Four, p.32
Four, page 32
“You put him in a coffin,” Gail said, still rolling around the details in her mind.
“It’s been the travel method of choice for centuries. Even if someone opened it up, they’d just find a cold body lying still. Mr. Lambley was a terror getting ready, but I know for a fact he slept the whole way there and found it rather soothing. We’ve had to keep it in the basement since he found it so comfortable!”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“I’ve added to Higgins’s notes. Ren helped me digitize the lot,” Georgia said. “It’s really not too bad if you just know where to look, and of course, there is always the Internet.”
“And you’ve been to Japan,” Gail sighed. “I can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah, nothing can really prepare you for Asia if you’ve spent your whole life in the States. It’s very loud, very bright, and you quickly need to get over the concept of personal space. The first time I saw a subway packed up like a sardine can, I was certain that either Mr. Lambley or I or both of us would be a gibbering idiot within a week, but it was the strangest thing. The same shy little vampire who a few months ago could barely walk down the street actually rode the wave of people and just crammed in there with me.”
“Really?”
“And to make it worse, everyone stared at us. Neither Mr. Lambley nor I have ever been the tallest in our class, but in Tokyo we might as well have been Godzilla. There aren’t that many pasty, flabby, tall gingers in Japan, so we were practically a tour stop in the outlying areas where we went to meet the doctor.”
“How did he manage then?”
“Well, the funny thing is, when you know everyone is staring at you openly, you don’t ever have to wonder who’s looking at you. You’re just different, and it’s kind of liberating. It’s hard to explain, but after a while, you just get used to it, and the attention can even be nice. Once we got over the flight and the jet lag, the first few days were one nonstop party, at least for Mr. Lambley and me. Ren, Minnie, and Steve were all off on business until I finally got this message that they were ready for us. Mr. Lambley was taken to a spa, where he was supposed to detox and purify before Dr. Pang would see him, while I was given instructions to meet the guys for our first evening out all together . . .”
Georgia checked her phone twice as she found herself smack-dab in front of a tower of glowing musical notes in the heart of Shinjuku on a crushingly busy Saturday night. A quick glance to the right confirmed a convenience store to one side and a girl in a miniskirt and heels handing out flyers to the other.
“Um, excuse me,” she said. “Um, soomi-maasin,” she tried to choke out in Japanese to the girl, but rather than embarrass herself further, she flipped her phone around to show off a string of kanji characters that Steve had conveniently just sent her. The girl burst into giggles and pointed to the neon-ringed door behind her.
With an evil smile, she said, “Have good time!” and gave a little wink.
Georgia eyed her text message suspiciously. “I have got to learn more Japanese,” she muttered as she darted through the crowd and managed to slip into the Red Room Music Haven Club, where yet another cheerful young woman in a miniskirt and heels bowed deeply to her.
“Room Three, this way please, Miss Georgia!” she said.
“I guess I stand out,” Georgia muttered as she was led to a frightfully narrow set of stairs lined with rainbow metallic wallpaper. Her overstuffed pile from shopping made it tough to inch by until she reached the relative spaciousness of a hall lined with English-named rooms. Her tiny guide pointed to the third one down, the “Rose Palace Suite.”
“He is waiting for you. Do you need me to take bags? Get you anything?” her guide asked.
Georgia closed her eyes as she took in the cacophony of various musical styles and faint voices drifting from all around. “Surprise me,” she said. “Just bring me something to drink that I don’t normally get in the United States.”
“Very good, miss,” she said before sliding open the pink door.
“Wow,” Georgia gasped as she found herself in a room full of white leather cushions, mirrors, and flowers sculpted out of neon. A tower of fabulously fake roses formed an arbor-like frame around a flat-screen TV, while each microphone was wrapped in floral-printed ribbons. In the corner of the room, a decidedly different-than-normal Ren Matsuoka leaned back against a pile of pillows—bobbing his head to the nineties’ grunge rock pouring out of the speakers.
“Never would have pegged you as a Nirvana fan,” Georgia said as she tossed her pile of shopping conquests onto another banquette. She stretched out her arms and admired her new rows of brightly colored charm bracelets in the trippy lights. “Have you been singing alone in here, Ren?”
“No, I’ve been drinking alone,” he sighed as he tipped back his beer. “I take it that my master’s directions were clear enough? He’s still across the street having dinner.”
Georgia wrinkled her nose at the thought of Steve’s preferred variety of Tokyo supper. As she caught Ren looking her way in the reflections, she quickly flicked her fingers through the freshly cut ends of her hair to transform her normal pixie cut into a golden halo around her brightly made-up face.
“I see you didn’t keep the blue in there,” Ren noticed. “It’s a shame.”
“That’s the advantage of hacking it all off,” she said cheerfully. “You can try anything crazy and make it gone in an instant. Oh, why didn’t you tell me that such a thing as curry doughnuts exist? I feel like my life has been incomplete until now!”
