“You work for NASA. Why can’t he stay with you?”
“Chris, darling, we’ve been through all this before. You know Mother’s xenophobic. Just the thought of the Eahrrohhs being on Sony has given her terrible migraines. And you know Mr. Oghhifoehnnahigrheeh has to have ceilings at least twelve feet high for his vertical claustrophobia, and you were the only other person I knew who had ceilings that high. The Japanese didn’t design Sony for Americans. It’s hard enough to find buildings with even normal American ceilings, let alone twelve-foot ones. And with the Eahrohhs’ privacy fetish, we can’t ask them to double up with people.”
“I know, Stewart,” Chris said, “but…”
“The only twelve-foot ceilings on Sony are in the apartment buildings Misawa designed. Like your building.”
And your mother’s, Chris thought.
“It’ll only be for a few more days. We’re currently negotiating with the Japanese to transfer the Eahrohhs down to Houston. When that happens, you’ll have your apartment all to yourself again.” He pressed some buttons on his desk. “Darling, I’ve got a call coming in. Can’t we…”
The door to her apartment slid open, and someone said, “Hey, this is great!”
She looked back at Stewart. He had flattened out again, this time with a decidedly impatient look on his face.
“My room in here,” Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh said, and squeezed past Chris carrying two shopping bags, a bouquet of cherry blossoms, and what looked like a tent. The pockets of his long orange coat looked lumpy, too, but Chris hadn’t figured out yet which of the bulges and lumps were part of Mr. Ohghhifoennahigrheeh’s peculiar shape and which weren’t.
He looked a little like a sack of potatoes with short, wide legs and arms. His legs and arms were lumpy, too, and so was his head, except for the top, which was round and bald and surrounded by a fringe of fine pinkish-orange hair that extended down the sides of his face in wispy sideburns. “Except for he’s an alien, he’d never make it in the movies,” Bets had said the first time she’d seen him.
“Mr. Ohghhifoeh…” She stopped and looked down at her hand to get the name right. “Mr. Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh, I have to talk to you. You’ve got to stop buying things. There simply isn’t any more room for…”
Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh smiled at her, his wide mouth curving upward toward the two pinkish-orange lumps that were his cheeks. He put down the two shopping bags and the thing that looked like a tent and handed Chris the bouquet of cherry blossoms. “Hana,” he said. “Buy you.”
Chris had no idea what hana meant. “Thank you for the cherry blossoms, but…”
He shook his head vigorously, the wisps of cotton-candy hair flying out in all directions. “Hutchins buy hana.”
“Hutchins?” Chris said, wishing she had the Japanese translation team here.
“Pete Hutchins,” a tall young man said. He was wearing jeans and a satin bomber jacket and was trying to maneuver a duffel bag and a bicycle into the narrow hall. He held out a hand for her to shake. “He means I bought you the cherry blossoms. Hana means cherry blossoms in Japanese. You must be Chris. Okee’s told me all about you.”
“I’m very busy right now,” Stewart said from the phone. “Can’t this wait till tomorrow?”
“Hutchins stay here,” Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh said. He slid open his door and ducked inside with the shopping bags and the tent before Chris could even get a glimpse of what was inside.
“Just a minute, Stewart,” Chris said, and pushed the hold button. “Mr. Hutchins, what is it you want with Mr. Ohghhifoehnn…” She had to stop and read from her hand. “Mr. Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh?”
He twisted around to get a look at her hand. “Had to write it on there, huh?” he said. “I can’t pronounce it either, so I just call him Okeefenokee. And you can call me Pete.”
She closed her hand. “I don’t know what Mr.… he told you, but he doesn’t speak English very well, and…”
“I really appreciate Okee doing this. I just came up on the shuttle today, and I’m shot. So if you could just show me to my room…”
“Excuse me. Is this where the John is?” a woman with an elaborate topknot of brass-colored hair said. She was holding a skimpy hapi coat closed with one hand and carrying a makeup case. “The little kids said it was in here. I’m Charmaine. I just moved in. Top half of the stairs, but I don’t mind. The seventy percent gravity’s great for me in my job. And I’ve never seen so many cute guys in my life. Do you live here?” she said to Hutchins.
“Yes,” Hutchins said.
“No,” Chris said. “There’s been some misunderstanding.”
“About the John?” Charmaine said nervously. “Mr. Nagisha told me I had bathroom privileges.”
“No, I mean, you can use the bathroom, Charmaine. There isn’t anybody in there.” She turned back to Hutchins. “Mr. Hutchins, I don’t know what Mr. Ohghhifoehnn…”—she resisted the temptation to look at her hand—“…ackafee told you, but he sometimes has trouble understanding…”
“ ’Scuse me,” Charmaine said, and slithered past Hutchins, making no effort at all to stay away from him. “I gotto go do my makeup for my show. I’m a specialty dancer down at Luigi’s. You oughta come see me.” She waggled her fingers at him as she slid the bathroom door shut.
“Aren’t you off the phone yet?” Molly said from the doorway. She had her dimpled arms folded across her yellow-ducked middle and was tapping a black-patented foot. “My mother thayth to tell you that my agent hath very important newth. He’th thyure Thpielberg ith on Thony and…”
While she was talking, Bets was sidling past Molly and behind Hutchins, holding something behind her pink-sashed back. Chris reached around Hutchins and made a grab for it. She got hold of the curling iron by the cord and took it away from Bets.
“Electrical appliances are not allowed in the bathroom,” Chris said. She wrapped the cord around the curling iron and put it on top of the piano. “I told you last time I was going to take it away from you if it happened again. You’re supposed to use the outlets in Mr. Nagisha’s apartment.”
“We can’t use the ones in Mr. Nagisha’s apartment. He blew a fuse, and our agent’s calling us at eighteen o’clock!”
“Not on my phone he isn’t,” Chris said. “The phone! I forgot all about Stewart.” She punched the reinstate button, wondering if he’d already hung up. Hutchins and the little girls backed up as the holo-image spread, but they were still in the way. Hutchins seemed to be standing in the middle of Stewart’s desk. Molly and Bets’s face were covered with blurry brown. Chris hit the flat-image button, and Stewart retreated to the screen. “I’m sorry, Stewart,” she said.
He was writing busily. “Can this wait till tomorrow, Chris?” he said without looking up. “We’ll have lunch and you can tell me all about it. The Garden of Meditation. In the ginza. Thirteen-thirty.”
Hutchins was watching the screen. “All right, Stewart, but…” Chris said.
“Till then just go along with whatever Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh says. The negotiations are at a very delicate stage. Anything could break them off. Let him do anything he wants. I love you, darling. See you tomorrow,” he said, still without looking up, and blanked the screen before Chris had a chance to say anything.
Hutchins was looking at her curiously. “Who is that guy?” he said.
“He’s my fiancé,” Chris said. Molly had climbed up on the piano bench and was kneeling on the keyboard, trying to reach the curling iron. Chris grabbed it away from her and put it behind her back.