“How can you say that?" Shelley asked her husband incredulously. "How can you say I brought it on myself?"
"You go walking around in those tight exercise shorts, just begging some guy to have his way with you. Now that it's happened you want sympathy from me."
"I can't believe you're turning this on me. You act as if I'm the criminal."
"Admit it, Shelley, if you didn't think you shared some of the guilt why didn't you go to the police right away?"
She shook her head as the tears began to fall anew. "I– I was confused. I needed to get home before Bree came home from school. I needed to pick the boys up from daycare. I wanted to wait for you. I needed you, Robert.” Wiping her face on her sleeve, she looked back up at him expectantly.
His mouth taut, he rolled his eyes. “Well, come on, then. Let’s go. You’ve waited so long they probably won’t believe you anyway. I’m not even sure I do."
She gasped. “Are you saying I made it up? You think I'm doing this for attention?”
“Just get dressed and let’s go,” he answered as he rose to leave the bedroom.
She watched the door close. He didn't slam it. He never slammed anything. He was perfect. Mr. Perfect. She laid back across the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The sense of utter and complete loneliness threatened to engulf her. She'd thought she’d tell her husband what had transpired and he’d take her in his arms, hold her, comfort her, promise her everything would get better. "I won't lower myself to hate you," she whispered.
But, oh, Robert, I needed you. The emptiness of that thought jolted her. He wasn’t there for her now. Had he ever been?
Shelley rose and went to the window. It was dark outside and with the light on behind her she could see nothing but her own image. Staring at her reflection, she mentally fought down the emotions, but the self hatred bubbled up. I didn't even fight. I'm nothing but a big baby. I just laid there and let him do it. God, how weak. And now I'm standing here crying because my own husband doesn't even care.
She pulled the edge of her shirt up to wipe her face then eyed herself in the glass once more. So what am I gonna do? Am I gonna just lie down and take it? Oh Jesus, I already did that, she thought, giving a slightly hysterical chuckle. Getting a grip, she shook her head. The man I married treats me like I’m nothing. "Why do I allow him to treat me like dirt?" she whispered aloud.
It was then a thought struck her, penetrating her brain and lodging there. I don’t have to stick around and take this. I deserve more than this. I don't have to stay. I can leave. That would surprise you, wouldn't it, Robert? I've been miserable for a long time now, she admitted to herself. She sniffed, stood up straight. “This is all about to change,” she whispered. “Right here. Right now. I have a right to be happy." She wasn't sure if she spoke to her husband or to the man who had stolen her dignity earlier that day. Actually, she realized, both men had accomplished the same.
But she also realized that as she spoke the words a transformation came over her, as if declaring her intentions aloud spawned some magical occurrence. The fear in her eyes was replaced by resolve.
The door opened briskly. “What are you doing? I said to get ready to go.”
What I’m doing, she thought as she slipped on her shoes, is waking up.
Kino mansion, Los Angeles
Martial Art's Master, Eric Kino, awoke at three a.m. covered in perspiration. Making his way through the dark to the bathroom, he flipped on the light and reveled in the sensation of cool water as he splashed it on his heated face. He'd been dreaming again. Same dream. Same feeling of urgency. How long could this go on? Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face, looked back up into the mirror and gasped.
Raising a dark eyebrow, he laughed at himself. Staring back, for a brief instant, were the eyes. The same eyes he'd seen so often in his dreams. They were beautiful, female eyes, but never smiling. Sometimes sad and sometimes filled with fear, he had no idea to whom the eyes belonged. He'd had precognitive dreams before, but they'd always involved someone he knew and none had given him such an intense feeling of desperation.
It’d been more than a year now of this particular dream and he’d struggled to interpret it’s meaning. Well, after tonight that struggle was no longer necessary. 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. And he knew; 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. When he and his son had first received the invitation 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. Movie icon, Ricky, 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 able 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 helped to lift Eric's spirits, his mind was still heavy with images of the woman in his dream. It worried 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. Now, he felt he’d been chosen to help this woman and was anxious to fulfill his mission.
"Cheer up," Ricky coaxed, from where he stood in the doorway.
Eric glanced over his shoulder, the cloud hanging over him dissipating immediately. Ricky was a breath of sunshine wherever he went, and Eric could think of no one in the world he loved and treasured more.
Ricky grinned. "You're not going to a funeral, you're coming to watch me and what could be more pleasant than that?"
Eric shrugged. "Guess I’m feeling a little– intense."
