Exploration

February 12, 2006.

The man had been laying there for several minutes, gazing with dreamy fascination at the woman beside him. He could not recall exactly when he had fallen in love with her, but then, that wasn’t really important. What matters was that he had, and that the woman had done the same with him. While the woman’s eyes were closed in the dim, early morning twilight, the man’s were savoring every square inch of the woman’s peaceful face, capturing every detail of the afterglow for as long as his memory would hold it. The man was mildly disappointed that the rest of the shapely luxury he had recently experienced was concealed beneath the amorphous crests of the thick comforter of her bed.

His slender hand slowly swept over the woman’s warm caramel curves as he snuggled closer to her beneath the bed sheet. He thought she was asleep, but he felt a shudder and heard her low voice as his hand settled on a soft spot in the center of her belly.

“Don’t… please,” she said slowly. Then, with a whisper of disgust, “It’s so ugly.”

The very small area of skin – no larger than the man’s palm – surrounding her belly button was the softest part of the woman’s body. But this skin was spongy, and crinkled like crepe – its elasticity lost from having been stretched just a little too much. The woman’s great revulsion at this tiny imperfection started to tear at the man’s heart.

The man slipped deeper under the sheet, causing the heavy comforter atop it to slide off of the bed. He barely felt the cool air of the room as he moved his lips to her very warm belly. “How can you call this ugly?” he asked. “It’s beautiful. It’s from carrying Isamu.”

The woman allowed a faint smile at the name of her handsome son who was (hopefully) sleeping in the nursery down the hall. Her thoughts about the look of her belly had remained relatively unchanged, but she at least expressed some comfort from the man’s words. “How do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked.

“I don’t,” the man replied. “I’m just being honest.” And he was.

The man bent down to kiss the spot again, and while he thought his second kiss was the same as the first, it wasn’t. Somehow it unintentionally tickled her.

“Stop that!” she giggled, tearing the bed sheet away. “Get up here!”

The man propped his head on an elbow as he laid beside the woman, who edged closer so she could whisper in his ear. “While we are being honest, I should let you know that this wasn’t my… first time,” she teased.

The man bristled a little at the remark, even though he knew the underlying jibe about his just-lost virginity was good-natured. “That’s okay,” he chuckled. “I’m glad one of us knew what they were doing.”

She smiled at the man’s quick-witted retort. “You seemed to know what you were doing last night,” she sighed truthfully.

“You are too kind,” he replied, bringing her mouth to meet his. As he tasted her spicy skin, the man’s mind spun back to the previous evening with the woman. To their “early-Valentine’s” candlelight dinner at the French restaurant. To their more-flirty-than-usual conversations despite the company of the one-year-old seated in the high chair between them. To their return to the woman’s house for tea and settling the little boy down to sleep. And to the woman’s silent reveal on why she insisted they do not exchange Valentine’s gifts. Her ravenous kisses informed him that, instead of unwrapping presents, she would rather they unwrap each other.

The man didn’t plan for that, and while both his love and passion for the woman flared in his heart, physically he wasn’t sure of himself in that particular way. But he most certainly was not unwilling, though he secretly wished he had some experience like his very eager companion. At least he felt that he started off fairly well, using initial moves that mirrored much of what he had remembered from watching love scenes in movies (the ones from an earlier time which emphasized foreplay). But the man knew he would come to a point where he would have to go further, and those “later steps” of the actors’ lovemaking usually transpired off-screen as the scene would abruptly cut to the following morning. Fortunately, the woman’s warm touch and soft voice helped suppress his wariness, allowing the man to boldly let his lips and fingers slowly explore, taking cues from the woman’s breath and body on which direction to go. It took them what seemed to be a long time, but eventually all of the man’s insecurities fell away as he and the woman formed a mutual rhythm. Throughout the night they both lost themselves, and found each other.

The man returned to the present as he felt the warmth of the woman’s hand run over his right shoulder and down his back. Her hand hesitated as it brushed over a rough dimple midway down his ribcage. While the nickel-sized scar had long-since healed, it held the woman’s concerned attention as she sat up and lightly examined it with her fingertips. “What is that?” she asked softly. She had never seen a bullet wound before.

