Balance, p.13
Balance, page 13
Rena blushes, that was the second time Takada made the statement. She does not deny her feelings for Michael, only where those emotions would take them and the potential fallout … as Takada said, cause and effect.
Michael doesn’t need Rena to tell him how she feels, he knows; just as she knows he loves her. Nevertheless, her welfare is so dependent on him maintaining a level head, more so than he even realized, this statement changes nothing of their relationship. If anything, his feelings for Rena have grown.
“Are you two hungry?” Takada asks, standing to imply this discussion, for now, has concluded.
Michael looks at Rena, “Yes, I know I’m famished and I’m pretty sure Rena could muster an appetite. If you cook as well as you teach, this could be interesting, potentially deadly, but interesting.”
Takada laughs, “Great, join me in the kitchen at your leisure.” He departs for the far side of the room, leaving Michael and Rena alone.
Sliding back into the couch and resting her head on his chest, Rena whispers, “Thank you.”
Placing his hand on her back, Michael gently touches her bare skin, “For what?”
Lifting her head to look into his eyes, she replies softly, “For being you, for understanding me.” Rena holds his gaze for a moment, then slides off the couch. Turning to face him, reaching down, she takes his hand, his skin warm and soft. His eyes find hers, together they come to the same conclusion … yes, they absolutely love each other. Without a word, they walk hand-in-hand toward a jubilantly singing Takada, working at the hibachi grill.
The three of them enjoy an entertaining evening of excellent Japanese cuisine, drinks and laughter.
Rena takes time to stroll around the expansive room, admiring the view and decor. She spots Takada’s staff-sword resting on a ceremonial stand in the shrine, along with several other Asian style weapons of various designs, knives, shuriken, blowguns and ornamental swords.
Michael is thankful they were able to eat, since Takada had him trying several liquors. Sitting around the hibachi bar, alternating between watching Rena and conversing with Takada, he comments, “After all this, I’ll probably be worthless tomorrow.”
At Michael’s declaration, Takada smiles and implores, “Rena, could you please join us?” The two smiling men watch her, enrapt, as she gracefully walks toward them from the far side of the room, the moonlight outside comingling with the soft lighting of the suite, enhancing her visage, casting her in an angelic glow.
“Michael,” Takada begins, “women of Rena’s grace, elegance and presence only come along once in a lifetime, if even that. The time you get to share with her … please, make the most of it.”
Rena laughs, “You two are getting drunk.”
“Which brings me to tonight’s lesson and tonight’s treat.” Takada replies, turning to a rather large spice rack and retrieving from an upper shelf, a jar that looks to contain pickled herbs. “I had mentioned you will be gaining additional training, specifically in the field of herbology. Consider this, your introductory lesson. There are plants and animals that possess various medicinal qualities, some healing and some very deadly. You will be taught to identify, harvest, prepare, and use such rarities.” Opening the jar, he removes two small leaves, handing one to both Rena and Michael. “This treated leaf is one such example. Please, place it on your tongue.” Takada nods at Michael.
Wearily, Michael slides the leaf into his mouth. Holding it on his tongue for a minute, his eyes grow wide with surprise. Removing the leaf, he exclaims, “Wow, what is that? Its minty and … my buzz, its disappearing.”
Takada explains, “It’s a peppermint leaf pickled in evening primrose oil with willow bark, ginseng and má huáng. It counteracts the effects of alcohol and hangovers.”
“So, I guess, I will be prepared for training tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.” Takada corrects.
Michael regards his mentor with confusion and a little concern.
“I took the liberty of having Ms. Smith arrange for a few days out of the Bunker. I thought Rena needed a little time to decompress from her ordeal.”
Rena smiles in appreciation.
“You will be taken to a secure hotel, here in Chicago. Your tracking chips will allow us to monitor you. For your own safety, you are not to leave your suite. According to Ms. Smith, you won’t need or desire to”
“We don’t know what to say, sir.” Michael replies.
“Just say you’ll enjoy each other’s company.” He affirms.
Takada’s assistant arrives, ready to escort them to the parking ramp.
Rena flaunts past her holding Michael’s hand, flashing an excited, sinister smile, just to make sure she realized who was leaving with Michael, and why he was going.
The limo takes them from Takada’s office building, along the waterfront, North. Within a half-hour’s drive, they descend into the sub-ground parking complex of another massive ornate building, not nearly as tall as Takada’s, a splendid hotel, right on the Lake Michigan shoreline.
Their chauffeur escorts them to a private elevator. Inside, a single button indicates that this specific elevator had only one destination.
After a short ascent, the doors open to a closed foyer with a second set of double doors across the hall. Two bench seats outside the doors imply the occasional posting of sentries. No one staffed the seats tonight, making Michael wonder if the absence of guards meant they were not important enough, because they cannot leave or few people would be able to attack he and Rena successfully in close quarters. Their chauffeur leads them forward, passing his hand over a biosensor, disengaging the security system. He pushes both doors open, stepping out of the way for Rena and Michael to enter.
