Chapter 3

Suddenly the waiting was over. There was no longer time to be nervous. Raleigh had originally intended to stay home when the others went to pick up the Japanese industrialist at the airport, but at the last minute she decided to tag along.

There is an old saying in the military: "No battle plan survives contact with the enemy." Others might refer to Murphy's Law. In any case, things went off track rapidly.

Hamako had done her homework, and recognized Hiroto Nakimura as soon as he appeared among the disembarking passengers. She held up the sign with his name on it in Japanese characters. His smile told her she had guessed correctly that his sense of tradition would appreciate his native language being used.

But what they were not prepared for was the woman and young man who followed him off the plane, both of whom were obviously also Japanese.

Bob, Megan and Raleigh watched as Hamako bowed low, her upper body stiff and her face showing no emotion. Rapid words and phrases in Japanese were exchanged, and there was much bowing between the four countrymen. Then Hamako turned and addressed Bob, also bowing to him.

"Mister Tomlinson, may I introduce Hiroto Nakimura, and his nephew Akio Nakimura." Her hand swept grandly toward the two males. "Also Mrs. Nakimura has accompanied her husband on this trip," she added, as though it was of little, if any importance.

The Tomlinsons bowed. There was unspoken tension, however, primarily because that of the three visitors, Akio was the tallest at five feet seven inches. All three of the Americans almost literally towered over their guests. On top of that, both Japanese men's eyes were right at the height of Megan and Raleigh's breasts. Megan wore a 38DD bra. Raleigh wore a 36C. Consequently, there were what amounted to mountains of breast flesh for the men to stare at, and they did so, looking somewhat in awe.

They might have been able to cram three people into the car, but once they saw the luggage, it became obvious there was a serious problem. At the point where the pile of bags already pulled off the belt totaled fourteen, and it became obvious there were more, Bob pulled Raleigh to his side and handed her his credit card.

"Go rent us an SUV," he said, his voice low. "A big one. Get a Caddy if they have one."

"Got it," she said, looking excited.

Bob turned back to see yet another suitcase pulled off the belt by the young man. Apparently Hiroto Nakimura liked to travel in style.

Two redcaps with carts materialized out of nowhere, no doubt smelling a dilly of a tip, and began to load the baggage onto their carts without direction. Again, apparently by magic, they looked to Bob, instead of the foreign family, waiting for him to tell them where they were going.

By the time they got everyone but Raleigh into the Escalade, and all the luggage split between the back of the Caddy and the car they had come to the airport in, Bob had dropped over three hundred dollars in cash and credit, but all he did was smile and point out to Hiroto all the luxury features of the rental car. The man actually spoke English pretty well, but Hamako hovered at his side, always ready to be of service.

His wife and nephew took their seats in the back of the Escalade and sat, mute. It wasn't until Bob got in the driver's seat that he realized Megan hadn't said a word since Hamako had made the introductions. He looked around and found her standing beside one of the rear doors. She didn't look happy.

Bob opened the door for Mr. Nakimura and got him seated. Then he closed the door and went to Megan.

"Everything's fine," he said.

"Sure it is," she whispered sarcastically.

"Do I need to kiss you again?" he threatened.

She backed up. "No!"

"Then get in the car, woman, and let's get these people to their hotel."

"This isn't going to work," she said, her face falling suddenly.

"Nonsense," he said. "It's working already."

But it wasn't working very well.

With Bob and Hiroto in the front, Hamako had to sit in the second seat. Megan, deciding that the women would get to know each other, invited Mrs. Nakimura into the third row of seats. It was at that point that it was determined that Sinho Nakimura spoke almost no English, and was, for all intents and purposes, terrified. That meant that Hamako had to split her attention between the front and back of the car. Meanwhile, Akio, who turned out to be nineteen years old sat next to Hamako looking amused, watching her lean forwards, and then backwards.

There wasn't anyone to watch his face, but had they done so, they'd have seen extreme interest displayed there, concerning the translator in the car, and the Amazon woman she was translating for.

Hiroto wanted to talk baseball. Luckily, Bob was a Mets fan, so he could speak that language. That was good, because Hamako was needed to help Megan try to get Sinho talking, something she wasn't used to doing, especially with strangers. And so she resisted, trying to give monosyllabic answers to Megan's questions. Finally, Akio turned to face his aunt, and rattled off some Japanese that was heated, yet muted at the same time. It almost sounded like the boy didn't want his uncle to hear what he was saying. Hamako nodded, and spoke as well. The woman licked her lips and spoke rapidly, barely above a whisper. Akio looked at Megan.

