Kazuo spotted her amidst dancefloor mayhem, two sumo rings away. Beneath snow-white braids of cascading hair, she had nice curves under rather ordinary threads. Her honey rack bounced, jounced and held his eyes. He’d always admired athletic gals, and this one covered more ground than a kamikaze pilot in orbital freefall. As he dodged elbows and knees to join her space, sharp needles prickled his foot bottoms. A pinched artery, he reckoned, or maybe shoelaces too tight. His remedy was to kickstart the blockage. He hop-skipped and stomped like a mongoose around a cobra, in clear view of the quarry. Playing the fool, he realized, like those youthful forays to red-light arcades where he’d goggled at miniskirts crowding discotheques and hookers spicing walkways. He braced himself for shards of laughter, but she outed a smile that saved his mojo and more, and more.

He got his feet under control by the time she begged off the dancefloor. She was similar in height, scanning him with bright azure eyes. He prayed she wasn’t a tourist from NOAM or Euroland, a teaser chick who upped the pulse before defecting to the washroom, never to return. Her azure eyes seemed to offer more than tedious games, so he burned the color blue into perm recall, knowing quails dumped suitors who muffed their eye hues.

“What’s your name, beauhunk?”

Kazuo let words gush from his mouth. “Kazuo Yamazaki.”

“Kazuo-san. Call me Miyuki.” She winked and gripped his biceps, sending wildfires down his spine. Velvet smooth, her contralto voice corralled his ears. “Aren’t you thirsty? I’d love a strawberry cooler, please?”

He nodded and broke away, but her sweet voice sang again. “Head straight for the bar. Don’t wander.”

No chance of that, he thought wryly. He skirted the perimeter like a mouse in cat’s eyes. The details of his errand blurred. He reached the bar on autopilot and bought the drinks, altho cheesy coolers weren’t his usual choices. On the way back, he navigated around folks as if wading thru fog. Then his game plan scattered like chimney smoke in a typhoon.

She took her glass while he hung back, sipped and pondered his next move. “Kazuo, wha’d’you think of me?”

Words stuck in his throat. He had no idea which keys would fit her lock. Miyuki didn’t resemble any known type. She was a rare bird shedding rainbows across quantum tunnels. Wherever her rainbows led, he aimed to grab the pots of gold.

“Be honest,” she prompted.

He didn’t have a novel opener, so he tried the old standby. “You dance like a snake.” The quip wasn’t so rude as puzzling for gaijin.

She laughed. “How many gals have heard that line?”

Japanese, he surmised and feigned sincerity. “Never one so worthy.”

“Hmm.” She challenged his eyes. “D’you think I resemble Nguyet Nãi?”

He recognized a mild resemblance altho he seldom rented harlequin holos and never drooled after femmes fatale. He could tell Miyuki didn’t need cosmetic glowworms, and something in her tone hinted of another agenda. Not daring to give offense, he assumed a diplomatic stance. “I see more differences than similarities.”

“Good.” Her eyes sparkled in triumph as if he’d passed the test. “No more cheeky comparisons. Promise?”

“Sure. No problem.” He would’ve granted the moon if she’d asked.

A young man somersaulted from the dancefloor and landed spread-eagle at their feet. His plight prompted both of them to fits of laughter. The red-faced loser got to his feet and limped away.

Miyuki drew close, the cool of her drink touching his cheek. Her contralto voice aired under blue eyes. “Your place or mine?”

Kazuo almost jumped for joy. Just like that, she’d bought his game plan without a long round of sweet talk.

During the cab ride to the chalet, they exchanged personal trivia. Miyuki was an aspiring actress altho she worked as a flight attendant for a dirigible tour outfit. He made himself a systems troubleshooter who serviced clients in Honshu and Honolulu.

They got comfortable in the chalet, and she surprised him by not taking or offering stims. It didn’t matter. The scent of her body induced a potent desire that overmatched the lingering buzz of alcohol. They exchanged frivolous chitchat before words gave way to tremors within. Sparks flew as she began a novel foray and beckoned with the slow deliberation of a rock climber. He couldn’t help but follow, then watched her unfurl like a mountain wildflower in early morning sunlight. His breaths quickened, and soon they gained the high summit where they fused once, twice and again before hot-lava desires cooled to weary stone.

Kazuo lay back, listened to Miyuki’s placid breaths, traced fractal frost across the chalet window. He felt like a shogun glutted with victory spoils.

He woke to blue eyes that gulled his attention without raising a finger. He felt energized and somehow exorcised of old habits. They showered together, ate a hearty breakfast, then frolicked on skis down the slopes. Later they revisited the slasher club and danced to abandon. Afterward they retired to the chalet where he died joyously in her arms.

Next morning they taxied to the Yamanashi maglev and bought 1st-class tickets for adjacent recliners. After a few halting attempts at conversation, they fell silent, together yet separate. The train flew down its track and reached her Tokyo destination way too soon. She kissed him goodbye, then he watched her zigzag thru the terminal crowd.

The train resumed its glide to Osaka. Bridge trusses and floral tufts winked past. Alone he sat, then sniffed his fingers but couldn’t recoup her fragrance.