A Cup of Tea Bk. 01

Keiko turned to face her oppressor. "My mother asked why I didn't serve our honored guest tea. I told her that you were in a hurry and refused."

"Tell your mother that next time I'll be sure to make time for tea." Dax tried honey instead of vinegar, though it was far too late to extend an olive branch.

Keiko translated and her mother nodded, then turned her head to Dax and said something in Japanese.

"My mother said that she would welcome that. I'm telling you there will be no next time."

"Did you tell her about my offer?"

"I did. She said it was up to me. I'm in charge of financial matters in this household so she will take my recommendation. My recommendation is to decline your offer."

Dax glanced again at his expensive watch. Keiko watched his eyes.

"You need to go, Mr. Hanlon?" She knew full well he was anxious to leave.

Dax knew that he couldn't solve this problem in the next five minutes ... or perhaps ever. He rose up out of his chair, looming over the two smaller women.

"I must be going now. May I call on you again?"

"For what purpose, Mr. Hanlon?"

"Perhaps you'll change your mind."

"You know you shouldn't count on that."

"Maybe I'll change mine."

"That's for you to decide. Keiko rose out of her chair and went to the front door, opening it and standing aside. "Good day Mr. Hanlon."

Dax knew when he was beaten. He put on his shoes and gave his antagonist an exaggerated bow. "Good day Ms. Muramoto."

Dax stepped over the threshold as the door closed softly behind him.

Even though he was in a hurry, he stood just outside the door, in the quiet of the hallway, as he noticed shoes outside each doorway. As his anger quelled, he chided himself for being thoroughly unprepared for this meeting. He recalled his numerous social gaffes, beginning with his foul language in polite company, and his failure to observe their customs. The half million dollar windfall was slipping through his fingers.

Dax looked at his stained coat cuff, ruined shirt, and the tear in his pants. He smiled.

What a fucking idiot I've been. I thought I had a lay-up and ended up being shown the door by a woman who easily bested me. Am I slipping? Where was Dax, with the silver tongue?

He looked again at his watch and realized he was ten minutes past his cut-off time. He rushed out of the building and ran down the sidewalk to his car when he reminded himself to look down. He stepped gingerly over the upturned concrete in the sidewalk, this time avoiding the fall. Mason opened the door for him. He got into the car and breathed a huge sigh of relief that his sparring match with a superior partner was over. Ordinarily he would have Mason play talk radio, listening to the inane banter of the fans and host as they dissected the Knicks' last loss and then the game that night. But tonight wasn't like any other night. He had stepped into a different world, and suddenly his gyroscope was out of kilter. He spent the next hour thinking about how to reach into Keiko's world and get what he felt was rightfully his.

Dax arrived at Madison Square Garden almost an hour late, with the game late in the second quarter. He found his way to his empty courtside seat. Dana nodded as he sat.

"Sorry, traffic."

Dana looked at the usually nattily dressed man and saw the large black stain on the cuff of his suit coat and the cuff of his shirt and a massive tear in his pants. There was dried blood on his exposed knee.

"Don't ask," said Dax, not at all in the mood to be subjected to an inquisition by his ex-wife.

There's an old saying that bad things happen in threes. After the disaster that afternoon, there was no Spike Lee in his usual courtside seat and the Knicks were blown out by thirty points. As they were leaving the game, Dax was unusually subdued.

"What's up Dax? You didn't utter a peep during the game," observed his host and ex-wife.

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon Dax. You're not yourself. I was married to you."

"I had a strange meeting today." Dana took his arm as they wove through the crowd to Dax's Bentley. He went about explaining his day, starting with his fall, which Dana thought was hilarious (Dax somehow missed the humor in the incident), and then his interaction with Keiko.

Mason was waiting curbside. They both got into the back seat. The noise and commotion was left on the other side of the heavily tinted windows.

"You obviously fucked up," said Dana, never one to mince words. "You have the body of a man but the mind of an adolescent. Sounds like you've met a real woman, not one of the ditzy blondes you've been chasing recently."

"Dana, why don't you tell me what you really think," said Dax, the sarcasm evident in his tone of voice.

"I think I just did."

"It ain't over till it's over," said Dax, quoting his favorite Yogi Berraism.

