In Deep Kimchi (16 page)

“Oh yeah, a gay romance.” That would keep her mind off of the lusty Yori Morioka.

Shaundra tried to concentrate, but her head felt fuzzy and disoriented. She was tired and still reeling under the effects of the champagne and whatever the hell Yori ordered before that. Another reason she didn’t like alcohol was because it made her do foolish things that were out of the norm for her like almost sleeping with a twenty-five year old, no matter how handsome he was, and Yori Morioka was one delectable-looking man. Fortunately, common sense had kicked in just before things got too carried away.

Damn, but he could kiss
. She pressed her finger to her swollen lips as she remembered. The last one he’d bestowed on her had been deep, passionate and very effective. No one had ever kissed her like that before and he had been beginning to break down the barrier until reason reared its ugly head. He seemed disappointed that she turned him down, but he hadn’t tried to force her. She smiled. He scored many brownie points with her because of this.

Shaundra pounded away at a scene that just jumped into her head. Hopefully, her muse wasn’t drunk. Hours passed and ideas kept popping up. Nope, her muse was sober and nourishing her. One scene turned into another and then, finally, a completed chapter. Shaundra yawned and saved her document. She was too tired to go on. The thirteen or fourteen hour difference between the United States and Japan still had her all screwed up. And just when her body adjusted, she’d be back on a plane headed home.

She rose from her seat and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. Afterwards, she crawled into the bed and closed her eyes. Tomorrow, they were doing some promoting on a local talk show. It would be two American authors and two Japanese authors while the other four were promoting at a local bookstore. Aomori wouldn’t be accompanying them because they had to rehearse at the Tokyo Dome. Shaundra smiled, thinking that she wouldn’t have to face Yori for a while, and by then, he’d probably have forgotten about what happened between them earlier.

Chapter Eleven

“Move that pretty ass of yours,” Takumijo said to Satoshi as he tried to teach them some new dance steps. He knew it was early in the morning, but he had lots to show them. It also wasn’t his fault that Satoshi wasn’t a morning person. He could sleep it away if no one woke him. Yori also looked like he’d seen better days.

Both Satoshi and Yori had been acting out of sorts since last night, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe the two of them had gotten into an argument in the lounge because everything had seemed okay between them at the recording studio.

“I need you guys to get these steps right. You’re making our background dancers look bad.”

A few of the dancers snickered at his comment, but knew not to mess with him when it came to choreography. This was his specialty and contribution to Aomori, and not even Satoshi or Yori was going to mess this up. “It’s step, step, turn, step, and pause.”

Satoshi got it on the second attempt, but Yori still struggled with the combination. Usually, Yori got it on the first attempt, but now even the perfectionist, Ichiro, was getting upset with him.

“Yori has two left feet,” Ichiro said from behind a fan he had taken out of his back pocket. It was one of those old-time ones made of thin wood and decorated with a scenic Japanese design. Yes, Ichiro had some strange habits, but he meant well.

Yori rolled his eyes at him. “I do not, you little geisha.”

Ichiro did not seem offended by Yori’s remark about his manhood.

“I’m just a little distracted. Maybe it’s from the champagne.”

“What champagne?” Takumijo asked. “We’re in training. Why are you drinking that shit?”

Yori sat down on the floor and began doing stretching exercises. “I didn’t want the usual stuff. I wanted something different.”

“Champagne is for celebrating, and even the cheap stuff is expensive. What were you celebrating?”

The rest of the dancers joined Yori on the floor and began stretching out their muscles.

“Our upcoming concerts.”

“So you were just sitting in the lounge last night drinking champagne all by yourself?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

Satoshi cleared his throat and played with his shoestring.

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It just seems odd. Are you sure you weren’t with some young lady?”

Yori shook his head. “I got out of the limousine with you last night. When did I have time to meet someone?”

“You had ample time to strike up a conversation with someone in the lounge.”

Yori pulled down the cuffs of his blue exercise pants until they covered his ankles. “No one I’d buy champagne for.”

Takumijo grunted. “You wouldn’t tell us if you had. What’s the matter? Afraid one of us might steal her? You know us better than that. We don’t cross that line.”

Satoshi’s head popped up quickly and quite noticeably.

Takumijo walked over to him and bent over. “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Satoshi answered quickly.

“You answered too fast. You’re hiding something. What did you see when you went down to the lounge to get Yori last night?”

Yori looked over at both of them and then went back to his stretching. The backup dancers and Ichiro stopped stretching and listened for Satoshi’s answer.

“Nothing, just Yori sitting in our usual booth drinking.”

“Was he alone?”

“As far as I know.”

“Okay,” Takumijo said. He walked over and kicked the bottom of Yori’s tennis shoes. “Enough of that stretching, you slackers. Let’s get back to work.”

