Grannie Panties Are UnderRated

  More specifically, sex with a man.

  Underrated. Most definitely underrated.

  Mitch considered Kenji’s dark ruffled hair and smooth skin. He had never seen, let alone felt, skin so soft, so perfect. Mitch was happy. Complete.

  It’s about fucking time.

  Mitch chuckled. Fucking time. Given the circumstances, that was a funny way to think of it. He’d have to share that little nugget with Elle. She’d appreciate the humor. Mitch couldn’t wait to talk to her. Finally, he could have a real conversation about sex! Elle would savor every last detail with him.

  Mitch looked around and, for the first time, took in the details of the love hotel room. He had been too drunk and too horny the night before to notice anything other than Kenji’s slender hips.

  Although he and Elle had often talked about renting a love hotel room just to see what they were all about, it was Mitch’s first time in one. Like hostess clubs, love hotels were a singularly Japanese idea—rooms could be rented by the hour with complete anonymity. Patrons simply put yen in a slot in exchange for a room key. Higher-end love hotels, such as this one, were often extravagantly decorated.

  This room had an “Under the Sea” theme. There was a large aquarium filled with colorful fish making up an entire wall. Paintings of more fish and other sea life adorned the adjacent walls and ceiling. Elle had done a perfect job in choosing this room. It was brilliant in its tackiness.

  Mitch looked over at Kenji—he was curled up in a ball, still sleeping soundly. He looked adorable. Mitch wanted to kiss him. Was that appropriate? He wasn’t sure. This was his first rodeo.

  Should I wake him?

  Mitch leaned over and gently ran his fingers through Kenji’s hair. Kenji stirred from sleep and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  Unsure of what to do, Mitch patted Kenji on the head, immediately regretting it as a lame move. Kenji wasn’t a cat.

  Kenji didn’t seem offended. He snuggled up affectionately next to Mitch.

  Oh, man. This is great.

  Should he say something? What? Mitch was rarely at a loss for words, but he was in uncharted territory. This was terrifying. Delicious and wonderful, but terrifying. Mitch realized he had no game. Flustered, he blurted out, “Did you have fun last night?”

  Did you have fun last night? Seriously? What a moronic thing to say. He might as well have said, “How was I?” Kenji would surely know this was his first time.

  Kenji brushed his hand along Mitch’s cheek and looked at him earnestly. “Yes. I’m many funny.”

  This wasn’t quite the response Mitch was expecting, but he loved it all the same. Everything about Kenji was perfect. Mitch could melt in his chestnut brown eyes. Oh, to make out with him again. He should go brush his teeth.

  Kenji scratched at his head and furrowed his brow, like he had just thought of something unpleasant.

  Fuck! My breath must be rank. Mitch covered his mouth with his hand, embarrassed.

  “You remember last night I tell you Erre?” Kenji looked solemn.

  “About Elle? No . . .” Mitch didn’t know what he was talking about. He had been incredibly shit-faced the night before, and all he could think of was being alone with Kenji.

  “I see her last night. She is kissing tall man from Brazil.”

  Mitch abruptly sat up, immediately concerned. “What? Elle was kissing one of the soccer players?”

  “Hai. Hai. I think she very drunk.”

  Shit. This could be really bad. “Was Tak there?”

  Kenji nodded his head and nervously bit his lower lip.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Mitch sprang out of bed and reached around frantically for his clothes, dressing as quickly as he could. Even if Elle refused to acknowledge it, Mitch saw the truth about Mr. Pink: he was a full-on scumbag. Mitch suspected he was dealing and had a strong inkling there was even more bad shit that went down in the back rooms of Samantha’s. How could Elle have been so fucking stupid as to make out with another guy in his club? Tak’s ego was too big to let this go.

  Fuck!

  Mitch sat on the edge of the bed, tied the shoelaces on his favorite pair of Chuck Taylors, and looked over at Kenji, who had also gotten up and was getting dressed. Damn, he was pretty.

  Mitch dreaded leaving him, but he had no choice. He loved Elle. She was his best friend, and she was in trouble. He had to go help her.

