Dance Dance Dance

tim­ing, he was scaling a skyscraper with papers under his arms

or tightrope-walking between offices. Through it all, Gotan­da kept a perfect deadpan.

«At first the director told me to look tired. Like I was about to keel over from exhaustion. But I told him, no, that it'd come off better if I just played it straight. Of course, they're all idiots, they didn't go for it at all. But I didn't give in. I don't do these commercials for fun, but I was sure about the right way to do it. I insisted. So they shot it two ways and everyone liked mine much more. And then, of course, the commercial was a success, so the director took all the credit. He even won some kind of prize for it. Not that I care. What eats me is how they all act so big, as if they thought the whole thing up. The ones with no imagination are always the quickest to justify themselves.»

Gotanda switched off the video and put on a Bill Evans record.

«All these idiots think they're so sharp, they got me danc­ing on their pinheads. Go here, go there. Do this, do that. Drive this car, go out with that woman. It's a bad movie of a bad life. How long can it last?»

«Maybe you ought to just toss it and start again from scratch. If anyone could do it, you could. Leave your agency, and take your time paying back what you owe.»

«Don't think I haven't thought about it. If I was on my own, that's what I'd do. Go back to square one, and join some theater group. I wouldn't mind, believe me. But if I did, my ex-wife would drop me, just like that. She grew up under pressure—star-system pressure—and she needs people around her who feel that pressure too. If the atmosphere drops, she can't breathe. So if I want to be with her, I haven't got a choice,» said Gotanda, with a smile of resignation. «Let's talk about something else. I could go on until morning and still not get anywhere.»

And so he brought up Kiki.

It was because of Kiki that Gotanda and I had become friends, yet he'd hardly heard a word out of my mouth

about her. Did I find it hard to talk about her? If so, he wouldn't insist.

No, I told him, not at all.

I told him that Kiki and I got together entirely by chance and that we were living together soon after that. She bur­rowed into my life so unobtrusively, I could hardly believe she hadn't always been there. «I didn't notice how extraordi­nary it was at the time. But when I thought it over later, the whole scenario seemed completely unreal. And when I put it into words, it sounds silly. Which is why I haven't told any­one about it.»

I took a drink, swirling the ice in my glass.

«In those days, Kiki was working as an ear model, and I'd seen these photos of her ears and, well, I got obsessed, to put it mildly. Her ear was going to appear in this ad—I for­get what for—and my job was to write the copy. I was given these three photos, these three enormous close-ups of her ears, close enough to see the baby fuzz, and I tacked them up on my wall. I started gazing at these ears, day in and day out. At first I was fishing for some kind of inspiration, some kind of catchphrase, but then the ears became a part of my life. Even after I finished the job, I kept the photos up. They were incredible—they were perfectly formed, bewitching. The dream image of an ear. You'd have to see the real thing, though. They were ...»

«Yeah, you did mention something about her ears.»

«I had this total fixation. So I made these calls and found out who she was and I finally got ahold of her and she agreed to see me. The first day we met, we were at a restau­rant and she personally showed me her ears. Personally, I mean, not professionally, and they were even more amazing than in the photograph. They were exquisite! Fantastic! When she exposed her ears professionally—that is, when she modeled them—she blocked them, she said. So they were gorgeous but they were different from her ears when she showed them. And when she did, it was like the entire world

underwent a transformation. I know that sounds ludicrous, but I don't know how else to put it.»

Gotanda considered seriously what I'd said. «What do you mean by her 'blocking' her ears?»

«Severing her ears from her consciousness.»

«Oh.»

«She pulled the plug on her ears.»

«Uh-huh.»

«Sounds crazy, but it's true.»

«Oh, I believe you. I'm honestly trying to understand. Really, no kidding.»

I eased back into the sofa and looked at a painting on the wall.

«Her ears had special power. They were like some great whirlpool of fate sucking me in. And they could lead people to the right place.»

Gotanda pondered my words again. «And,» he said, «did Kiki lead you anywhere? To some 'right place'?»

I nodded, but didn't say more about it. Too long and involved to explain.

«Now,» I said, «she's trying to lead me somewhere again. I can sense it, very strongly. For the last few months, I've had this nagging feeling. And little by little I've been reeling in the line. It's a very fine line. It got snagged a couple of times, but it's gotten me this far. It's brought me in contact with a lot of different people. You, for instance. You're one of the central figures in this drama. Still, I can't get a grip on what's going on. Two people I knew have died recently. One was Mei. The other was a one-armed poet. I don't know what's going on, but I know something is.»

The ice in the bucket had all but melted, so Gotanda fetched a new batch from the kitchen to freshen both our drinks.

«So you see, I'm stuck too,» I picked up again. «Just like you.»

«No, there you're wrong. You and I are not alike,»

Gotanda said. «I'm in love with one woman. And it's a dead-end kind of love. But not you. Maybe you're confused and wandering in a maze, but compared with this emotional morass I've gotten myself dragged into, you're much, much better off. You're being guided somewhere. You've got hope. There's possibility of a way out. But not for me, not at all. That's the big difference between us.»

Well, maybe, maybe so. «Whatever. I've been clinging to this line from Kiki. That's all I can do for now. She's been sending these signals, these messages. So I spend my time trying to stay tuned in.»

«Do you think,» Gotanda started cautiously, «that there's a possibility Kiki's been killed?» «Like Mei?»

«Uh-huh. I mean, she disappeared so suddenly. When I heard Mei was murdered, right away I thought about Kiki. Like maybe the same thing happened to her. I didn't want to say it before.»

And yet I'd seen her, in downtown Honolulu, in the dim dusk light. I'd actually seen her. And Yuki knew it.

«Just something that crossed my mind. I didn't mean any­thing by it,» Gotanda said.

«Sure, the possibility exists. But she's still sending me messages. Loud and clear.»

Gotanda crossed his arms for a few minutes, pensive. He looked so exhausted, I thought he might nod off. Night was stealing into the room, enveloping his trim physique in fluid shadow.

I swirled the ice around in my glass again and took a sip. That was when I noticed a third presence in the room. Someone else was here besides Gotanda and myself. I sensed body heat, breathing, odor. Yet it wasn't human. I froze. I glanced quickly around the room, but I saw nothing. There was only the feeling of something. Something solid, but invisible. I breathed deeply. I strained to hear.

It waited, crouching, holding its breath. Then it was gone.

I eased up and took another sip.

A minute or two later Gotanda opened his eyes and smiled at me. «Sorry. Seems we're making a depressing eve­ning of it,» he said.

«That's because, basically speaking, we're both depressing people,» I said.

Gotanda laughed, but offered no further comment.

35

Toward the end of May, by chance—as far as I know—I ran into one of the cops who'd grilled me about Mei's murder. Bookish. I was coming out of Tokyu Hands, the department store with everything for the home you ever