It seemed to be a good deal, an easy way to make money, but Elle was hesitant. A hostess? Wasn’t that a little too close to a call girl? Mitch and Elle discussed the opportunity in sober earnestness the next day.
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to sleep with anyone,” Mitch pointed out. “I would look at it like a kind of acting job—all you have to do is pretend a bunch of old pervs are interesting.”
Elle had still been wary but agreed to try it for one night, with the condition that Mitch could accompany her. Mae-san had agreed; having an attractive Caucasian male in her club was a welcome addition—another American prop.
Despite her initial fears, Elle quickly discovered Mitch had been right; there was no reason to be worried. She spent the evening drinking champagne and talking to some very boring businessmen. There had not been a single insinuation of anything the least bit sexual. It was just like being in the Conversation Room—only she was wearing a tight dress, and the consumption of alcohol was encouraged. Best of all, Elle received a 50,000-yen note as a “present” at the end of her first night. Not bad. She decided it was an effortless way to make lots of money and accepted the job.
This evening, with a big tip in mind, Elle settled on joining Mitsuya-san, the president of a large international electronics company, who traveled frequently to America. In addition to being exceedingly generous, Mitsuya was smart and interesting so conversation with him was easy. It would be a pleasant way for her to pass the time until Mitch arrived.
With their new jobs, Elle and Mitch had quickly settled into a new routine. Mitch taught his private lessons in the evenings and joined Elle at the Big YAC when he was finished. Mae-san found Mitch charming and he was welcomed as a regular at the club.
This arrangement suited Mitch just fine. In another ode to Americana, the Big YAC had a Ms. Pac-Man game table off to the side. Mitch had loved this game as a tween; while all the other boys went to the town’s arcade and played Tetris, he had been obsessed with trying to advance to the point in Ms. Pac-Man where Sue and Blinky got married. As such, Mitch was more than content to spend his evenings waiting for Elle to finish work by drinking whiskey and chasing dots with his old friend Pinky. After closing time, the two would leave and hit a dance club, scamming for the ever-elusive men who could put an end to their dating dry spells.
Elle had finding hot guys on her mind as she approached Mitsuya. Maybe she and Mitch would have better luck later that night. Or Mitch at least. They were planning to go to a new club, one rumored to be frequented by gay men.
“Hello, Miss Elle-san. Please sit.” Mitsuya rose as Elle approached. “You look very, very beautiful tonight. What would you like to drink?”
“Thanks. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed seeing you.” Elle sat down, wondering if her words sounded as insincere as they were. Sure, she enjoyed Mitsuya’s company, but it was an overstatement to suggest she had missed him. “How about some champagne?”
“Of course. Dom Pérignon? Your favorite?”
“Sounds perfect, thank you.” Elle would have preferred to stick to white wine, but as she made a commission off alcohol sales, it was key to order the most expensive drinks available.
Mitsuya motioned for Mae-san to approach. As he ordered a bottle of Dom, Mae-san nodded approvingly. Elle was good at her job. She kept the clients entertained and she could drink. Men always felt the need to keep up with her, ordering one expensive bottle after another, all night long. Cha-ching.
Elle was easily making over four times the amount she had at English First, and that didn’t include the gifts of perfume, jewelry, and dresses. She supposed some clients hoped that by giving her these things, she would be enticed to engage in more than a professional relationship with them. Elle had no intention of crossing that line. Instead, she was appreciative of the gifts, yet unmoved, often selling them for cash and putting the proceeds into the Mitch and Elle’s Adventure Jar.
When the bottle of Dom arrived, Elle leaned forward and poured a glass for Mitsuya. She was relaxed, happy even, thinking of the money she would make. The Adventure Jar was getting fuller by the day. At this rate, she and Mitch would have enough to finance their much-anticipated trip to Europe by summer.
Mitsuya drank the champagne in one big swig, motioned for her to pour him another glass, and said, “I wanted to talk to you about the most interesting story I heard. About a Mr. John Wayne Bobbitt getting his penis cut off by his wife. Do you know this story?”
