The entire ride home, Kenji is beaming. Not answering mail on a personal device, not reading the news or watching cooking videos. Just sitting. Reflecting. Watching the city lights pass.

The date went well. No matter what happens from here on out, this is a success he would cherish forever.

The moment Kenji arrives back home, he carefully removes and folds his expensive new clothes to change into soft pajamas.

Then yanks out the flexi-tablet. A keyboard. An extra monitor.

If there is a video of Anastasia Sorrento singing in a public location anywhere on the internet, Kenji is going to find it.

Criss-cross on his bed with his heavy duty research tools, he begins searching the obvious. “Anastasia Sorrento singer.” “Anastasia Sorrento vocals.” “Anastasia Sorrento Rio De Janeiro performance.” Etc. Nothing.

He tries taking some screencaps of her interviews holding a microphone and searching for related images with specific tags. Nope, not quite.

He tries clipping some sound from interviews with general phrases like “Thank you” and introductions of her name and coupling it with the search. No…

He somehow lands on a video of her at a charity dinner where someone asks her to sing something and she shrugs it off. There has to be breadcrumb trail here…

He uses the images and voice clips to search for content posted from anywhere close to Brazil.

Wait…

He finds a blurry picture of…is it…oh my god it is. A younger Stacie on a stage posted somewhere in Rio. From somebody’s travel blog. She was not kidding. There she is performing on stage. He can’t stop looking at it. He tries to find more like these, but there aren’t any. And her name is not tagged.

He screencaps the background of the club to figure out its exact location. The name of the place and it’s commercial website comes up. He’s getting closer…

What year was she there? She sold her first business at 25. Brazil was at least two years before that. She’s 30 now… It must have been somewhere in 2042-2044. He image searches for content at THIS club in Rio posted between those years.

Lots of related, but random content comes up. He digs through it.

And there is one more photo of her on stage. It’s gorgeous, seductive, with a thick green velvet curtain background, flashing lights, her expression and posture are passionately engaged in the heat of the moment.

It’s tagged with the name “Scarlet Fever.”

Oh….

A stage name.

Bingo.

He begins a new search. “Scarlet Fever singer.” Posted in Rio De Janeiro between the years 2042 – 2044.

Jackpot.

Many photos come up. Many angles, outfits, and locations, each more…provocative than the last.

She’s…oh no… No wonder she said these were private. She wasn’t just a singer. She was…dare he even entertain the thought…a burlesque performer. Glossy red gown, slow sensual jazz, the roaring of drunken men in Portuguese.

Heart racing, enthralled, he desperately continues searching for more and more content. He soon learns that “Scarlet Fever” performed fairly locally as well. All the way up until last year. Always in small cities outside her immediate circle… clever.

As his eyes scan the search results, they are instantly drawn to a uniquely enticing video. Not singing in the background of bar noise this time, she had the full stage to herself and an attentive audience. From the video’s length, Kenji can tell it is the entire permanence start to finish. His pulse quickens…

It’s taken in a nightclub in a neighboring city. Only 11 months ago. She is wearing all black. Leather. Her hair is wildly free. Her pose is empowered and ferocious.

This is a side of Anastasia that Kenji had not seen before. A persona that she carefully managed to keep away from the public eye. Nobody is supposed to see this.

Kenji stares at the preview, morally sickened to have just uncovered such a dirty secret, embarrassed by his own eagerness, dizzy from anticipation.

Ok.

Time to watch this video.

This is more than slow seductive jazz burlesque, this strong energy piece, full of booming invigorating instrumentation, dominates the club. Just a picture of the clothing was striking, but to see her move in it….

In the opening line, Anastasia’s voice rises and crashes like a tsunami. She’s good. The piece is extremely vocally challenging and she’s nailing every single bit.

She is a beast.

Her body movements differ so strongly from her poise as a professional public figure. It’s like…all the earth-quaking energy and power she possessed was bound tight and neatly packaged into a designer suit. And on stage, everything torn open, she is a violent untamed lion released from the cage to feed.

It’s captivating. She’s owning the floor like a leatherbound master. Each gesture to the audience feels like a command.

After 3 minutes, Kenji’s dry eyes are forced shut when he realizes he hasn’t blinked since the video began.

His stomach is churning.

When she lands the final note, licks her lips, and exits the stage, Kenji picks his jaw up off the floor. Is it hot in here? He takes his pajama shirt off. Is the heat on? He’s feeling very very hot.

He is frozen. There’s a gnawing quiver in the back of his throat and between his legs.

After it ends, he immediately reloads the page and watches it over from the beginning.

Tonight would be a long night…

The next day at work, her vocal acrobatics playing in the back of his mind on an endless loop, he watches the video again on lunch break.

And again at home.

And again before bed.

And again the next day.

This is so pathetic… This is terrible… This isn’t fair to her. He knows this and yet he cannot stop himself. It’s addicting to watch. And he does nearly a hundred times in the span of a week.

Before, without warning, the video just disappears. What?? No no no. He searches everywhere for remnants. Shit, he should have worked harder to find a way to download it. It’s gone? It’s really gone? What could have possibly happened??

