The phone rang in Shaundra's room just as she exited the bathroom after showering. She plodded across the dark green carpeted floor to the nightstand where the telephone rested. She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for it. "Hello." Loud music blared in her ear.
"Shaundra, it's Dorothy. The guys and I are down in the lounge. Haul your ass down here and join us."
Shaundra moved the receiver to her right ear because her left ear still felt clogged with water. "I just got out of the shower. What are you doing down in the lounge? Did Harper call a meeting?" She looked down at the red button on the base of the phone to see if she'd missed his message.
"No, Harper didn't call a meeting. We're down here having a nightcap.
That was one hell of a long plane ride."
Shaundra was still reeling from the effects of the Valium. "I'm glad I don't remember much about the ride."
"So you're going to join us?"
It was nice of Dorothy not to mention how drugged out she'd been.
"Give me a few minutes to throw on some clothes."
Dorothy relayed her message to the other two authors. "Hurry up, this place is jumping."
Shaundra looked down at the clock. It was close to midnight on a Thursday. What could possibly be happening? She heard singing in the background. It sounded like a live band. "I'll be there shortly. Bye." She hung up before Dorothy could entertain her with more conversation.
Within minutes, she had donned a red dress she'd purchased right before she left New York and accessorized with matching red earrings, watch and beads. Shaundra grabbed the black clutch that matched her heels and left the room, stuffing her key card inside on the way to the elevator.
Five minutes later, she exited the elevator on the first floor and followed the signs to the lounge. Music met her at the door. The singer sung a hip song in Japanese as she entered. Dorothy was right. The dance floor was packed with young people. Her older friends sat at the bar.
Dorothy waved her over.
Shaundra side-stepped around the dancers as she walked over to the bar. Jackson Lopez moved over to the next seat so she could sit next to Dorothy, who sat at Riley Hymel's left. All of them were decently dressed and looking like they still were suffering from jet lag.
Riley nursed a Bloody Mary and leaned on an elbow, half awake. The bartender appeared, dressed entirely in white. He spoke to her in broken English. "Would you like to order?"
"A Coke please."
"Diet or regular?"
"Regular."
He stepped aside to the fountain to prepare it.
Dorothy nudged her. "What, not drinking tonight?"
"No, I don't think it's wise to mix alcohol with tranquilizers."
The bartender handed her the soda. Shaundra raised the glass to her lips and swallowed. The liquid burned the back of her throat. "Ah, real Coke." Not that watered down mess bars usually served. The sugar rushed quickly to her brain to keep her awake.
Shaundra looked around the place. She could see well now that her eyes were adjusted to the lighting. The lounge was a pretty good size. The tables were covered in red cloths that reminded her of an Italian restaurant.
There was a bandstand, instruments and microphones in the center of the room, but near the front wall. The band that was playing when she entered had just finished a set and was walking around, mixing with the crowd. A picture of a Japanese shrine covered the wall behind the bandstand. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, each decorated in pictures of Japanese culture from the past. The rest rooms were located on the north side of the room away from the bar and the dance floor, and there were a few private booths nearby that were crammed full of young people in their early twenties, all dressed in faddish club clothes.
Dancers moved past them and returned to their seats as canned music filtered out of the speakers. Another band appeared. This time, it was four young men in their twenties. They moved into position near a piano. She stared, recognizing one of them as the guy who'd come to her aid in the hallway upstairs when she arrived. Wait. She knew all of them. It was Aomori, the guys from the photo Charlotte showed her in her office back in New York. Her stomach did that clenching thing again. She almost didn't recognize them because their hair was different...longer and untamed. The clothes they wore were more contemporary, low riding jeans and chest revealing T-shirts. Okay, they had her attention.
One of them sat down at the piano and then someone dimmed the lights, leaving the spotlight on them. The audience quieted as the piano intro began. Dorothy, Jackson and Riley turned on their stools to watch and listen.
One of them raised a mike and a beautiful tenor voice eased out. A few seconds later, three more soulful voices joined his.
They can sing too. Shit. She'd hoped they could so she would have an excuse for thinking about them. Shaundra settled back, watching the way they moved, listening to their harmony and wondering why the sound was getting to her. Hopefully, it was just her imagination.
The next song was a more upbeat tune, which had the crowd back on their feet, including Dorothy and Riley, who looked a bit out of place with the youngsters. Jackson ordered a beer. "Would you like something else?"
he asked her.
"No, I'm fine." She paused. "These guys are good."
"They're okay. Cute too."
Shaundra smirked. Jackson never hid the fact that he was gay. In fact, he built his writing career on the sexuality. His Facebook page was crammed with young gay males trying to get to know him.
"Yeah, but young," Shaundra finally answered.
