“So,” Lizzie said loudly, suddenly preoccupied with her drink, “have you seen him?”
“Seen who?”
“My nephew. Have you seen him, yet?”
“No. They’re at Disney just now. Took Mia out of school for a few days and everything.”
More silence.
“He’ll have a good life with Deena and your brother. They’ve got money. All his problems are over.”
“Money doesn’t solve all your problems, Lizzie.”
“No,” she agreed. “Just the ones that count.” She smiled. “So, Mr. Tanaka, we talked about my first time. What about yours?”
“What?”
“Your first time. Tell me about it.”
Kenji waited. She couldn’t possibly expect him to . . .
She did.
He could ignore her, he supposed. But at the same time, he felt the burden of what she’d told him, the guilt of suddenly wanting to be impersonal when he had no qualms about trampling through her history a second ago.
“There’s . . . nothing really to tell,” he said.
She continued to stare.
Kenji sighed.
“Okay. I was in high school. I dated a girl, off and on from the end of junior year till the end of senior. We’d talk about doing it sometimes.” He blushed with the memory of begging. “And eventually we did.”
“And?”
“And she said she loved me. It kind of weirded me out. So, I broke up with her.”
“You broke up with her because she loved you?”
“I broke up with her because it wasn’t mutual.”
Dinner arrived.
“God in hell, what is this?” Lizzie demanded as the waiter set a plate before her.
“Seafood salad,” Kenji said. “There’s shrimp, clams, oysters, mussels, scallops, calamari, chunks of crab, and lobster.” He hesitated. “You don’t have a shellfish allergy, do you?”
Why hadn’t he thought to ask that? He was always screwing up, not thinking things through and—
She looked up. “How would I know?”
“Because you’d die.” He shook off the odd question. “You have had seafood before, right?”
“There was shrimp at Deena’s wedding, remember? Oh, and I’ve had catfish. But that’s it.”
He didn’t feel like explaining why catfish wasn’t shellfish. Instead, he pushed her plate closer. “Eat. I think you’ll like it.”
She stabbed a shrimp and dumped it in her mouth.
“Spicy,” she said, chewing.
“Order something else if you don’t like it.”
“No, it’s good. Real good. I’m surprised.”
“You know,” Kenji said as he prodded his steak, “if you think about it, you’re pretty inexperienced in a way.”
Lizzie laughed. “Oh, I doubt that.”
“Well, I don’t know. Let’s see. Have you ever had a man say he loved you? Make love to you? Say he felt lacking, incomplete without you?”
Lizzie’s smile faded.
“That’s stupid. Fake. Something for TV.”
“How would you know?”
“Have you ever felt that way?” she demanded. “About a girl?”
“Nope.”
“Then how can you know it’s real?”
“Because I’ve seen it before, that’s how.”
It was she who looked away first.
“Whenever I bring Mia here,” he said, “she always gets a hamburger, even though there are a thousand things on the menu.” He sawed at his own steak in irritation. “Maybe I should have, too.”
“I wish I could see her,” Lizzie said softly. “But they don’t let me. They say I’m a bad influence.”
“You are.”
He bit the steak. Regretted it.
Halfheartedly, Lizzie stuck her fork in fleshy white calamari and swigged it in pepper sauce.
“I wouldn’t—”
The calamari dislodged from her fork and her face pinched in frustration.
“I wouldn’t show her that part of me.”
“Which part? The drugs or the dangerous men that pay you for sex part?”
“I would keep her away—”
“Away from what?” he cried.” The guy you answer to? The pimp who’s a known rapist of children? The guy who taught you that?” He jabbed his fork in the direction of furious black lines snaking her arm, only thinly veiled in foundation. “What’s it take for you to break? For you to promise your soul and hers? A line of coke? An eightball?” He shook his head vehemently, cooked to a sizzle with fury. “God only knows what you’d do should you get desperate enough for a high.”
