Some of the leaves outside our window have started to turn a rusty yellow. A few of them are red. A couple are orange. I rarely look outside during daylight any more. These days I’m rarely awake to look. But today I saw them. Changing.
In the early afternoon Nori called from his hospital to cancel our dohan. He wanted to see me, he said, but was too busy to make it.”We’d have to reschedule for tomorrow, the last day of the month. He was cutting it close. I needed that dohan to meet my quota, and he knew that. But then, the fact that Nori’s patient was likely to pass away during the night and required his presence did take precedence over a lousy dinner.
Leaving early for work to escape the claustrophobia of our tiny apartment, I dragged the soles of my shoes along the manicured road, stilettos jammed somewhere in the bag slung across my shoulder.
As twilight fell to be replaced by a familiar artificial glow, I tried to tune out the city’s intrusions and think of happy things: blue-skied places, the smell of fresh mountain air, huge bowls of salad and cute puppies stacked high in glass compartments of a pet-shop window. Okay, scratch the last one. It was just one puppy, a hyperactive male chihuahua among an encyclopaedic array of miniature dogs, all depressed, lonely and bored, but loveable and kawaii — cute — nonetheless.
Maybe the chihuahua was happy to be worth $3000, or maybe he just hadn’t been let in on the secret that everyone else seemed to know, the secret Abie had told me — that he’d be incinerated soon, if no one bought him. All puppies were. Too old? Too big? Burn ’em up, and bring in the cuter ones.
Back at work Greengrass was a circus of emotions. Colette was folded into Erma’s arms, crying her eyes out. You couldn’t blame the girls for being upset, completely lost and utterly bewildered. The culture shock was fairly severe. Hell, even if you weren’t a Swiss-German who’d just been building schools in an impoverished Third World country, talking bullshit every night in a purple cocktail dress is hard to adjust to.
Nicole, on the other hand, resided at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. Already a shiny happy person, tonight her lacquer was extra-double coated and freshly applied. She was the embodiment of a burgeoning restaurateur, her passion easily reignited by simple acts such as persuading her favourite customer to take her to Inakaya. It was a juggling act to console Colette while listening to Nicole wish for a generous, wealthy customer who’d want to invest in a Korean BBQ in Israel.
If only she’d been the one to tell Nori of her supposed loneliness, they could be drawing up the plans right now, deciding on the colour scheme so that the menus matched the tiling.
And then there was Abie. Her father had called in a blind rage over an email she’d sent saying that she was thinking of accepting $15,000 from the customer she called Grandpa. In my opinion, it’s rarely advisable to mention those things to anyone who’s contributed to the composition of your DNA, but maybe Abie was seeking guidance. She got it all right. Among the many things that Father Abie shouted via satellite from half a world away was one bit of ancient wisdom that every one of us here might do well to heed: ‘There is no such thing as a free lunch!’
‘Chelsea!’ Taizo shouted the second he caught sight of me. ‘I love you, baby!’
It seemed that tonight the memory of who I was had come back to him. Last week he’d been so drunk I’d had to reintroduce myself.
‘Today was day of shareholders meeting, and now finish, with success! Finally I am with no stress for first time in many months. I am so happy. I sing for you, okay?’
I started to crack the karaoke book open when he spouted, ‘1234-04. Don’t worry, I know.’ He belted out ‘Only Chelsea’ to lyrical perfection. Then came the compliments. ‘I love your forehead, your big eyes and nose, but most your ears and accessories. Totally all of you, so beautiful. I love you. Prease sing Celine Dion.’
‘That’s not a good idea, Taizo.’
He flicked my earrings, making them sway back and forth. ‘Great, great, great! I love you, Chelsea.’
‘And I love you, Taizo.’
‘God made us,’ he sighed, ‘Chelsea and Taizo. Let’s sing Queen.’ But before we could, Nishi arrived to take me away. Taizo shouted out in protest.
‘Don’t worry, Taizo. I’ll be back. You’ll be okay.’
I was surprised to find myself seated with three white gaijin unaccompanied by Japanese associates. Michelle, Charles and Norman were middle-aged CEO bankers in Tokyo who’d decided to ‘do something Japanese for a laugh’ and celebrate a company achievement at a hostess club. It was rare to have Westerners in the club, even more so a woman, and as we answered an onslaught of questions about the intricacies of hostessing, I could hear Taizo singing a customised version of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in the background. I couldn’t help but laugh. Was this the real life? Or was this just fantasy?
‘Is he singing about you?’ Charles asked, peering toward Taizo’s corner.
‘Yeah, we were supposed to sing it together, but I got moved to your table ...’
‘Oh geez, sorry. Gosh. Why don’t you go and sing it with him? You can come back when you’re done. We don’t mind.’
‘Uh, it doesn’t really work like that. They’ll get angry if I leave, but it’s okay. I always sit with him. See that one guy, with the longish hair? That’s Misaki, Taizo’s boss. He owns seventeen companies, and they come here at least two or three times a week.’
‘All right. Well then, let’s pick a song to sing together. I feel bad for him, although he’s got an amazing voice. Where’s that karaoke book? Are you any good at Bon Jovi?’
‘Are you kidding? Is anyone good at Bon Jovi?’ Needless to say, ‘It’s My Life’ sounded terrible, but every Japanese man in the club applauded the efforts of the fearless gaijin. Next up was Michelle singing the Police, but she backed out at the last minute and ‘Roxanne’ somehow became my responsibility.
‘But I don’t even know this song!’ I panicked.
‘Just read from the prompter. That’s it!’ Norman encouraged. ‘You sound just like P.J. Harvey!’
I thought I was aiming for Sting, but I found it somewhat awkward to be singing a song that so obviously reflected Michelle’s patronising view of the young women around her. Even though she was experiencing a hostess club first-hand, it seemed she still didn’t believe that all we did was have conversation. I think Michelle must have thought there was some perverse sex room out the back.
If she had only isolated the scene from her preconceived ideas, she would have seen that we looked like five normal people enjoying a drink in any bar in the world.