  Mitch allowed himself one more luxurious moment to admire Kenji and the small of his back as he put his shirt on. Wanting to etch this moment in his memory, he gave the room—every last gaudy detail of it—a final look-over.

  Mitch stood, gave Kenji an awkward kiss, and promised, “I’ll call you when I get back from seeing Elle. We can have dinner.”

  Kenji nodded, adding as Mitch left the room, “Good luck!”

  Elle was the one needing luck.

  How am I going to get her out of this mess?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Oh Hellos: “Hello My Old Heart”

  June 4, 2017

  7:52 p.m.

  Within moments of arriving back in Tokyo, Elle’s worst fears were confirmed. It was going to be a disastrous trip. Despite taking the Ambien, she’d once again had the nightmare with all the feral animals gnawing at her tampons. And then, not long after landing, Four had run to the bathroom, complaining his stomach hurt. Along with the security officer sent by Tsugunai to escort them through customs, the Martins and Ainsley had waited over twenty minutes for Four to come out. Elle wasn’t sure if her son had been vomiting or had diarrhea. Either way, she dreaded taking care of a sick child on top of everything else. Rattled by these bad signs, Elle spent the entire limo ride to the hotel panicked, worried about what would go wrong next.

  Fortunately, Four had quickly rallied, and the Martins thoroughly enjoyed spending their first few days in Tokyo visiting all the usual tourist spots. Cognizant that Four’s patience would be tried with too many cultural outings—he couldn’t hide his boredom while visiting the shrine at Meiji Jingu—Elle had been sure to include activities he would enjoy: a professional baseball game and a sumo match.

  It had been an easy, fun vacation. There was little bickering or eye rolling. Elle’s fears over sharing a bed with Win had even been unfounded. Although they hadn’t had sex—they were both exhausted by the end of their busy days—they had snuggled a bit and it was fine. Actually, it was better than fine. It was nice. Why had Elle been so worried? Everything was going so well. The sights, the sounds, the unique cadence of Japan, all of it felt welcoming to her.

  Elle had spent so much time trying to forget the aspects of her life in Japan she regretted, she had forgotten all the good memories. She had absolutely loved the people and the culture in Japan. And Tokyo? It was an amazing city, vibrant and alive.

  The neon signs, the noise, the people, all of them were reassuring in their familiarity and Elle felt a comfortable ease—like finding her favorite pair of Levi 501 jeans from high school still fit. For someone in a place she had tried so hard to forget, Elle felt a remarkably keen sense of homecoming in Japan.

  As Win promised, the film crew had not been overly invasive and had spent very little time with the Martins. Still, Elle had watched Ainsley carefully. Her paranoia over the possibility that the producer had a thing for her husband further fueled Elle’s efforts to be a better wife. She was making a conscious effort to be extra engaged, to listen, and to ask more questions. She had even started reaching out for Win’s hand and affectionately rubbing his back. It wasn’t hard. In fact, she rather liked it.

  Tonight was the Martins’ final chance to enjoy their family trip. Win’s business meetings with the Tsugunai executives would begin in earnest the next morning, and he would be less available. Elle wanted to end their last night together on a high note.

  “Okay, what did you think? Pretty good, right?” Elle looked expectantly toward her family. They were at a restaurant in Ginza, trying one of Elle’s favorite Japanese meals, shabu-shabu—thinly
sliced beef cooked tableside with vegetables in a pot of boiling water.

  “Well, besides the part where you kept saying ‘shabu-shabu’ every time you moved the meat around in the water, I have to say it wasn’t bad.” Four pushed his nearly empty plate away.

  “I enjoyed it. This was a good choice.” Win smiled and lightly rubbed Elle’s back.

  “Yeah, I agree; it was good, although I didn’t love the green tea ice cream.” Brynnie, who had volunteered to be more flexible with her usual dietary restrictions on the trip, scrunched her nose in distaste.

  “Yeah,” Four agreed, “that stuff sucked ass.”

  “Four!” Elle scolded her son, then admitted with a smile, “Actually, I never much cared for it either.”

  A young waitress appeared with the check, smiling flirtatiously at Four. Win took the bill and excused himself to go pay it. The waitress lingered at their table in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

  After she finally left, Elle teased Four, “I think she might like you.”

