Disclaimer: I don't own digimon
Chapter Two: Close Quarters
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"I just want something I can never have." – Nine Inch Nails
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Not only does T.K. call me the next day like he promised he would, but he asks me to lunch. Since we don't have 'real jobs' (he writes a column for the paper and decides for himself when he feels like working, I don't have any shoots scheduled for the rest of the week), lunch is not determined by working hours and break times.
We go for lunch at about noon, and that's when it happens.
"You should come over sometime and meet my wife," he suggests.
I fight back the urge to tell him that I don't ever want to meet the woman who stole him away from me. Granted, I have no right to hate her, but that doesn't really register in my mind. There are a ton of women who could have taken him away from me, but since she is the one who actually did, I'm free to despise her all I want. And yeah, maybe she didn't exactly steal him away being that he was never mine, but it still doesn't change anything!
Instead, I smile and nod, saying, "Sure, that sounds like fun."
In actuality, the level of fun is measured somewhere between peeling off my skin with my bare hands and letting a bunch of birds peck me to death.
Much to my dismay, the conversation does not end there. He literally picks a day – next Saturday night, provided it's okay with his darling wife – for me to come over for dinner.
"And, um, you can bring someone," he mumbles. My heart soars due to the look of discontent on his face. I can't help but get the feeling that he doesn't want me to be dating, just like I don't want him to be married. I refuse to analyze it any further, so I don't get my hopes up.
"Yeah, okay." He gives a little nod and looks away.
"Do you, um, have anyone particular in mind?" I can't help but notice that his eyes are going everywhere but in my direction. I have two choices for how to go about this. I can tell the truth, say no, I'm not seeing anyone at the moment. Or I can lie and say I do have someone to bring, just to get a rise out of him.
True to form, I don't think before I speak.
"Yeah, well, there's this guy that I'm seeing," I lie. Shit. I didn't even stop to think that I would actually have to deliver a guy, as proof of my romantic escapades, on Saturday night.
Where am I going to find a guy in three days?
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Maybe fate wants to make it up to me because today, exactly one day before my dinner disaster with T.K., I find a guy.
It all starts early this morning, a warm and sunny Friday. Paige, who recently got back from her honeymoon, calls me. We go out to brunch and then decide to go shopping. While walking down a crazily busy New York street (is there any other kind?) on our way to a few stores, Paige is injured. Let's just say a rather large woman wearing thick heels steps on my poor, unsuspecting friend's foot, causing her to cry out and hobble on the other foot to the street corner, where we proceed to take a taxi to the hospital. Ouch. In the emergency room, the X-ray shows two broken toes. Double ouch.
Call it being at the right place at the right time, I suppose, because I meet a cute doctor while Paige is being tended to. Actually, cute doesn't begin to describe it. His name is Chris; he's twenty-seven and works in the Pediatric wing. That's an added bonus, because it means he likes kids.
"Do you maybe want to get a cup of coffee sometime?" he asks me after a perfectly lovely conversation, about twenty-five minutes in length. I'm about to say yes and excuse myself to check on Paige when a thought occurs to me: I can bring him to dinner.
"Sure. Actually, I'm going to this dinner thing tomorrow and I'd love it if you'd be my date," I say, smiling sweetly and touching his arm for added effect. He looks down at the ground and runs a hand through his hair. Uh oh, not a good sign.
"Oh, I don't know … I just got out of a relationship and I'm not really ready to jump into anything too serious," he admits. I smile and shake my head.
"That's … perfect." I then proceed to explain, in minor detail, my situation. I say that I'm getting together with an old friend and unfortunately have to go stag, unless he would be willing to accompany me. I purposely forget to mention that I think I might be in love with the 'old friend'. It's for one night only, I say, and then add in that we can go for coffee the following day, if he'd like.
Chris, who has apparently been in a situation like this in the past (I'm tempted to ask him exactly how one winds up in our positions) agrees. He then adds that he's a big fan of my work, and that the spread I just did with Elle McPherson was, and I quote, "totally hot". I'm suddenly thankful for my successful career, getting the feeling that he wouldn't be helping me out if I weren't Hikari Kamiya. But I don't care about his intentions, as long as he shows up looking painfully sexy tomorrow night.
