A hand helped a woman from a sleek black car. Gently, it placed the woman’s smaller one on his arm. Up marble stairs, doors were pulled open, and bright light and glass twinkled up above them. Out of all the couples to make their arrival, they were the most peculiar. Eyes took in the tall strapping man in a Japanese military uniform, his hands in pristine white gloves and a matching white plume sticking out of his cap. His arm piece shocked them most of all. Dressed in a form-fitting black velvet dress, a sheer overlay swished against the floor, leaving nothing about her petite hourglass figure to the imagination. On her arms, she wore a snow-white shadow blue fox beret and matching oversized fur stole, the tails of the fox draping delicately against her frame. 

    Whispers surrounded them as they entered the grand ballroom and an obvious hush fell across the invitees as a butler removed her stole and took her beret. Tawny skin was abundant and her cleavage was ample yet tasteful thanks to the cut of the neckline. 

    “She’s pretty for a nigger. I’ll give her that.”

    “Wasn’t she the one who performed for the President in May?”

    “I think so.” Her hair was pulled back from her forehead and pinned, a large puffy bouffant towards the bottom gave her an incredible shape and it was oh-so-classy. 

    “What’s the Jap’s name again?”

    “Matsuda I think.” Said man removed his over-the-top military hat and once more offered her his arm to which she accepted. Eyes glued to their forms as they took seats, near the President’s entourage. Lips pinched and pursed as the man leaned in to whisper something to the woman. Soft soothing strings played and light laughter and clink of glasses spread throughout the space. 

    “If I may have your attention, please.” The voice of the 33rd President captured everyone’s attention and all chatter soon ceased. 

    “Tonight is a special evening for a member of our audience. He has greatly impressed us as an envoy and ambassador of Japan.” At that, eyes once more turned to him, who appeared unbothered as he lifted a stout whiskey to his mouth. 

    “He has made great strides towards the peace of our respective nations and I sincerely hope that he will remain as a dear friend of the United States.” Grey-blue eyes singled him out and so did the eyes of his cabinet. 

    “Let’s give First Lieutenant Ichiro Matsuda a round of applause.” Almost robotically, the guests began to clap and he, well he remained sitting, lifting a glass of water to his mouth to drink. 

    “Something else special about tonight is that it is his birthday.” Surprised and some delighted gasps echoed in the atmosphere. 

    “How old are you turning Matsuda?” 

    “Twenty-eight, sir.” 

    “Wow. Handsome fellow at 28, huh?” His attempts were strained and awkward at best but he simply shrugged. For his efforts, he managed a grin. 

    “Will the lovely Ms. Jones entertain us again tonight?” Put on the spot, she felt her neck grow hot. Everybody in the room looked at her and she felt her palms sweat. 

    “You don’t if you don’t want to,” He said lowly under his breath, taking another drink of his water. 

    “No… it’s all right. I’ll sing.” Slowly, she began to stand and a round of applause started up. Taking a light hand, she laid it on his shoulder and leaned down to whisper into his ear. 

    “For you only,” Pulling away, she began to head towards a prepared microphone, man sitting at the piano already. The instrumentalists all gathered their respective musical objects, waiting. 

    “Good evening Mr. President. I’m honored to be before you once again.” He lifted his glass of champagne. 

    “Thank you First Lieutenant Matsuda for being friends with us and having a grand time here.” He didn’t move nor did he look anywhere else, his gaze all hers. 

    “I’ll sing what’s on my heart if that’s all right.” Turning to the band, she spoke so softly that you could barely hear her. Turning towards the crowd once more, piano and soft drums began to play. 

    The very thought of you and I forget to do. The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do. I'm living in a kind of daydream. I’m happy as a king. And foolish though it may seem. To me that's everything…” 

    “She’s singing Billie.”

    “Figures.”

    “What you think they got goin’ on? They awfully hugged up.”

    “Jap havin’ his fun ‘fore he go back home. That’s all.” The chatter behind and off to the side of her she heard clearly and it ignited a fire inside her chest. Closing her eyes, she let the music have its way and when she opened her mouth again, her voice was much clearer, much stronger. 

    “The mere idea of you, the longing here for you. You’ll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you. I see your face in every flower. Your eyes in stars above. It’s just the thought of you. The very thought of you, my love…” Now a lone horn played on and she had begun to swing her hips to and fro, swallowing down the last bit of nervousness, opening her eyes to settle on his. Moving nice and sweet, she wet her lips and sang the last verse over again, makin’ sure sweet Alabama twang was all throughout. 