The band performed a few more songs and then Dorothy and Riley returned to their seats. Dorothy frantically fanned herself to cool off as she hopped back onto the bar stool. She ordered a Long Island Iced Tea.
"Those guys are so good," she said once she had her drink in her hand. "I wonder who they are."
"Our pet project," Shaundra announced. "That's Aomori, the group Harper told us about."
Dorothy looked back over at the band that had finished playing and had moved on to a table close by. No other band appeared, just music for the speakers. "Do you know them?"
"Not really, why?"
"Because two of them are looking at you."
"I'm the lone African American in a Japanese lounge. I'm bound to draw attention." Shaundra raised her eyes. Sure enough, the lead singer and the one who played the piano were staring directly at her. "Oh, them.
They nearly knocked me down when I arrived earlier. They were running down the hall, playing like a bunch of kids. I guess they remember me from that."
"Look, one of them is coming over." Dorothy adjusted her clothes and smoothed down her hair.
Shaundra smirked. Dorothy was older than she was and had no business getting all excited about meeting some boy band member. It was the piano player.
He stopped before them and bowed from the waist. "My name is Satoshi Hayashi. Are you a Ms. Shaundra Morrison?"
"Yes," Shaundra said coolly, wondering how the handsome Japanese youth knew her name. "How can I help you?" She looked him over.
Satoshi was a tantalizing sight, six feet tall or taller with shoulder length black hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans that rode his slim hips like a glove. She raised her eyes up to his face. He had perfect skin, a slender nose and thin lips. He also spoke flawless English.
Satoshi pointed toward his table. "Our leader, Yori Morioka, would like you to join us at our table."
Shaundra glanced over at their table. Yori, fetching. The name fit him and he didn't even bother to look their way. He just kept talking like he was in deep conversation with the other two. "Sorry, I'm with friends. It would be rude to just leave them." Even ruder not to invite them too.
Satoshi bowed again and walked away.
Shaundra checked out his butt. Tiny, but cute.
Dorothy nudged her. "Are you crazy? Why did you pass up that opportunity?"
Shaundra swiveled her stool around until she faced the bar again.
"What opportunity? So a group of b-boys invited me to sit at their table and I refused. What do you think was going to happen?"
Someone tapped her on her shoulder. Shaundra eased the stool around and her eyes landed directly at the chest of a man. Her eyes continued to journey up until they met with a pair of dark brown ones, set in a face so beautiful it took her breath away. Yori.
He, too, bowed once he had her full attention. "Good evening, Ms.
Morrison. My name is Yori Morioka and I'm the leader of Aomori. Please dance with me." He extended his hand to her.
Damn, a direct refusal would be considered bad manners. What am I going to do? Before she knew it, her hand was locked in his and they were standing on the dance floor amongst a crowd of kids young enough to be hers. The music began. A fast Japanese pop song. The audience seemed to recognize it and went wild, flailing arms and wiggling hips on the floor next to them. Yori joined them, moving around her like his tall young body was made for dancing.
Dance, the voice said inside her head. Her body moved, thankful that shed kept up with the trendy steps over the years. She had no choice since her children kept the walls vibrating with the latest hip-hop beats and insisted that she dance and go clubbing with them. She'd accompanied them a couple of times just to get out for a breather, but she didn't go often because she didn't want to cramp their style.
Shaundra looked around. The crowd had disappeared, leaving her on the dance floor with Yori. It reminded her of a scene out of Saturday Night Fever. All eyes felt penned on them as they moved. Their efforts were rewarded by jaunts of encouragement and a lot of clapping. Any other time, she would be totally mortified being the center of attention, but Yori fixed that by keeping his dark eyes locked on her.
The music finally ended. It was replaced by a slower one, which she planned to use as her way out to return to her friends. Yori grabbed her hand and pulled her to him as soon as she attempted to move.
"You dance well," he whispered into her ear.
His warm breath tickled against her skin. He spoke English clearly.
"Thank you."
No more words were spoken. There was no need as he moved her slowly around the floor. The problem of being watched slowly disappeared as she got into the dance, pressed tightly against his strong, young chest. Shaundra closed her eyes, trying to listen to his heartbeat and the rhythm of the music since she didn't understand the words. Maybe she'd better pick up that Japanese language book Harper had given her and learn a few words.
The song was nice and mellow and made her feel spongy inside. Her dance partner wasn't a slouch in the slow dance department either. He used that fantastic body of his to move her around the floor gracefully.
"Why did you turn down my invitation?"
"Because I'm here with friends and you didn't invite them."
"My mistake. I will remember next time."
