Reality Strikes Read online

  6. Buy the latest Hello Kitty must-have item. (This one should be so easy, but I just can’t bring myself to spend money on kitty stuff!)

  7. Japan is a spiritual and mysterious place. (You don’t know the half of it Tori. Or do you?)

  8. Visit Tori’s relatives and search for anything interesting hidden in the family’s closet. (This one still scares me. If I win Setsuko over, I might be able to finally pull it off.)

  I tucked the list safely back into my journal and turned my attention back to the Golden Phoenix. I really hadn’t done the painting any justice by sticking it in a corner by the window. While the Phoenix continued to be the splash of color my room needed, it deserved better than sitting around gathering dust bunnies. I continued to feel guilty about never taking Kawanasan up on his offer. Fudo even arranged for a meeting date, but I canceled at the last minute due to midterms. Now finals were coming up in a few weeks and I still hadn’t gone back to the wonderful teahouse on the hill.

  I headed downstairs determined to get Fudo’s number. Somehow, knowing I had a special ability made me feel more adult—more responsible. Tori’s list got shoved to the back burner while my infatuation with Kenzo boiled away on the front. Now that I knew he was off the table, I needed to get back to the rest of the list. Kawanasan had waited long enough.

  I made a beeline for Hiroshi’s room. I stuck my head through the doorway and couldn’t believe what I saw. He sat cross-legged on a cushion hammering rhinestone studs onto one of his vinyl jumpsuits. “King Master” blazed across the front of his costume in blue and clear stones.

  “Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt your stud-fest, but can I have Fudo’s phone number?”

  Hiroshi looked up after he put the final rhinestone at the tip of the “r.” “This for my big show.” He proudly held up his handiwork. “Why y’all want Fudo?”

  His southern drawl still made me laugh.

  “I need to call him about a meeting with his father. I was supposed to visit him weeks ago.”

  “I know. Y’all too busy with hairy guy.” He actually sounded hurt.

  Kenzo would have loved Hiroshi’s description. “Can you just give me his number?”

  Frustrated, Hiroshi tore off the corner of the cardboard rhinestone package and scribbled down Fudo’s number. He held out his arm, refusing to get up. “Here.”

  I marched straight to the phone. Fudo probably wasn’t home, but thanks to Mrs. Masuda finally moving beyond the vowel chart, I had actually managed to learn a bit more Japanese. With my newly acquired confidence, I might be able to leave a message.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  “Mushi Mushi, hello?”

  Fudo’s mother had picked up. I took a deep breath and spit out, “Fudo arimasu, Fudo home?”

  His mother hesitated, “Choto mate, wait a minute.”

  Fudo talked to his mother. Then he picked up the receiver. “Erin?”

  “How did you know?”

  Fudo laughed. “My mother asked me which of my friends couldn’t speak Japanese.”

  “Very funny. Look, I know I totally flaked on you before, but this time I really want to paint with your father. Is he free tomorrow?”

  “You think my father would want to meet some American schoolgirl on his day off?”

  He had to be messing with me. “Look, I know it’s short notice, but I’ve just been dying to do something creative.”

  Fudo sighed. “Wait a minute. Let me ask him.”

  I might be pushing my luck, but I felt determined to get back to Tori’s list. My paranormal sighting list so far remained at four. Schoolwork and Kenzo’s mission had to wait. I stretched out my hand imagining a paintbrush between my fingers. The ache was real. I missed painting deep in my soul.

  After a few minutes, Fudo got back on the line. “Sorry. He cannot see you tomorrow. He is working with several students. He has some free time this afternoon. I will be over to pick you up in an hour.”

  “Great.” The thought of working with Kawanasan made my hands shake. What was I thinking? I wasn’t good enough to paint with a famous artist.

  November 19-1:00 PM

  Teahouse Heaven

  “Tadima, welcome.” Kawanasan led me through the colorful Japanese maples to the back of the teahouse. The bamboo fountain tapped back and forth, accenting every step I took. The crisp autumn air filled my lungs. The number of stones increased as we walked towards the teahouse and so did my blood pressure. The knot in my stomach was the same one I had when my first portrait graced the walls of the Elkridge gallery. I suddenly felt nauseous. What if I froze up and couldn’t paint a thing?

