Chapter Seven: "Secret Touch"

"YYEEEAAAHHH!"

I musta given Marcy-The-Receptionist a freaking heart attack. She handed me this message when Kurt and I got to the office to meet up with the others going to the shoot tonight. I looked at it, shouted and jumped up and down.

OK, so maybe I fricken overreacted. So what?

'Course, it's probably now all over the office, and with my rotten luck, in the gossip sheets by Monday. I mean, I could see it written all over Marcy's face: Glen Likes A Girl. Even Kurt was givin' me an evil grin.

Well, ya know what? Fuck 'em. I don't care. Yui left me a message. Which means, what ever freaked her out last night, she is willing to forget it. Which totally rocks!

I know that a chick has never meant shit to me before this. I mean, except Miaka. Which is this whole 'realms of fantasy' crap that we just don't need to get into right now. Seriously, can I honestly say I have any feelings for a chick that I only remember from a past life? And on top of that, a chick who knows nothing about me now? I mean, I didn't exactly have a nur-tur-ing en-vi-ron-ment in either lifetime, but at least in that one I didn't get whupped regularly from ages four to fourteen! Huh, maybe that's why I always get into fights with woman stylists at shoots – they remind me of my mom and sisters. At any rate, I wasn't thinking about Yui like that anyway. Like a girlfriend type person, I mean. OK, so maybe part of me was going 'ya know, Yui's pretty fricken hot' but that wasn't really seriously going through my head. Well, not the head on top of my neck!

Sorry, that was pretty rude of me.

It's all Kurt's fault for callin' Yui 'luscious'. He's got a dirty mind, ya know?

ANYWAY! I whip out my cell phone – got it just a couple weeks ago – and dial up, and I get this hotel. It rings a bit, then this chick gets on and tells me real nice that Yui isn't in, and did I wanna leave a message? Hell yeah, I left a message. I always wanna pig out after shoots, so I left Yui this message asking if she wanted to go to dinner, then Kurt drags me off to the shoot.

Magazine shoots are pretty cool, normally, better than catalogs anyway. Catalogs, ya gotta change clothes like a thousand times. For magazines, they got just a few specific outfits they wanna show off, so you only gotta change like once. But tonight we were on this rooftop deck, and the photographer is spending as much time picking out what angle he wants – 'cuz you know the New York skyline is that damned important – as he is saying how he wants us models to stand.

So hours later, the shoots almost done, and he's got me standing with Jeannie, who's this bottle red-head who's been with Pendleton a while, and I'll be damned if that witch didn't try to grab my package!

"CHRIST! Damn it, get yer hands offa me!" I think I jumped four feet.

"Glen, what are you doing?" That's the photographer. He screeched it like I just beat up his kid or something.

I'm shaking, I'm so pissed off. "Tell this wench to keep her hands to herself!" I'm pointing at Jeannie, who's just grinning. In fact, practically the whole crew looked like they were trying not to laugh. 'Cept Kurt. He ain't so restrained. That jerk's laughing his ass off back by the changing space.

"Fine, fine, if you two can't work together, PAUL!" The photographer calls in a different guy, who GLADLY gets groped, and gropes in return. Shit. I can't figure this business. I mean, all the chicks are these psychos who eat nothing and sleep around. Half the guys are gay, and the ones that aren't are all over the slutty chicks. Just like when I was on the streets, I try to keep my head down and make my own way. At least I got Kurt to support me. Oh, he likes to go out dancing and shit with the others, but I know he ain't sleepin' around either. That Catholic boy is waiting on Ms. Right. And I know for a fact that the models talk about us too. I know what it sounds like – two guys, best friends, sharing a pad, and neither of 'em goes home with any of the chicks. OK, frankly, it IS a bit flattering just how many women have tried to lure me home with them since I been a model, but damn, half of 'em are skanky, and the other half are scary. But it's like, if they can't nail us, then we must be gay. I'm surprised some of the male models aren't trying to grope us! 'Cept one I know, Geoff, swears that they can tell me and Kurt ain't gay. I dunno how it works, but Geoff just calls it his 'gay-dar' and grins.

Once, once in my life, I kissed a girl. I was 17, on the streets, and this other homeless kid, a real dope fiend chick, said she'd french me for a cigarette. She also said for a twenty she'd, uh, you know, but I didn't have a twenty, and I really don't think I'd'a given it to her for that anyway. Cuz, at the time, I was still kinda in love with Miaka in my head. Anyway, I gave her the smoke, and she stuck her tongue in my mouth, and it was kinda cool for all of about 5 seconds. 'Til I got a whiff of her. She musta not showered in weeks!

