Reunion - Mexico City Ch. 04

On the way I explained the relevant history as I knew it. In 1972 the New Japanese Embassy was built in Cuauhtémoc and for the last twenty years a Japanese community had sprung up and had grown to such an extent that the area was now known as "Little Tokyo." I was told the restaurants there served the best Japanese food outside of the country itself. We were going to find out.

It appeared the cab driver drove us directly to the restaurant and covered the distance in the time I had mentally calculated it should take, so he got a nice tip.

The Ryoko's entrance was nondescript in the fashion that I've previously described, but the interior was warm and inviting. We were seated in two of twelve chairs around one of the stainless steel grills that characterize teppanyaki cooking. Eight other seats were occupied and it seemed they were all couples. I heard mostly Spanish but there was one other couple across the grill that seemed to be using English.

Teppenyaki is as much about the show as it is about the food, and teppanyaki chefs are true artists. Every entree is placed on the grill and cooked with a flourish. Eggs are tossed and their shells nearly broken in mid air, cutlery is clanged in musical rhythms and shrimp is expertly shelled using a knife and a two pronged fork. I was mesmerized by the skill and when I looked at Maribeth, I could see that she was as well.

Everything cooked is a custom order, so there was some chicken, shrimp and beef all on the grill at once. I had ordered the teriyaki steak, so the two slabs of beef were for us. The rest of the side dishes were common to every order, so we all had the fried brown rice and japanese vegetables.

When we'd all been served, the chef cleaned the grill, and of course this was done in a choreographed routine and was as was as enjoyable to watch as the cooking had been.

During the show, neither Maribeth or I said more than a few snippets, but I noted that there didn't seem to be much in the way of conversation or cross talk from the other diners and Maribeth said she didn't detect any either.

The steaks were delicious. Perhaps my appetite was stimulated by twelve hours of fasting, but the steak seemed to almost melt in my mouth. Maribeth wasn't doing a bad job either and seemed to particularly like the roasted vegetables.

I had ordered Saki, the traditional Japanese rice wine to drink, but when I saw Maribeth push the glass away after the first sip, I knew to strike that in the future.

We all finished at about the same time, so we left together so the next shift of diners could take our places and the show would repeat.

Since our arrival in Mexico City on Tuesday afternoon, Maribeth and I had experienced exactly zero in the way of nightlife. Now with a full belly and a little buzz from the Saki, I was ready for a little partying, and in Little Tokyo on a Friday night there were plenty of choices.

Just down the street in one direction we could hear the characteristic sound of a Mariachi band. In the other direction it sounded more like country. I looked at Maribeth for guidance but she just shrugged her shoulders. I flipped a mental coin, then taking her hand we headed toward the Mariachis.

The music came from a bar on the corner. The neon sign outside announced it as "La Uva Morada." My Spanish vocabulary was bereft of those words, so Maribeth had to translate for me. She laughed and said the bar's name was "The Purple Grape." Actually, I thought to myself, that was a pretty appropriate name for a bar.

Inside, the four piece band was playing on a small stage near the door. Further back were about fifteen tables and the bar itself. We squeezed through the standing crowd and found a table near the back; close enough to hear the music, but far enough that we could still hold a conversation.

After the Saki, I wasn't in the mood for anything hard, so I just ordered a Modelo and Maribeth opted for just Ginger Ale. I like to listen to Mariachi music, but at least for me, a little goes a long way, and after a while it seems to start to sound the same.

We were enjoying the music but most of all I sensed we were also just enjoying being together. We were drawing energy from the crowd around us and I was glad to be away from the hotel for awhile. Maribeth squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. Maribeth had dressed conservatively and there wasn't anything she had on that was overtly sexual in any way, but I could still see her neck and arms and that was enough.

I found myself staring at her small shoulders and following a line down her arm, past her elbow which was resting on the table, up her forearm and past her wrist to the slim hand holding the can of Ginger Ale, and noted how feminine, almost fragile, it looked. Her alabaster skin was flawless and I had an urge to reach out and run my fingertips over the warm surface.

Maribeth seemed to sense the mood and she caught me staring at her. She gave a nervous laugh and smiled. When I did reach out and grasped her forearm in my hand, she turned and I felt her hand caress my cheek through the three days of stubble she found there. Our eyes locked and I read her lips...

"I love you."

I didn't want to get into the teenage game of back and forth, love you, love you too, love you more, no I love you more, so I just leaned over, kissed her gently and rubbed my tongue against her lips. Maribeth's low "ummm," told me that it was an acceptable response.

We stayed for another hour, talking, listening to the band and generally watching people have fun. For a Friday night, I told Maribeth, I was disappointed we hadn't yet seen a bar fight. She looked at me like I was slightly insane, but then she chuckled and said it was still early.

Well, early for the bar fight, but getting late for me. We paid our tab and went looking for a cab. It didn't take long, and soon we were heading back to the Intercontinental using the same route we'd used earlier. Another nice tip for the cabbie, and another embrace in the elevator on the way to the 17th floor.

As the doors opened and we got out heading to our room, I just mentioned that I hoped the security people enjoyed our show. Maribeth's pace seemed to falter for a second and she grabbed my arm. "What?....oh my God....I forgot....you mean in the elevator?"

I was swiping the card key and opening the door to our room when I responded. "Don't worry babe, I'm sure our little display of affection was pretty mild compared to what I'm sure they've recorded over the years."

"Oh...and recorded."

I'm sure Maribeth was thinking about what kinds of wilder scenes the elevator's camera might have witnessed, when she snuggled into my arms. Raising her head, she whispered, "Either we're going to have to be more careful, or more creative," she said just before she kissed me.

Later I cradled a naked Maribeth in my arms and played with her breasts. I loved feeling her feminine softness and I tried every phrase in my vocabulary to tell her so. Her caresses, in return, focused on my hair, my cheeks and my shoulders.

Few words passed between us and there didn't seem to be any desire to kick us out of the never-neverland comfort that we had fallen into, so Friday passed into history and my silent nightly prayer to the almighty was just to thank him for the woman I now held in my arms.