|Posted on August 9, 2016 at 9:00 AM|
Shelley dressed quickly, hands trembling, as the fear of her first competition seeped into her mind. She smoothed golden brown strands of hair back into the thick braid that fell just a few inches short of her waist and hurried down the stairs to join the others already sitting on the floor along the edge of their designated mats.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she took long, slow, deep breaths, to help center herself. She tried to clear her mind, seeking the strength she needed to perform this seemingly simple task. Looking her opponents over, she took measure of the eight other women competing in her division. None were from her class at the “Y”. Except for herself, only the younger students from the YMCA had opted to participate in the tournament. Her instructor had pretty much let her know she was on her own because he had to be there for the kids. She assured him she’d be fine.
She’d acted so nonchalant, but truth be told, she wanted so badly to do well. She'd practiced for hours with her two young sons. Still, she reminded herself, the winning wasn’t important. It was progressing that was important, and participating in competition signified progress in her quest to become strong.
Feeling calmer, Shelley exhaled, letting her mind relax. The minute she did, the traitorous organ wandered immediately back to the man she'd run into. Why was she thinking about him? She hated men. Well, most men anyway. Okay, she didn’t hate them, but she sure didn’t trust them. Especially strange men. Still, as men go, that particular one had been quite attractive. Even so, was she really so shallow that a hunky male could distract her from the important task she was about to undertake? She shook her head. What a fool she must have seemed, crawling around on the floor, collecting deodorant and hairbrush. Thank goodness she didn't have anything more personal in her bag.
She rubbed her head, remembering the hardness of his body. Well, she thought, he was an impressive specimen. Even more impressive was his kindness, and, what was it? A calmness. There was a quiet calm that seemed to surround him. Realizing her mind had again wandered, she reprimanded herself, and quickly regained her concentration. While she waited for the tournament to begin, Shelley closed her eyes and desperately strove to “become one with the universe.”
It was only a minute later, however, that the event director began speaking into the microphone, snapping Shelley out of her reflection. He gave a small welcoming speech and went over rules of conduct. “Now I have a surprise for you,” the director continued. “I know we said we were unable to get a celebrity to attend today’s event, but it seems he was able to fit us in after all and he brought along a bonus. So, we’re extremely excited to have with us today two stars of the martial arts world!”
Shelley squirmed around excitedly to get a better view.
“I have the extreme honor of introducing to you a legend in our industry. A Master who has taught other Masters. Three time MART instructor champion and black-belt hall-of-famer, Master Eric Kino!”
Realizing now who she’d run into, Shelley's jaw dropped. She watched Master Kino stand and bow to the crowd and then he seemed to glance in her direction with a slight smile. She looked behind her to see who he could possibly be acknowledging, but there was no one. Me? Is he smiling at me? She was sure steam rose from her red face.
“And we’re very pleased and excited to introduce to you Master Kino's son, star of Shadow Warrior, The Lone Wolf, War Zone, and To Master the Art, just to name a few.” The applause all but drowned out the announcer. “I'm sure you all know– Ricky Kino!” The gym was filled to its four thousand capacity, making the wild applause and whistles deafening. Ricky stood and bowed to the audience very seriously, then broke into the famous broad smile, waving to all.
Shelley joined the crowd, applauding long and hard. Ricky Kino! The boys are gonna die. Oh, how I wish they could be here. She’d taken her sons to see Shadow Warrior just before they'd left to spend the summer with their dad. She couldn't wait to tell them.
“After our forms competition, Ricky will be honoring us with a demonstration.”
The crowd erupted again. It took the director several minutes to regain control and get the tournament underway.
While the women in her arena were called on to perform, sudden stage-fright overtook Shelley. Maybe I won't compete after all. I don't really need to. I have nothing to prove to anyone. She wanted desperately to rationalize her way out of it, but she couldn't. She really did have something to prove, if not to anyone else, at least to herself. She hadn't fought two years ago. She'd laid there and let him touch her. As usual, her stomach churned at the memory. She would not just sit idly by today.
Pushing the unpleasant memory aside, she tried to focus her mind on something else, anything else, and found herself thinking of Master Kino. Had she really asked him if he was competing? She shook her head and groaned inwardly. He must have thought her a complete idiot. She should have recognized him or at least realized he was not just a regular competitor.
Her head jerked around, the blood draining from her face as she realized her mind had been wandering all over the place, when she should’ve been paying attention. They called her name again, and she pushed herself into action. She rose and bowed, out of respect to her domain, which in this case was the mat, her home for the next few minutes. She walked bravely onto it, purposely avoiding any eye contact with the head judges' table.
In a voice as loud as she could muster, she called out the name of her form, her instructor and school. She then addressed the three judges sitting to one side of the arena. “With your permission I will begin.”
The judges nodded. She backed up three steps to the exact center of the mat, bowed and took her stance. Forms, hyungs, or katas, require intensity and concentration in order to be properly executed. The forceful yet fluid movements are to be “thrown” as though each blow lands on an imaginary opponent. Inner vision and discipline are necessary. The judge can count off for the slightest variation such as an arm too high, fingers not together, foot turned out too far.
Shelley had worked hard perfecting her form. Every muscle of her body from her fingertips down to her toes was tense, yet she moved smoothly and gracefully as she stepped and kicked first one invisible opponent to her left then the other on her right. She became completely immersed, imagining the attackers coming at her from each side.
“Watch her and tell me what you think,” Eric said to Ricky as he pointed to the woman with the long hair in arena two.
Ricky waited for her to finish. “She's a looker, but I guess that's not what you mean, huh?” When his father didn't answer he got serious. “She has potential,” he allowed. “Someone you know?”
“Someone I'd like to know,” Eric answered softly without taking his eyes off her.
“Hmm,” Ricky considered. “I see.”
Eric turned his head. “You see what?”
“Oh, nothing,” Ricky answered with a sly smile.