Honestly, I wasn't expecting him to say yes. In Japan, everything is very traditional and respectful. One almost never pulls a stunt like this. Then again, one almost never falls in love with their married best friend, right? All I can think is 'thank God we aren't back in Japan right now'. Or, if we were back in Japan, would that mean that T.K. would be single? Perhaps he would even be mine?
I don't know for sure, and frankly, I don't want to know. I don't want to think about what would be happening right now in some distant universe, because I'm living in this one. And what a shitty one it is.
God bless American men.
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Halfway through dinner with T.K. and his (unfortunately) beautiful wife, Chantelle, Chris is called away to the hospital. After saying a round of goodbyes and giving me a quick peck on the lips (his portrayal of 'the boyfriend' is rather commendable), he heads to the hospital. Now, it's just T.K., Chantelle and I. Terrific.
I look up from my food to find Chantelle staring at me. I offer a weak smile and she breaks out of her trance.
"I'm sorry; I'm just a little star struck right now. I mean, you were in last month's People Magazine! The cover picture of this month's Vogue was taken by you! When T.K. said that you were coming for dinner, I didn't believe him!" I know I should be flattered, but I am blinded by my absolute hatred for this woman before me.
I shouldn't dislike her, she's been a very gracious host and she seems wonderful. We haven't had much opportunity to really interact, but from what I can tell, she's smart, maybe even funny. She and T.K. look happy enough, so I can at least take comfort in the fact that he's in good hands.
Oh, why can't she be horrible, so I don't have to feel guilty about my feelings towards her … towards him?
She leans in close and I feel like backing up, but that would be rude and I must make nice for T.K.'s sake. "So tell us, who's the bitchiest celebrity you've ever worked with?"
She wants me to tell her about my escapades, so she can live vicariously through me.
Isn't it ironic that, while she's wondering how it would feel to be me, I would give everything I own, just to be her?
"I don't know, they all have pretty big egos," I shrug. Would it be considered rude for me to tell her to fuck off, even though we're in her house? What if we weren't in her house? If that's acceptable, then I will gladly take her outside and do it there.
"Well, what about you? You travel all over the world. I'm sure you've seen some amazing things with your job," she inquires. It's not that I don't have any stories, it's just that I'm scared if I tell a few, she'll tell a few (like how she and T.K. met, how he proposed …)
"Oh, it's not half as fabulous as it seems."
"Yeah, come on babe. Nobody likes to talk about work on their day off," T.K. says, coming to my rescue. I shoot him an appreciative smile, to which he winks quickly, before Chantelle has a chance to look. I feel like that wink held some importance, almost as if some of his hidden feelings for me came bubbling to the surface. If it was just a simple, friendly wink, why wouldn't he want his wife to see? Maybe I'm just getting carried away.
"I suppose," she shrugs. She turns to T.K. "Don't let me forget that I have to fax over a copy of those papers to Maria before we leave."
"'Kay." He turns to me. "Chantelle's going on a business trip to Italy for a week," he tells me.
"Oh, really?" She's pretty lucky. I've only been to Italy a few times, but I'd love to go back. It was so beautiful over there, and there are so many great things to do. Maybe, if I'm feeling charitable later this evening, I'll give her some traveler's tips on places to visit and sites to see. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow evening," she answers after swallowing a mouthful of food. "And I get back next Sunday." It might sound terrible, but I'm ecstatic that she'll be gone and leave the two of us alone for seven whole days. It's not like I'm planning on having some sexy tryst with T.K. while his wife is on another continent, but I won't lie and say the thought didn't cross my mind.
The phone rings, and T.K. excuses himself to answer it. Now, it's just Chantelle and I and an uncomfortable silence. Luckily, it doesn't last long. T.K. runs back into the room with a huge grin on his face.
"I'm an uncle!" he exclaims.
Mimi.
I jump out of my chair.
"Oh my God! She had it?" I ask. He nods excitedly. "Boy or girl?"
