Intimate Betrayal (27 page)

Ichitaro, the mistress of the house, had immediately taken to the high-strung teenager and was determined to make her the quintessential geisha. She saw limitless promise in the hauntingly beautiful Sukihara, and she set out to teach her everything she knew. After all, Suki was her own patron's sister. And she would always do what she could to please Mioshi.

Suki was a brilliant student. She mastered her skills with ease and was a favorite among the
okyakusama
—or honored guests. Yet there seemed to be nothing that Ichitaro could do to contain Suki's willful ways. She was headstrong and determined to do things the way she thought was best, which was more with her heart than with her brilliant mind. Suki was a pure romantic at heart, a quality that was not befitting the lifestyle of a geisha. Geishas did not have the option of
falling in love. But Sukihara did just that anyway. She fell in love with James Knight.

Suki brushed away a stray strand of her lustrous black hair, tucking it securely behind her ear. As the sun slowly began to infuse the earth with light, she, too, became filled with memories of the past…

Ichitaro had been furious to find out that Suki was pregnant. More furious to discover that she actually fancied herself in love with the black soldier. Suki was immediately sent away to have her baby. She could only return to her former life if the child were a girl. The stigma of being the child of a geisha, and thus illegitimate, is felt far more keenly by male than by female children, Ichitaro had explained.

The cultural style of maleness in Japan dictated female subservience, at least on the surface. The refined nuances of service in which geishas are trained are not meant for men. As a result, life is extremely hard on the egos of men who live within the geisha world.

The pampering of male egos, which is the cornerstone of geisha skills, does not extend to family. For males of geisha families, it is their mothers, sisters, daughters, or wives who are the leaders within that world in terms of actual work and socially recognized authority. This is probably the only place in Japanese society where the birth of a baby girl is more welcome than a boy.

When her son was born, Suki was torn between a mother's love and the life that she longed to live. If she kept her child, she could not hope to aspire to run her own establishment. She could not subject her son to life within her world. Male children reared in a geisha community grew up resentful and displayed their ambivalence to their lifestyle by being wayward and profligate.

Suki wanted more than that for her beautiful son. When she looked down into his dark, inquisitive eyes, she knew he
was destined for great things, and in order for that to happen she would have to let him go. She could never hope to have a real life outside. No respectable Japanese man would love and marry her. What was she to do?

During her six-month absence from Ichitaro's house, she had not communicated with James and he was unaware that she'd borne him a son. Then one morning, Ichitaro came to visit her.

“It is time for you to return, Suki. The longer you stay with the child, the harder it will be to let him go.”

“But what should I do, mother? I cannot just leave him.”

From the sleeve of her kimono, Ichitaro removed a long, slim ivory-colored envelope. She handed it to Suki.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Suki peeled open the envelope and removed the contents. Her dark sloping eyes widened in astonishment, then filled with tears. “Tickets to America? You are sending me away,” she cried. “But what will I do? I know no one…”

“Hush. You are to take the baby to this James Knight's home. Give the baby to his wife.”

Suki's skin heated with embarrassment.

“So you thought I did not know that your lover had a wife?” Sadly she shook her head. “Always the romantic, Sukihara. He will never leave his wife for you. You cannot adequately raise a boy child in our world. You have no other means of survival except with me. This is your only choice. You will give the woman her husband's son and you will return and go on with your life. You, above all the other
maiko,
have the potential to run your own establishment someday.”

Suki lowered her gaze and knew that Ichitaro was right, even as her words broke her heart. “How did you know where to find his…wife?”

“My ears are always open. My friends are far and wide. My
reach even farther. That is how I know.” She stepped closer to Suki and rested her hands on Suki's shoulders. “One day you, too, will have all that I have at your disposal.”

And so Suki had done as she was instructed. She returned to Tokyo and devoted all of her energy and time into being what was expected of her, and became the most sought-after geisha in all of Tokyo.

