“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do what I can.”
“As quick as you can,” he said. “Please.”
Asami tilted her head. “Shimura-san, when did I ever hold you back in your work? You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll have it for you right away.” She let her breath out with what was almost a laugh.
Her words acted on his ears like needles, his eyes narrowed.
“I guess I’m just a little bit on edge,” he explained. “Tomiko’s on a layover—out of town.”
She studied him. “And you look tired.”
“I do?”
“Working too much, I suppose?”
“That’s right.”
“And it’s far too late for you to be going home.”
“You’re right, and I’d like to wring your neck for it, but you work here,” he said, smiling at her.
“Just take care of yourself—” and her voice was down close to a whisper.
Shimura nodded his head.
She blushed, then very slowly looked into his eyes. Her face broke into a sunny smile.
Shimura almost collided with Kawamura, who was busy looking down at his leather-soled shoes that needed polish and not paying attention to where he was walking. They bowed silently and grinned at each other.
“Well, Kawamura-san,” Shimura said politely.
“I just arrived,” Kawamura replied. “I’ll take the responsibility.”
“Responsibility?”
“For my clumsiness.”
Shimura adopted a placating tone. “Kawamura-san, I understand how you feel.” He was thinking of his exchange with Asami. “I’ll be going.” He bowed hurriedly and started to walk away.
“Can’t you stay?” Kawamura asked without wanting him to say yes.
“No, I have an appointment.”
“Well, tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow, Kawamura-san.” He bowed again, then left Kawamura for the elevator.
Kawamura swung open the agency door and shut it quickly behind him. He passed Asami and nodded in her direction, went directly to his office and shut the door. He took a small box out of his trousers pocket and opened it, looking at the ring and the stone in it that sparkled with the light of the desk lamp. He snapped the box shut and put it on the desk. Kawamura stared blankly at the stack of unopened mail. He sat in his chair and hauled his legs up, resting the heels of his shoes on the edge of the desk. He shut his eyes, rubbed his forehead with his hand. He heard Aoyama and Eto talking to each other on their way out of the agency.
Kawamura heard the outer door close. No one was left in the agency that could get in the way of what he wanted to do. Small circles of perspiration grew into large patches of moisture under his arms, staining the crisp, pressed shirt. Now, he told himself.
Asami sat at her desk, her slender fingers holding an open file and her thin lips silently shaping the words she read. Kawamura stood a couple of feet away from her, his eyes full of admiration. It was eight o’clock. She should’ve gone home by now. He took a step forward, leaned against the door frame. Asami turned her head away from the file and looked at him. Kawamura stood up straight, his hands folded behind his back, holding the small box, and his fingers caressed the smooth imitation leather that covered it. He took a faltering step forward. It was almost too much for him.
Kawamura went to the desk. Without saying a word, he gave her the box. He was blushing.
“What is it?”
“For you.” Kawamura bowed slightly.
She pushed her chair back away from the desk, turned the box over in her hands. At last she flipped it open with her fingertips. A ring with an amethyst stared back at her. She smiled, then bit her lower lip.
“You love me, don’t you?” Kawamura asked politely.
“You know how I feel, Kawamura-san.”
“It’s really true? There’s no mistake?”
She lowered her head and fidgeted.
He focused on the black hair of her downcast forehead.
“Yes.” Asami looked up at him, her cheeks were bright red.
“Maybe, if you do this, you’ll regret it. I’m a lot older than you are.”
“No, I never will,” she said. “That won’t happen.”
Kawamura reached out and swiftly took the box from her. He hadn’t felt so impatient about reaching a destination for a long time. He put the ring on her finger.
“Now, we’re engaged,” Asami said, smiling.
Kawamura bent over and kissed her on the mouth. Asami sucked long and hard on his tongue like a vacuum cleaner.
[ 14 ]
Angela tossed the robe on the bed. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. She slipped on a pair of panties and sat down on the edge of the bed to examine her toes. She rubbed her feet stimulating the blood flow before putting on a pair of thin gray socks. She chose a lightweight short-waisted sweater and pulled it over her head. A pair of loose-fitting lint-white trousers was draped over the back of a chair. She put them on and buttoned them up. She looked at herself in a full-length mirror. She had a small, dangling silver ring in place of the diamond she wore in her navel.
She flicked the ring with her finger, then pulled it down and outward. She sat on the edge of the bed again and brushed her hair. She pinched her cheeks, got up and went to the mirror and put on lipstick. She put her feet into a pair of high tops and loosely tied the laces. On her way out she picked up the map and sheets of paper Burnett had brought with him.
The streets were busy with people and traffic. She hailed a taxi at the corner of Edgewater and Prospect. They drove off in a direction away from the lake. She got out of the taxi in midtown, walked two blocks, turned the corner, and hailed another taxi on State Street. She tilted her head back and stared at the roof of the taxi. There were several scratches that might’ve been from a pair of high heels. She smiled, playing with the ring in her navel. They were heading northwest toward the river and a neighborhood with its industrial buildings converted to condominiums and lofts.
Angela leaned out the open window and took a breath of polluted air. The night sky hung low over the city. The air was humid and cool and a soft wind moved the pollution around without getting rid of it. When they got to Pleasant Street they crossed the river and turned right onto Third Street going north. It wasn’t the right place. There were a lot of people walking down the sidewalks, some of them carried groceries, paper bags with bottles in them, flowers wrapped in newspaper, plastic containers of takeout meals.
She told the driver to continue north and they went on until the neighborhood changed to a part of the city she didn’t know. The taxi slowed down, edging forward in traffic past the flashing neon of a couple of bars and a striptease club with a big, greasy-looking man at the door. The faces of passersby were green, red, yellow and blue. The taxi jerked forward and Angela sat back in the seat, shut her eyes a minute, and when she opened them the driver was still on Third heading toward Beverly Avenue, but he turned short of it on Orchard Street. They slowed down in front of the address she’d given him and she knew right away that she didn’t like it. She told the driver to move on, traffic thinned out, and they were driving through dimly lighted streets.
Man-made colors jumped out of currents of electricity again as the taxi made a turn onto Harding Street into the glare of a half-dozen neon signs. The driver asked her if he could stop for cigarettes and because she’d hired him for at least a couple of hours it didn’t matter to her if he bought a pack of cigarettes or called his wife or girlfriend to say he’d be coming home late or if he’d wanted a glass of beer. He pulled over to the curb in front of an all-night grocery. A bus made its way clumsily around the taxi.