Danger Beyond Intrigue: Volume One

by H. L. Valdez

  “Don’t beat yourself up," Justin suggested walking across the room.

  “It’s all my fault,” he accused himself, walking to the door.

  "I've been divorced twice," Justin said smirking. "It'll work out man, don't worry about it. Come on, let’s go,” he said, placing his hand on Primo's shoulder. “Let’s go out and find your future ex-wife,” he joked, laughing.

  "Excuse me," Masako blurted, standing near the window. Both men turned, in an embarrassed moment of social interaction. Both remained quiet, waiting for her to speak. She remained silent.

  "See, this is the reason I'm being divorced," Primo uttered.

  "What do you mean?” Justin asked, puzzled.

  "We're leaving Masako behind; like I left my wife behind," Primo said, looking at her mournfully with a burdensome awareness. "Masako, would you join us for a beer or dinner?" he asked, feeling positive about his asking.

  "Do you have a special place in mind?" she asked.

  "Are you kidding?" Justin answered. "We're strangers in a strange land," he concluded.

  "This is your city," Primo said. "You must know all the spots."

  "It depends on your preferences."

  "I think we're going to make a good team," Primo suggeted.

  "You must learn Japanese," she informed him as they walked out the door.

  Later That Evening

  “As I said before, a relationship with me won’t work,” Velvet informed Butch, with a pained face, sitting across from him in the small, cigarette smoke filled coffee shop. “I’m not what I appear to be. I’m not the good little Velvet that you think I am," she said, lighting a cigarette. "I like sex and I like variety.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying to me.”

  “Butch baby, I can’t be in a relationship right now. It’s too confining for me," she said truthfully, drawing on her cigarette. "Believe me, I’ve thought about this. I’m not ready to commit. You’re a great guy, Butch." She added, stirring her coffee. "But you have a wife, plus, you're not divorced.”

  “If I were divorced, would we be together?”

  “Probably not," she answered. "Your being single wouldn’t matter.” she said candidly, looking into her coffee cup.

  “I guess I’ve got my heart, soul, and mind twisted around,” Butch answered. “I thought warmth comes from the heart, love from the soul.”

  “Come on; stop the syrupy stuff," she said, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray. "I’m not your soul mate Butch. Your wife is. You need to call her,” she advised him, setting the spoon on the saucer, staring at his sad, blank expression.

  “Maybe I’ve taken her for granted,” he said feeling shame, mournful, and regret.

  “Tap into your attraction for her,” she reasoned. “Be honest. What are your secret emotions? What are you really feeling?” She asked, lifting the cup to her lips, holding the cigarette between her fingers in the other hand.

  “To be honest, I have difficulty owning and identifying my own feelings and needs.”

  “Hey, in the chaos and anxiety of being human, we can neglect ourselves," she told him. "But don’t add to the pain. Call her,” she said, taking a drag from her cigarette.

  “I don’t know what to say to you or to my wife,” he answered with a sense of divided loyalties.

  “Look deep inside, babe," she said, tapping the cigarette against the thick glass ashtray.

  “I don’t know how.”

  "You have to stay internally motivated. You’re still emotionally and culturally connected to her. Listen, we had a bump-a-rama for a few months, but that’s all external stuff.”

  “I’ve got to live it out," he said with self-pity. "I’ve held back my feelings for so long, I’m on the wrong side of right.”

  “Butch, there’s an innate passion that vibrates between us, no denying that. But I’m too culturally different to adjust to living the Japanese life style. I'm American,” she stated with cultural wisdom. “I can’t compromise my values. I can’t become Japanized.”

  “It hurts to hear you say that. I was hoping we could transcend some cultural issues.”

  “We can’t escape our culture or who we are. Come on now, don’t look so down. You’ve got a good life and a good wife,” she said supportively. “Besides, we’re at different levels of identity and commitment to the relationship.

  “My life is confusing. My emotions are all tangled up.”

  “Talk about that confusion with your wife. What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Akiko.”

  “Well, talk to Akiko, but let's concentrate on our mission. We must stay focused on work,” she advised him, running her fingers through her curly brown hair.

