The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) (32 page)

"Two hours. Do you think you can last?" Tom asked.

"Of course. I have a bag of crackers to eat if I feel queasy. Want some?" I held up the plastic bag I'd bought at the Family Mart.

"Rei, don't. You'll get crumbs down your kimono. It's too loose, anyway. It reveals the nape of your neck, which makes you look like a geisha!" my aunt chided. To fix things, she rose from the backseat and began tucking my kimono more tightly across my chest, which already had so many layers over it that it resembled a hard shield.

"I'm glad to see you have a handkerchief with you, because the Kayamas usually serve the most delicious chirashizushi, and you may need to wipe your lipstick. It is the fluffiest rice, topped with little bits of green onion, sweetened egg, and shrimp. Now that you can eat normal food again, you can enjoy it!" Norie chirped.

"I doubt Rei feels like eating any food served by the Kayamas. I wouldn't," Tom said.

"Don't be rude," Uncle Hiroshi sniped, his first words since I'd entered the car. I wondered what was going on with the Shimura family.

After an hour's drive, the grimy, monster-sized buildings that made up Tokyo and Kawasaki gave way to smaller buildings spaced well apart, and then towering pine trees. Another hour and we'd reached the Izu Peninsula. The scenery would have looked prettier if the sky hadn't been so gray. There was a storm warning on the radio, but before I could get the details, Uncle Hiroshi abruptly switched to a station playing Japanese oldies. As a high-pitched woman's voice crooned the popular song Sakura, I closed my eyes. If the rain came, all the cherry blossoms would be washed out and we could make a quick round-trip home.

"Their house is in the mountains. The iemoto's grandfather was clever to build in such a remote area. Now the beaches of Izu are cluttered by mansions and souvenir shops, it's a horrible place to visit," Aunt Norie opined.

"And outrageously priced," Uncle Hiroshi added. "For what you pay for a view of thirty snack shops, you could have an apartment in Hiroo!"

"Mrs. Koda has an apartment in Hiroo," I said.

"Oh? Did she invite you?" Norie seized on my comment.

"I stopped by for tea the other evening to thank her for sending me the flowers."

"You should have asked her to
your
place for tea, not gone to her house. Rei, I hope you didn't invite yourself. That may be an American habit, but it's not proper in Japan."

My irritation was rising. "She has trouble walking, so I thought it would be unkind to make her visit me, especially with the subway stairs in my neighborhood."

"How considerate!" Tom broke in. "Father, did you see the sign for the detour coming up? You must move into the left lane."

"This road was supposed to be improved because of tourism, but it's just one hassle after another," Uncle Hiroshi complained.

"Do you want to switch at the next rest stop? I like driving," Tom said. "I drove the car all the time when you were gone."

"Yes, and now that I'm back, you must be disappointed!"

A rusted metal figure of a policeman with his hand outstretched clearly marked the detour. Hiroshi whipped the Honda into the turn so fast that the car's bumper hit the faux policeman. He fell over with a resounding clang into the roadway, but my uncle drove on.

"Other cars cannot get by. We must drive back and stand the figure back up," Norie fretted.

"You want to fix everything," Hiroshi said. "But this is not the same as carrying garbage out of a temple garden. We're on a one-way road. To turn around and drive back is illegal."

The tension was making my stomach lurch a bit. I wanted out of the car. I suggested, "Why don't you stop the car on the shoulder and I'II hurry there and back?"

"In zari?" Norie asked, referring to my fancy thong sandals.

"I'll take them off!"

Hiroshi never slowed. We debated the situation of the fallen policeman for the next ten miles, until we exited the paved road and started following a rough earthen track.

"Too bad we don't have a cross-country vehicle. Four-wheel drive would make me feel safer. Please reduce your speed," Norie instructed her husband.

I began dreaming of the Kayama family's Range Rover that had been smashed, and the loaner that Natsumi had been driving. The interior was probably wonderful—leather seats, walnut dashboard, CD changer. Perfectly comfortable and quiet for a couple driving into the woods toward their assignation. I wondered if Masanobu Kayama had ever taken Lila to his country house. From what I'd read in classic Japanese novels, love affairs usually took place on a neutral ground such as an inn or a teahouse, not the family home.

