The Bride's Kimono (15 page)

“D
id you see that man waiting for me?” I said just as Hugh caught up to me on the steps.

“Yes. I was wondering if you’d brought someone with you,” he said.

“No. I came out a few minutes ago and I saw the man—person,” I amended, since I really didn’t know. “When I said your name aloud, the person seemed to acknowledge me, but somehow—I didn’t want to go down. I can’t figure out why I was spooked—or if the person was a man or a woman, for that matter.” I was thinking about how Jamie had disappeared from the museum. She was close to six feet tall and had been wearing pants—with an overcoat on, and turned away from me, she could very well have resembled a man. Maybe she’d been waiting for me because she wanted to confide in me about her troubles at the museum—or because she had some other plan. No. I was being paranoid.

“It was a rotten idea for me to suggest that you come out here, in the dark—I swear, Japan spoiled me in that regard. I’m accustomed to feeling safe at night in big cities when it really isn’t.”

Takeo had said America was dangerous, but I hadn’t expected to be at risk. But here I was, burglarized two
days previously, and now almost lured by a stranger pretending to be my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, I corrected myself. I asked Hugh, “Do you think anyone knew you wanted to see me at the Spanish Steps?”

“I wrote the note on a napkin at the bar. I suppose there must have been twenty people behind me waiting for drinks—any one of them could have seen. Plus I tipped a waiter ten bucks to make sure you got it—that could have attracted attention. I’m sorry, Rei.”

“Let’s just get off these steps,” I said. “We’ll finish this talk elsewhere.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“My flat’s about twenty minutes away—”

“No!” Just as with his car, I didn’t trust myself to enter Hugh Glendinning’s apartment and emerge unscathed. “I’d—I’d rather go home. Maybe you can walk me to Dupont Circle?”

“Better than that—I’m going to ride the Metro back with you. After what happened tonight, I don’t want you out of my sight.” Hugh had his arm around me as we began walking, and though he’d set off at his usual pace, he quickly slowed to accommodate my snail-like pace because of the constricting kimono.

“Sorry about the kimono,” I said, shaking off his arm. The way he was touching me made me feel more like a doll than I wanted.

“It’s gorgeous,” Hugh said. “But it seems very difficult to walk.”

“I’ll manage. Anyway, why don’t you tell me everything that happened since I saw you in the auditorium. I started talking, and then you left, for some reason. What was it?”

“I wanted to zip into the gallery to take a quick look at the kimono so that I could get more out of your lec
ture. When I got there, I saw there was only one person in the room—a guy who looked rather like a Japanese salaryman, but with bizarre behavior. He was looking inside the sleeves and necklines of the kimono, and all around the backs of the installed pieces, crawling on the floor, even looking up the skirts. I don’t know if he had a fashion fetish or something more criminal in mind. He didn’t know I was there until I coughed, and then he took off.”

“He must have been casing the room,” I said, feeling completely shaken. “Thank goodness you interrupted him.”

“I wish somebody had caught him. Later on, at the reception, I told Allison in great detail about what I’d seen, but she seemed much more annoyed with me than anything. She thinks it was just a fellow from the Japanese embassy making sure everything was safe. I said, if you show me the guy you’re talking about, I can tell you if he’s the one, but she bluffed and said she’d get a reception attendance list from the ambassador’s secretary tomorrow. I said there might not be any kimono left tomorrow if she waited that long, and then she said I was taking my position on the advisory committee too seriously.”

“Well, I think she’s negligent. Perhaps I should try to speak to the director of the museum—what’s she called? We haven’t been introduced.”

“Her name is Marina Billings, and I’ve met her only briefly. I’d hope that she’d take the museum’s security more seriously than Allison seems to do. But she’s not around tonight—she was summoned home by her child-minder. Her young son had a high fever or some awful thing—I can understand why she left,” Hugh said.

I rolled my eyes. I’d forgotten his reverential attitude toward families—it had been a sore point with us a year ago. Hugh had wanted children, marriage, the whole
nine yards—or whatever was the equivalent figurative measure in Scotland.