  “I’ve heard enough,” he said grim-faced, glancing toward the window, watching the summer rain.

  “I’ve said too much already,” she said, reaching for her purse. “You must understand I’ve been affected too. I’m sorry it has to end this way,” she stated, repeatedly snuffing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "No easy way to end an affair; its always hard and bumpy," she said, sipping her coffee.

  “There is no easy way,” he said, hanging his head.

  “The shortest way is the hardest way. We all get bruised, babe. Let’s just have a good working relationship,” she concluded, pushing away from the table.

  “What should I do?”

  “Call your wife, tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she encouraged him warmly, as Butch sat for a moment gathering his thoughts, while gazing out the window, watching Velvet enter a taxi, waving goodbye and blowing him a kiss with two fingers as she happily walked out of his personal life forever.

  Psychologically hemorrhaging, Butch sat stuck in an emotional straightjacket. He had to talk about his inner turmoil with his wife, yet he feared rejection. He knew Akiko would be angry and hold him responsible for ruining their lives. He could hear her accusations of being a terrible husband and devoting too much time toward resolving his father's murder. Tired of the arguing, he turned away from his wife in despair, seeking refuge anywhere he could by playing musical beds in the arms of other women.

  Three months had elapsed since he had spoken with Akiko; the time had come to call her and confront his inner demons. Leaving the restaurant feeling burdened with guilt and shame, he forced himself outside into the rain, stopping in front of the glass phone booth. Engulfed with low self-esteem and a decreased sense of self-worth, he slowly pushed open the glass door; dejected, he stood before the phone.

  Filled with ambivalence, he was catastrophizing about rejection and the ensuing negative interaction. Emotionally trying to cope with the moment, he began to distance himself from his feelings as he picked up the yellow phone handle and inserted a 100-yen coin into the slot. Overcome with negative projection, he began dialing the number, feeling speechless and inadequate. Leaning against the large square yellow phone, he began building a brick wall of defenses to protect him from hurt, embarrassment, and pain.

  “Here we go again. How do I stabilize my confusion?” He mumbled, listening to the ring tone, as large raindrops pelted the pre-fabricated phone booth's four glass panels. The phone rang once, then twice; he looked at his watch: eight pm. The phone rang again, and once more. After the next ring, a voice answered.

  “Moshi, Moshi. Hello,” the soft voice echoed as she listened to the silence coming from the other end. “Hello. Is someone there?” She asked kindly, in Japanese.

  “Hai,” Butch answered in Japanese in a low tone, listening to the silence, trying to close the emotional distance.

  “Butch, is that you?” Akiko asked nicely, straining to hear his faint voice.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he replied quickly.

  “Where are you?” She asked, nervously.

  “Tokyo.”

  “In Tokyo? You're in Tokyo?” She asked, bewildered.

  “Yes,” he said brusquely, then listened to the silence.

  “I'm surprised to hear your voice. It’s been so lo
ng,” she said calmly, rubbing her protruding stomach feeling estranged from her husband.

  “Three months, I know,” he answered, leaning his head against the grimy glass panel with pictures of prostitutes advertising their services. “It’s a security issue, I’m sorry.”

  “Are you alright?" She inquired, listening to him sigh. "Are you in trouble?” She asked, concerned, yet annoyed at his silence, waiting for him to answer.

  “I don’t know how I got to this place inside myself!” He replied with despair.

  “I know. Maybe you can't see it, but I can,” she said, worried about his mental state.

  "I’m in an emotional dead zone,” he answered, feeling numb.

  "Where you are is where you’re supposed to be,” she stated, rubbing her forehead.

  "I'm confused,” he answered, biting his lip. “I need to talk.”

  "We can talk if you want,” she encouraged, listening to his heavy breathing. “Don’t hold back.” She said trying to inspire him on. "You don't have to hold back from me."

  “I’m stuck. It’s been so long since I was honest. Now, it's almost impossible to express myself to you,” he said, feeling a deep sense of emotional separation and pain. "I feel distant. I don’t know how to bridge the gap?"

  “Time has taken away our familiarity, but it hasn’t taken away our friendship,” she told him with a pained sense of despair. “Time has a way of revealing its own truth,” she said, feeling emotionally and psychologically neglected by Butch.

