your only brother a cup of sake before we discuss your illegitimate son?” he asked in a clear voice, all traces of his feigned infirmity gone.
Sukihara smiled and nodded in compliance. She crossed the heavily carpeted room and took a tiny porcelain teacup from the bar and filled it with the powerful drink.
Mioshi thanked her, drank it down, and requested another. “Your son has grown to be a very formidable man,” Mioshi finally said, setting the cup down on the table next to him. “He is quick, decisive and has a keen business sense. All good qualities.”
“Is that all you saw?” she questioned, knowing that her brother was being intentionally evasive.
“What else was there to see?”
She cast him a long look from dark eyes identical to her son’s. “Why must we play these ambiguous games, Mioshi? We save those skills for the conference room. You know well what I mean. I’m not interested in his business skills. If he did not have them, he would not have gotten this far.”
Mioshi chuckled deep in his throat, mildly enjoying his sister’s annoyance. “Oh, do you mean does he look like you—like one of us?”
“If you know that is what I mean, then you should answer,” she stated in her mellifluent voice.
Mioshi smiled and took his cane, pushing himself to a standing position. “Perhaps you should see him for yourself to make that judgment.”
“He is not to know who I am, Mioshi,” she stated emphatically. She faced her brother with her hands folded in front of her.
“Do you think he will not find out once his company is established here?” he challenged. “Then what will become of you and your liaison with the governor?” His smile was taunt.
Sukihara knew the moment that she’d been told of Maxwell’s intention to set up operations in Tokyo, that her existence risked discovery. The governor had been her patron for more than twenty years. Although times in Japan had changed, he had not. Murayama Hosokawa was from the old school of thought. Japanese stayed with Japanese. Yes, geishas could entertain any man who was willing to pay for their services, but to indulge in an intimate relationship outside of your race was to disgrace yourself and your people. If Murayama were to discover that she’d been involved with James Knight, and had his son, he would withdraw his support and bring all the other politicians and businessmen with him. Even her brother’s far-reaching influence would not be enough to stop Murayama’s wrath. Her life as she knew it would come to an end, and this life was all that she had.
“Then you must not allow Maxwell to establish his business here,” she said in finality.
“My dear sister, you do not instruct me on how to run my business affairs and I will do the same for you.” He ambled slowly toward the door. “Your advice, however, is always welcome. And my advice to you okasan is to come to terms with your reality. Tomorrow night you will meet your son.”
Suki spend a sleepless night fraught with dreams of imminent disaster. She was well past the age of starting over. Even though many “mothers”—or older retired geishas—lived out their lives in nunneries or serving as advisors to the new mistress, these were not options for Suki.
For twenty years, she’d worked hard at mastering her skills of music, song and dance. She was fluent in English, French and Spanish. She’d held court to some of the most notable men across the globe. She’d performed for cabinet members. Her keen ear and insight into world events had garnered her the trust and respect of politicians and businessmen alike. Her career and her fortune were rivaled by none. Discovery could erase all of that as if it never existed.
Weary, Suki opened her tired ebony eyes and looked out onto the red sun, rising majestically over the mountaintops. Levels of iridescent orange and gold light shimmered in a hazy pattern across the horizon. The signal of a new day. The day that she would meet her son.
Her heart beat a bit faster as the idea settled heavily in her stomach. Laboriously, she rose from the downy comfort of her futon, pulling a white silk robe over her nude body. Walking silently across the room to the window, she pulled aside the white gossamer curtains and looked at her world.
So much had changed since she’d come to this place as an eager but rebellious fifteen-year-old, she mused languidly…
Ichitaro, the mistress of the house, had immediately taken to the high-strung teenager and was determined to make her the quintessential geisha. She saw limitless promise in the hauntingly beautiful Sukihara, and she set out to teach her everything she knew. After all, Suki was her own patron’s sister. And she would always do what she could to please Mioshi.
Suki was a brilliant student. She mastered her skills with ease and was a favorite among the okyakusama—or honored guests. Yet there seemed to be nothing that Ichitaro could do to contain Suki’s willful ways. She was headstrong and determined to do things the way she thought was best, which was more with her heart than with her brilliant mind. Suki was a pure romantic at heart, a quality that was not befitting the lifestyle of a geisha. Geishas did not have the option of falling in love. But Sukihara did just that anyway. She fell in love with James Knight.