We’d hit Connecticut Avenue and were now walking in the midst of many people dressed far more casually than we were. People stared at me in the brilliant kimono, then skipped over to Hugh in his trendy butterscotch silk viscose suit. We didn’t fit in here any better than we had in Japan. Forget children and marriage, I thought grimly. Nobody would believe it.

The ride down the Dupont Circle escalator, I’d learned from my previous travels on it, was a long one, and quite steep. I held tight to the right-hand side and tried to look anywhere but where I was going.

Hugh was right behind me, and he kept talking through it all. “This is one damnably scary escalator ride. Going up isn’t bad, but going down—well, I hate it.”

“I think escalators are better than stairs,” I said. “I survived a fall down the stairs at Ebisu Station a few months ago.”

“How in the hell did that happen?”

“A man hit me. But that’s a story for another time. Talk about something pleasant.”

“Well, I think your talk went brilliantly. You’ve grown more confident in public, and your Japanese language skills have skyrocketed.”

“A year will do that,” I said, thinking about how my time with Takeo had changed me. So many things were better—yet why wasn’t I happy?

Hugh had turned his attention to his wallet. “Hey, I’ve got nothing smaller than a twenty, and I don’t want to jingle like Father Christmas for the rest of the night. Can you spot me a few small bills?”

“Sure.” I gave him a five.

“Thanks.” Hugh slid the money into the machine and
got his Metro fare card and change during the time I was still figuring out how to add value to the fare card I already had. I’d been using the same one for the last three days. He waited for me, and then we rode another escalator to the train platform that said
SILVER SPRING
. A train pulled in just as we got there, so we boarded and found two seats together.

“Well, I spent some time today looking into your legal situation,” Hugh said, watching me lower my body onto the seat next to him, staying a good foot away from the seat back because the
obi
’s bow prohibited my resting.

“I hope it’s good news.”

“Well, it’s a bit of good and bad. I called Metropolitan Insurance to find out if it was possible to buy protection for a museum item from overseas that had accidentally traveled without insurance. They said it could have been arranged.”

I exhaled as much as the tight
obi
would allow me. “So Allison could have helped me out…but she didn’t!”

“All she needed to do was write a letter, fax it to the Morioka for a signature, and then on to the insurance company. It would have meant the museum’s registrar assigning it a temporary loan number as well.”

“The registrar is away. I guess Jamie would have done it.” But why not?

“The good news is that
you
probably can’t be held responsible for the kimono’s loss.”

“How’s that?”

“Mr. Shima lent you the kimono without bothering to check on the insurance situation. That’s negligence. A judge would likely believe the fault lies with him and his museum’s administration.”

“A judge in America, perhaps. But what about Japan?” I asked anxiously.

My question got lost because it was time to rush out at Metro Center, along with the great wave of people making transfers. We made our way down the steps to the lower tracks, where the Orange and Blue Lines were. The platform was packed with rowdy teenagers, a few of whom pointed at me and did a weird side-to-side waddling motion. I wondered where they’d gotten it—some imported animated program? All I knew was that I must look like a joke.

When the train came, Hugh and I were momentarily separated in the crush, and when I boarded and slipped into one of two empty seats, a crying young woman sat right down next to me. Hugh took a seat across, mouthing,
Later
. Next to me, the girl blew her nose and wiped her eyes violently. It was hard to concentrate because the teenagers had a boom box that was blaring music that I hated.

The teenagers finally got out at a station called Rosslyn, leaving Hugh and me alone in the car. He held up two dollars in the air and beckoned to me.

“I meant to give you your change. Thanks.”

“That’s okay,” I said, waving it off.

“You’ve been taking a lot of taxis, haven’t you? Small bills are handy. Come sit with me and let’s finish our business.” Hugh looked at me entreatingly, so I nodded and went to him, tucking the two dollars securely in my
obi
so I could use them later to pay for my cab ride from the Metro station.

I said, “You said that the loss is the Morioka’s responsibility. I don’t think so—I practically got on my knees, I wanted the
uchikake
so much. Mr. Shima gave in because he was touched by my feeling. There’s a proverb for it in Japanese—‘when two hearts meet.’ That’s what happened.”

