The Pike_Evermore Page 5

  Paparazzi. Yup, this was the right place.

  I made a sour face. While there are some paparazzi in Japan, it isn't this 24/7 invasion of privacy that occurs with anyone of any celebrity here in the States. There they will stake out places that notable people tend to congregate, rather than follow them home. What they do here just smacks of stalking to me, and I can't understand why it isn't illegal. I mean, if an average citizen did it, they'd be arrested for stalking, but because these people make money off the pictures, it is somehow different and ok?

  In Japan, otakus... fans are rabid about their idols, but even they don't invade their privacy like this. I should know. To my embarrassment, I'm somewhat of an otaku of the anime and music scene.

  Fine, whatever, I may be more than somewhat of an anime otaku.

  I took a deep breath, checked to make sure I had the card, grabbed the grape juice, and hopped out. It wasn't until I crossed the street and started walking along the building, looking for an entrance to the upstairs, that the others took notice of me when I brought a hand up to press my face close to the windows of a little record shop to see inside as the sun was setting. The man raised his camera and took a shot or two of me before he leaned back against the lamppost.

  I couldn't see any obvious signs of how to get upstairs, but the shop itself interested me. I could see Nala living above a hip little place like this. I tried not to snort. What a contrast. Na Na's punk looks and my anime.

  I came to a set of doors between the shops and looked in. Score! It was a little corridor, and I could see a freight elevator at the end, and a door marked 'Fire Stairs.' I tugged tentatively at one door, and it didn't budge, I tried the other, and it opened. Yay! Go me!

  I slipped in and heard some electric violin music coming from a door which was opened a bit, half way down the hall. It was some sort of odd fusion between a classical and a hard rock movement that was very intriguing to me.

  I got to the end of the hall and saw there was no call button for the elevator, only a keypad and a keyway. I tried the fire stairs, but they were locked from the inside. Ok, this was unfortunate. I glanced around then grinned, there was an intercom beside the elevator. I buzzed it and waited. Nothing. “Kuso!”

  Of course, she wouldn't be home, she'd be out partying or embroiled deeply somewhere in the underground music scene. She had things to do at night unlike me.

  I sighed and then turned around to head out. I'd just have to wait for her to return my call. I hesitated when I passed the door where the music was coming from. I noted it was a dance studio called Henderson's. The sign on the door said that it was a private studio, to call for an appointment.

  The music was increasing in intensity and urgency, building to a crescendo. I had never heard anything like it. My curiosity got the better of me. I pictured myself as a neko with cat ears and a tail as I slipped through the door to go inquire about the music. But hadn't curiosity killed the cat?

  The volume got louder and louder as I passed an office to a little swinging door. I opened it a bit and peeked inside to see a large open space with hardwood floors. From the bit I could see, the walls were covered in mirrors and there was a rail at waist height around the room.

  I saw a shadow in the low lighting of someone moving around to the music. I thought about leaving, I didn't want to interrupt someone's private dance lesson, but the music had my blood pumping with its urgency, and I really wanted to know the artist so I could find more.

  I steeled myself and stepped in. That's when my jaw dropped. In a million years, I wouldn't have been prepared for the sight I witnessed.

  There in the middle of the space, moving around the boom box which the music was spilling from, Nala moved with such elegance and power as she performed some sort of cross between interpretative dance and an artistic martial arts kata.

  The moves were grace personified, one moving into the next, a combination of finesse and dangerous execution of moves with uncanny precision.

  There was a sheen of sweat on her skin, making her shine in the light, as she moved through her forms. The black half tank top she wore clung to her curves and showed off a lot of skin and those intriguing tattoos of hers that seemed to wrap around her neck and vanish into her cleavage, only to reappear twisting and wrapping around her arms like sleeves of smoke.

  She wore cutoff shorts, showing off her long, shapely, muscled legs that seemed to go on forever to her bare feet, which were wrapped with some sort of gauze.

