Thomas Hoover - The samurai strategy

She looked up and smiled. "Maybe it would be nice."

I fetched it, slid onto the floor next to her, and stretched to stir the coals. Ben sauntered over to keep me honest, plunked down, and was immediately out like a light.

"How're we doing for warmth?" I propped the poker against the side of the mantel, then reached over and touched her tangled hair lightly with my fingertips. To my everlasting surprise, she leaned next to me.

"Much better."

"Maybe we should both bail out right now. Tonight. Why not just go down to my place in the islands and monitor the apocalypse off the satellite dish? Watch MITI eat America."

Was I joking? Only partially. Down home we have a saying about folks with a certain… je ne sais quoi. They'd do to ride the river with. In my book Tam was definitely one of the riders.

The fire snapped and startled Ben, who glanced up, checked out the sleet-covered garden, then grimly resumed his snooze. She reached over and gave him a pat. The first time. "You know, I can't believe MITI is behind all this. I know at least one MITI person myself."

"You know somebody in MITI?" I was a trifle taken aback. "Who?"

She stared at the fire. "His name is Kenji Asano. You wouldn't have heard of him."

I lay there for a moment listening to the quartet, my memory registers running a quick sort. Then it came to me. Kenji Asano was the MITI guy Henderson said had masterminded Japan's rape of the U.S. semiconductor industry.

"You actually know him?"

"Sure do." She smiled. "Very well."

Shit. I didn't really need to hear this. "That sounds like a little more than a professional acquaintance." I looked at her for confirmation.

"A little."

Okay, I thought. Guess we're getting down to the straight story here. Press on. "Well, I have some news you may not like. This Asano genius personally engineered the destruction of the U.S. industry in RAM chips. Probably the most devastating sneak attack on America since Pearl Harbor."

She stiffened. "Who told you that?"

"Let's just say I heard it. So what's this guy doing all of a sudden saving U.S. high-tech industry? He's already cost this country tens of thousands of jobs and literally billions of dollars."

"I don't believe it. I know Ken. Sure, he works for MITI, but his job is overseeing Japan's own research in supercomputers. He's very proud of their progress."

Oops. I swirled my snifter. "Whatever you say. If that's really true, then excuse me. I take it all back."

She looked up-probably not believing my diplomatic reversal-and watched as I casually slipped my arm around her waist. I couldn't tell if she wanted it to happen or not.

Thinking I might have some momentum going, I reached back and pulled a couple of wide cushions off the couch, stationed them by the fire, then eased us both against them. I tried to do it with naturalness, finesse.

It wasn't happening.

"Matthew, underneath all that unnecessary bluster, which is just as I remember, you're still a half-decent guy, which I also remember. But I don't really think this is a good idea." She looked at me, her face highlighted in the orange glow of the embers.

"I hope it's not because you have other commitments." I heard my voice harden. "Like maybe in Japan."

"I'm just a little distracted tonight, that's all." She watched as I trailed a finger around the hard tip of a nipple beneath her shirt. Gently she moved my hand away. "Don't start."

"Maybe I can at least get a rain check." I retired from the field.

"Possibly." She smiled, then gave me a telling glance. "A while ago you said something about another place."

My soundproof chamber?

"Right." I rose. "We're always open around here for travelers on a frosty night." I helped her up. "And for this evening's special introductory offer, there's a hot tub down the hall. Why don't you let me fill it, and you can unwind those muscles for a while, Japanese-style or California-style or whatever. Do you good."

She looked me over a second, then smiled. "Lots of nice, loud running water?"

"Exactly."

Off we went to the Italian-marble bathroom there off the downstairs bedroom. I'd installed that little indulgence for Joanna back during happier times; these days I used it as the world's largest laundry hamper-ripping it out would have cost a fortune. Jo's revenge, I called the thing.

She marched in, took a look about the room, which had one of those big tubs trimmed in redwood, and said it reminded her of a place near Ise. She did at least have the discretion to omit the circumstances of that occasion.

What happened next sort of shook my cool, my being a good Texas lapsed-Baptist. You see, I'd never bought into the nudity-is-wholesome ethic of the Age of Aquarius. Passed me right by. I mean, where's the fun in life without a little forbidden fruit? But Tam just began shucking her clothes. Everything. Kept going till she'd even doffed her little beige knickers, piling everything one piece at a time in a neat heap on the counter. Just like that. While bold corporate raider Matt Walton stood there in terminal astonishment, grasping the edge of the sink as if it were a life preserver. My nonchalance was an Oscar-winning performance.

Now in the attire God gave her, she calmly inquired if I had any bubble bath.

"Well, ah, sure, I mean, I suppose so, probably somewhere around here. If not, there's probably a box of Tide in the basement." I groped blindly in the cabinet and my hand fell upon a pink bottle whose label read "Mr. Bubble." What's this? Then I realized it must be some suds stashed there by Amy. Bet she saw somebody soaking on TV and concluded that's the way grown-up women behaved. My God, it's in their genes.

Then I turned around.

Tell you one thing, Dr. Tamara Richardson was still in great shape. All of her. Was she pulling a tease number on me, or just doing what comes naturally? Sad to say, I fear it was the latter. I guess she'd somehow internalized this Japanese idea that nudity is no big deal.

"Tam"-I finally found my voice-"you're something else. I know you're smart, and I'm beginning to remember you never were all that retiring. How about refreshing me on a few of the other things I seem to have forgot."

"I think I wanted to be a boy." She laughed as she sampled the water with her toe. "I thought they had all the fun." Now she was pouring in a test portion of Amy's Mr. Bubble. "Then I found out girls could do anything boys could, but usually better. So I stopped worrying about it." She stepped in.

"Easy. You're talking to an unreconstructed male chauvinist."

"What else is new? You all are at heart. At least you have the decency to admit it." She dumped in the remainder of the pink gunk. Will somebody please tell me why women, all women, go for that stuff? An exaggeration, you say? Ever see one turn it down?

"Hey, I'm trying to deprogram myself, but it's uphill work." I watched as a perfectly formed breast disappeared beneath the foam. "I tend to be old-fashioned."

"I recall all too well."

"Well, give me a chance." I leaned back against the sink. "You know, this striptease isn't helping repress my primal male instincts a whole heck of a lot."

"Matt, for somebody who's supposed to be an expert on Japan, you've understood very little about us."

"Us?"

"You know. I'm half and half." She flashed me a Mona Lisa smile as she was wrapping her hair in a towel. I found myself thinking that at least she shaves her underarms, a minor concession to conventional propriety.

"Well, so what. I'm an equal-opportunity seductionist. That is, when I get the opportunity."

"Not making much headway tonight, I fear." Another tricky smile. She was starting to drive me distracted.

"Thought you'd never notice."

"Matt, you're an emotional basket case. I've seen plenty." She looked me over sympathetically. "Sorry, but I've got enough problems of my very own. You'll have to manage your own salvation."