Crimson Footprints Part 18

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 o.r.g.a.s.m for Deena.

"Lucky you," the blonde winked before disappearing.

"Tak!" Deena blushed. "What the h.e.l.l 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 embarra.s.sed.

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 o.r.g.a.s.m. "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 o.r.g.a.s.m." 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 relations.h.i.+p had been teetering on the brink of certain extinction. Fights about was.h.i.+ng 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 o.r.g.a.s.ms 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 j.a.panese, either. I feel more j.a.panese, but not all j.a.panese." 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 d.a.m.ned 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 d.a.m.ned s.e.xy. 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 a.s.s 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 s.e.x 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.

"You're killing me, Dee. I can't-"

She turned and kissed him, swallowing his words. Emboldened, he met her head on, his mouth opening with hunger. He gripped the back of her head and tilted, wanting more than her kiss could give. With a grunt of frustration, he inevitably pulled away.

Tak sliced the crowd in his rush to the bathroom, hand clasped tightly with Deena's. The two disappeared into the men's restroom, and as John watched, a slight smile crossed his lips. He turned back to the bartender and nodded towards his now absent cousin. "Give me your best, on his tab. Clearly, I'm gonna be here awhile."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

When Tak and Deena woke the next morning it was not because of the time-nearly noon by then-or the bright rays of sun baking the window, but rather, because of the blare of Deena's cell phone. Groggily, she reached for it, frowning at the disturbance of her sleep, and the pulsating of her skull.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Deena! What an unequivocal pleasure. To hear your voice on this, the twenty-third day of a thirty-day vacation."

Deena bolted upright. "Daichi?"

Next to her, Tak sat up, startled.

"Indeed. Are you enjoying your holiday?"

"Sir, I-"

"It's a simple question, Deena. Have you found this leisure time pleasurable? Fulfilling? Satisfactory at the very least?"

"Sir-" Deena swallowed. "It's been satisfactory, yes."