Ignoring his son, Eric folded his hands together and rested his chin on them. He watched as she finished and returned to sit beside her mat, thinking about how she'd looked up at him in the lobby. He'd nearly grabbed her by the shoulders proclaiming her “the one.” He'd looked into beautiful, big, brown eyes and felt hypnotized. He'd seen those eyes before, in his dreams.
She'd blushed under his gaze which made her appear quite innocent. He'd had to fight an overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. The need to protect was strong. Now that he’d found her, it seemed obvious that his task is to train her. Ricky was right, the woman in his dream and the student he is to teach for the MART are one and the same. And he probably has been led to her to train her because there is some unfortunate event lurking in her future.
So positive now of the direction he should take, he wondered how he should approach her about becoming his student. If he explained to her how he's seen her before in his dreams, she’d think him a lunatic. However, he knew he cannot let the opportunity to meet her go by without taking action. Nothing to do but go with instinct. He was pulled from his thoughts when the forms competitions in each category neared their end.
Eric turned to his son. “Ready?”
“Always,” Ricky grinned.
Ricky stood and stretched his thick, muscular arms above his head then walked back to a clear space behind the table to limber up. Eric pulled a box of boards out from under the table. Ricky would blast them to bits in his demo.
A group of kids leaned over the railing, looking down at Ricky as he warmed up. Ricky glanced up grinning and waved. They shrieked with laughter.
Leaving his son to his antics, Eric looked back to arena two but they had been dismissed. Rising, he walked slowly through the crowd and up the steps, but didn’t find the person he sought. He went into the lobby, grabbed a bottle of water and spoke to a few teenage boys who asked his thoughts on a particular defense movement. He set them straight. “The best defense is offense. Don't mess around. End it and end it quickly. Then there is no room for error.”
He shook their hands, autographed their programs and started back, but pulled up short. There she was, at the top of the stairs, gazing out over the crowd. She’d changed out of her uniform and was dressed now in jeans and an airy white blouse. Light brown hair with streaks of gold, still crinkly from the braid she'd worn earlier, cascaded over her shoulders. It wasn't cut into one of the day's trendy styles. Instead, it flowed down her back in long, golden curls. It added to her inherent femininity and made a statement that she wasn’t your average woman. He found himself longing to comb his fingers through the thick curls.
Eric watched her for just a moment as she went up on her toes and leaned over the railing, looking down on the activities below. Her hair stopped just short of a trim waist. Her jeans hugged her bottom. Man, what was he thinking? He sighed. He was thinking like a man and not like a martial arts instructor, because he envisioned running his very lethal hands all over that firm backside. Getting himself under control, he strode up to her and lightly touched the small of her back to gain her attention. She stiffened and spun to face him.
“Hello Shelley,” he said softly. “Sorry if I startled you.”
“Oh,” she said, drawing a breath to calm herself. She smiled at him. “You know my name?”
“I heard the judges call you. By the way, you did well.” He watched for a reaction in her eyes, but she looked down too quickly.
“Thank you, Master Kino.”
“Please, call me Eric,” he insisted.
She looked back up at him, nodded in agreement. “Have you seen the scoring results?”she asked anxiously.
He shook his head.
She shrugged. “It doesn't really matter. I'm just glad I got through it. This was my first competition and I was extremely nervous.”
“If you were nervous, I certainly couldn't tell.” Eric gazed into her eyes. He could glimpse something in her. A quiet strength. He smiled at her. Simple words had been spoken. Nothing of importance. Yet the feeling something of magnitude was taking place was hanging there, waiting for him to grab it.
Eric watched her as she glanced away, looking out over the huge gym as down below, competitors and their families ran helter skelter, trying to find the place that would offer the best view of Ricky Kino’s demonstration. He told himself it was merely the master observing a potential student, yet there was a certain pull that he couldn’t ignore. She was extremely attractive, in a simple sort of way. There was an innocence about her, a sweetness. And, well– and she was sexy as hell, he admitted, though he would have to quell those kinds of thoughts. He was here to help her. In his dream, she'd been in peril. He needed to keep his mind clear if he is to help her, and the need to help her was strong.
“Are you staying for the rest of the tournament?” he finally asked.
She turned back. “Oh, yes I wouldn't miss any of this for the world,” she gushed. “It's all so wonderful and everyone's skill is amazing. I just love it!”
Her face was a delightful pink, her eyes sparkling, her enthusiasm refreshing. She rolled her eyes and he knew she silently reprimanded herself for getting carried away.
He paused, took a deep breath. “So, please don't think it too forward of me, since we've only just met, but, when this is over I'd love to have you join me for dinner.”
He watched her face go from pink to fire engine red.
Shelley went over his words in her mind, making sure she really did hear what she thought she'd heard. Master Kino just asked me out. This can't really be happening. Why me? Why would this man ask me to dinner? Maybe it's like you always read about celebrities, they have girls in every town. One night conquests. I don't even know if he's married. Why me? Does he see me as a groupie that would be just too easy to pass up? No. It can't be like that. He is, after all, a Master and someone in the public eye. He’d want to show irreproachable behavior, wouldn’t he? If he just wanted to find a girl to have for a night, he could have his choice of any of the women here, most who are younger and beautiful and— Oh, what am I doing? Okay. Okay. Get a grip. I’d be perfectly safe with him. This is a once in a lifetime invitation. What could it hurt? Besides, the boys would never let me hear the end of it if I were to turn down Ricky Kino’s father.
“Well,” she started slowly, trying to think of a clever way to accept his invitation. Nothing came to mind. “I'd love to,” she finally blurted out.
“Wonderful,” he beamed, hitting his fist gently against the railing. “May I meet you in the lobby as soon as the tournament is over?”
“I’ll be there,” she said, nodding her head.
“See you then,” he said as he walked away, pulling out his phone immediately. He needed to rent a car.