"Didn't you hear me, Rei-chan?" Norie broke into my thoughts.

"Sorry. What is it?" I asked.

"I asked you whether Mrs. Koda told you how she was planning to get to the party. The nearest train station is twelve kilometers from the house. I hope the Kayamas are giving her a ride. I would have offered our car, but with the four of us inside, there isn't much room."

"Perhaps she isn't coming," I said. "Mrs. Koda didn't mention this party."

"It is true that the invitations arrived very late. Usually the invitation is mailed the day after the Tokyo cherry blossom season arrives, with the party date set for seven days later. Such terrible events happened at the school during those early cherry blossom days, it is no wonder that the invitation came late, and the RSVP number was to an outside line."

"What's that about the RSVP?" I asked, not understanding.

"In past years, the number given for RSVP purposes was Mrs. Koda's extension at the school office. But this time the number was that of a professional answering service. I chatted with a young lady on the other end, and she said this party was the biggest ever. More than two hundred are planning to attend."

Takeo had probably arranged for the outside service to give Mrs. Koda a break. Despite all the bad things I'd heard about him, I'd noticed the way he was sensitive to the elderly woman's needs.

"Father, when's the last time you came to one of the Kayamas' parties?" Tom asked.

"Mmm, it was the last year I was here before the transfer to Osaka. Must have been three years ago. Yes, that's right. But the party to remember was the one when Takeo and Natsumi were teenagers."

"I remember that party," Norie said. "Takeo did some kind of mischief with music."

"Yes, there was a classical music recital going on in the reception room. But when the musicians finished playing, he blasted some kind of American rock music."

"Really?" I was amused. "What was Natsumi like then?"

"Quite beautiful already," Norie said. "She was wearing a kimono from her mother's collection that was said to be worth more than eight million yen."

"I remember she spent the whole party smoking on the verandah. It was disgusting to see a young woman with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth like that. You don't smoke, do you, Rei?" Uncle Hiroshi asked.

"No. I tried it when I was a teenager, but it made me nauseated."

"Of course it would." Tom chuckled.

I was still interested in the idea of the kimono. "How do you think the Kayamas store a kimono that's worth so much—in a vault?"

"Oh, no, the Kayamas have a kura, a storehouse for their valuables. They opened it for a tour about ten years ago. Each kimono is stored in an individual lacquered box. The system is very organized."

"Like the archives at the school," I said.

"How do you know about the archives?" Norie queried. "I hope that you haven't been asking the school staff too many questions."

"I feel sick," I said, popping a cracker into my mouth and chewing.

"Rei's obviously feeling sick, so let's not press her for conversation," Tom said. "Mother, if you don't mind, let's stay quiet for the rest of the ride."

"Which way is it now?" Uncle Hiroshi demanded. He stopped at the end of the dirt road.

"Oh, dear, I was talking so much that I didn't notice. I think we missed a turn, because I've never been to this place before," Norie said.

"All your gossip distracted me!" Uncle Hiroshi cried. "Now we're lost."

"Father, I remember this area. I humbly ask that you let me take the wheel," Tom said.

"Fine! You do everything better than I do." Uncle Hiroshi unfastened his seat belt, threw his door open, and got out of the car. Tom left the back and took the driver's seat. Now the young ones were in front, the elders in the back. How odd that felt.

Tom turned the car around. The road was so rough that small rocks flew out from under the wheels. It was definitely bumpy enough to make me sick, but Tom continued at a slow, steady pace. We traveled back about two miles to a fork in the rough trail.

"Yes, that's where the correct turn is," Norie said. "It's a very subtle entrance. But look, there are pretty pink lanterns in the trees. And there is a car ahead of us! We must be on the right path."

The car's taillights vanished around a stand of tall oaks. Tom continued at his measured pace, and when we rounded the bend the car was no longer in sight.

"Just follow the lanterns," Norie advised. "I'm sure they lead to the side of the house where the gardens are."

I wished it weren't so dark. I wondered if we were passing Takeo's experimental garden—there was no way to tell. I only had a sense of vast fields and trees, a luxury of space that I'd rarely experienced in Japan.

"You see? Here we are!" Norie said.