The round suite, separated into inner and outer chambers is expansive and elegant, decorated in a combination of contemporary furnishings and artwork, comingled with the latest technology. The outer perimeter comprised of an office, kitchen and dining area, informal sitting area with fire pit, and a textured glass walled bathroom. The central chamber, a massive bedroom opened to the East outer wall. A series of floor to ceiling windows encompass half the suite’s perimeter, offering a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. Along the windows, a wide continuous walkway permits guests to stroll the entire span unobstructed. A spiral staircase, located off the walkway between the bedroom and the sitting room, rises to a second level.
They proceed into the suite, Rena holding Michael’s hand. She gives it a sharp squeeze, as if to imply, ‘Can you believe this?’
The double doors close and lock, leaving them alone.
Rena releases Michael’s hand, but only to allow her the freedom to explore their surroundings. Slipping off her shawl, dropping it on a chair in the foyer, she glides like a ballerina through the incredible suite.
For the first time truly alone with her, Michael moves to a location that allows him to gaze fondly as this beautiful angel drifts about the space. Her flight concludes perched on the walkway, looking out over the lake. Michael approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around her, hands clasped together at her waist, pulling her close.
Placing her hands on top of his, Rena rests her head back against his shoulder.
“Michael, I ...”
“Shh. You don't have to for me. I know.”
“Yes I do … not for you … for me, I do love you … more than I could ever have thought possible, but...“
“I know …”, ‘under these circumstances’, he completes the sentiment in his head. She does not need to say anything more. Michael kisses her bare shoulder.
They stand motionless, contemplative, holding each other for several minutes, in silence.
“Can you help me with this? … It’s easier to put on than take off.” Tipping her head forward, exposing her neck and back.
Gently, Michael slides the thin straps over her shoulders, holding them so she can slip her arms out. He carefully lifts the straps over her head, pulling her braid back through.
Holding the top of the dress to her chest, Rena walks to the edge of the walkway. Releasing it, the slip falls past her hips to the floor. Like a breeze, naked, she steps over it, down into the bedroom, and then slides in under the covers of the large soft bed.
Michael, watching this exquisite creature, walks over to the dress. Picking it up, he lays it carefully across the bench at the foot. Moving to the side of the bed, Rena’s back toward him, he leans down and kisses her forehead, just over her closed eye. Standing, he surveys the room for a comfortable place to sleep.
Her hand slips into his. “Please Michael, stay with me … I don't want you to leave me alone.”
Gazing down on her, he nods and smiles uncomfortably. “I’ll be right back. I need to take a shower first.”
Her eyes fill with tears, “I'm sorry.”
“Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for, believe me, nothing … ever.”
Rena appears sound asleep when he returns. Michael slides quietly into the bed so not to wake her. Feeling a little more modest, he found a pair of silk boxers in the bathroom. On his back with his arms behind his head, he stares up at the ceiling, thinking, rewinding the last six months, to that moment he approached her on the sidewalk.
Without opening her eyes or making a sound, Rena slides over, head and arm resting on his chest, their legs entwined, her warm naked body pulled tight to his. Michael realizes, at that moment, he would rather spend the rest of his life with Rena under these circumstances, then a single moment without her. He lays his arm over her, resting his hand on the small of her back, gently caressing the soft bare skin.
Rena, for the first time in her life, held in the embrace of someone she loves, a man by whom she feels loved and secure, she falls asleep … feeling truly safe.
Michael wakes the next morning to find Rena lying next to him, head on her pillow staring at him, arm still rested gently across his chest. “How long have you been up?” He asks.
“Couple hours.”
“What have you been doing all this time?”
“This.” She smiles, impishly.
“Good to know you had a productive morning.” He laughs
“I didn’t want to wake you. It was nice, just watching you sleep. Gave me time to think about some stuff.”
“About what Takada said last night?”
“A little … and … a lot. Different topics, different thoughts.”
“Care to share any?”
“Yes, but now is not the time.” Rena points casually at her ear.
Michael understands. Takada and Ms. Smith arranged these accommodations, so audio surveillance was likely.
Rena slides out from under the covers, still naked, and saunters suggestively around the foot of the bed to the bathroom.
Grinning, Michael watches her until she disappears behind the textured clear glass, her form still alluringly visible. Realizing there could also be video surveillance in the room, “You don’t have a lot of privacy in there.” He announces.
“As much as I’d want, it’s your eyes only.”
He smiles wryly, so she was a little busy the last couple of hours.
Rena calls to him from the bathroom, “So, have you started looking around at all? I think I know what might be upstairs.”
“No, I haven’t left the bed. What’s upstairs?” He inquires.
Rena emerges from the bathroom, wearing a robe, “My guess, a pool and or sunroom.”
“What makes you think that?”
She opens her robe, revealing a very small, very flattering turquoise bikini with jeweled accents, “Courtesy of Ms. Smith.” She informs.
Michael grins ardently, “Remind me to thank her. Was there something in there for me?”
“Yes, although I’m not sure how you’re going to like it.” She chides, “I’ll meet you up there.” Dropping the robe, she seductively climbs the spiral staircase, disappearing from sight.
