How to Date Japanese Idols (The Tenshi Series)

by Cilia Jaspers

  “We’re almost there,” she called out, louder this time.

  *

  He thought she said they were almost there, but her voice was whipped away by the wind, so he didn’t respond.

  She was racing through busy streets. There were vendors, people on bikes and on foot, and tons of traffic, and she passed through it all so quickly she had to be going on instinct, but he wasn’t afraid. Actually, he was enjoying the ride. He’d been to Taiwan before, but only touristy places. People selling cabbage on the street and laundry hanging on the line of porches. He just had no idea what to do with his hands. And he kept thinking of things to do with them that he was sure he shouldn’t do.

  He wanted to give her as much room as he could, but it was difficult. His legs made it nearly impossible not to touch her. He sat as far back as the bike allowed, but he was very aware of how, though they did not touch, his legs were very nearly wrapped around her. He swallowed and focused on keeping his hands balled up on his own thighs, fingers clenched.

  Eloise sat straight on the scooter, her back a short line topped by a green helmet and streaming hair. He smiled to himself. The long curls were being whipped about by the wind, twirling around on themselves even before the wind sent them dancing. One long curl twisted in his direction and his hands twitched.

  No, stay where you are, he mentally told his fingers. They twitched again and he watched as one of his fingers unfurled in the direction of the curl that fascinated him.

  Ahh, no. Don’t do it. We cannot be perverts. Do not shame me. His fingers didn’t seem to be listening to him. The one brave finger levered up off of his leg and moved toward the tantalizing curl.

  Another, longer curl whipped through the air beyond Eloise’s helmet and shoulders to smack him in the mouth as if to remind him to behave. It slapped him again just in case he hadn’t heard the message the first time. Admonished, he clenched his hands. As the scooter slowed, Gakino thought her hair smelled like apples.

  Pulling the car onto a crowded side walk, Eloise stopped.

  “Ok,” she prompted.

  “Ok.” He replied, unsure.

  “Hop off.”

  He looked down and noticed that she couldn’t climb off the bike until he moved. She was surrounded by him. His mouth went dry.

  “Sorry,” he croaked. He stood up and stretched his leg over the little scooter.

  She climbed off the scooter and pulled it up onto its stand. Focusing on unlocking her seat and putting her helmet in, she avoided him. Even holding out her hand to take his helmet, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Are you ok? You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s ok. I-- Should I not have come?”

  She looked up, and finally she smiled, sweetly, shyly. Her gray mood lifted. And then she looked down again. So different today than she had been.

  “So, this is it.” She said, climbing up on the curb and waving her hand toward a nearby shop set inside a row of other shops and homes. The restaurant’s walls were entirely glass. He could see a u-shaped grill surrounded by about twenty little plastic stools.

  “Wanna go in?”

  It wasn’t exactly a place he would take a girl he was trying to impress, but he could see men inside grilling meat. His stomach growled. He quirked his eye toward Eloise who was smiling again. She’d heard it too.

  Rubbing his stomach, he said, “Well, there’s your answer,.”

  *

  Great. Now she was distracted by his hand. It was tapping his stomach, and she was suddenly blinking, trying to get rid of images of what was under his jacket. Walking ahead of him, she tapped a button to open the restaurant's sliding door.

  She could get through this without going completely fan-crazy.

  He was just a guy, right? A tourist, basically. She would take him out. Get him fed. And then send him happily along. She could do that. Although she felt on the verge of screaming at any moment, she could forbear. Her throat felt tight and her whole body tense. Goosebumps covered her arms even though it was warm outside. Eloise Bromleigh was completely undone. She recognized that. But teppenyaki was fast, blessedly fast. She could survive thirty minutes. She could send him on his way holding the pleasant memory of a calm and completely normal fan who didn’t yell his name and chase him maniacally through the streets. Sure, she could.

  Especially if she didn’t look right at him.

  As they walked into the restaurant, she held up her hand and signaled that they needed two seats. The cook pointed to two empty stools on the far side of the grill.

  “You can sit there. I’ll be right over.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him look over his shoulder toward the self-service bar. before nodding and heading toward their seats. She moved to the bar to grab chopsticks and cups of tea. Behind her, loud sounds as Yoh pulled out their plastic stools. Walking over, she put chopsticks across small plates and set their drinks down. When their eyes met, they both smiled awkwardly at each other before she looked away.

  “Would you like some soup?” she asked.

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  She stood, grateful the soup was on the other side of the shop

  “Hey,” he said his arm reaching out and almost touching her. He stopped, his hand paused in midair and waved the menu sheet toward her. “What will you have?”

  “Beef. A side of Tofu. An egg.”

  He marked her order down, putting an extra order of each. He talked to her as she walked away, saying, “I’ll have the same.” The restaurant was small, so she heard him, but this was a train wreck of a conversation. “I’m kind of excited to have this. Teppenyaki is more of an art form back home. None of this super-fast, short-order grilling stuff. I might like this even better.”

  She headed back over with his soup.

  The chef came toward them and took the order sheet. “Yao bu yao la?” He looked at Yoh when he spoke, assuming he was Taiwanese.

  Yoh looked in her direction, and shrugged.

