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Chapter One:  If You're Going to San Francisco....

  Six years later, San Francisco International Airport.  A conversation
over the phone, in Japanese:
  "Are you sure this what you want?"  Nabiki Kuno asked over the phone, a
note of concern in her voice.
  "Sure, I'm sure.  I just need to get away.  You understand, right?"  The
voice on the phone sounded cheerful, but just a little irritated, as if
this was a subject explained over and over several times.  "Really.  Don't
worry, I'm a big girl, ne?"
  "Not a good enough excuse.  I tend to worry about family, especially when
they do weird things like suddenly moving to another country."  She paused.
 "Are you really--"
  "NABIKI!!!!!"  The girl semi-fumed, partly in exasperation and partly in
jest. "Please!  I don't want to go into that again.  You've already made me
tell you once."
  "Okay, I'll buy that, especially in light of the 3000 yen you paid me not
to tell anyone."  She laughed.  "But I said earlier you could come live
with us in LA until you get settled."
  "I might come visit you later, when I'm settled *here*.  But the truth
is, Los Angeles is too fast for me."
  "*Too fast for you?!?*"  There was an another burst of laughter from
Nabiki.  "I never thought I'd hear you say that!"
  "The person on the other end of the phone giggled as well.  "Okay, okay,
wrong choice of words.  What I meant was, LA is faster than I'd like to
start.  If I move slower...well, you know."
  "Say no more; I fully understand."  Nabiki stopped, then said, "Can you
hold on a second?  My secretary's buzzing."  There was a pause for a minute
or two, then: "Sorry, but duty calls; I have an unscheduled meeting in five
minutes with the board of directors.  But before I let you go, tell
me--how's everyone back home?"
  "Great!"  The girl bubbled.  "Everyone's just fawning over the baby, and
Ukyou just opened up an eighth Cat Cafe in Nagoya. Your father and Hinako
are still on vacation.  Kodachi won another gold medal at the Gymnastics
Invitational in Paris, but you already knew that."  Then, remembering whom
she was talking to, she added, "Oh, and by the way, the Yokohama BayStars
won the All-Japan Series."
  "Cool!  I'll have to call Hina-chan when they get back and tell her she
owes me 2000 yen.  Hate to end on this note, but I have to get ready for
the meeting," Nabiki lamented.  "Promise me you'll call as soon as."
  "You know I will."
  "Okay, then.  I'll expect your call."
  "Until next time, onnechan."  The girl hung up the phone and pulled a
small phone book from her purse.  She dumped a quarter into the coin slot
and punched up a local number.  She let it ring for about ten times before
hanging up and retrieving her coin.  She looked in the phone book again,
and before a minute passed, was dialing another number.