"Boy," he practically screams. He wraps me into a tight hug, and I throw a quick, subtle glance over my shoulder at Chantelle. She doesn't even look bothered by the fact that her husband is practically groping another woman right in front of her. Apparently, she trusts him wholeheartedly. I'm disappointed to realize that she has no reason not to, and even more disappointed in myself when I realize I'm literally wishing for him to cheat on his wife with me.
My unhappiness only lasts for a second, because I realize that she looks absolutely lost.
"You remember Mimi, right? My brother's wife?" T.K. asks her slowly, when we break apart. She nods, though I don't completely buy it.
"Oh, right. She was the pregnant one," she recalls, a hint of recognition sweeping her features. I feel like smacking her upside the head and asking her who else would be the one who just gave birth. Perhaps I was wrong in my conclusion that she was smart.
"Yeah, her. Well, that was Matt on the phone, and he wants me to fly down and meet my new nephew," he announces. Chantelle, who doesn't seem too thrilled about visiting Japan, casually suggests that T.K. fly down this week, while she is in Italy. When he argues that he doesn't want to go alone, she suggests that I go with him. She says it will be good to see everyone again, and that I will be on the same page as him, unlike her, who wouldn't be up to speed on the stories and inside jokes.
Is she stupid?
Okay, maybe I won't go for T.K. while we're here in New York, but does she honestly expect me to behave myself with us thousands of miles away from her … and our responsibilities?
The rest of the dinner conversation consists of remembering the good old days, growing up in Odaiba. Chantelle, as expected, looks out of it. She doesn't say two words the rest of the night.
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"Three days overdue. She was unbearable, I was ready to go in there and pull the kid out myself," Matt laughs.
"I was not that bad," Mimi protests.
The reaction from the crowd speaks volumes. Between Sora's eye roll, Tai's snort of disbelief and Matt's look of gaping offence, it's pretty clear that the last few days of Mimi's pregnancy were not a walk in the park by any means.
It has been three days since the dinner party at T.K.'s house, and the two of us have just gotten to Odaiba this morning. We're now at Matt and Mimi's house, Mimi and the baby having been released from the hospital yesterday. The beautiful baby boy, Heiden, is the spitting image of his parents. He has Mimi's cute, thin nose and chocolate brown hair, in addition to having Matt's bright blue eyes and chin. Although most babies are born with blue eyes, there's no doubt in my mind that they'll stay this way.
"If you two need a place to stay, you're more than welcome over at our place," Sora offers, changing the subject. I'm about to decline her invitation when T.K. beats me to it.
"Thanks, but you guys have enough going on, what with the kids and all. We can just get some rooms at a hotel or something," he suggests.
A fantasy enters my mind in which I sneak into T.K.'s hotel room for a late night romp, which he fully agrees to.
"When are the others coming down?" Sora asks, interrupting my daydream.
"Joe and his wife were planning a trip down here next month anyway, so they're just going to come then," Matt answers. "And Izzy, well, who knows. I don't have his number to call him, now that he's gone and made something of himself," he smirks. "Maybe I'm not important enough."
It's not like we're unhappy for Izzy or anything like that. If anyone deserves it, it's him. But Matt remains slightly bitter, saying he could at least keep in touch with us.
I argue that, with everything going on, it's hard to make time to sit down and call old buddies. I know, since I went through it my first year in New York. After my career exploded, I didn't get in touch with Tai for a good five months, because I was so busy. While five months doesn't seem like a lot, given the distance and everything, it is. Especially to us, since we normally talk once a week.
The rest of the group remains indifferent to the Izzy matter.
Ten eyes drift my way with Matt's last sentence. Smiling sheepishly, I reach into my purse, pull out my book and, sure enough, Izzy's number is there. I hand it to Matt and shrug as they all break out into grins.
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"I'm sorry, sir. We only have one room available at the moment," the pretty woman at the front desk tells T.K. "We're all booked up, otherwise."
He turns to me and raises an eyebrow.
"What do you say, kid? Are we up for it?"
I blush at the dirty thoughts that enter my mind and look away.
