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“Sushi Den,” Ally answered.
At those two words, Ally and I both immediately threw up our hands, index finger and pinkie extended in the famous devil’s horns “Rock On!” gesture and squealed, “Sushi!”
“We’re not having sushi,” Malcolm declared.
“We decided this. We’re having sushi,” Kitty Sue said.
“Sushi’s shit,” Malcolm stated.
“Sushi’s good for you,” Kitty Sue returned.
“Mexican is good for you,” Dad said.
Kitty Sue rolled her eyes.
I went to the bag excitedly.
I loved sushi, but I loved Sushi Den even more. It was one of my favorite restaurants in Denver. It was on Pearl Street, next to Pearl Street Grill and across from Stella’s Coffee Haus.
Sushi Den was made out of cement and glass. They had hostesses filled with attitude who, with a look, could make lesser mortals feel small and even suicidal, and they had the best sushi I’d ever tasted. They never took reservations because they were always wall-to-wall people. Ally and I went to Sushi Den at least twice a month and had an ongoing battle to out-attitude the hostesses (with hostesses winning).
“Did you bring me a Sushi Den outfit?” I asked Ally.
You didn’t go to Sushi Den in jeans and cowboy boots. Sushi Den demanded something else entirely. Clothing…black. Shoes…stiletto. I had a full section of my closet devoted to Sushi Den clothes.
“You bet your ass,” Ally replied.
* * *
I wokeup in Lee’s bed again and my first thought was sake.
I didn’t evenlikesake, but I drank it with Ally at Sushi Den because that’s what you had to do.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
When at Sushi Den, drink hot sake.
I was on my belly, left leg crooked, right one straight. My left arm was bent with my hand resting on the pillow, and my right arm was crushed between me and what I knew had to be the weight of Lee’s warm, hard body.
In one night, Lee had perfected a strategy of keeping me in one place while I was sleeping. He was pressed against my back, a good deal of his body resting on mine, his arm around me. His left leg was bent into the crook of mine and his thigh pressed against my nether regions. This was surprisingly not uncomfortable. It was cozy and warm, and made me feel, somehow, safe.
Fucking hell, how did I get myself into these situations?
I thought back to our sake-soaked family “celebration” dinner and was thankful to discover that I remembered everything.
Eat, drink sake, eat more, drink more sake, get drunk.
Let Lee put me in his Crossfire while I blew kisses to Ally, Hank, Dad, Kitty Sue, Malcolm and the parking valet.
Come back to Lee’s condo, stagger into his bedroom, take off clothes, confiscate another wife beater, fall face first in Lee’s big bed because of drunkenness and lack of Disco Nap, and fall asleep.
With my left hand, I checked the status of my clothing.
Panties, check.
Wife beater T-shirt, check.
Either Lee didn’t ravish my drunken self or he dressed me when he was done. I figured it was the former.