Elle smiled and took a large sip of champagne. She had been right to choose Mitsuya. It was going to be an easy night.
10:52 p.m.
Elle stood at the bar smoking a cigarette, pleased with herself. With her encouragement, in addition to the Dom, Mitsuya had ordered a bottle of The Macallan 40-Year-Old Scotch—she was in for a hefty commission. Even better, as she had helped him into a taxi, he had handed her a thick wad of yen in thanks. All told, she had made almost a grand. She couldn’t wait to tell Mitch.
Elle looked at the clock—10:52. Mitch would be there soon, and then there would be only one more hour to kill before they could go out. Elle had the perfect buzz going and predicted they would have a very good night.
There was a flurry of activity at the front door. Elle turned to see what was going on. A group of five or six Japanese twenty-somethings had walked in. Although smartly dressed, they were too young for the Big New York Apple Club. Elle saw Mae-san approach them and assumed she would ask them to leave, to come back after they’d made their first million and grown tired of their young wives.
So Elle was surprised when Mae-san led the men toward a table and waved at her to join them. Although in her early sixties, the madam was still stunning and Elle noticed the young men admiring her as they sat down. Mae-san was also very good at her job—the ideal combination of savvy and sweet.
Elle guessed she had been a very famous geisha back in her day, well-known for her grace and beauty. She had fallen in love with one of her wealthy clients and was set to marry him, but then he had been in a nightmarish accident, one too cruel to make sense of. Distraught and convinced she would never again find true love, she had settled on opening a club of her own.
At least this is what Elle liked to think. The truth was, she had no idea what Mae-san’s background was. Like most Japanese, she gave little away and was hard to read. Regardless of her story, Elle held Mae-san in high regard. She answered to no one.
Elle put her cigarette out in the red glass ashtray on the bar and approached the group.
Mae-san held her hand out to the man closest to her. “Tak-chan, this Erre-san.”
The young man stood and bowed politely to Elle. He was tall and his black hair was slicked back in a neat, short pony-tail, which highlighted a strong jaw and rugged, angular features.
Holy shit! He was hot.
Tak wore a diamond earring in his right ear and was dressed in a rather showy black striped suit with an eggplant-colored shirt and matching skinny tie. He was far from the preppy, conservative guys Elle had liked in college, yet she was inexplicably drawn to him.
Elle held out her hand, full of anticipation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Nice meet you. Please. Sit.”
By his heavily accented and halting English, Elle knew that Tak’s grasp of the language wasn’t very strong, but she didn’t care. She was attracted to him in a way she hadn’t ever experienced before and was flustered by it.
As Elle sat down next to him, she was overcome with the smell of Polo cologne. This would normally be a deal breaker—it was too reminiscent of all the guys she went to high school with—but on Tak, it didn’t bother her. Elle’s leg brushed against his and she felt a powerful magnetic energy, like an electric shock. It made her dizzy with excitement.
“I know Tak-chan father, Akimoto-san,” Mae-san explained.
So that’s why they were allowed in. His dad was someone important.
Elle turned toward Tak and noted with approval that h
e had perfectly straight teeth and a well-defined, muscular body, with incredibly broad shoulders. He had a confident swagger Elle found particularly appealing. Finally, someone she actually wanted to flirt with!
Tak looked at Elle with a directness and confidence unusual for a Japanese man. Especially a young one. “You call me Tim.”
Tim? Really? That wouldn’t do. “I like the name Tak much better. Is it okay if I call you Tak?” As she spoke, Elle rested her hand against Tak’s arm and felt another titillating burst of energy. She couldn’t deny the chemistry. Did he feel it, too?
Tak took Elle’s hand in his and kissed it. It was a bold move—the Japanese were typically not physically demonstrative. “Yes, okay. Sure.” He moved her hand away from his face, but didn’t let go of his grip.