Oh, I'm up for it.
But instead of telling him that, dragging him up to our room and acting out my most predominant fantasy, I nod my head shyly. Unbeknownst to him, I'm feeling anything but shy.
"Sure, I guess," I mumble. Then I add, "There will be two beds, after all," for good measure.
"Actually," the woman begins, "the only room we have open is the honeymoon suite."
She must be kidding me.
"So there's only one bed, then?" T.K. asks. This day keeps getting better.
"Well, yes. But don't worry, we'll give you the rates for a regular room," she assures us. I roll my eyes. The bill for the room is the last thing on my mind.
Shrugging, T.K. agrees and we head up to the honeymoon suite.
The woman mentioned that there was only one bed, but she clearly omitted the part about how utterly romantic the room was. It's about twice the size, maybe more, of a normal room. There is a huge window overlooking Odaiba, and I must admit, I forgot how beautiful this place can be at night. The bed has red silk sheets and nice, fluffy pillows. Beside the bed is a bucket of rose petals, next to which is a chilled bottle of champagne. Oh, dear God. There is a nice couch in one corner and I realize that T.K. will probably insist on sleeping on it.
We hang out, watch some TV, and talk about old times. In a way, I wish the week was up and we were going home tomorrow, just so I wouldn't have to live with this torturing. It's like going up to a starving man and waving a nice, juicy steak in his face … and then eating it.
But then, in another way, I never want this to end. Once this week is up and we have to go back to New York, that's it for us. I can't see how I will keep in touch with him, since all I'd want to do are things that I can't do, things that I won't let myself do. Even if I was able to throw out my morals, T.K. certainly wouldn't agree. He wouldn't cheat on his wife.
The T.K. I knew in high school wouldn't, at least.
As we talk, though, I come to a rather shocking realization: I don't know T.K.
Sure, I know the eighteen-year-old T.K., the one who was my best friend in high school, but he's changed since then. Beyond memories of the way he used to be, all I know is that he's married.
Maybe that's all I need to know.
I yawn and he stands up.
"I say we get to bed. We're still running on New York time, plus we have to get up early tomorrow," he says. I nod, grab one of my bags and go into the bathroom to change into my pajamas. It's only after I'm in the bathroom and have unzipped my bag that I remember which pajamas I brought. I walk back into the room to find T.K. undressing.
"Sorry!" I yell and spin around, trying to cover my grin. He just laughs.
"It's okay. You aren't changing?"
"No," I state, my back still to him. "The pajamas I brought seemed okay when I thought we'd be in separate rooms, but …"
"Oh … ? Oh," he says, getting my hint. "Well you can borrow something of mine, if you want," he offers. I hear him unzip his suitcase and pull something out. "Here." He hands me a shirt. I grab it and try not to look at him as I retreat back to the bathroom. As I'm closing the door, I peek. And he looks damn good.
I peel off my clothes and reach into my bag. I step into my shorts – very skimpy, due to the heat – and pull on my even skimpier top. Then I put T.K.'s shirt on overtop, and it hangs down just above my knees. It feels nice, wearing his shirt. I wish it didn't, but it really does.
I walk back into the room and find T.K. clad in only pajama pants. Does he honestly expect me to control myself with him like that? Fine, then. Two can play at that game.
"It's really hot in here," I sigh. He nods and goes to adjust the air conditioning. "I'm starting to re-think this shirt. It's just too ... ugh." I pull off the oversized shirt, leaving me in my tiny pajamas. I'm suddenly very thankful for those fifty sit-ups I do every night before bed. He turns back around to face me and his eyes widen, but he says nothing. I can feel his eyes raking up and down my body and I pretend not to notice.
Eat your heart out, T.K.
"I can, um, take the couch ... if you want," he mumbles. I can sense some disappointment in his voice, and am tempted to say that I do want him to, just to see his reaction.
"Oh, it doesn't matter to me. We can share the bed," I say, trying to act indifferent to the matter. I pull down the covers and climb in on one side.