    Eyes having closed, she closed out all of the applause and cheers, opening her eyes to seek him. He sat back in his chair and slowly, lifted his hands to join the applause. Bowing her head, she offered a smile and did a little curtsey. On her way back to her seat, she stopped a waiter. Lifting the offered drink, she tossed it back nice and easy, the burn of the alcohol pleasant and smooth on its way down her throat. 

*** 

    The words of the song ignited a deep burning fire inside of me. Her eyes as they made contact with mine, the way her fingers slipped down the slim microphone stand, the way her alluring hips swayed to the music. I’d already been nursing a semi-erect stiffy but her little performance caused more and more blood to gather inside my pants. It didn’t matter what the pinched lip bastards said to gain my attention or how they tried to engage me, my focus was strictly on the woman now across the room. If I had more time, I’d make things go much slower. But then, I didn’t have a problem with things speeding up. After all, we’d been taking things slow. Some would say too slow. Perhaps a little up-tempo couldn’t hurt. 

*** 

    Conversational, light jazz strummed and it was saccharine to the ear. Watching her lift her fourth drink to her mouth, he took a sip of his third. 

    “What are your plans when you return to Japan, Matsuda?” Annoyance lit up his gaze now, having been distracted from his observation. 

    “Matsuda?”

    “Marry. Settle down.” He replied noncommittally, eyes flickering back towards his little dime. 

    “Makes sense. It’s time.”

    “Think so?”

    “Well yeah. You’re a tough son of a bitch and handsome for a Jap. Any girl’d be lucky to have you.” He left the comment unanswered, the taste of warm grain and burn of the Stoli making his eyes slightly water on the way down.  

    “Strong shit, huh? Guess we got those commies to thank for their good vodka.” 

    “So, what’s up with that Negro girl, huh? You like her?” Eyes slid across to the speaker, some turkey-necked son of a bitch with a red face and grinning teeth. 

    “She’s awfully pretty. Built like a wet dream.” 

    “I’m used to fat ugly ones. The ones that clean my house. But that one right there?” A sharp whistle pierced the air. 

    “Every man in here, President himself, wouldn’t mind having a night with her.” He took off his hat and laid it beside him on the table. To their surprise, he began to laugh and safe to say the sound of it was not humorous. Rather, it disturbed them. 

    “This is why you’ll have nothing but wet dreams.”

    “What’re you talking about, boy?”

    “Excuse me.” Slowly standing, he gathered his hat and with a slight bow of his head, turned on his heel. Bastards. Their approach was all wrong. With a woman like Beatrice, you had to do the right things at the right time. She was no fool and she wouldn’t entertain indiscretion. With a woman like his, you had to cross your T’s and dot your I’s. 

    At a clearing of the throat, the conversation between them stopped. The President looked awfully upset though he tried to hide it. With his wife but a hair’s length away, there was no doubt that her eyes and ears had been on them too. 

    “First Lieutenant Matsuda,” Both of them eyed the woman who was more than intoxicated, swaying slightly on her feet. In her stupor, she’d started to press herself closer against him. 

    “It’s time to go.” He said to her, receiving a pout. 

    “I’m enjoyin’ the music and evry’thang. Can’t we stay a lil’ longer?” 

    “I was just about to ask Ms. Jones for a dance.” Too bad you horny fuck. 

    “It’s late and she’s clearly inebriated. I should return her home.” 

    “I’m not ee-nee-breeated…” She drawled, pout growing deeper. 

    “Sir, allow me to thank you for the evening tonight. You’ve honored me well and I’m deeply humbled.” 

    “I see why he sent you. You’ve got balls of steel, Matsuda. It’s a pity you weren’t on the American side.” 

    “Thank you, sir.”

    “Well, go and take our lovely little lady home.” 

    “Yes, sir.” 

    “Stay in touch, here?”

    “Of course, sir.” 

    “Good.” Clapping him on the back, he headed back towards his wife who sat with lips pinched and white. 

    “Let’s go.” Now lifting a hand, he beckoned the waiter to gather their belongings. Placing her hand on his arm, he slowly escorted her towards the door, feeling even more eyes on them now. Slowly, he draped the fur around her shoulders. She took her beret and placed it on her head with a huff. 

*** 

    It seemed we always expressed ourselves best with the help of booze. Things she or I wouldn’t normally say came easy. Like a liquid hug, it both comforted and emboldened us the same. Seems this was our routine, our thing. Our way of letting free the word vomit trapped in our throats during sobriety. Course, Beatrice never could hold her alcohol well. It didn’t take much for her to get shit-faced and even now, looking back on it I still find it cute.

