The Samurai's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

and I learned a lot of clever strategies—”
    â€œDon’t joke about that.” Somehow, I didn’t like the word strategy connected to our relationship.
    â€œWhy not? I think it pays off to become reformed.” His voice softened. “By the way, can you pick me up outside Sharp, Witter and Rowe? It’ll make things easier than if I return to Pacific Heights again.”
    â€œI’ll ask my mother if the car’s free.”
    My mother agreed to lend me the Infiniti, as long as I was careful on the hills. She knew I was deathly afraid of slipping backward, because I’d practically burned up the transmission on the Camry they’d let me drive when I was in grad school. My mother also asked if I would pick up a special order of votive candles at Williams-Sonoma, and recommended that I change out of my jeans, since I would be going to one of the most glamorous spots in the city for cocktails.
    â€œThere are going to be tourists there,” I protested. “Tourists can wear anything!”
    â€œBut we are longtime residents, not tourists, dear.”
    Honestly, American mothers were as bossy as the Japanese, I thought as I stared at my closet a few minutes later. Most of my career-girl clothes were at the cleaner’s, so what I had to choose from were leftovers from college and high school days: things like off-the-shoulder Flashdance T-shirts, straight-leg Calvin Klein jeans, and various miniskirts.
    The micro-mini and jeans didn’t fit anymore, but I was able to squeeze into a Commander Salamander black velour dress that ended at mid-thigh. All my old shoes were gone, so I went into my mother’s closet and came up with a pair of soft black suede boots that reached the knee. Now I was hardly exposed at all.
    I thought I looked rather presentable when I pulled up outside the handsome old brick building where Hugh was waiting. But when he tumbled into the seat before me, he seemed too stressed to notice. The joking ease he’d had on the phone was gone.
    â€œThanks for coming,” he said. “It turned into a rather difficult afternoon.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œAfter a brief meeting with everyone here, the translator and I went over to interview a potential plaintiff. I felt so bad about the whole thing that I wanted to stop in somewhere to get her a Christmas gift. Do you think we have time?”
    I looked at my watch. “Sure. But you should have booked my mother to help you. She’s the only one who loves shopping as much as you.”
    â€œWell, one of the stops is the opera house, for tickets I ordered for her and your father, so I’m glad she’s not along. After that,we’ll get the goods for my client. I need to get her one of those things that boils water for tea and soup—”
    â€œAn electric kettle,” I said, heading toward Sutter. Williams-Sonoma would sell one, and I could get my mother’s candles there, too.
    â€œRight. I’ll buy something for Manami there, too. And after that’s all accomplished, I need to buy food.”
    â€œFood? Our fridge is packed to exploding.”
    â€œNot food for the Shimuras, food for…my client.”
    I rolled my eyes, knowing this trip was going to be a lot longer than I’d first thought. It took the better part of an hour and a half to hit the opera house, Williams-Sonoma, and the Real Food Company. This San Francisco independent gourmet-to-go shop was seemingly packed with last-minute shoppers wanting complete Christmas dinners for ten. As we waited for service, Hugh and I argued the merits of everything: green beans almondine, wheat-berry salad or pasta salad, and whether or not to get her a cranberry-stuffed Cornish game hen.
    â€œCalifornians are fifty percent more likely to be vegetarian than other people,” I said. “In my high school class, I’d say the majority of girls lived on yogurt.”
    â€œShe’s not that