Bedtime Eyes

by Amy Yamada

  We washed our meal down with expensive brandy, and while we were eating I leaned close to D.C. and pulled his ear down to my lips.

  "I want to fuck you," I whispered, just to get him going.

  His eyes flashed wide in surprise.

  On the stage, a black woman was singing a recent hit, "Somebody Else's Guy," and I led D.C. onto the dance floor, feeling the eyes of all the men in the room on me. D.C. kept up a constant lookout for guys making passes at me. He wasn't that smart, but at times like this he was my knight in shining armor. It made me feel great.

  There was a guy dancing behind me whose elbows kept digging into my back, so I turned my head slightly to see him out of the corner of my eye. I could just glimpse the bottom of his tux jacket—he seemed quite 10 4

  AMY YAMADA

  tall. His gold watch peeping out from beneath his starched, white cuffs was catching the light as he danced, and half intrigued, I turned around to get a better look at him.

  When I did, he was already standing there facing me, looking directly at me. He had wavy hair, slicked back with gel, and a single gold earring in his left ear. It took me a few moments to recognize him, but the suave, smartly dressed lady-killer standing in front of me was Leroy.

  I was stunned. Then, without a word, he turned around again and continued dancing. Dancing! I couldn't believe it. Leroy had always had two left feet and his dancing had been even worse than his pickup lines. I couldn't imagine anything more ridiculous than seeing Leroy dance.

  But this guy was far from ridiculous, and with his arm wrapped around his partner's waist, his feet seemed to move on air, like he was born to dance.

  I was sick with shock and tried to drag D.C. away by the arm, but then Leroy turned back around again and spoke.

  "Your stiletto heels have worn down pretty thin, haven't they?" he said in a dry, sarcastic tone.

  His voice was so low that only I could hear him, and I flushed with embarrassment, the blood pounding hard in my head, making me feel faint. But my embarrassment then turned to anger, and as the blood drained rapidly from my face, I went pale with fury.

  Unsuspecting D.C. half carried me to my seat, worrying that I might be anemic. I sat there pale and shivering, and when he handed me a brandy 1 downed it in a single gulp, the fiery liquid slipping easily down my throat. Then I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to Leroy.

  He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, a small cock-tail glass in his hand, sparkling like a jewel in the light. I watched with irritation as his fingers toyed with it nonchalantly and he smiled and chatted casually to the steady stream of girls who came up to him. His t h e p i a n o p l a y e r ' s f i n g e r s 9 9

  neck was no longer thick and oxlike—it was far more slender and re-fined now. And I didn't once see him lean forward to talk to any of the women who came over to him—they were the ones making all the effort craning their necks to look up at him.

  One of the girls kissed his cheek, and I could see Leroy staring at me through her hair. With his arms spread wide and a glass in his hand, he looked supremely confident and happy. But his eyes were cold. He smiled at me sarcastically, the corners of his mouth curling up into his cheeks.

  At that moment I decided to forget all about him. I'd forget our past and if I saw him again, I'd see him as the complete stranger he was now.

  It was a relief, having made the decision, but I hated him for forcing me to make it.

  "Do you know Leroy Jones?" asked D.C.

  I was startled by his question and just stared back at him, surprised.

  How could he possibly know about our relationship?

  "What? How do you know Leroy?"

  "Are you kidding me? Everyone knows Leroy J o . . . ahh, wait a minute. You only listen to old jazz, don't you? Well, let me tell you, Leroy's the best young jazz pianist there is. I wonder why he's here? I've heard he was stationed at the base here in Tokyo when he was in the military, so maybe that has something to do with it Oh man, what a great chance. Do you know him? Can you introduce me?"

  "D.C.! You can be so clueless sometimes...."

  "Huh?"

  "What's he doing in Japan, anyway?"

  "Well, an article in Ebony said he's here for a couple of months on vacation. He can probably afford it, too. Musicians like him are loaded unless they get into drugs or something. Must be great to be a success."