It was a little presumptuous, yet Elle’s cheeks flushed and a tingling sensation raced down the back of her spine. She liked the contact. She liked him.
“Tak it is.” Elle gently extracted her hand from his. She didn’t necessarily want to remove herself from his touch, but it was imperative to give the impression that she was in control. She put Tak’s hand next to the top of her thigh and noticed that he was wearing a large diamond-encrusted gold ring on his pinkie finger. Again, this was something that would normally be a turn-off—the ring was rather garish—but on Tak, it seemed masculine and necessary.
Tak looked intently at Elle. She became light-headed. It felt deliriously intimate, like the room had shrunk, and they were the only two people who existed. He placed his hand on Elle’s thigh and they spent the next hour intently trying to communicate with one another.
Elle had been right about Tak’s English—it wasn’t very good. He could understand everything she said if she spoke slowly and deliberately, but it was hard for him to find the English words to respond with. Elle could have made it easier for him by speaking in Japanese, but there seemed to be something incredibly romantic about the way he was trying so hard in English. She decided to keep her knowledge of Japanese a secret.
Elle was so engrossed in conversation with Tak, she completely missed it when Mitch came in. She only noticed him later, happily sitting at his regular spot playing Ms. Pac-Man. When they made eye contact, Mitch gave her an approving thumbs-up.
Elle was confident Tak was the leader of the group—he paid the others little to no attention, yet one of them was always ready to pour him more beer and to light his cigarettes. At closing time it was one of Tak’s companions—Elle thought he had said his name was Johnny—who discreetly paid Mae-san.
Tak’s focus never left Elle. When it was time to leave, he cupped his hands under her chin and said, “You are coming with me.” It wasn’t a question as much as a forgone conclusion.
Tak was so sure of himself, cocky even, that Elle should have been put off—but she wasn’t. Quite the opposite. Elle wanted nothing more than to go with him. Still, she wondered whether it was a good idea. Technically he was a client. She hadn’t planned to go there. Elle excused herself for a minute. She would go see what Mitch thought.
Elle sat down at the Ms. Pac-Man table across from Mitch. “He wants me to go with him. What do you think?”
“Cheeuh! Are you kidding me? Go!”
“I don’t know—I mean, I said I wouldn’t go out with customers.”
“Elle, come on. It’s not like he’s some sketchy old man. He’s hot. Go for it.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Elle was still not convinced. She had been out of the dating game for too long. Maybe she should listen for a sign. Over the course of the past year, Elle had stopped taking direction from music. It hadn’t been a conscious decision; it just didn’t seem necessary anymore. Elle was having too much fun. But this was a big deal. She should listen for a sign.
Elle concentrated on the music in the background of the Big YAC, expecting to hear something by Elvis Presley. He was Mae-san’s favorite pop star and “Love Me Tender” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love” seemed to be on an endless loop in the club. To her surprise, instead of Elvis Presley, something from a Japanese band was playing. Elle didn’t recognize the song and couldn’t decipher the lyrics. She decided this was a sign that a sign wasn’t necessary. Elle knew what she was doing.
“Okay. It’s just like meeting a guy at a bar, right?” Remembering they had plans to go dancing, Elle felt guilty bailing on Mitch. “Do you want to come with us?”
“As intriguing as a threesome sounds, I’ll pass. Besides, I know what kind of underwear you’re wearing.”
Elle thought about her underwear: plain, white, boring grannie panties. She lifted both hands over her mouth in horror. “Oh no! Shit!”
Mitch shook his head in mock dismay. “How many times have I told you? A girl should always be prepared. Wearing sexy underwear—hello!—underrated.”
“You’re right. What should I do?”
Mitch took a drag of his cigarette and smiled. “You gotta ditch the grannie panties.”
“Really? You think they’re that bad?”
“Honey, I love you, but you don’t have to be straight to see they’re a total boner-kill. Ditch ’em, or forget about playing hide the salami with your new friend.”
Elle was shocked by Mitch’s suggestion. “I’m not planning on sleeping with him!”
