by Pam Richter
"I'm sorry I'm late. I had to get something from the office."
"You're much too fastidious about work. I just wanted a brief chat. We could talk right here, if you would rather."
The lobby was perfectly empty. He was probably going to renege on the job offer. But it would be impolite not to invite him up.
Michelle made a cordial show of inducing him by saying they would be more comfortable in her apartment, which was totally untrue. She tried to remember if she had clothes strewn all over the bathroom, and thought she probably did.
When they were just stepping into the elevator, she saw Omar coming into the lobby from outside. He was walking in the direction of the mailboxes. The elevator doors were shutting. She knew Omar had seen them.
Great, she thought, now Omar probably thought she went on a date with him and had another man up to her apartment, late the same night. When she thought of his fascinating eyes, she didn't like the idea of them examining her with anger. She shivered a little bit.
"Are you all right?"
"Oh, yes. Fine."
As they walked down the hall toward Michelle's apartment she suddenly thought of Heather. "Do you want to meet my best friend?"
"Oh, of course." Nakamura looked pleased that she would ask.
Michelle knocked on Heather's door, but again there was no answer.
"Too bad," Nakamura said, when Michelle told him Heather must still be out.
To put off the bad news Michelle expected, she made soft drinks in the kitchen. It was still warm outside and cold drinks at night in Hawaii were not unusual. As soon as Nakamura was seated he seemed uncomfortable. He was looking around her apartment; apparently he also wanted to delay the bad news.
"That's a picture of you, doing karate?" He was pointing at a picture of Michelle with her teacher, a diminutive oriental man, on a side table next to the couch he was sitting on.
"Yes. The man in the picture is my sensi, Bill Robinson. Kind of interesting."
"What?"
"You're Nakamura, he's Robinson. Both of you would be more believable if you traded names."
"I'm a bastard. My grandfather is Japanese."
Michelle looked at him in surprise.
"It's a vile Japanese joke. You see, the Japanese don't like children of mixed parentage. They're all bastards, even when the parents are married. My mother was half Japanese and half American. Back then they made a big deal about mixed children and they were severely humiliated for something that wasn't their fault. I guess no self-respecting Japanese male would have her. She married an English serviceman after the war. World War 11. I was brought up mostly in Japan though, because the marriage didn't work."
Michelle nodded. The old story about the conquering hero impregnating the conquered, marrying her, and then finding the difficulties were too much for the marriage to survive.
"It must have been hard for you," Michelle said, but she was surprised. Nakamura was much older than she had supposed if his parents had married after the war.
"Oh, not bad. I lived in Japan, but it wasn't a problem. People assumed I was pure Caucasian. They pitied me, but I wasn't ostracized. Then I would spend the summers in California with my father."
"Really? I'm from San Francisco."
"I love that city. My father lives in the Napa Valley, so we visited San Francisco often. In fact, I'm going there when I finish working here in Hawaii. My father is getting older. He wants to see me more often."
"That's the awful thing about living far away. Even here in Hawaii, it's like you're at the end of the earth when birthdays and holidays come around."
As they talked, Michelle was struck by how easy it was to speak to this man, in comparison to Omar earlier this evening. She showed him pictures of her brother, Bobby, and of her parents and their home in San Francisco. Suddenly they both stopped.
"You're wondering what was so important that I had to speak to you alone?"
Michelle nodded.
"Actually, it's in way of an apology." He shifted uncomfortably, then looked her straight in the eyes. "I was playing with the gadgets in Tom Mitsuto's office earlier this evening. You know, the television which emerges out of the hidden cabinet. And the video games. He has an absolutely amazing collection of porn hidden away. I shouldn't tell you that, but you wouldn't say anything. It's just kind of interesting. Anyway, I was playing with his listening device..."
Michelle nodded. "The phone?"
"You knew?"
Michelle smiled at him. "It's not so terrible that you have to come over and apologize."