Suki brushed away a stray strand of her lustrous black hair, tucking it securely behind her ear. As the sun slowly began to infuse the earth with light, she, too, became filled with memories of the past…
Ichitaro had been furious to find out that Suki was pregnant. More furious to discover that she actually fancied herself in love with the black soldier. Suki was immediately sent away to have her baby. She could only return to her former life if the child were a girl. The stigma of being the child of a geisha, and thus illegitimate, is felt far more keenly by male than by female children, Ichitaro had explained.
The cultural style of maleness in Japan dictated female subservience, at least on the surface. The refined nuances of service in which geishas are trained are not meant for men. As a result, life is extremely
hard on the egos of men who live within the geisha world.
The pampering of male egos, which is the cornerstone of geisha skills, does not extend to family. For males of geisha families, it is their mothers, sisters, daughters, or wives who are the leaders within that world in terms of actual work and socially recognized authority. This is probably the only place in Japanese society where the birth of a baby girl is more welcome than a boy.
When her son was born, Suki was torn between a mother’s love and the life that she longed to live. If she kept her child, she could not hope to aspire to run her own establishment. She could not subject her son to life within her world. Male children reared in a geisha community grew up resentful and displayed their ambivalence to their lifestyle by being wayward and profligate.
Suki wanted more than that for her beautiful son. When she looked down into his dark, inquisitive eyes, she knew he was destined for great things, and in order for that to happen she would have to let him go. She could never hope to have a real life outside. No respectable Japanese man would love and marry her. What was she to do?
During her six-month absence from Ichitaro’s house, she had not communicated with James and he was unaware that she’d borne him a son. Then one morning, Ichitaro came to visit her.
“It is time for you to return, Suki. The longer you stay with the child, the harder it will be to let him go.”
“But what should I do, mother? I cannot just leave him.”
From the sleeve of her kimono, Ichitaro removed a long, slim ivory-colored envelope. She handed it to Suki.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
Suki peeled open the envelope and removed the contents. Her dark sloping eyes widened in astonishment, then filled with tears. “Tickets to America? You are sending me away,” she cried. “But what will I do? I know no one…”
“Hush. You are to take the baby to this James Knight’s home. Give the baby to his wife.”
Suki’s skin heated with embarrassment.
“So you thought I did not know that your lover had a wife?” Sadly she shook her head. “Always the romantic, Sukihara. He will never leave his wife for you. You cannot adequately raise a boy child in our world. You have no other means of survival except with me. This is your only choice. You will give the woman her husband’s son and you will return and go on with your life. You, above all the other maiko, have the potential to run your own establishment someday.”
Suki lowered her gaze and knew that Ichitaro was right, even as her words broke her heart. “How did you know where to find his…wife?”
“My ears are always open. My friends are far and wide. My reach even farther. That is how I know.” She stepped closer to Suki and rested her hands on Suki’s shoulders. “One day you, too, will have all that I have at your disposal.”
And so Suki had done as she was instructed. She returned to Tokyo and devoted all of her energy and time into being what was expected of her, and became the most sought-after geisha in all of Tokyo.
Because of her notability, artistic skills, business acumen and extraordinary beauty, she’d come to the attention of Murayama Hosokawa, then a rising star in the Diet—the Japanese legislature. He had become her patron—or sole supporter and suitor. It was through and because of him that her own star continued to rise.
Sukihara closed the door to her past, cut off her letters of inquiry to Claudia and dedicated herself to her life, never again looking back.
She turned away from the window, her memories retreating as a dream upon first light. Now her past had returned to haunt her, and she was powerless to stop its pursuit.
Chapter 31
“My dinner meeting with Tasaka isn’t until later this evening,” Max said, stifling a yawn. He curled closer to Reese’s warm body. “I wanted to take you on a tour.” He kissed her behind her ear.
“Oh, I don’t have to beg this time?” she teased, turning on her side to face him.
“Very funny. I figured I’d give you a break. I hate to see a beautiful woman beg.” He grinned wickedly.
Reese pinched him hard on the behind until he yelped for mercy.
“Now that’s what I call beggin’!” She leaped up out of the bed, scurried into the bathroom and slammed the door, barely escaping Maxwell’s grasp.
“You’ve got to come out sometime,” Max called out, gingerly rubbing his right cheek.
“Be a man. You got what you deserved,” she taunted.
“I’ll show you how much of a man I can be when you step back out here, miss,” he threatened in a voice full of sensual promise.
