The Book of the Heart Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Simon Pulse edition March 2004

  Text copyright © 2004 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

  Interior illustrations copyright © 2003 by Renato Alarcao

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  Produced by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

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  New York, NY 10001

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  For information address 17th Street Productions, 151 West 26th Street, New York, NY 10001.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2003108405

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-0367-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-0367-5

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  To:Nikkei Daily Business Desk subscriber #45772

  Cc:

  Subject: Kogo Industries stock on the rise

  SHARES OF KOGO INDUSTRIES STOCK SOAR

  A positive note on the Kogo Industries front: Konishi Kogo’s daughter, Heaven Kogo, who went missing four months ago after a brutal attack at her wedding in Los Angeles, is now reported alive and well and back in Japan. “Now that she is back, our attention is turned fully to business,” says Mieko Kogo, Mr. Kogo’s wife. When asked if Heaven was at home with her, she replied, “No, and I cannot say where Heaven is right now. She is being hounded by the press and we want to keep her as comfortable as possible.” Sources say Heaven will definitely be in the Tokyo area soon, however, and this is definitely good news for the Kogo family.

  It’s good for the stock, too—shares of Kogo Industries, trading as one of the top 225 on the Nikkei Index, were at a low due to the uncertain fate of the company’s chairman, Konishi Kogo. His brush with death and ensuing coma had investors speculating as to whether the business would remain as powerful as before. But now the stock is on an upswing. The company’s acting chairman, Mieko Kogo, has taken the helm and cracked the whip. Sources say Kogo Industries VPs have been in nonstop meetings, working to streamline the business, cut costs, and boost production. Although she has not had any experience managing a global business in the past, Mieko Kogo says that she’s had a lot of help. She has appointed her brother, Masato Seki, as vice chairman, replacing one of Konishi’s veteran right-hand men, Kendo Matsui. “I’d like to keep the business in the family as much as possible,” she says. “I know that Konishi would want matters run this way.”

  No doubt Heaven’s homecoming has helped boost confidence in the company as well. Perhaps we will see her someday working for Kogo Industries?

  Stay tuned for the next e-mail update at today’s close of business….

  1

  “This won’t hurt a bit,” said a voice in my ear.

  I burrowed my head further and tensed for the pain. Strong hands pierced a muscle in my shoulder. They eased down to my middle back. I felt a hot twinge and squeezed my eyes closed.

  “Ouch,” I said. “That hurts.”

  No answer.

  I was lying facedown on a massage table, a towel over the lower half of my body. The massage therapist’s paper-thin Chinatown slippers were the only things I could see. The roar of an engine was the only thing I could hear.

  I was on a plane, flying from L.A. to Japan. Flying home.

  Across the cabin I could see my step-uncle Masato’s shoes. I was lying too awkwardly to see his face. But his shoes—trendy dark blue loafers—kept tapping out an even rhythm, as if he had a song stuck in his head.

  “Ow!” I said again. “I’m not supposed to feel this, I don’t think.”

  “Have you been under a lot of tension lately?” the massage therapist asked. “Sitting at strange angles, perhaps in cramped quarters?”

  “Um, you could say that,” I answered. “On both counts.” I’d just spent what felt like a lifetime in jail, spilling my guts to a cop and going on a botched sting to set up my ex-fiancé, Teddy Yukemura. If that wasn’t tense, I don’t know what tense is.

  Masato’s shoes still tapped out the same beat. I tried to put it to a song. It seemed like it was the rhythm of “Bootylicious,” but I didn’t really think Masato would be into Beyonce. Still, he seemed way hipper than my father, so there was no telling what kind of music he was into.

  Then I heard another voice. “You must be so excited to be flying back to Japan, Heaven!” The owner of the voice wore thick-heeled platform sandals with a giant flower on top. Her toenails were painted a shimmery shade of green that she assured me was the “latest color in Tokyo.” She had been introduced to me as Kaori, my uncle’s personal assistant. And ever since I’d met her, which had been about two seconds before we boarded Masato’s private plane, she hadn’t shut up for a second. She made a huge deal out of the fact that now that I was flying back to Japan and would be under Masato’s care, I had to have a complete makeover. Hair, facials, clothes, everything.

  The therapist pressed her hands into another part of my back. She was doing shiatsu, which is a type of massage that concentrates on relieving blocked energy from the body. When her hands hit one of my pressure points, I sighed in unbelievable relief. It had been ages since I’d had shiatsu. My energy was probably blocked everywhere.

  “I guess I’m excited,” I said, my voice filled with uncertainty. I hadn’t been back since Ohiko died. So many things had changed. Would I get to see my father? Mieko? What would happen to me? I honestly didn’t know.

  “Do not worry. You will be safe,” Masato said from across the plane. “Try to relax.”

  “And besides, when we get back to Tokyo, we’re going to go on a big shopping extravaganza!” Kaori said. “The Tokyo shops have great stuff right now….”

  “Okay,” I said weakly. Shopping made me think of L.A. And L.A. made me think of Hiro. And that made me think of what Hiro had said to me, about who his family was. That they were connected to—entrenched in—the yakuza.

