Zen Attitude (3 page)

“I’m really here to work,” I said, and explained about the
tansu.

“Wow, I’m into antiques. Fifties record albums, nothing that Hita Fine Arts would carry. What did you spend there?” he asked, leaning forward from the leather chair across from me.

When I told him, he whistled. “Two million yen’s a lot of money! But you obviously know the best. Come to think, you’re still in a ninety-six. The new models are almost out, and I could give you a nice bargain on a trade-up.”

“No, thanks, it’s not even my car,” I said. Car salesmen were the same the world over. Only the accents were different.

I was glad for the new taillight, because the sun had gone down by the time I arrived at Roppongi Hills, the monster white skyscraper Hugh Glendinning called home. An opened suitcase told me my lover had returned from Thailand, but he was not in the apartment. The only thing waiting for me was the new
tansu
, bound in protective bubble wrap and cardboard. While I’d listened to Jun Kuroi’s ramblings and waited for the car to be repaired, the delivery company had made it to Tokyo. There was a message on the answering machine from the building concierge, who apologized for letting the delivery crew into the apartment without my prior approval. They had not been wearing uniforms; that, and the fact they hadn’t asked him to sign a receipt, had made him slightly upset.

The
tansu
had arrived; that was the important thing. I pulled off the wrappings, marveling at it. I wasn’t used to buying antiques in such beautiful condition. My strategy was to rescue beat-up, unloved pieces at country auctions and city flea markets. A scrubbing with steel wool and linseed oil was usually all a
tansu
needed, and it was a good excuse for me to buy a lot of them. Since I’d moved in with Hugh six months ago, his sterile bachelor flat had been transformed by my various collections of antique Japanese furniture, wood-block prints, and textiles. Every few months we threw a whopping party for my clients and his business acquaintances, selling most of the pieces so I could shop again.

The Sado Island
tansu
looked splendid. I knew Mrs. Mihori would be pleased. When I’d finally reached her on the telephone, she had reassured me about my decision.

“Thank heavens you didn’t let that terrible woman take it,” she said. “And from your description, I know it is going to be perfect. Your aunt is right—you are a human miracle.”

I hadn’t seen my mother and father for three years, so my aunt and uncle in Yokohama had become substitute parents. Not that much was different about the way the two families lived; my psychiatrist father and interior designer mother had an expansive Victorian town house in San Francisco, while my Japanese relatives had a smaller, modern place that was worth three times as much, given that it rested on land in Yokohama. When I moved to Japan, I’d wanted to be financially independent, so I’d refused to live with my relatives and spent three years in a small, slummy apartment. Then Hugh had come along. I was uncomfortable living off his expense account, but I had to admit that at times like this, a marble bathroom was a most welcome place.

I spent twenty minutes luxuriating and scrubbing in the shower, then slipped into my
yukata
, a Japanese cotton robe, and went into the kitchen to finish repairing Hugh’s gift, an interesting wood-framed lantern with tattered paper covering its sides. I already knew what I was going to use as replacement paper.

Shortly after I’d finished the repairs, I heard a key turning in the front door and went out to investigate.

“
Tadaima!
” Hugh dropped his squash bag and bellowed his arrival in the Glasgow accent that could not be tamed no matter how much I tutored him. I laughed and went straight into his arms.

“Don’t bother welcoming me,” he murmured when we broke apart. “Do you realize I’ve been back for two days, wondering and waiting and completely without a car? I actually had to take the subway to work.”

“But that’s so good for you,” I teased. “I don’t understand why you like driving so much—I’d be happy if I never saw the interior of your car again.”

“Ah, but the Windom is my sanctuary. The only way I can travel from A to B without being stared at by Tokyo’s millions.”

It must be irritating to be stared at, but I suspected Hugh’s problem was compounded by the fact that he looked like a young Harrison Ford. After all, I was half white and received scanty attention. Wanting to change the topic, I offered him a glass of wine.

“What about a nice glass of single malt? Have you been away so long you’ve forgotten all my rituals?”

“It’s too warm for Scotch. How was Thailand?” I opened a container of sesame noodles I’d bought at the building’s downstairs delicatessen and handed Hugh chopsticks. We dug into the same container, exhibiting the kind of behavior my genteel Japanese relatives would have died over.

