Gina in the floating wor.., p.8
Gina in the Floating World, page 8
CHAPTER SIX
The following Tuesday evening started out slowly. I talked to Penny, who’d been mooning around, writing the name “Jimmy” on her hand with a pen, and then rubbing it out before Berta saw. She showed me a photo of a serious-looking black man in glasses and told me all about him. “He’s the best,” she said. I didn’t think it was my place to lecture her about getting involved with an officer, who was not only married but who had a new baby on the way, so I just let her babble on.
Then Baby Elvis showed up by himself. I gave him a beer, poured myself a watered-down whiskey, and stood near him. He focused on his glass as though it were a crystal ball that would tell him what to say, glancing up at me with his long-lashed eyes. After a few minutes, he asked me what I did back home. When I told him in my fledgling Japanese that I was going to be a student of international business, he sat up straight. “Parlez-vouz français?” he asked.
I’d studied French for four years of high school, and although I was hardly fluent, my French sure beat my Japanese. “Oui!”
“Une femme des affaires internationales,” he said.
Of course, the literal translation of affaires was business, but I chuckled at the alternative translation, the double entendre he hadn’t intended.
I wanted Baby Elvis to know that even in Japan I was not just a hostess, but a woman with ambition. I told him about my internship at the bank, about my long-term goals. He listened intently, nodded, and said he thought it was important for women to have careers outside the home. He explained his work in computers, although I am not sure I fully grasped the technical language in French. I also learned that he temporarily lived at home but was saving up for his own apartment, which he told me was very expensive in Tokyo. I told him about my family and how they didn’t understand why I wanted to come to Japan.
“Tu veux voir le monde? Choisir ton destin?” He was excited now, and so was I.
“Oui. C’est ça.” He knew I was curious about the world and wanted to choose my own destiny. I was so thrilled to have someone here get my essence that I ignored his use of the familiar form of you. Since arriving, I’d made new friends, but except for Gabe, they knew little about me, even Suki.
I touched him on the arm to acknowledge the connection. He stared at my hand. “Koepi?” He ordered shrimp in Japanese.
As I pulled my hand away, I looked up to see Mr. Tambuki watching us. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. I didn’t remember hearing the little chime of the door as he entered. When our eyes met, he gave me an almost imperceptible bow. I nodded.
Mama-san, who had been in the back with her books, swooped in. “Irasshaimase, Tambuki-san.” We never bothered with that greeting at the Snack. He took her hand and kissed it. I could see her blush beneath her white makeup. “Gi-na!” she snapped at me. “Tambuki-san! Uisuki, ne?”
“Hai!” I said, the sharp sound of that “yes” word making me feel like an enlisted soldier responding to the sergeant’s bark.
I was happy to see Mr. Tambuki, if somewhat thrown off by his timing. He settled himself on a stool a few seats away from Baby Elvis. I ordered the shrimp for Baby Elvis, smiled, and wished him a good evening. He had to understand that I had a job to do.
Mr. Tambuki told me to fetch two glasses, and I poured us each a drink.
“Your boyfriend?” Mr. Tambuki asked, jerking his head toward Baby Elvis.
Hana had already taken my place and was laughing at something Baby Elvis said. I felt a small kernel of jealousy.
“Him? No, no. He’s just another customer. We both speak French.”
“Ah. A linguist.”
“Hardly. But my French is better than my Japanese.”
“So, Gina. I’ve been thinking about your two challenges—to be culturally adaptable, as you say, and to find a banking internship.”
“I’m listening.” While enjoyable, my brief conversation with Baby Elvis now seemed trivial.
“I need someone to accompany me on a business dinner tomorrow night with some guests. Entertaining is an important feature of business in Japan.” In contrast to Baby Elvis, Mr. Tambuki looked directly at me as he was talking. “It is also the way to make contacts, which must be carefully tended to, over time, not all rush-rush as in America. Would you do me the honor?”
I couldn’t believe my luck. I felt like a junior high school girl being asked to dance by the football captain.
