"Exactly. As you might suspect, that was merely the formal announcement. Some of us at MITI heard about it several days ago. My private hunch is that in a few days Matsuo Noda could well have more resources at his fingertips than any one man in the history of the world." He looked at her. "It's almost frightening when you think of the power he'll soon have."
"Ken, I think I would like to come along with you." What was going on? MITI's plans already were pretty astonishing. And now this new national hero, the president of Dai Nippon, was about to get involved.
More than that, she'd half forgotten how interesting Kenji Asano really could be. Her trip was taking a lot of unexpected turns.
"Well, then, in that famous American phrase, 'Why not?'" He smiled, the mask firmly back in place. "In fact, I'll try and arrange for you to meet Matsuo Noda while we're there." A conspiratorial wink. "Maybe he'll even give us a glimpse of the Sword."
Tokyo was one big party that night, the streets mobbed. They eventually found themselves in Shinjuku, in a high-tech new restaurant all chrome and glass and New Age prices. The tuna sashimi seemed only minutes from the sea, and the aged sake was smooth as a flawless white Bordeaux. Afterward they grabbed a taxi over to the Ginza, where Ken got seats on the tatami straw mats down in the orchestra of the Kabukiza, and they took in the last act of a Kabuki play (featuring the famous Ennosuke III) that had been underway since late afternoon. The evening ended up in the art deco mezzanine bar at the Imperial, the part salvaged from the old Frank Lloyd Wright structure, where she kicked off her shoes, ordered a twenty-dollar cognac, and nestled against his elegant shoulder.
What was that he'd said about coming back home? Her books being circulated here even in manuscript? What was he hinting at?
Finally around two A.M. he called for the check and neither said a word as they headed for the elevator.
She thought one last time about Allan's warning as she watched the floors flash above the door and searched for her key. But this was no time to brood about conspiracies. Ken made her feel good. Which was a hell of a lot more than Dave Mason had done. Besides, Ken had some style; all Dave did was mope around in a pair of baggy chinos and whine about his department. Ken was upbeat, alive, aware.
What's more, she enjoyed being with him, feeling the heat of his cheek against hers. As the elevator doors opened, he slipped an arm about her waist and nuzzled her hair. Then their lips met.
He was just as she remembered. His touch, his taste, his body. Still, something about him was definitely changed.