Ricky approached, circling around to massage his father's shoulders. "Whatever you want to call it, Dad, you've 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. Very funny. 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
everyday.” He placed an arm around Ricky’s shoulder. “Let's go."
"Really, Dad. You seem a little down. You don't have to come with me."
"Are you kidding me? I'm looking forward to it. Besides, I'll be on fresh ground in a new location where I can 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, where an instructor takes a rookie student and turns them into a black belt champion in one year's time. And 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 Tom Landry is to football, Eric Kino is to the world of martial arts.
Now, his father searched for the perfect student. Ricky knew his father believed the student he searched for was also the woman he'd been dreaming about and that she needed his help as much as he needed the student.
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. "Dad, you okay?"
Eric touched his son on the shoulder and sighed. "I guess I haven't been very good company but yes, I'm okay, just a little preoccupied. And would you please stop trying to take care of me, you're starting to sound like your grandmother."
Ricky's smile flashed. "Sure. But 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 flopped across the bed, moaning.
Eric smiled. "A place like this would be great for getting into shape. If you trained here under these conditions, you could be ready for anything."
"Wrong, Dad, I wouldn't be ready 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, the room became eerily quiet. 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, smiling 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 toward 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. "I suppose I should be embarrassed by my defeat, but you are 'the Master'."
"And don't you forget it" Eric called back as he left the bathroom to wait for room service.
✺
Shelley Adams stared into the mirror and wondered at the woman who stared back. She saw only a lone figure when there should’ve been a loving husband standing behind her. She shook her head. No. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone. She’d learned to stand on her own and she was learning to be strong. 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 and she had to admit she was more than just a little nervous.
Spawned by a random act of violence that had taken place almost two years earlier on a bright, sunny afternoon, she'd set a goal to master one of the martial arts. That goal had become a burning desire. The police had never caught the man who'd assaulted her. She wasn't sure they even believed he existed. The counselor at the rape crisis center had helped her through the frustration, but the terrible nightmares continued along with the self disgust. It sickened her that she hadn't fought. She'd let fear paralyze her. She swore she’d never let that happen again. A man would never make her a victim again. And that included her husband. So she’d stuck to her guns when she up and divorced him, a considerable feat, considering her emotional dependency on him.
It 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. 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.
Her husband's nonchalant attitude toward the 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 loneliness.
Shelley studied her reflection. Most people didn't believe she was thirty-four. Some even 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. This was the first thing she'd allowed– pretty eyes.
Her hair was long and thick and very curly. 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 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. Admittedly, she was a wimp, especially when the children were gone. Sometimes, in the dark, she could feel the panic take over, making her feel very much alone in the world and wish for a warm body with which to cuddle. She’d had offers. But she knew that before she could open her heart, she had to learn to be independent, to lean on no one but herself. Her ex-husband had mentally crippled her, but today she was stronger.
Now, she intended to make up for lost time. To take another shaky step, she was finally going to a real tournament. Her 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 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 the 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." Eric smiled when he made his threat but he left little doubt he’d make good on it.
"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.
A crowd quickly formed around Ricky, as Eric took a seat. He 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.
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. Ricky was consequently good on film because his eyes could appear warm and compassionate or hard as steel. But those eyes were only part of what had made Ricky a film star. Ricky had a musculature that was rock hard, and a bright, alert mind. He was swift and agile and very good at what he did.
He’d achieved black belt at nine years of age. Two years later his mother had died. Ricky and Eric had immersed themselves in their art as therapy for their loss. Losing his wife had nearly defeated him. It was caring for Ricky that had brought the light back into his world. He glanced over at Ricky again. His son 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 a wristwatch, letting Ricky know he should head to the locker room to change.
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 Ricky 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.
✺
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. Shelley was grateful, at least, that 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," he offered. "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 began apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry. I should've been watching where I was going. I was late and— " She'd been crawling around gathering her things but stopped when a bronzed hand held out her folded purple belt for her. Her eyes followed the hand up to its source where 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 all right?" 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 took her breath away. He raised his eyebrows at her and she realized he waited for an answer to his question. "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. 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 didn't 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." He seemed amused by the question. "I came to watch my son. But now, I'll have two people to watch."
He smiled again and she thought she’d rise off the floor. He quickly brought her back to earth. "You'd better hurry. We're about to start."
“Oh, goodness, I have to go.”
Eric watched as she ran toward the women's locker room.
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.