After one more tousle for good measure, she yanked open her largest shopping bag and pulled out a puffy white coat with a brilliant light blue collar of luxurious faux fur. “Can you believe this, Ren? I managed to find a Muppet-skin jacket!” she exclaimed with glee as she slipped it on over her T-shirt. She then popped her hands on her hips and struck an appropriately haughty pose worthy of her American height.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
“I think the Cookie Monster is going to be found dead in a ditch,” he deadpanned before taking another slow sip of his beer. He picked up his phone for a moment. As she scowled, he finally relented, tossed the device on the leather, and added, “At least it brings out the color of your eyes.”
“You are especially cranky tonight, Mr. Matsuoka,” Georgia teased. She looked at the dark circles under his eyes suspiciously. “Jet lag hitting you still?”
Ren plopped down his now-empty bottle. “I’ve had to spend three days with my family,” he muttered. “I had two presentations to give and a client to meet. Sleep was considered optional.”
Georgia checked her phone. “Have Steve and Minnie been with you?”
Ren shook his head. “Both of them have been guests of the main family. They had business to handle.”
“The kind of business that keeps them out of touch?” she asked.
Ren nodded. “The kind of business that even I don’t know about,” he said as the next round of drinks came into the room. “Did you have any trouble getting Mr. Lambley to Hanada?”
“No, the car was there and everything,” she said, distracted by her champagne flute full of chartreuse liquid that had a thick vapor rolling over the rim. Ren grabbed yet another beer and returned to his spot in the corner. “Um, what did I order?” Georgia asked.
“I don’t know, what did you order?” he asked in uncharacteristically animated sarcasm.
“I asked for something you could only get in Japan,” she said before taking a sniff. “Oh well, everything else has been bizarrely delicious. Kampai!”
“Kampai,” Ren echoed. He watched her closely as she took a long sip and sloshed the insanely bright beverage around her mouth.
“Oh thank god, it’s green tea-flavored and not wasabi,” she said as she put the fancy drink down. She cocked her head and let out a woof. “That tastes really strong.”
Ren changed the music to something else broody and alternative while Georgia started ruffling through her bags again. He took his time, rolling another bottle in his hands while his unusually product-deficient hair flopped over his eyes.
“So, other than a ridiculous amount of shopping, what have you been up to in Tokyo?” he asked.
“Well, the girl you sent, Mitzi—Mishu—?”
“Mitsuko, my cousin,” he offered.
“Yeah, Mitsuko, she showed us around a temple and got us to the hotel and stuff, and there was this ramen place she recommended that was out of this world. Then last night we ended up in this club show-type thing, where there were giant dancing robots and tanks and about a million different things that must have been dreamed by people on acid, but it was amazing,” she gushed. “Half the time I have absolutely no idea where I’m going or what I’m going to see next, but I haven’t had this much fun in . . . yeah . . . it’s been a while.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Ren said softly, staring off into space.
Georgia took a moment to really look at her companion. His shirttail flaunted itself—wild and untucked—and he had left his collar unbuttoned. He slouched in a decidedly un-Ren like fashion, with wild hair and slightly bloodshot eyes, as if some younger, wilder, more haunted version of himself had taken possession of his body.
“Hey, are you OK?” she asked.
“I’ve just had a rough day,” he said.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Well you’re really not being yourself—”
“How can you even say that? It’s not like you know me,” he snapped.
“Of course, I don’t know you,” she said. “How could anyone know you when you put in so much time and effort in keeping others away?”
Ren snorted and focused on his drinking again. Georgia started to play with her phone but ended up tossing it onto the leather in a huff. “What is your damage, Ren?” she asked. “I mean, I get that you’re upset because your life hasn’t quite turned out as expected, but guess what, no one’s ever does, so why are you suddenly all mopey?”
“What is your damage, Georgia?” he asked, finally looking at her and not staring off into space. “I mean, what happened to make you such an expert on disappointment? Enlighten me, please.”
She wandered over to look at Ren’s playlist full of songs about longing and loneliness. “You couldn’t mix it up with a little “Don’t Stop Believing,” could you?” After a few seconds of his painfully bright green stare, she took a seat next to him and started rolling her own drink between her palms. Just as Ren grew impatient and began picking at a hairline fracture in the paint, Georgia finally took a deep breath but ended up choking up before any real words formed.
“You can’t think of anything, can you?” Ren said, venom dripping from his voice.
“I wish I could say it was one thing, something tragic,” she finally spat out. “Something to rationalize just how little I’ve done with my life, but I can’t.”
Ren leaned forward to listen but didn’t dare say a word. She continued.
“It’s just—it’s like—” she stammered. “It’s like my dreams were worn away by paper cuts, and at some point I woke up and realized that, ‘Hey, you aren’t going to be in a music video, land on the moon, cure cancer, or win Olympic gold.’ It’s like you spend your whole youth being told just how awesome and special you are, but then you take one step outside and that bubble bursts. The cold truth sinks in that you’re average and that you’re destined for middle management, at best.”
“Says the girl dating a vampire and jet-setting in Tokyo,” Ren said softly.
Georgia laughed sadly. “Hey, you asked. Don’t blame me if you don’t like the answer.”