  In the corner by the window, to capture the afternoon light, sat a pair of blank scrolls, several pots of watercolors and three black and gold embroidered cushions. Fudo knelt down behind me, relegated to being my translator. He really was going to get bored once we started. Painting didn’t need words.

  Kawanasan motioned to a row of brushes. “Itadakimas, Enjoy.”

  My hand reached out for a boar’s hair brush with a perfectly formed point. I closed my eyes and tried to envision what I wanted to paint. The only thing I could conjure up was a vision of the Sun Goddess. I shook my head to clear my mind and tried to think of something less paranormal.

  An image of multi-colored koi fish I’d seen in Kamakura began to form in my mind. I didn’t know if Kawanasan would think it was a bit of a Japanese artistic cliché, but the corners of my mouth turned up and I knew I’d picked the right subject.

  Kawanasan made several large brushstrokes in a bright red then he took a much smaller brush and painted delicate orange maple leaves. His inspiration blew in the wind just outside the window. I sat mesmerized by the speed with which he put an image to paper. My vision of the koi began to fade so I tore myself away from Kawanasan’s beautiful painting. I leaned forward and blocked out my composition. A black and white koi took up the center of the paper as a golden carp circled over its head. At the bottom, a multi-colored calico koi picked at a stack of small pebbles.

  The image flowed from me as if I’d never stopped painting. Had it really been four months since I last picked up a brush? The rush of creativity took over my body, yet something distracted me. Fudo sat so close behind me his breath blew on the back of my neck. There was something very intimate about the way his body leaned into mine.

  There was a tickle at my ear. “Your painting is wonderful.”

  Turning my head around, I almost brushed Fudo’s lips. Visions of his bedroom flashed before me. I always wondered if something more happened. No, he was a total gentleman. Flustered, all I could come up with was, “Ah, thanks.”

  Sensing he had crossed a line, Fudo scooted back towards his father. What was he thinking? He had a girlfriend.

  Kawanasan stood up and walked over to survey my painting. I was just finishing up highlighting the pebbles stacked at the bottom of the scroll. I signed my name with a flourish as Fudo’s father crouched next to me. He pointed to each fish and said something to his son.

  Fudo stood next to his father. “He said your composition is very pleasing. He especially likes the fish with the goatee.”

  No way! I hadn’t even noticed. Talk about Kenzo on my mind. “I thought your father might enjoy a bit of humor.”

  “He does. That is why he would like to know if you would part with your wonderful work.”

  I knew this was a huge honor. “Of course.”

  A little piece of me wished I could take the scroll home. My first artistic homage to Japan seemed an important moment to savor. Why hadn’t I thought to bring my camera? The goateed koi was priceless, but I knew what I had to do. I rolled up the scroll and handed it to Kawanasan. He bowed deeply as he took the painting from my hands. In return, he gave me his scroll. I was now the proud owner of two Kawanasan originals. Seemed more than a fair exchange.

  Fudo opened the door to his BMW like a true gentleman. We drove down the hill in total silence. Maybe he was embarrassed about his behavior earlier.
I sat twirling Kawanasan’s maple leaf painting in my hands.

  Fudo finally broke his silence. “I am so glad you came to work with my father. Sorry about sitting so close to you.”

  I’d actually been flattered by his attention, especially with Kenzo out of the picture.

  “It’s no problem. I figured you just liked my perfume.”

  Fudo took the corner a bit too quickly, and I had to hold onto the hand rest. He turned towards me. “Are you okay? There was an animal in the road.”

  I didn’t know if it was an animal or Fudo’s embarrassment that caused the fast maneuver. “No worries. I had a lot of fun. Your father is amazing. I’m really honored to sit next to him.”

  We rounded the final corner and soon pulled onto Ginkgo Street. Fudo smiled. “I am glad you called today.” Fudo sped down the Moris’ street and dropped me off. “I hope you will paint with my father again.”