"I think it is for you," replied Dana, always eager to get in another dig. The baggage of their failed marriage came welling to the surface. An honest assessment of his shortcomings was exactly not the thing Dax needed at this time.

"Fuck off Dana. I can fix this."

"Who got you the courtside ticket tonight?"

There was dead silence. It was the second time Dax was pinned that day.

"You," said Dax, in defeat.

"Then listen to what I have to say. Call her and apologize. You can't waltz into someone else's neighborhood and expect the waters to part for Dax Hanlon, real estate mogul. You need to play by their rules if you want to win. Sounds to me like you were trying to cram the Dax Hanlon rulebook down her throat."

"Maybe I was a bit too hasty in my approach."

"Maybe? You tried to steamroller her. By the way, was she cute?"

Dax was surprised he hadn't focused on Keiko's appearance. He was too busy treading water with her. He thought for a moment before answering.

"I guess she's attractive. I was too busy pulling her quills out of my skin to really notice."

Dana let out a belly laugh. "The great Dax Hanlon was so twisted in knots that he didn't notice?"

Dax remembered Keiko's subtle fragrance. Was it apple blossoms? Lilacs? She had a mane of jet black hair pulled up into a bun. It looked almost luminescent in the filtered sunlight of her apartment. Her almond shaped eyes were coal black, the color matching her thin eyebrows and contrasting with her porcelain skin. She had fine facial features, her high cheek bones and the soft curve of her chin looking as if they were carved by a master artisan. She had small breasts and dainty feet, so unlike the women Dax usually chased. Yet Keiko's air of quiet confidence enhanced her natural beauty.

"I did notice."

"So you're smitten. That's why you can't manage this situation."

Dax was quick to deny, even though Dana was right. "That's not it at all."

"Isn't it?"

"It's business Dana. Strictly business."

"Of course."

It was Dana's smugness that drove Dax up the wall. Their little repartee reminded him of why they weren't living together. They finished the remainder of their journey in silence.

The sleek black car arrived at Dana's apartment building (which was also owned by Dax). Mason got out and opened the door for her. She put her right foot on the sidewalk and looked back into the car's cabin.

"Do the right thing, Dax."

* * *

Dax steeled himself to render an apology, something he was loath to do. He punched in Keiko's phone number. "Ms. Muramoto, I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday."

"I don't. I think you did exactly what you intended to do. You offended me. You offended my mother and even my deceased father. You tried to buy my home so you could destroy it for a meaningless shopping center. I don't like you and I don't like your offer." Keiko was never one to mince words. Dax wasn't used to being talked to that way. Nevertheless, instead of becoming belligerent, he felt a compulsion to assuage her concerns, and perhaps to please her.

"I realize I didn't make a good accounting of myself yesterday. For that I apologize." For the first time, he sounded genuinely contrite. Keiko was expecting belligerence, and not self-awareness of his shortcomings. For a man like Dax Hanlon, admitting he was wrong was a big deal. And Keiko knew it.

The was an uncomfortable pause on the phone. "Thank you Mr. Hanlon. I appreciate your apology. I'm helping my mother with preparing lunch at our community center, so if that's all ..."

"Can I help?" Dax blurted, not exactly sure why he said it.

"Help ... me?" Keiko let down her guard and laughed. His offer of help was so unexpected, and sounded sincere.

Dax sensed that he was making headway. For once he didn't meet a stone wall. Dana's words were still ringing in his head.

"Yes ... yes ... I can be there in an hour." He would have to drop everything to be in Queens in an hour. Mel would have killed him if she had been in the room with him.

"No strings attached?"

"No strings attached."

"Wear comfortable clothes." The line went dead.

Dax stared at the screen of his phone. He had never volunteered to do anything in his life. Why did he do it? What had he gotten himself into? There was something about her ... he had never met anybody like her in his life.

"Comfortable clothes?" What does that mean? The woman's impossible. I offer to help and she dismisses me as if I'm one of her minions. I don't have time to get changed anyway, so I guess it's coat and tie.

Dax summoned Mason, and within minutes his Bentley was parked in front of his office building. He got into the car and dialed Mel.

"I've got a meeting in Queens I've got to take. Can you cancel my meetings until two?"

There was a buzz on the line. Dax wasn't sure Mel was there. "Mel?"

"I was just throwing a dart at a picture of you. Do you want to know what I hit?"