The soft mix of neon and shadow played beautifully with the lines on his face. Georgia reached over and pushed the hair out of his freakish eyes. She froze in place as she found herself so close to him that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Gravity began to weave its spell as her face grew heavy and leaned in closer to his.
“You are such a disaster,” he said as his lips pressed against hers for the briefest of moments.
Georgia broke free and jerked away. “A disaster, huh?” she snapped.
“Wait! That—” Ren stumbled.
“That’s what you think of me, really?” She stomped over to her bags and pulled out a rather tiny cocktail dress. She gave him one more glare, one more chance, but his tongue remained tied. “I’ve got to get ready. Steve is on his way,” she choked out before nearly ripping open the door.
The startled attendant pointed the way to the ladies’ room. Georgia stomped there and found a way to twist her body sufficiently to slip out of one outfit and into her teeny white number in a stall that couldn’t be more than a foot and a half wide. As she looked in the mirror to check her makeup, Georgia finally realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“What the hell, Georgia?” she admonished herself. “He’s always an asshole.”
She splashed water and reapplied mascara and lipstick. By the time she was done, nary a trace of any emotion was left on her pretty little face. “Wouldn’t Ren be proud now?” she hissed at her repaired reflection.
This time when she returned to the room, she was greeted by the smiling face of one Stefano DeMarco. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a long, passionate kiss. “Missed you,” she said while looking right over his shoulder at the still slouching and silent Ren.
“Well, hello to you too,” Steve said, swinging her around playfully. “I hope we have a big night of plans . . .”
“We did have a big night,” Georgia said. “It was dancing, sushi, and way too much karaoke. We took this long, beautiful walk that ended up right near the Tokyo Tower. It was like Steve had been given a list of all my favorite things and checked them off one by one.”
Gail nearly squealed, not noticing the faraway look rapidly taking over her interviewer’s eyes. Georgia looked down and caught her breath for just a moment before her face settled back down and she dared to look Gail in the eyes again.
“It was simply perfect, and for just a moment, everything was right. Steve looked me right in the eyes and told me that he loved me, and we went back to his hotel room for the rest of the night.”
Georgia let the now-bouncing Gail have her moment as she absorbed the wonder of a vampire confessing his feelings in the moonlight. The interviewer pulled out her phone and started flicking through her pictures until she found one of her in said white dress, posing awkwardly for a selfie, as if there was someone next to her that didn’t make it onto the screen.
“I look pretty happy, don’t I?” Georgia mused. “I can only imagine how happy I would have stayed if I hadn’t grabbed the wrong phone at the karaoke bar that night . . .”
Georgia padded out of the bathroom as she heard a buzz coming from her purse. She squeezed the last bits of moisture into her makeshift turban and gave her ears a good shake before letting the towel fall so she could pay attention to other things. As she noticed the plain black case instead of her purple leopard-print one, she sighed.
“Great, now I’ll have to talk to him,” she muttered. She picked up the phone to see the text “Great ideas. What next?” from Stefano on his screen.
“Great ideas?” she asked. On a lark she swiped her fingers across the screen but was stymied by a PIN prompt. She went back to finish getting ready, but just as she was stepping into her shoes, there was a knock on the door.
She opened it to find a very neat and tidy Ren in his typical dark suit and tie. In one hand was her phone, in the other a box with a beautiful aqua-colored bow.
“My master wanted to send his apologies for having to leave before you awoke,” Ren said, eyes lowered. “And I wanted to apologize for last night. I was drunk.”
Georgia let him pass and went to grab his phone. “So, what were the great ideas?” she asked.
Ren froze. She sauntered over and took the box. Inside were delicate little pastries all lined in a row, with the faint aroma of fenugreek and cumin wafting from the filling.
“Curry doughnuts—how thoughtful,” Georgia said. “Steve is always so very thoughtful. It’s like he knows exactly what I want every time I want it.”
“My master—”
Georgia paced a bit and touched her finger to her lower lip, lost in thought. “In fact, if I didn’t already know that he was some superhuman creature, I would be sure he had magic powers.”
“He tries his best,” Ren said. “We should be going soon. We need to take your boss to Dr. Pang—”
“Did he ask you to get these delicious-looking curry doughnuts?” she asked pointedly.
“He simply asked for me to get you a gift,” Ren said evasively.
“Holy Cyrano De Bergerac, Batman! You really plan everything he does, don’t you? All the dates and the romantic dinners—it’s always you.”
“I make arrangements, yes.”
“You know, I teased Steve about him nearly veering into creepy stalker territory from time to time because he always had this great attention to detail and a perfect sense of timing about some things. I guess I was so swept up on that whole vampire romance shtick that I was stupidly blind to the real stalker. Go ahead, insult me now,” Georgia dared. “Say something to make me furious so we can just storm off and ignore everything that’s happened in this conversation. That is how we communicate, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
“We should be going to get Mr. Lamb—”
“You’re both in on it!” she snapped. “You feed him all my information, every little thing I like—”
“Yes,” Ren said softly. “Yes, it is my job to watch you, learn about you, and predict exactly what will make you happy.”