  “Akiko, there is so much I need to confess,” he stated remorseful, resting his head on the large yellow box shaped phone.

  “Please be careful with the truth. Don’t say more than you need to say,” she warned, tensely pressing the receiver close to her ear. “Whatever you’ve been going through is natural. Every relationship has moments of transition. I think the true test of a man’s character is how he reacts under stress. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress”

  “I’m ashamed of my character defects. I’ve been foolish, selfish and dishonest,” he sighed, deeply rubbing his face.

  “I have defects too. I haven’t been the best wife. I could’ve been more patient and more accepting.”

  “It’s all my fault,” he sighed with deep guilt sighs. “I’ve been selfish and self-centered.”

  “Your love for me is buried. But you have a fickle heart," she said, reflecting on their troubled relationship. "You're smart, but you’re not thinking."

  “I didn’t mean to neglect our relationship,” he admitted, choking back his emotions, rubbing his forehead. “It just slipped through my fingers.”

  “You didn’t go very far Butch, but you had to lose yourself before you found yourself,” she whispered in a comforting voice. "Besides, I know you have a lot churning inside of you.

  “I don’t want to dishonor you,” he said, hiding his true feelings, reflecting on his sexual obsession with Velvet and Miko.

  “Did you dishonor yourself?”

  “I don’t think so,” he lied, thinking of his steamy nights with Velvet and her sexual style of giving and receiving pleasure.

  “Then you didn’t dishonor me,” she replied, pausing, listening to his breathing, sensing that he was regulating the truth. “What is causing your pain?”

  “I’m torn between my past, present, and future,” he replied, closing his eyes as thick raindrops pelted loudly against the phone booth.

  “Maybe I’m your past. Now, I’m in and out of your present and you’re uncertain if you want me in your future. Is that it? Am I close?” She probed, her eyes welling with tears.

  “I’m not good at telling the truth. You know that,” he said, swallowing hard, clearing his throat, fighting his tears, and gripping the yellow phone receiver tighter.

  “Yes, but I can’t continue playing your part and my part in this marriage. It’s hard for me to play both roles and always answer my own questions. You need to be honest with your heart and your feelings,” Akiko said, feeling weak and nauseous, easing herself to the floor.

  “My feelings are confused. I’m filled with doubt. My soul wants peace. I need psychological CPR,” he sighed, pulling his hair.

  “What’s the bad feeling you’re having?” she probed, rubbing her forehead.

  “I don’t know. It’s like an itch on my back that I can’t scratch. I’ve been so externally motivated. Now, I’m emotionally estranged from myself and from you.”

  “You haven’t had peace since your father died. And that was so long ago," she said trembling. "Your feelings are stuck in the past. This is here and now. Be here, be now,” she pleaded. “Take the leap of faith. Trust your instincts,” she encouraged him, feeling overheated and dizzy.

  “Akiko, I’m filled with revenge thoughts about my father’s death. That’s my bad feeling,” he said in a coarse tone piercing through his defenses.

  “You’ve become an emotional cripple,” she replied, disappointed.

  “We’re making every effort to convict these drug lords,” he said, suppressing his emotions, becoming defensive.

  “Why did you call me? What do you need from me? It seems I’m not satisfying you," she said, quivering her eyes welling in tears. "I’m trying to understand you, but it’s difficult for me when you don’t talk to me,” she said, weeping. “I don’t know what is pulling you away from me. I know you are busy with work, but why are you distant from me? I need your love. I need your affection, especially now,” she sobbed.

  "What do you mean, especially now?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “I’m three months pregnant,” she blurted, sobbing into the phone, unable to contain her emotions.

  “Three months? Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, calculating the last time they were intimate. In last three months he’d been to Los Angeles, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Iriomote Island, and now Tokyo.

  “You never called. You never wrote,” she answered, trembling, rubbing her face with a tissue.

  “What has my life become? What have I become?” He whispered glumly to his wife, gripping the phone, bowing his head in a moment of clarity and self-realization. “Akiko-chan, I’ve missed our intimacy,” he cried, leaning against the phone, sobbing with remorse as rain pounded the booth.

