Crimson Footprints (19 page)

Tak’s mouth opened, then
closed. He looked from Deena to Allison, who stood behind her
beaming.

“
She looks incredible,
doesn’t she?”

Tak’s lips parted and still,
he failed to speak.

Deena’s face fell. “You
don’t like it.”

Tak shook his head,
sputtering. “No, no, I love it. I’m just—just taken back, is
all.”

“
I look stupid. I’m taking
this off.”

She turned away.

“
No!” Tak cried.
“Don’t—don’t change a thing. You look incredible. Please…don’t
change anything.”

Deena turned, brought a hand
to her cleavage. “It’s not too much?”

John shook his head with a
laugh. When Allison cleared her throat, he snapped to
attention.

“
And you look beautiful,
baby,” John blurted.

Her gaze narrowed, arms
folded. “This is what I had on when you left.”

Tak turned to his cousin
with amusement.

“
Right. I meant everyday
though. You look beautiful every day.”

“
Sure you did. Now give me
my dinner before I belt you.”

Club Echo was a posh
multilevel club in Midtown Manhattan. When Tak led her inside,
Deena gave a gasp.

An HDTV covered by a thick
layer of glass served as the floor. According to Tak, both it and
the walls reflected the club’s ever changing theme. On this night
the floor was a vast pool of crystal blue and the walls a perpetual
waterfall. Masked beneath the loud and pulsating pop was the sound
of crashing water. It, combined with vaulted ceilings, gave the
feel of standing in a fast-filling cup of water.

Deena turned to Tak in
astonishment. He gave her waist a little squeeze. “I knew you’d
like it.”

“
Like it? It’s
awe-inspiring! I mean, take away the hip hop and you’d be in a
museum exhibit about the importance of water!”

Tak grinned. “The last time
I was here the place was set up like a jungle. Every so often, a
monkey would swing by or an elephant would trumpet. Now that was
awesome.”

Deena turned from him and
scanned the crowd. Packed tight, each club-goer gyrated to the
blast of the beat; encased in sweat despite the unrelenting air
conditioning. They were over 21 but under 30—blonde and brunette,
deep chocolate and soft tan, each with brightly colored drinks in
their grips as they moved. To Deena, everyone looked in his or her
element, everyone else that is.

Tak glanced at Deena’s
predictably apprehensive face and smiled. “How about we start with
a drink, huh?”

The bartender was a dirty
blonde with a big smile and a tight white tee. Tak waved her over
and ordered a beer for himself and a Screaming Orgasm for
Deena.

“
Lucky you,” the blonde
winked before disappearing.

“
Tak!” Deena blushed. “What
the hell was that?”

“
A drink. But if you’d
prefer to think of it as a promise that’s always an option.” He
didn’t have to look at her to know she was embarrassed.

When the drinks arrived,
they swallowed them quick. Tak ordered another round, and they too,
went down.

“
So,” Tak placed a hand on
Deena’s arm as she swallowed her third Screaming Orgasm. “How are
you feeling about all this?”

Deena snorted. “Are you
kidding? I can hardly believe I’m here. In a club, in Manhattan, in
this dress, and I’m drinking a Screaming Orgasm.” She looked down
at herself as if verifying she were not someone else. “My
grandfather must be clawing his through the grave right now.” She
brought the drink to her lips with a giggle.

“
Any regrets?”

“
About what?
You?”

He nodded.

Deena shook her head. “Not
one.”

John and Allison danced to a
few familiar songs, a random selection from the top twenty pop and
hip-hop charts, and in between, downed a few drinks. Three beers
for him, two Daiquiris for her. He was loathed to admit it, but his
cousin’s presence had done them some good. Before Tak and Deena’s
arrival, their relationship had been teetering on the brink of
certain extinction. Fights about washing laundry and drinking the
last swallow of milk seemed to drive as much of a wedge between
them as his lipstick on the collar. But there was something about
Tak and Deena, something invigorating, encouraging. Something about
the way he leaned into her when she spoke, as if fascinated by her.
Or the way he placed a hand at the small of her back or on her arm,
as if a never ending need to make a connection with her fueled him.
And the way she looked at him, looking as if absorbed, as if the
object of her infatuation was not only adored but
admired.

John wanted that for
himself. And could see that Allison wanted it, too. When had they
lost their ability to laugh, to play, to love so easily? Long
before the lipstick on the collar, before the months of
laundry-induced screaming—too long perhaps to remember. But as
Allison pulled John into her arms, and the soft curves of her body
melded into the contours of his, he knew that it was his to have
back, should he want it.

Tak watched from the
barstool as John and Allison approached. Four Screaming Orgasms and
twelve hit songs later and Deena was fast becoming an immobile part
of the furniture. John grinned, leaning in for his cousin to
hear.

“
It doesn’t count if you
drag her onto the dance floor unconscious, Tak.”

Tak laughed. “She’s not the
victim here. She’s the one ordering all the drinks. I’m just
paying.”

“
Sure you are.”

John waved for the
bartender. “Send a pitcher of beer to the table over there. We’re
going to run a tab, courtesy of this guy.” He clapped a hand on his
cousin’s back, who thanked him rather dryly.

Minutes later the four sat
in a corner, music blaring, as they downed a round of
Heineken.

“
I’ve been meaning to ask
you, Deena. Like, what are you? What’s your ethnicity?” Allison
shouted.

Deena tensed instinctively.
“Black. Black and white.”

Allison’s eyes lit up.
“Really? Like what specifically? Irish? Italian?”

Deena shook her head. “I—I
don’t know.”

Allison frowned. “Well,
maybe we can figure it out.”

“
Allison…,” John
warned.