The man winced at the slight twinge of numbness that surrounded the woman’s touch. “It’s nothing,” he began, then corrected himself. “Well, not ‘nothing.’ I’ll tell you later. I don’t want to spoil the mood…”

Her hand moved to the man’s temple and stroked his greying hair gently. “Mmm… wanna experience your second time, do you?”

As he let the woman push him down, a question crossed the man’s mind. “What did I ever do to deserve a woman like this?”

The man couldn’t answer it.

He still can't.

Director’s Commentary

(XUM’s den at home. XUM is seated at a modest desk dictating notes in a digital recorder while NAMIKO sits on a sofa behind him reading a printout of his next blog.)

NAMIKO: (Pointing to a paragraph in the middle of the page.) I can’t believe you are thinking of including this part.

XUM: Too much?

NAMIKO: Definitely too much.

XUM: That’s why I always have you read these first. Sometimes I get too… passionate.

NAMIKO: Hmm. I also thought you said that your blog is not intended to give advice.

XUM: Giving advice? Is that how you read that? I was just explaining how I…

NAMIKO: Uh, huh… And isn’t this blog supposed to be “family friendly”?

XUM: I thought what I wrote there was discreet and tasteful. You should see the first draft.

NAMIKO: Mmmm… you have a spicier version?

XUM: Spicy! That’s the word I wanted to use. Please hand that to me.

(NAMIKO hands the printout to XUM, who jots the word “spicy” on one line with a red pen.)

NAMIKO: (Reading the edit.) What? Oh, my! Is that supposed to be a compliment? (Laughter.)

XUM: I would say it describes the experience.

NAMIKO: The “experience”? (Laughter.) If you say so. Salt is a spice, isn’t it?

XUM: Here, would it be better if I take out these details about you and make it more about me?

NAMIKO: Xum, this is all about you.

XUM: (Laughter.)

NAMIKO: Say, you didn’t mention how I first noticed your…

XUM: On purpose. I don’t want to talk about that.

NAMIKO: Why not? It’s a good story, when you finally told me.

XUM: I don’t know if I want to share that with…

NAMIKO: Oh, come on. That’s pretty tame compared to what you’ll be revealing in this one, “Stitzer.”

XUM: Hmm…

NAMIKO: Tell you what. If you include that part, I’ll let you keep this section about your “not advice”… provided you tone it down a bit more.

XUM: I’ve already decided to take that part out.

NAMIKO: Really? You’ve got to admit, this blog entry is much stronger if you keep it in.

XUM: And that’s why I included it in the first place.

NAMIKO: So you’ll do it?

XUM: I… Let me think about it.

First Dance

October 2005

“Namiko? Wake up.”

She had dozed off in the car as I was driving her to the Caltrain station after our seventh date (and I considered all of our outings together as dates, even though she would not). She had been yawning from the moment I picked her up at the Ferry Building earlier that evening, apologizing with an explanation that she hasn’t had enough sleep. I was content with cancelling our plans so she could get some rest, but she insisted she wanted to spend time with me that Friday evening. So we continued the drive to the Kabuto restaurant in Richmond.

Tired as she was, it was up to me to keep up the lion’s share of the conversation through dinner, and I had done my best — even though I knew she was paying as much attention to me as she was to her entree, eating only a small amount of the sashimi teishoku in front of her and gently prodding the rest of it with her chopsticks. While I always enjoyed Namiko’s company, and was glad about how much she wanted to be with me, I could see her struggling to smile as she half-listened to my monologue of recent life events, and I felt a twinge of guilt with each listless look she gave me with her very dark eyes.

This was a mistake.

Namiko reluctantly agreed. We decided to forgo our plans for dessert at Joe’s Ice Cream and call it an evening.

“Please wake up.”

Namiko's lovely body arched as she stretched herself awake in the passenger seat. Then she immediately sat bolt upright when she realized that we weren’t at the Castro station, but in front of her home.

“Wait. How did you…?” She suddenly seemed more alert than she had been all evening; I wasn’t sure if it was due more to her surprise or to the fact that she had slept soundly through the hour-long drive to Mountain View.

“People Search. MapQuest. Luckily you weren’t unlisted.” I helped her out of my car, reassuring myself that my research into her home address a few weeks prior was not an act of obsession, but preparation for a situation such as this. There was no way I would allow Namiko to travel alone by train when she was more than half-asleep. Nor was I going to let her drive home from the Evelyn Avenue station. “I trust you can get your car from the carpark in the morning?”