"You must forgive my aunt, Mrs. Tomelson."

"Tom-lin-son," Hamako corrected immediately. "Meh-gan Tom-lin-son."

"As if I could call her by her given name!" he snapped. He started to say something else, but stopped, and looked back at Megan. "My aunt is very traditional." He glanced at Hamako. "Unlike Miss Fukuji, here. In Japan, the only time a traditional woman chats is when there are no men present. I have instructed her that while she is in America, she must adopt American ways, and that this includes idle banter with other women."

"I see," said Megan, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that a nephew could "instruct" his older aunt on how to behave. She was even more mystified when Sinho reached out and stroked Akio's hand, saying something that made Hamako look away for a few seconds. Then the woman turned to Megan.

"I try talk you ... okay?"

"I'd like that," said Megan, smiling.

For the next half hour, Hamako's attention was pulled different ways, as she translated mostly for the women in the back, and sometimes for the men in the front.

Meanwhile Akio sat and examined all three women, his eyes sparkling.

All the Tomlinsons felt exhausted by the time the Orientals were installed in their hotel, and the American family could finally go home. Bob decided to just keep the Escalade. They'd need a big vehicle to ferry people around, and it was only for three days. So he drove it home, followed by the family car, which had the three women in it.

What Bob did not hear might have interested him. It certainly riveted Megan and Raleigh.

"I was so surprised that Akio would just tell his aunt how to act," Megan mentioned.

"Things are very different in Japan," said Hamako. "Culturally, I mean."

"Of course," said Megan. "But I thought every culture required young people to defer to their elders, at least in public."

"That's true," said Hamako. "But there is a different dynamic going on here."

"That's obvious," said Megan.

"I mean really different," said Hamako, her voice sounding strained.

"Well spit it out, whatever is on your mind," said Megan. "I need to know everything, so that this all goes as well as possible."

"You must understand that what I'm going to tell you is just a guess," said Hamako.

"Okay, it's a guess," said Megan. "I still need to know."

"I'm basing it on the things they said, and the way they touched each other," said the girl.

"What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Nakimura hasn't had any children. I have to assume that's because she can't. In Japan, having a son is very important, especially to a man like Hiroto Nakimura. I do not know this for certain, but I suspect Akio has a brother, or brothers ... older brothers. And he has been ... loaned out ... if you will, to his uncle. This would have been done when he was seven or eight. Ten at the latest. There wouldn't be anything formal, but he is sort of adopted, I imagine. And she is treating him as if he is her son, and he is treating her as if she is his mother."

"That's sweet," said Megan.

"Yes ... well ... a mother and son are close in Japan." Hamako flushed. "Very close. It is quite likely that he has been ... um ... sleeping in her bed ... for many years."

"Sleeping in her bed," said Raleigh, turning to look into the back seat.

"Keep your eyes on the road," ordered her mother, who promptly looked back at Hamako and said exactly the same thing: "Sleeping in her bed."

"You must understand that, in Japan, a boy's future can be determined by which high school he gets into. And his grades must be exemplary to get into the right college. So boys are not allowed to be distracted by girls. And yet, they have ... um ... needs ... you understand?"

"I understand," said Megan, her face pale. "Go on."

"Well, it's not unusual that when a Japanese boy enters puberty, his mother sees to his needs ... so he isn't distracted. Everybody does it. It's normal in that culture."

"They have sex?" gasped Megan.

"Not necessarily," said Hamako, quickly. "He might just sleep with his parents, and his mother will masturbate him at night, so he will be relaxed and can sleep better. She might do that when he gets home from school too, if he got excited there. Or maybe before he does his homework. Sometimes more is done. It isn't talked about. But most families do that ... to some degree or another."

"But you're telling me that in Japan, some women have sex with their sons," said Megan.

Hamako looked away and flushed, but spoke firmly. "Yes. So the boy becomes dominant in that relationship, as he is served. Put on top of that the additional stress that in our culture it is believed the man should be in charge in all things, and soon even a boy may be scolding his mother, and telling her what to do."

"Oh my word!" sighed Megan.

"I probably shouldn't have said anything," said Hamako, sounding nervous. "I could be wrong about these particular people, but she seems so traditional, and the word she used toward him was one that often means lover. Plus he treats her like I have seen so many women treated. They just do what the men tell them to, and try to stay clear of any anger. That's why she didn't want to say anything to you. Her husband probably didn't give her any instructions. Too often a Japanese woman fades into the background and is forgotten by the men she is dependent on."

"Well that's just wrong!" barked Raleigh. "We're going to have to educate Mrs. Nakimura while she's here!"