  Her ebony hair... my god... it hung down behind her mohawk down past her waist. It streamed behind her like a wraith clinging to the last vestiges of the emotions that brought it about. How had I not seen that at the Pike? Does she hide it away? Tucked into her shirt?

  A memory flashed of the long golden hair she wore even longer back in school. It was the reason I had first noticed her back then.

  And here, her motions caused it to flow like an extension of her being, as each strike continued fluidly into a pirouette to be concluded in a wide sweeping kick, her hair trailed behind like an ethereal dragon. It was... she was, beautiful.

  Her well-toned muscles and abdomen were on display with more of those intriguing tattoos which I couldn't quite make out, making my legs go a little weak as my heart raced. There they were, the familiar butterflies, warming and fluttering around in my belly.

  But the most striking thing to me, the thing that held me entranced, was the look on her face as she went through the movements of this kata like no other. It was the juxtaposition of the two extremes I saw. She was so laser focussed, like this was the most important thing she could possibly be doing; keeping every movement precise and controlled which contrasted with the serenity that seemed to radiate from being in control of this one aspect of her life.

  I had taken everything in in an instant, the scant time it took for the bottle of grape juice I had been holding to slip from my fingers and hit the floor, the plastic thunking and clattering as it bounced around. That knocked me out of my shock of seeing this raw beauty in front of me. She stopped and looked over as I scrambled to pick up the bottle. My cheeks burning intensely.

  Kuso! Great job, Karmin.

  Chapter 4 – Personal Assistant

  I was lost in the bliss that overcame me when I worked out. Though it was a pain to maintain my form for my brand, I have to admit that being able to cut loose here for my workouts is one of the few joys I have. Something that is only for me. Where I can be Nala and leave all that Na Na stuff behind. This was mine, the one thing that I had complete control over, and I reveled in it and the music.

  Tonight I was playing some of Sarah Kreitz-Qualls fusion violin music. She could merge two worlds into one, and that is why I was so drawn to it... identified with it. I understood duality.

  I went through the salamander stances I learned from my mixed martial arts trainer as I went through a series of leg sweeps and strikes. I combined it all with the music, letting it move me, move my body in a dance that defined me. I thought of the look that would be on mom's face, seeing what I have done with the classical dance training she insisted on when I was in school.

  It took me too long to realize she was pushing me for her, not me. She was reliving her youth through me. Pushing me to excel in class, to take so many extracurriculars, to take AP classes in high school to get a leg up on college over my peers.

  It was all about me getting into Cornell, her alma mater. Everything I did since the sixth grade was to please her. It wasn't until I graduated high school that I realized it was her dream, not mine. I didn't have many real friends because I never had the time. I was always in the books or rushing between all those activities that were supposed to pad my college applications to make me more desirable to Cornell.

  I never had time for a rebellious streak like any normal teen either. I exhaled at that thought. Perhaps Na Na is my rebellion. Me finally being able to cut loose, to get free of the shackles I had never realized I wore.

  My relationship with mo
m hasn't really been the same since I, “Threw away all my hard work,” by declining the coveted Cornell full scholarship, and instead, following my own dream to do something more creative. I took a scholarship to the New York Academy of Art instead. Trying to find focus for the creativity inside which I felt was being stifled by my mother's dreams.

  There I met a senior, June Harris-West and her group of amazing misfits. They weren't afraid of anything, weren't afraid to be themselves, the world be damned. She inspired me to embrace my own dreams.

  By the time I graduated, stories were still circulating about June's 8 as they called them. Living legends. That's when I got the idea in my marketing class, to create a living legend as a marketing tool. That's when Na Na Evermore was born and stepped out into the spotlight which I was afraid to stand in.

  I felt an old familiar rage building inside as the music's fury grew higher and higher. Recalling that that was the point in my life when I found the strength inside myself to admit to the world that I liked women. I experimented in college, dating men and women; they were all more flings actually; and found I definitely had a preference.

