LOOKING FOR MR. RIGHT
STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY
(Un-edited version)
WARNING: Major OOCness
CHAPTER 3
Aoshi was waiting in his car, outside Megumi's apartment, when she appeared in a breathless state and with an indescribable expression on her face.
"What's the matter?" He asked, looking at her curiously.
"Zansa is the matter."
"Zansa?"
"The Chihuahua that lives next door. I swear that dog is giving me the eye."
Aoshi frowned. Surely Megumi wasn't implying what he thought she was. "The eye?"
"You know. The eye. He may look like a pooch, but that dog has sex on his mind. Every time I walk by, he looks up my skirt. And you don't want to know what he did to my running shoes. The dog is a pervert."
"Poor dog," Aoshi muttered. He rubbed his brow as Megumi's words rang in his head. A Chihuahua? Jeez!
This woman must be mentally-impaired. Probably due to all the opium she inhaled in the past. It must have scattered her brain cells.
Poor Megumi. Surely, there was some way to help this poor woman.
&&&&&&
"This is Misao Makimachi, speaking. How may I help you?" Misao chirped her standard greeting into the phone.
While waiting for an answer, she cradled the handset between her chin and shoulder, freeing both her hands. Long accustomed to doing more than one thing at a time, she scribbled her signature at the bottom of a purchase order, and then flipped through a pile of letters. Failing to get an immediate response from the caller, she repeated her greeting.
"Are you the one?"
"One what?" she asked distractedly. Trying to decide which accessories to use for the chiffon dress that will be worn by the famous actress Hidekazu Akai for the awards night ceremony. She wanted her client to be the star of the event. After all, as a fashion stylist, she took her job seriously.
"My soul mate," the man stated.
Misao snapped to attention. Her feet hit the floor. Not again! She thought. She'd like to get her hands on the jerk who had been pestering her for the last several weeks and wring his neck! Crank callers were sickos. She didn't need him tying up her line. She had considered changing her phone number, but had opted for waiting a while longer, hoping the crank caller would tire of his game. If she changed her number, she'd have to notify her famous clients, and that would be a waste of precious time.
She glanced at the wall clock. Usually the fool contented himself with heavy breathing, and phoned nearer closing time, not lunchtime.
Misao kept her tone casual. "Mister, let's clear the line and still be friends."
"No thanks. I'd prefer seeing for myself if you're my soul mate."
Rolling anger ended all pretenses at playing it cool. "Fine," she snapped. "Suppose you send me a picture of yourself. If your hair is white, your eyes are black and you are wearing glasses, I'll consider it. If not, bug off!"
A roar of laughter assailed her ear, and then a cheery voice said. "You must be psychic. You describe me to a T."
"Really?" she muttered.
A chuckle rolled over the phone wires. "How about we grab something to eat tonight, say at 8:00 at Akabeko."
"I said stop pestering me!" Misao bounced off her chair, sending papers scattering onto the floor.
He laughed. "You must be a red-head with that kind of temper. I'll wait for you. Please. Okay?"
The line clicked, ending further discussion. For a long moment Misao waited for her breathing to even. What the hell was going on? She wondered. The sicko didn't even wait for her reply and hang up on her. Of all the nerve!
Her fury skidded to a halt. Her hand froze in midair. Her pulse quickened. Her curiosity peaked. A wide grin split her full lips.
'Come to think of it. It's not such a bad idea. Meet the guy, then ditched him.'
&&&&&&
"Bad day?"
"The pits."
Misao regarded her best-friend seriously. "Was he that bad?"
Kaoru looked at Misao gloomily. "The worst. He is such a cheapskate. He's so tight, when he winks his knee caps move."
Misao's lips quirked in a ready laugh. "Now, Kaoru, don't get you panties in a bunch."
The blue-eyed girl frowned. "My panties are just fine. It's Sano I've got a problem with." She clenched her small hands into fists. "Here's life's little lesson. A guy who never picks up the tab in restaurants is not going to make a commitment. Constipated wallet, constipated emotions. A word of advice, Misao. Order a meal you can afford, if you're going to end up paying for it. Just like I did."