“Why the hell not?”
Because I’m not that kind of girl. A full-on make-out session and some dry-humping was one thing, but sex with a guy on the same night you met him at a bar? No way. That was a total slut move. “I don’t know, don’t you think that’s a little rushed?”
“Elle, please don’t tell me you’re going to go all Puritanical on me now. You’ve only had sex with one person and that was way back in college. You’ve finally met a guy you’re into. For God’s sake, do him!”
Mitch was right. Elle hadn’t met a man she was interested in in a very long time and she might not have this chance again. Besides, she was in Tokyo. No one knew her here. Who cared what she did? And Tak was hot. Really hot.
Elle would go with him. It would be fun.
Now, if she could just figure out where to ditch her grannie panties . . .
Chapter Fourteen
Echosmith: “Cool Kids”
May 18, 2017
6:54 p.m.
Elle looked around for Win and was relieved to see he was, as was his preference at games, alone and off to the side of the field. This was perfect. Elle didn’t want run-ins with anyone else. She had no interest in rehashing the details of the tennis match smack down or hearing more about Thatcher’s suspension. She would forgo her usual spot in the stadium next to Aubrey and stand with Win. He would be calm. Centered. He always was. Elle put her head down and pretended to read something Very Important on her phone as she walked toward him.
Win must have come straight from the gym—he was wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt from a charity half marathon they had run together in. It would be so like him to get in a quick workout before the game. Elle envied him this. No one would disparage his lack of shower, his bad hair, or the ratty old shorts from his Navy days. He was Win Martin; he could wear and do whatever he wanted. It was much harder to be his wife, the one who could easily be replaced.
As Elle approached, Win smiled and gave her a warm hug and kiss on top of the head. He smelled musky in a good and masculine way which would have made her melt with desire a decade ago. Why did his touch make her uncomfortable now? What had changed?
Although irritated with him earlier in the morning for not intervening in their children’s argument, Elle was now thankful for her husband. He was safe. A place of refuge. Yes, she was lucky to have him. She would try harder.
“Did you get my text about the dates for Tokyo? Amber needs to make all the travel arrangements.”
Elle stiffened as an enormous knot tightened in her empty stomach. She had resolved not to think about Japan. This was Four’s night. “Yes, I’ll call her tomorrow.”
Win smiled. “I bet you’re excited to go back to
Tokyo.”
“Yes! I am,” Elle lied, and then felt guilty about lying. Win was so earnest, so sure he had done something to please her. If only he knew.
Eager to direct conversation away from their upcoming trip, Elle pointed to Four’s team. “How do they look? Will they be okay without Thatcher?”
“The JV goalie is good; he’ll be fine, but this is going to be a tougher game than the boys think.”
Elle turned her attention toward the scene on the field.
There were swarms of Country Day players. They looked like ants in their matching warm-up suits, helmets, gloves, and cleats. Their identical equipment bags were all placed neatly along the sidelines next to the home bench, which was protected from the elements by a large canopy emblazoned with the school’s crest. There were five or six coaches clad in navy polos and khaki pants leading drills, while two similarly dressed team managers filled bottles with water and Gatorade. Other staff members set up cameras to tape the game, readied laptops for player stats to be entered in, and tested the stadium’s state-of-the-art sound system. “Hello! Welcome!”
It was all very impressive. Once upon a time, Elle would have looked upon it with envy and longing. How different it seemed now that she was a part of it all.
“Which one is the player Four was talking about this morning? The one they need to watch out for?”
Win nodded toward the field. “Guess.”
Elle looked at the Kennedy players; there were far fewer of them. Although all their shorts were black, they weren’t identical, and they didn’t have jerseys. Instead, they wore white T-shirts under simple mesh pinnies. Elle was immediately drawn to a player double the size of the others. He was running the length the field, his thigh muscles bulging with each long stride. Despite being so physically large, he moved with an amazing grace, like a gazelle. Elle pointed to him and laughed. “I’m thinking that’s him there—#21.”
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