Because of her notability, artistic skills, business acumen and extraordinary beauty, she'd come to the attention of Murayama Hosokawa, then a rising star in the Diet—the Japanese legislature. He had become her patron—or sole supporter and suitor. It was through and because of him that her own star continued to rise.

Sukihara closed the door to her past, cut off her letters of inquiry to Claudia and dedicated herself to her life, never again looking back.

She turned away from the window, her memories retreating as a dream upon first light. Now her past had returned to haunt her, and she was powerless to stop its pursuit.

“M
y dinner meeting with Tasaka isn't until later this evening,” Max said, stifling a yawn. He curled closer to Reese's warm body. “I wanted to take you on a tour.” He kissed her behind her ear.

“Oh, I don't have to beg this time?” she teased, turning on her side to face him.

“Very funny. I figured I'd give you a break. I hate to see a beautiful woman beg.” He grinned wickedly.

Reese pinched him hard on the behind until he yelped for mercy.

“Now that's what I call beggin'!” She leaped up out of the bed, scurried into the bathroom and slammed the door, barely escaping Maxwell's grasp.

“You've got to come out sometime,” Max called out, gingerly rubbing his right cheek.

“Be a man. You got what you deserved,” she taunted.

“I'll show you how much of a man I can be when you step
back out here, miss,” he threatened in a voice full of sensual promise.

Reese snatched open the door, grabbed him by the elastic band on his silk boxers and pulled him into the bathroom. The depth of her voice reached down to his groin and caressed him to pulsating life. “Well now, Mr. Knight, let's just check out this man thang you were braggin' about.” The hot coals, that were her eyes, raked over him.

The corner of Maxwell's mustached mouth curved up into a devilish grin. He pushed the door shut behind him. “That's the kind of challenge that makes a man do extraordinary things. And I have you to thank.” His head lowered. His mouth covered and captured hers.

 

“How can people drive in this madness?” Reese asked mesmerized by the crush of humanity. “I can't believe this many people and this many cars can fit on any street. I've never seen anything like it.”

Maxwell chuckled as Daisuke expertly maneuvered the car around pedestrians, cars, and trucks down the Ginza Yonchome crossing. “Just imagine, it's not even rush hour.”

“Unbelievable.” She gazed again out of the window, watching the fashions, which covered the gamut from ultraconservative designer suits to punk-rock outfits to traditional Japanese garb. The famous thoroughfare was so vast it was like crossing the intersection of the world. It was a mixture of New York City's west village, Washington, D.C.'s Georgetown and California's Rodeo Drive, all done with Japanese elegance. Rows of elegant restaurants, boutiques, and nightspots dotted both sides of the street. Incredible, Reese thought. “Ooh, Max, look.” She pointed to a beautiful Japanese girl who looked to be no more than fifteen, dressed in full kimono, replete with face makeup and an elaborately styled black wig.

“Yeah, she's probably on her way to work.”

“Dressed like that?” Reese peered closer and watched her progress. “She looks like those geishas I've seen in the movies, but she's too young.”

“Not at all. Actually that's about the right age. She'd be called a
maiko.
” He went on to explain the meaning and that most of the women who worked in the teahouses and restaurants lived elsewhere and commuted to work just like everyone else.

“Fascinating. I'd love to do a story on them one day. Most people are under the impression that geishas are no more than call girls.”

“That's far from the truth. They receive professional training in music, song and dance and are well versed in the art of conversation. Traditionally, geishas were somewhat like indentured servants. Parents would turn their daughters over to the geisha house and the mistress would see to their room, clothing and training. Many of the geishas today are actually unionized.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope.” He grinned, enjoying her childlike wonder. “Although their numbers have dropped considerably since World War II, they're still going strong. Geishas are an integral part of Japanese life.”

Reese let out a long breath. “You've certainly done your homework.”

“It's all part of my life, too, Reese,” he stated in a thoughtful tone.

She angled herself in the seat to better face him. “Do you ever wish you knew more about your real mother?”