"Yes, it is. I thoroughly disprove of it myself. I should have stopped listening, immediately. I had been jumping from office to office and each one was silent, except yours. I don't know why I was compelled to eavesdrop. It was shocking, and I couldn't turn it off. I really am sorry. For listening. And for what you had to endure all alone that night."
Michelle looked at him seriously and nodded thoughtfully. There was no doubt that here was a man who totally believed her. At that moment she would have killed for him. She knew he needed her to accept his apology. She said she understood, that there was no problem.
As she spoke she saw Nakamura's eyes grow round. She glanced to where his gaze was riveted. Her open purse lay on the living room table. The orange flower was visible inside, and crawling on the perfect bloom was a large black insect with a tail. As they watched, the bug scuttled off the flower and deep inside the evening bag.
Michelle clapped her hand over her mouth to abort a shriek.
Nakamura glanced over at her, picked up the purse and snapped it shut. "Do you want me to get rid of it?"
Michelle nodded.
"Where's your trash chute?"
Michelle handed him a Kleenex and told him where to go at the end of the hallway. "And throw the flower away, too."
When he left she ran into the bathroom and threw up in the sink. Well, that reaction was a little extreme, she thought, as she rinsed her mouth. But she had been wearing that flower all night. The enormous, hideous thing might have been crawling in her hair. She started gagging again with revulsion and threw cold water in her face. Then Michelle shook out her hair, but couldn't bare to look to see if there was another insect.
When Nakamura came back she excused herself and went to change into a cotton running suit in her bedroom. She smiled at the, change into something more comfortable, line she had used unthinkingly. But Nakamura would understand. She checked the dress she had been wearing, inside and out, then shook it violently before putting it on a hanger.
Nakamura was still standing in the living room when she came back. "I'm sorry. I had to get out of those clothes. And would you mind looking at my hair, in the back. Searching it?"
Nakamura walked around behind her and she could feel him lifting strands and his fingers on her scalp. She knew she was still trembling and felt like an idiot, until he stopped, still holding onto a strand, and leaned over to reach for a Kleenex in the box on her side table. She squinted her eyes. He was doing something to her hair quickly and she felt a few strands pulled out. Then he strode rapidly into her bathroom and she heard the toilet flush.
Nakamura came out. "There are lots of insects in the Islands because of the humidity. The one I just got was tiny. Really small. Could hardly see it."
"Check the top." She knew the insect hadn't been small.
Michelle stood in front of him with her head bent down and he looked through the hair on the top of her scalp.
"Just checking the old noggin for lice. But I can't seem to find any. I feel like a monkey, grooming my primate friend. The top is fine."
"I really am afraid of bugs. Its stupid and irrational, but there you are."
"Everyone has silly phobias. You should see me when I'm on the top of a tall building. And I can't even look out the window in a plane, I get so dizzy. I try to hide it. And try to always travel alone, because once I was acting cool, with some business friends. Almost lost my cookies, peering out the w
indow."
Michelle laughed and nodded. It was clear to her that Nakamura had understood perfectly what was happening when she had the anxiety attack. He had known exactly what to do then, too.
"I'd like accept your offer to work at Heroshi in Japan. As your assistant."
"Well, great." He had a wonderful smile. "I'm glad."
He gave a wink and left.
When Nakamura exited the building, he made sure the men he had assigned to watch the condominium were doing their duty. The one in the garage by the elevators was awake and alert. The man in the front of the building also seemed professional.
Nakamura was not a high profile person, but the president of Heroshi, a millionaire many times over, was. He had been kidnaped and held for ransom once. Nakamura knew the people to call when he wanted security work done in any part of the world.
He drove away, confident that he was protecting his new employee. He did not understand that securing the outside of the building was futile.
Omar had not been deceived. The man on the elevator with Michelle was a red haired, sneaky, Oriental bastard. He knew because he himself was a mixture of Chinese, Japanese and Caucasian. Like recognized like, and bred the same hatred that Nakamura had experienced as a little boy. He had learned to despise anyone who was not racially pure Japanese, even when the hate had been directed toward himself. He had felt inadequate and less worthy than everyone else in the almost ethnically pure Japan of his childhood.