Namiko’s beautiful eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Yeah. I can manage that. Thought of everything, didn’t you?” She looked at me intently. “You know, I’d invite you in, except…”

“It is all right, Namiko. You are tired. And I didn’t expect…”

She shook her dark, wispy hair. “It’s not that. I want to invite you in, but… well, I should tell you something first.” She glanced quickly to the narrow walkway to the door. “You see, I have a baby. A son. He’s almost a year old. His father was… well, he was a big mistake.” Her voice was suddenly faraway.

My heart was beating a little faster, yet I didn’t seem too surprised by the revelation. Perhaps I had unconsciously suspected it when she first mentioned her inability to travel. At the moment, I was more astonished by my inability to respond. All I could do was quietly look at the beautiful face that was still turned from me. I was suddenly filled with wonder about what it was like to raise a child, alone, while still maintaining her professional career. It made me respect — and love — Namiko all the more.

“This would be the part where the guy would turn tail and run,” she commented flatly, as if speaking from experience.

I finally found my voice. “I’m not going anywhere.” I said, pulling her close in an embrace. She stiffened.

“What are you doing?”

Surprised, I loosened my grip. Was I being too forward? “Sorry. I was only…” my heart seemed to catch in my throat as I saw Namiko’s rich chocolate eyes lock on mine. Our lips met… and danced together as time seemed to slide away.

Upon release, her gaze followed her finger that she playfully ran down the center of my chest. She looked up and smiled fetchingly at me. “So, was that like biting on foil?”

“That’s me all right…”

“Far from it,” I replied.

“…the ‘Tinfoil Girl.”’

“Good manners,” she said with a playful smirk. Her smile widened. “Well, I was right about you. You do…”

“And you, I bet you…”

“…melt in the mouth.” She immediately giggled at that, just like she did at the Tadich Grill weeks ago when she kept that phrase to herself.

Her laugh was infectious.  “So, when do I meet the man of the house?” I grinned.

My arm was suddenly locked in Namiko’s elbow. “How about right now?”

She was even more awake and alert now, and excited. She literally pulled me by the arm through her front door, through a breezy introduction to the babysitter, and into a modest nursery.

Her baby boy was in his crib, but still awake, and squealed and kicked with delight upon seeing his mother.  He had Namiko’s eyes, which locked right on me with such stark familiarity, as if he had known me for all of his then-short life.

“So this is what has been keeping you up at night,” I mused. I reached down toward his swinging hands, one of which suddenly became a tight tiny fist around my extended finger. He giggled appreciatively.

“He’s beautiful,” I said. “He’ll be quite the heartbreaker someday.”

Namiko’s smile failed to stifle a yawn, indicating her fatigue had returned.

The teenaged babysitter poked her head in the doorway. “I guess I should be heading out since you are home early,” she began.

“If I may,” I interrupted. “I don’t suppose you could stay as planned to watch over this little guy so Namiko can get some much-needed sleep?”

The teenager eyed me carefully in response to what I then realized was a very presumptive question, then looked at Namiko quizzically.

She nodded. “It is a good idea,” she said, “if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, no. No,” the babysitter reassured with a warm smile. “It’s fine.” The babysitter disappeared down the hall.

I turned to Namiko. “Her extra hours are on me, okay? You rest.”

“It’s all right. I was ready to pay her in full anyway. I should at least see you out.”

Namiko noticed that her son hadn’t let my finger go. “He likes you,” she said, her face shining with relief at my smile toward the boy. “So what do you think about being a dad? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we keep going forward with this.”

“I’m not really thinking about that,” I responded slowly, “but more about the three of us being a family.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean it?”

“I do. We can start by bringing this little guy along on our da—outings… if that’s all right with you.”

Namiko almost laughed. “If that’s all right?” she smirked.

“Have any plans for tomorrow?” I asked immediately.

She looked at her son tugging on my finger. “We do,” she sighed in mock-disappointment. “Guess you’ll just have to just come along.”

Namiko leaned her very warm body against me, as her son released my hand so I could envelop her in my arms. Our lips danced together again, while the baby boy in the crib below gurgled with approval.


Not the end.

