Crimson Footprints (12 page)

“
So, what does my little
architectural scholar think of the Atlanta skyline?” Tak took a sip
of his sweet tea.

Deena lowered her gaze. It
was the right question, a deterrent from the jitters she felt
from
being hundreds of miles away from
home with a man who made her wake up in a peculiar, mysterious and
acute sense of desperation.

She attempted to shrug
nonchalantly.

“
Oh, I don’t know. There’s
a lot of modern and postmodern stuff here, but
that’s not surprising. Atlanta’s a southern city, but it’s a
hybrid one. In a time when much of the
south rejected what they saw as an encroachment on an old way
of life, Atlanta was going
through a
transformation. They wanted to be seen as a progressive city, a
beacon of the ‘New South’. You know how some of the best
architecture reflects the values of
the
people around it? Well, Atlanta’s no exception. You can see the
rejection of antebellum roots
and—”

Deena paused, her cheeks
coloring. She’s was being nervous and stupid again.

“
I’m sorry. Before this is
over you’ll wish you asked
some other girl
to come with you.”

Silence followed. Her words
implied more than she’d intended about their reasons for
being
t
here. They
implied more than the careful friendship they’d maintained to that
point.

A slight smile played across
Tak’s lips.

“
Don’t be silly, Dee.” He
watched her as she shifted,
before
deciding she’d squirmed enough. “You’re a genius. My
otosan
must love talking
to you.”

Deena shrugged. “It’s a big
firm. I don’t really spend time with your father.”

Tak laughed. “You do. You
just think you don’t.”

She frowned. “What in the
world does that mean?”

“
My dad’s brilliant and his
whole life is wrapped up in that firm. He hired you because he saw
something. While you were his intern, he studied you, figured out
what you were made of, and decided that he liked it. In other
words, he was spending time with you, even if you weren’t spending
time with him.”

Before Deena could respond,
the waitress returned with their food. Pecan waffles and

scrambled eggs, biscuits and
country gravy and two unidentifiable piles on saucer plates
were

placed before
them.

“
What in the hell is this?”
Deena said, lifting the edge of a saucer for inspection. Her nose
crinkled at the mass.

“
It’s hash browns. Try
it.”

Tak grabbed a bottle of
syrup and went to work on his waffles.

“
Hash browns
where?
”

Tak grinned. “Hash
browns
there.
” He
jabbed at the mass with his syrup-covered fork. “There’s also
onions, ham, cheese, chili and tomatoes.” He pointed at each item
with the utensil before returning to the slicing of his waffles.
“And it’s all quite good.”

She looked at the red and
yellow goo that covered the potatoes in distrust. She didn’t want
to think of how many calories might be in that little saucered
dish, with its fried potatoes and ooze of cheese. She didn’t want
to think of what her ass would look like in a swimsuit after a bite
of that mess.

“
Come on, Dee. Open up
already.”

Tak dipped his fork into his
mouth to clean it before taking a stab at her hash browns. He came
away with a thick wad, and trained it towards her mouth.

“
Just a little
now.”

With a hand beneath her
chin, he guided the gooey hash into her mouth.

An explosion of flavor
slipped between her waiting lips, and with it, the fork that had
once been in his mouth. She blushed.

“
Uh oh,” Tak said as he
caught chili with his thumb. Quickly, he returned the finger to her
mouth; her lips parted to accept it. His breath caught. Their eyes
locked and a sudden, painful throb ailed him. It took too long for
either to look away, neither speaking, even as he drew thumb from
mouth. Wide-eyed, Deena cleared her throat and looked away,
red-faced and stiff. Tak stared, a sober and dry-mouthed
astonishment on his face. Just what the hell was it with him and
this girl that made him act as if he’d never known another? He
exhaled, and once again, resumed his natural course of his
breathing.

Three days in Atlanta. In
it, they strolled the lush greens of Centennial Olympic Park,
admired the architectural wonders of Peachtree, and danced till
exhaustion in Underground Atlanta—Deena’s first foray with a
nightclub.

Underground Atlanta wasn’t
so much “underground” as it was downstairs. Furthermore, the
entrance to it looked seedy and suspect, but she took Tak’s hand
and allowed him to lead her in. There were nightclubs down there,
at least half a dozen, and that night, he promised, they would
dance.

Deena produced a shiny,
laminated new driver’s license for entrance to the club. The
bouncer who took it was tall enough so that the back of his head
pressed against the bit of wall above the door. He scrutinized the
picture and handed it back as if unimpressed. The bouncer repeated
the ritual with Tak before they were finally admitted.

They stepped inside and
darkness swallowed them. People were pressed on a vast floor,
swaying to a trance-inducing beat. Deena blinked. It was damp and
humid as the fumes of sweat and liquor coalesced mid-air. The music
throbbed, a light, pop-like tune that was almost disco, paired with
an airy voice.

Tak squeezed her hand. “Want
a drink?” He had to shout over insistent bass.

Deena nodded
gratefully.

They weaved through the
club, hands clasped out of what Deena told herself was necessity,
till they reached the bar at the back. He ordered a Heineken draft
and a Strawberry Daiquiri before looking down at her
hand.

“
You okay?”

She blushed, grateful that
it was too dark for him to see. Her grip was clammy and tight, her
resolve to keep him in reach unshakeable.

“
A little nervous.” She
peered around. “You’re probably eager to dance.”

At UCLA, he’d been a beer
chugging frat boy of a stereotype who partied four times a week. So
tonight, he was in his element.