Michael returns from the bathroom, wearing a robe over the mildly uncomfortable suit. Ms. Smith must have thought Rena needed some extra incentive to take their relationship to the next level. He’s reasonably sure the skin tight, all-to-short boxers are probably not going to accomplish much, other than relax her further through laughter. The interest in he and Rena’s relationship taking a very uncomfortable turn. The exercise turned out to be an extreme form of tough love, intended to push the relationship, to see if it provided the emotional stability required for infiltration. The test could very well have destroyed Rena psychologically, or worse she could have died.
A knock at the door abruptly pulls him back from his thoughts. Instantly shifting to protector mode, Michael moves quickly to the wall beside the entrance, relocating just as the doors swing open.
A waiter rolls a serving cart into the room, looking around for some sign to proceed.
Michael scrutinizes the young man, considers everything, his carriage, build and demeanor. Turning his attention to the cart; draped with a full-length tablecloth, covered serving platter, table settings, looking for places that could conceal a weapon. Cautiously, he moves behind the waiter, ordering him to step away from the cart.
Obviously accustomed to this manner of reaction, the young man simply moves to the left several feet, turning to acknowledge the source of the command.
Michael lifts the tablecloth, exposing the undercarriage of the serving cart. Satisfied, he inspects the contents of the serving tray; revealing nothing more than several cut fruits, many of which he’d never seen before, a few baked delicacies, juice decanters and various thick creams of different color. Confident no threat exists, Michael turns to address the waiter, who regards him indifferently.
“Sir, if all is sufficient, I shall leave you. If you require any further assistance, the intercom will connect you with your concierge. Dining requirements already arranged, including menus, your meals will be served at seven in the morning, twelve-noon and eight in the evening.” The waiter nods and leaves.
Committing the contents of the exchange to memory, he carries the serving tray up the spiral staircase to the second floor. The stairs go far higher than expected, he’s certain he skipped a floor before emerging into a massive solarium.
The expansive room is clearly the top of the hotel, the ceiling and walls comprised entirely of glass, the only brick and mortar construction at its center, likely housing the private elevator meant for staff services. Tropical plants and trees populate the space, providing color, ambiance and strategically located shade, with comfortable sitting areas positioned under several of the trees. The mystery of the missing floor explained by the presence of an in-ground kidney shaped pool surrounded by tropical trees and foliage, the bottom and sides lined with large colorful rocks, giving it the look of a hidden lagoon. A small waterfall pours crystal-clear water into the basin at the far end, at least eight feet deep. The near end, only a foot in depth, has four slatted lounge chairs immersed in the shallow water, positioned in pairs around small glass tables.
Michael spies Rena laying on her back, stretched out on one of the immersed chairs, eyes closed, her wet hair slicked back behind her head, exposing the soft features of her beautiful face. The minimalist turquoise bikini, contrasting perfectly with her hair color and tan complexion, covers very little, just enough to flatter her physique and imply modest mystery. Her wet tanned skin glistens in the filtered sunlight, the jeweled accents of her suit sparkle; Rena is a vision of magnificence. “I really need to thank Ms. Smith for her fashion sense.” Michael comments as he disrobes.
Rena, turning her head and opening her eyes, watches Michael wade into the shallow water. Muscular and toned, his physique is a testament to the months of rigorous physical training he’s endured. His wavy blonde hair, normally messy, now combed back, gives him a manicured power playboy appearance, looking every inch privileged and Elite. Although he’s two-years her junior, Michael’s demeanor is beyond his age. He exhibits strength and confidence that makes her feel protected. Gazing at her with his reassuring steel blue eyes, he lets her know all is safe. She knows the decision she made this morning, while she watched him sleep, was the right one, “I may have to drop her a line myself. Feeling a little hedonistic, are we? Where have you been? That could not have taken this long to put on.” Grinning impishly, she points at his rather insufficient trunks
“Oh, this little thing, it was nothing … quite literally, it’s nothing.” He replies with a laugh. “Breakfast arrived. It appears our entire dining arrangements have been taken care of in advance.” Setting the serving tray down on the table between their lounges, Michael sits down facing her.
Rolling to her side, Rena props herself up on her elbow, “Doesn’t surprise me. I suspect we will be introduced to many exotic delights while we are here. Call it mild shock treatment, Takada and Ms. Smith want to expose us to as many elements of the Elite lifestyle as possible, not wanting us to look out of place; foods, fashions, decadences. Dinner last night and this stay are all training exercises.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. Although my participation is not really required, you’re the one who’ll be immersed.”
“Not necessarily. According the Takada last night, he wants you more directly involved. Michael, when breakfast came, what did you do? I bet you shook down the waiter for weapons.” Rena half smiles, knowing she’s right.
Michael squints, pursing his lips, impressed with her insight. He points to his mouth and ear, implying bugs “You got me, but the last couple days has me thinking.”
“About?” She replies, distracted, using chopsticks to pick up a chunk of pink fruit, dipping it in a white cream, seductively placing it in her mouth.
“The exercise … Takada’s explanation … last night … this room … the interest in our relationship.”
Rena, plucking another piece of fruit, replies, “You have been busy.”
“As I’m sure you have … probably more so.”