“But would he risk his heart to put his own museum’s
possessions at risk?” Hugh said softly, looking at me. Suddenly it felt as if we weren’t talking about business anymore.

“It doesn’t matter what risk he took. Mr. Shima can say whatever he wants to the museum director and insurance investigators because we were alone together in his office when I made the request. Mr. Shima could say that he
asked
about insurance, and I assured him that the kimono was covered. Or something like that.”

“I see. You’re worried he’ll tell the story differently than you did? Perjure himself, if necessary?”

“Exactly. And please don’t talk to me about this thing going to trial—it just makes me feel sick.” I shuddered. “All I want is to get the kimono back from Hana. I don’t want to prosecute her; I just want it back. If things stay quiet, the Morioka will never know the trouble I had, and there won’t be any horrible stories in the Japanese media about my incompetence.”

“If it’s a situation where you can’t eat lunch in that town again, you should move here—”

“Oh, what a great idea! Especially since Allison knows I am responsible for the loss of the bridal kimono. I’m sure she’ll tell everyone else in the textile world.”

“How does Allison know?” Hugh sounded aghast.

Looking down at my lap, I said, “I told her this evening. I was upset because she really didn’t seem worried enough about the safety of the kimono on exhibit. I didn’t want to see them vanish, too.”

“So your loyalty was first to the kimono collection—and not to yourself.”

“I just didn’t want to add more losses to the tally I’m going to have to report to the Morioka Museum. It’s such a mess.”

I shut my eyes, but opened them quickly when I felt
the light pressure of Hugh’s fingers on my wrists. When I gave him a curious look, he moved his hands up underneath the full sleeves of the kimono. Trust him to find the only form of access into the silk cocoon that covered me so snugly.

“This silk is amazing. Can men wear it?”

“It’s called
rinzu,
and no, men don’t usually have a reason to wear it, or touch it the way you’re doing, for that matter.” I began to wiggle away, but Hugh pulled me closer. Somehow, his fingers had traversed their way from the loose-fitting sleeves into the edge of the kimono’s tight bodice. We were locked together, and I couldn’t move without risking damage to Aunt Norie’s precious garment.

“I’m sorry,” Hugh said in my hair, not sounding that way at all. “I guess we’re stuck.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. I took one of my hands off his shoulders and very lightly tugged around the top of the
obi
to release a bit of tightly wrapped kimono. Now there was more room, and Hugh slowly pulled his hands out.

“I’ve tried to be good. It’s just that, well, you’ve looked so—untouchable—all evening that I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’ve been dying to find out if you’re the same woman underneath all the layers.”

“I’m not,” I said, finally ready to say what I should have said a while ago. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m seeing someone in Japan.”

“You’re seeing someone?” Hugh looked at me with eyes that held a mixture of sorrow and tenderness. “Oh, my God. I had no idea that I buggered things so badly that you needed professional help.”

“I’m not seeing a shrink. I’m seeing a man. A boyfriend.” As his expression moved from pity to horror, I said quickly, “It started about six months ago. I’m
quite—committed—to this man. Everyone thinks he’s just right for me.”

Hugh’s face was now utterly grave. It reminded me of how I’d felt when I’d opened my suitcase and found the bride’s kimono gone. After a few seconds, he said, “I know I deserve this. But to whom did I lose, another
gaijin
or one of your own?”

One of your own.
It was the first time I’d ever heard him talk about my Japanese side in such a way, and it caused a sharp blaze of anger to rush through me. “Takeo’s Japanese, as you can probably guess from his name. He loves Japan and plans to live there forever.”

“So that’s why you chose him—he loves Japan.” Hugh had a mocking tone in his voice that I didn’t like. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I think you’d be better off with someone who loves you more than a country.”

“You’re a terrible one to talk about love. You ran off to another continent just when things got serious. I don’t know what’s going on between us now, exactly—friendship, helping out, quasi-dating—but I’m sure that once I board the plane back home, you’ll strike me from your mind again.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Yes! And I hate what you did, bringing me here under false pretenses—”