  “You’re tensing up,” the massage therapist said.

  “That’s because you’re pressing too hard,” I muttered through my teeth.

  “Your back is arching.” She pressed on my upper back. “Just lie still.” She’d found a knot in my shoulder and was pinching it in to release some of the tension. But the whole process hurt like hell.

  Hiro was no better than Teddy Yukemura. And Hiro had lied to me. He’d lied to me for months. I’d…I’d kissed him! I’d told him I loved him! And he’d lied.

  “Kutsugeru,” said the therapist again. “You must relax. I’m going to put a lotion on your body now that will awaken your skin and chi. You can lie still and relax for thirty minutes, and then I’ll start on your legs.” She started to pull a screen around my table. The room grew dark.

  “Now just let yourself fall. Let go completely,” the massage therapist said.

  I sighed and tried to clear my head. But then I heard Kaori speak from behind the screen.

  “Heaven? Heaven?”

  “Yes?” I answered.

  “Where would you like to go first? Prantan Ginza or Takashimaya Times Square?”

  “Either one, I guess,” I said. “I think I’m supposed to be relaxing now.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.”

  I tried to imagine myself falling down, down, down. I’d been told everything would be safe now, but I still felt so keyed
up. My mind flicked back to what Masato had said to me earlier when we were driving to the airport. He had led me from my jail cell in San Diego to his Rolls-Royce limo, explaining that we would be taking a private flight back to Japan. I’d climbed in the limo, bruised and quiet. He must have sensed my uncertainty because as soon as the limo rolled away from the curb, he put his hand lightly over mine.

  “All your problems have ended,” he said simply. “You’re safe now.”

  I noticed right away, there in the limo, that he was the complete opposite of my father. Even the way he carried himself was different. My father would have sat in the back of the cab with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in his lap, no expression on his face. Masato, who had to be about the same age, sat slumped, sprawled against the seat, his feet constantly tapping. The tapping put me a little on edge.

  “I don’t quite understand why you’re doing all of this for me,” I said to him finally. “I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but…”

  “It’s my duty,” Masato said. “You are family. Family must help one another. There are certain kinds of people in the world who cannot be trusted, who you will be free from now. You don’t need to be grateful. This is duty, you see?”

  I shuddered. Kinds of people in the world who cannot be trusted. Hiro.

  “How soon will I get to see my father?” I’d asked. “Is he still in the hospital?”

  Masato was quiet for a moment. “I respect your father, but he is not who you think,” he finally said. “He has been putting you in danger. And there is something else—something you might not be ready to know, but I will tell you for your own good. There are people who are very closely tied to your father who don’t want the best for you. Who would rather see you…hurt…or…out of the picture.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight closer to me. “These people are very close.”

  A shiver ran through me. “Oh,” I said.

  Wait, I told myself, snapping back to the present. You’re supposed to be relaxing. Letting go. Don’t think about that stuff. I closed my eyes again and tried to think basic thoughts: clouds, air, birds. Landing in Japan, Mount Fuji. I suddenly felt very light and airy. Maybe my chi was being aligned after all.

  But then after a few more moments of bliss, I heard a voice. “Heaven?” It was Kaori.

  “Yes?”

  “You know, I think you’d look really great in Diesel. You don’t have Diesel jeans, do you? Apparently Lucy Liu wore them all through Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle. There’s a big Diesel store right in town. It’s pretty new; maybe you haven’t been there. Their jeans are hot! They have a whole new shipment in, I think. They have great shoes, too. We’ll have to go as soon as we get back….”

  Relaxation came to a halt. I rolled my eyes in the semi-darkness.

  We drove slowly through central Tokyo. I had been away only four months, but everything looked different. New stores had popped up in the place of old ones. And on every block Kaori pointed to some clothes shop, makeup emporium, record store, fitness club, spa, salon, nail shop, or jeweler that we had to go to as soon as possible. Masato spoke up front on his cell phone, murmuring in a voice so low that I couldn’t make out anything he was saying.

  I gasped when we drove up to Masato’s compound. We pulled through the gates, past a lavish row of sakura, or cherry blossom, trees, a lustrous rock garden, and fountains. The house had several stories and was very modern looking. The front stone facade seemed to meld naturally into a waterfall. Giant goldfish swam in a clear, sparkling pond. The goldfish were as big as my forearm.

  The limo came to a stop next to a line of three shiny, freshly waxed cars. Two of them were Mercedes. One was a Land Rover. The other was a sporty red Porsche Boxter, only my most favorite car in the world.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Nice.”

  “Isn’t it great?” Kaori said as we stepped out. “I’ll be living in the compound, too, attending to anything you need.”

  “Wow,” I said again. They called it a compound. “How long have you had this place?” I asked Masato. “Weren’t you in Costa Rica?”

  Masato walked toward the house, ignoring my question. Then he turned back. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to show you around. Kaori, however, knows the house very well and can show you everything.” He smiled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  I turned back to Kaori, who was pulling my bag from the trunk. There was nothing in it, really, except all of my essentials—money, wallet, fake ID, keys to Hiro’s house and Cheryl’s burned-down house, neither of which I’d been inside in ages, and a change of underwear.