*   *   *

  Ghiardelli Square, Cocoa Building, 4th Floor:
  "Hello, this is the California Cat Cafe's business line.  Maria,
speaking.  How can I help you?" went the cheerful reply as she answered the
phone.  In truth, Maria Lopez felt anything but.  A  massive hangover
threatened to pound her into the floor.  Actually, she was bad enough that
she'd had to cancel her afternoon workout *and* the shopping trip.  She
moved to sit down, and the room did a 360-degree pirouette around her.  {If
I can only make it through this day....}
  "Good afternoon," the voice on the other end of the line cheerfully said.
 Was the speaker foreign, or was she that hung over?  Well, English is
English, no matter who speaks it...maybe.  "I'm looking for Ms. Shan Fu Lao."
  {Shan Fu Lao, my Brain is Pounding Loud....}  Maria couldn't concentrate,
as her brain cells were currently protesting the working conditions.
{Worry about that later; you have a customer.  Remember:  the Cali Cat
never disappoints its customers.}  Focusing on a point on the wall, she
answered.  "I'm afraid Ms. Lao isn't in today; she had other business to
attend to."  Okay, think.  What's the next line?  "Would you like to leave
a message?"
  "She was s'posed to meet me at the airport.  Can you let her know I'm
still here, waiting?"
  "Did you by any chance try her home phone?"  The voice on the other end
indicated that there was no answer.  {Where else would she be?  Hmmm....}
"Um, have you tried calling The Magic Duck?  She might be there."
  There was a pause for a second, then a small groan, followed by, "Do you
have the number?"
  "Yeah.  Hold on a sec."  Maria thought about it for a second, victimizing
a few more innocent neurons in her head, as the samba drumming that was the
intoxication continued.  Next, she tried to look at the computer's phone
list, but couldn't remember how to turn it on.  She finally told the person
to wait, put her on hold,  and shouted at the top of her lungs, "GIL!
WHAT'S THE NUMBER TO THE MAGIC DUCK?"
  "555-DUCK," a voice called out through the other end of the door.
"Maria, would you hurry up?  We're in the middle of the lunch rush and I
could use some help."
  "Okay, okay, I'm coming, I'm coming!"  Maria shouted back.  "Ouch, that
hurt," she grumbled to no one in particular as the pounding decided it was
time for a drum solo.  She got on the phone again and relayed the number.
The other person hung up; so did Maria.  She then went to the mirror to
straighten herself up.
  The Cali Cat uniform, a white shirt, black bow tie, and matching skirt,
looked impeccable as always.  Its wearer, however, had seen better days.
Looking into the mirror, she usually saw a young Hispanic woman of 25 and
about 5-foot-4, with an athletic build (from all her martial arts training
over the years), bobbed light brown hair, a tan complexion,  and dazzling,
expressive brown eyes (Shampoo jokingly referred to her several times as
'MexAkane', but Maria could never remember exactly what the joke meant).
*Normally*, she looked like that.  *Today*, well...in her opinion, she
looked kinda like the "Ukyou's Special" okinomiyaki that the Cali Cat
served, just not as attractive.
  {Whose brilliant idea was it to go partying last night?}  she thought, as
the remaining brain cells in her head surrendered to oblivion, while the
pounding in her temples doing its victory dance.  {Oh wait--it was mine.
Ouchie....}   She slumped to her knees and tried to crawl to the door.
{"'Let's have a birthday bash for my 24th!'"  Brilliant idea, Maria,} she
decided.  Was it her fault that it turned out to be another one of her
so-called Rocket Scientist ideas?  However, for Maria, that was the norm.
Despite being beautiful, a talented martial artist, and a constantly
cheerful person, she was not exactly blessed with the brains in her family.
 That's okay though, as she still managed to somehow get by, and everyone
still considered her a good friend anyway--despite the occasional "Mihoshi"
comment.  {What does that mean, anyway?}  She tried to pull herself up by
the knob.  
  At least, that was the plan.  In reality, the knob spun, the door opened,
and hit her in the face.  She saw more stars for a second than Carl Sagan,
and then passed out.
   

  "Maria?  You okay?"  Gil asked as he strolled in the door.  Barely, it
would seem.  A huge guy, with muscles like a weight-lifter, he moved in
through the door frame stealthily.  If he'd looked in the mirror, he would
have seen a 27-year-old, 6-foot-2, well-built gentleman with hair, eyes,
and complexion similar to the other worker currently present at the Cali
Cat.  As it was, however, he looked down and saw Maria in her
Zen-connect-the-dots state on the floor.  {Maria....}  Effortlessly, he
picked her up and gently placed her on the futon couch against the wall.
  Gil Martinez looked at the unconscious girl, then wistfully sighed.
{Never a dull moment working here.}  He closed the office door, pausing
only long enough to adjust his uniform.  He'd close the cafe for the day
just after the lunch rush.  Under the present circumstances, Shampoo
wouldn't mind.
  That was one reason why he loved working for the boss--her carefree and
happy attitude.  He'd known Libby, Shampoo and Mousse since college, when
he was working on his chef's degree and studying free-style karate just to
keep in shape.  Shampoo's determination and sheer will to get anything done
led him to come work for her when they all graduated.  Since then, Maria
had also joined up, and the California Cat Cafe, one of the few
Japanese/Chinese eateries NOT located in Chinatown, was an absolute smash.
Gil believed honestly that there was nothing that Shampoo couldn't do.
  {Except marry Mousse.  From what he's told me, they've been together
since childhood, but still aren't totally a couple, though they're
inseparable.  But that's her business, not mine.}
  Oh well.  He had things to do before he closed up.  Then he'd drive Maria
home.  There was still enough time in the day to do some working out or
catch a movie, or something like that.
The customer at table 15 motioned, and Gil went to see what he needed.  The
day wasn't done yet.