Misao patted her best friend on the back and muttered that all men were basically slime.
"I've gotten to the point where I'm comfortable with just me," Kaoru said. "It's finally OK that I'm not part of a matched set."
"Honey, this is the perfect time to plunge in again. Don't let one lousy date get you down." Misao was an incurable optimist, despite her disastrous history with Aoshi.
"No, I have to be careful. Men are like amoebas. They swallow you up. You're nothing but a big bulge in their belly, if you aren't careful."
"There's a colorful metaphor."
"When Kenshin left me, I felt like nothing. Worthless. I just felt so obliterated. Alone, I was nobody. And I thought I was liberated."
"We all bought it, kiddo." Misao laughed. "You had to remake yourself, totally, to get a man. Don't let it get you down," she advised.
"I won't," Kaoru said and managed a weak smile. "It'd take more than a rooster-head freeloader to do that."
"Good girl. Look at me, I'm not going to just sit here and let Aoshi have all the fun. No way."
Despite her bravado, in the pit of her stomach the conviction lay, like an undigested meatball, that the breakup had been her fault. She was a woman who couldn't hold her man. If she'd had big tits, if she'd been wittier and dressed provocatively, Aoshi wouldn't have run to Megumi.
She knew that wasn't true, of course. She could have had the face of Brooke Shields, the body of Pamela Anderson, and the sexual skills of an entire Hong Kong bordello, and that wouldn't have stopped Aoshi.
&&&&&&
Misao meet "Enishi Yukishiro" the date, at exactly 8:00. He was attractive and seemed to dig her—Miracle of Miracles!
The conversation flowed freely, and they were having a great time. He mentioned that a friend of his was in a band and that the band was playing at a club about a half an hour's drive away. Misao immediately and enthusiastically suggested that they go catch the band in action. She would forever regret her words.
They get to the club and meet up with about five of his friends. The band is tuning up, and he introduced her all around. He chatted amiably with the band, complimented her, and asked her if she needs anything. A perfect gentleman. Damn! The guy is perfect.
Misao was completely convinced that it is going to be a great night.
Then, the band starts to play, and it all goes to HELL…………
Three seconds into the first song, Enishi becomes John Travolta. He grabs her hand and jerks her up from the table where she is sitting. Unfortunately, she has a full drink in her hand and Bloody Mary goes all over her and all over the table. She lets out a shriek that would wake the dead. She screams so loud, in fact, that the band stops in mid-note. Enishi was incredibly apologetic and lead her to the ladies' room so she can clean up.
Misao was telling herself it was an honest mistake, it was just exuberance. She'll just move and managed to laugh about it a little bit.
The band is really cooking when she get back to the table. Again, Enishi takes her hand and leads her out onto the dance floor. The music is pounding around them, and he begins to………Misao was pretty sure he'd call it 'dance,' but truly, it was more like a full blown gran mal seizure. He was throwing his arms around like he was trying to flag down a fire truck, and he was pumping his hips (which were really nice hips, too).
His head is thrown back and his eyes are close. Misao seriously thinking that maybe he is having some sort of attack……….he snapped his head up, looked her in the eye and flashed her this wicked grin. Now what?!
He begins to untuck his shirt. In the meantime, all the people have spilled onto the dance floor, watching this spectacle. Misao fake a twisted ankle out of desperation and it WORKS!! They go back to their seats, with her shouting that she'll be fine in a little while. She just need to rest.
Back at the table, he picked up the sugar-packet container and proceeded to steal all of the sugar and artificial sweetener packets out of it. He's jamming the little paper envelopes into his pocket and she was not sure what to say. He looked at her, smiles again, and yelled, over the music, "I do this all the time! I save a lot of money this way!"
Misao slowly shook her head. He seemed nice enough, but a little on the weird side.