But I still like women, or prefer 'em, instead of men. I just don't understand 'em. And I guess I haven't like, tried to be friends with one first or anything like that. I mean, look at the luck I've had – last life was abusive mom and sisters, and the one woman I basically fall for was untouchable and taken. This life, abusive mom and sisters again – and I gotta remember to talk to Suzaku about that shit – scary street chicks and totally forward slutty models!

But now that I've met Yui, I guess I'm thinkin' a bit differently. Because we've got something in common, ya know? And I guess it would be cool to be her friend. And yeah, through her I can hook up with Miaka and Taka again, which would rock, but still I'd wanna be Yui's friend.

And damn it, Kurt's right – the girl is pretty luscious.

And the fact that I'm even thinking that is a little weird too. 'Cuz normally, as soon as a person is ID'd as female, I don't much pay attention. But I can't get Yui outta my head. There's something about her that seems different. I get this feeling that there's a whole lot more going on inside of that girl than what you see, and I'm really kinda curious. I know what it's like to know stuff on the inside that you can't let anyone else know about, right?

So, after I got kicked outta that shot, I fell into a chair, threw some random shoe at Kurt, who's still acting like a damned hyena, and check my messages.

Hot damn, she called me back! I am the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

Kurt asked, "What are you grinning about, hoser?"

"I'm going to dinner with Yui Hongo after this."

Kurt stares. "You got a date?"

Oh shit. He's right. This is now a date. Fuck – what am I gonna wear? I mean, I came to the shoot in a secondhand biker jacket, ratty jeans, and old black muscle shirt, and ripped 5 year old chuck taylors. I think Kurt recognized the sign of rising panic in my face, because he immediately calls over Judy, the stylist. Now, as I said, I ain't too keen on women stylists. So I'm getting a bit more than worried here, but Kurt just whispers to her. She nods, and grabs some things off the rack, tosses 'em at me, and says "Wear the shoes from the last shot. Get it all back to the office tomorrow."

When we're finally freed at ten of nine, I duck out with the goods and change. Now I'm wearing black 'beatle' boots, blue jeans that FIT like… well, I dunno, but when we wore 'em in the shoot, the women whistled, a blue club shirt with black flames along the bottom, plus my own jacket. I check myself out in a mirror, and guess what? I could get to likin' women stylists.

One way-too-short cab ride later, and I stood in the lobby of Yui's hotel waiting. Nice place. Fancy. Not that I've got much of a knowledge of nice hotels, though. So, I hear the elevators bing, and I turn to look, and I just about died right there.

Mental note – kill Kurt for gettin' me thinkin' about this woman this way. Because if he hadn't, I mighta been able to survive this moment. But now…..

She walked towards me, a little smile on her face, and I musta been staring like a damned idiot. From toes to head, she's got on black heels, nylons that are skin colored – jeez, unless she's NOT wearing nylons, in which case she's got a killer tan – this mini skirt that's black suede, I think, and Suzaku help me, a tiny little pink tee shirt that I think I can actually see her belly button, it's so tight and short. Plus a sharp little black suede jacket and a purse. It must be a suit. Bet it looks real professional when she's wearing a real shirt with it! My blood left my head so fast, I'm surprised I didn't get a nose-bleed.

She smiles up at me, and I guess my thoughts were on my face, because she blushed and said "Hello, Rowe-san."

"Hey, Yui-chan."

Oops. Might not have been the right thing to say, 'cuz her face goes all blank.

I try again. "Sorry! That's what Miaka always called you. Um. Yui-san, right? Uh. God damn, you look great!" OK, so it wasn't my finest moment. Now she's really red. Well, Glen you hosehead, give it another go. "Sorry! Shit. Why is it I always put my foot in my mouth when I'm talkin' to you?"

Yui giggled. She actually giggled! It's a great sound. "Maybe I just have that affect on you."

Is she flirting with me? I cleared my throat and tried to get a grip on myself. "Maybe. Uh, listen, can you just call me Glen? I mean, I don't know what the deal is in Japan, but I'd just as soon you called me Glen."

"Alright. And please just call me Yui."

Grinning, I said, "That's a deal. You ready to go?" I tried to be slick, puttin' my arm out for her to take like I was some sorta gentleman.

Of course, no-one warned me that when she touched my arm and said, "Lets go," I'd feel a shock like this. A shock that went right to my gut. And I looked down into those big blue eyes, and thought 'Oh shit, I'm hooked.'