  Mom hasn't spoken to me since. Since she insists that I spontaneously became a lesbian just to embarrass her in her social circles. Well, she still speaks to me, as in contacting me on holidays and my birthday. But it is more out of social obligation than anything else. So she can tell her cronies she is reaching out to her rebellious daughter. We no longer discuss our lives with each other.

  I slashed a leg through the air, obliterating the thoughts. I danced, spun, attacked, finding my center again. The place where I was happy with myself, happy that I was in control of this one thing in my life which gave me joy... no matter how much I pretended to complain about it.

  The music took me as I continued to combine ballet with the various katas and techniques that were so familiar that they were now a part of me. This is where the rest of the world melts away, and I find my peace.

  I had just finished the jaguar defenses when I heard a gasp and a clattering over the music. It shattered the calm focus which had descended over me like a warm, familiar blanket.

  I almost tripped over myself as I dove on the boombox to shut off the music as I looked toward the noise. I just froze there, my hands on the stereo, finger on the power button, as I saw Karmin Hughes staring at me, her eyes wide and mouth open in apparent shock as she blindly patted around on the floor for a bottle she had apparently dropped.

  I didn't know what to do as I stared at her, frozen in indecision. Dayum, she looked just as adorable as this morning. I had kept getting distracted all day at the theater thinking about the odd girl.

  I didn't ever let anyone in to see me working out. Not even the owner of the dance studio, Miss Henderson. It was part of our agreement.

  It was only for me.

  Oh shit. I was half naked here, with just a half tank and shorts. My tats were exposed. This was me, not Na Na. I could finally move with that thought, and I grabbed the towel beside the boombox and draped it over my shoulders, letting it hang down over my arms and torso like a shawl.

  I looked around as she finally found the bottle she had been blindly patting around for as her eyes were trained on me. Then I stammered out, “Karmin? Ummm... what are you doing here? I... nobody...”

  She looked down at her feet as she stood with the bottle. “Hai... yes, I'm so sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Torville, from the Pike bakery, asked me to deliver a message to you.”

  Then she was babbling at warp speed. “I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I tried calling, and checked upstairs. The music... I heard the music, so I just came in to see...”

  My shock and self-conciseness about being seen outside of my well crafted public persona melted away as I fought off a giggle. I held a hand palm out to her in a halt gesture, to stop her. “It's ok Karmin. Mrs. Torville? Oh, you mean Zoey.”

  I grabbed my things and started toward her. I motioned with my head, signaling for her to follow as I stepped past her. “Come on upstairs, and you can give me this message while I get cleaned up.”

  I felt so nervous around her. Only Madelyn and Dani have seen behind my mask, I wasn't sure what to do or how to act suddenly. So I started rambling as I locked the door behind us. “Miss Henderson lets me use the studio during the off hours for a reduction in her rent.”

  Lame Nala.

  She cocked her head in interest, or was she being polite. “A reduction in rent? You manage the building?”

  I shook my head as we moved down to the elevator and I punched in my code instead of inserting my key, to call down the car which returned to the second floor by default whenever I left my loft. I admitted with a shrug, feeling embarrassed for some reason, “I sort of actually own the building. It is smarter than leasing and is an investment for the future.”

  Then I straightened and channeled my cocky other self and said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, “After all, all of this isn't going to last.” I ran a hand through the air up and down, indicating my body.

  Oh lord, oh lord, don't blush Nala! That's all I need right now.

  She cocked her head, her shoulder length hair draping to one side, the rest constrained by the yellow ribbon she still wore. She gave a smile that felt genuine to me as she said, “That's smart, and forward thinking.”

  When the elevator arrived, I pulled the cages open and ushered her in then shut the cages. The elevator automatically started its way up. Again, I felt on display. Come on, I'm tougher than this, some of Na Na has rubbed off on me over the years. I absently dabbed at the sweat on my arms with the end of the towel with my free hand.

