Tak walked over the to the side of the dais where a yellow silk cloth covered the Tsugunai invention. He looked directly at Elle and held her gaze for what felt like several long minutes. Why does he keep looking at me? She hoped no one else noticed. There was no reason for Tak to direct his attention toward her. She had nothing to do with any of this.
“Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you . . . Blondie!” Tak removed the cloth. Elle was expecting a robot, something mechanical and steely gray. Instead, what she saw was more like a mannequin: a woman with long platinum-blonde hair and blue eyes. It was incredibly lifelike. So lifelike, it could be her twin.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Pink Floyd: “Wish You Were Here”
June 6, 2017
10:23 a.m.
Mitch looked exactly the same: long eyelashes, mischievous eyes, and a warm smile. Elle was thrilled to see him. Even though the sun was shining brightly and it was very warm outside—hot, even—Mitch wore a camel-colored lambskin coat. This was not his typical style; it was too conservative, more like something Win would wear. Mitch preferred black and leather. He was carrying an axe loosely in his right hand, and— curiously—he was barefoot.
Elle was worried his feet would get hurt. “Where are your shoes?”
Mitch said nothing.
Elle became more worried, frantic almost. “You need shoes. Let me get you some shoes.”
Mitch smiled. Although he didn’t say anything or move to greet her, she could tell he was happy to see her. He seemed peaceful, content.
Elle reached her arms out to hug him. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Again, Mitch smiled, but he didn’t return her embrace. Instead, he turned and walked purposely toward a large, lone tree a few feet away. There was something under the tree, but Elle wasn’t sure what it was. A car seat maybe? That didn’t make sense.
Why wasn’t Mitch as excited to see Elle as she was to see him? Where was he going? To cut down the tree with his axe? To get the car seat?
Knock–knock–knock.
Elle awoke to the sound of a loud rapping on the door. She sat up in bed, disoriented.
Where am I?
Dazed, Elle looked around. Noting the unfamiliar duvet cover, she realized with dismay that she was in her hotel bed. She must have been dreaming. Elle couldn’t shake the hazy feel of everything, the aftereffect of the Ambien. She had been so upset the night before, she had taken two pills, as if a deep sleep would make it all go away. Elle was depressed by the realization that she hadn’t actually seen Mitch, and horrified by the events of the previous evening.
Tak and Johnny. Thinking about them made her nauseous. Just when she was starting to feel so hopeful about her future, she had to see them again.
Had there been signs?
Of course there had, but Elle had misinterpreted their meaning, naively believing that being more honest was enough. Thinking her life could somehow be compared to that of a princess in a Disney movie had been ridiculous. Colossally stupid. Elle should have paid more attention, heeded the warnings more seriously.
She needed to talk to Win. Elle had intended to tell him more about her relationship with Tak when they returned to the hotel, but Tak had insisted Win and the other Martin Global executives stay and work through some last-minute preparations for the press conference. Elle had taken two Ambien, hoping that rest would clear her head and provide her with better perspective to talk to Win in the morning. Where is he?
Elle looked at the clock on the bedside table: 10:25. Geez. The Ambien had really knocked her out. Win must be gone already. Should she try calling him?
Knock–knock–knock.
There it was again. Had Brynnie or Four ordered room service? Elle got out of bed, wrapped herself in a hotel robe, and went to the door. She couldn’t shake the melancholy that seeing Mitch had been an illusion. It had seemed so real. Elle had been so pleased to see him again. She wanted to hold onto that feeling of happiness for as long as she could.
Elle opened the door to see the hotel concierge. He bowed deeply, apologizing, “I’m very sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Martin, but there is someone here at the hotel who wants to see you.”
Someone to see me? Who could it be?
Elle crinkled her eyebrows. “Do you know who it is?”
“He said he was a friend of yours from years ago. Of course, I would never give out your room number, so I took his picture to show you. He was quite insistent about seeing you.” The concierge handed Elle his phone. Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be Mitch?
Elle looked at the picture and instantly recognized Kenji. It wasn’t Mitch, but it was a good lead. Finally! “Yes, I do know him. Where is he?”
“He’s downstairs in the restaurant. I told him to wait there until I talked to you.”
“Okay—wow.” Elle took a few seconds to process this information. “I need to get dressed. Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Very well.” The concierge again bowed several times.
Was Elle supposed to tip him? She decided it wasn’t necessary. Instead, she offered several rushed bows in return. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Elle closed the door and hurried back to her room to change, her mind racing. She still needed to talk to Win; she should check her phone to see if he had left a message. And what about Brynnie and Four? Were they still sleeping?
Elle picked her phone up off the nightstand and was surprised to see she had over thirty texts. Something bad must have happened. Panicked, she read the first message. It was from a series in a group text including all her Country Day parent friends. From what Elle could gather, it had been discovered that a popular biology teacher had been accused of molesting students at another private school he taught at in the late eighties. Although this news was distressing, Elle wasn’t interested in the details. Impatient, she skipped over all the messages from the group.