Shelley sat cross-legged on the floor and took long, slow, deep breaths, centering herself. She tried to clear her mind, seeking the strength she'd need to perform this seemingly simple task. Looking her opponents over, she took measure of the eight other women competing in her division although none were from her class at the "Y". She wanted so badly to do well. She'd practiced for hours with her two young sons. But, she reminded herself, the winning wasn’t important. Progress was. 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, most men anyway. Strange men for sure. Then again, as men go, that particular one had been quite attractive. But Lord, 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.”
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 announcer 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. Actually, 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 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 as she watched Master Kino stand and bow to the crowd. He glanced in her direction with a nod. 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! God, 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.
“Later today, 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.
Shelley’s mind raced. Sudden stage-fright overtook her. 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. Her stomach churned at the memory. She would not just sit idly by today.
The question she'd asked Master Kino came back to her. Had she really asked him if he was competing? She shook her head and groaned. He must have thought her a complete idiot.
"Shelley Adams."
Her head jerked around, the blood draining from her face as she realized her mind had been wondering 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 an effort to stay calm.
In a voice as loud as she could muster, she called out the name of her form, her instructor and school, which wasn't a school at all but a class at the local "Y". 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" 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.
"Hmm, what?" Eric asked.
"Oh, nothing," Ricky said 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. Positive that she’s definitely the one he's been searching for, 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. The forms competitions ended and Eric pulled himself from his thoughts and turned his attention to Ricky.
"You 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 and began to stretch. 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 walked slowly through the crowd and up the steps, but didn’t find the person he sought. He went into the lobby, grabbed a drink 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 a tight 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. He got himself under control, 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."She visibly relaxed.
"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 anxiously. "Have you seen the results?"
He shook his head.
"It doesn't really matter," she continued. "I'm just glad I got through it. This was my first competition and I was really nervous."
Eric gazed into her eyes. He could glimpse something in her. A quiet strength. "If you were nervous, I certainly couldn't tell." He smiled at her. Simple words had been spoken. Nothing of importance. Yet the feeling something of magnitude had taken place was hanging there, waiting for him to grab it.
The master watched his potential student as she turned away, looking out over the huge gym. Competitors and their families ran helter skelter, trying to find the place that would offer the best view of Ricky Kino in action. She was extremely attractive, in a simple sort of way. There was an innocence about her, a sweetness. And she was sexy as hell, he admitted. He would have to quell those kinds of thoughts immediately. In his dream, she'd been in peril. He must keep his mind clear if he’s going to help her. And the need to help her was overwhelming.
"Are you staying for the rest of the tournament?" he finally asked.
"Oh, yes! I wouldn't miss any of this for the world," she gushed. "It's all so wonderful. To see everyone's skill is amazing. I love it!"
Her face was a delightful pink, her eyes glowing, her enthusiasm refreshing. She rolled her eyes and he knew she silently reprimanded herself for getting carried away.
He paused, took a deep breath. "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. This can't 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. He’d want to show irreproachable behavior. 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 on yourself. This man is a Master. 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 him down.
“Well," she started slowly, trying to think of a cute or coy 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. "Then I'll meet you in the lobby as soon as the tournament is over."
Agreeing, she watched him walk away, his well-muscled arms swinging down from broad shoulders and a massive back. Her eyes followed to the trim waist, powerful buttocks and magnificent thighs. He wore 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.
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? Because, she thought, he made her trust him somehow.
The room grew quiet with anticipation. The announcer needed no other words than the few he spoke. "Ladies and Gentlemen– Ricky Kino!"
Accompanied by the roar of the crowd, 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, still standing at the railing, was amazed at how quiet the room had become when just moments before the crowd noise had been deafening. She 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 wear 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. They'd been told that nothing had been preplanned. When a lethal punch was thrown, you had to stay down, sort of like karate paint ball.
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. A scream, more laughter.
A murmur of admiration hummed through the crowd as he worked through a series of movements as a warm-up. His speed was incredible. He then proceeded to demonstrate his skills using kicking pads as targets. 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, who 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.
Settling into a seat, Shelley smiled with anticipation. She'd been so excited about attending this tournament for the past month it had seemed this day would never come. Now she wanted to enjoy every minute. 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 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. She’d told him, during their brief conversation, that winning didn't matter. But he could see that it had.
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 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 as it turned out, she did.
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 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 Bree's name on the most recent cheerleading plaque.
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. In fact, she loved the heat. 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. You do pretty well yourself, Angel."
"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 bod? 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 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."
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 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. One 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! Hiiiiiiii! My name is Angel." She held out her hand, which Eric clasped.
"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 and make some kind of gesture, but she didn't have the nerve. She held her breath. The evening was about to become very interesting.