Tak shrugged. “Whatever you
want to do.”

She lowered her gaze.
“Just—enjoy my drink, maybe?”

Tak nodded. “Sounds good to
me.”

He released her when his
beer arrived and tossed back a big swallow. She brought the
daiquiri in a big pilsner to her lips for a sip.

“
Good?” Tak
asked.

Deena nodded.
“Very.”

She drank the first one and
had a second. The music was southern rap now, so it had a slower
tempo, claps on the backbeat and constant references to sex,
strippers and alcohol.

The liquor had a warming
effect. She peered in her glass. What was in a daiquiri? She had no
idea, but it was marvelous.

“
You, uh…want another?” Tak
smiled.

Deena nodded. “One more. Not
too much.”

Her words didn’t sound
right. Running together and enunciating all at once. She
frowned.

Another daiquiri was placed
before her and again she peered in the glass.

“
These are very good. You
should try one.”

Tak grinned. “I generally
steer away from drinks with umbrellas and sliced fruit adorning it.
Not good for the image.”

“
Fine,” Deena said. “Suit
yourself.” She tossed it back for a big gulp and got brain freeze.
“Ow!” She gripped her skull with both hands.

“
Just let it pass,” Tak
advised. “And drink slower.”

She looked up at him
suddenly. “Wanna dance?”

He looked surprised.
“Uh—sure. If you’re okay with that. I’d love to.”

She took another gulp of her
drink and abandoned it, near full. She started for the floor. Tak
dropped a few bills on the counter and followed.

“
I’ve never danced,” Deena
gushed. “Tell me what to do.”

“
Not much to tell. Just
feel it. Feel it and have fun.”

“
Feel it. Fun. Got it,” she
said.

Tak smiled. “Follow
me.”

The music was club rap, a
few intoxicating beats, a breathy male voice and a few sexy and
well-placed hooks. He pulled her into his arms and began to sway.
She followed with ease.

“
Like this?”

Tak grinned. “Just like
that.”

It was easier than she
thought. When she told him that she’d never danced, what she meant
was that she’d never danced in public. In her room, with a radio
and a broomstick, she’d held jaw-dropping concerts for an audience
of none. She’d danced in those days, as a girl all alone. But in
his arms it seemed her self-less abandon had found her
again.

“
Someone told a lie,” he
teased.

He pulled her closer, till
their bodies molded—his arms around her waist, hers at his neck. He
was hard and hot and moved like liquid. She imagined him a skilled
lover for the motions came so easy. It wasn’t the first time they’d
been so close, after all, they hugged each time they saw each
other, but this was different. This was lingering and indulgent
and…stimulating.

She knew what was happening,
happening to her, to them—between them. She wanted to stop it, felt
like she had to, to avoid pain down the road. But her heart took no
heed from the tyrannical rule of her mind. It wanted him near and
was willing to do anything to make that happen.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

From Atlanta, it was on to
the Big Easy for jazz and jambalaya in The Quarter and riverboat
gambling on the Mississippi. For two days they combed the streets
of that old historic district, marveling at the Creole townhouses
by day and downing hot Cajun food and big ass beers by
night.

With New Orleans behind
them, they headed for Memphis in a six-hour tear up I-55. There,
Tak insisted, they would find the best barbecue on the planet. But
they did more than gouge on butter-soft baby back ribs and pounds
of pulled pork; they lost themselves in the melancholy sound of
blues on Beale Street, danced rooftop at The Peabody Hotel and
strolled the banks of the Mississippi by moonlight.

“
My mom never said why she
killed my dad,” Deena said, the Mississippi River to her right as
they strolled. The moon was high and shone on the water, shimmering
with an imminent fullness as if promising to pop. The air pressed
with the heat of the south and summer.

“
Not even after
conviction?” Tak said.

Deena shook her
head.

A white couple passed,
staring. Tak either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Deena figured it
was the second one.

“
You said you didn’t
remember much. Is it possible you suppressed her
explanation?”

Deena shrugged.

“
I suppose. But I doubt it.
When I say I don’t remember much, I mean about the murder. Like, it
comes in snippets for me. The blood, my mom with the gun, things
like that. Never in sequential sense.”

“
And when you dream, is it
the same way?”

She hesitated. “I don’t
dream about that much anymore.”

Instead, images of her
parents were being ousted in dramatic fashion by lurid snatches of
sex, courtesy of a sweating and shirtless Takumi Tanaka.

He glanced at her. “You
don’t dream about them much? Really?” He sounded thoroughly
surprised.

Deena shook her
head.

“
Well that’s odd,
considering it went on for so long. When did it stop?”

Instantly, she wanted to
say, or right about the time I started wanting you inside me. After
all, they were the same moment.

But she cleared her throat
instead. “Um, I’m not sure.”

When he glanced at her, she
looked away. Deena didn’t dare look up, so afraid was she that he
knew her secret, so certain was she that everyone did.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Four hours separated Memphis
from St. Louis, next on their list of “must sees.” The I-55
corridor linking the two cities weaved them through highlands and
plains before dumping them in St. Louis, the self-proclaimed
“Gateway of the West.”

They were hurdling towards
exhaustion, crisscrossing first the south and now the Midwest at
break neck speed. By the time they arrived in St. Louis, they’d
clocked better than 1800 miles over two weeks in Tak’s Ferrari.
More telling however, was the way they traveled—top down, wind in
their hair, his arm around the back of her chair.