     We made it back to the apartment I’d been renting and once inside, I shut the door behind us. Watching her toss her purse on the couch and wobble towards the bedroom, all kinds of crazy thoughts went through my head. Were I the man from 1939… 1940 even… I’d have taken advantage of the situation. But, the man from 1947, the twenty-eight-year-old Ichiro Matsuda decided to give it a different try on this night. 

*** 

    He stood by the doorway, lifting a cigarette to his mouth. The strike of the match crackled perfectly with the lush black velvet that trickled down to the ground, heeled toes stepping out of it. As he watched intensely, she reached to her side and unzipped her black shaper. Unclipping the garters attached to her hose, she shimmied out of that and her fingers pulled apart the many pins holding her hair in that elegant shape. Strands tumbled down her back at once and now in just her sheer black stockings, brassiere and underwear, she fell against the bed with a loud exaggerated sigh. He pushed off from the door and entered the room, unbuttoning his uniform coat. Untying the knot to his red and white sash, he folded it neatly in halves and placed it on the table. Lifting his eyes, he now found her sitting up, her gaze sultry and inviting. 

    “I see why you pulled me ‘way from the party now.” She spoke, glued to the fingers that unbuttoned his base shirt. 

    “Why did I?” He asked, deciding to humor himself with her. Pursing her lips, she couldn’t hide the tooth that sank into her bottom lip the moment the shirt was pulled away, revealing gorgeous fawn beige skin. She didn’t answer right away, lifting to extend her leg outward towards him. Smirking, he acquiesced her silent request and neared her, grabbing hold of her calve. Placing the flat of the heel on his chest, he lowered his fingers to unclasp and loosen the straps that bound her tiny ankle. Taking the shoe, he let it drop to the ground and repeat the action with her other leg, her sigh of relief her thanks. 

    “You haven’t answered my question, Beatrice.” Pulling back her leg, she bent it at the knee and gently pushed him back with her foot. His eyes drifted down at her foot, her cute little toes freshly painted with a startling shade of red. She didn’t say a word yet, those tickling little appendages gliding down his stomach. Reaching the very visual sign of his arousal, she lightly brushed the outline with the tips of her toes. 

    “You got me all to your lonesome now, sugar.” Her voice was a soft lilting drawl, the alcohol bringing out every ounce of her Southern roots. Her next words took a hammer and chipped away at his self-control. Those fucking eyes of hers looked up at him, already speaking well what her mouth released.  

    “Fuck me.” His hand reached down and gripped her foot, yanking it up and forward, pulling her to the edge of the bed. The action took her breath and his lips didn’t give her any chance to catch it as they smashed roughly against hers. Leaning down now slightly, he let her wrap those shapely little legs around his hips, her arms now encircling his neck. Taking her by the throat, he forced their mouths apart. 

    “You don’t want me to do that.” He rasped against her panting lips. 

    “Yes, I do.” Her voice now a mere whisper, it chipped away at him some more and he inhaled through flared nostrils. 

    “You’re drunk and you’re not thinking clearly, Beatrice.” 

    “So what I’m drunk…” She whined, pouting as he removed her legs from his person. 

    “You don’t understand what you’re requesting.” Back at the table now, he reached into his cigarette case and pulled out another one, the previous one forgotten, fire extinguished. Striking the match, he closed his eyes and inhaled the nicotine. 

    “Yea’ I do.” Getting up, she wobbled towards him and clumsily pressed her body against his. 

    “I want you and that big sausage of yours to make me feel good, daddy. I’m ready to be real friendly with it.” Turning slowly, his gaze bore down into her and he blew out cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth. 

    “You wouldn’t remember any of it.” Taking her by the arm, he lightly pushed her back against the bed. Inhaling more nicotine, he exhaled slowly. 

    “I want you coherent and sober. I want you to remember everything.” 

    “Ichiro,”

    “There’s no appeal in fucking you while drunk.” Leaning down, he pressed his face against her hair. 

    “Go to sleep. Sober up. We’ll discuss this again.” Kissing her temple, he withdrew from her completely, leaving her burning from rejection and alcohol-induced sweat. 

*** 

    It took everything in me that night not to do it anyway. My cock was so fucking hard it literally hurt and when I stroked it later in the shower, I hissed from the pain. I meant every word of it. The fantasies of intoxicated sex now had subsided and more than anything, I wanted her to be alert and cognizant… I wanted the pleasure to be real, organic, and potent, not induced or sustained by booze. When I came inside of her, I wanted her to remember how full I made her. 