He hadn’t meant to make her cry, had no idea when she’d started, but it was only with the faint acknowledgment of streaming tears that his anger abated.
She bolted from the table, upending her chair and another at her back, before fleeing from the covered portico out into the street. He couldn’t say what compelled him to talk that way to her, when he could scarcely remember having occasion to raise his voice to anyone, ever, let alone to purposely hurt them. Yet he got a grim satisfaction in hurting the girl who’d hurt Tak and Deena, and inadvertently hurt him, it seemed. And still, he needed to go after her.
Kenji dug in his pocket, threw a fifty on the table, started off and returned with a wad of ones. Lizzie was halfway across the street, too slow in too-tall heels. She halted near a bus stop, scowling and purposely looking through him. There was no bench or shading, so she would have to stand, holding on to a pole for relief. When he got close enough to directly block her line of sight, she folded her arms and made a point of looking the other way. Kenji stopped before her.
“Look. I’m not sorry,” he said. “So, if it’s an apology you want, you can forget it.”
She turned on him with the rage of a tsunami. “I would never hurt Mia! I would never let this happen to her! I’d kill myself first if that’s what it took!”
Kenji took in the whole of her wrath. She trembled, fists balled, tears threatening once again.
“Lizzie—”
“You can call me a whore. You can me worthless. A junkie. All that’s true. But what you can’t say is that I don’t love my niece.” She turned away from him.
“Lizzie—”
“Go away.”
“Lizzie, come on. You’re not worthless. You just . . .”
“Just what?”
Just spent the last decade of your life being victimized by a pedophile and rapist, he wanted to say. But he knew he’d gone far enough for one night. Kenji shot a look behind him, where Ocean Drive unraveled to a series of all-night, waterfront nightclubs. Already, the pulse of the club beats wafted out to him.
“You just can’t dance, I’ll bet,” he said.
She shot him a suspicious look.
“What?”
“You heard me. You can’t dance.”
She folded her arms.
“And you can?”
“Better than you. Especially in those shoes.”
Lizzie scowled at the challenge, brows furrowing as she looked him over. “Well, there’s one way to see.”
Kenji started off, certain she’d follow.
As they moved together later, oblivious to night becoming dawn just outside club doors, it turned out she was a better dancer than him, though she’d never been to a nightclub before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After Tak helped Tony pack for the trip, he gave him a proper tour of his new home while they waited on the girls.
There were more trees in front of the house than Tony had ever seen outside a forest. For some reason, the Tanakas seemed intent on keeping their house hidden, like the slight of eye magicians like to use. Jutting and not jutting, their house split down the middle with a waterfall, wasting water all the day long. Tak assured him the water was reused over and over in some sort of natural process, but Tony’s mind began to wander with the explanation. He hadn’t a care in the world for the water itself, excep
t, he thought it looked pretty cool. He could imagine what his mother would’ve said about the water bill, though.
Tak and Deena were another species from her altogether it turned out. Tony’s mom would always worry that someone could see in the house, but the Tanakas, hell, they hoped for it. There were windows everywhere, floor to ceiling on the bottom landing; sunroofs on the top. There were places where glass wrapped the house in big sheets, exposing them where the trees didn’t block. Funny, Tony thought, how poor people tried to hide the little stuff they had and the rich put theirs on display.
The Tanaka backyard, as impressive as a football field, stood lush with greenery. It dropped off to a dock, where a shiny white yacht treaded in water, Darling painted on the side. Even as the backyard unraveled before him in some fanciful rendition of a child’s fairy tale, complete with brightly colored foliage, a mountainous swimming pool and slide, and an outdoor juice bar, there was only one item that could hold Tony’s attention. He looked from it to Tak in disbelief. He remembered the yachts teetering in Lake Michigan and how he’d thought of freedom, of sailing on a lake for hours on end. But as Tony took in the length and height of the Darling, an ultra-elegant and white polished beauty, his gaze turned to the bay spilling out into the Atlantic. He could only think one thing: those people didn’t know shit about being a Tanaka.
