The Long Highway Pt. 18

I saw Nelson sitting quietly with Akemi, on a curb it actually was, near traffic, both vehicular and foot, people moving around them, that is, rush hour, our quiet neighborhood stirring to life.

He asked her, "Why don't people here stay still more, write poetry, have picnics? Why do they feel they always have to do something?"

Didn't he get that regular folks- those who aren't celebrated artists, I mean- had to go make a living? Or was he in part at least gloating over the fact that he didn't? I wouldn't put it past him.

It was true Akemi and I didn't go on a lot of picnics. For Christ's sake!

He was playing the guru again, touting that Buddhist- or Zen Buddhist?- thing: Just be, give up purpose, desire. The irony, of course, was that he was full of desire, for Akemi! You could almost see his cock moving toward her as they sat close on that curb, knees drawn up because the seated position was so shallow, Akemi's arms around her knees as she listened to him.

He was comparing the city life here with the country existence he lived, criticizing one- the one I offered Akemi- as corrupt or at least lacking. He talked of spiritual beauty he and she could reach. Another irony. Akemi liked life in the city. She had grown up in the country in Japan and chose to leave it, first for Tokyo, then coming here, where she lived with me.

But she was listening intently to Nelson and not just being polite. His words were reaching her, the music of them. It was a seduction.

Everything had seemed fine between us. Akemi had talked breezily about celebrity news she'd seen, details of the latest comings and goings of the rebellious British prince and his wife, how they'd been able to attend an event they wanted to in England, leaving their home in Los Angeles, and afterward make their exit, successfully avoiding the waiting media by ingenious means involving a car and helicopter after a quick excursion on foot through rugged territory where no one thought to look for them.

Akemi had also spoken to me about a credit card, how to use it and get the maximum benefit, not lose any (so-called "rewards," for example). She maintained that it was important to closely read the instructions for the card, which process I find annoying at best. All I want to do with that piece of plastic is pay for things and forget it.

Akemi is a serious artist, serious person, and she also has a light side I sometimes find surprising. She likes to follow actors, pop singers, stuff that doesn't interest me at all. I don't begrudge her that pleasure. Maybe looking at the entertainment world helps her understand U.S. culture. She came here, after all, partly because attracted to it.

In other words, Akemi seemed fine, not to have any heavy thoughts or emotions on her mind. So I didn't know why she would be so open to Nelson.

She also talked, by the way, of wanting to visit Iceland. She'd heard it was fascinating, beautiful. That was how the topic of the credit card had come up. The night before was when this conversation happened, incidentally. She wore a dark blue sweater.

Nights were chilly, days- that morning- warm, with sun.

That night I'd showed off to Nelson and Leticia about how many times I went to the gym, how strong I was, though the idea of going to the gym in the first place had come from Nelson, who still went, his strength apparently undiminished yet by his age. Had Akemi taken offense at my bragging (especially in front of guests)? She must have known I was being funny, or had the language and culture gap made her miss cues to that effect?

Was she annoyed at me and seeking solace with Nelson (not quite in his arms so far) even out to get back at me by cozying up to him? That would only make sense if she was at the same time withholding affection I usually got, as the impact would come through the contrast, but she'd done nothing of the kind.

Did she feel I wasn't treating our visitors well- she might have sensed my unease- and meant to make up for it, show Nelson kindness I hadn't?

Morning sun was pale. Both were faced forward most of the time, ahead into the traffic, cars passing just a few feet in front of them on our residential street- listening to each other that way, sometimes making eye contact but not all the time; it might have felt too much given how close they sat, side by side. I liked the curves of Akemi's thighs, the lower curve in the light-colored bleached and worn corduroy pants she would wear for painting later, if she actually did go to paint. Plans might be changing, new ones forming, fomenting, even foaming. God, I'm a horny bastard and jealous. My mind always goes right there. But the picture I'd stumbled onto as I walked out the front door that morning, right there on the street yards from apartment building, really was arresting. I mean, there they were, getting intimate, if not yet physical everything short of that, their feelings tangled up in each other. It was only a matter of inches before they would be literally, Nelson mounting her or Akemi him, he welcoming, lifting her lighter frame up and on. It gave some comfort that they were on the street, couldn't do that there- although with Nelson you never know. The maverick film-maker might invent a new performance art on the spot. He made the curb look like a freaking camping site- no, something more rugged, like he and Akemi had stopped there while hiking.

It sounds funny but really wasn't. Akemi shaking her hair out, placing it behind her ear. Maybe this wasn't flirting, but you sure could have fooled me. Her long fingers securing- for the moment- a lock of hair behind her ear; her bone structure, high cheekbone, inward curve of her cheek showing in the morning light, shadow strong, face sculptural, as she tilted her head, changing the angle to better attend what Nelson was saying. He did most of the talking, unsurprisingly, and Akemi seemed not to mind, I guess partly because it spared her the need to speak English. She could just listen. She felt relaxed, at ease with Nelson- I could see that- with his hand on her back. Akemi's curved mouth, both succulent and sharply carved.

More irony here: Akemi came from Japan, where Buddhism was practiced, along with Shinto, the native religion, and maybe some Taoism as well- I don't know. I don't claim to be a scholar. But neither is Nelson! My point here is that while he deserves all the credit he's gotten for the fine art work he's produced, he's no expert on Eastern thinking. He fakes it to come on to women, also to gain a following as an artist. Akemi knew Buddhism from daily life, not as esoteric, exotic the way Nelson portrayed it.

His purpose was to wow her, and it succeeded!- yet another irony or inexplicable or maybe not, because what was happening between them had to do with the physical rather than the spiritual- though maybe a little of that too, to be generous, since they did seem to be having a meeting of the minds.

And Akemi certainly wasn't into doing "nothing," which supposed spiritual practice Nelson advocated. Neither was he, of course. It was all just talk. At least I tried to think so.

Again I thought as I had before about Nelson's behavior with Akemi: He shouldn't do that. There should be a law against it, waking up in a woman a hunger only he could satisfy. I could clearly picture her mouth on his cock as they sat there in peace and harmony together, doing nothing yet vibrating.

His hand had come up, landed lightly on her upper back, where it would begin to move. She was wearing a pale blue, baby blue knit top. You could see, feel the mesh widen against the curve of her back.

A last irony. The scene was so sexy I actually began to feel turned on despite the outrage it caused me- or because of it?

It made me want to rush to the college and immerse myself in my work, forget everything that way, though ordinarily I would never have chosen to be at the job when I didn't have to. That's how bad-off I was.

And among colleagues and students I did find the distraction I sought but no, couldn't forget the tableau I'd witnessed on the way to my commute that morning for my Saturday class, Nelson and Akemi with the whole day free before them. Fortunately, Leticia, Nelson's wife, was here to rein them in- so I hoped anyway.

Akemi had a trip planned to Japan to see her family, a solo trek- I couldn't join her because of my job. I worried that while there she'd have Nelson on her mind, think of flying back to him, maybe on her way home. From Japan, after all, she could choose any destination she wanted, not just New York. It was all the same on the airplane. Before returning here, she might pay him a visit, accept his invitation to rough it in the trailer house he kept in his front yard for guests and sometimes stayed in himself. He'd told me recently an old flame had come for a week and in that trailer he'd "had his fill," to use his words, as his wife cheerfully looked the other way, his genial, good-natured, tolerant, good-humored and loving Filipina wife. I had no idea what went on between them. Could it be that having a third person around was part of their married life? It definitely wasn't part of mine, was it?