The News and the Blues Pt. 01
"You think she's offering you love, but it isn't that. If you accept what she's selling, you'll ruin your life and hers too probably. It's like she's cast a spell over you, a hex."
It was true that Akemi looked exotic in her charcoal black silk outfit and that its colors heightened the dark drama of her face, the way her eyebrows drew when she looked at me, and that with her flashing black hair and rose lipstick she was magically attractive.
Andrea had seen me with Akemi in the lounge at the college by the window, saw the intimacy between us, that I was mesmerized.
But the fact that Akemi might look like a Halloween character, a vamp, didn't make her one. And as my former girlfriend, Andrea's view wasn't unbiased.
Akemi appeared exotic to me as well as to Andrea. She was "so Japanese," after all. That's how my friend Peter described her. She had a sense of style. What's strange about that? I liked it. Who wouldn't? I need to emphasize this because it's important: What one person sees as dangerous might look only good to another. I know Andrea could have made the same point to me in reverse. And plenty of people would see both sides, a risk not to be passed up.
Andrea never spelled out her objections to Akemi- pride and maybe a sense of solidarity with her gender prevented her; she wasn't mean- but she hinted Akemi was just after me for a Green Card, believing her teacher an easy mark. I defended Akemi, decried the accusation as ridiculous and unfair- I stopped short of attacking Andrea; I still cared for her then, considered her feelings. I just laughed as she warned me of Akemi's motives, said I was asking for trouble.
Anyway, others' views of Akemi didn't matter. I wanted her. Nothing would change my desire. The more I focused on her the stronger it became. God, that silk outfit. It felt as good as it looked, and so did her skin that shimmered beneath it, sliding smooth. And her flashing black hair in my mouth, her lips' silent motion as we talked, as she spoke; they pursed when she listened; her eyebrows knit; she really looked at me; I remembered a Japanese poem I'd read, something about a "moth's eyebrows." Hers were something else again. Her eyes smoldering embers. Think of any corny poem. You can't spell out a person that way. She was she, a woman. We were up close, sitting on the soft bench beside the glass. The window dark from overcast outside made the interior feel even more private, its atmosphere drawing us together that day. Yes, her hair was almost in my mouth we sat so near, talking.
Our kiss.
Andrea saw I was mesmerized. Well, what of it? Wouldn't you have been?
And there were plenty of guys ready to step in and take my place with Akemi. She didn't need me the way Andrea suggested.
That was years ago. Step forward a few years to the weekend I spent with my old girlfriend Deborah. She invited me out to visit her in the country. We'd been in touch since breaking up in college, met a few times a year while both leading our own lives. But it had been a while since we'd gotten together.
I arrived at her place for the weekend. Yes, I noted as I stepped in, this is their beach house. She and her boyfriend Frank worked in the same field, medicine, at highly skilled jobs that paid well. They could afford a vacation home.
I also noted I hadn't brought my cell phone. That was deliberate. Deborah had suggested that I, like she, leave our connected lives behind for the weekend of surf and sun and sand.
But no sooner had I entered the living room of that bright, open, but modest beach home, than I felt cut off in a bad way. I'd already begun seeing Akemi and the idea of not being able to reach her at all for two and a half days seemed well nigh intolerable. Not bringing my phone seemed a really bad mistake. And I couldn't very well borrow Deborah's to carry out really private communication. So I felt, at least. Don't ask me why. It just seemed that way.
Another friend was up for the weekend. Disappointment. Bill. Friend of Deborah's. He and I had never liked each other. Nothing to do about it. This wasn't the first time I had had to keep company and make nice with that guy Deborah valued so much. He was gay, a mean gay from my point of view, but it seemed he'd helped Deborah through hard times in her twenties, back when she was still finding her way. I was nowhere in the picture then, but knew of her doings distantly. Throughout, we never lost touch.
The first afternoon, shortly after I got there, Deborah and I found ourselves alone on the second floor, in the bedroom which would be mine. It was empty and pleasant, peaceful, full of the resonance of happiness and leisure, time with good friends. Deborah showed me what was what, where to put my stuff, sheets and towels and pillows. They were a bronze color, I remember. And suddenly I thought Deborah and I could easily go to bed then and there for old times sake, without regret on either of our part. We'd just enjoy each other, relish the connection, and the weekend would go on, and so would our lives.
I looked at Deborah, with whom I had been so close in college- it had seemed we'd remain together forever- age nineteen, twenty, involvements feel damned serious (and in fact ours was). For a few moments- you know the kind, when time stops- jumping onto the bronze sheeted bed and each other appeared possible, even probable. But it didn't happen. We exchanged smiles, almost shyly, acknowledging something, our past, our present lives, and walked together out of the room, back to the wider world where we connected from a distance.
"How's Frank?" I asked later.
"Oh, he's in town, will be here in about an hour," Deborah said.
I'd thought her boyfriend wasn't along for the weekend. So much for any planned carnal get together between Deborah and me!
At the beach we talked about things, updated each other on events since we'd all last met. I spoke about myself.
"It's occurred to me- or maybe dawned on me finally- that I just may not be monogamous," I said to Deborah and Frank. Bill too was there. We had opened beers, up on the dunes, having ventured to the water and come back to hang out a while before swimming.
What had driven me to reflect on my love life were changes in it. I was still with my girlfriend Andrea but things had gotten shaky, just as they had between Deborah in me in college.
