Loud

Chapter 5 - Cynthia to the Rescue / A Mysterious Phone Call

FYI: Although this chapter has two titles, it is not longer than usual.

The next afternoon Rob was doing push-ups on the living room floor when the phone rang. He locked his arms in the up-position and waited for a voice on the machine. For Makiko, he'd move, but not for anyone else.

"Got your message," Gene said. "Give me a call. We love you."

Eight push-ups later, Rob fell to the floor. He cradled his head in his arms and sucked in air. He rolled onto his back and threw out his arms. Those girls gave the impression that he had not changed in the nine years since Molly and Makiko caught him with Samantha. He had no idea how to repair the damage... so he had not called her yet.

The phone rang again. Push-ups, sit-ups, the treadmill - physical activity had emptied his head of thoughts, but last night he left several messages in a mad search for someone to talk to. With his forearm, he covered his closed eyes. Blackness swirled around, like after Mark's punch in Boston. The answering machine clicked on. "Hey, this is Nobu. You sounded bad on my machine last night. Don't give in to the angry demons, Rob. Call me."

***

Later, when Rob opened his eyes, the light coming through the windows was less intense than before, but he was still prone on the floor. Shadows stretched over parts of the room. He sat up and hugged his knees. After looking for Makiko last night, he thought the two Japanese girls might be lingering outside his apartment building, but they had disappeared too. Hungry for fame, or for something interesting to happen... in a way they were typical teens. Impulsive. Desperate. Destructive. But maybe even they realized they had screwed up.

Nobu knew the streets of Tokyo from his volunteer work. He might be able to locate the girls. Maybe they could explain to Makiko that nothing had really happened...

Rob rolled to his feet and called Nobu. He suggested that they chat at the wall near the Irish bar in Roppongi and hung up.

His brain needed good stuff. He gulped down a glass of orange juice. He bit a crunchy cucumber, then sliced a tomato, salted it, and ate it at the counter. He stabbed the knife into a column of water under the faucet to rinse it. Afterwards, he dried it with a checkered cloth and sank it into its rack.

Cynthia knew he had not touched her friends, despite their best efforts. Her testimony counted more than that of two drunk girls. While her friends showered, Cynthia had slipped him her phone number - not as a come on, more as a friend. He found it in his wallet.

If Makiko would listen, Cynthia could clear him. If Makiko would listen.

***

That evening at quarter to nine, Rob scanned Roppongi Crossing, a major intersection under an elevated highway. Cars, delivery trucks, and motorcycles idled across several lanes, waiting for a green light. Other vehicles sped by or slowed down just enough to turn the corner and endanger pedestrians in the crosswalks. Cynthia agreed to meet him here for a few minutes. It was only a three or four-minute walk from his nine p.m. meeting with Nobu.

Rob checked the time again. A tiny sushi shop behind him had a sign two stories high. He stared at the images of sushi and wondered about the photographer. "Hi." Behind him, Cynthia mimicked his stance, her cheeks flush with youth but less make-up, a lot less, than the night they met. Her blue-green eyes and dirty blond hair blended well with her Asian facial features and skin tone. If Makiko had inherited Rob's blond hair, it might have been a similar shade.