*   *   *

  The Embarcadero, Pier 39, second deck:
  The phone in the Magic Duck rang throughout the shop, the ring actually
being a mallard's quack.  The Magic Duck was as its name implied, a magic,
novelty, and hobby shop, which sold everything from optical puzzles to
kites, videogames to magic books, tarot cards to models and everything in
between.  It was a charming little place, just like all the stores on Pier
39, and it was quite successful.  The quacking phone, however, clashed with
the store's in-house rock music.
  "Hold on, I'm coming," a voice called.  A lithe young African-American
man in his early twenties, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, stopped
stocking the shelves, walked over to the counter, and picked up the
backside of a plastic duck, which was actually the phone's receiver.
  "Greetings from the place with luck, the One and Only Magic Duck!" he
beamed.  "Tyler Edwards, here.  How can I assist you?"  He glanced as his
watch.  {12:45 in the afternoon.  Man, oh man, has the day dragged!  Gotta
do something to relieve the boredom.  I wonder where I put the Nerf gun....}
  "Hi.  Is Mr. Mao Tse Jiang there?"
  "Sure.  Just wait a sec."  He put the receiver down, clicked hold, and
called out towards the storeroom, "Yo, Mousse!  Some official type on the
phone for you!"
  "It's not...?" a voice answered back.
  "Naah, doesn't sound like her at all.  Besides, the woman used your full
Chinese name, amigo--something Shamps never does." Tyler replied.  "Want me
to transfer it to the phone back there?"
  "No, I'll come out." After a minute, the proprietor of the Magic Duck
walked to the counter, put down the three boxes of 'Magic' cards he had in
his arms, and picked up the stuffed Godzilla doll by the cash register,
putting it to his ear.  "Hello, this is Mao Tse Jiang here.  What can I do
for you?"
  "Uh, Mousse, *here's* the phone."  Tyler handed his boss the receiver,
then reached over and dropped Mousse's glasses onto his nose.  "Y'know, ya
really oughta consider contacts."
  "Don't like the idea of shoving 'em against my eyeballs," he commented,
as he adjusted the frames.  "'Sides, they don't make them in my prescription."
  "And also, Shamps considers 'em just so you, huh,"  Tyler deadpanned.
  "Yeah," Mousse answered, nearly blushing at the thought of his true love.
 The years hadn't changed the young man much.  Sure, he'd settled into San
Franciscan life comfortably and spoke English like a native, and had
matured from his old Circus and Tokyo days, but he was still the same old
Mousse.  His hair was no longer waist length, but now reached to his
shoulders and was tied into a ponytail.  He hadn't worn his robes in years;
today he was dressed in a white T-shirt, jade v-neck sweater with the
sleeves rolled up, 501s, and Nikes.  If one didn't know him better, one
would think he was trying to be an American version of Tofu.  However,
despite the times, and Kasumi's husband notwithstanding, he was still the
same old charming--and blind as a bat without glasses--Mousse.
  "Uh, Mousse...the, um, phone," Tyler reminded him.
  He snapped out of his Shampoo-driven reverie.  Clicking off the hold
button, he began.  "This is Mao Tse Jiang.  How may I be of service?"