The rest of the evening is a blur of him getting up to "dance" and a sad, slow procession of the people coming back to the table with assorted looks of discomfort on their faces. His own friends sort of disappeared at some point, but the Party Man doesn't seem to care; he was busily trying to start a conga line on the dance floor. Yep, Enishi was the life of the party, all right. At one point, the waitress looked at Misao sympathetically and said, "Well, Miss, maybe he's just had too much to drink."
He'd been drinking straight orange juice all night.
The band wraps up the final set and she really want to go home. Misao waited for him at the table and he showed up there, sweaty and reeking. She must have wrinkled her nose or something because he says, "Oh, sorry! I usually don't have to mention it this early in the relationship, but I don't like deodorant or antiperspirants. I prefer the smell of myself."
Misao just sort of nodded and mumbled, "No problem."
They walked out into the parking lot and Misao was thinking that she needed to take a couple of days to process all of this: maybe it's not as bad as she was thinking.
Uh-oh! She looked up and he was standing by her car, looking at her expectantly. She walked over and unlocked her own door, looking at him over the roof.
"I'm really tired," she started to say, and he sort of waves her off. "I just want to talk," he said.
Great. Now she has to let this dripping wet person into her car. Misao sigh and try to think of ways to make a quickie escape. She also said a prayer that he was not thinking about kissing her or anything else……….the smell of him is literally making her eyes water. Against her better judgment, she unlocks his door and he scoots in.
Once they were in the car, he lighted a cigarette, thinking that she can open the window and, plus, the smoke smell will cut through the body odor. He turns to face her in his seat and the first thing out of his mouth is, "I always promised myself that the woman I married would be a dancer, so if you wanna keep the Enishi-magic going, baby—you gotta loosen up."
The green-eyed girl just looked at him and nodded. What was there to say?
He reviewed the evening for her, in painstaking detail, as though she hadn't lived through it herself. Funny thing is, his version was radically different from what she remembered living. Somehow, it was her fault that she ended up with a Bloody Mary bath. He was the smoothest man on the dance floor.
Enishi realized how tired she must be, so he wanted to give her a quick kiss goodnight and call her in the morning.
Misao was backing away from him, practically pushing herself through the open window to get away. As he leans forward, he lets out one of the longest farts she had ever heard and suddenly, his body odor is a fond, forgotten and longed-for assault upon her senses. Her car smells—BAD!
He giggles like a fourth grader and says, "Gods! I wanna kiss you so bad I just farted!"
The poor girl was completely shell-shocked at that point. She was sitting in her now-even-smellier car, trying to figure out where the great guy went to. She's staring at him and he's coming in for the kiss and she just bolted out the driver's side door.
"Hey! Are you okay?" Enishi asked her, getting out of the car.
"I'm fine." Misao lied through clenched teeth.
"Well, how 'bout that kiss, then?"
"I don't think so," she said, still thinking that if she ever let him kiss her, all hell would break loose.
He just sort of looked at her and said, "Okay, it's been a long night, right? I'll call you in the morning."
Misao actually start to sigh with relief when he grabs her up into this pseudo-clinch of passion. His tongue actually goes up her nose and again.
"How was that, Baby?" He asked and he sounded like a bad Romeo impression.
"Get the fuck out of here," Misao spit, having reached her breaking point. He asked her to repeat herself, as though she have not been clear enough about her intentions. Misao repeated herself—FIVE times. It's becoming a chant, a mantra.
Finally, the white-haired guy gets a clue. "I'll call you in the morning okay?" He said, one last time as she spews gravel trying to get out of there as fast as possible.
When she got home, she saw two things that make the night complete: the perfect outline of his body via sweat-stain on the fabric of her car seat; and a brown stain, about the size of a coin seeped into the fabric where his ass was.
Boy, when she screwed up, she always managed to do it in a big way.
"Why is it always my story of woe?" Misao wailed.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Sorry, for the long hiatus. Hope you enjoy this chapter. THANKS TO ALL MY REVIEWERS Hugs & Kisses
Why Enishi & Misao? Why not, everybody's been doing it. So, I thought, WHY THE HELL NOT?!