  "Success? Big deal!"

  "Huh?"

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  I remembered him fucking me by the piano; he must have figured out that he could move other people the way he had me.

  I looked over at Leroy again. He had confidence now. He no longer looked up to people or turned away when they looked him in the eye, and I knew I would never be able to treat him the same way I used to, crushing him like the pig's ears in a hot head cheese.

  "C'mon, D.C., let's go get some soul food."

  "What? You're still hungry?" he groaned.

  Muttering to himself under his breath, D.C. followed me out into the night. After all, he was black, and black guys can't resist soul food.

  We ate in silence. The food was rich and pungent, and I remembered how Leroy used to smell exactly the same way. But somehow I didn't think he would smell like that anymore. The guy at the ball wasn't the same Leroy I had known.

  For the next few days we stayed in my apartment and all we did was fuck. D.C. couldn't believe his luck—I couldn't get enough. I just wanted more and more, and eventually his dick began to sound like a fountain pen sucking ink up from a bottle as it plunged in and out. But, while my body may have been going wild with passion, my mind was somewhere else entirely.

  Finally I spat out, "What's the point in all this fucking?!" and D.C. s face took on a hurt expression.

  I sat there sulking for a while, and eventually D.C. decided to take me out to cheer me up. My skin felt tight because I hadn't worn makeup for a while, but it wasn't long before the neon signs and the taste of strong liquor began to put the color back into my cheeks.

  We went to a club where my friends hung out, and as we walked through the door they cheered. We all talked and laughed together, our conversation a grab bag of cynical criticisms and dirty jokes, but it made me realize just how much I loved laughing at life. If all I had to do was talk, drink, and fuck, I knew I could be happy forever.

  Suddenly the atmosphere in the club changed and everyone's eyes

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  moved to the door. I knew what had happened, and I knew I'd rather die than turn around.

  Leroy was with a girl. He pulled a chair over for her and she looked up at him coyly as she sat down. She was nothing special—there were plenty of other girls just like her all over Tokyo. All she had was her beauty and her fake vulnerability.

  Leroy must have recognized my group, but he pretended not to. He was wearing his tuxedo again, but this time he was dressed down, with white sneakers and a black hat perched on his head at an angle. We used

  "dressed down" to describe people who could look great even dressed casually, and while nobody said anything, we were all thinking the same thing-—Leroy looked great.

  "Who imagined that Leroy would come back looking like that?"

  said Roscoe, speaking for everyone.

  Leroy and the girl sat chatting and laughing together.

  "Yeah, who would have thought he'd turn out like that? When he was with Ruiko he looked fresh off the plantation."

  D.C.'s eyes widened. Shit! Roscoe and his big-mouthed friends had really messed things up for me this time.

  "No way! Ruiko was Leroy's girl?"

  He seemed genuinely impressed, but Roscoe cut in sharply to cor-rect him.

  "You got it backward," he said sarcastically, pushing his finger into D.C.'s forehead, "Leroy was Ruiko's guy. Two years ago he was so un-cool no one would have anything to do with him, but Ruiko picked him for the hell of it."

  D.C. stared at me with renewed respec
t. He didn't have enough brains to realize that he should feel jealous. He just figured that Leroy had become a success after leaving the military.

  "Did anyone know he played the piano?"

  "Nah..."

  T H E P I A N O P L A Y E R ' S F I N G E R S I I j I knew. In my mind I was screaming, I knew! I knew he could play!

  But I said nothing. I wanted them to think that as far as I was concerned, Leroy's and my relationship had just been a passing thing. So I kept quiet. And because I wouldn't say a word, they started teasing D.C.

  about me and Leroy. Poor D.C.: he was a good-looking guy, but not too bright.