"You'll be wasting your time," said Hamako. "This is the only way she's known her whole life, most likely. I'd bet that her marriage to Mr. Nakimura was arranged when she was only fourteen or fifteen."

"That's barbaric!" yelped Raleigh.

"Why do you think I tried so hard to get away, and came to America?" noted Hamako.

"Surely they didn't try to marry you off," said Megan.

"No. Things are changing, but only slowly. Japan thrives on tradition. My family is very modern, but if I had stayed, sooner or later I'd have run into some traditional man who would have tried to own me, one way or another. So I came here. And I have loved it, even if it was hard at first."

Megan lay in bed, waiting for Bob to come in. They had an appointment to pick up the Nakimuras for breakfast, after which they would come back to the house and "Bob" would demonstrate the Stitch Bitch. When he appeared, she experienced a number of emotions. She was anxious to begin with. Hearing about Japanese customs - whether the Nakimuras followed them or not - had made her think of Bob, who was the only man in her life that she thought of as a relative. Seeing him made her belly tingle, and she blushed. She almost told him what Hamako had related, but she felt panic at the thought of describing it, for some reason. She had a sudden impulse to tell Bob he didn't have to sleep on the floor, but the thought of him lying right next to her, within reach, caused just as much panic.

"I think things have gone well so far," he said, oblivious to the fact that she wanted to scream.

Quite suddenly she felt like shoving her hand between her legs. She didn't feel like anything was going well at all.

"You okay?" he asked, peering at her.

"I don't know," she muttered.

"You'll be fine," he said. "Tomorrow we'll wow them with your invention, get things negotiated, and all the pressure will vanish. We can take them to the museum, or wherever and entertain them for a day, and they'll fly back to the Orient and we'll get you started as a manufacturing magnate."

His smooth speech and confident attitude calmed her, to some degree. It would have been fine except in his enthusiasm to cheer her up, he kneed up onto the bed and bounced over her, straddling her body for a few seconds while she drew up her knees and flinched automatically. Then he was on the other side of her and his hand flashed out to slap at her exposed right buttock. It was just a playful one-stroke spank, and all it did was sting just a little bit.

But as he said "Get some sleep, woman. We've got lots to do tomorrow!" all she could think of was what his hand would feel like rubbing where he had just stung her.

Things continued to be difficult the next morning.

Granted, it wasn't Megan's fault. In fact, there was no way she or anyone else could have prepared for it. But once they got installed at a table in the waffle house, and got their menus, Hiroto tore off what seemed like five minutes of rapid Japanese. Hamako spoke back, looking anxious, first, and then upset. She was so rattled that she turned to Megan, as was her habit, instead of to Bob.

"Mr. Nakimura has an associate who owns a yacht, and has offered it to him for two days. Mr. Nakimura says that, if the presentation goes well, he wishes to do the negotiations on this yacht, while it goes sailing."

"We can't just drop everything for two days!" gasped Megan.

"Why not?" asked Akio, who was looking at both Megan and Hamako with great interest. He looked at Bob. "Why do you allow your woman to say what can and cannot be done?"

Bob smiled. "In America, we let the women air their opinions. It makes things a lot more pleasant."

"I see," said the boy. "I had heard of this, but could not believe it."

Megan opened her mouth, but Bob squeezed her knee hard, under the table.

"Different places have different customs," said Bob. "We'd be delighted to go for a little sail."

Again, Megan drew breath to speak, and again he squeezed her knee. She moaned in frustration and moved her hand to try to retaliate. Instead of landing on his knee, however, her hand ended up right at the juncture of his legs, where the bulge made by his genitals fit her hand perfectly.

"Oh!" she yipped, snatching her hand away. "I'm sorry!"

Akio nodded, sagely. "It is good that, though they may give their opinions, they still understand their proper place."

All Bob had to do was squeeze gently, this time. Megan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting in her mind.

Then she drew in air again and held it as she saw Akio's glance take in where Bob's arm was ... which suggested where Bob's hand was. The boy, who was sitting next to his aunt, moved his own hand over to her lap. She jumped, and her eyes widened, but she made no sound.

"Let's order!" said Hamako, her voice rushed. She spoke in Japanese, obviously repeating herself.

Their guests were delighted with their American breakfast, which helped move things along. Megan kept worrying about how things were going astray, but when the Nakimuras seemed so relaxed, she finally relaxed a little herself. She wasn't so distracted that she failed to notice that Akio spent most of his time talking to the two teenage women at the table, his smile wide. She also noticed that, while he ate with gusto, his hand repeatedly dropped onto his aunt's lap. That woman seemed to be invisible, from time to time. She ate, also with gusto, but with her eyes cast only at her plate. She spoke to no one.

