“I try.”
Their Japanese liaison met them on the far side of customs and immigration and whisked them in short order to a waiting hotel.
“Right.” Geordie Davies glanced at his sleepy-eyed flock and consulted his watch. “Sound check at six. Let’s try to get a little shut-eye, shall we?”
In the hotel room, Loup flung herself on the bed. “Told you.”
“We could go out,” Pilar said. “Unless you’d rather sleep.”
“Does it involve food?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.” She bounced up, suddenly more energetic. “I’m in.”
Outside, they walked the teeming streets. Pilar consulted the GPS system on her Dataphone with dubious results, while Loup gazed all around at the colorful signage and unfamiliar characters, listening to a rush of language that was wholly unfamiliar. A smiling young woman in a T-shirt that said FRISK! addressed her.
“Sorry?”
“Please to try?” The young woman handed her a tiny can of soft drink labeled FRISK from a tray slung around her neck. “Frisk is frisky!”
“Sure, thanks.” Loup tried it. “Not bad.”
“Excuse me.” Pilar showed the promoter her screen. “Do you know where this place is? The famous noodle place?”
She beamed and rattled off a string of heavily accented directions.
“Okay, thanks.”
They found it after a considerable amount of trial and error and stood in line to order. The shop was packed and tiny, people hunched over bowls slurping happily. When Pilar ordered two bowls of udon noodles, the cook gave her an impatient glare.
“Which one?” he asked abruptly.
“Um… the famous kind?”
His voice rose. “Which one you want?”
“I can’t remember!” She glanced behind her. “Help!”
A woman in business attire laughed and spoke to the man in Japanese. His glare eased. He handed over two steaming bowls and pairs of chopsticks.
“Kitsune udon,” the woman said helpfully. “Very famous in Osaka. Do you know what is a kitsune?”
They shook their heads.
She pointed to the curls of tofu atop the noodles, fried to a russet hue. “Kitsune is fox. It is the same color, you see?”
“That’s really interesting.” Pilar smiled at her. “Thank you.”
The woman smiled back. “You are very welcome.”
They found seats at a crowded table and copied the other diners, holding the bowls close to their lips and shoveling in noodles.
“Good?” Pilar asked.
“Awesome.” Loup swallowed an enormous mouthful. “They’re super-slippery and fun to eat. So what makes this the best noodle place in the city?”
“Secret ingredient in the broth.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, baby.” Pilar laughed. “It’s a secret.”
“Oh. Duh.” She scooped up the last of her noodles and drank the broth. “Kitsune udon, kitsune udon. I’m gonna get another bowl; it looks like the line’s pretty short. You want anything?”
“I’m good.”
“You’re great.” Loup smiled. “Thanks for thinking of this.”
“Sure.” Pilar rested her chin on her hand. “Funny, when we first stayed in that place in Mexico City, I never thought I’d get sick of nice hotels and room service. But after a while, it all seems the same and none of it feels real. This does. Confusing, but real.”
“I like it,” she said wistfully. “I miss real.”
“Me too.”
The venue in Osaka was a modest one, holding no more than fifteen hundred people, but it was sold out to a standing crowd. Donny was rights; the Japanese fans were more polite. They bobbed and danced to the music and were quiet in between songs. They recognized Loup in the wings immediately and there was a lot of pointing and photo taking, but for the better part of the night, no one rushed the stage. It wasn’t until near the end of the concert that a gaggle of daring young teens boosted their smallest member onstage—a slip of a girl who couldn’t have been more than thirteen, wearing a Kate camisole with Loup’s image over a miniskirt and striped socks.
Once onstage, she froze, overcome by the lights and shyness.
“Hey, you.” Loup caught the girl around the waist and tossed her high into the air, catching her and perching her narrow backside on one shoulder, holding her in place with one arm. The girl’s friends convulsed with giggles. “You want to take a picture?” She mimed it with her free hand.
A dozen cameras flashed.
“Okay, down you go.” She lowered her to the stage.
“Sank you!” the girl breathed. She gave Loup a quick, unexpected hug. “Tell Charlie I love him best!”
Loup laughed. “Okay, I will.” She swung the girl back down to her waiting friends, who fell all over themselves to congratulate her.
It was the only incident of the night.
“That was sweet,” Pilar said afterward in the hotel room.
