Yori Morioka played around with a glass paperweight on his manager's desk while his other three band members, Satoshi Hayashi, Takumijo Yamazaki and Ichiro Yoshida sat haphazardly in chairs around Masaaki Fugimoto's office while they waited for him to enter. Masaaki had sent them each an email to meet with him to discuss some important matters about their future.
Yori liked Masaaki. He was a bit of a nerd, but he was a very good manager. He hoped Masaaki would discuss their upcoming tour in the United States, which he was very interested in. Satoshi had been teaching all of them English and he had a pretty good grasp on it. Satoshi was the only one of the four of them that had been there and Satoshi always bragged about what a great place it was. His father was an ambassador, which meant he'd gotten to travel with him from time to time when he was growing up. He especially liked Los Angeles and New York, where they were scheduled to perform.
Yori looked over at Satoshi who dozed on and off while he waited. His face was hidden behind thick black hair and a New York Yankee baseball cap. Their hair stylist had him growing his hair longer so he wouldn't need extensions added for their next video. He'd been wearing it in a ponytail, which allowed a rare glimpse at his handsome face. Yori had no problems considering other men handsome. There was no other way to describe him.
Ichiro noticed Satoshi sleeping and rose to mess with him. He gently ran a finger across Satoshi's cheek.
Satoshi's lids slid back as he lifted his head, revealing dark brown eyes. "What?"
"Wake up. Masaaki will be here shortly." Ichiro walked back to his seat and sat down.
Satoshi yawned, stretched, and tried to be attentive.
Yori smiled. Satoshi still appeared very sleepy.
Their manager entered several minutes later dressed in a dark blue business suit with a matching tie. Masaaki, as he allowed them to call him, was thirty years old and had been their business manager for five years.
His father and Goro Niigata were childhood friends. Goro hired Masaaki on as soon as he graduated at the top of his college class.
It was easy to talk with Masaaki since he was only five years older than them. Unfortunate for him, he was also shorter than them, and often ridiculed about his five-foot-six stature. Each member of Aomori stood about six feet tall. Masaaki had a complex about his height, which always drew attention when he accompanied them anywhere. Yori understood his discomfort. Sometimes being taller than the average Japanese citizen had its disadvantages too.
Masaaki sat down at his desk and put his paperweight back on a stack of papers. His feet barely touched the floor. He adjusted his eyeglasses on his nose. "First topic. Mr. Niigata has arranged for you guys to give two nights of concerts at the Tokyo Dome to promote your latest album. " Some of the band members squawked. Two back-to-back shows were hard on their bodies.
"It's out of my control, fellows. Both nights are sold out already. Mr.
Niigata is a man of his word and will not back out of this deal."
Yori already knew this. Goro Niigata was a true businessman and he had guided their careers from the beginning. None of them would complain, since it wouldn't do them any good.
"We've done two nights before," Ichiro replied. He was the youngest of their group and the shortest at six feet tall. His function in the family was to take care of the home and prepare their meals. Ichiro took to his job with relish. He was a great chef, taught by his grandmother and a master chef when he was just a child, and he hoped one day to open restaurants all over Asia when he retired from Aomori.
He brushed his long bangs back away from his eyes. "I don't think it will be a problem."
Usually Ichiro never uttered a sound in meetings except when he was spoken to. He was the same way around the apartment that they shared.
The only time he wasn't silent was on stage. Yori felt comfortable having Ichiro at his left when they performed.
Member number four, Takumijo Yamazaki, had yet to utter a sound.
He just sat there like a beautiful statue listening to the conversation going on around him. Takumijo's main concern in life was himself. His unique characteristics was that he was vain, spent money as fast as he earned it on cars or the latest electronics, and he never bought clothes off the rack.
Takumijo had grown up poor and swore never to be in that predicament again.
"So, we all agree?" Masaaki asked.
Four hands flew up in the air to accept the concert dates. Although the four of them had different personalities, they all agreed on one thing - Aomori came first. It took fifteen long years to get them where they were today, at the top of the charts. Their last album, Motion, had been nominated as album on the year, and it had made them Japan's best band.
Motion changed them from amateurs to professionals and Yori still felt awed by it all.
"Second topic, promotion. Mr. Niigata has lined you up for many television and media appearances in the next few weeks. As you know, he has had formed a partnership with the American publishing mogul, Harper Kehoe, and the grand opening of their new publishing company is slated to open in two weeks in Tokyo."