Shelley watched him walk, his well-muscled arms swinging down from broad shoulders. Her eyes followed to the trim waist, powerful buttocks and magnificent thighs. He was dressed for the occasion in black silk Kakama pants that were snug at the waist, ballooning out at the sides and a black silk sleeveless shirt. His hair, also like black silk, was back in a queue, swaying gently as he walked. His voice had been soft, yet commanding. He'd spoken her name in a way that moved her. A soft caress, almost as if he'd touched her cheek.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself she was not hallucinating. This really had happened. She'd come to a tournament, met a martial arts master and he’d asked her, yes her, out to dinner. Not any of the gorgeous young girls in any given direction. Her. Why? And why, with her aversion to men, had she accepted? She should be terrified to accept an invitation from a man she’d just met. So why did she? Because, she thought, somehow, he made her trust him.
Shelley maintained her place at the railing as the room grew quiet with anticipation. The announcer needed no other words than the few he spoke. “Ladies and Gentlemen— introducing, Ricky Kino!”
Accompanied by the roar of the crowd, and dressed in a black and gold martial arts uniform, Ricky entered the floor at a run, turned five back hand springs, ending with a full layout. He bowed and waited for the narration.
“In the martial arts, nothing is as important as your reaction time in defending yourself against an attacker. If you’re ever caught with your pants down —”
The laughter made speaking impossible for a few moments while Ricky joked around, pretending to check his waistband.
“If you’re ever caught with your guard down,” the narrator corrected, “it's all over and you may very well have made a fatal mistake. In actuality, it isn’t reaction as much as anticipation. Some call this instinct, some magic. Whatever you prefer, it is a skill that with enough practice can be acquired by anyone.”
All eyes were riveted on Ricky. Shelley was amazed at how quiet the room had become when just moments before the crowd noise had been deafening.
“For the next few minutes you will be witnesses to a type of martial arts paint ball, minus the paint, of course. Nothing has been preplanned. When a lethal punch is thrown, you must stay down. Let’s see how Ricky Kino fares against these guys. By the way, he’s never met any of them before today.”
Shelley watched Ricky prepare to fight five black belt assailants. His body tensed for a moment, then suddenly he straightened and shook his head, wagging his finger. One of the assailants didn't have on his head gear. Ricky motioned for him to put it on.
“What about you?” the young man asked.
“I'll take my chances.” Ricky grinned.
Shelley giggled along with the crowd at the banter even though it was obvious it had been scripted. Finally, the competitors swung into action. Ricky was amazing as he worked against the men. It became quickly evident Ricky wasn’t just a movie artist. His skills were real. With Master Kino for a father, Shelley figured that was as it should be.
When the five attackers were down, the audience stood and cheered, none more enthusiastically than Shelley. Next Ricky grabbed the nunchakus from Eric, in this case a pair of bright red and black hard wooden sticks joined by a chain. Ricky spun them around to get their feel.
Suddenly, he stopped, dropped the weapon to the floor. Much to the delight of the young girls in the crowd, he untied his belt, and pulled his uniform top over his head. Shelley had to admire him along with the rest of the crowd. His golden skin glistened with perspiration, his broad shoulders and rippling abs eliciting “oohs” and “ahhs” from the female assemblage. One even called out, “I love you, Ricky!”
There was laughter as Ricky looked up and blew a kiss in her direction. An excited scream, more laughter.
A murmur of admiration hummed through the crowd as he warmed up by working through a series of movements with the nunchakus. His speed was incredible. He then proceeded to demonstrate his skills using kicking pads as targets, held by twelve assistants. The weapon made a loud “pop” as it hit each pad. A back somersault, “pop” as he hit another target, then speedily to all sides of the circle, more pops. It began to sound as if someone had set off a string of firecrackers. The audience roared.
In the last part of Ricky's demo he broke boards using hands, feet, elbows and fists. When he finished, Ricky knelt on one knee as thundering applause rocked the arena.
He finally arose, looked up smiling, bowed and ran off the floor. Immediately the tournament was set back in motion, but Shelley kept her eyes on Ricky, as he joined his father. Eric threw a towel at his son and patted him on the shoulder.
Shelley studied them both, deciding they were quite a pair, and apparently very close. They looked like brothers, she thought. She felt intense admiration, and was thrilled to have witnessed such perfection. Since Eric was the “Master”, Shelley wondered if he ever gave demonstrations.
Moving down the steps, she settled into a seat. This tournament had been a long time coming and she wanted to soak in every bit of information she could. Soon enough it would be over and she’d sit across the table from Master Kino and speak with him, and listen to him and— Oh my God! What could I possibly have to say that would interest him? Get a hold of yourself. Talk about the tournament. That's it. The tournament. Now sit and watch, you need conversational ammunition. With as much patience as she could muster, she sat back and waited for things to begin. Things like– the free sparring– the weapons' forms– and her life.
One of the judges spoke into the microphone. “Attention everyone. Before we move on to the next portion of our tournament, we want to announce the winners of the form's competitions.”
Eric looked up, curious to see Shelley’s reaction. He knew exactly where to look because this time he hadn't let her out of his sight. When they called her name for third place her expression fell and his heart went out to her. During their brief conversation she’d told him that winning didn't matter, yet he could see that it had.
He watched as she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her head in her hands, a childlike pout on her face. He had to smile. She was very readable and entirely too cute. He blew out a breath as he thought of his base reaction to her, acknowledging the fact that he found her extremely appealing. Shaking his head at his weakness, he struggled to push the thought from his mind.
When the women's sparring began Shelley sat totally entranced. Could she ever progress far enough to be able to hold her own in a sparring match?
Shelley noticed one girl in particular who stood out from the others. She was beautiful. Shoulder length blond hair, tall and lean. A Taekwondo brown belt with a killer smile. She glowed with confidence, practically oozed with it. Shelley picked her to win and the woman did, with ease.