“Yeah. She was cute.” Loup wriggled on the bed and stretched luxuriantly, happy not to be tired and achy. “Probably bound for a bad end. She’s got a crush on Charlie.”
“Oh, she doesn’t know any better. She’s just a kid.”“I dunno, that bad-boy gene’s pretty strong.”
“Mmm.” Pilar stroked Loup’s bare stomach. “So how come I ended up with the good girl?”
She smiled. “ ’Cause the one-in-a-hundred gene’s stronger.”
“I don’t think it’s genetic.” Pilar slid closer, inhaling her scent. “I think it’s pheromones or something. Did you know you smell good even when you’re hot and sweaty?”
“I didn’t work hard enough to get hot and sweaty tonight.”
“Yeah, but when you do.”
Loup twined one hand in Pilar’s hair. “So I’m a good girl, huh?”
“A badass, but a good girl.” She kissed her. “You never do anything mean and spiteful. You made that kid so happy tonight.”
“I was just doing my job.”
“You’re good with kids.” Pilar cocked her head. “You think we might want ’em someday?”
“Kids?”
“Yeah.”
“I dunno.” Loup blinked. “Do you?”
She considered. “Yeah, maybe. Not for a long, long time. But maybe after you get done saving the world or whatever.” She gave Loup a little shake. “Because I do plan on being with you for a long, long time. Did you do your meditation today?”
“On the plane, yeah.”
“Only on the plane?”
“For over an hour.” She pulled Pilar effortlessly atop her. “And I’ll do it again tomorrow morning when you’re in the shower, because you take for fucking ever. But right now I don’t want to talk about meditating or our imaginary kids or how long I’m going to live.”
Pilar smiled. “No?”
“No.” Loup tugged her head down and kissed her.
“Saving the world, maybe?” she asked, a little breathless.
“Pilar!”
“What? Am I being a tease?”
“Yes,” Loup growled, rolling her over and pinning her to the bed. “It’s late and I’m not tired. And you are so getting ravished.”
She sighed happily. “Yay!”
THIRTY-FOUR
Tokyo was crazy.
It was hustle and bustle and relentless neon street scenes that beggared the imagination.
“Do you know there are sex clubs where you can get anything you want?” Charlie said dreamily aboard the tour bus. “Anything.”
Pilar eyed him. “Yeah, it’s in your dossier.”
“Hey, I thought you were down with the whole schoolgirl fantasy!” He sounded wounded.
Geordie Davies groaned.
“Well, maybe. But only with Loup, not some hooker.”
“I dunno,” Loup said. “I think I’d look pretty silly.”
“You wouldn’t,” Donny muttered.
“You looked pretty silly as a cabin boy,” Pilar reminded her. “In an adorable kind of way. Remember? Besides, you wearing nothing but that stocking cap—”
“Okay, okay!” Loup glanced at Donny’s pained face. “Enough.”
He sighed. “I don’t mind.”
“I do.” She clamped her hand over Pilar’s mouth. “So, hey! Last venue, huh?”
The band exchanged glances. “Yeah,” Randall said softly. “Contract’s up after this, eh? Turns into a question of what comes next, doesn’t it?”
Pilar pulled Loup’s hand away. “What are you thinking?”
“We’re headed into the studio after the tour. But we don’t want to lose you, do we?” He smiled wryly and nodded at Loup. “New face of Kate and all. I hear Ms. Dunbar called. We’re gonna make the cover. It’s a thing now, isn’t it? We’re in it for the long haul.”
“It’s a thing,” Loup agreed.
“Call Magnus,” Pilar suggested. “Mr. Lindberg. I’m sure he can arrange some kind of retainer deal.”
“So you’d be ours? All ours?” Donny flushed.
“In a manner of speaking.”
His flush deepened. “Well, I know that!”
Their gigs in Tokyo were at the Budokan, a famous and venerable venue that held ten thousand people. Both gigs were sold out, and it was obvious even before the first concert started that this crowd was different from the one in Osaka.
“A lot of hipsters out there tonight,” Bill Jones confirmed backstage.
Charlie snickered. “Hipsters?”
“Posers, Goths, punks, whatever they’re called these days. Lots of dyed spiky hair, black leather, and ripped jeans. Plus some that look like they came out of those cartoons they have here.”