  “I never left you. My heart never left you,” she consoled him, as he leaned against the phone crying, burying his face in his arm as the rustling wind and steady rain masked his deep sobs.

  "I haven’t been there for you. I’m so sorry," he cried harder.

  “You’ve become self-possessed and alienated from what is important in your home life. I never left you. My heart never left you. I’ve been waiting for you," she wept, lying down on the floor. “Every night I eat alone wondering what you’re doing. How you’re feeling. Who are you with? Are you alive?" she said, rubbing her stomach. "It’s difficult being your wife, Butch. My life is harder without you. Now my stomach hurts. It hurts more every day," she cried, with self-pity.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool. I know your love has always been there. I’ve abused your love," he said, furiously banging the glass with his fist, cracking the panel. “I’ve gone my own way. I’ve built another world away from you, not one with you,” he wept, leaning his head against the large glass window, holding the receiver to his ear as his knuckles began bleeding.

  "Each day becomes more difficult. I’m worried. What if you die? What happens to me, and the baby? I can’t continue like this, we need to talk,” she sniveled, rubbing her round stomach.

  “I know your love has always been deep inside of me. I've acted like a single man, please forgive me.”

  “Do you want your son to lose his father? Do you want to repeat your family history? Please, I can’t take this anymore,” she yelled.

  “I know, I know,” he answered, gulping back his emotions.

  “This is not a marriage, it’s an arrangement,” she shouted angrily, crying uncontrollably as Butch listened quietly.

  “I want to come home.
I need to come home,” he said with a tired voice. "Please accept me back. I need to make amends."

  “Well, do something tangible for your family. Make your love real!” She shouted.

  “I will, I will, I promise, I promise.”

  "I'm so tired. I don't know what is wrong with me, I'm always tired," she said, worried.

  “I want to take care of you. I want to be there for you. Not like before,” he pledged softly, wiping his eyes.

  “Have you eaten dinner or had your evening bath?” She asked, sobbing.

  “No,” he answered quietly, shaking his head.

  “Would you like my miso soup?”

  “Yes. I always loved your miso soup,” he uttered, weeping in a swirl of guilt, sadness, and uncertainty. Trembling, feeling empty and alone, he began experiencing an emotional overload as his karmic script began unfolding in the dark aloneness of the evening storm.

  “Come home. Just come home. Everything will be ready,” she whispered.

  “Akiko-chan, my heart is heavy. My mouth is filled with a thousand words; I have so much to say. I just need to be held in your arms before I speak,” he whispered. “Please hold me,” he cried.

  “I’m not very sexy right now. My stomach is big. Please don’t be shocked.” she said, rubbing her stomach.

  “I don’t care. I’m skin hungry. I need your skinship,” he answered, feeling like a happy hypocrite.

  "I believe in us, just come home. We need you," she said, crying softly, closing her eyes.

  “I need you too.” He cried holding the phone.

  End of a Romance

  1 September 1964. Beverly Hills, California. Hot dry desert winds flowed over the Los Angeles basin dispersing a hazy layer of pollutants being cooked by the hot Southern California sun. The region’s highest peak, Mt. San Antonio, could be seen against the city’s eastern skyline among the San Gabriel Mountains. Sasha Nakamura and Nick Nogales were in a Beverly Hills restaurant sitting at a private table beneath a reprint of Paul Gauguin's Tahiti painting – "Under the Pandanus" depicting a man, a woman, and a dog. Two of Nick’s bodyguards sat at opposite ends of the nearby long black marble bar sipping beer, smoking cigarettes, and reading the Los Angeles Times. The chubby mustached Mexican bartender mixed margaritas beneath a large reprint of George Bellow’s painting, "Stag at Sharkey's" portraying two men boxing in a smoky arena. Yoshida, Sasha’s personal bodyguard, sat alone near the entrance at a window table eating steak and eggs, making eye contact with four other Yakuza soldiers sitting in two cars with machineguns resting on their laps, waiting for the unexpected. From the restaurant's audio system Frank Sinatra sang, From Here To Eternity.