Still Got It

Thunderous music crashed in his ears as the man tried to make his way through the swarming throng of nightclub patrons. His dark eyes roved around the room, his spectacled vision searching past the colored strobes that exploded around him, until he saw the reason for him being here.

The woman.

He arrived in this place with the woman a few hours before, for a much quieter corporate event hosted by her organization. She had a plus-one, and thus invited him to be her… well, not her date. Oh, no. She had made that quite clear. Their afternoon of kite flying in Crissy Field and Joe’s mocha chip ice cream in Richmond, as well as that lovely Sunday Dim Sum in the Financial District weeks later, were not dates either. Nor did the man and woman consider themselves a “couple.” They were just two friends, “hanging out”, and getting to know each other better.

And that was perfectly fine with the man, even as he saw her on the dance floor, and those sensuous curves that were swinging and undulating to the hard bass beat that threatened to rock the entire building. His gaze wandered to the wisps of her long dark hair that bounced with each movement, then studied her silken face carefully. Her eyes locked with his across the room, catching hold of his gaze almost… seductively.

God, she was lovely.

After her company event, the woman wanted to stay on as the venue prepared to open to the public for the evening, stating that she hadn’t “gone clubbing in years.” The man hadn’t ever “gone clubbing” per se, though he has visited a dance club or three in his lifetime (usually for business reasons). The last time was at the Buddha Bar in Paris, almost a decade before, but he wouldn’t tell the woman that. He knew how much she longed to travel the world, and tried to conceal her envy of him having lived in various “exotic” far-off places whenever their conversation turned to his past.

But now the man was envious of her. She was at least 10 years older than most of the people dancing around her, but she mingled with the crowd as if she were their college mate. The man was about 15 years the woman’s senior, and he couldn’t help but feel so out of place. It didn’t help that his business suit, which was appropriate for the function hours before, made him appear as an undertaker among the youthful crowd.

The man abruptly snapped out of his reverie as he saw another, younger man boldly brush up against the back of the woman. She tried to step away to politely give him room, but then discovered that his contact was no accident as he got uncomfortably closer to her.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he pushed his way toward the dance floor. He didn’t like what the brazen animal’s hands were doing. Neither did the woman; the crack of her sharp slap across the lecher’s face seemed to transcend the booming music.

The woman quickly slipped through the standing crowd, stepped up to the man, and surprisingly threw her arms around his neck. The man swallowed — hard — as his heart leapt to his throat. This was the first sign of physical affection she had ever displayed to him. “Now I remember why I haven’t gone clubbing in so long,” she said tersely, pulling the man by the arm toward the cloak room.  “Let’s get outta here.”

Once outside, the woman immediately unlocked her arm from the man’s elbow as they started the five-block walk to the man’s car. The man realized that her brief display of ardor in the club was solely meant to dissuade the lecher on the dance floor from further pursuit. But the man didn’t begrudge her for what might have been construed as a cruel tease. While he did have secret hopes of a romantic relationship with his strikingly beautiful companion, he was also very patient. This was only their third… not-date, after all. The man didn’t want to rush things, and he was more than happy to be used in this way to help get her out of that harassing situation.

However, a block later, they discovered that her ploy did not work.

“Hey, baby… what’s your hurry?”

The coupl… pair turned toward the hoarse drawl to see the lecher lumbering down the sidewalk toward them. He gave the woman a lascivious leer. His gaze turned sour as it disentangled from the woman’s breasts to her escort’s face. “And you… where do you think yer going with my girl?”

The woman was about to shout a protest — and rightfully so — but the man held up a hand as if to say, “He’s not worth it.”

The woman nodded and understood. They silently agreed to ignore the stranger and continue their way to the parking garage. From there, he would drive her to the Caltrain station, where she…

The lecher’s left hand snaked out and grabbed the shoulder of the man’s coat, as his free hand drew back into a fist aimed at the man’s head. “I said, where do you think yer…?”

Perhaps the lecher’s movement was dulled by the alcohol he consumed earlier that evening. Or possibly the man’s reflexes, honed from several youthful years of martial arts training, remained sharp despite the almost equal number of years of non-practice. Whatever the reason, the man dodged the attack effortlessly while his thin fingers immediately locked around the lecher’s wrist, and twisted.

With a howl of pain the lecher crumpled to the concrete, all the fight he had fled from his body.