He looked away and paused for a long moment as if weighing the question. He breathed heavily. “At times,” he finally answered. “I guess more than just at times.” A wistful smile overtook his calm features. “Whenever I imagine her, I
see this beautiful, exotic woman who took my father's breath away.” His short chuckle lacked humor. His mixed feelings about his mother were like old wounds that ached on a rainy day. Deep in his heart, he believed that knowing about her, that part of him that made him who he was, would somehow complete the picture, make him three-dimensional. And at the same time, he was afraid of knowing. Maybe there was some dreadful reason why his father refused to discuss her with him. “But maybe she wasn't like that at all,” he ended like a little boy who'd discovered there was no Santa.

Reese reached out and clasped his hand in hers, understanding all too well what not knowing did to a person's sense of who they were. “Both of us seem to be on some sort of quest,” she began with a hesitant smile. “Maybe it's time we both found the answers we've been looking for. I'd like to help you. If you'll let me.”

From the moment the idea had taken shape in his thoughts, he'd wanted to ask for help. But she'd been so enmeshed in her own problems and constant disturbing revelations, he never believed that the opportunity would present itself, or that he would feel right asking her to take on any more. And now, here she was in the midst of her own turmoil, thinking of him. The sincere generosity of this woman touched his heart and drew him deeper under her spell.

“Are you sure this is something you want to do, Reese?”

Yes. I'm sure,” she answered without hesitation, squeezing his hands to assure him.

A fleeting sensation of doubt darted through him. “All right.”

 

For the next two hours they visited the locations that Maxwell had selected for his sites. Currently they were abandoned buildings in up-and-coming commercial areas.

“I think these locations will be perfect,” Maxwell said after they'd left the last building.

“So do I, but it's going to take a lot of work. Those buildings will need a complete overhaul to bring them up to the standards of New York and L.A.”

“I know. That's why I need the full cooperation of Tasaka. Without his blessing, nothing gets done. Besides the fact that I'll need Japanese technicians to work in the sites. We'll have to see eye to eye in order for it to work.”

“I can't imagine why he wouldn't agree. Especially if it's going to provide employment as well.”

“It's a funny thing about the Japanese way of thinking and doing business,” he began, putting the pieces of his thoughts together. “Everything is a process, almost ritualistic in nature. Decisions are made as a group. No one person wants to take a position one way or the other for fear of being wrong. For the outsider trying to get in, you must convince the entire body.”

“But I thought Tasaka made all of the decisions.”

“He does. But he's going to be watching me to see if I can convince the others before he commits to anything.”

“And they won't commit to anything because it's not in their nature to do so,” she said, completing the thought.

“Exactly. No one will say anything specific. They'll dance all around the issue. The Japanese have mastered the art of ambiguity. They never really say what they mean. You must be able to interpret their meaning without putting them on the spot.”

“So how do you win a situation like that?”

“That's the art of negotiating with them. They need to be able to see that I can be a team player; that I'm not here to tell them I can do things better; that I need them, not the other way around. They want to see the kind of person I am. That's
why many business meetings are discussed over dinner and plenty of drinks outside the office.”

Reese nodded slowly, understanding sinking in. “I have no doubts about your capabilities to charm anyone, Mr. Knight,” she grinned, running the tip of her finger down the bridge of his nose.

“I just hope they feel the same way,” he smiled.

Moments later he pulled the car to a stop in front of a beautiful restaurant with outdoor seating.

“We're here,” Maxwell announced. He checked his watch. “Hopefully Chris arrived already and got our table. This place gets so crowded, that if you miss your reservation by a few minutes they'll give your table away.”

Chris rose in greeting and gave Reese a light kiss on the cheek and embraced Max in a warm hug, which they followed up with an intricate handshake. Reese smiled at the ritual.

“You two look pretty happy,” Chris commented, returning to his seat.

Reese turned to Maxwell and smiled, her face warm with memories of their morning interlude.

“We have reason to be,” Maxwell offered, giving Reese a quick wink before turning to Chris. He held out the chair for Reese. “And we have plenty to talk about, buddy. How much time do you have?”