"What does that have to do with us?" Takumijo asked.
"Everything," Masaaki answered. "He plans to use you guys to help promote his new business by having you join forces with four American romance writers."
Takumijo frowned as if he'd smelt something unpleasant.
Yori raised an eyebrow. "That's odd. Do they speak Japanese?"
"I doubt it," Masaaki replied. "And even if they do, it's only a couple of words." He paused. "Besides, you guys know enough English to communicate with them. Satoshi can interpret if you run into a problem. "
Satoshi opened his mouth, but closed it quickly. "Okay."
"I knew you would agree," Masaaki replied. "You have a better grasp on the English language than the rest of them. We're depending on you."
"What other plans has he made?" Yori asked. He was quite curious where this would lead, especially since Satoshi had agreed so quickly.
Masaaki flipped through some paperwork on his desk until he found what he searched for. "A photo session for a magazine, a couple of personal appearances at stores and on television, followed up by the announcement about the opening of the publishing company. There will be some kind of formal party for this too. So be prepared to be photographed a lot."
Ichiro cringed. Of the four of them, Ichiro hated to be photographed.
Yori never understood why. Ichiro was beautiful with small, delicate features and amazing, rare blue eyes. The stylist insisted that he keep it in a ponytail until he performed, at which time he would release it, much to the delight of the female fans. The fan girls loved Ichiro and they sent him lots of gifts and made him the topic of a lot of YouTube videos. Ichiro's main problem was that he was very shy.
"Mr. Niigata wants you to be on your best behavior during this time and you're not to embarrass this company in any way, shape or form."
Takumijo muttered something under his breath.
"Yes, I'm talking about you, demon boy," Masaaki said to Takumijo.
Try to keep your clothes on during the performances, and try not to get hooked up with some empty-headed starlet while the Americans are in town."
Yori stifled a grin. Takumijo always got them in trouble with his antics.
"Boy, do one thing and you get permanently known as a trouble- maker."
"If it was only one thing, we wouldn't have a problem. Photographers love you and cavorting around with a bevy of beauties in a pool in the buff draws their attention."
Satoshi and Ichiro did not try to hide their chagrin. They outright laughed, which made Takumijo angry.
"You guys aren't innocent either. You get into just as much shit as I do, but Mr. Niigata does not ban you to your room or take away your privileges."
"You could have drowned in that pool," Masaaki replied. "You were very drunk at the time of the incident."
Yori agreed. The media had a field day with that little fiasco.
Takumijo craved attention and sometimes went out of the way to get it.
One of these days, he was going to get his ass in a whole lot of trouble that Mr. Niigata couldn't buy him out of. He just wasn't satisfied that his face donned the cover of most of all the magazines since his debut. His calendar was filled with requests for personal appearance appointments and more photo sessions. It surprised him that Takumijo wasn't more enthusiastic about the situation.
Niigata Enterprises played up their looks and bodies, sparing no expense to transform them into a desirable package. It had been fun at first until the first time he was mistaken for a girl. Till this day, people questioned his sexuality. Yori frowned. He couldn't help it if he was born that way...more feminine looking than male. He had a penis. That had to count for something.
Anyway, it wasn't anyone's business but his own if he was gay or not.
The media didn't consider it so by always printing stories about him dating some guy. It got to a point where he couldn't even hang out with his friends for fear that he'd be linked to one of them sexually. He wondered if the others felt the same way about themselves or about him.
Of course, they were much too polite to ask. On the flip side, Ichiro had it worse than the others. Sometimes it was even hard for them to remember that Ichiro was a male.
"The last thing on the agenda is your upcoming trip to the United States. Everything has been arranged and all we have to do is show up.
We're going to do a total of forty concerts in the next six months and I'm hoping you guys will give it your all. Aomori needs to take America by storm."
"Then we have no problem," Yori replied. "I'm looking forward to visiting Los Angeles and New York and meeting our fans from all around America." In reality, he needed a change of scenery. Life was getting a bit stale in Japan and if something different didn't happen in his life, he'd go stir crazy. The group was his life, but he needed some him time.
"That's all I have," Masaaki said. "Do you have any more questions?"
Ichiro raised his hand. "About those authors? What are we supposed to do with them?"
"Take pictures with them and maybe be seen in public together. Mr.
Niigata thinks it could be good for your image to be seen with some of the most brilliant minds in the publishing world."