“She is not your girl.” The guttural whisper hissed through the man’s clenched teeth as the lecher writhed in pain. The would-be-attacker’s wide, cornflower-blue eyes, ringed with red, could only gawk at the man’s dark steel irises that flickered with calm anger. “She doesn’t belong to anyone. She is her own person. Do you understand?”

The lecher could only grunt and nod hastily in acknowledgment, but the man didn’t release his grip. For a brief moment, the man actually thought about how easy it would be to twist his fingers just a little more and dislocate a few bones.  He almost gave in to that chilling temptation, as he thought with terror what this person would have done to his companion if the careless punch had managed to connect.

Almost.

“Hey, man… ease up.”

The man turned to see two young men approaching him from the direction of the club. One was a scarecrow compared to the other, who was a living mountain of muscle. The man’s compact body tensed at the prospect of further conflict. “Is this man a friend of yours?”

The hulking newcomer surprisingly held up a reassuring hand as he slowly walked forward. “He’s just had a bit too much to drink… really. He…”

The man felt a sigh searching to escape from within his chest. The adrenalin coursing through his body suppressed it. “Take him home,” the man said, managing to keep his voice even, “and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

The man let go of the wrist, and waited patiently for the other men to haul their rag doll friend on his feet and lead him away without another word.

The woman’s rich brown eyes lit up as the man approached her. “Whoa,” she started, impressed. “You went all Miyagi on that guy! I had no idea you could…”

The man shrugged with indifference. He put his hands in his pockets as they continued the walk toward the carpark. He was disgusted with both the attacker and his reaction — his excitement — to the altercation.

The woman almost seemed to divine his thoughts. “Hey… I know we haven’t known each other for very long,” she began, “but I always saw you as a gentle soul. I’ll bet you’re…” she hesitated a second. “Well, I can see how what you did back there could be a little… unsettling for you. And you did that for me.”

The man thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, but he also felt his heart jump. There were already so many things he had admired about this woman in the few weeks he had known her — and now there was one more. “I would have done it for anyone,” he began ruefully, “if I had to.”

The woman’s eyes widened at the honesty of the man’s voice. “I believe you really would. But tonight, you did it for me. Thank you, Xum.”

Her smile was a flood of sunshine in the dark evening. The man lifted his chin to return it. “You are quite welcome, Namiko.”

He suddenly felt the woman’s slim arm slide under his coat and around the back of his not-so-slim waist. She seemed to snuggle up to him as they walked. “So,” the woman sighed, “can I expect more of our dates to be this exciting?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the man replied drily. “This isn’t a date, remember?”

The man’s right hand snapped up to immediately catch the woman’s fist before it could playfully jab him in the left shoulder. She looked at him with astonishment — not at the action, but at his slight smile of satisfaction. His reaction time hadn’t slowed in the least.

Not one bit.


To be continued.

Secrets of a Super-Hero Sketch Artist: A Portrait of the Artist as a Flung Man

It suppose that it was inevitable. One day my vanity would get the better of me.

I’ve slipped a self-portrait into this week’s “The Line It Is Drawn” submission. Two, if fact, but one of them isn’t really anything to speak of. Though I will admit that I may have drawn the head a little too big (or perhaps not big enough)…

Ah, but there is a heavy price for my narcissistic sin, as you can see in this preview. And look at that fine color-halftone craftsmanship. A sign of yet another comic book cover spoof, one would gather…

But enough speculation. You can view the full picture when Week #92 goes online, starting May 31, here:

http://goodcomics.comicbookresources.com/category/the-line-it-is-drawn/

I heard the piece garnered a 9.8 rating on a 10-point scale, which isn’t too bad since I produced the rating myself.

Is there no end to my conceit? Perhaps I should consult my altered ego…

The Tinfoil Girl

August 2005.

One warm Friday evening, I was finishing up a client dinner meeting at the Tadich Grill in downtown San Francisco. The client, pleased with our discussion, already said his goodbyes and left while I was waiting for an adjustment to the bill (they miscounted the drinks, assuming I had two; all I had was water).

Among the “school cafeteria” din of the restaurant, I noticed a feminine voice floating in the air above me. “Xum?”