  She was diligently looking anywhere but at me, her face beet red. I was all too aware of how disgusting I must be, all covered in sweat like this. I must reek too.

  I couldn't get the upper gates opened fast enough when we arrived. I stepped in and to the side motioning her in. “Home sweet home.”

  She stepped in, and I swear she bowed a bit as she awkwardly thrust the bottle from downstairs to me. “I brought grape juice.”

  I blinked twice then took the bottle as I absently mumbled, “I like grape juice...” Was it a lucky guess, or part of the Cassandra-like anticipation Porter spoke of?

  She was nodding then quickly squatted and took her shoes off and placed them neatly beside the elevator. Then she stood and seemed to drag her eyes from me with great effort and then hesitated when she took in my loft.

  She looked everywhere, her eyes darting around as she took in the mostly industrial looking space. I loved the feel of it, with exposed timbers and brickwork. My eclectic tastes in decoration and modest furnishings broke the huge floor up into different spaces. My favorite was my 'main room,' which had a seating area that faced the huge multi-paned windows which looked out over Seattle and the Sound, giving a panoramic view.

  She finally spoke, “This is amazing. Not what I expected at all.”

  I wasn't sure how to take that, feeling the need to know just exactly what it was that this small, familiar woman, had expected.

  I shrugged and channeled my alter ego. “It ain't a fuckin' penthouse, but it's home.”

  She just cocked her head and squinted her eyes a bit at that, I still couldn't read her, and it was driving me bonkers. I exhaled, unburdened myself from the things I was carrying, then turned away and headed toward the freestanding bathroom in the middle of the space. “Make yourself at home, I need to get cleaned up. Be right back.”

  I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, leaning my back against it and exhaling. I mean, did you see how cute she was? Ok pull it together Nala, she's expecting Na Na, not you. I turned on the multi-jetted shower in the open shower stall, the only real luxury I have besides the huge clawfoot bathtub in that same open stall.

  After peeling off my workout clothes, I stepped into the steaming spray, I absently wondered just how Karmin knew I liked grape juice. It was such an odd thing to give someone. And why did she bring it anyway?
I wrote it off as her obvious obsession with anime, she was mimicking a lot of Japanese mannerisms.

  I smirked at myself as I realized I was getting a little turned on knowing I was in here, naked, sudsing up while she was just on the other side of the door. I purred to myself, “Down girl.”

  I scrubbed the sweat of my workout away quickly, not allowing myself any distractions. Then scrubbed my hair down and brushed my fingers through it. Hell, it would take twenty minutes to dry and put product in, so the hawk could stand proudly in my signature look. But, I didn't want to leave her waiting, so I ran a comb through the length then curled it around my neck like a damp scarf and let it lay against my back.

  The weight of it when it was wet like this reminded me of junior high and high school when I had, even more hair, without having the sides of my head shaved. I sort of missed it. I glanced in the mirror to see that the stubble on the sides were showing some golden roots. I'd have to touch that up with black later, to keep up the image.

  I headed out the other door of the bathroom into my bedroom space that was only hidden from view of the main room by the bathroom which stood in the middle of the overall space. I quickly got dressed, covering all of the memories emblazoned on my skin in black ink. I slid on the new leather half-jacket that I loved so much then checked myself in the antique freestanding mirror by the bed.

  I didn't have time to put on my dark makeup, as Karmin had already been waiting over ten minutes. I'm sure she had better things to do tonight than delivering a message for me. I should have just found out what it was and let her go on her way, but... it was sort of nice having someone other than Mads and Dani at my place. My self-imposed isolation up here is kind of – lonely.

  I took a deep breath and pulled confidence over myself like a veil, and walked around the corner. I paused. She was standing by the windows, the lights of Seattle playing across her face as she looked at the low bookcase. Out of all the copious books and topics, her hand was resting almost timidly on my old, worn out and dog-eared Jules Verne collection as she looked out across the Sound, its waves glittering in the distance.