"No, God damn it. Can you clear my schedule?"

"So you're going to cancel the Reynolds meeting? The meeting I had to pull strings to get. The meeting so you can buy the office building you've had your eyes on for the past three years? That meeting?"

Dax had forgotten about the meeting. Somehow his interaction with Keiko had turned his world upside down. He couldn't believe that he forgot about the meeting he had been waiting for ever since he got the offer for Keiko's apartment building. He might not get another chance.

"Oh fuck. Mel ... I made a promise I can't break. Cancel the Reynolds meeting. See if they can reschedule to next week."

"What the fuck is in Queens?"

"Uhhh ... it's the apartment deal."

"I thought she said no."

"I'm trying to change her mind."

"So what do you want me to tell them?"

"Uhh ... tell them I had a personal emergency or something like that. Tell them whatever you need to tell them, just get my meeting rescheduled."

"Dax?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you OK?"

He wasn't OK. He couldn't explain his own actions. Yet he felt no doubt he was doing the right thing.

"Yeah, yeah, Mel, I'm fine."

"OK. If you say so. I'll try to reschedule but you know what they're going to say."

"Do your best."

"Right boss. You take care."

Mel's radar antennae were sticking straight up. There was nothing that transpired in the last five minutes that in any way resembled the Dax Hanlon she knew. He cancelled a meeting that he moved heaven and earth to get. He was going to Queens to deal with a woman he told her was the ballbuster of all time. Dax wasn't the kind of guy to go back for a second helping of humble pie.

Those questions and doubts didn't enter his mind. He just knew that he had to see her again. For what reason, he didn't know. It was a strange feeling for Dax, a man always in control, to now be acting in a way he didn't understand. He did want to meet with the Reynolds team to pursue his trophy office building. He had spent a considerable amount of time and political capital to get this highly sought after meeting. Keiko flipped his life over, his priorities tossed into the air. He had made a promise to her. The thought of cancelling his trip to Queens never entered into his mind. It was preoccupied with an image of a beautiful Asian woman.

It was still early morning, and the streets were jammed with delivery trucks. The sleek Bentley slowed to a stop as uniformed school children streamed across the four lane road. Dax cursed when he saw he was going to be late. He said an hour and it was closing in on an hour and a half. Mason finally maneuvered the Bentley around two trucks parked in a traffic lane and then swerved to nab a parking place about a block from the apartment building. Dax walked briskly, but having learned his lesson, kept his phone in his pocket. He sprinted into the lobby, now familiar to him, saw the three blackened tiles (he cursed to himself instead of out loud) and took the elevator to the second floor. Outside of Keiko's apartment, he carefully removed his shoes and then knocked. He heard feet padding to the front door, then saw the door swing open a few inches. The coal black eyes behind the door surveyed the tall, athletic man, wearing an expensive suit and tie. Yes, he was handsome. Beautiful and not yet broken.

The door was shut again to allow Keiko to take off the chain lock. It opened and Dax was treated to the sight of a casually dressed Keiko, this time with her hair down. Dax had wondered what it would look like down. It flowed down her back like a meandering river, a lustrous ebony mane. Her face, freshly scrubbed, demure, and void of imperfections, carried fine boned delicate features. She was wearing a grey "Middlebury" sweatshirt and a well-traveled pair of jeans, cuffed at the bottom, and old school red canvas tennis shoes.

Keiko almost laughed out loud when she studied his clothes. Dax stood there stiffly as she pulled on the lapel of his jacket so she could see the label stitched inside. It said, "J.W. Porter, London."

"That's your idea of comfortable clothes?" This man was pushing her limits, but she enjoyed the challenge.

"I didn't have time to go back to my apartment and change. Truth be told, I really don't own any casual clothes. So here I am." He spread his arms wide as he said it. Somehow he was unable to lie to her.

"Suit yourself," said Keiko reflexively, then realizing her inadvertent pun. This one is already bending to my will, she thought. He's stopped lying to me.

"Very funny," Dax deadpanned. It was the first non-hostile exchange between them. It was not lost on either of them.

Keiko made no move to go into the apartment so the two of them stood in close quarters just inside the entryway. Dax wondered what she looked like under her baggy clothes, then banished the thought. Then he wondered why he was there.