“Boat got your eye, huh?” Tak said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s beautiful,” Tony said.
“Good,” Tak said. “We’ll go sailing, real soon.”
Something in Tony’s belly did a pivot. This was what his mom used to call a “shit steak”; when a surge of bad luck turned to good, when shit turned to sirloin right before you.
“And when you’re older, I’ll show you how to sail, like my dad did me.”
Sirloin? It was filet mignon with a fat piece of bacon wrapped around it, just like on TV.
~*~
Tak and Deena had a vacation home at the resort, a three-bedroom waterfront cottage at Disney’s Boardwalk Villa. During the drive up, Deena bought the Florida resident tickets over the phone and arranged with Human Resources to be out of work for the week. She knew Kenji would be relieved.
Despite Mia and Tony’s insistence that they visit the Magic Kingdom the night of their arrival, Deena ordered pizza and a movie and made them settle instead. They would rise early and start out for the park, but that evening they would just enjoy each other’s company.
Tony’s lack of fussiness bothered Deena. When they bought clothes, whatever she and Tak picked up was just right for him. When they ordered pizza, whatever toppings they chose were just right for him. And the next day, as they planned their route at the park, whatever rides they wanted to try were just fine by him.
Tak told her not to push it, that it was a matter of him getting comfortable. Once he did, he reasoned, they would know what he really wanted and didn’t want. Until then, they’d just have to guess. But since Deena was so worried that Tony might not enjoy himself, Tak insisted they try all the rides.
They spent Monday in the Magic Kingdom, reining Mia in as she tried to dominate all choices as the once supreme and only child. She wanted Snow White’s Scary Adventures, a Mad Teacup ride, a view of the parade, and a visit to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique, all at once. Deena fussed at her, but Tak was always of the mind to give her whatever she wanted.
Partway through the day, when Deena took Mia for her customary princess makeover, Tak dragged the severely grown-up Tony down to The Pirates League, where they both returned made over as swashbucklers. While Tak wasn’t the type to usually get into costume, it had been a must to persuade Tony that as an eleven-year-old, he was not too old for the treat. All in all, a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and Mickey Mouse pancakes at the Contemporary Resort, four hours of rides, a hurried lunch of hamburgers and chicken fingers, and five more hours of rides, meant that they returned to their room with a whining, fussy, and disheveled Mia and the rest near-dead.
Deena made sure the kids showered as Tak ordered takeout. Junk again, she noted in dismay. This night the kids ate in silence, never bothering with a movie, before collapsing into bed at ten thirty. Tak tucked Mia in, while Deena stood by impotently, trying to make sure Tony had everything he needed. Eventually, she found the courage to come closer.
He smiled up at her as she pulled back the covers and allowed him to slip in. Golden eyes weighty, he watched as she pulled the red quilt up high on his shoulders and smoothed it out with a hand.
“You’re tucking me in,” he said, eyes droopy, still smiling. “I thought that only happened on TV.”
“Not exclusively,” she murmured and bit back a smile. Gingerly, she sat on the edge of the bed.
“No ‘good night’?” he said.
“I’m not ready to leave you, just yet.”
He was so Anthony, she thought, right down to the smile, and she had to stop herself from needing to touch his face, endlessly.
“You look so much like him,” she whispered.
“I know,” Tony said, eyes fluttering closed.
“Thank you,” Deena said.
He snored in response.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lizzie ambled from the drop-top Audi, heels in her hands and sunrise at her back, aware of the stares that followed. Mike, who sold shit-quality crack on her block, eyed her with a smirk. Pooch, the wig-skewed drag queen who camped out nightly on Lizzie’s stoop, shifted to one side, allowing her a wide enough berth to cross.
“Don’t forget to give Snow his cut,” Pooch jeered and jabbed the cigarette in her mouth.
“Fuck you,” Lizzie said and ventured into the hall.
Up three stories and through a series of locks she went. She found Kit at home and working.