“I knew you would,” he grinned. “So I left my afternoon open.”

“Let's order first,” Maxwell suggested, scanning the menu.

Reese picked up hers and immediately put it back down. Everything was in Japanese.

“Don't worry,” Maxwell said, “I'll order you something delicious.”

“As long as it's not raw,” she exclaimed, screwing up her nose and setting off a round of laughter at the table.

Both Maxwell and Chris spoke rapid Japanese as they ordered their meal and Reese quietly observed the deference they were shown when the waiter realized they spoke the language. His attitude went from generally polite to total respect. Interesting, she thought. No matter where a black man seemed to go in the world, they are first judged by the color of their skin, no matter how well dressed, mannered, or spoken. At least here she'd seen levels of acceptance that did not automatically happen in the United States. That point was brought home when Maxwell and Chris's conversation broke into her thoughts.

“…that's one of the things I never have to complain about when I'm in Japan,” Chris was saying.

“What don't you have to complain about?” Reese interrupted, catching up with the discussion.

“Me and Max were talking about all the times we got harassed in L.A. for no other reason than just because we were black men in the ‘wrong' neighborhood.”

“It's happened to me in New York, too,” Maxwell added.

Reese's eyes widened in question. “What happened?” she asked, her reporter instincts switching into gear.

Maxwell leaned back in his seat, a dark, pensive look hardening his smooth bronze features. “It was a Saturday evening. I came into the office to get some work done.” He pressed his lips together in thought. His eyes narrowed. “The building was relatively empty. I came down the elevator into the lobby and went out into the employee parking lot. I was walking to my car when two security guards came up on either side of me and pushed me up against the wall insisting that I looked just like the guy they'd been told had been breaking into offices.

“Every time I tried to tell them who I was, they didn't want to hear it. One of them said, ‘Just shut up nigga, you better be glad we don't just take care of you ourselves.' They frisked
me,” he growled, the old anger and humiliation bubbling to the surface. “They started laughing while they frisked me, as if it was the funniest damned thing they'd ever done.” His jaw flexed as he took a long breath.

Reese felt her stomach roil, her throat clench as she fought down her own outrage. She couldn't begin to imagine what Max must have felt like; what so many black men must feel every day of their lives.

“One of them finally flipped open my wallet and saw my ID. Their whole attitude changed in a hurry. They couldn't apologize fast or furious enough.”

“What did you do? I hope you had them arrested for harassment!”

He snorted in disgust. “I reported them to the building security manager. I haven't seen them since. I was sent a formal letter of apology.”

Reese expelled a long-winded breath and shook her head. “It's just so hard to believe. I mean I know I've reported on it. I've seen it on the news. Rodney King was a perfect example of ‘don't believe your lyin' eyes.' I've just never known anyone who has personally experienced that kind of harassment.”

“Believe me baby, I can testify. And I haven't even begun to tell you how many times me and Chris have been pulled over.”

“Yeah,” Chris echoed. “It ain't easy.”

“That's why it's refreshing to come to Japan,” Maxwell explained. “Even though you may not be Japanese, the Japanese culture is built on respect for everyone. They may not like you, they may not bring you home to Mama, but they respect you as human beings first and foremost.”

Reese had to admit that what Maxwell said was true. Even though she was in a foreign country, she had been treated with the utmost courtesy.

“But enough of that,” Chris said. “Bring me up to date on what's been going on.”

Between Reese and Maxwell, they alternately explained about Lynnette's car accident, Victoria's letter, Frank Murphy, everything.

“That's a helluva lot of stuff going on. So what's the plan?”

“I think we need to use Stan Tilden to our advantage,” Reese said. Max nodded in agreement.

“If we can get Tilden to put the pressure on Murphy, he won't have time to focus on us and maybe Reese can get to the bottom of it all.”

“Why don't you just confront your father? He has to know something.”

“Believe me, I've thought of that. But if my father does know anything, he'll never tell. And to be honest, man, I don't think he does know.”

“Are you just saying that because he's your father?”