  He didn’t speak Chinese then.

  “Do you want your food spicy or not?”

  He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “No. I hate spicy things.”

  Speaking in Chinese, she explained how they wanted their orders.

  “So you speak Chinese?” Yoh asked, smiling, impressed.

  “A little. Enough to get around. I’m not fluent or anything.”

  “Is that modesty?” he teased.

  “No. Just truth. I’m not like you.”

  His brows pulled together. “Really, Eloise. I did’t mean to lie. I just . . .”

  “No” She cut him off, waving her hand in front of her face, a signal of mis-speaking. “I mean I am not fluent in a foreign language, like you.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  She pulled the little stool out with her foot, moving it as far to the right and as far away from Yoh as she could without being obvious. She plopped down, casting a sideways glance at Yoh. Gakino Yoh.

  He watched her, as if she were the only thing in the restaurant. But when his eyes met hers, she looked away again and tried to concentrate on the cooks. She watched them take out beef, eggs, cabbage, bean sprouts, and the rest. She liked watching them work, urgent, almost, although she and Yoh and another couple were the only people there. Their movements were economical, focused. They took enjoyment in a job a well done, and normally she loved studying them. A love of hard work was one thing the Senator taught her that she did not regret learning. But today, her concentration was repeatedly broken. Yoh’s wide shoulders meant she kept accidentally bumping into him. And his long legs didn’t really fit under the bar, so they were folded to his side, his knees pressed against hers.

  “Eloise?”

  “Hmm?” The sound came out much higher than she intended. Her throat was too tight, and she had to keep reminding herself to breathe.

  “Eloise?”

  She turned toward him and found him staring at her as she stared at the cooks. She wondered absently what h
e saw. His eyes were so focused. So intense. So different than the Yoh she knew, whose eyes were always crinkled with laughter.

  “I am still sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Yoh” she said, dropping her eyes again. She just couldn’t look straight at him for long. She coughed, reaching for her tea. “I am sure you had your reasons.”

  “I’m sure I had my reasons, but at the moment, I’m not really sure what they were. Especially if they mean you won’t look at me. You’ve been watching them cook, and at first I was grateful for the distraction. It meant I could sneak glances at you. But now I don’t know if you’re nervous, bored, or angry.”

  He’d hoped his teasing would bring back the eager and endearing Curly-chan he’d met yesterday, but it made her more silent.

  “Do you like teaching here? In this place?” He was genuinely curious, but he was also desperate to get her talking to him.

  “I like being a teacher, and I like Taichung. It suits me.” She said this without turning.

  “Oh? What is your favorite thing?” He picked up his chopsticks and grabbed an egg, glistening with soy sauce, from the plate the cook put in front of him. Holding the bowl in his hand so he could turn toward her, he broke the yoke over his rice and watched as she did the same, waiting for her answer. Did she like traveling? Did she like living in a foreign country?

  “I like that Taichung is exactly what it seems to be. It’s hard to explain. People wear flip-flops and bath shoes out of their house here. They bring their trash out when they hear these weird singing trash trucks. People here are up early working and they stay out late and somewhere in the middle, they sit around and drink tea and hang out with friends. It’s comfortable. Friendly. Unpretentious, somehow. I like that.” She said this in the most relaxed tone he’d heard from her yet. Her voice was clear, her blush missing. Anything too personal was clearly off the menu.

  She took a bite of the yolk-yellowed rice, and he watched as one grain stuck to her chin. She didn’t seem to notice. He reached to remove the rice with the tip of one finger, his chopsticks cradled in his palm, but she looked up and, understanding, rubbed it away herself.

  He didn’t think she knew that it had found a resting place on a curl now. He smiled seeing it there. Maybe it would give him an excuse to touch her hair later.

  “Are the other places you have taught that aren’t like this then?”

  She nodded her head, saying nothing.

  “So you will stay here? You like Taiwan that much?”

  She seemed to consider his question, still looking at the grill in front of her rather than at him.

  “I’m not sure. I like it for now. That’s enough.” She shrugged.

  They ate in sync, slowly talking about the things she liked in Taiwan and how she felt about teaching students English. Gakino was content to explore her world little by little over eggs, rice, and errant curls, but she kept looking at him and then looking away every time he looked back.

  “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “What?”

  “Peeking at me. Why don’t you just look or not look?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s rude.”

  “And it’s not rude to ignore me? You’ve barely glanced at me all night. And I’m having to pull conversation out of you.”

  She turned her head around to face him, finally--because he requested it--and felt heat spread. Raising his bowl in mock salute, he winked, and then laughed at his own silliness. Looking away, briefly, and giving her a respite, he grabbed beef from the grill and took a confident bite. His long fingers covered his chopsticks and dwarfed the small white bowl. As she watched, his gaze returned to hers, and she could hear the sound of her own breathing. Gakino Yoh’s deep brown eyes. If she fainted here, she would never forgive herself.

  “You’re staring again,” she whispered.

  “You’re blushing again.”

  She put down her chopsticks and covered her cheeks with her hands. “This is just impossible.”

  “Why? It’s just dinner. You eat dinner all the time.” He leaned in a little towards her, almost conspiratorially. “With friends, right?”

