I took a seat across from Momo, between a schoolgirl and a businessman. Both could have been emblems of modern Japan. The girl wore a blazer and a pleated plaid skirt that revealed blotchy knees. She clutched a regulation leather satchel. The man was in a black suit, tie askew. Both were sound asleep, their lowered heads waving with the movement of the train. Like seaweed in a current. Momo paid no attention to anyone, including me. Her big hands held some kind of book. Russian novel? A collection of cake recipes? I had no way of knowing. Japanese books all looked the same to me, a splash of letters on the cover but rarely a picture. She turned another page, left to right. I concentrated on the advertisements for cosmetics that ran above her head.
The schoolgirl came suddenly alive, snuck a look at me, jumped to her feet and walked off the train. At the next stop Momo stood up and crossed to the exit. When the doors parted, she reached over the sleeping businessman, handed me a note and vanished. She didn’t look back.
In my experience, people sometimes write notes when they don’t want to deliver bad news in person. And Japanese people are legendary for finding ways not to say no. I knew what would be in this letter. Sayonara, Frank, and please consider taking a different train on Wednesdays.
The businessman gave a sudden snort, adjusted his tie and got to his feet. It was my stop too, and for some reason I was hungry again. If I had to get bad news, I wanted to be surrounded by food and alcohol and the anonymity of a crowded restaurant. I saw the telltale red paper lanterns of a ramen shop and ducked in. There was gray lino on the floor, and the restaurant shook as a train ran overhead. I downed half an Asahi beer and opened Momo’s letter.
Dear Frank-san, Momo had written. Thank you for lovely time in Inokashira Park. Is such romantic place, don’t you think? I finished my beer and motioned for another one. I like to see you again, but your apartment is dangerous. Dangerous? True, the bathroom was the size of a phone booth, and the trains ran twenty feet from the window. But dangerous? Maybe she just meant thin-walled and smelly. I read on. Please meet me next Sunday night at hotel Fifteen Love in Shibuya. Ten o’clock. It is up hill, across street from Joyful. Beneath the writing was a deft drawing of a man bent over a piano keyboard. A woman perched on the end of the piano, legs crossed at the ankle. A stream of hearts flowed from her head to his.
I shoveled steaming noodles into my mouth. Shibuya was a huge district, but Momo had given me a clue. Up the hill? Tokyo was flat, so a hill would stand out. Fifteen Love seemed an odd name for a hotel, so that would be unique too. I had three days to solve the puzzle of its exact location.
The other puzzle never occurred to me until much later. How did Momo know Sunday was my night off?
By the time Sunday evening came around, I had dreamed up enough date scenarios to fill a writer’s notebook. None of them, I’m ashamed to say, involved tragically deceased younger brothers. I got to Shibuya two hours early. The area around the station was an all-out assault of neon and three-story video screens, but I soon found the hill. The Fifteen Love was a nondescript building in an alley of taverns and adult stores. One of the stores was called Joyful.
I picked at a grilled mackerel in one of the taverns. Then I spent an hour nursing an espresso back at the train station. I visited the washroom. I was nervous. It had been a long time since I’d had a real date. Finally, it was time to walk back up the hill.
The Fifteen Love was surrounded by scooters and motorcycles and bicycles stashed under eaves and awnings. Momo was standing in front of a small sign that advertised the hotel’s rates. There were two categories: rest and stay. Another puzzle. There was so much about this country I didn’t understand. Especially its people. As a foreigner, was I treated the way a Japanese person would be? I seriously doubted it, and Momo proceeded to prove it.
She took my arm and grinned up at me. “You know love hotel?”