  "Mousse!"  the voice on the other end called in delight.
  He knew who it was instantly.  "Hiya!  Haven't heard from you in the
longest time!  Settled in over at Shampoo's?"
  "Great to hear you too!  And no; I'm still at the airport. I called her
house, but didn't get an answer.  The girl at the Cafe said that she wasn't
in today."
  "Well, it's not like her to forget," Mousse noted.
  "I know that.  I'm kinda worried."
  He thought about it for a second, then remembered.  "Ahh, don't worry
about it; I have a funny feeling where she might be.  Oh--didja eat yet?"
  "Other than a bento lunch about the flight, no." 
  "Tell ya what:  I'll go pick you up.  I'll give you a quick tour of your
new hometown, then we'll have dinner at Fisherman's Wharf.   After, we'll
go to her place, since I've got a key," he said.  "Up to it?"
  "You bet!"  was the chipper reply.
  "Okay, I'll be there in oh, say, 45 minutes.  What terminal are you at?"
  "I'm waiting at Japan Air System's baggage claim."
  "Okay, see you then."
  "See ya, Mousse.  And, thanks."


  "Hey, Tyler?" Mousse said as he put the phone.  
  His assistant was on top of the collector card shelf display balanced on
the toes of one foot as he tried to dust off the ceiling-mounted train
track.  "Yeah?"  The display wobbled slightly.
  "Can you close toni--look out!"  At that cue, the metal bent, and Tyler
lost his balance.  Down in a tumble of cleaning supplies, baseball cards,
comic books, and other collectibles, went Tyler.  Worse, he'd snapped the
track, and each car of the whole toy train pegged him squarely on the head.
  Mousse ran over.  "You okay?"
  Tyler, still mostly buried under all the mess, looked a little dazed.
"Nothing that a little intensive care can't fix," he murmured.
  "I don't know why you even tried that,"  Mousse pointed out. "You know,
you'd be one of the Bay area's greatest kenpo artists...if you weren't such
a klutz."  He flashed a no-harm-meant smile.
  "Thanks for easing my ego,"  he grumbled.  Otherwise, he didn't seem too
bad.
  "Look, I have to make a run to the airport.  Would you min--"
  "Sure, I'll close tonight,"  Tyler finished as he climbed out of the pile
and rubbed the latest bruises on his body.  "It'll take that long to clean
up, anyway."
  "Okay, then,"  Mousse said as he walked to the door.  "Take care then."
  "Catch you on the flipside, Mousse."


  As Mousse walked on towards the parking lot, Tyler thought for a second
on how strange his life had become since the day he'd met Mousse, six years
ago.  A high-school kid training to be the best martial artist, he'd been
practicing at Golden Gate Park.  He'd gotten good enough that on the
ground, he was an excellent kenpo fighter, and a bit cocky, too.  Until the
day he'd challenged the Chinese guy wearing the robes.  That day, he'd
learned two things: one, that "the path of a true martial artist is fraught
with peril," as the Robe quoted an old teacher he knew; and that two, his
art was a fast, agile, acrobatic discipline--and that his natural lack of
aforementioned skills would have to be improved.   Big time.  So he trained
with the "Moose" guy, and got to know him.  Eventually, he got to be close
friends with, and began working for, Mao Tse Jiang--"Mousse".
  Not that it meant he stopped trying to improve his skills.  Far from it.
He'd learned to hone his skills (if not his balance), and could take on
just about anybody--except Mousse and his speed-demon girlfriend.  Plus, if
he thought *Mousse* could fight the fight; well, *she* was *better*.
    He looked at the disaster zone he'd inadvertently created.  {Gotta
rebuild the track, put up new shelves and glass, clean up the mess....  He
sighed.  At least he found something to cure his boredom....}

