Genesis Press
ISBN: 1585710148
Available Now!

At the pause, a knock sounded and the door opened.

"Good morning, Mr. Phillips, Mr. Ikuta," Jamison greeted.

Claire turned in her chair and looked toward the doorway at the men stepping across the threshold. The first was a tall Caucasian man with light brown hair, wearing a dapper gray suit and a swaggering attitude.

I wonder what Horsch thinks of his attitude.

Behind him was a man who, for an instant, made Claire's heart tremble.

This was Kentaro Ikuta. He stood a head taller than Phillips.

The post-war diet changes in Japan must be making for an increase in height of the inhabitants of the "Land of the Gods", Claire thought as she surveyed his tall, six feet plus frame. The sheen of his thick, raven black hair rivaled that of a crow's wing. Long, it brushed his wide shoulders three inches below the collar of the white cotton shirt which stretched over his broad chest. A jacket of navy blue and gray slacks completed his attire in an effective GQ style.

Ikuta studied Claire from a lean face with wide oblong eyes above high cheekbones. His nose was long flaring slightly to it over full lips that Claire did not think knew how to smile. Though his face was blank, she could tell his dark, oblong eyes took in everything.

"Ms. Ferris, this is Kentaro Ikuta and his interpreter, Jack Phillips," Jamison said by way of introductions.

"Former translator," Phillips corrected as he stepped to Claire. "How do you do? You must be the rookie brought in from the farm team." She flinched at his snide remark.

"Fine." Claire shook his hand. All the while she considered how to greet Ikuta. If she held her hand out, she might seem presumptuous. If she bowed to him when he had not bowed to her first, he might be offended.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Ikuta-san." Claire greeted the pitcher with words instead of actions.

"Konnichi wa." Ikuta made a slight noise through his nose and held out his hand. Claire accepted it. The slender hand had a roughness to it from pitching a baseball; the fingers were long and well-sculptured.

Claire chanced a closer look into Ikuta's eyes. She could see an attitude, but she wasn't sure it was one of superiority. While she didn't read people well, she didn't sense Ikuta felt superior.

"Jack, will you please tell Ikuta Ms. Ferris is to be his new interpreter?" Jamison asked.

"Sure." Phillips turned to face the Japanese man. The pitcher inclined his head toward the other man and listened, concentrating on each syllable. A frown formed on his face.

"Yes." Ikuta added the strange nasal sound to his word to his response.

"Sumimasen. Excuse me," Claire broke in. She almost winced at Phillips' translation of the CEO's words. Phillips used much of modern slang in his translating. No wonder Ikuta was not pleased with his work. When she spoke, Claire used the most precise, most elite Japanese she knew. "Ikuta-san, these gentlemen feel I might be better able to interpret your words with more accuracy. I wish to do so only if you are pleased."

Claire watched as Ikuta thought about what she had said. She felt uneasy as the pitcher took another look at her.

"Ferris-san, I will have to see how well you perform before I can say whether I am pleased. Now, I must attend practice." Ikuta left the room without warning. Phillips followed.

Claire stood stunned. He had almost rejected her help.

"Well, Ms. Ferris?" Jamison asked. "What did he say?"

"He must listen to me for a while." Claire watched the door through which Ikuta had passed, her thoughts preoccupied. "Mr. Jamison," she asked, swiftly facing the team CEO. "is Phillips still translating for him?"

"Until you accept the job."

"Then let me sign right now!" Claire reached for the pen in the holder on Jamison's desk and signed her name to the contract. "Ikuta-san needs all the help he can get!"

"Very good." Jamison took the signed document and put it in the file at his elbow.

"How will I know when Ikuta needs me?" Claire remained standing.

"I'll get the message to him through Phillips that you've taken the job. You'll need to carry this beeper." He handed her a small, square, black device. "That way, any one of us can notify you of the need for your services. We'll give him the number. Then he'll call you to set up a time he wants to study English."

"Oh." A feeling of uneasiness was heavy on her as Claire studied the beeper. She realized she had committed herself to this project. "I guess I'll go home and wait."

Claire gathered her purse as the phone on the desk rang. She'd have to wait until Jamison was free to tell him good-bye.

"Ms. Ferris," he replaced the receiver. "a reporter from the Plain Dealer's here and..."

"You need me to translate," Claire finished. Her heart pounded, and she hoped the men in the room didn't hear it or the fear in her voice. She had told them she could do this, but could she? Her best Japanese involved reading and writing. Could her talent also be verbal?

"Yes."

"All right then." She tried to sound enthusiastic.

"Ms. Ferris, do you realize much of your time will be spent in the locker room?" Horsch asked.

"Uh, well, I hadn't thought about it." Claire gulped, this time in response to Horsch's question. The locker room meant sweaty, naked men. Oh, boy. "I suppose if Hannah Storm can do it after basketball games, I can too!" She tried to laugh. "But, Mr. Jamison," Claire paused a beat, "I don't know anything about baseball!"

"You're about to learn, young lady. Let's go." Jamison came from around the desk and with a gentle, father-like hand at her back guided Claire toward the locker room many stories below the executive offices.

* * * *

The locker room was quiet, occupied by fewer than ten men. Claire had met only two of them in the last fifteen minutes. Relieved they were all clothed, she followed Jamison and Horsch farther into the room.