I looked up. Standing before my table was a cute Japanese woman that I should have recognized immediately, but didn’t. She was as dressed down as I was dressed up: an oversized thin fleece sweater, jeans, sneakers, a simple handbag, and glasses. It must have been the glasses; that Clark Kent convention actually worked with her. She removed them and used a pinch of her sleeve cuff to wipe a smudge from the lens, and that’s when I saw her eyes.

Those rich chocolate eyes.

“Namiko. Hello.”

She smiled warmly. “I thought it was you, Xum. Hold on.” She pulled back a strand of her long straight hair – which, liberated from her clasp, fell beautifully over her shoulders – to put her glasses back on. She then turned toward the door, waving to two departing women who must have been her company for the evening. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please.” I responded, rising to my feet to offer her a chair.

“Still the gentleman, I see.”

The waiter arrived with the corrected bill; he would have to take it back to include two extra drinks.

As the drinks arrived, Namiko and I were already engaged in idle chatter, each informing the other of our current state of employment (she was working at a different tech firm and had recently made Vice President; good for her). She also apologized for my not getting a callback from the interview where we last met, but of course that wasn’t her call. I reassured her that everything seemed to work out fine, regardless.

After a few sips of her drink, she admitted, “You know, I came across your business card the other week and was actually tempted to call you… but I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of psycho hose beast.”

I blinked, stunned.

“Oh, you’ve probably never seen Wayne’s World, have you?”

“Actually, I have. I just haven’t heard that phrase since I did.” I sipped some water. “But isn’t a ‘psycho hose beast’ supposed to be an obsessive ex-girlfriend?” I asked cheekily.

She tossed me a look, which was quickly averted as she feigned interest in the plant cascading over the partition wall beside the table. “Well, I meant an obsessive stalker, which I am not.” She started to sound a little bolder, that calm confidence she had during our brief interview several months back -- and that’s when it hit me. The Namiko I had met during those 45 minutes was… well, I wouldn’t say icy, but “strictly professional.” Seeing her here, with her hair down (figuratively and literally) was…

…alluring.

“What is it?”

“Hmm?” I saw that Namiko had her head cocked to one side, as if trying to fathom the look I didn’t realize I was giving her. “Oh, it’s just that, when we last talked, you were ‘all business.’ It’s nice to see your, um…” (My mind struggled to find the right word.) “…softer side.” (That wasn’t it.)

She looked at me intently. “You thought I was a hard@ss?”

I was taken aback by the word, yet coming from Namiko it sounded… natural. “Um… Let’s just say there is a hard streak in you. It probably got you where you are today.”

It was only after I said that when I realized I was quoting a line from a book I was reading at the time: Stephen King’s The Stand, when Wayne Stukey was describing the character of Larry Underwood. Namiko caught the reference too. She glowered at me. “Oh, so I am like ‘biting on tinfoil,’ am I?”

I could feel hot blood rushing to my face. Obviously this conversation was going in a dangerous direction. Namiko let me squirm for a few more agonizing seconds before releasing me with a puckish grin.

“’Whatever it takes to make success, [I] got it,’” she said, continuing the quote. She smiled with approval. “That’s me all right, the ‘Tinfoil Girl.’ And you, Xum, I bet you…” she stopped herself, her eyes seemed to be pondering some wicked thought in the right lobe of her brain, then she burst out in a giggle that left me curious (at least for a little while).

With her moment of mock-aggressiveness abated, I decided to take control of the conversation. “So… you wanted to call me?”

Namiko’s eyes wandered to her drink, her slender finger was slowly circling the rim of the glass. “Oh. Yes, well… I must admit I found you to be very… fascinating when I met you…” her voice trailed off, as if ashamed of the thought.

“Fascinating? Me?” I suppressed a smile. I was honestly startled by her statement, but I must admit that I was also enjoying it. It’s not every day a beautiful woman finds me fascinating. It was hardly any day, in fact. Not since I was 16.

“Well, all the places you’ve lived. The work you had done…” she looked wistfully toward me.

“You still haven’t taken any travels? Go farther than Colorado, at least?” I asked.

“Did I tell you about that? I don’t remember…” She paused. “But you do.” Her eyes seemed to widen at the realization. I also realized that I could remember quite a number of details from our first meeting (as you well know). Namiko must have made quite an impression on me then.