  Leroy stole a glance over in my direction once in a while, and though I had my back turned to him, I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. It was as though my whole body had become sensitized to his intense stare, and I could feel it getting hotter and hotter, like when you try to burn holes in a piece of paper using a magnifying glass to focus the sun's rays. When I couldn't put up with it any longer, I stood up, asked my friends to look after D.C., and left the club.

  I wandered the streets aimlessly. I didn't know why I was crying, but I couldn't stop the tears pouring down my cheeks. I felt like a little girl who wanted to run home and tell her mother that someone had picked on her at school.

  A car stopped beside me. I thought it must have been a cabdriver picking up a fare, but when I turned around to look, it was Leroy, his sharp eyes piercing the darkness, and I turned and ran. He put his head out the window and shouted, "You look like a hooker walking around on your own like that!"

  Wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I stopped and turned. The car drew up slowly and he opened the door for me to get inside. I stood motionless with my hands in my pockets, so he grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me into the car before I had the chance to run away again, and we sped away into the night.

  It was drizzling and the road was wet. I didn't have the strength to fight him any longer, and I just sat there, thinking vaguely that it looked like 1 0 4 A M Y Y A M A D A

  the beginning of a rainy spring. Each time his foot hit the brake Leroy turned to look hard at me, and there was nothing I could do but retur his stare. Then, as he accelerated, he'd refocus on the road, and I wouldn't know where to look, so I just stared at his hands gripping the wheel. His knuckles seemed much bigger than before. Now he really did have a piano player's fingers.

  We drove for a long time and the rain started to get stronger, bounc-ing hard off the windshield. It didn't occur to me to question where we were going or to wonder what he was thinking, because I was conscious only of Leroy himself, sitting there next to me. His back was straight up against the seat, calm and relaxed despite the speed at which he was driving, and the only noise was the short gold chain in his ear making a faint metallic sound as it swayed from side to side.

  I knew the guy sitting next to me in the sharp clothes was Leroy, but he didn't look the same at all, and I wondered how it was possible to create such a completely different person out of the same raw materials. I wasn't conceited enough to think that he had changed just to get back at me—we had only spent a very short time together. And even if I'd managed to have such a strong influence on him, Leroy was acting too naturally to give that impression. He looked so cool, as if he was just giving a ride to some girl he had passed on the road. And that hurt. If he'd acted like he hated me, I would have been bitter, but it would have left me my pride. Even though I was the one who had discovered his talent, I sensed that there was some other woman who had helped him realize he had it.

  Leroy pretended to reach out his hand to the gearshift and grabbed my hand. But his eyes stayed on the road—he didn't seem to think it was necessary to look at me. I felt as though there were lumps of ice behind my eyes and they were about to melt and pour out. Everything was blurred but I couldn't blame it on the rain—all the windows were closed.

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  /05

  I was still trying to hold back my tears when I realized that Leroy had stopped the car. We were parked somewhere dark and he was leaning over me.

  For the first time in two years, Leroy's face was close enough to mine that I could feel his breath on my skin. His face was the same as before, but his eyes were completely different. I thought that he would try to kiss me and start making love to me immediately, but he didn't. He continued staring at me, trying to despise me, but I could see from his eyes how determined he was to have me, too. He had only ever fucked me once before without first asking my permission, but that time I hadn't had to watch his eyes as he mentally licked his chops.

  Shaking with fear I turned my face away from him. But Leroy was too quick for me—he seemed to anticipate my move, and began kissing me passionately, taking my breath away.

  "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time," he told me.

  But there was no warmth in his voice, and it didn't sound as though he intended this to be the start of a romantic affair. He pressed his lips to my ear and injected a hot stream of saliva, then motioned me toward the backseat of the car. Aroused, his kiss having dissolved my resistance, I obeyed and slid into the back. He got out of the car and, in the seconds before he got back in, I told myself that this was something that had to happen.

  Leroy got into the back and once more gathered me into his arms, but as we moved about in the cramped space my head banged against the door. Droplets of rain sparkled on his skin in the soft half-light and he noticed some on my face, too, and although it was June, he turned the heater on.