“
No, John,” she waved a
hand. “It’s cool. Deena’s cool. And I’m really good at this. Now
what’s the surname? That’s a good place to start.”

“
Knight,” Deena
said.

“
Knight? Yeah, that’s not
very helpful. Is it your mother’s side or your father’s? Because
maybe you could ask—”

“
There’s no one to ask,”
Deena snapped.

“
Hey!” Tak leapt to his
feet. “Feel like dancing? Allison?”

“
Dancing?” She blinked in
surprise. “Yeah, I guess. Just a minute. Let me just…” she turned
back to Deena.

Tak touched Deena’s
shoulder. “You mind if we hit the floor?”

“
No, it’s fine.
Whatever.”

“
Good. One song. We’ll be
back.” Tak grabbed Allison’s hand, feigning ignorance of her
hesitation and near-dragging her away.

John stared at Deena over
the pitcher of beer. After a brief pause and an indulgent sip from
his mug, he spoke.

“
She means well. She
doesn’t know any better, but she means well.”

He was met with a flicker of
irritation. When she neglected to speak, John pushed on.

“
They both have good
intentions. But you can’t expect other people to know what it’s
like to be half of something and all of nothing.”

Deena looked up.

“
Take me, for example. My
mother’s white. There’s this whole side of my family that’s
blue-eyed and lily-colored. Now, they’ve never mistreated me, never
said an unkind word to me, but still. I don’t feel
white.”

“
I don’t feel white,
either,” Deena said.

John grinned. “Problem is, I
don’t feel quite Japanese, either. I feel more Japanese, but not
all Japanese.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s because I’m always
treated like an outsider.” He looked up at her, waited. She seemed
to weighing something in her mind, hesitant still.

“
For a long time,” John
said. “I tried to prove I was one of them. My
Nihongo
is pretty damned good and my
history is stellar. But if they take one look at these eyes, then
all that’s worthless.”

Deena lowered her gaze.
“We’re a lot alike, Mr. Tanaka.”

John shrugged. “Only if
you’re lucky.” He refilled her pitcher of beer, his smile
teasing.

“
So,” he said. “Which side
do you identify with? Black or the white?”

Deena shrugged. “It’s hard
to say. I mean, I don’t even know the white side. After my mother
ki—”

John froze, mid-pour. “After
what?”

She lowered her gaze. When
she looked up again, it was past him to where Tak and Allison
danced. From there, it was an arbitrary point on the wall. Finally,
she faced him again, noting with disdain that she still had his
attention.

“
After my mother killed my
father.”

John stared at her, the beer
now overflowing. “Are you kidding me? Cause if you are, that’s the
worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

Deena burst out laughing.
Only a Tanaka could make her laugh about something so terrible.
“I’m not, John. My mother killed my father. She shot him. And I
can’t believe you made me laugh about it.”

He looked down, noted the
mess he made with his still pouring beer and reached for a fistful
of napkins. “It’s a certain charm I have,” he explained.

Together the two mopped the
spilled brew. When he looked up, he did so as if remembering
something. “Tak says you don’t dance.”

“
Oh, I do. A little. Just
not well,” she smiled sheepishly.

John shrugged. “No, no. I
understand. I’m the same way. But I like to do it just the same.”
He paused, stole a glance at her. “I thought everyone
did.”

“
I suppose so.”

John leaned forward.
“Allison’s like Tak, you know, a real good dancer. She won’t even
dance with me. She says I make her look bad.”

He was betting that she’d
been too busy at the bar to see him dancing in the
corner.

“
That’s horrible!” she
blurted.

John tried not to
smile.

“
It’s o.k. I mean, I
wouldn’t want to dance with someone who was really good at it
anyway. It’d be nice to dance with someone who was a little
uncomfortable or wouldn’t mind if I lost the beat.”

“
Someone like me?” Deena
whispered.

John’s eyes widened. “You’d
do that for me?”

Deena nodded.

“
Well then,” John stood.
“What are we waiting for?”

Tak stood in astonishment,
as John and Deena moved on the dance floor. He would’ve laughed at
the absurd way his cousin insisted on thrusting his pelvis had
Deena not looked so damned sexy. Her hair was loose and damp, and a
thin sheen of sweat covered her, causing her glisten. Hands in her
hair, Deena’s hips swayed. When John whispered something in her
ear, she threw her head back and laughed.

Tak pushed his way through
the crowd and tapped John on the shoulder roughly. He turned to
face him mid-thrust.

“
You mind?” Tak said.
“You’ve earned your money, already.”

“
I can see why you like her
so much, Tak,” John grinned.

“
Get your ass out of here,”
Tak said, and helped by the collar.

Tak fell in step with Deena
thereafter.

“
Hope you left some of that
for me,” he said appreciatively.

Deena grinned. “It’s all for
you.”

With a bite of his lower
lip, Tak pulled her in close, and dropped his hands to her waist.
Deena arms found his neck.

“
I missed you,” she
admitted.

“
Somehow that doesn’t make
me sad.”

He turned her so her back
was to him, wrapped arms around her midsection, and pulled her in
close.

Dancing came natural to him;
it was about feeling the moment, as all art was. As they moved, his
hands worked her body, their hips one with the pulse of the music.
Lyrically laced promises of sex and wild fulfillment coupled with
alcohol and skin on skin for an ethereal intoxication. His hands
slipped from waist to hips, hips to stomach. He could touch her all
day.

“
You feel incredible,” Tak
whispered.

“
So do you,” Deena
said.

His breathing came loud and
labored. Finally, Tak dragged wet lips across her throat as the
strobe lights bathed them. He cupped her breast, grazing, and fell
away, too tempted. His erection pierced her back.