Ahead of us lay a low, sprawling villa that reminded me of early-twentieth-century modernism and Frank Lloyd Wright. The house was built of stone, a material rarely used for houses in Japan, but had a traditional tiled roof. It looked very interesting. Now I didn't care about the long, uncomfortable car ride or my uncertainty about the party ahead. "Aunt Norie, did you bring a camera? I'd like to take pictures."

"Yes, yes." She passed me a pretty little silk bag that felt heavy. "You can use my Nikon, it's just point and shoot, neh? Just be sure not to use up the film. I'd like to have my photograph taken against the famous cherry trees."

"They haven't marked the parking," Hiroshi complained. "Last time we came, we parked on the grassy area over there."

"With Takeo-san's interest in environmentalism, he might want to save the grass," Tom said dryly. "I'll get a bit closer to the house, and maybe we will see a parking valet."

There was no valet. However, about a dozen cars were parked along the edge of the driveway. I recognized Lila Braithwaite and Nadine St. Giles, both dressed in sequined cocktail suits, emerging from a Mercedes and walking toward the house. Did Nadine know about Lila's affair? I wondered about that, as well as about who was babysitting the Braithwaite children that night.

"Well, I'm stopping here," Tom announced. He parked the car. After getting out, I arched my back with pleasure. The obi's thick bow had forced me to sit ramrod straight the entire journey.

"Isn't that Natsumi at the door? I must say she doesn't look a day older than she did at nineteen," Uncle Hiroshi said.

I looked and sure enough, Natsumi stood between two tall sliding doors. She was not wearing an eight-million-yen kimono—just a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt.

"You said I had to dress up!" I turned on my aunt in horror. If this was going to be a party full of young hipsters in black jeans, I'd feel ridiculous.

"I don't understand why she is dressed that way! And keep your voice down!" Aunt Norie whispered forcefully.

"Ohairi kudasai," Natsumi called, the standard polite welcome that one made to guests. Her voice was slurred, and she leaned in the doorway as if to support her body.

"She seems drunk," Hiroshi said under his breath.

"Who cares? We all need a drink after that drive," Tom muttered.

Intoxicated. Slumbering amid pinks.
I thought of the haiku as I trailed them toward the house.

"Our house isn't very clean, and I'm afraid we haven't prepared the right food!" Natsumi spoke in a breathless singsong as we all bowed to her and passed into the house's entryway. In most Japanese homes, this was a space no larger than five feet square, but in this house the fieldstone entrance was about thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. I longed to use the camera in the silk bag dangling from my wrist, but I'd have to wait until later, when the entryway wasn't so crowded. Also, I'd straighten it up a bit before taking the picture. A newspaper lay atop the hall table, where there was no flower arrangement of any sort. I would have expected some hint of cherry blossoms, since this was a cherry blossom party.

"I wonder where the servants are," Aunt Norie said to me sotto voce as we peeled off the light silk haori coats covering our kimono. Tom and Uncle Hiroshi had worn business suits, so they had nothing to do but step out of their shoes. Natsumi was rummaging in a long, low cabinet and then began tossing out dozens of slippers for us to wear.

I stepped out of my zari and into a pair of woven straw slippers waiting for me on the polished oak floor. Then we all moved into a large reception room furnished comfortably with low chairs and sofas.

Bottles of hard liquor waited on a table made from a highly polished slab of zelkova, but the cups next to them were of oddly mixed sizes and included a plastic tumbler decorated with Doraemon, the magical cartoon cat that had stalked me throughout the day.

I choked back a laugh. At a minimum, I'd been expecting tuxedoed waiters handing around drinks on a tray to the forty guests who were already there. The house was beautiful, but the preparations were so awkward that even I could have done better.

The saving grace was the cherry garden, revealed by the room's three glass walls. The trees were in full splendor and softly lit with pink lanterns such as we'd seen on the path coming in.

In the garden, Norie's friend Eriko, who was wearing a dark blue kimono, was chatting with Lila Braithwaite. Norie immediately began making noises about wanting to talk to them. I thought it was better that I didn't come face-to-face with Lila, so I made an excuse about exploring the house. I made a drink for myself and then went into the dining room, where I had caught a glimpse of Takeo.