Fifteen hours later, my private plane lands in San Francisco. This is crazy, I think to myself as my ex-Marine American driver/guard, Declan escorts me to the hastily arranged car. Yet, I’ve flown backward in time to get here.
My plane was cleared to leave Narida airport a little after 1 a.m. on Dec. 26th. And now, I am here in San Francisco, following Chris’s instructions to a location in Fisherman’s Wharf…which is within walking distance of the financial district.
If this location is indeed the place where Kristal lives. I try not to think of how close she might have been while I was searching for her on the internet back in January.
About forty-five minutes after landing, Declan pulls up to a large, red concrete building on Pier 22. I immediately lower my brow in confusion because the words Santa-san no wakushoppu are written across the front of the building in kana. But why would the name of this business be written across the front of the building in Japanese?
“Huh…Santa’s Workshop,” Declan reads, peering out the driver’s window. His Japanese lessons must really be coming along. Usually, he struggles to read anything written out in kana. “Maybe it’s some kind of toy factory?”
“Maybe…” I answer, thinking of the “elf” story Kristal told me to explain why she was disconnected from the real world.
The building looks like a warehouse, but it’s not quite as modern as the ones I’ve sighted on other San Francisco piers. Black iron casement windows line the top floors, and a pair of old-fashioned barnyard doors have been thrown open, revealing a party filled with people of all different sizes and races, wearing elf hats inside.
She’s here, I’m sure of it. Anticipation thrums through me at the thought of finally seeing her again. Of bringing her back to my hotel and losing myself in her soft body.
“Want me to come in with you?” Declan asks.
Usually, he stays behind in the car, only using his Marine skillset when specifically requested. But this is a strange situation for both of us, as I usually don’t attend what looks like a factory party. Not even when I served as the head of marketing for Nakamura Worldwide, before Norio and I cut ties with our family’s multinational automotive conglomerate.
“That is not necessary,” I answer before climbing out of the car.
Dressed in my business suit, I already feel out of place walking into a party of what must be at least two hundred people, most of whom are dressed in red and/or green outfits and sporting elf hats. My bodyguard would only make the fact that I’ve come here without an invitation that much more obvious.
The atmosphere inside the workshop is warm and filled with good cheer. A host of giant red and green metal machines take up most of the room on what looks like a factory floor. But planks line the floors instead of the concrete, like at the Nakamura Worldwide manufacturing plants. And though the machines gleam under huge vintage cage lamps, even with my automotive experience, I couldn’t even begin to guess what they were meant to make.
What sounds like a 60s girl group version of the song “Sleigh Ride” plays overhead, and most of the incredibly diverse group of partygoers in elf hats are either shouting over or dancing to the joyous Christmas music. A few of them are even singing along.
For a moment, I look around, entirely stymied by the Where’s Waldo situation finding Kristal in this crowd has suddenly become.
“Excuse me,” I ask two people in elf hats, talking to each other nearby. They have glass mugs of what looks like apple cider with sticks of cinnamon in their hands. “Do you know where I might find Kristal Kringle?”
“Kristal, ending with a t-a-l, t-i-l, t-y-l, or l-e?” the one, who also looks to be of Asian descent, asks.
“Ah, t-a-l,” I answer, though I’m not sure.
“Okay then, is it the Kristal from the Distribution, Manufacturing, or List Control department?”
Instead of answering a question I don’t know and drawing further suspicion, I tell them I’ll look for her myself.
As I’m wading through party-goers in elf hats, a voice suddenly squeals, “Oh my Santa, whoever you are, I’m SO happy you’re here!”
In the next moment, a heavily pregnant version of the other black woman from the picture I sighted back in Japan appears in front of me along with Hugh Edgeworth, the GoX Chief Project Manager who didn’t answer his phone.
She somehow manages to wrap me in a bear hug, despite her swollen stomach. “HOLLY-lujah, I can’t wait to introduce you to your True Love. I’ve been wanting to match her for ages!”
My True Love? What in the…
“Krista, darling, remember what I told you about hugging people without asking permission?” Hugh Edgeworth says, peeling his wife off of me. “It really isn’t done. Especially in certain cultures, and Mr. Nakamura is from Japan.”
Krista pouts in a way that can’t quite reach her twinkling eyes. “I know, I know. But come on, he’s here for dinner with my favorite elf in the whole wide world. How can I not hug him?”
“Well, you might start with trying to engender within yourself some cultural sensitivity when it comes to your particular fierce manner of hugging. Then you might—Krista? Krista, where are you taking him?” Hugh Edgeworth called after his wife when she grabbed my hand and started dragging me along behind her in a shockingly strong grip.
“To meet his True Love for dinner, of course,” she calls over her shoulder. “He’s her perfect match! And it’s happening at Christmas. You don’t get more auspicious than that!”
“Aw, yes, I can actually see this True Love match quite clearly as well,” the surprisingly strong woman’s husband says as he follows along after us. “But perhaps we should ease Mr. Nakamura, one of the major investors at the company I currently work at, into this dinner invitation. That way, I might have less chance of getting fired?”
“Who would fire someone who introduced them to their True Love?” Krista asks, shaking her head as if her husband is the crazy one pulling a stranger behind him and not her. “This relationship is going to be sooooo romantic and beautiful. I can already tell. This will be my most perfect match yet!”
Perfect match? Relationship? Alarm bells go off in the back of my mind.
“Excuse me, but I am not looking for a match or a relationship,” I tell her, using nearly all my strength to pull my arm out of her vice grip. “I am only here to find someone who I believe might be at this party. Her name is—
“HEY, KRISTAL!” Hugh Edgeworth's’ wife suddenly starts waving her hand in the direction of a raised DJ stand. “Kristal! Kristal! Over here! Guess who’s come for dinner? This insanely hot Japanese guy. And he’s your True Christmas Love!”
I falter, blood rushing into my ears when I see the DJ standing behind a turntable with actual records. It’s Kristal! Her hair is black now, not brassy blonde, but it is definitely her. Big and beautiful underneath her elf hat and wearing another dress with a sweetheart neckline--this time, it’s red, though. Judging from the turntable tonearm she’s holding up, frozen in mid-air, she was in the process of putting a new record on when Krista called out for her.
The party had been loud and jolly when I walked in, but now it’s silent as all the people wearing elf hats turn to stare at me for a shocked second…before bursting into applause.
“Yay, Kristal! Congratulations! He’s so good-looking!” they call out all around me.
This situation has escalated from awkward to downright embarrassing with lightning speed. But I can’t bring myself to care. I stand there, mesmerized by the sight of Kristal Kringle, still unable to believe that it’s her. It’s really her.
She unfreezes first, dropping the needle into a swirly intro, followed by a male singer wailing about a woman he saw again last night even though he shouldn’t have. The song is by the same band as “California Dreamin’,” I vaguely recall, but with a different man singing lead.
Kristal Kringle is walking toward me now, and somewhere in the distance, I hear Hugh Edgeworth say, “Why are you tugging on my arm, darling? Oh, right, this is the part where we fade into the background so that the True Lovers might meet cute.”
“Exactly!” his wife answers, just as Kristal reaches me.
Though my long lost San Francisco elf would never be cast as the lead in a J-Drama, she seems to have acquired the stopping about a foot away and dropping her eyes move, just the same.
“Hayato! What are you doing here? How did you find me?” she asks, her shy gaze directed at my feet at first. But then she glances up to ask, “And how is Jae-Hyun? I’ve been so worried about him while I was away.”