When Omar grew up his attitudes had changed, and he had physically changed his own eyes. The deep, heavy epicanthic folds, which had almost hidden his brilliant dark eyes, and which also revealed his intriguing Oriental heritage, had been removed by a plastic surgeon. Now he looked merely exotic. Not like the giant oversized, clumsy Oriental he had been perceived of when he grew up in Japan.
As he opened his mailbox and looked inside, Omar contemplated revenge. His insides were seething, roiling with anger, but emotion had absolutely no effect on his facial features or bodily tension. He was a beautiful devil. And he never forgot it. The ugly duckling had grown into a beautiful man-swan.
Strange, Omar thought, this evening, the more charm he had poured on, the more distant Michelle became. She had withdrawn deep within herself and he found it difficult to access her thoughts and emotions. It was a unique and slightly disturbing feature of the evening, which pleased him greatly. She was a worthy adversary. That he would win and have control over the mind and body of this wonderful, perplexing woman was an extremely satisfying fact; something he took for granted, but like tonight, could provide some challenges.
Michelle was not at all like the woman-child he had toyed with earlier this evening. Suzanne, the pretty college student, had never been tempered with adversity in her scholarly, intellectual and perfectly programmed and inhibited life. She had been pliable, weak, pathetic and predictable. So he made sure she would never grow into full adulthood. Suzanne would be his slave until he found the perfect time to dispose of her, in the most shocking and satisfying manner his fertile imagination could conjure. It would be a satisfactory shock to the man that had been dogging his footsteps for years
The problem now was Michelle. And that nasty snotty red haired Oriental whom she had in her apartment right now. Unable to have tea and chat with him, hmm. Because she had another waiting in the wings. The rage came back and the adolescent feelings he had outgrown bloomed with force.
When Omar got into his own apartment he called Ginger. She was a satisfactory fuck. A little dull for all her beauty, but she was a slave and would do anything he chose. And she would never remember the next morning. Even if he hurt her, with the rage he was feeling now, she would only remember pleasure.
CHAPTER 11
Vincent Middleton awakened in his hotel room with a headache so intense he groaned, grabbing his forehead in agony. His eyelids seemed to be stuck together when he attempted to open his eyes, and behind them he saw a kaleidoscope of jumbled, naked female parts. A wet dream at his age! It would have been funny if he hadn't been in such pain. He wondered what had brought on such a bazaar series of visions. He could see naked breasts, thighs and buttocks. It seemed so real.
He started to lumber out of bed to search for Alka Seltzer, but paused abruptly in surprise when he threw off the covers. He was naked as a jay-bird, as the old expression went. He shook his head and tried to recall retiring, but it all seemed to be a blank. He was in far too much agony to even try to guess why he was unclothed, he was merely astonished at the fact.
Vincent rose and staggered to the bathroom, dizzy and unsteady on his legs as a toddler. His head felt like a toddler's also, much too big and wobbly on his neck, as though, if he leaned too far forward with the heavy head he would crash to the floor. A slight angle to the right would send him listing in that direction to slam into the wall.
Vincent held himself erect so his head wouldn't tip him over and made it to the bathroom. He fumbled Alka Seltzer out of the medicine cabinet and watched it fizz in a glass of water, gulping the fuzzy, salty tasting liquid down in three great swallows. He felt like crawling back to bed and falling asleep again, and with the thought he closed his eyes. Again that flashing strobe behind his eyelids. Naked female fleshy parts.
He definitely had some kind of flu. Vincent called room service and then staggered to the bed and fell flat forward, face first, still unclothed and immediately unconscious.
His second awakening a few minutes later, was to insistent knocking on the hotel room door. He grabbed his robe, manhandled his way into it and opened the door a crack. His coffee had arrived. Vincent burned his tongue in his rush to get something warm inside himself because he had definitely caught a malevolent virus. He was shivering so much he had to hold the cup with both hands so it wouldn't spill. Chattering teeth almost kept him from swallowing. He managed a cup of the of strong black liquid and fell asleep in the chair.