“I will inform Chief, so he does not think I am stealing you away,” he continued. “He will be fine with it.”
“I’d be delighted.”
“Excellent. And wear something special. This is not a time for dowdy business suits.”
I pictured my wardrobe of hideous dresses. The brocade now needed cleaning badly, the sequined number was too gaudy, and the floral print wouldn’t do for a business event. I would need something new. I’d have to borrow against my income, like buying a stock on margin, but the investment would more than pay for itself if the date were successful.
“Now as for your other concern,” he continued. “I believe you need some fundamental grounding in one of the roots of Japanese personality and culture. The way of Zen.”
“Zen. That’s Buddhism, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it is so much more. It is a way of life, a way of seeing things, a way of being.” Mr. Tambuki’s eyes lit up for a second.
“Okay. How do I learn this?” I ran my fingers through my hair. It felt greasy.
“You cannot learn it from books. You need a master, a teacher. If you will permit me, I would like to be your teacher.”
“Oh.” I took a big slug of my drink to quell my rising excitement. “Thank you.”
“We can work out the details later of how this will happen.” Mr. Tambuki raised his glass. “Kampai.” Before I had a chance to hoist my own glass again, he took one sip out of his mostly full glass and left.
Later, Chief took Hana, Mama-san, and me out for a late-night sushi run. As Mama-san and Hana giggled and chatted with each other and downed their saké, Chief told me that he was pleased with my work at the Snack and knew he’d made the right decision in hiring me. I thanked him. He leaned forward as if about to share a secret.
“Gina, I have some good news. Mr. Tambuki asked me if you could accompany him to a special dinner meeting tomorrow. He is a very important person. This is an honor.”
I decided to play it cool and not let Chief see that I shared his enthusiasm for this new development. I also wanted to let him know I was aware that this was a business proposition. “Oh. Suki told me you ran a date club. Would it be through that?”
Chief sucked in his breath as though he’d been found out. “Of course. All on the up and up. More money for you. Date Club pays well. All set, okeydoke?”
I knew this was not a question requiring a response, so I sipped my saké and let the good news sink in.
“And Gina, you bring him back to the Snack afterward. Okeydoke?”
The next morning, I woke up early, like a child anticipating a field trip. I caught the train downtown and spent at least two hours trying on dresses. Some of them were beyond my means, and unlike in the States where everything is perpetually on sale, nothing was marked down. I finally settled on a long black sleeveless dress, with a slit up to the knee on one side, a fitted bodice, and a scoop neckline that was sexy without being slutty. The dress hugged in all the right places and made me look taller and slimmer. It proclaimed elegance. My silver shoes seemed gaudy, so I bought some black slingbacks with spike heels. They felt comfortable as long as I didn’t have to walk anywhere. To complete my outfit, I purchased a small black evening bag covered with tiny beads. My wallet was now empty of all the money I’d brought from home, but the effect was worth it.
Just prior to eight thirty, I changed in the back room of the Snack. When I made my entrance, complete with appropriately bright red lips, I noticed heads turning to gawk at me. Two guys whistled loudly. I was Eve, finally able to take over the part for which she’d been an understudy. I was Mata-Hari. I would make men weep.
“Wow,” Berta exclaimed. “That’s a fuck-me outfit.”
“Oh, God, you think so?” I said, dismayed that maybe I had overdone it.
“No, doll, but it should net you a few extra yen. Just watch your tits don’t fall out.”
The guys watched this exchange with rapt interest.
“What are you looking at, you fucking morons?” Berta barked at them.
“Berta, they’re paying customers,” I said, pretending to be shocked.
“They don’t have a clue what we’re saying, do you boys?” she switched to her most flirtatious voice.
The guys were all smiles. One leaned forward. “Gina, I touch big breasts?”
I pulled away from him. His friends laughed. One of them pointed at me.
“You fuck?” he asked.
Berta chuckled. “I apologize. I guess they understood at least one word.”
Mr. Tambuki arrived shortly after. When he saw me, he bowed but remained without expression. However, he said I looked lovely.