*   *   *

  130 Haight Rd, over four hours later:
  The lights were off, the curtains shut.  She *wanted* it that way.  This
way the buzzing would stop, the pounding in her head would go away, and the
sunlight would stop its intrusion--there'd be blissful peace.  
  So the hangover would go away.  {God, this is the last time I *ever*
listen to another one of Maria's brain-damaged ideas.  "Let's go partying!"
 I feel worse than the last time I had Akane's cooking....}  Her stomach,
though crying for release, stayed firm.
  Ms. Shan Fu Lao, known to friends and family simply as Shampoo, tried to
go back to sleep, but couldn't.  She reached for her blanket, but couldn't
find it.  All she had was her bedsheets and her nightgown...wait...where
was her nightgown?  She looked over the entire room.  There, strewn about
the place, was her nightgown, the dress she'd worn last night, her panties
and bra, the contents of her purse, et cetra.  Her cat, Mige, was busy
tearing up her pantyhose. 
    {I slept in the nude again.  Oh well,} she mentally shrugged for a
second, until the pounding started again, accompanied by the buzz.  {How
long is this damn hangover going to last?}  she thought.  Glancing at the
clock, she mentally screamed, {It's 5:17 PM, for cryin' out loud!  Hangover
go awa--
  {Waitaminit.  5:17?
  {Oh my God...I was supposed to pick her up at the airport at 9:20 this
morning!
  Then she realized.  The buzzing was her alarm clock set to buzzer mode,
usually guaranteed to wake her up.  The knocking...
...was someone at the door!
  "Hold on!  I'm coming!"  She screamed at the top of her lungs. She tried
to step out of her bed, tripped over Mige, and did a face plant.  {This is
what you get for being so insensitive, Shampoo.} She crawled over to the
far window and opened it, letting the sun sting her eyes as the late
afternoon sun roared in.


  She paused to look at herself in the  stand-up mirror.  {Still have that
great body, firm breasts, great complexion; Ranma honey, this is what you
lost out on!}  And she wasn't kidding either:  while Mousse had changed
drastically in his appearance over the last six years, the only thing in
Shampoo's appearance that had changed in that same time was her wardrobe.
She still looked exactly like the sixteen-year-old fighter that had
challenged Ranma in China, so long ago.  The only difference was Chinese
clothing out, T-shirts and Levi's in.
  Visually, she hadn't changed.  Inside she had.  She wasn't even remotely
the same girl who had made the vow to leave Japan six years ago.  For one,
she was firmly entrenched here, having become an American citizen a little
over three years ago; after her great-grandmother had finally passed away
four years back, there was no reason to go back to the PRC...and no desire
to.  The last time she'd been to Asia was at Nabiki's wedding, three months
after Cologne had died.  She was the only living member left of the Lao
clan, and since the village forgot her and Mousse once they came to the
States, she was on her own.  She'd made a life for herself in that time,
and was totally, truly happy, just her and Mousse.
  Which was another thing.  Mousse.  How could she explain it to him?  She
didn't feel the fierce love towards him that she did for Ranma.  There was
no doubt that she was very fond of him, and wanted to spend the rest of her
life near him, just not as his spouse.  {It wouldn't be fair to him
anyway,} she admitted.  {He wants, needs somebody that's in love with him.
I do love him, I'm just not in love with him.}  Which was why, after six
years, they were still "just dating."  To his credit, Mousse didn't
complain, nor did he press the issue; maturity must have did that to him
somewhere along the line, she mused, and it was a good thing too--she hated
to have to pound him into the floor every time he got anal-retentive about
their relationship.  But the status quo was the status quo, and she liked
it that way.

    
  The sound of a key being turned suddenly ran in her ears.  She knew Libby
was visiting her parents in Seattle, so that couldn--{wait.  I gave Mousse
a key!}  Not paying attention to what she was--or wasn't--wearing, she
leapt over the second floor railing and sprinted to the front door. She got
there just as the door opened.
  There, standing at the door with a pert grin, was her visitor...or better
yet, new roommate.  Out on the street, Mousse was parking the car and
grabbing the girl's luggage.
  "Gomen ne sai,"  Shampoo said, bowing uncomfortably (she hadn't done it
since Nabiki's wedding) and speaking in Japanese.  "Shampoo totally forget.
 Please to forgive Shampoo."
  "Don't worry," the other girl replied in English.  "Mousse explained it
all, and it's no biggie anyway.  I would've taken a cab, but didn't know
the street address."
  Shampoo smiled, and her eyes got watery.  She hugged the girl.  "Ni Hao.
Welcome to your new home, roomie."
  "Thanks.  It's good to be home," an equally water-eyed Ranko Saotome said.

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