  Normally when I was smothered in the powerful scent of a man, my fingers would get to work almost reflexively, rapidly undoing his shirt buttons, but right now both my hands were balled into tight fists. Leroy

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  pried my fingers open, one by one, and pressed his lips to the palms of hands. I couldn't bear to watch, and shut my eyes tight, only to feel his lips move on to my neck. His stubbly chin, spiky, like an unmown lawn used to scratch my face painfully, but now it felt more like sandpaper, gently smoothing down the skin on my cheeks.

  Who is this? I thought.

  Leroy kissed me hard, forcing his tongue between my lips, exposing my teeth like he was pushing pills from a foil strip. I could have bitten off his tongue right there—he wasn't going to use it to worship my body anymore, anyway. His tongue was hungry now, only licking my skin to satisfy that hunger, taking my moans and sighs as his nutrition.

  A car sped past, splashing water up from a puddle in the road. No one knew I was being sacrificed in the confines of the backseat of this car. He pulled down the zipper on my dress.

  "No...," I said in a small voice. But he wasn't listening.

  His fingers burned as they touched my bare skin, and I cried out helplessly.

  "You've won!" I told him. "It's over!"

  But for Leroy it was just beginning. The car seat squeaked as his fingers moved freely over my body—I was his keyboard. But he no longer thrashed at the keys—he stroked them so gently that I could almost feel his fingertips before they reached my skin. He had the same magic touch I recalled from two years ago, and I moaned deeply in acquies-cence. Leroy's memory of my body was flawless.

  He put his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me up. I knew that the thing I had feared most and tried to push away had grown over time, and was now about to devour me. I could never have imagined that something I had been so frightened of for so long would be so sweet, T H E P I A N O P L A Y E R ' S F I N G E R S I I j

  | nd I sobbed at my defeat. I had been terrified of the power in the sound I f his piano-playing, but now I was being invaded by its melody.

  I "You'd like to try to escape, wouldn't you, Ruiko?"

  His voice was calm.

  "You'd like to run away, back to your slaves, wouldn't you? So they can look after you, lick your wounds, and kiss your hurts away? Well, I'm telling you now, this is just a f u c
. It means nothing to me. So if you want to run, you'd better do it now."

  But he had already driven the stake through my heart. What good would it do to try to run away? Leroy coming back had been a miracle.

  And now he had become the same guy who had made love to me by the piano. Another miracle. But unless I got a third miracle, a miracle of my own, there was really no point in trying to run away—there was no chance of escape.

  "What for? What would change if I ran? Everything already has changed."

  A thi n smile appeared on his face. Apparently I was cleverer than he'd thought.

  "You wouldn't believe how much more they still can change."

  "You want to despise me, right? If you think fucking me will work, go ahead and try. I'm just about to come, you know. If you think by being able to make me come you can despise me, go ahead and try. But you'd better hurry."

  Leroy shot sperm out over my body, like he was spitting out mouthfuls of saliva. The only difference was that when I had spat on Leroy, he had enjoyed it. There was no pleasure in this for me.

  He put his arm under my back and lifted me up so that we were face-to-face. We stared closely at each other, looking for battle scars, both of us hoping to see signs of defeat in the other's eyes. I frowned and lowered my eyes first; I was the loser.

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  Leroy placed his tuxedo jacket around my shoulders to cover my naked body. I shivered as the cool, silky lining touched my skin. Then he put his arm around me and pulled me close, the tattered remnants of his bow tie hanging lifeless around his neck, tapping my shoulder lightly like a black, silk pendulum. Over his shoulder I could see the window misted up with condensation.

  "Would you turn off the heater?"

  He turned it off and switched on the radio. An old O.V. Wright tune was playing. He was singing about how his lover was always on his mind, and that if she ever stopped loving him, he couldn't go on living.