She was also making quite an impression on me now. I was feeling that same sense of immediate comfort and familiarity with Namiko at that restaurant table as I did with my dear friend Dan back in that London-area library. My heart ached a little at the brief reminder, as well as at the possibility that this feeling I had may be attributed less to the stunning woman talking with me and more to a faint desperation stemmed from being too long alone.

Namiko continued. “But no, no. I haven’t ‘taken any travels.’ Especially now that… well, never mind.” There was a lukewarm tone to her voice, but there was… something else. Almost a flicker of pride in her eyes. I could tell this mysterious reason for her entrenchment was at least a good one.

“Oh, God. I have to go. Thank you for this.” She pushed her unfinished drink a few inches toward me before grabbing her handbag that lay on the empty chair beside her.

She was already on her feet before I could stand. “Do you need a lift?” I offered. “I drove in from Daly City. Just give me a few minutes to settle the bill…”

“No. it’s okay. Stay.” She eyed my untouched cocktail. “Finish your drink. BART and Caltrain are my friends.”

“I don’t drink, actually, I just…” I paused, unsure as to how to explain the second drink on the table. 

She eyed me suspiciously. “Um…” she started, “it’s okay. Really. It… was good seeing you again.”

“Call me,” I said, realizing that this line actually sounded better in movies and on TV than in real life.

“What?”

“Um… you can call me, if you’d like. The number on my card is my mobile. It’s still good.”

“Ah,” she replied. She smiled faintly. “Well, goodbye.”

I stood in awkward silence for a moment after her hasty departure. Then I sat down, deflated. Yukinori, you have been too long alone.

I was signing the credit card receipt when my mobile rang. The number was “unknown”, but something told me I should pick up.

“Hello?”

“Okay, maybe I was a little rude,” Namiko’s lovely voice began, amid the phone static and whirring clatter as her BART train hurtled underground.

Hope started to flicker in my heart. She had my old business card on her person. “No. You were in a hurry. And besides, I must have looked like quite the…”

“Psycho?” she finished, almost slyly. “Was that second drink for me? Trying to get me liquored up and…”

I gasped at the notion. “Oh, no. No. I’m not that kind of…” I stopped to collect the right words. I had a second chance and didn’t want to blow it. “Namiko, I do not drink alcohol. At all. I don’t see the need for it. But I had found that, in social situations, my refusal to drink usually makes other people… uncomfortable with having their own… Well, I have no right to spoil their…” I paused, still not sure how to explain it. Fortunately, the relaxed laugh over the mobile indicated that she had caught my meaning.

“Always the gentleman, aren’t you? Still, that’s an expensive way to be polite.” Her tone suddenly became very serious. “You don’t have to waste good money and good booze like that on my account, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied with relief. Hope was burning stronger now. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow? It’s supposed to be great weather for kite flying in the Marina. And I can take you to this great ice cream place in Richmond…”

“Ooh. Mitchell’s?”

“Perish the thought. It’s called Joe’s… but it’s run by this cute elderly Japanese couple. You’ll love it.”

“Sounds great, but… um… I can’t do it this weekend. How about next? Weather permitting?”

“Works for me. Where shall I pick you up?”

“I’m in Mountain View, but why don’t you pick me up at the Caltrain station at Castro. I’ll call you next week to confirm the time.”

“That sounds good.”  I exhaled with excitement. “Namiko?”

“Yeah?”

“It was good to see you again, too.”

I clicked my mobile closed and sat back in the chair. The hope in my heart was ablaze. I had a date.

A date with a tinfoil girl.

To be continued.

Secrets of a Super-Hero Sketch Artist: "Candid Camera" with Attitude

Here is a little preview of my submission for the 88th "The Line It Is Drawn," which will feature the topic of "comic book characters on reality shows." My chosen Twitter suggestion involved the MTV series "punk'd" -- which was pretty much the only reality show in the U.S. that I was familiar with (essentially "Candid Camera" with attitude... right?).

This is a separate illustration that will be overlayed on a view screen in my final piece to reveal to the comic book character victims that they have been "punk'd". As for who gets "punk'd", and how, you'll have to wait until The Line It Is Drawn #88 goes live.

You can see #88 starting May 3rd, as well as past editions anytime, here:

http://goodcomics.comicbookresources.com/category/the-line-it-is-drawn/

Enjoy!