We drove off in a midsize black sedan. I thought he’d have a classier car, like a Mercedes, though it did have leather seats and his own driver.
The dinner took place in a private dining room with sliding paper doors and low tables. There were three Japanese men—Mr. Tambuki, Mr. Sansui, and a Mr. Muriachi, plus two American men, two Japanese women, and me. The women wore short cocktail dresses and chatted comfortably with the men. I wondered whether they were also in the banking business. It was hard to tell.
The meal was the best I’d eaten in Japan. A virtual army of waiters scuttled in and out, removing plates, bringing new dishes, and filling glasses and cups. The Japanese women giggled a lot. I was surprised at how relaxed I felt, especially since I drank only a little. Not that I worried that I would behave inappropriately with Mr. Tambuki.
The conversation at the table ranged between interesting and entertaining. Although no actual business was conducted, we did discuss the comparative states of the Japanese and American business climates. Mr. Tambuki told some amusing stories and skillfully navigated the conversation, even while translating, so that everyone had a chance to shine, including the other women. Occasionally, he would ask for my opinion, although never on any subject in which I might embarrass myself because of ignorance. At the end of the dinner, he invited everyone to a hostess bar in the Ginza and insisted that I come. The other women did not accompany us.
Bar Diana was a far cry from Chief’s club or Mama-san’s snack. Polished wood tables and velvet-cushioned chairs nestled in dark corners on a plum-colored carpet. Scrolls depicting scenes from nature—birds in flight, snowcapped mountains, and puffy flowers—decorated the walls. The Mama-san, in an intricately patterned kimono, greeted us at the door, complimented Mr. Tambuki in English, and led us to our own table. Three Japanese hostesses, dressed in floor-length gowns, joined us. Young men brought whiskey bottles, not the standard Suntory we served at the Snack, but single malts from Scotland. They placed these on the table along with crystal glasses and a silver ice bucket with tongs. The hostesses poured drinks and lit the Japanese men’s cigarettes. The American men didn’t smoke. Surprisingly, the hostesses were as attentive to me as they were to the male guests.
“You are so very lovely,” said Nagomi, who was taking care of my needs. “Your hair is the color of new-mown hay. Your dress is like midnight. May I touch it?” Her English was flawless, poetic. Words gushed from her mouth.
“Thank you,” I said. “Yes, you may touch it.”
Nagomi stroked the bodice. “So shiny and smooth. You have such good taste. It must be very expensive.”
“Your dress is also very beautiful,” I said. It was a lovely shade of blue.
“This is just an old rag, not like yours. It did not cost half as much, I should think.”
I would not be able to beat her at this game.
“And your dress makes your breasts look even bigger,” Nagomi continued. “They are like two Mount Fujis.” Apparently, it wasn’t just the men who noted breasts. Like Pavlov’s dog, one of the Americans turned my way, eyes quickly alighting on my chest as though he had somehow missed his cue earlier, and then resumed his conversation with his hostess.
“You must be very good at golf,” his hostess said to him. “You have such strong-looking hands.” And she patted the hand that wasn’t holding the drink.
Nagomi focused on my untouched drink. “You do not like whiskey? You would perhaps like something else?”
“Whiskey is fine. I just like to drink slowly.”
“I can get you anything you like. You must enjoy yourself in the company of these handsome men.” Nagomi looked around to be sure that at least some of the men had heard this last compliment. “You are very lucky. But they also are lucky.”
I glanced over at Mr. Tambuki, who was on the other side of the table, talking to one of the Americans, a Mr. Barker, and a hostess with Japanese features but ash-blond hair.
He gave me one of his half smiles. “Gina, have you tried the Glenfarclas whiskey? It is one of the best from Scotland. Do you know it?” I detected a slight slur to his speech.
“Yes, the Glenfarclas. The best,” Nagomi echoed. “You deserve the best. Very expensive.”
The conversation did not improve, but neither did it degenerate. If I was totally new to the culture, I might have expected Nagomi to proposition me. But I knew she was just doing her job.