After breakfast, the itinerary took them to the house. Bob and Megan had no time to review, or say anything to each other. Once there, Raleigh said she would be happy to show Mrs. Nakimura and Akio around, while Mr. Nakimura was shown the Stitch Bitch by Bob and his "assistant," Megan. Hiroto shook his head.

"Akio must be with me," he said. "It is my wish that he will be the manager of the plant, when it is opened."

Bob stared at the man. He intended for his nineteen-year-old nephew to run an American plant? And this was the first time the boy had been outside of Japan? Suddenly Bob was glad he was involved with this operation. It was obvious Hiroto had come prepared to do some hard bargaining. Bob could handle that just fine, but he wasn't sure Megan was tough enough to run the risks.

"Come along, then," said Bob, smiling. "I'll have my wife demonstrate the device, and then we can go over the blueprints and patent information. I think you'll be glad you came all this way."

"What was it you called this thing?" asked Hiroto.

"It's just a working name," said Bob, smoothly. "We were thinking that one marketing scheme could be to have a contest and let the potential customers give it a formal name."

"Ahh," said Hiroto. He spoke rapidly to Hamako.

"He says it is an unusual, but clever idea," she said to Bob.

If anything, the demonstration of Megan's invention was the anticlimax of the whole trip. The machine worked flawlessly, and in minutes she produced a beautifully stitched likeness of a Doberman Pinscher's head on a piece of white cloth. There were six colors in the design, but her invention held eight spools, so she never had to stop the machine to change thread. Hiroto was so impressed that he had Akio fetch Sunho, who watched silently as Megan changed the design to a Monarch Butterfly, and stitched that on a pale blue square of cloth. Then Megan had Sinho pick her own design and, by simple sign language, showed her how to set the machine up. When the woman started it, and then sat back to watch as a songbird was created where only plain white cloth had been before, she clapped her hands and spoke rapidly to her husband.

Hiroto pulled Akio's head close and they conferred quietly. Hamako edged behind Bob, straining to hear what was being said, but said nothing herself. The conversation went on for a couple of minutes.

Then Akio turned from his uncle and said "We will go to the yacht now, and negotiate in comfort." He looked around and finally found Hamako behind Bob. "I would like you to wear a bikini on the boat," he said, as if that were the most normal thing in the world to say. "I hope Raleigh Tomlinson will do so as well."

He didn't bat an eye, or look at either Bob or Megan as he announced, basically, that he hoped he'd get to ogle the teenagers on the trip.

The Nakimuras were at their hotel, packing for the yacht. That left the American group free, so that Hamako and Megan could finally talk. Bob was there too.

"He is very interested," said Hamako. "He told Akio to entertain you and Raleigh, once we get on the yacht, and keep you both busy. He thinks he can dominate Bob in the talks."

"What?" Megan sounded upset. "Why?"

"He thinks Bob is weak," said Hamako, flushing.

"Why?" cried Megan again.

"Because in his mind, Bob lets you decide too many things," said Hamako, looking away. "He will demand that no women be allowed in the negotiations. Maybe not even me. He thinks that once we are out on the yacht, he will have the advantage, because there will be nowhere for Bob to go. He is going to offer his funding in return for seventy-five percent ownership of the company."

"The bastard!" gasped Megan. "He's trying to steal my invention!"

"He's trying to maximize his profits," said Bob, completely unruffled. "Don't take it personally, Megan."

"How am I supposed to take it?" she said, her voice tight. "He wants seventy-five percent of the action. That leaves me a quarter of the value of what I invented.

"Which is a quarter more than you have right now," said Bob.

"I own it all, now!" she yelled.

"You own an idea and a prototype," said Bob. "If he gets his way, you'll own twenty-five percent of a working business."

"That's not fair," said Megan. "It's not enough!"

"Then I'll get you more," said Bob.

"I want to call him up and tell him to stick it where the sun doesn't shine!" said Megan, hotly.

Bob pulled her to him, putting his arms around her. She was suddenly aware of the heat of his body, and his face only inches from hers.

"Darling," he said, in an exaggeratedly sweet voice. "As your husband, I simply must insist that you let us men make all these difficult decisions."

"This isn't funny, Bob!" said Megan, pushing at him with her hands on his chest.

"Honey," he said, all banter gone from his voice. "I know men like Hiroto Nakimura. I sold my company to men like Hiroto Nakimura. And I negotiated with them to get where I am now. These are waters I've swum in before. And if I can't get you at least half of the company, then I'll send him packing. Okay?"