It’s been nearly a week since I melted to a liquid pile on the floor. Things have improved, but I still struggle. Daily. It’s not so easy to numb yourself enough to be able to smile convincingly when someone light-heartedly promises you the world and its moon every day of the week. At least Nori hadn’t called in four days. That was ninety-six hours, and I was counting them with relief.
Everyone who came into Greengrass in that time was decent, intelligent and polite, even if their names refused to stick, like worn-out magnets falling from the refrigerator door. K. A. Missing letter. U. O ... ‘Thanks for coming!’ But it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t see most of them again.
During the week Taizo came in twice with the big boss, Misaki, and we sang all our usuals. On account of no longer giving a shit, I increased in volume from backup singer to shared lead vocals on ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, but Taizo still drowned me out.
I am always happy with Taizo. We have fun. He never tries to pinch me. I never have to slap him. To think about it, most days since I arrived have been full of Japanese men like Taizo — hard-working, committed individuals with a brain and a soul — but in my attempt to adjust to it all I’d been overwhelmed by the whacky ones.
Jodie reassured me that my reaction was natural: the one-month benchmark. At least for those who lasted that long.
I certainly had no inclination to adopt this maniacal way of life as my own. I had to remember that. This was just an experiment. If I had to attune myself to this existence for any longer than three months I’d implode, or self-destruct — I don’t know which would happen first. I am still completely baffled that Japanese women cope with this as an extended vocation, but then, they’d grown up in this culture. They understood the dynamics. Not me. I had a hard time perpetuating lies, however white they were, night in and night out, face in and face out.
But yet, something had shifted, and I couldn’t quite attribute it to any one thing. It had nothing to do with Matt. He was the E to my mc2, the unfailing constant in my life. The only shift in Matt was that as I struggled to cope, he was taking on ever more dimensions: Foosball of Stress Relief; Stand-up Comedian; Anchor Scraping the Bottom of a Salty Sea of Tears.
Matt was instrumental to my sanity, but this recent, almost imperceptible change was entirely apart from him, as if a thirteenth light bulb had switched on in a small room of twelve, and I was the only one to notice. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. There’s no reason why this faint ‘something’ had to come to be just at the point when I was ready to pack it in. There must have been a thousand triggers. But whatever had caused it, I started to feel a calm within the chaos, an acceptance of the dichotomy and a peace that remained a mystery.
After that, everything was okay. As okay as it could be.
Nishi had a little problem with the bottle. It wasn’t his fault — perhaps the affliction was inextricably linked to his job — but every night as time progressed so too did Nishi’s level of inebriation. And thus, it was probably inevitable that I was going to leave perplexed when I was called to sit with him one night at the powwow table.
‘You have business to make,’ Nishi began with a rasp. ‘Chelsea is young girl, I know ... so young. Maybe you stay six months,’ he mused, imploring me with his gently comical features, ‘make more business.’
‘Six months is way too long, Nishi. I’d never survive.’
Nishi’s head bobbed up and down silently as he laughed. ‘Yes, but prease remember, private life and business separate. Berry important. You have many Japanese friends,’ he mumbled with a lopsided smile. ‘Prease, you make more business.’
‘Uh ...’ Oh-kay. What did he mean by that’?
At a loss for words I simply shook Nishi’s hand and rejoined the Israelis on the couch. Tonight we had a new addition to our hostess mafia. Sara, who was modest and demure, but golden and bright, had recently deserted a short-held post at a Roppongi strip club after workplace relations turned out to be much more than she expected. Prior to coming to Tokyo Sara had never stripped in her life, but when she’d arrived looking for a hostess job, she’d been enticed by the outrageous sums of money promised to her by a Nigerian selling the idea of ‘only dancing in your G-string, like this,’ which Sara demonstrated with a cute wiggle of the hips. However, our kind Nigerian friend failed to mention that not only is stripping in Japan a full-contact sport above the waist, but also apparently having shots poured over your breasts and sucked off your nipples by strange Japanese men is as commonplace as the gyrations to be overheard in the dark quarters where much more than private dances went on. Since it turned out that there was a time limit on how long one could get away with only wiggling one’s hips in such an environment, Sara made the decision that she was not willing to go there.
