Somewhere in Tokyo
Edaline adjusts the sash on her cotton kimono, admiring her black-painted toenails in the Japanese clogs. Her long, red hair is twisted up on top of her head and secured with two chopsticks. Her pale face is even paler with the white powder she has delicately applied to her cheekbones, her neck, her chest. Tonight she is meeting Jason.
Her heart flutters like a fan in the hand of a geisha. They have only been lovers once but the memory glows like the eyes of a ninja behind his mask.
It is cold outside. Snow is falling on the mountains two hours’ drive away. Maybe she will take him to the Emperor’s Palace.
They will buy hot coffee in a can from the vending machine, find a hiding place among the ruins to roll the cans along each other’s stomachs, press cold noses together, blow steam in each other’s faces, kick dried leaves in the air as they run along the cobbled paths.
Maybe they will catch the subway to Shibuya, the busiest intersection in the world, join the throngs under flashing lights, feed each other hot noodles with their chopsticks.
Maybe the talk will dart between them like fireflies as they down sake in a Tokyo keyhole bar. They will hold hands as white gloves push them on a peak-hour train, press against each other as they go through a tunnel, get high on the chemistry arcing between them.
Maybe they will go to the mountains, lie naked in a hot spring while snowflakes settle on their flushed skin. He will hold a parasol over her head, kiss her hot, wet lips and slide his hand along her burning thigh.
She will meet him at the airport.
He will come back to her room.
He will pull the chopsticks from her hair, let it fall over her shoulders.
He will unwind the sash from her waist, slide the slippers from her feet…
This much she thinks she knows, the rest she can imagine.