It’s probably good. It’s probably on purpose. This video was never supposed to be viewed by a client or a partner or a member of the press. Nobody. This was supposed to be a secret. And as badly as Kenji yearns to see more of it, a secret it would stay. Out of respect for Anastasia Sorrento, the professional public figure.

His focus at work returns, more or less, to normal.

Until, on that same day, 2pm on a Thursday, Anastasia sends Kenji an unsolicited message.

Stacie: Dinner tomorrow? Let me know your availability please 🙂

🌹🌹🌹

Inside Anastasia’s office.

This is not that bare room inside which she spit-venom at her ex-employee the day she and Kenji met. This something else entirely.

In a coveted corner office on the 8th floor of a glossy building, Anastasia Scarlet Sorrento’s full name is engraved in gold on a placard outside the crystal clear automatic sliding door. Upon entering, all walls are made of clear-to-frosted transforming smart glass. 2 of the walls are floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the green courtyard below. These are also smart-glass, meaning the opacity of the entire room, windows and walls, could be turned on and off at the flick of a single setting, accessible on any device. The aesthetic is a clean minimalist black and white with classic elements of rich wood and warm accent pieces.

Inside is a bit of a mess. While there are no bookshelves or stacks of papers, product prototypes scatter the floor. There are several digital displays open. All clear flexible screens, extended in several directions, laid out across each desk and table. Though each layout is well designed and visually pleasing, there are many tabs open. Reports, graphs, advertisements, a full inbox of messages, and an absolutely catastrophic calendar. 15 upcoming events, a blinking icon said, today.

She sits in a mahogany leather desk chair, arms crossed. Across from her sits a tall, broad-shouldered, Taiwanese woman with long black hair and a floral pencil skirt.

“You’re sure there are no more?” Stacie says to the woman.

“Unfortunately, no. I really can’t be,” she says “But I’ll get notified if there is there’s another spike in related content.”

Stacie takes a deep breath and rubs her temples. “It is beyond me how you are able to track that but you can’t remove all the videos before there are view spikes.”

“We can do another audit, but we can’t promise we got it all until some thirsty SEO wizard finds them before we do. I’m really sorry.”

Stacie leans in and addresses her very seriously. “Kahi, you are the best independent PR babe I know. Ok, I can’t trust agencies with this. They would spill and you know they would. There’s too much money to be made on it. Can’t you just like…fix it??”

Kahi laughs. “I’m doing my best! But I told you years ago it was dangerous to keep performing once your name became so valuable! We’ve removed everything with related tags, but there is years of content out there!”

Stacie groans. “Yeah. Ok, fine, just do what you gotta do. You’re the expert.”

“…That video was sexy as hell though,” Kahi admits in a hushed tone.

Stacie relaxes, reflecting. “Those were some damn good times. If there was any way I could do private equity and porn….”

“I know…” Kahi sighs, “You really are phenomenal.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t jerk me off.”

Kahi laughs.

And then a message notification appears, “Ping!”, on one of the floating monitors. From Kenji Kitabayashi. Without thinking, Stacie opens it immediately.

His message and his profile photo appear on the screen.

Kenji: Yes! I’m available tomorrow 🙂 Would you like me to pick a place for dinner or would you?

Stacie realizes her mistake.

“Who is that?” Kahi blurts out.

Matter of factly, closing the message and crossing her arms, “Nobody. Doesn’t matter.” Stacie stares calmly at her partner.

Kahi glares. “He’s adorable.”

“I know this.”

“Who’s he with? What’s the dinner for?”

Stacie bites her cheek, trying to keep a straight face. The act is revealing itself. “This could be highly confidential. There’s no reason I have to tell you.”

Kahi searches Stacie’s expression for answers. “That is the cutest boy I have ever seen. You’re telling me there’s no ulterior motive?”

Stacie returns an aloof glance. Giving in. “We went on one formal date. I enjoyed him. I invited him on another.”

“Really?? What are…..the plans down the road?”

Stacie stiffens. “This is not a discussion to be had in my office, you are here as a consultant.”

Kahi replies in a harsh whisper. “We spent 3 months in Japan together getting sake-wasted. I slept on your couch after my ex threw me out. I am the one that scraped your sex tape off the internet – which, by the way, I watched. I am trustworthy. Please give me the gossip.”

Stacie’s expression does not change. She adjusts her posture. Carefully peeps over Kahi’s shoulder. Then leans over her desk. In a very soft professional tone…

“I want to fuck him in 300 positions until tears run down his pretty cheeks and he is too exhausted to sit up straight. But I am waiting until it is respectful and appropriate to do so.”

Kahi gasps.

“Moving on?” Stacie grins as if she said nothing.

“Do not hurt him!!!” Kahi continues her harsh whisper.

“I don’t plan to.”

They stare at each other, Kahi with desperately restrained eagerness and Stacie with calm delight.

“Moving on then?” Stacie prompts.

“Yes yes, ok,” Kahi sighs, pushing some hair from her face.

And the two move on to more business.

Next chapter