Once Sara had purged her tales of sleaze, she felt at home at Greengrass; we were all friendly and clothed, and the club was free of the backstabbing and customer-stealing tactics that were rife in big clubs like Jack’s, where cliques and conniving bitchiness were to be expected.
Karolina, Shin’s favourite hostess, was back at Greengrass briefly, and we were talking about Shin’s peculiarities when he walked through the door. Stopping to raise his right hand towards us, he smiled serenely and then sauntered after Tehara to his usual table by the wall until Karolina and I were brought to join him.
‘So, today is last chance for me to see Karolina ...’ Shin began.
‘Because I’m flying home in two days,’ Karolina interrupted.
‘Yes, I know!’ Shin scowled at her, forcing breath out of his nostrils before turning to me and letting out a chuckle. ‘She will cry, like baby, but I go China tomorrow, so now maybe is last chance. I should have stayed at home, and sleep, but then maybe she will be angry with me and call to wake me up and shout! She is so noisy!’
At some point Shin called for a goodbye song, and while he quivered with moist eyes through ‘Sayonara Song’ in Japanese, Karolina reciprocated as a sub-par Bono with ‘With or Without You’. Then the earthquake hit. Suddenly.
Its first movement shunted the entire building left, BANG, and everyone looked with silly human instinct to see who could have pushed with such force. Then, BANG, the room slammed violently to the right and Shin grabbed my hand. After that the shaking started, shifting the tower of concrete and steel a foot in either direction. Back and forth. Back and forth. Faster and faster. I squeezed Shin’s hand tightly. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I began to hyperventilate. I couldn’t shut my eyes. Some people couldn’t stop singing, or drinking or laughing, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but I was frozen, waiting for the sky to fall, back and forth, back and forth, to the ground. Until it just stopped. Shin placed my palms together and closed his hands over mine. ‘It’s okay,’ he said softly. ‘It’s okay.’
I could see Karolina laughing hysterically at the next table. She thought it was a riot, but I could feel tears threatening to overflow, and it didn’t help when Shin said that this was the biggest quake he’d felt since he could remember.
‘But it is okay. Not danger. This earthquake moving side way, it’s okay. Not up and down one. Up and down one is dangerous. Maybe, this one level 4, but up and down, maybe you need only level 2, or level 3, then building fall down. But,’ he added with a reassuring grin, ‘not so common.’
Nishi came to move me without explanation. In the dark corner there was only an empty seat, an open pack of cigarettes and a tall glass of whisky. In isolation, none of these inanimate objects could have foreshadowed just who was to saunter out of the men’s room, in slick suit, crisp shirt and Armani tie, but somehow I knew it would be him. My stomach fluttered when I saw him. It had been three weeks since we’d first met, three weeks full of new meetings with new faces, but somehow his magnets were all still intact. I could see them clearly. Blue letter Y, orange letter O, green S, yellow H, red letter I.
‘Why are you here?’ he barked. ‘I didn’t request you!’
‘It’s nice to see you again too, Yoshi.’
Yoshi sat. Then Yoshi fumed. He refused my hand, lit his own cigarette and pulled the pin on an explosion of heated complaints about my audacity for not meeting him for dinner all those weeks ago. I was bemused.
‘I have been back from Chicago already two weeks. Tonight I was at a business party, with fifteen hundred people. I hate. Talking bullshit, yeah, fuckin’ this, fuckin’ that. What do I care? “Go away!” I say. I don’t care about them.’
It went on this way for two whiskies, until Yoshi’s complaints curved unexpectedly into a hard-line pitch for my long-term affections.
‘You will be my girlfriend. I am a sleazebag, I told you. At work I am all business: fuckin’ how are you? Rah, rah, rah. I am professional bull-shitter. On my own time, I am bad boy. But for you,’ he winked. ‘I’ll be good.’
Yoshi waved away my attempt to light another cigarette and continued in French. ‘Oh my God, I love short hair. The first time I saw you, wow. Nishi said, “I know, your kind of girl.” S’il vous plaît, ma chérie. Tell me. If I am a good boy, do I have a chance?’
‘On ne sait jamais’, I answered ambiguously — you never know — and Yoshi took it how he wanted.
‘Ahhh, okay,’ he smiled, ‘I am happy. We will go to small island, and then, at the membership hotel ...’ I leant over to straighten Yoshi’s collar as he described the Italian restaurant on the marina, and he suddenly forgot how to speak. ‘I forgot what I was saying.’