"Why would I want to be associated with a bunch of stuffy old men?"
Takumijo asked.
Masaaki rolled his dark eyes behind his glasses. "That's the kind of attitude Mr. Niigata was afraid of. It wouldn't harm you to hang around with people outside the music world. You'd be surprised what you can learn from a bunch of stuffy old men." He gathered up his paperwork and prepared to dismiss them. "I think we're covered just about everything we need to cover today. Try to stay out of trouble."
Yori looked over at the others.
Takumijo stared at him. "Yeah, he's talking about you too. You're not innocent, Yori. Not by a long shot."
Yori smirked innocently.
"Ms. Morrison, it's time to wake up."
Shaundra opened her eyes slowly and found a stewardess smiling down at her and Harper seated beside her.
"I've been trying to wake her for the last ten minutes," Harper explained to the stewardess.
Shaundra yawned and moved the blanket down her chest. "Where are we?"
"Narita Airport, in Tokyo," Harper explained as he sent the stewardess on her way. He opened the curtain.
Shaundra looked over at the window, but didn't make a move because she would have to bend over him to see out. It was dark anyway. What did she expect to see? "Welcome back to reality," Dorothy Brown, one of her fellow authors accompanying her on the tour, said. She was seated across the aisle of the smaller than she imagined plane. Dorothy, at fifty-five, was the oldest author at Kehoe Publishing, but there was nothing old about her mind.
Dorothy created wonderful Regency and Historical novels. Her short, black hair was fashionably spiky, styled on the top of her head. Her alert brown eyes twinkled as she smiled.
"Thanks. How long have I been out?"
"Pretty much the entire trip," Harper explained. "You woke up when we got to California to pick up some passengers and to refuel."
"I don't remember that."
He chuckled. "I guess not. You woke up long enough to drug yourself up again."
Shaundra rose. "I have to go to the restroom before I get off of this tuna can."
"Perfectly understandable," Riley Hymel said as he stood up from the seat in front of her. He reached up and took his carryon bag from the overhead compartment. He stood six foot tall with thick blond hair, baby blue eyes, and had a Texas accent. He was Kehoe's resident paranormal romance writer and gorgeous pretty boy. He looked like he should grace the cover of one of Dorothy's novels.
The fourth author, Jackson Lopez, scooted out from the seat next to Riley. Jackson was a tad bit shorter than both Riley and Harper. He spoke with a rich Hispanic accent that he exaggerated when he tried to be funny.
With dark brown hair that curled softly down his neck and sparkling green eyes, he was every gay man's fantasy. At times, he could be catty and sarcastic, which he used to make the words burn the pages of his gay romance novels. Los Angeles born and raised, but Jackson loved New York, had moved there permanently, and refused to return to California.
Shaundra scooted off to the restroom while the others gathered their things. Most of the passengers had already started getting off the plane.
She opened the door. The place was so small she began to hyperventilate.
Once she finished, she washed her hands and joined the others back by their seats. Harper handed her the smaller bag she'd brought along and he carried her precious laptop.
"Let's get off this thing," he replied. "I need bath, food and sleep."
"Me too," Jackson agreed.
They didn't have to tell her twice. Shaundra followed Harper off the plane, and the rest of their party followed. They hurried down the ramp and stepped into the terminal. Solid ground, Shaundra thought, thanking the Lord for getting all of them to Japan safely.
The terminal was busy and bustling with life as they got the rest of their luggage on the second floor. Japanese, Americans, and just about every walk of life roamed the terminal boarding and disembarking from planes. Harper escorted them to customs on the first floor. After what seemed to be the longest hour of her life, they were finally ready to leave.
"There's our ride," Harper said as he pointed to a chauffeur clothed in white, holding his name up on a sign.
Shaundra and the others followed Harper over to the man, dragging their luggage behind them.
The humidity smacked her dead in the face as the chauffer escorted them to a white limousine and began loading their luggage onboard.
"Damn, it's hotter than Texas," Riley exclaimed as he helped her and Dorothy into the limousine. "I heard it was humid here, but this is ridiculous."
Harper entered the limousine from the left side, which put him right next to her with Dorothy on her right. Riley sat across from Harper and Jackson crawled in and sat next to Riley. The chauffer made sure both of the doors were secured before entering the front seat.
Dorothy fanned herself furiously. "It's like having hot flashes on top of hot flashes."
Shaundra chuckled. "You won't melt, and besides, the driver just put on the air conditioner."