Vincent didn't remember much of the day. He kept falling asleep and struggling to awaken from nightmares. But his final arousal, at five that evening, brought him to the awful, outrageous, disgusting realization that he had slept with one of his students.
It had come back to him, piece by dreadful piece, in tiny snippets of clarity. His memory of the night before. Each awakening brought the nightmare nearer and clearer, but it was no dream.
Vincent contemplated ruin. Loss of tenure. His professional reputation in tatters, drummed from his professorship by outraged colleagues.
Still groggy, holding his head in shame, he recalled that Suzanne had came back to the hotel from her interview Omar Satinov, the evening before. Vincent had met Suzanne at the Royal Hawaiian's outdoor bar to discuss what she had learned about the man he believed might be the warlock of recent and bloody repute. They sat at a small round table overlooking the ocean.
There was musical entertainment on the balcony Lanai; a band of Hawaiians with guitars and drums, and some young Hawaiian girls, clothed in grass skirts and leis doing hula dances. The swish of the waves accompanied the music and the dancers. Flame torches were being lit on the balcony above the sea, as it was just getting to be twilight time, with a spectacular sunset over the ocean. The picture postcard scene was serene. It truly seemed like paradise.
Vincent ordered tall pink Mai Tais, replete with umbrellas, and they sipped from straws. Vincent knew the cherries inside were probably carcinogenic and fished his out. Suzanne was in a gay mood, talking non-stop about how handsome Omar was and how elegant his apartment. A few times she gave odd grimaces as she spoke rapidly, unlike the serious student he knew. She drank the tall glass of alcoholic fruit juices quickly and ordered another when their waiter came around.
She told him about Omar's kitten, how it seemed to obey him when he merely lifted an eyebrow. Vincent knew she was teasing him, hinting that the cat was a 'familiar.' Then she grimaced in that odd way and her face became blank.
Vincent was looking at her with concern when she said, eyes wide, pupils dilated, "He had
big bugs. They were crawling all over me after he took my cloths off."
"What!"
Suzanne immediately came out of the staring fit and smiled gaily. "The kitten fetched toys when Omar threw them. The tiny pet would retrieve them like a dog."
"What about the bugs? Insects?"
"Insects? I don't understand." Suzanne looked truly perplexed at his question.
"You said he had bugs."
"No, I didn't. But he gave me some of his wonderful tea to take home because I loved it so much. I have it in my purse. I don't think Omar's a bad guy, Vincent. He just believes in witchcraft and a lot of superstitious nonsense. Although, if you ask me, that cat could be a familiar, the way it behaved."
Suzanne had laughed then, and got that frightful blank look when she said, "He made me a witch."
"What!"
"I said, I could almost believe in familiars, the way the kitten behaved." The blank look again and she said, "The kitten sucked my blood."
"Where?"
"Omar told me most of the things we already know about witchcraft. He claimed to be a very powerful witch himself, but he was laughing when he said so, like it was a joke, you know?"
"You said a kitten sucked your blood?" Vincent asked, thinking that maybe Suzanne was a little tipsy from the drinks. She was behaving oddly. Or maybe she was just romantically inclined toward that character, Omar, and had developed an adolescent crush. She was so agitated she almost seemed manic. If he didn't know her better he would believe she had taken some kind of drug, like cocaine or an amphetamine.
"No." Suzanne rolled her eyes, like he had suddenly asked a very odd question. "I said that he gave me tea and talked about witches. You know, the magic circle and how witches are inducted and the belief in medicinal herbs."
Vincent, now really alarmed, said, "I want you to tell me, word for word, about the interview. And I'll have that tea in your purse analyzed."
"Really, Vincent. You sound paranoid. It's just licorice tea. We'll ask for a tea service after dinner and you can taste it."