When the tournament finally ended, Shelley watched as one by one the names were called and Eric and Ricky handed out trophies, ribbons, and certificates to the participants. Unable to sit still during the long awards presentation process, she freshened up in the restroom and headed toward the lobby to meet Eric, excitement and apprehension building.
Slowly, to calm herself, she strolled around, reading the plaques and trophies on display. Her daughter, soon to be a college freshman, had just graduated from this school. Shelley searched for and found Bree's name on the most recent cheerleading plaque and allowed a proud smile to cross her lips.
Ambling around to the doors, she peered out. The early June temperatures had already reached record highs. Heat waves distorted the street and cars, but Shelley didn't mind the heat. In fact, she loved it. She loved getting into her car after it had been sitting in the sun with the windows up. It was comforting, like slipping into a hot bath.
She turned as people began filing into the lobby area, signaling an end to the day's proceedings. Several of the female competitors entered the lobby together. Shelley went over to offer her congratulations to a few of the winners.
“Thanks,” drawled the pretty blonde Shelley had chosen to win her division. “I watched you do your forms. You were pretty good but you should think about competing in the sparring. That's when it really gets fun. I think you could probably do well.”
Before Shelley could answer another piped in. “Look who's talking, Angel. You do pretty well yourself.”
“Yeah,” a third teased. “As long as there are male judges.”
The blonde placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips in a strategically cute little pout, obviously accustomed to using her beauty to get whatever she wanted, but not liking anyone to accuse her of it.
The blonde changed the subject. “Speaking of looks, what did y'all think of Ricky Kino?”
A much better subject, Shelley thought. It certainly piqued her interest.
“God, he was fantastic,” one woman answered.
“Forget fantastic, did you see that body? He's gorgeous.”
“Yeah, and don't leave out his dad. Girl, you can see where he gets it.”
“Oh yeah, the man is definitely fine.”
“I'd love to have a daddy like that,” the blonde purred, causing giggles to erupt.
“What was the dad's name again?”
“I don't remember, I only remember how his biceps bulged when he handed Ricky the nunchakus. After that, it's all blank.” More giggles.
Shelley decided to speak up and help out. “His name is Eric.”
“Yeah, that's it.”
“No, it's not Eric, is it? Are you sure?”
Shelley smiled. “I'm positive. It's Eric.”
A sneering smile from the blonde. “Whatever it is— all I know is, I bet he looks as good under his shirt as his 'little boy.'”
“And if anybody can find out, it's you,” Angel's friend assured.
Jealousy reared its ugly head. Shelley tamped it down. Jealousy rooted itself in low self-esteem. She was working on that.
The blonde grinned with the challenge. “I suppose little old me will just have to see what I can do.”
Shelley could only roll her eyes.
“You see what you can do, Angel, and I'll baby-sit the ‘little boy’,” Angel’s friend offered.
Shelley considered telling them she had a date with Eric, but she came up with two good reasons not to say anything. First, she passionately hated catty females and she wasn’t about to join their ranks. Second, they probably wouldn't believe her anyway. She barely believed it herself.
She endeavored to find a polite way to leave the group while the women continued raving about and lusting after various parts of the two men's anatomy. However, before she could excuse herself, one of the ladies nudged another and whispered loudly. “Speak of the devil.” She nodded in the direction just behind Shelley. “Oh, God, here he comes.”
Shelley turned, feeling chills popping out all over her body. Master Eric Kino approached the women, his eyes on Shelley. Smiling, he joined the group, sending temperatures and heartbeats through the stratosphere.
“Hello, ladies. I trust you all had a good time today.”
The blonde gave a feminine squeal, spoke in her very best southern drawl. “Oh myyyy, yes!” She extended her hand. “He-ey, my name is Angel.”
Eric clasped her hand. “A great pleasure to meet you, Angel. I'm Eric.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” she tittered.
The others began offering hands and blurting out names.
Eric took each lady's hand as they introduced themselves. All, except Shelley, who was succeeding in self-control.
Angel nudged her. “Speak up, honey, don't be shy. He doesn't bite. Introduce yourself.”
Shelley knew the words Angel spoke had been constructed to make her feel small and look silly. And it worked. What she didn't know was if Eric purposely rescued her with his words and actions. He turned to Shelley with a familiarity that didn't yet exist, and gently brushed a stray hair back from her face, which for the umpteenth time that day, had reddened.
“This one I already know,” he said softly.
The others looked on, their faces a mix of surprise and envy. There was an eternal moment of awkward silence, which Eric finally shattered. “Are you ready to go?”
He lifted Shelley's bag. “Excuse us ladies,” he nodded as he turned and placed his hand on the small of Shelley’s back. She was tempted, so tempted, to turn to the group and make some kind of gesture, like– what? Stick out her tongue? No, no cattiness. She held her breath at the feel of Eric’s warm hand resting gently on her back. The evening was about to become very interesting.
|Posted on August 6, 2016 at 9:00 AM|
Shelley Adams stared into the mirror and wondered at the woman who stared back. She was the mother of three and had at one time believed there would always be a loving husband standing beside her. There was not. He’d forced her hand, shown her just what kind of person he was and, remarkable as it seemed, she’d found the strength to remove him from her life. Her husband's nonchalant attitude toward her assault had been an eye opener and the final nail in the coffin for their marriage. Pregnant and married at sixteen, she'd never been without him and now that she'd gone through with the divorce, she admitted she wasn't quite used to the quiet house.
At times the loneliness threatened to engulf her. This was one of those times. The house was dark. The silence was deafening. The boys were with their father for the summer and Bree was in New York. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she didn't need her ex-husband. She didn't need anyone, or so she liked to think. However, she hadn’t been prepared for the fears that had begun to take her over.
It surprised her because she’d been so fearless in divorcing her husband and reaching for her own independence. She never used to scare easily. Yet over the past few years she’d begun to jump at her own shadow. She was afraid of the dark. She never walked anywhere alone. She was over-protective of the kids. Allowing Bree to go to New York had meant a major fight between herself, her ex-husband, and her daughter.