"You don't seem too bothered by the heat," Dorothy replied.
"I grew up in the south where it's hot six months of the year." They left the loading area, traveled through the airport and then exited down a long roadway. She couldn't see much out of the tinted windows. "It looks spooky out there," Shaundra replied with a yawn.
"You'll get to see more of it tomorrow," Harper assured her. "And don't yawn. You'll make the rest of us sleepy."
"I'm not sleepy."
"You shouldn't be," he teased.
They rode for about an hour before the chauffer turned the car into the drive of a huge hotel and parked. He came around to open the right passenger side of the door. Riley and Jackson stepped out first, followed by Dorothy, Shaundra, and then Harper.
"Would you look at this place," Dorothy exclaimed. "It's huge."
She did not exaggerate. Mr. Niigata had arranged for them to stay in a five star hotel. Bell boys arrived to get their luggage and piled them on golden, rolling carts. Moments later, they led the way to the reservation desk.
Friendly young Japanese women welcomed them and quickly checked them in. Everyone was on the same floor except her. Her room was located on the floor just above them. Shaundra didn't care. All she required was bed, television and a bathroom. Location and scenic view was just an option.
"Order room service and then rest," Harper told them as their respective bell boy took them off. "I'll call all of you when I wake up."
Shaundra smirked, wondering if he had been awake the entire trip there or if he was just feeling the effect of the time change.
Harper and Dorothy disappeared in one elevator and then Riley and Jackson got on another, leaving her to wait for another one to arrive.
The door finally opened and Shaundra allowed the bell boy to enter first with her luggage cart. She walked in and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. Once there, the bell boy exited with the cart while she held open the door. She exited and followed him down a carpeted hall. A faint scent of cigarette smoke and disinfectant clung in the air. The bell boy turned another curb and she followed. Her peace was disturbed by the sound of loud voices, and then someone ran into the back of her. Shaundra closed her eyes and prepared herself to hit the floor, but instead, she found herself in someone's arms. She opened her eyes. It was a young Japanese man. Well, she thought it was a male. It was hard to tell with all that hair.
Most of his face was hidden behind it and a pair of sunglasses.
"Sorry," he said, righting her to her feet. "You are fine?"
Shaundra smiled at his attempt at English. "Yes, I'm fine." She walked away from him quickly to catch up with the bell boy, passing a group of young men who walked over and stood by the young man.
The bell boy stopped in front of a room. He used a key card and entered, turning on the light and dragging the cart behind him. She entered, taking in the scent of cleaning products, and just stood there gawking at the sight of the opulent suite. After the luggage was unloaded, Shaundra tipped the bell boy, closed and locked the door after he left. She turned to face the room again.
The part she stood in had a sofa, desk, chair, telephone, and a DVD player. On the other side of the room was a kitchenette with full-sized appliances and cabinets. She walked over and opened one of the cabinets.
It was filled with dishes and glassware. There were utensils and chopsticks in the drawer like she knew how to use it. Shaundra closed up the drawer and cabinet and went to check out the bed and bathroom.
"Wow," she uttered as she opened the door and turned on the light.
"This is awesome." She could fit her bedroom back home in this one and still have space. An oil portrait of a Japanese shrine hung above the dark wood king-sized headboard. Pictures of waterfalls, cherry blossom trees and exotic birds hung on the surrounding walls. There was a flat screen television mounted on the wall facing the bed just above a full-sized dresser and chest of drawers. Near the window she spotted another desk and a chair for her to work with while she wrote if she was too lazy to walk into the outer room.
The room was beautifully decorated in brown, tan and yellow, which made it feel quite comfortable.
Shaundra walked toward the bathroom, passing the sink and vanity mirror in an alcove just outside the room. On the opposite wall, she spotted an ironing board, a blow dryer and room accessories. She turned the knob and opened the door. Inside were a full-sized sunken tub and a standalone shower. "This is nice." But she didn't see the toilet. There was another door. Shaundra opened it. Inside, she found a toilet. It looked a bit different from the ones back in the United States, but she guessed it served the same purpose.
Shaundra closed the door and turned to eye the tub again and the shower, trying to decided which one to use. She chose the shower since she was still a bit loopy from the anti-anxiety medicine and she feared she'd drown if she got too comfortable. Besides, she needed to wash her hair. She left the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom to unpack her luggage. Once she finished, she grabbed her toiletries and hurried back into the bathroom.