“A good working vacation. The new Sendai plant will open on time, I’m sure of that. The Thais are easy to work with and they speak much better English than anyone around here.”

“Better than yours, you mean?”

“Certainly! And as for the girls on the beach—they didn’t need to speak for me to understand their designs.” He winked at me and said, “Hey, you should have come along.”

“What did you do with your free time, exactly?” Even though it had ostensibly been a working vacation, I didn’t like the thought of all his empty hours.

“Let me show you.” He began unbuttoning his oxford shirt to reveal that the ridges and planes of his well-muscled chest and stomach were amazingly red.

“You fell asleep on the beach!”

“Reading my law journals. I also drank too much Singha beer and did a little shopping for you.” He pushed away the empty noodle container and handed me a large paper bag.

I drew out a bolt of shimmering raw silk in the same shade of scarlet Japanese artists used for ceremonial lacquer pieces. It would fit in beautifully with the apartment. I kissed him and said, “You remembered my favorite color. Now I can make the most beautiful pillows for the sofa!”

“Pillows? It’s for a cocktail dress. Something lean and mean and cut down to
there
.”

“I’m not that good at sewing. I can’t make a dress.”

“Ask a seamstress. If you hurry, you can have it made up for our party.”

I’d almost forgotten about the big bash scheduled for the upcoming weekend. The RSVPs were in and the caterer had her orders, but I hadn’t done much more to prepare. Suddenly I didn’t want a big party; I wanted time alone with him.

“I have something small for you,” I said, leading him to his gift in the living room. I had covered the lamp’s boxy frame with tissue-thin orange newspaper, so the candle I’d placed in the middle gave off a rosy glow.

Hugh said nothing for a few moments. Then he exploded in wild, honking laughter. “You papered it with my
Financial Times
! My God, Rei, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“I thought it so appropriate for your office, a perfect blending of East and West. I can get it electrified for you next week.”

“Stop. You electrify me already.” He started to pull closed the window blinds.

I couldn’t believe he had overlooked the new
tansu.
I gestured toward it, and his eyes widened.

“Where did you find it?”

I launched into a tale of my high-stress day, starting with the smashed taillight. He waved off the accident immediately but stayed fixed on the
tansu.

“It’s absolutely stunning. Can we keep it for a while? How much did it cost?” He moved his lamp over to the coffee table and came back to slide his hands appreciatively over the wooden frame.

“I’m glad you like it, but it’s going to Mrs. Mihori tomorrow. It was two million, far too rich for our tastes.”

“Speak for yourself, love. I like it better than anything else you’ve ever bought. How much weight do you think it can bear?”

“Maybe a few hundred pounds, since the frame was made from one of the most durable woods around. It’s held up since the early nineteenth century.”

“Good.” He swung me up so that I was sitting on the edge. “The thought of enjoying ourselves on top of all that money is pretty arousing. Don’t you think?”

“But Mrs. Mihori owns it,” I protested halfheartedly.

“It’s yours until she’s reimbursed you, paid your travel costs, and the finder’s fee.” Hugh peeled off my robe and spread it like a sheet over the chest’s surface. “Besides, I’m superstitious. Everything that comes to this apartment must be broken in.”

He didn’t have to say more to convince me. Just six months into the relationship, we were insatiable. Hugh was a spontaneous and inventive lover, driven to passion in places as various as the bath, the Chinese carpet in the dining room, and the Roppongi Hills elevator. Things were too good to last, I thought, lying back and melting like the candle in the lantern.

“Watch my sunburn,” he murmured when I reached for him.

“Not everything’s burned, is it?” I asked.

“Not quite. Oh, God! Do that again.”

I felt as though I were soaring straight toward the ceiling as Hugh pulled my hips to the edge of the chest. “Don’t forget,” I panted.

“Don’t forget that I love you?” he whispered back.

“You know—”

“Come on, let’s have a baby. It would be gorgeous.”

“Don’t be insane!”

“It’s just one more barrier between us, the condom,” he grumbled, pulling out. “If you’re so worried about what we might spawn, start taking the Pill.”