"Yeah, it's not like anything's gonna happen," he says quietly, more to himself than to me. He hesitates, and then nods his head as if to convince himself that I won't be seducing him tonight. Maybe I should convince myself, too.
The jet lag overcomes me and I drift off to sleep, but not before mumbling, "Goodnight, T.K."
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It is now Thursday, our third day back in Odaiba.
Today, everyone is uncharacteristically busy. Maybe we failed to consider the fact that people actually have lives here, because we came during a working week. Tai, Matt and Sora are working. Mimi is on maternity leave, of course, but we decided to leave her alone for today. All week, people have been invading her house and haven't given her more than a second alone with her little bundle of joy. Besides, we've been at their house so much this week, and we don't want to impose.
What can we do? We wander aimlessly around Odaiba, reflecting on 'the good old days'. We must have forgotten how boring Odaiba can be, or perhaps the good old days were fewer than we'd remembered, because by seven o'clock, we're back at the hotel. Following one particularly good suggestion on T.K.'s part, we open up the mini bar and get ripped.
After successfully polishing off quite a few bottles of vodka, I stand by the window and look out at Odaiba. It's lit up by buildings and shops, but it still looks beautiful. It reminds me of New York, because there are still people outside, going about their slightly less complicated lives. Or perhaps they're more complicated; I'll never know. Nonetheless, they're outside, roaming the streets of Japan and looking for answers. The outside population is not as extreme as it is in the city that never sleeps, but it is close enough to keep me from feeling homesick. And you can actually see the stars here, unlike New York, which is an added bonus.
T.K. comes to stand beside me and glances out at our beloved hometown. Then he turns his attention to me. I don't return his look, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and can tell that he's still staring. The silence is deafening and I need to do something to break it.
"It's beautiful," I say.
"Yeah," he agrees.
I'm forced to wonder if he's talking about the city, or me.
We climb into bed and are closer than we've been in previous nights. Literally, though. He is lying beside me in a manner that, I think, is similar to how he lays beside his wife. Shoulder to shoulder, bodies touching, quiet but comfortable. Maybe we had to drink our body weight in alcohol before we would be completely comfortable with each other again.
Although I'm certifiably drunk and my mind's eye is cloudy, I'm still thinking about the man beside me. If I were to kiss him right now, to jump on him and rip off his clothes before he thinks to object (would he object?) I could just blame it on the alcohol. In the morning, when he confronts me about making the first move, I was clearly intoxicated and cannot be held responsible for my actions.
But no, that wouldn't be good. If – and this is a big if – I want T.K. to cheat on his wife with me, I want it to be soberly. Perhaps that's even worse, but I know I would take comfort in knowing that he truly cares for me, and isn't just pissed out of his mind and not thinking clearly.
I decide, here and now, that I'm calling Chris the minute we land in New York. I need to release this sexual energy T.K. has caused me, whether it's with the man himself or not.
Hell, can I even wait for Saturday night, when we return to the Big Apple?
"Do you know if Davis is still single?" I ask T.K., and notice that I'm sort of slurring. Perhaps I won't pay Davis a visit, just because I think I might regret it later. He props himself up on his elbow and turns to face me.
"'Dunno. Why?"
"Because," I explain snuggling deeper under the covers, "I need one good night of … you know. And I figure that Davis has always liked me, so why not?" Shit. Did I just say that out loud? To him? He snorts and returns to his previous position, lying flat on his back.
"You know, Kar," he says a few minutes later, "I would help you out … but I'm married." Trust me, I've noticed. "But if I wasn't, um, you know … well, I don't think I need to tell you what we'd be, um, doing right now," he stammers.
I shut my eyes tight, willing the thoughts of what could have been to disappear. I want to scream 'But you are married, so quit torturing me!'
His last statement, under normal circumstances, would be enough to evoke tears from me. But since he's right there, the alcohol has relaxed me a great deal, and he's just slid his arm around me and whispered, 'Goodnight, babe,' I don't think I could cry if I wanted to.
A few minutes later, I hear his breathing even out and I know for a fact that he's asleep.
Lucky bastard. It will be a few hours more before I can finally succumb to my fatigue.
He had to say it.
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