Her boyfriend Frank, disinterested, pleasant, said, "So you're not one of those animals that bond for life? Ha ha."
Andrea and I had been together four years. It only made sense we'd think of making the connection permanent. Then I'd met Akemi and saw things differently.
"That sounds sad," Deborah said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you'd be alone."
Have I mentioned she still cared about me, only as a friend now but a close one?
"Not necessarily," I said.
Deborah cocked her head.
"It's not really sad," I explained my thought. "I could still get together with someone, have one partner, live as if monogamous."
I was thinking of Akemi here as the prospective mate.
"What do you mean?" Gay friend Bill asked in his usual slightly snide way. All friendliness on the surface, but looking for some wound to scratch. Believe me, I know from past experience. He's the kind of guy who asks about your job, "So when are you going to get the corner office?" knowing you're no closer to it than last time you two talked. You have to explain advancement at your job is not your goal, which point he won't get and which doesn't even sound very convincing to your own ear.
I answered plainly. "I mean I'd remain faithful. I'd still find other women attractive, though. That's natural."
Meanwhile, I felt with each passing minute on the beach Akemi slipping further and further away from me. I saw how much I wanted her and my hopes escaping, yes, like rushing grains of sand. It was really hard to spend the whole weekend up at that country house, much as I liked the beach and the company!
Another step forward: Akemi and I are married now. We made it official quickly so her visa wouldn't lapse. I'm waiting for Akemi to return to our apartment. She's gone out to meet friends, stayed late. I begin to worry though I know she likes those friends, enjoys seeing them. All the same, I walked to the train station to meet her. It's past midnight and snow has fallen. I look for her figure on the street quickly emptying because of the hour. She's not there. My concern grows. She'll have to walk through the snow. As I advance toward the station, which is elevated, I noted ice under foot. There's enough that it's hard to avoid, and snow covers much of it, rendering the slick surface invisible. Akemi looks weak, fragile to me in her beauty, but is actually quite strong. I worry about her coming to harm on her walk, falling and lying alone with no one to turn to for help, unrecognized. I care about her! At the same time, I see that I too could slip and fall. I want to help her, offer her my arm. But would that really make a difference? We might both fall together. I put away my thoughts and look for Akemi's figure through the falling snow. Is that her in the distance, at the end of the block, in her winter coat? No. That person turns a different way, disappears and the street becomes really empty. Maybe she stayed over with her friends, I think.
Present tense:
She moved my hand, wanted to show me where to touch, wanted me to look, follow her finger. I went down and did, and saw she'd given herself a temporary tattoo, just above her bush in the light bare skin there of a bell and a pink ribbon, the bell the small round kind, silver, that tinkled when it moved. The ribbon was deep reddish pink, a miniature bow that might decorate the waistband of her panties. She had a pair like that and it may be where the idea came from. Surprise. Different from her usual understated good taste. "Hot pink" the right description but darker against her skin. It looked good, also cheap- tawdry the old fashioned word- and that somehow excited me further. It was like bedding a tart (another funny word) who happened to be my wife.
"Is this for me?" I asked.
Akemi grunted in response. She was in the grip of pleasure and beyond words at the moment. I had found the right place to touch. She'd removed her finger and left mine to have their way.
I took her answer as a yes, but maybe that temporary tattoo, appliqué or whatever they were called, was also for someone else, for you-know-who. The idea maddened and also excited me further. I got her good, smooth salt taste. Her hips arched up with each lick.
This is the story of how we got there and what happened. It starts with my job but of course goes beyond it. My work is hard, involves juggling too much at once, dealing with students, paperwork, the administration, and fighting with time, of which there was never enough to do what needed doing; I'd rush to finish tasks that had no business being done so quickly and often end up making a mess of them. To say I was distracted is an understatement. But Akemi had her own reasons for straying.
What follows involves a stray dog, by the way, which in no way resembles her. In fact, it had features in common with the man in question. It was a handsome beast, of the wolfhound type, I think.
Don't let the references to animals confuse you. This is about people, human emotions, jealousy to name one.
At the end of the last episode, I said the next was titled "The Rat," but things have changed. That too will come, but another needs telling first. And if you've been following, you can guess why. There's more about me and Akemi and about Sten, the math teacher moonlighting as film maker and his involvement with Akemi- to be specific, more about the network of events and emotions against which his actions relative to Akemi and hers toward him played out- mine especially turbulent; they'll probably figure large here, as I'm the writer. I have at least that advantage. I can pretend to exercise some control by shaping things with words. Though I'm at a loss really. Just let it flow.
We might consider our stay at my brother Thomas' country place. He'd gotten a cabin, really a converted lodge- long, all wooden, rustic. Sten was in the picture already then (though not there; back in the city), but Akemi and I acted like a normal couple. The pandemic had begun and you were supposed to keep a social distance (newly coined phrase already known to everyone), but we figured we stayed together a lot of the time and the chances we'd meet others and get infected, the virus spreading between us, were small.
We touched as usual. Thomas noticed and remarked, "You two can't keep your hands off each other."
It was true. We fucked a lot that week, but from Akemi's point of view those nights might have meant something beyond them. She might have been working out feelings for Sten that she couldn't act on with him.
That seems a long time ago already.
The question that lingers and will be answered, like it or not, is where we went from there and will go from here, together or separately.
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