  Kaori inspected the bag. “This is all you brought?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I, um, travel light.”

  “Where’s all your makeup and stuff? And clothes?” She cocked her head like a terrier, parting her lips a little.

  “Well…,” I said. Did Kaori know nothing about what I’d gone through?

  “If this is all you’ve got, we need to go shopping right away,” she said. “We’ll have to make a list. But anyway, let me show you around.”

  All of a sudden I felt someone’s eyes at my back. Piercing me. Trying to stay completely relaxed, I turned around slowly to look.

  No one.

  “What’s the matter?” Kaori asked.

  I looked right and left. And then I looked up. There, just under the eave of the roof, was the red eye of a video camera. I swept a gaze through the whole compound. Glittering video eyes extended as far as I could see.

  I swallowed hard. We used to have video cameras in our house. But only at the front and back doors, for security. I remembered my father hadn’t wanted to install them. He’d insisted that a bodyguard and dogs were good enough. But Mieko had insisted, saying cameras would make her feel much safer.

  But these cameras didn’t make me feel safe at all.

  “Come on,” Kaori said, ignoring the cameras. “Let’s go to your suite first. We’ll get you settled.”

  The red eyes followed me up a winding staircase into a separate wing of the house. The inside was as opulent as the outside: marble floors, expensive-looking furniture, ornate statues of Buddha in two different corners, strange art on the walls—huge paintings, canvases that were as big as the whole room. In one room there was a whole canvas of red. Some of the paint rose from the canvas in goopy globules. I shuddered. It reminded me of blood.

  Upstairs on the walls were serious-looking black-and-white photographs of men and women. We got to one that looked familiar. I squinted. “It’s Mieko,” I whispered.

  There she was in a frame, looking much younger, a sly smile on her face. Her hands were clasped in her lap. She didn’t wear a wedding ring.

  “Oh yeah, aren’t these pictures crazy? Apparently they were taken by Akira Kurosawa,” Kaori whispered. “You know, when he wasn’t making movies.”

  “Do you know this woman?” I asked, pointing to Mieko.

  “Sure,” Kaori said flippantly. “I’ve seen her around.”

  A shiver went through me. Mieko.

  “Do you know anything about her?” I asked.

  Kaori glanced at me. After a moment she said, “Not really.”

  We passed another photograph of a man whose face was creased into a stern scowl. There was something about him that looked like Hiro. I squinted. Maybe it was his father? But why would a picture of Hiro’s father be in Masato’s house?

  I couldn’t ask Kaori; she was far down the hall. “Wait until you see your room!” she said.

  I met her inside and gasped. Everything was bathed in white. An enormous feather bed, a white armoire, a big flat-screen TV in a cool gray. White curtains and carpet. On the white-tiled bathroom counter a neat line of white Kiehl’s soaps and white-bottled Tommy Hilfiger and Michael Kors perfumes. Sephora and MAC makeup on a little shelf above the toilet. The tub a pearly white swimming pool.

  “Wow,” I said. “I had no idea Masato was…this rich.”

  “He’s a very successful man
,” Kaori said, smoothing out the comforter on my bed.

  “And…what is his business?” I said, not too loudly. I didn’t know exactly what Masato did for a living, although I had heard he ran my father’s business interests in Central America. But after seeing the entire mammoth house, the sports cars, the video cameras, the expensive electronic gadgets, I had a feeling Masato wasn’t entirely legitimate. A nervous twinge rushed through me.

  “Here’s your meditation room.” She pushed open a door to a little room practically made out of windows. I stepped in and looked around.

  A white yoga mat was laid out perfectly on the floor. A fountain bubbled in the corner. A mirror went from floor to ceiling on one wall.

  “I do yoga in the morning, and we could practice together in here if you want to do it, too,” Kaori said, stretching her hands up to the ceiling.

  We turned to the mirror. I looked at my reflection next to Kaori’s. She seemed like a teenybopper in her bright green retro-looking baby tee and white Diesel jeans. Next to her, even though my chi had been rearranged, I still looked ragtag and exhausted. Hiro had given me a geisha cut a while back; it was starting to grow out and looked horrible. The short bangs were now getting long and fell into my eyes. My roots were black against the orangish blond. My eyes looked huge and cartoonish. I looked like a deranged Powerpuff Girl. Powerpuff Girl Gets Out of Jail.

  “It’s all so beautiful,” I said. “I don’t want to touch anything.”

  I slumped onto the bed and laid my head on the pillow. Kaori sat down next to me. “You know what else we should do?” she said. “Movies. I haven’t seen a movie in like a million years. I was too busy flying over to the States with your uncle. The last good one I saw was Full Throttle. Have you seen it? Drew Barrymore looks adorable in it. There’s this whole underwater submarine chase, and the angels are all wearing these crazy-looking scuba suits…. I just love them….”

  She chattered on. She seemed to have some weird obsession with the Charlie’s Angels movies. I put my hands over my eyes. Why did Kaori so desperately want to be my friend? Didn’t she have work to do?