‘You were talking about the small island,’ I said softly.
‘Oh yeah,’ he grinned. ‘Small island. Party time. Where else you wanna go? Europe? We’ll go there. I’ll take you to Cote d’Azur, Venice, we’ll ride in a gondola, and then you’ll have to fall in love with me. It will be impossible not to, and when you come back, you will see, you’ll be my girlfriend. I’ll try my best. So what you want for the small island? Ganga? Coke? Whatever you want, I can get it. What you want?’
‘I want my own bed,’ I said sternly. ‘I’ll go with you to your small island, okay, and we’ll have a civilised time, but I won’t sleep with you. It’s not gonna happen. Got it?’
‘Oh, I know.’ Yoshi cooed. ‘You are not an easy girl. I can get easy girls, but it’s no fun. I just go to the bar. Ukrainian. Russian. Latvian. They’re all fuckin’ easy. But all they want is money. It’s not my style. I am not your sugar daddy.’
‘I know you’re not. You didn’t bring me diamonds.’
‘Pffff. Diamonds. Am I just another fucking customer? A customer!’ Yoshi huffed, and I deflected him by saying, ‘You like jazz, right?’ but it riled him even more.
‘Of course! C’mon, last time we talked about fucking B. B. King, and you already fuckin’ forgot! Fuck off.’ Yoshi crossed his arms and the fuming recommenced.
‘Okay, fine.’ I sat back and peacefully waited for the steam to evaporate. Several minutes of silence passed until Yoshi looked sheepishly towards me. I stared back coldly and his look changed to defiance. ‘What?’ he snapped.
‘You went crazy.’
‘I told you, I didn’t request you. I went to the toilet and they just sat you here. Before, I don’t want to fuckin’ see you. Ever. Then I come back from the toilet and see you, sitting here, and I change my mind. I am looking for a woman like you. Luxurious, and with grace, but also, some of this.’ Yoshi stuck his nose in the air. ‘Like a snob. That’s you. “Oh, oh! I am sleeping,”’ he mocked. ‘ONE time I ask. Never two times. Okay, fuck off. Two times! “Tomorrow sleeping, oh I’m so busy.” C’mon! Don’t bullshit me. Someone does that to me I say no way, don’t waste my time.’
‘I’m sorry. It was the truth, Yoshi. It was my first week here and I was a wreck. You think this is easy to get used to?’ Yoshi evaluated my eyes for an answer. It really was the truth.
He unfolded his arms. ‘Can I call you tomorrow?’
‘What time?’ I asked coquettishly. I couldn’t help but bait him.
‘I DON’T KNOW! You’re the one who’s sleeping. One o’clock?’
‘Better make it two,’ I grinned.
‘Okay, three. I will make reservations to go to the small island Sunday. Do you know Odaiba? We’ll go from there, at ten o’clock. No, better make it nine. I’ll check the weather. I’ll check the marine charts. I’ll take care of everything, no problem. I’ll just tell my useless secretary what to fucking do.’
‘You really are too much, Yoshi. You know that, don’t you? You’ll have to excuse me. I need to visit the ladies’ room.’ And with that I escaped.
Inside the change room the lights were brighter, and away from Yoshi I could breathe out long enough to clear my head. Had I just agreed to go overnight to a private membership island with him? Ridiculous. How much had I had to drink already? Was he serious? God, where was my eyeliner?
Just as I was rifling through my purse for the kohl black, Nori dialled from his home in Yokohama, anxious to know if I was all right after the recent earthquake.
‘I was at my hospital when it happened,’ he breathed heavily, ‘and I thought that maybe you were afraid, but I could not call to you until now, and I am sorry. Are you sure you are okay? I think maybe not, so I will come to Tokyo now, to see you.’
Great. The last thing I needed was for Nori to get the idea that he was my protector or in any way responsible for my emotional well-being. That would be disastrous. I had to persuade him not to come — it would take too long to get here; it was way past midnight already — Nori was practically out the door before I finally dissuaded him. I shook my head and retraced the smudge along my outer eyelid.