Maybe the fear was because of what had happened to her, or maybe it was because she’d never really been alone until now. Over the past two years she’d learned to stand on her own and she was learning to be strong emotionally. Physically, though, the fear was always there, though she was working on that. That work would keep her occupied all day tomorrow.
In the morning she’d be participating in her very first martial arts tournament. The huge regional event included all styles from karate to taekwondo to jujitsu. It was very exciting, but she had to admit she was more nervous than excited.
Either spawned by that random act of violence that had taken place almost two years earlier on a bright, sunny afternoon, or by some new post traumatic fear, she'd set a goal to master one of the martial arts. Once she’d begun, that goal had grown into a burning desire. The police had never caught the man who'd assaulted her. Sometimes she wasn't sure they even believed he existed. The counselor at the rape crisis center had helped her with the frustration, but not with the self-disgust.
It sickened her that she hadn't fought. She'd let fear paralyze her. She’d sworn she’d never let that happen again, and yet it had begun to do just that. She’d also sworn she would stand up to her husband, a considerable feat considering her emotional dependency on him. At least she’d followed through on that. She’d stuck to her guns when she up and divorced him. The divorce had been a huge step, but she had to do more. She had to become strong. Her counselor had supported Shelley's conviction that taking action would help to alleviate the feelings of shame and frustration. “Do something positive. Something you've always wanted to do. Do something for you.”
That's what had led to a Tae Kwon Do class at the local “Y”. It had given her something to focus on and given her back some confidence. She worked hard, desperate to even the odds, to be on a more equal footing with the male species.
Shelley studied her reflection. Sometimes she felt so old, yet she was only thirty-four. “Thirty is the new twenty,” a co-worker had remarked. She admitted, she was flattered when people thought she and Bree, her seventeen-year-old daughter, were sisters. I have great eyes, Shelley thought. Even her ‘ex’ had told her that. They were large and brown, and were framed with unique lashes, that appeared to have been sprinkled with gold dust. Coming out of an emotionally abusive marriage, she was learning to be kind to herself and this was the first thing she'd allowed– pretty eyes.
Her hair was long and thick with large voluptuous natural curls. Bree let her know that her girlfriends would kill to have those curls and told her she’d personally kill her mom if she were to ever cut off her hair. That was no problem for Shelley since leaving it long made it easier to put back in the no fuss, long braid or ponytail she usually wore.
Making her way to the front door, she tested the lock, then headed into the kitchen to check the back door. She was a wimp, especially when the children were gone. Sometimes, in the dark, she could feel the panic take over. It was those times she questioned her decision to become single. It would be nice to have someone there to help her feel safe. She’d definitely had offers, but she’d turned them down. Mostly because she hadn’t ever met anyone who intrigued her enough to draw her interest, but also because she had to learn to stand on her own. For a long time she’d been both emotionally and physically crippled. She was getting stronger.
Tomorrow’s tournament was a big deal because it was her first time competing. The goal to obtain black belt meant she must compete. There were several different areas for competition in a tournament. Forms, sparring and weapons. She must spar, and spar well in order to accomplish black belt, but that would be down the road. The further the better, she thought. For her very first competition she’d elected to compete in forms only. Taking a breath, she repeated her new mantra. “Strive for perfection. Strive for perfection. Strive for perfection.”
As the early morning sun made its way across the plush hotel room, Eric emerged from the bathroom to find Ricky sitting on a bed, peeling a banana plucked from a complimentary bowl of fruit.
“It's about time,” Ricky laughed. “Come on Dad. If you don't hurry, we won't have time for breakfast and I'm starved.”
“Where have you been then? I woke, you were gone, I assumed you were eating.”
Ricky gave a sheepish grin. “Naw, just checking out the scenery. Not much to check out though. I guess southern girls sleep late on Saturdays. However, I did accidentally manage to attract the attention of a couple of kids in the lobby, so I signed a few autographs, let them snap a few pics, you know, just enough to get the blood going.”
“I hadn't realized your star status ego had grown to such proportions that you now need a 'fix' in the mornings to get you started on your day. Looks like I'm going to have to bring you down a peg or two.”
“Can't even take a joke,” Ricky grumbled as they left the room.
The tournament was being held in a large high school super gym just south of Atlanta. The huge event included competitors from most of the southeast and there would be several thousand spectators in attendance.
The limo arrived and, as celebrities, Eric and Ricky were escorted to the judge's table where they were introduced to the local martial arts dignitaries and given a place of honor at the same table.
While Eric took a seat, a crowd quickly formed around Ricky. Eric watched as Ricky, ensconced in his element, signed autographs and chatted with youngsters, boosting their confidence with a well-placed word. Local press took pictures and tried for impromptu interviews. Thankfully there were no paparazzi. They tended to avoid the Kinos.
Watching Ricky now, Eric considered his son's bright, exuberant personality and compared it with his own more serious demeanor, marveling how they could be so close, yet so different.
Physically, they were similar. They both had straight black hair. Ricky's just skimmed his shoulders, Eric's was slightly longer. They had bronze skin from the Hawaiian part of their ancestry, and dark eyes. One film critic said it was remarkable how Ricky’s eyes could go from warm and compassionate to hard as steel. His eyes though, were only part of what made Ricky a star. He had a musculature that was rock hard, and a bright, alert mind. He was swift and agile and very good at what he did.
Ricky had achieved black belt at nine years of age. Two years later his mother had died of cancer. Ricky and Eric immersed themselves in their art as therapy for their loss. Losing his wife had nearly defeated Eric. It was caring for Ricky that brought the light back into his world.
Another glimpse in Ricky’s direction made Eric smile. His son now had his arms around two gorgeous, giggling blondes. They posed while a third girl took a picture, then demanded her turn. “Thank you sooo much,” the girls purred in their sweet southern accents.