  I held Kawanasan’s scroll close to my chest like a precious object. “I will. I promise.”

  With that, he gunned his BMW’s engine and took off down the road. What was it with Japanese guys and their cryptic messages? I didn’t know if I would ever get used to the men of the Rising Sun.

  Fudo sped off leaving a cloud of tire smoke behind him. Was he in a hurry to see his girlfriend?

  I’d barely set foot in the door before Aki yelled, “Erin! Phone.” I picked up the receiver hoping it was Kenzo calling to set up the meeting with Brena. Instead, I heard an unexpected voice—Tori.

  “Hi, it’s me. Why haven’t you picked me up?”

  Oh crap. I couldn’t believe it. She really came. Great. I hadn’t even gone to visit her family yet.

  “You’re here? I can’t believe you’ve come to check up on me?”

  Strange whooshing noises rang through the receiver. “Of course. You think I’m going to trust someone who belongs to Procrastinators Anonymous to finish my list?”

  “Ha. Ha. Didn’t you get that email I sent you with the pictures of Kamakura?”

  “Yes. They were quite beautiful. I especially like the picture of the monk’s butt.”

  I knew Tori would appreciate my little joke. “I think that was a good first installment of number three, don’t you think?”

  “Not bad. Have to say my favorite was the poster of Monkey Breast. What a bunch of hotties. Can we go see them perform tonight?”

  I took a big gulp. Maybe she wasn’t messing with me after all. “Ah… I’ll have to find out where they’re playing.”

  Tori dropped the phone. My ear throbbed by the time she managed to wrestle and pick it up. “Oops, sorry about that. Baggage claim is so packed some jerky businessman just bumped me.”

  My hands began to sweat. “Gee, guess I better get off the phone and come and get you.”

  “That’s okay. I booked a night at the Otani. I wanted to check out Shinjuku before I headed out to Booneville.”

  Crap, she was here! Panic began to set in. How was I going to ask Okasan if my American friend could stay with me? This week we weren’t even talking.

  Muffled giggling came through the receiver. “So, tell me. How many other things have you done on the list?”

  She knew me too well. “Uh…”

  “See, I knew it! And you wonder why I had to fly five thousand miles. We’re going to have a great time. I have a list of everything I want to do. “

  I bet she did. Tori had a special notebook for her endless lists. “Gee. I can’t wait. Let’s see. The first thing on the list has got to be hiking to the top of Mt. Fuji. Right?”

  More muffled noises came from the receiver then a loud crash.

  “Darn it, Johnny. Stop that.”

  “Oh, so you’re at Narita airport with Johnny? Isn’t he a bit young to be a world traveler?” Johnny was Tori’s cousin’s toddler.

  “I bet I had you going for a second there.”

  I had to admit she had. “Well, I wouldn’t have a problem if you came. It would be fun to take you around and show you the sights of your homeland.”

  More crashes came through the receiver. “Cheryl! Would you please come get your little brat? I’m on a long-distance call.”

  Loud cries and sobbing drowned out Tori’s voice. A door slammed. “Oh, thank Buddha he’s gone. Johnny’s cute for five minutes and then he turns into the kid from hell. I’m dying to know if you’re dating one of the guys in Monkey Breast?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “Well, I do have a male friend. I told you about him. His name is Kenzo. Does that count?”

  “So, you managed to beat out the harem? Seems your competitive streak is even more powerful in Japan.”

  Tori was still holding onto her grudge. “I did it for you. He’s on the list.”

  She let out a groan. “Right. So, tell me, what kind of male friend is he? Is he your usual hang-out friend, or have you finally scored a friend with benefits?”

  Tori always had to get the details. “Well, he’s just a friend...for now.”

  A sigh came through the receiver. “I have total faith you will conquer the harem.”

  “Thanks. My competitive streak hasn’t failed me yet.”

  Tori laughed. “Don’t I know it!”

  Part of me wished Tori really had come to Tokyo. I missed her so much.

  She sighed. “I better get going. I can see the dollars I’m racking up on this phone call already.” A smash blasted through the receiver and then Tori came on the phone again. “Oh, by the way, I wasn’t kidding about coming to Takao. Mom said it would be my big Christmas present.”