A massive, muscle-laden and tattooed guy had her knees pinned to her shoulders and fucked like he could’ve drilled a hole in the floor with only a little extra effort.
Lizzie ventured into the kitchenette, turned on the faucet, and waited for the water to run clear as she searched for a cup. Big Gulp in hand, she filled it and took her drink to the windowsill. There was only one other place to sit and that was the bed.
The black guy put Kit on all fours, like Lizzie knew he would. He was an obvious ex-con with a shitload of tattoos sheathing him like a shirt. They ran dark and near black, others faded to extinction. She could make out the mark of her brother’s old gang among them.
Kit began to scream, ringing like some ragged old church bell striking noon in the day. She shot peals through Lizzie’s head, shrieks of false ecstasy meant to bolster his ego and make for a quick finish. They were thumping, insistent, agonizing, and discordant, causing her to heave open the lone window and hang her head out in relief.
How many times she’d sat by and busied herself as Kit worked she didn’t know. In turn, her roommate had done the same, sitting by as the need required. But as Lizzie looked out on a strewn-laden alley, with a tire, cigarette butts, and needles below, a dirt-ridden, limping, and pale black man slumped over to a far wall, curled up, and slipped something in his mouth. Lizzie turned away.
It rang cruel that she should come back, back to the seedy existence of a whore, with the taste of salted butter and lobster on her tongue and her hair still windswept from dancing. Foremost in her mind was an image of Kenji, catcalling and howling at her slightest careen, beating off imaginary suitors on the dance floor, and professing her to be the very source of rhythm.
It was all a tease, she knew. After all, a man with money, style, and a smile both broad and bottomless, could have his choice of women, or a stable should he choose. And in choosing, she would wager that there would be no high school dropouts or heroin-addicted whores to blush at the smiles of Kenji Tanaka.
For the first time, Lizzie felt poor, inept; inadequate as a woman. She didn’t know what was expected of her, or how to deliver it. Suddenly, she wanted more than the knowledge of how to please a man physically. She wanted to know how best to amuse
him, indulge him, intrigue him, make him smile. But she didn’t know any of those things.
And it bothered her.
A lot.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kenji stared out at the blue waters of Biscayne Bay, hating the feel of being holed up in an office. He couldn’t understand how people like Deena made work their life, when things like baseball and sailing, television and sex existed. Work didn’t even come close to making a list like that.
An overcast sky threatened rain as Kenji turned away from the window. He went back to his desk, weary of the message boards, done with the social networking, having read all the news and still wondering what he could do.
He pulled a magazine from his desk, Brickell Today. It was one of those high-end glosses that catered to local rich people. He flipped through it, though for what, he had no idea. He couldn’t even remember picking it up, yet he must’ve, because he’d found it in his desk.
There was a knock at his door and he looked up, surprised. He rarely got visitors.
Kenji got up, opened it, and smiled at the sight of the accountant from downstairs. A delicate beauty with silky black hair, saucer brown eyes, and a little ski-jump of a nose, thin with slight curves, Kenji knew she jogged seven days a week and read poetry in her spare time.
“Hi,” she said softly. Her lashes were long and thick, blinking as she spoke.
“Paige.”
Even her name sounded good. He leaned against the door jamb in an effort to look cool. “How are you? Great, by the looks of you,” he said.
Too much, Kenji thought; tone it down.
She smiled.
“I was just nearby and wanted to say hi. So, ‘hi.’”
“Hi.”
Had his voice gone off pitch? God, he hoped not.
“I liked the concert,” she said.
She didn’t like the concert. He knew that by the way she kept wincing when they cursed. But she was hot, and he hadn’t been laid in six months, so he went along with the lie.
“Great. We should go out again. Maybe you could pick this time.”
Her eyes brightened with the dangled treat. “There’s an art showing downtown. A week from Thursday, I think. Seems like I remember reading that your brother’s work would be on display. We could do that.”
Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings Page 6