“Ahhh, the pleasure is all mine I assure you,” Ricky crooned back, glancing over at his father with a grin.
Eric rolled his eyes and pointed to his wristwatch, letting Ricky know he should head to the locker room to change. Ricky bid the ladies farewell, grabbed his bag and headed to get into his uniform.
At eight on the dot, the nervous tournament director approached and bowed to Eric. “Uh, Master Kino sir, uh, do you happen to know where Ricky is? It's time to begin and we wanted to introduce everyone.”
Standing, Eric offered to go and locate his son himself. He passed up the locker rooms and headed toward the lobby where concessions were already being served. Ricky was an insatiable eating machine, and Eric had a feeling he’d find him there, stuffing his face with all manner of unhealthy delicacies.
Cursing herself as she drove, Shelley pushed her old faded red Ford to its limit. I know I turned the alarm on. I know I did, darn it. I checked it at least twice. Of all times for it not to go off. “Stay green, stay green,” she chanted as she approached the next intersection. Beads of perspiration trickled down her forehead as she streaked into the school parking lot at 8:03.
Grateful that at least, the tournament was being held at her daughter's alma mater, only a few minutes away, she hoped desperately they'd let her sign in late. Grabbing her bag, she sprinted to the gym, and jerked open the heavy door. Cool air rushed to greet her, calming her. Sucking in a deep breath, she looked around nervously, to find a young man in a white uniform gathering papers from a long table.
“Am I too late to sign in?” she asked in a panic.
“No ma'am. You lucked out. We're running a little behind,” he answered, thumbing through the papers in his arms. “Here you go,” he said pulling out a paper. “Find your events and sign in.”
Once she did, he looked over her entry form, checked off her registration number. “You're assigned to arena two.” He looked up. “Locker rooms are through those doors and to the right. You'd better hurry.”
Shelley shot toward the doors in a run, turning back to offer a belated thank you.
She swung back around, happy that– UUMPH. Her face smashed against something solid and she went down hard. The contents of the bag she'd never bothered to close tumbled across the floor.
Realizing she'd run into a person, even though she'd first thought she'd misjudged the distance to the door, she rubbed her nose and began apologizing profusely. “I'm so sorry. I was late and in a hurry. I should've been watching where I was going. I hope I didn’t hurt– ”
She'd been crawling around gathering her things but stopped when a bronzed hand held out her folded purple belt for her to place back in her bag. Her eyes followed the hand up to its source and she found herself looking into the most incredible face.
He smiled. “Please, let me help you.”
He lifted her to her feet as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, which both amazed and annoyed her. Amazed, at his strength. Annoyed, because it reminded her of her vulnerability as a woman. The latter thought stirred anger in her heart.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
His voice was calm, soft, and stole her anger immediately. She gazed at his face again. Dark eyes and long black hair tied back at the nape of his neck gave a certain nobleness to his appearance, like that of a Native American warrior. And that smile. He had the kindest smile she'd ever seen. It made her feel safe. It took her breath away. He raised his eyebrows at her and she realized he waited for an answer to his question. “Oh! Oh, yes! I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was late and– ”
For the second time she was unable to finish her sentence but this time it was because he raised his hand to quiet her.
“I'm the one at fault. I should've been looking where I was going and certainly should’ve been quick enough to get out of your way. Are you sure you're not hurt? You were moving pretty fast.”
She laughed, rubbed her forehead. “I'm fine, other than the fact that your chest is hard as a rock.”
She felt the blush creep up her neck. I did not just say that.
“Are you competing?” he asked, as he handed her the rest of her belongings.
“No– I mean, uh, yes. Well, I mean, only in forms.”
He smiled again. “Forms are important.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Are you competing?”
“No I’m not.” He seemed amused by the question. “I came to watch my son, however, now, I have two people to watch.”
“My son and you.”
He smiled again and she thought she’d rise off the floor. He quickly brought her back to earth. “Better hurry. I think they’re about to start.”
“Oh, goodness, I have to go.”
Eric turned and watched as she disappeared inside the women's locker room.
|Posted on August 2, 2016 at 8:00 AM|
South of Los Angeles
The moment she’d uttered the words, “Help me,” he’d come immediately awake. He'd been dreaming again. Same dream. Same feeling of urgency. He glanced at the clock. 3 a.m.. Rising, he made his way to the bathroom, flipped on the light and reveled in the sensation of cool water as he splashed it on his heated face. He glanced in the mirror and gasped. Staring back, floating before him for a brief instant, were “the eyes.” Raising a dark eyebrow, he shook his head and gave a soft chuckle. He could see the headlines now; Martial arts master, Eric Kino, dies of fright in his own bathroom.
He’d been having dreams and visions of “the eyes,” as his son called them, for some time now. He had no idea to whom the eyes belonged. They were definitely feminine. Beautiful, but always sad and sometimes filled with fear. He'd had precognitive dreams before, but they'd always involved someone he knew. These dreams were different and they were accompanied by an enormously intense feeling of desperation.
He’d struggled to interpret the meaning of the dreams. Who is this woman? Is she going to be appearing in his life? What does she have to do with him? Tonight, he'd heard her voice clear as a bell. “Help me,” she'd said, as if she'd been lying right next to him and whispered in his ear. He’d felt her breath against his cheek, felt the press of her body as she’d leaned close. He'd come immediately awake with the knowing that he had to find her. He had to actively search for her and not just hope that one day he’d run into her.
Decision made, he returned to his bed, stretched out, and visualized a white light moving throughout his body, commanding each muscle to relax. Taking long, slow breaths, he slowly sank into a deep sleep.
The next morning Eric tossed items into a suitcase as he packed for a regional martial arts tournament in Atlanta. He was glad to be on the move after the decision he’d made the night before. He intended to keep watch for “the eyes.”