  I swallowed hard. “Great. Can’t wait.”

  “You better have visited my relatives before I get there.”

  Chapter 7

  The Perfect Accent or Bust

  December 6-2:00 PM

  Reality gave me a kick in the butt. The semester was almost over, and thanks to the approaching winter mini-break, I’d get a breather before finals. I’d finally have time to visit Tori’s family. What would I do about the language barrier? I could understand a lot more when I listened to conversations. Even though my vocabulary had grown from five words to well over five hundred, I still felt clumsy speaking. Despite the many lessons practicing the perfect pronunciation of the notorious vowel chart, my accent still sounded American. How could Tori’s relatives even begin to understand me? I knew just who could help.

  I ran downstairs and punched in Kenzo’s number. Calling him without a sighting might tick him off, but he was the only person I knew who could improve my Japanese quickly. Setsuko just didn’t have as much patience.

  I was sure he’d agree to help me boost my Japanese to a whole new level once I told him the lessons would be held at the Spa Love Hotel. I bet he needed some R&R handling such an important case for the PSIA.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  Kenzo’s voicemail picked up. “This is Kenzo Sawada, the ultimate tour guide, leave a message after the beep.”

  “Hey, super sexy tour guide, I was hoping you could help me with a little promise I made to a friend. Give me a call.”

  Putting down the receiver, I wondered what his reaction would be. I hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed I hadn’t had another paranormal encounter. Then I decided to call another person for back up. My Japanese needed the help of two teachers.

  The phone rang and rang and then finally a familiar voice answered. “Mushi. Mushi, hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Erin.”

  Setsuko almost spit out her words. “I haven’t suddenly gone senile. I know your voice.”

  Great. Guess I caught her at a bad time. “I can tell how your day’s been.”

  “My host mother and I had a fight. She set me up with one of her cousins last night. Like I’m not good enough for her son? He turned out to be an obnoxious creep.”

  Uh oh, trouble in host family paradise. “That’s a drag you wasted your time with some jerk. Do you want me to come over to the house and kick your host mother’s ass?”

  “Okay, what do you want?”r />
  Boy, Setsuko was a tough cookie. “You remember my to-do list?”

  “Yeah, for your friend. What about it?”

  “Well, she just called and reminded me I’ve only done a few things.”

  “She should know you’re the worst procrastinator on earth.”

  Ouch.

  “You’re right, I’m guilty, but I’m starting my New Year’s resolutions early.”

  Setsuko laughed. “I don’t think you need my help when you have Kenzo. Well, maybe with the hot spots. You know I’m up on all the trends.”

  “Right, like wearing pink twenty-four seven.”

  “You’re not very observant. I’ve changed to rose. It’s all the rage in Paris.”

  “Hmm…Pink, rose, what’s the difference?”

  Setsuko sighed. “And you call yourself an artist.”

  I could see I was getting nowhere. “Look, I’m begging you to help me with my Japanese.”

  There was silence on the other end. Setsuko enjoyed making me sweat.

  “I’m going to visit Tori’s family soon, so I need a much bigger word arsenal. Plus, you know my accent sucks. Can you help me cram? After all, you’re the Japanese master.”

  Setsuko pride came through the phone. Flattery really did get you everything—at least with Setsuko.

  “Well, you’re right about that. Okay. I’m not doing anything today. Why don’t you come over? Once you set foot in the door, no more English. Understood?”

  “Yes, master.”

  Knowing Setsuko, my window of favor opportunity could be closed by the time I reached her house. I raced upstairs to get ready.

  I threw on my heavy red cable sweater and black cords as tonight they predicted the temperature would be below freezing. A distinct yell drifted up the stairs. “Erin, denwa, phone.”

  Running down the stairs, I almost plowed into Okasan’s outstretched arm. “Kenzo. Aku no otoko, evil man.”

  I grabbed the phone from her hand. “Arigato, thank you, Okasan.”

  She quickly stormed off. Okasan didn’t like Kenzo, but to call him evil really stepped it up a notch.