    Sex and I had always had a strange relationship. The pleasure of a woman had never been a high priority nor necessity really. Selfish and self-seeking, it had always been about my satisfaction only. Influenced by the cultural mores of the time, I viewed women as nothing more than objects to be used to satisfy myself or for the purpose of offspring.  

    But, my views were changing. I was changing. I wanted to show Beatrice and myself that I wasn’t like the dirty fuck that had raped her. I wanted her to know that she was important, valued and most of all, I wanted her to know that she deserved to be put first. 

    When she woke up the next morning, I’d done it and heart pounding, I couldn’t stop the tiniest shred of fear from slicing me in the stomach. 

*** 

    The smell of coffee woke her up first. Groaning, she weakly lifted her arm only to let it plop back down onto the bed. Her head hurt like a bitch. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted her head, mouth parched. 

    “Ichiro?” She asked groggily, eyes still shut. 

    “Hm?” His voice vocalized and she groaned again, managing to pull herself up into a sit. 

    “My head hurts so bad…” The sound of drink-ware clinking against wood sounded and a chair scooted back. 

    “Take these.” His voice was suddenly so much closer and much louder than before, making her wince. 

    “It’s two aspirin.” He continued, voice now much softer and quieter to her relief. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked up to see a glass of water and two aspirin in an outstretched palm. Reaching for them and the water, she quickly took the medication and finished the glass of water. 

    “You need to eat something.”

    “What time is it?”

    “Nine o’clock.” 

    “Hm.” 

    “I held off on breakfast until you woke up.” 

    “‘kay.” Watery eyes watched him head back to the table, prosthesis off and using a cane. Quietly, he sat back down and resumed the drinking of his coffee. 

    “Put something on, Bea.” At that, she glanced down to see that she was still in her brassiere and underwear. Embarrassment flushed her and she frantically reached for her housecoat. 

    “When did I go to sleep in my undergarments?” She whined, tying the robe closed. A simple shrug from him made her lips purse. Hair messy and disheveled, she frowned as she got out of bed, bare feet now inching closer to him. 

    “How is it you look so put together?” Smirking, teasing monolid eyes glanced up at her from over the rim of his mug. 

    “I can hold my liquor. You can’t.”

    “That’s not nice.”

    “Truth hurts, sweetheart.” Grumbling, she sat with a pout. 

    “Tell me what you want to eat. Bread I assume.”

    “All the bread that’s available. Hotcakes, biscuits, toast, jam, lots of fruit and eggs, scrambled.” He chuckled at her long list of requests and got up to order. Head in her hands, she stayed still until the door rang. 

    “Go on,” Lifting, to see him drinking a fresh cup of coffee, she scowled. 

    “You’re a tall order you know that. I’m hungover and you makin’ me get my own breakfast.” The corners of his mouth curled up but he said nothing as she got up protesting the whole way. Taking the tray, she turned. 

    “Next time you get drunk see what I-” She suddenly went quiet and he heard the tray being placed down. The rustle of paper told him she saw it and his heart began to pound against his chest. 

    “What is this?”

    “What does it look like?” Eyes finding the paper, she read aloud the neatly written sentence. 

    “Marry me, you idiot.” Still, he said not a peep, eyes cutting over to hers. 

    “Who is the idiot. You or me?” 

    “You sound upset.”

    “You called me an idiot.”

    “Would you prefer ‘woman that can’t hold her liquor’?” 

    “No!”

    “Then, idiot suffices.” Her expression made him crack and he began to laugh, gut-wrenching laughter that softened his mouth. Sucking her teeth, she glanced down at the ring he’d placed by the paper. Cheeks warm, she gingerly picked it up. A sparkly lil’ thing, it looked like a small rose, the diamonds arranged in gold petal molding.  Just enough sparkle to make heifas jealous but not too much to make her uncomfortable. 

    “It’s not funny, Ichiro.” Retrieving her tray, she came back to the table and put it down, dramatically she’d add. 

    “It is funny….as a-all hell…” He managed, laughter still clutching his chest and throat. 

    “You’re so mean to me. Seriously, only a woman like me would put up with you and your antics.” Grinning now, he lifted a hand to wipe the tears that had formed at the corner of his eyes. She kept that adorable purse on her lips as she lifted the top off of the tray. Watching her cut into her hotcakes and drizzle syrup and butter, the light caught his ring sitting pretty on her finger. She ate silently, eyes glaring at him. 

    “So… I take it you’ve said yes, then.” Sticking out her tongue, she chose not to answer and continued to eat. Bringing his mug of coffee to his mouth, he winked at her, enjoying the blush that spread across her cheeks.