"My mother should be ready to leave in a minute."

Mariko came out of her bedroom, wearing a simple dress and traditional wooden sandals.

"Ahhh, Mr. Hanlon. You have returned," said the elderly woman, standing with perfect posture.

"He offered to help, mother."

"So I see. And such nice clothes."

"He didn't have time to change. I'm sure he can afford the dry cleaning bill," noted Keiko, talking as if Dax wasn't there. She thought she was calling his bluff when he offered to help, and begrudgingly gave him credit for showing up. But the real work lay ahead.

They went into the hallway, Mariko putting on her street shoes. Dax noticed that both Mariko and her daughter had on comfortable shoes. Dax felt self-conscious as he tied the laces on his wingtips.

They went outside. Mason had moved the car to a space right in front of the building.

"Allow me to take us where we're going," said Dax, hoping the car's plush interior would impress them.

"No thank you. We prefer to walk. It's only ten minutes away and my mother enjoys the walk."

"That's fine. I'll walk with you."

"As you wish." The two women started walking side by side, with Dax trailing. Dax turned his head around and mouthed the words "I'll call you" to Mason. The car lights flashed, acknowledging that the message was received.

The walk was surprisingly enjoyable to Dax. They passed a number of stores where Keiko and the shop owner exchanged pleasantries. It was clear that the two women had earned the respect of the community, as a number of passersby greeted them with affection, with many expressing condolences for Koji's passing. As they neared the Community Center the back edge of Dax's dress shoes had raised a large blister on his heel. With his scraped knee from the previous day and the blister, he started limping.

Keiko was walking ahead in conversation with her mother, but spotted Dax's distress out of the corner of her eye. "Are you OK?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'll be fine." Dax soldiered on, trying the ignore the pain of the blister. He no longer wanted to be the center of attention.

"OK." Keiko was pleasantly surprised that Dax didn't take the opportunity to complain. He wanted to please her, that much was clear to her. She unlocked the back entrance to the kitchen and let Dax and her mother in. It was spotless, just the way Koji had left it many months ago. Keiko opened the large commercial refrigerator to find that volunteers had already purchased all of the ingredients for the luncheon they would prepare. She pulled out a box of fish, still packed in shaved ice. She put it on a stainless steel shelf next to a large prep sink.

"Have you ever cleaned a fish before?" she asked, as she pulled a fish out of the box.

"What kind of fish are these?" said Dax, trying to avoid answering the question. He hated fish, and cleaning and scaling fish in his suit and tie was about the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

"Mackerel, Mr. Hanlon. And you didn't answer my question."

As a child, Dax had spent a number of summers at his grandfather's cabin on a lake in Maine. He had gutted and cleaned countless fish and he vowed he'd never clean another one. But now, standing next to a slightly built Asian woman who was at least six inches shorter than him, he didn't react as he expected, which was to continue to deflect the question.

"I know how to clean a fish."

"Excellent," she said, then pointed to the soap dispenser and paper towel dispenser mounted above the sink. "Wash your hands and clean the fish in this box."

He took off his coat and tie and rolled up the sleeves of his white designer shirt. Keiko went to the closet and returned while Dax readied himself.

"Here, Mr. Hanlon," she said as she handed him a clear disposable plastic apron festooned with a colorful floral pattern. "Put this on."

"Please. Call me Dax."

"Very well ... Dax."

Dax smiled at Keiko's baby step towards informality. He pulled the loop of the apron over his head and tied the back, now looking comically awkward in his custom-tailored white shirt and a woman's apron. He stood at a stainless steel sink with a box of fresh fish packed in ice sitting on the counter next to it, the pungent smell making his nose crinkle.

He picked up the first fish by the tail, holding it as if it was a dead mouse. "Is there anything else that you need done?"

"Funny, Dax. You finish this first."

Keiko left him to his chores and went elsewhere. There was a certain calmness that overcame Dax as he finished scaling his first fish and proceeded to gut it, throwing the bloody entrails in a large plastic bucket. The sleeves of his white shirt were already splattered with fish scales and blood, but somehow that didn't bother him. It was productive work - the first real work Dax had done in as long as he could remember. He completed the second fish in half of the time, and achieved a rhythm that soon had him pulling the last fish out of the crushed ice. He presented the box of cleaned fish to Keiko.