Yori moved slowly up to his feet and got back in line on the left side of Satoshi.

“Take it from the top—step, step, turn, step, and pause.” Somewhere before Takumijo’s blood pressure rose, Yori got the hang of the exchange. By noon, he had practiced them into exhaustion and figured it was time to stop and let them have lunch. This worked out good for him because he had a lunch date with his best friend, Osamu Nakaumura, the actor.

He hadn’t seen Osamu since the last time he and Aomori had come to Tokyo. The two of them had met on the set of a drama where Takumijo had his first acting debut at the age of eighteen. Osamu had been twenty-five at the time, married, and he and his wife were expecting their first child. Osamu had just returned a couple of months early from completing his military duty and had returned to acting with a vengeance. He was now nominated for one of Japan’s highest honors in acting for his portrayal of a Samurai in a period piece.

“Okay, I guess that’s enough practicing for today. Good job everyone,” he told Aomori and the backup dancers.

Yori lumbered toward the door and Satoshi set out behind him. The dancers followed them out. Takumijo watched them leave. He wasn’t stupid. Something was up with Yori and Satoshi. He looked over at Ichiro who was busying picking up the sweaty towels and tossing out the empty water bottles. “You do know that they’re hiding something from us, don’t you?”

Ichiro nodded his head.

“Go behind them and see if you can find out what.”

“What are you about to do?”

“I’m meeting with Osamu.”

Ichiro raised an eyebrow in concern. “Do you think that is wise? Mr. Niigata asked you to stay away from him.”

“It’ll be okay. I won’t get caught.”

Ichiro hesitated, attempted to say something, and then hurried out behind Satoshi and Yori.

* * * *

Quiet as he might be, a fool, he wasn’t. Yori and Satoshi had stopped talking the moment they saw him in the locker room. Were they discussing him? Ichiro wondered. Probably, since Yori looked away the minute he tried to make eye contact.

Ichiro pretended to ignore them and began removing his sweaty workout clothes, turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray, aware that the two of them watched him, hoping one day to discover that he didn’t have a penis. They’d seen each other naked before, and drunk, sick and depressed. They’d lived together for fifteen years, sharing everything from nightmares to dreams. There had been no secrets until now.

Ichiro watched the two of them separate and prepare to shower. What did Takumijo expect him to overhear except the splashing of water against the metal bottom of the stall? Ichiro finished bathing, turned off the water and stepped out on the cold floor. He really had better things to do besides be a spy for Takumijo while he went off to meet Osamu. He sighed, thinking that he should be following Takumijo to make sure he stayed out of trouble, and trouble would certainly come to him if he didn’t heed Mr. Niigata’s warning to stay away from the married actor.

Of the four of them, Takumijo caused the most trouble with his renegade ways and shitty-assed attitude. Yori had caused his share of problems, too, but at least he was smart enough now to be more discrete and not let the media find out about it.

Ichiro dried off and put the towel around his waist while he retrieved his clean underwear and street clothes. The other two had exited the shower and started dressing. Neither had spoken a word since his arrival. Finally, he could not take the silence any longer. “Okay, what are you two hiding?”

“Nothing,” Yori replied as he tugged his T-shirt over his head, struggling to get it over his shoulders and down his chest. Yori and Takumijo always bought T-shirts a size smaller to emphasize their muscles. He and Satoshi were not as self-centered as those two.

“I am not stupid. Most of the time I can’t shut the two of you up. What did you do that is going to get all of us in trouble?”

Satoshi playfully pulled Ichiro’s hair as he had done since the first day they’d met. The act had been annoying at first, but he’d grown used to it and understood that it was Satoshi’s way of saying that he liked him.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Yori is just having some personal issues.”

“Maybe I can help,” Ichiro said, leaning against the wall with his bag of dirty clothes. He didn’t miss the interplay of eyes between Satoshi and Yori. That definitely meant that the two of them had been conspiring about something.

“It’s nothing really, Ich. Amaya is just all over my case again.”

“Oh, is that all? Why the big secret? She’s been all over your case for years.”

Satoshi laughed. “Why are you so talkative all of a sudden?”

“I only speak when I have something important to say,” Ichiro replied.

Yori slipped his feet into his shoes. “Amaya wants me to come home for a visit.”

“I hope you explained that it is impossible.”

Yori nodded. “She misses me. She does not understand that I can’t.”

“How is she going to adjust to that when you’re married?” Ichiro asked.

“I have no idea. If she wants a traditional husband, we’re going to have severe problems. She’s already accusing me of having affairs with our fans.”

“You’ve cheated on her before. Maybe you should just marry her and take her on the road with you,” Ichiro suggested.

Satoshi zipped up his bag. “I don’t think that is a very good idea. She still won’t see Yori that much. Maybe you should end your relationship with her.”

Yori gathered up his things. “I don’t know.”