Reese snatched open the door, grabbed him by the elastic band on his silk boxers and pulled him into the bathroom. The depth of her voice reached down to his groin and caressed him to pulsating life. “Well now, Mr. Knight, let’s just check out this man thang you were braggin’ about.” The hot coals, that were her eyes, raked over him.
The corner of Maxwell’s mustached mouth curved up into a devilish grin. He pushed the door shut behind him. “That’s the kind of challenge that makes a man do extraordinary things. And I have you to thank.” His head lowered. His mouth covered and captured hers.
“How can people drive in this madness?” Reese asked mesmerized by the crush of humanity. “I can’t believe this many people and this many cars can fit on any street. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Maxwell chuckled as Daisuke expertly maneuvered the car around pedestrians, cars, and trucks down the Ginza Yonchome crossing. “Just imagine, it’s not even rush hour.”
“Unbelievable.” She gazed again out of the window, watching the fashions, which covered the gamut from ultraconservative designer suits to punk-rock outfits to traditional Japanese garb. The famous thoroughfare was so vast it was like crossing the intersection of the world. It was a mixture of New York City’s west village, Washington, D.C.’s Georgetown and California’s Rodeo Drive, all done with Japanese elegance. Rows of elegant restaurants, boutiques, and nightspots dotted both sides of the street. Incredible, Reese thought. “Ooh, Max, look.” She pointed to a beautiful Japanese girl who looked to be no more than fifteen, dressed in full kimono, replete with face makeup and an elaborately styled black wig.
“Yeah, she’s probably on her way to work.”
“Dressed like that?” Reese peered closer and watched her progress. “She looks like those geishas I’ve seen in the movies, but she’s too young.”
“Not at all. Actually that’s about the right age. She’d be called a maiko.” He went on to explain the meaning and that most of the women who worked in the teahouses and restaurants lived elsewhere and commuted to work just like everyone else.
“Fascinating. I’d love to do a story on them one day. Most people are under the impression that geishas are no more than call girls.”
“That’s far from the truth. They receive professional training in music, song and dance and are well versed in the art of conversation. Traditionally, geishas were somewhat like indentured servants. Parents would turn their daughters over to the geisha house and the mistress would see to their room, clothing and training. Many of the geishas today are actually unionized.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” He grinned, enjoying her childlike wonder. “Although their numbers have dropped considerably since World War II, they’re still going strong. Geishas are an integral part of Japanese life.”
Reese let out a long breath. “You’ve certainly done your homework.”
“It’s all part of my life, too, Reese,” he stated in a thoughtful tone.
She angled herself in the seat to better face him. “Do you ever wish you knew more about your real mother?”
He looked away and paused for a long moment as if weighing the question. He breathed heavily. “At times,” he finally answered. “I guess more than just at times.” A wistful smile overtook his calm features. “Whenever I imagine her, I see this beautiful, exotic woman who took my father’s breath away.” His s
hort chuckle lacked humor. His mixed feelings about his mother were like old wounds that ached on a rainy day. Deep in his heart, he believed that knowing about her, that part of him that made him who he was, would somehow complete the picture, make him three-dimensional. And at the same time, he was afraid of knowing. Maybe there was some dreadful reason why his father refused to discuss her with him. “But maybe she wasn’t like that at all,” he ended like a little boy who’d discovered there was no Santa.
Reese reached out and clasped his hand in hers, understanding all too well what not knowing did to a person’s sense of who they were. “Both of us seem to be on some sort of quest,” she began with a hesitant smile. “Maybe it’s time we both found the answers we’ve been looking for. I’d like to help you. If you’ll let me.”
From the moment the idea had taken shape in his thoughts, he’d wanted to ask for help. But she’d been so enmeshed in her own problems and constant disturbing revelations, he never believed that the opportunity would present itself, or that he would feel right asking her to take on any more. And now, here she was in the midst of her own turmoil, thinking of him. The sincere generosity of this woman touched his heart and drew him deeper under her spell.
“Are you sure this is something you want to do, Reese?”
Yes. I’m sure,” she answered without hesitation, squeezing his hands to assure him.
A fleeting sensation of doubt darted through him. “All right.”
For the next two hours they visited the locations that Maxwell had selected for his sites. Currently they were abandoned buildings in up-and-coming commercial areas.
“I think these locations will be perfect,” Maxwell said after they’d left the last building.
“So do I, but it’s going to take a lot of work. Those buildings will need a complete overhaul to bring them up to the standards of New York and L.A.”