"Gentlemen," Horsch spoke to the group. "Good morning."

There were mumbles in reply. Claire noticed Ikuta standing off to the side near the lockers. Phillips was just as aloof, even farther away. Taking the initiative, Claire approached Ikuta.

"Ikuta-san, I have accepted the position and hope you will find my services satisfactory. Jamison-san has asked me to help you with an interview with a newspaper reporter. Is there anything you wish me to know before we start?" Claire had no idea what she needed to know about the pitcher or where to start to interpret for someone.

"No." Ikuta repeated the nasal sound that seemed to come naturally to his speech. Claire hadn't decided whether the noise was one of surprise, disgust, disbelief, or annoyance.

Claire's attention was caught by the men who moved nearer her and Ikuta.

"Charles Penticoff," Horsch addressed the reporter from the Cleveland newspaper, "this is Kentaro Ikuta, our newest rookie. Just signed him from the Yokohama Bay Stars. You have his stats on the player roster."

"I want to ask a few things not related to baseball. You know, human interest things so the fans can relate to him as a person." The reporter readied his tape recorder.

Claire was panicked, aware her words would be the ones on the tape, not Ikuta's. It would be her voice which changed his words to English on the tape.

"This is Claire Ferris, Ikuta's new interpreter. Claire." Horsch led Penticoff to Claire and Ikuta and addressed her. "This is Charles Penticoff, sports writer for the Plain Dealer."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Penticoff." Claire realized she was in the world of men when she experienced his firm handshake. She would have to get used to this. "Ikuta-san's ready if you are." Her subject stood with his arms crossed on his chest, looking bland and uninterested. She introduced the writer to him. Ikuta merely nodded his response. The thick hair swayed slightly. Claire took a position at his side, behind him at his right shoulder.

"First," Penticoff began, "where in Japan is Mr. Ikuta from?"

Claire translated and awaited for Ikuta's answer.

"Ikuta-san was born in a small city outside Nagasaki."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

Claire spoke to the pitcher.

"Hai," Ikuta answered.

"Yes," Claire echoed.

They continued with the interview. The man asked what Claire thought to be irrelevant questions, personal ones she felt Ikuta was not comfortable with, judging from his monosyllabic responses.

Before Claire realized it, her first press conference was over as Penticoff expressed his thanks then moved off with the executives. Claire was alone with Ikuta since Phillips had disappeared long before the interview finished.

"Are these the questions they usually ask?" Claire questioned him.

"Of late, yes. At the press conference, after my contract was signed, the questions were more about baseball." Ikuta responded with the longest, most direct statement since they had met in Jamison's office. This gave Claire the confidence to initiate a conversation.

"Ikuta-san, I assume our arrangement will be the same as you had with Phillips-san. I have a beeper and here is my card." Claire rifled through her purse. She pushed the half bagel aside until she found her billfold and removed a small white business card. "My home and office number are there. Call me when you are ready to set up English lessons and, of course, if you need my help."

Ikuta took the card then, in typical Japanese business etiquette involving business cards, carefully examined it before he putting it in his pocket.

"I will speak with you later." Ikuta handed his own card to Claire. Then, he performed the business-like bow so automatic to his being. The inclination of his upper body was to Claire and no other. The sentiment of sharing something "special" with Ikuta that the men didn't evaporated quickly when he left her so abruptly she stood bewildered.

Looking around, Claire found no one to direct her to the door. The locker room was large, an open space with walls formed by cubical-like lockers which wound around toward the secluded showers. She knew she'd taken a wrong turn when she stumbled upon Ikuta.

The Japanese pitcher stood with his back to her, half-undressed. Claire studied the broad muscular expanse of golden flesh before her. The skin covering well-defined cords of muscles shifted like water with his arm movements as he pulled off the white cotton T-shirt. His long hair ruffled a moment before it fell to cover his neck.

"Excuse me," she blurted out in English then repeated, "Sumimasen."

Ikuta turned. He stood, his T-shirt wadded in his hands before his midriff, unconcerned that he was bare-chested. Claire was surprised an inch long gold cross dangling from a chain around his neck then realized she had fallen into the trap of stereotyping Ikuta as a Buddhist. Thoughts about his religion flew out the window though, as she noticed his slacks were unbuttoned, the fly half-zipped.

"I seem to have made a wrong turn," Claire said easily in conversational Japanese. She hoped he didn't see the deep flush she felt covering her face.

"I will show you." Ikuta moved past her to guide her to the doorway. Claire followed. Her eyes watched the broad back she had studied before. A closer inspection showed a flawless, rich, tan surface which looked like satin. It was all Claire could do not to reach out and touch him. Just the thought of doing so made her feel hot in the cool locker room.

When Ikuta came to a halt, Claire almost collided with him, faintly disappointed that she was able to catch herself. They were at the front of the locker room, the doorway evident.

"I must have turned wrong here."

"It is easy to do."

"Domo arigato." Claire started to move to the door.

"Sayonara." Ikuta departed back into the bowels of the locker room.

Claire pushed open the door and exited into a quiet corridor. She leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. What had she promised to do?

* * * *

Available now from Genesis Press. Click here to order your copy today!