  “Yeah, chicks dig me. What can I say?”

  Brynnie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Since we’re on vacation, I’m going to ignore that you just called that woman a ‘chick.’” She leaned forward in her chair. “More interestingly, did you notice her makeup? How she had rouge on under her eyes? I’ve noticed it on others and asked the hotel concierge about it. Apparently, it’s a popular trend—it’s called ‘uru-uru.’ The idea is to purposefully make yourself look sick.”

  Elle was intrigued. “Really? Why would anyone want to look sick?”

  “I think it’s tied to a desire to seem vulnerable, in need of rescuing. Maybe they think that’s what men want.”

  “Not me.” Four brushed his hair to the side. “I’m not feeling the whole Asian thing.”

  Brynnie hit her brother on the arm. “Seriously, Four? I’m trying to engage in an intelligent conversation, and all you can do is denigrate women?”

  “I’m just saying, they don’t do it for me, sick-looking or not. I can’t get past the crooked teeth. That’s just nasty.”

  Elle sighed. Their vacation had been going so well. She didn’t want her children to start bickering now. Still, she needed to say something. “Four, Brynnie’s correct. It’s disrespectful to categorize women.”

  “Sorry!” Four looked at his sister. “Why does everything have to be some sort of trigger for you to turn into a cause. Can’t you just chill?”

  Win returned to the table asking, “Is everyone ready?”

  As always, Elle was relieved by her husband’s presence. She didn’t want to argue, not tonight. They were having so much fun. “I have an idea. Since we are in Ginza, I thought it might be fun to go to a karaoke bar.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.” Four moaned.

  Elle pressed on, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. “C’mon, hashtag YOLO.”

  Four put both hands to his face and shook his head. “No, Mom, just no! Please!”

  Brynnie winced. “Yeah, Mom, that was bad.”

  “I’m not giving up! You can’t come all the way to Tokyo and not go to a karaoke bar.”

  Win stepped in with his support. “Your mom is right. I think it’s a great idea. Let’s ask the waitress if she knows of a good place.”

  “Seriously?” Four was still not convinced.

  Brynnie was more game. “Fine, but if you two break out into anything from Titanic by Céline Dion, I’m leaving. Really. I’m not kidding.”

  Brynnie’s words reminded Elle of the time Mitch had said the same thing about a Whitney Houston song. It was the night they had gone to a karaoke bar with their English First coworkers. The same night he had told her he was gay. Elle was planning to spend the next afternoon looking for Mitch. So far, the trip had been a success and she was optimistic that she would find her old friend.

  “It’s a deal. Let’s go.” Elle was in a great mood. Everything was going so much better than she had expected. It was fun to be back in Japan. She was reconnecting with Win and things with Brynnie were also improving.

  Maybe Elle had overanalyzed the signs, worried too much. Perhaps her return to Tokyo wasn’t anything to be worried about after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Rolling Stones: “Under My Thumb”

  May 11, 1994

  12:52 p.m.

  Elle stepped out of the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around her freshly showered torso. Once she had finished vomiting in Tak’s bathroom in response to the condom wrapper, Johnny and Mike had forcefully escorted her back to the studio apartment she shared with Mitch. Elle was thankful they had allowed her to take a shower. Although her cheek still hurt and the cold sore on her lip throbbed painfully, the hot, steamy water had diminished her nausea.

  The shower had also allowed Elle to clear her head and fill in the blanks from the night before. She could vaguely remember Tak helping her up the stairs to his office. She didn’t remember him scolding her, but Elle was sure he was furious with her. Why else would he have left her alone, passed out on the floor overnight.

  The question was, just how pissed off was he? Tak was a proud man with a huge ego, and Elle had embarrassed him in front of his employees and an entire club of partygoers. He needed to save face. She would have to pay somehow. Elle put her hand up against her injured cheek, still sore from the impact of the back of Tak’s hand and his pinkie ring. Was this just the beginning? Would she, too, end up bloody and beaten in the stockroom?

  What have I done?

  Elle hoped Mitch’s night with Kenji had been amazing, but she needed him to get home. He would know how to help her.