When he and his son had first received the invitation to the Atlanta tournament they'd had to decline, but then Ricky's schedule opened up. Eric would be there only as observer and “honored dignitary.” He shuddered at the title. His son, movie icon Ricky Kino, was scheduled to perform one of his much demanded demonstrations. Eric wasn't immune to the pride a father feels when his son achieves success and he enjoyed seeing Ricky do his thing. After all, Eric was the one who’d schooled Ricky in the martial arts since he'd been old enough to walk.
Eric hadn't realized at the time that passing his knowledge on to his son would make Ricky a celebrity. Ricky had the “package” as the producers put it. The looks, the body, the talent, the personality. He'd begun as a child star and worked his way up to leading man. At only twenty-one years of age, Ricky was one of the hottest stars in Hollywood.
Even though thoughts of Ricky's success always lifted Eric's spirits, his mind was still heavy with images of the woman in his dream. It concerned him because other such dreams had turned out to be a prediction of unpleasant things. He'd dreamt of his wife in great peril and pain a year before she was diagnosed with cancer. He'd seen a branch of a great tree snap over and over the week before Ricky fell out of one and broke his arm. There had been numerous dreams touching numerous subjects.
Every once in a while he'd actually been in tune enough to be able to avoid disaster, like the speeding truck that ran the red light. He'd known not to go when the light turned green, avoiding his own death and the death of his son. And he'd known the time the punks waited in an alleyway with thoughts of murder and mayhem. He'd revised their actions if not their thinking. Those events, however, involved himself and people close to him. Now, for some reason, he felt he was supposed to help a woman he didn’t even know. Still, he trusted that nothing is random. Things happen for a reason, and so he was anxious to find her before it was too late.
The cloud hanging over Eric dissipated at the sound of his son’s voice. Eric glanced over. Ricky stood in the doorway with his usual wide smile. He was a breath of sunshine wherever he went, and Eric could think of no one in the world he loved and treasured more.
“What’s up, Dad? You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
“Yeah. And you’re not. You're coming to watch me and what could be more pleasant than that?”
Eric smiled. “Truly,” he said, not hiding the slight sarcasm.
Ricky grinned. “So really, why so down?”
“I’m not down.” Eric shrugged. “Guess I’m feeling a little– intense.”
Ricky circled around to massage his father's shoulders. “Whatever you want to call it, Dad, you gotta learn to lighten up. You know what they say– stress kills.”
“Really? What do 'they' say about the surviving children? Do they say anything about the guilt that must consume them?”
“Funny, Dad. So it seems you have a sense of humor after all, be it ever so small.”
Eric closed the suitcase. “Large enough to accommodate you every day.” He placed an arm around Ricky’s shoulder. “Let's go.”
“You know, you don't have to come if you’re not up to it.”
“Are you kidding me? I'm looking forward to it. Besides, I'll be able to keep an eye out for my MART student.”
Ricky smiled. “I have no doubt you'll find the right one.” He thought about his father's legendary status as MART instructor. The MART, an acronym for Martial Arts Recruiting Tournament, had become a huge event. An instructor takes a rookie student and turns them into a black belt champion in one year's time. The MART, the Olympics of the martial arts world, had become big business, thanks in part to his dad. What Bela Karolyi is to the world of gymnastics and Vince Lombardi is to football, Eric Kino is to the world of martial arts.
“I will find the right one,” Eric agreed. “And after last night’s dream, I’ve decided that I also need to find the owner of ‘the eyes.’”
Ricky nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe they are one and the same.”
Eric shrugged. “Maybe.”
Throughout the long and tedious flight to Atlanta, Ricky kept up a steady stream of chatter. Hours later in the elevator of the Atlanta Hilton, Ricky eyed his father. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
Eric touched his son on the shoulder and sighed. “I guess I haven't been very good company. I'm okay, just a little preoccupied.”
“As long as you’re okay.”
“You're starting to sound like your grandmother,” Eric teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Ricky's smile flashed. “Well, Grandma did tell me to take good care of you.”
“That’s funny. She told me to take care of you.”
“Well, I was about to go straight in and order up some room service for the both of us. Would you consider that trying to take care of you or just being polite?”
“I’d never think you were just being polite,” Eric quipped, knocking Ricky in the back of the head as he swiped the key card.
Ricky headed straight to lower the thermostat and next, to the phone to order food. Atlanta in June was unbelievably hot and humid. Having been raised in Los Angeles, Ricky was accustomed to the heat but not the humidity. He placed his order quickly then plopped across the bed, bemoaning the heat.
Eric smiled at his son’s discomfort and decided he would make up for being a lousy traveling companion by resorting to some of their old antics. “Heavy air, lots of oxygen, this would be a great alternative to your training– give some diversity to your workout.”
“Yeah, until I have to fight on a mountain top.” Ricky rolled over, grabbed a pillow. “Work out if you want, I'm already in great shape and even if I wasn't, I'm not leaving the air conditioning.” He grabbed the remote. “Let’s see what the Braves are doing.”
Nonchalantly, Eric made his way to the bathroom, ice bucket beneath his arm. “I don't know Rick,” Eric called from the bathroom. “You're looking a little soft to me.”
“No way Dad, you're just jealous.”
“Of your youth maybe,” Eric said quietly, having crept up beside Ricky. “Or, maybe because I'm standing here all hot and sweaty and you're nice and cool.”
“What are you talking ab– ”
The bucket of water hit him square in the face. Eric's laughter almost botched his quick retreat to the bathroom. He locked the door, but could hear Ricky sputter and threaten to do all kinds of ill will to his own father. Ricky's tirade soon ceased and the room became eerily quiet. Smiling, Eric folded his arms and waited.
It took Ricky only a few seconds to pick the lock. Slowly, the door eased open. Ricky stood calmly in the entry, grinning wickedly, dangling his nail clippers before his father's eyes. “I'm gonna kick your butt, honorable father.”