  “You’re asking me to be your friend?”

  “Sure. Why not? It’ll be fun.” He said this around the food in his mouth. It should have been awkward. But it wasn’t. As he finished talking, she watched the muscles in his jaw line and down his neck as he swallowed.

  “Oh my god. I’m sweating. I’m actually sweating.” She said, her voice high-pitched and unfamiliar. She pressed her hand to her forehead and felt moisture there.

  She backed away, trying to get up, and nearly lost her balance.

  He tossed his bowl and chopsticks on the counter and grabbed for her elbow.

  “Eloise. It’s just dinner. We can get through dinner, right?”

  She nodded mutely and turned to her food, settling on the stool again. Forget civil conversation. Eat whatever is put in front of you and get out of here.

  “Eloise?”

  If she treated him like a fly buzzing, he would go away.

  Trying to chew around what felt like paste in her mouth, she pushed food around on the grill. Her throat was closed, her breathing labored. Her body felt like it was on fire. And he just kept staring.

  “Eloise?”

  She saw him folding a napkin in half and then in half again. He laughed.

  “I had no idea this would be so awkward. I always fly off the handle and do these ridiculous things. I just . . .” He laughed again.

  And it hurt. The idea that he might be laughing at her.

  She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t invited him. That her ordinary life was equal to his., but she swallowed too quickly. She started coughing. Embarrassment made her flush even brighter, and she started tearing up.

  “Is it really so hard for you, Eloise? I can get a taxi to the airport. I can leave right now, if you want. I...Listen, Sano said you were cute, ok? Kawaii, ok? Not kowai. Not scary. Cute. I just wanted to tell you that. I guess it’s a stupid reason to come all this way and...I mean, I waited for you all day outside your school.” He rubbed his neck and sighed. “Like your own little fan boy. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you at work or here. I should have just mailed your book to you, right?” He paused looking at her. “It’s only...I agreed with Sano, and I had to tell you. When you left, thinking we might have been...You’re cute. Ok? Really cute. Adorably cute. Unforgettably cute. Do you understand? We weren’t laughing at you.”

  “Ok.”

  “Ok?”

  “Well, not ok exactly, but closer.” She wiped at her eyes.

  “Hey, how about a challenge?”

  “A challenge?”

  “Yeah, why don’t we have an eating challenge? Like a race.”

  She laughed, abruptly, the sound more a hiccup than a laugh, drawing the attention of the other couple and the cooks. “Finally, something Yoh-ish.”

  “Yoh-ish?”

  “Well, it’s just...You’re speaking English, so you don’t sound like Yoh really, but when I turn my head, there you are. Gakino Yoh from Tenshi. It’s making me crazy, and I keep thinking this would all be easier if you would just do something Yoh-ish.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You’re always doing weird stuff, challenges, dares, goofy, funny stuff on your variety shows. Shouldn’t you be asking these guys to teach you to make teppenyaki or something?”

  “Well, you are a fan aren’t you?”

  Her stomach dropped, and she stared at him, her eyes wide, her mind a complete blank. “What kind of challenge?” she finally managed.

  “We’re both right-handed. And we’ve both been picking at our food, right? So, Why don’t we have a left-handed eating challenge?”

  “The first person to finish wins?”

  “Right.”

  “Y
ou’ve eaten more than I have. You’ll have to give me a handicap.”

  “Sure,” he agreed.

  “And what do I get when I win?”

  He smiled. “If you win, you choose what we do the next time we meet. If I win, I choose.”

  “The next time we meet?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why aren’t we betting if there will even be a next time?”

  “Because I’m not leaving that up to chance.”

  Tossing her bag on the bed, she thought about driving Yoh back to his car. On the return trip, he still kept his distance, but they’d talked. He was pleased about having won the challenge, ribbing her about being the champion although he’d had to eat an entirely extra bowl of rice. They had talked of nonsense really, but they chatted more like friends.

  As they said their goodbyes, she had been relieved to be in a country where a goodnight kiss wasn’t obligatory. She could do without any more awkwardness. She expected a goodbye-it-was-nice-to-meet-you. With his curiosity satisfied, he would float back to wherever it was that perfect people came from. But then he said he wanted to see her again, and that he would be back in a week. He teased her, talking about their book club, before his face grew serious. He bowed slightly to her and left, and she was struck with the horrible thought that, although she had wanted him gone, she might never see him again. Despite his promises.

  Maybe a goodnight kiss wouldn’t have been so bad.

  Sighing, she pulled off her clothes to slip into her pajamas.

  Would he really come back? Wouldn’t his life pull him away from her and from Taiwan? She should hope that he didn’t return. She should hope that she wasn’t pulled into his orbit. Obviously. He was a star. Bright lights and darkened arenas, and she was just another fan. A strange one, to be sure. Exciting and different, but for how long?

  She was lonely. That wasn’t surprising. Adoptees often were.

  She had traveled and traveled, trying to find a place she felt comfortable. Her friend Bethany insisted that she was setting out on a hopeless search, that people were homes, not places. But a family wasn’t in Eloise’s plans. There was too little to comfort her in the thought.