“I don’t like chemicals.” I was losing my sexy mood, too.

“I know, I know, you’re a health food freak. I’ll go look for something.”

He was rummaging around in the bathroom when the telephone rang.

“Just ignore it,” I advised, listening to my recorded voice request in English and Japanese that callers leave a message with date and time. After the beep a voice that sounded exactly like Hugh’s began speaking. I looked at him, and he yelped.

“It’s got to be Angus. God, what a day!” He sprinted into the kitchen to get the phone.

This was interesting enough to make me sit up and listen. Hugh had three sisters and just one brother, Angus, whom he worried about most. The baby of the family—now twenty—had been expelled from several of Britain’s best boarding schools before heading off for three years of unstructured travel in Europe and Asia. Hugh mailed letters to
poste restante
addresses around the planet but never received so much as a postcard in return. Angus had probably moved on, I had suggested. Hugh had said nothing, just seemed sad.

Now I heard Hugh speaking excitedly, his brogue getting deeper than I’d ever heard. I got up, pressing my hand against a spot on my right buttock where the
tansu
had chafed me. I put on my robe and went into the kitchen.

“You’re welcome for as long as you like, little brother,” Hugh was saying, then put a hand over the receiver. “Rei, are you free this Wednesday afternoon? Could you make a quick run to the airport to meet Angus?”

There was no such thing as a quick run to Narita Airport. Door to door, the trip took several hours, depending on the Japanese traffic gods.

“Sure. Ask what he looks like,” I whispered, thinking he might have shaved his head. After all, his last known address was a Buddhist temple in India.

“What he looks like?” Hugh repeated. “A younger version of me, of course.”

Unlikely. Hugh Glendinning was the epitome of the clean-cut, corporate lawyer, even sitting naked at the kitchen table. Angus might have Hugh’s tall, well-built frame, thick red-blond hair, and green eyes, but I doubted he would bear himself like the crown prince of Tokyo’s international legal community.

“Did you hear I’m living with someone?” Hugh was saying to the telephone. Brief silence. “Actually, from America. But she’s different . . . she’s, um, vegetarian.”

Hugh swore he loved the Asian fish-and-vegetable dishes I made for our candlelit dinners. What would I need to do for Angus, start making steaks and chops? I couldn’t buy meat. The thought of it made me shudder.

When Hugh hung up, he practically floated to the living room. “I can’t believe he’s coming. I haven’t seen the lad in five years.”

I nestled beside him on the leather sofa, trying to be positive. “I’ll make up my old futon for him in the study, but do you think he’ll mind sharing the bathroom with a woman?”

“He was sleeping in the jungle! To him the flat and all that comes with it will be paradise.”

“He’s used to the simple life, which is good. But you can’t expect him to resemble you in every way.”

“You think a red-haired Glendinning won’t stand out in Narita Airport?” Hugh smiled at me. “You’re an angel to meet him. I love you. In fact, let me finish showing you how much.” He inclined his head toward the
tansu.

“Not there. I got caught on something.” I flashed him the red mark on my buttock.

Hugh ran his finger over the sore spot and said, “That looks nasty. Put your knickers on, and I’ll drive you to St. Luke’s.”

“I had a tetanus shot last January, remember?” There was no way I was going to the hospital with a sex injury—especially when I had an eagle-eyed cousin who oversaw the emergency room.

Hugh snapped on the harsh overhead light we rarely used and went back to the
tansu.
After a minute he said, “This is what punctured you. A nail you’ll need to pound back down.”

“Tansu
are joined, not nailed.” One of the things Japanese woodworkers excelled at was building smoothly fitted pieces of furniture that could expand in summer’s humidity and contract in winter without cracking.

“This one’s unique, then. What’s the expression the Japanese use about people who don’t fit in? The nail that sticks up needs to be hammered down?”

I went over to investigate. “Oh, you’re talking about a nail in the metalwork. That’s normal.”

“Normal, but not nice,” Hugh said, tapping it. “It doesn’t even match the others.”

“What?” I bent closer to look at the nail in question. It was brand-new, silvery steel, not the same aged black iron as the others. How could I have missed it?

“I screwed up.” I felt hot and cold all at once.