Shaundra frowned. There wasn't going to be a next time. Aomori was kids. Why would she want to hang out with them? Or worse, why would Aomori want to hang out with a bunch of middle-aged writers? The song ended and he escorted her back to the bar, bowed again, and then went back to his table. It was followed by some laughter and one of them rewarded Yori with a punch on the arm.
Dorothy leaned in. "Shocked the hell out of them, didn't you? I bet they thought you couldn't dance. You have some killer moves."
"I can hold my own, but I bet I'll be aching something fierce when I wake up." She glanced down at her watch. "Speaking of which, it's nearly two in the morning." She slid off the bar stool. "I'm exhausted. I think I'm going up to my room to crash."
"Do you need me to escort you upstairs?" Riley asked.
"No thanks. I know the way." She left the other three writers sitting there and headed toward the door, not missing the evil stare a young female seated by the door gave her.
"What were you thinking, leader?" Satoshi asked after he drew Yori's attention away from the exit door.
"What do you mean?"
"That author, the dancing?"
"Because she turned down my invitation to join us."
"So you asked her to dance because she snubbed you?" Takumijo asked. "I don't get it."
He lifted his glass and saluted them. "Kanpai."
"Kanpai," the others repeated.
"No, I did it to get back at her," Yori confessed. "I figured I'd embarrass her to get even."
"Very petty," Satoshi replied. "Not to mention that it backfired."
Ichiro chuckled, but did not comment.
Takumijo wasn't as nice. "She has some nice moves for her age."
"What's wrong with her age?" Satoshi asked.
"She's older than he is. Hot, but still much older."
"Definitely hot," Satoshi agreed. "And so out of his league."
Yori punched him on the arm playfully. "You're supposed to be my friend, and anyway, I'm not interested in her in that way. Amaya would kill me."
Amaya and Yori had been dating since elementary, and their engagement had been arranged by their parents since they were kids. The two of them planned to marry soon or after Yori completed his military duty.
Takumijo called the waiter over and ordered another round of drinks for them.
Satoshi sighed. He was drunk already and sleepy.
The waiter arrived quickly with their drinks and returned to the bar.
Three of them drank Shochu, a drink distilled from barley, while Ichiro stuck to iced tea. Ichiro never ate anything unhealthy and only on special occasions would he drink sake. He didn't talk much either, which didn't make sense since he had the voice of an angel. They'd been together for fifteen years and there were still things locked inside Ichiro's head that he refused to share, and they shared everything except women and underwear.
Takumijo stared at some of the dancers on the floor and then rejoined the conversation, which had veered onto another topic...the upcoming concerts. "Masaaki must be out of his head allowing Mr. Niigata to book us with back to back concerts. When are we supposed to rest?" He sipped his drink.
"When we die," Yori replied. "Mr. Niigata knows what he's doing.
The more experience we get, the better the reception we'll receive in the United States. If he wants us to hang out with the authors, we'll hang out with the authors."
"Speaking of which, how did you know you had the right people when they entered the lounge? You've never met them."
"Elementary," Yori explained. "I did my homework and searched their names on the Internet after we met with Masaaki. That's what a good leader does. One writes paranormal romance, one writes gay romance, one writes historical romance, and one writes erotica. Can you guess which one does what?"
"What type of erotica?" Takumijo asked suddenly, a little more interested in the conversation.
"The real good stuff," Yori replied.
Ichiro chuckled again and continued to nurse his iced tea.
"What's so funny, Ich?" Takumijo asked.
"Nothing. I was just imagining the surprised look on Masaaki's face when he found that out. You know how uptight he gets with that type of stuff."
"He'd better get over that," Yori explained. "I heard this new company is only going to feature gay novels."
Takumijo made a face. "You do a lot of reading, Ichiro. Have you ever heard of any of them?"
"Only one of them," Ichiro replied. "And I'm not saying which."
Satoshi gently tugged Ichiro's long hair.
"Ouch."
"What else are you hiding from us?"
Ichiro went back to his tea, ending the conversation.
"That's okay, we'll find out tomorrow at the meeting," Satoshi replied.
Yori looked down at his watch. "It's tomorrow already. We better get up to our rooms before Masaaki wakes up and comes down to get us." He rose and the others followed, much to the disappointment of the crowd.
Satoshi looked over at the bar. Only the two men remained, which meant the other female must have left shortly after Shaundra Morrison.
Like Ichiro, he noticed that she did not drink alcohol. He hadn't smelled any on her when he approached, just sweet soap and shampoo.
Yori led them out of the door and into the bright lobby to the elevator.
Satoshi pushed the button. Shaundra Morrison was the first woman he'd ever seen Yori take an interest in besides Amaya. He sighed. And the two women were as different as night and day. The elevator door opened.
Hmm, this is going to be interesting. He followed his friends inside the door and it closed behind them.