  The phone in the apartment rang. Johnny seemed to be expecting the call; after just one ring he answered, “Hai! Hai!”

  As if upon reflex, Johnny bowed as he spoke and Elle knew it was Tak on the line. Understanding her boyfriend was the one person able to grant her reprieve, she lurched toward Johnny and the phone. “Let me talk to him!” If she could assure Tak that nothing had happened with Gustavo beyond kissing, maybe she could get out of trouble.

  Mike immediately stepped forward and blocked Elle, while Johnny kept his attention on the phone call.

  “Please, Johnny! I can explain everything.” Elle pushed against Mike, trying to move past him. In the commotion, the towel that had been draped around her fell to the ground, leaving her naked and exposed. Mike, somewhat taken aback by the sight of Elle’s nude body, stepped away from her. She reached for the towel, but Johnny had hung up the phone and swiftly stepped on it, preventing her from picking it up.

  Johnny opened his mouth and laughed, his tongue visible through his broken tooth. Elle desperately tried to cover herself with her hands, just as she had when spied on in the shower at the Zen House, acutely aware that, this time, Mitch wasn’t there to protect her.

  “Nice!” Johnny surveyed Elle’s naked body approvingly. He stepped forward and roughly pried her forearm away from her chest. Cupping his hand under one breast, he said with a lecherous enthusiasm, “Pink! Japanese girl, brown.” Johnny rubbed his forefinger over Elle’s nipple. “Pink, nice.” He looked at Mike. “You like?”

  Elle turned her head away in shame. She tried to remove Johnny’s hand, but he grabbed her and turned her naked body close to his own. His grip was tight, and she couldn’t move. Elle felt a hardness in his pants. Her body turned cold and numb, like it sensed something hideous was about to happen and didn’t want to feel it.

  So this was it. Her final humiliation. Johnny was going to have his way with her. And maybe even Mike, too. Retribution in one final, violent act of dominance for all the times she had been such a world-class bitch to them both. Maybe it was fitting. Perhaps she deserved it.

  Flight was not an option. Elle had nowhere to run. Would she have it in her to fight?

  Mike’s face was flushed red and he avoided eye contact with Elle.

  Maybe it will only be Johnny. At least he wouldn’t try to kiss her, not with the huge cold sore
on her lip. Elle’s heart was racing, yet she was paralyzed, unable to move. Time stood still. The only thing Elle was aware of was a strange metallic taste in her mouth, as if the fillings in her teeth had suddenly melted.

  Johnny held tightly onto the small of Elle’s back with one arm. With his free hand, he caressed her between the legs and then forcefully shoved a finger inside her. Elle’s body tensed. She tried to squirm away, but her limbs refused to follow directions.

  Johnny kissed her neck. “You like?”

  This can’t be happening.

  Elle attempted to scream, but her voice was silent.

  Johnny jammed another finger inside Elle, more roughly this time. “Tell me you like.”

  Elle couldn’t speak. Helpless, she looked to Mike. He interjected forcefully in Japanese, telling Johnny to stop, that Tak wouldn’t approve.

  Johnny looked at Mike and seemed to consider what he said. He turned his attention back to Elle, sneering. “I know you like.” Johnny pinched Elle’s insides, then removed his fingers and let her go. He lifted his hand to his nose and smelled his fingers. “Yes. Very nice.” Johnny picked the towel up off the floor and threw it at Elle. “You dress now.”

  Elle stood in a daze. She was grateful Johnny had let her go, but she was still unable to move.

  “Now!” Johnny yelled. To emphasize his order, he held his hand up in the air, threatening to strike her.

  Elle made a conscious effort to walk. In a dreamlike state, she rummaged around the studio, grabbing the first clothes she saw: sweatpants with her sorority letters across the back and Mitch’s Ramones T-shirt. The one he was wearing the first day they met at Narita.

  Meanwhile, Johnny and Mike were haphazardly going through her chest of drawers and throwing things into her duffle bag. “Nice panty!” Johnny lifted several pairs of her white cotton underwear and laughed as he threw them into the duffle bag.

  Elle hadn’t worn anything but thongs in ages and had completely forgotten about her grannie panties.