Eric sprang forward with blinding speed, disarming his son and tossing him handily and unceremoniously into the shower. Before Ricky could get his footing Eric flipped on the cold water. Ricky gasped for breath, reached out and grabbed at his dad, but Eric easily deflected his son's arm, leaving Ricky to clutch nothing but air and cold water.
“Honorable father kicks honorable son's butt, amazingly effortlessly.” He bowed to his worthy opponent. “Like I said son, you're getting soft.”
Ricky returned the bow. “Well, you ARE 'the Master'.”
“And don't you forget it” Eric called back as he left the bathroom to wait for room service.
|Posted on July 2, 2010 at 10:15 AM|
Many times since I began writing romance/women's fiction, I've run up against what I call 'the snobbery of the publishing industry.' It comes from everywhere but mostly from educated individuals who sincerely look down on the romance genre. I believe the words I've heard associated with it are .... silly, cheesy, porn, worthless, waste of time, .. just to name a few.
I've always found those who judge something harshly usually have not given it sufficient consideration, or are merely, "protesting too loudly," for fear they may lose some credibility for themselves. Maybe if they actually took the time to read a few mainstream romance novels they would begin to understand the pull. Here are a few statistics. Click on the link for more detail.
In 2008, romance was the top performing category on the New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly best-seller lists.
Romance fiction: $1.37 billion in estimated revenue for 2008
Religion/inspirational: $800 million
Mystery: $668 million
Science fiction/fantasy: $551 million
Classic literary fiction: $446 million
In Wikipedia it states... "By the 2000s, romance had become the most popular genre in modern literature. In 2004, romantic fiction generated $1.2 billion in sales, with 2,285 romance novels published. Almost 55% of all paperback books sold in 2004 were romance novels, and this genre made up 39% of all fiction sold that year.
Why do I love romance fiction? For its entertainment value of course. Why do people go to movies, most of which play just as a romance novel reads? Why do we watch romantic comedies? Why do movies like Pirates of the Carribean pull so many? Romance... who can resist Jonny Depp in anything and who wanted to see Orlando Bloom get together with Keira Knightley... we did! As artsy as a sad ending is, wouldn't you prefer to walk away from a movie or book with a smile on your face and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart?
A friend of mine who is working on her PHD in English, doesn't really read romance, or like it per se. As a favor to me, or possibly out of boredom, she read Dandelions Never Die. She came back with the report that she was surprised. She found it was really very entertaining and she went on to read my other books and even took the time to write a review on Amazon for two of them.
I was on Amazon the other day and stumbled across a discussion "Finally comfortable with being a romance reader." Click on the link and check it out, but I saved a few comments (with permission) to post here on my webstie. Here they are....
MK says: I think it is kind of funny...I have been reading romance novels for over 25 years, since I was in middle school basically with the "teenager" versions of Harlequin novels. I have hidden this from everyone I know forever. It just seemed so embarrassing to me for some reason. I am a scientist who spent many years studying chemistry, all of my friends belong to book clubs where they read thought provoking "literature". I have no interest in that...I want to read something that helps me escape for a while! I love to laugh and cry while I read a book, but I always want to know that there is a happy ending. I am a fortunate person, but like anyone out there I have a lot of things to be sad about. I read books to feel better and cheer myself up!
I have finally started telling people proudly (Even the book club literature friends) that I read romance novels. I read them because they make me happy. And by the way- I aced all the verbal/written standardized tests in high school (SAT etc) because of what I picked up from romance novels. I think they have given me a better vocabulary than most people, and I know a lot about history that many people would never be aware of.
Ansyway- here is a "hurrah" to all of us romance novel readers. I think we are an awesome group of people!
R. Huang says: Hi MK,
Congratulations, you are finally out of the romance "closet"! LOL I am so glad to see a fellow smart and intelligent scientist admitting to the love of romance novels. I am also a scientist in academic biological science and like you have been hiding my passion for romance novels from my friends and colleagues. I've only started reading them about a year ago. I was working on a difficult project at work and stressed to the hilt so I was looking for something else other than Nature, Cell and Science to read so I can escape for a little bit each day. I started reading the Bronze Horseman trilogy by Paulina Simmons that I picked up from Borders and fell in love with romance novels. At first I was a little bit embarrassed to admit to my friends that I read romances and my bf made fun of me when he found my stash under the bed. Then I realized hey some people turn to drug, alcohol or sex to distress and I turn to romance novels, at least my method is way more harmless to both my health and wallet. So I just didn't care anymore and have them to think or ridicule all they want to, I even told them they should try to read a couple themselves and see if they'll change their attitudes toward romance novels. Later on I found out all my colleagues have their own indulgence, one guy reads sci-fi fantasy novels, another plays the computer game Civilization for hours and hours each day, and another watch Japanese anime on a regular basis. They are all brilliant scientists with PhDs by the way but none of them are embarrassed about their hobbies, they talk about it all the time. One of them joked that I should consider putting romance novel reader on my CV because I am sure to pick up skills from those that I won't be able to pick up from the lab, he said it makes me more well rounded...LOL.
Its time to shout to the world that you are a romance reader and be proud of it!
McCartney says: I love romance novels. I write romance. Still, it took time to bravely lift my chin when someone asks, "You're a writer? What do you write?" I think it stems from the snobbery I encountered from many English majors and self-help gurus who intimated that a romance novel was a waste of good time. Contrary to that belief by the "intellectuals" of the world, romance is not only entertaining, but helps to empower women, helps all to search for their ideal career, and even gives us goals and ideals to work for. They uplift and yes, even educate. And so..... My name is McCartney Green and I read ... and write.... romance!
Deanna L. Fisher says: Which is ridiculous because some of the big names in romance have phd's and other various degrees...Eloisa James has a PhD in English (Shakespeare I think); Diana Gabaldon has a PhD in Ecology (or something like that)
The discussion had so many wonderful people and discussions I wanted to copy and paste the whole thing here!
And so, in closing, I stand proudly to say, I love romance!