By the time I finally returned to Yoshi, I was amused to see I’d been replaced by none other than Mama-san herself, during one of her sporadic visits. Usually cutting a stoic figure at the bar, at Yoshi’s side she’d morphed into a girlish hostess. Thinking I was still unnoticed, I started to shimmy my way around the table when ... WHAP! I almost heard the noise before I felt the sting. Without even breaking conversation, Yoshi had slapped me hard across the ass. He didn’t even look. Mama-san didn’t flinch. But I did.
‘Yoshi! What THE FUCK are you doing? Don’t you dare think you can do that to me, do you understand? What did you do that for?’ I was so incensed I didn’t even bother to lower my voice. A Japanese customer whipped around to stare. Screw propriety.
‘Chelsea!’ Yoshi shrugged charmingly, looking surprised. ‘Because I like you.’
‘Fuck off. Then why did you slap me on the ass?’
‘I thought you’d like it.’
‘I don’t. Do it one more time and I’ll never speak to you again.’
Yoshi laughed indignantly, and I abruptly changed the subject. ‘So, did you feel the earthquake earlier?’
‘Nah, c’mon,’ he drawled. ‘What earthquake? Who fucking cares?’ Then Mama-san giggled at something he said, and they both looked at me in expectation. ‘Wakatta, right?’
My Japanese wasn’t that good, so I coolly answered, ‘Wakarimasen.’ I don’t understand. This got a delighted laugh out of Mama-san and a sharp huff out of Yoshi, who abruptly signalled her to leave by requesting she fetch me a new drink.
‘So, Miss Chelsea, when did you break up with your last boyfriend?’
‘Which one?’ I played along. Matt had superseded the boyfriend title three years ago.
‘The last one. I don’t fuckin’ know. When were you in Australia?’
‘Two months ago. Can I try some of that?’ I pointed to Yoshi’s whisky and he slid his glass across. I took a sip and screwed up my face. He poured half into my water glass and suddenly that was what I was drinking.
‘Humph. When I met you, I’d just broken up with my Australian girlfriend. We were together fifteen months. I never cheat. But the past is the past. I don’t fuckin’ care,’ Yoshi grinned, taking a plentiful gulp of whisky. ‘Only the present, and the future will come.’ What a romantic philosopher. I rolled my eyes and Yoshi smoothed down a piece of my hair. ‘Can I ask you a question? Do you like sex?’
‘Yoshi,’ I said flatly, ‘you asked me that last time. Do I look like a nun to you? What kind of a question is that?’ I unconsciously crossed my arms.
‘Okay, okay. I wasn’t sure if you were celibate or some shit.’
‘No, I’m not celibate, but I’m not gonna sleep with you. Ever. That’s an insult.’
Yoshi narrowed his eyes until they almost disappeared altogether. ‘I know,’ he retorted icily. ‘I told you, I can get Russians.’
Six or seven whiskies and an indeterminate period of time later, Yoshi and I were still slinging each other hot potatoes when he finally decided to leave, but not before his black Amex made a casually eloquent appearance, slid from his wallet long enough for me to see it and then regloved in favour of a Visa. What was that old adage about a man of true wealth never speaking but always showing it? That was Yoshi. Soon he was lifting me in a drunken spin outside the elevator, and as I landed I told him to call me, although he was too fixated on three impeccably dressed Japanese women giggling their way into the lady-boys’ club across the hall to notice. It was a relief when the elevator doors finally closed.
Dear God. What was I getting myself into? Preposterous trips to a small membership island. The Cote d’Azur. Venice. Dinner. Extravagant offers from customers were fairly standard, but Yoshi made them far more tangible than the usual make-believe.
Yoshi was too much to handle with indifference. Not only was he way too much fun, he was also gravitationally attractive, and oh, that other thing. You see, someone like Yoshi does not just invite you on his boat to a private island without a thought, but at the same time it’s not really that big a deal to him. Not when he can buy a Lear jet with a black credit card that once only Michael Jackson was rumoured to have possessed before it became a commonplace, by-invitation-only acquisition of the gazillionaire’s boys’ club. Often this sort of accessory tends to change things. Fundamental things. Like judgement. Trust. The volume of a little red man who sits on your shoulder. But often they change nothing at all.
Oh, and Nishi confirmed it. Yoshi had requested me. Specifically. He’d paid $295 just to ask me out.