At eleven o’clock, Mr. Tambuki rose from the table, steadying himself by holding on to its edge, and announced that regretfully he had other business to attend to and that Muriachi-san would assure that they continued to have an enjoyable time.
As he rounded the table, he said, “Gina, you need to come with me.”
Nagomi crossed her hands over her chest and registered disappointment. After the obligatory bows, we left. When I returned to fetch my forgotten purse, Nagomi was already deep in conversation with Mr. Barker.
I assumed that Mr. Tambuki would take me back to the Snack as Chief had requested. We climbed into the back seat of the sedan.
“Ah, Gina, Gina, I am glad that we no longer have to do business.”
“I didn’t mind. That was much more interesting than I expected. Especially the dinner. I learned a lot.”
“There is so much more I could teach you,” he said. He put a hand lightly on my knee. His usually impassive face had softened, and the tip of his nose was a deep pink. “You are very sexy, you know.”
“Thank you,” I said. This time I was the expressionless one. Mr. Tambuki was obviously drunk. His hand moved to the slit in my dress and slithered under to find my leg. I noticed then that the car had pulled up in front of a three-story hotel. A large heart, with the word Love over it in English, flashed in red, green, and blue neon.
“Should we go in?” he asked politely.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I replied. I full well understood, but I was confused by the turn of events.
“Oh, Gina. Of course you do. This is a ‘love hotel.’ You know what I want.”
“This wasn’t part of our deal, Mr. Tambuki.”
“No, it’s not part of the deal. I don’t pay for sex. I thought you liked me.” His hand, which had been lightly kneading my pantyhose covered flesh, now rested precariously close to my private parts.
I grabbed his fingers and removed them. “You are very good company, Mr. Tambuki, but I don’t do this.”
“Gina, you don’t have to play hard to get with me.” He lunged for me in a most ungentlemanly fashion, pulling me against his chest, and kissing me hard.
I struggled, but he maintained his hold. Finally, I pushed him away. “Please, Mr. Tambuki. Take me back to the Snack.” I was shaking.
Mr. Tambuki released his hold and sat back in his seat. He straightened his tie and smoothed his hair back. “You surprise me, Gina.”
“What on earth did I do to encourage you?”
“Look at that dress. Those shoes. Those breasts. What did Nagomi say? Like Mount Fuji.”
Berta had been right about my fuck-me dress. “I just wanted to look nice for your engagement, so you would be proud to be with me.”
“You have so much to learn about Japan. So much. I don’t know if it can be done.”
“You won’t say anything about this to Chief, will you?”
Mr. Tambuki took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “It is not his business.”
He took me back to the Snack but did not come in, much to Chief’s dismay. I covered for him, mostly to keep from hearing one of Chief’s harangues. Before I started work, I changed back into my other outfit. I was feeling very let down. I trusted Mr. Tambuki, and he had proven himself to have no more class than the guys Berta and I had tussled with prior to my date. I had to remind myself that I was no worse off than I was before. I would just have to do it all myself now with no help.
When Sunday arrived, I looked forward to seeing Hiro, who had none of the rough edges of the barroom crowd, nor the unpredictability of Mr. Tambuki. He was taking me to Kamakura, a popular day trip out of Tokyo. The weather was initially very warm, and I wore a summer shift and sandals. Kamakura itself was more rural than I expected, but it was still difficult to avoid the crowds. We visited several of its temples, including one that was reachable by climbing up many steps. We decided to take a more difficult way down along a steep path. Hiro took my hand most of the way, guiding me around rocks. At one point, the path became very muddy. I hesitated, and Hiro scooped me up and carried me across the worst part. Suddenly, it began to pour. We dashed under a tree, but by then we were already drenched. My thin dress was clinging to me like saran wrap and was probably just as transparent. Hiro had a lightweight jacket with him that he put over our heads to keep the rain from falling on us through the branches. He pulled me in toward him, so we would benefit from the makeshift umbrella. The closeness of our wet bodies and the beauty of the rain on the green hillside made me feel happy.