Next, there was a single text from Aubrey asking how Elle was doing. It was ironic, given Aubrey’s behavior in the past few weeks, that she even bothered to keep up the charade of pretending to care about Elle. Elle deleted the message without responding and hurriedly read the next text; one from Angela reporting that Duke was doing well and that the leak in the sprinkler system had been fixed. Elle again regretted having previously doubted her housekeeper’s intentions. Angela wasn’t the problem. Elle would give her a raise when she returned home.
At last, Elle got to a message from Win, at six o’clock that morning, when she would have still been deep in her Ambien-induced sleep: You were a rock star last night! Your charm finally wore down Akimoto a bit, but still working through some details. Headed to his office. Didn’t want to wake you. Try to call later. Car is coming at noon. They have a room for you to get your hair and make-up done in. Love You.
Elle hated to think of her husband negotiating with Tak. His body language around Win had been so antagonistic. Why?
There was one final text. It was from Brynnie: 4 and I are going to Tokyo Disneyland. Daddio gave us the green light, we didn’t want to wake you. We will be at press conference on time. Don’t worry. xo
Don’t worry. Did Brynnie mean Elle shouldn’t worry about her and Four, or had she sensed her mom’s panic the night before and understood the position she was now in?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Simple Minds: “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”
June 6, 2017
10:45 a.m.
Elle managed her hair into a loose knot above her head as she walked out of the elevator and into the hotel restaurant. In her rush to meet Kenji, she hadn’t brushed her hair or put on any makeup. She looked like a homeless person. With her luck, she’d probably run into Ainsley. . . So what? Elle no longer cared; she had more important things on her mind.
Elle saw Kenji sitting alone in a booth toward the back of the restaurant near a window. He looked just as she remembered. Dressed in skinny jeans and a tight black T-shirt, he could have s
till been a young man of twenty-one. It was remarkable how he hadn’t aged. Seeing Elle approach, Kenji stood and bowed profusely to her.
“Kenji! Oh, my gosh, it’s so nice to see you!” Elle wanted to hug him but worried that it wasn’t appropriate. Unsure of what to do, she settled on an awkward bow of her own. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you after twenty years. How are you?”
“Please, Erre-san, sit.” Kenji motioned to the empty seat across from him; his hand was shaking.
Poor thing, he’s nervous.
“You want coffee? Please.” Kenji pointed to the silver carafe on the table.
“Sure, thank you.” Elle sat down and wondered where to begin. She had so many questions. “How did you know I was here?”
“I see you on TV news. At big party . . . with Tak. I know I must find you.”
At the mention of Tak’s name, Elle’s stomach tightened. Did Kenji still work for him? Was that why he was so nervous? What did he know?
Elle tried sound cheerful, saying, “I’m so glad you did. I’m anxious to get caught up with you! Are you still in touch with Mitch? I’m trying to track him down.”
Kenji shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You no know about Mitch?”
“No, I haven’t seen or heard from him since I left in 1994. I’m dying to hear what he’s up to. Do you know?”
Kenji looked down at his plate, then up again, his voice shaking. “Yes, I know.”
Oh no. It must have been a messy breakup. Too bad—they would have made such a great couple. Still, Elle was thrilled he had information about Mitch. “Tell me everything!”
Elle took a sip of coffee and settled into her chair, anxious to hear what Kenji had to say. After her horrific night, she was looking forward to some good news.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Vance Joy: “Mess Is Mine”
May 11, 1994
11:47 p.m.
Mitch
Mitch blamed himself for Elle’s situation. She had been coked-up the previous night; he could tell. He should have insisted they stay away from Samantha’s. Elle was in no condition to see Tak, especially as she was planning to break up with him.
But Mitch had wanted to see Kenji. Worse yet, he was so over Elle’s relationship with Tak, he had kind of encouraged her flirting with the incredibly tasty Brazilian soccer player. But his most egregious mistake had been leaving without even checking in on Elle or saying good-bye. Selfish prick. He had been so distracted by the fantasy of what he and Kenji were about to do, he hadn’t even thought about his best friend. Mitch was racked with guilt. He should have been there for Elle. He would make it up to her now.
Mitch was discouraged to find Elle wasn’t at their apartment, and there was no sign she had ever made it back there. She must have crashed in Tak’s office at Samantha’s.
Mitch headed to the station to take a subway into Roppongi. How could he best help? Maybe it won’t be that bad. Elle was incredibly charming. Perhaps she had already talked her way out of the situation.
It was hard for Mitch to concentrate; he couldn’t stop thinking about his mind-blowing night with Kenji. He couldn’t wait to see him again. Consumed with fantasies about the slender and pretty bartender, the subway ride went quickly.
Mitch exited out of Roppongi station and walked the two blocks to Samantha’s. At this time of day, the streets were quiet. Quite a change from the previous evening when there had been a long line of young people clamoring to get into the club. The front door was propped open, so Mitch walked in. A cleaning staff was inside mopping the dance floor.
It was strange to see the inside of Samantha’s during the day. In the daylight, it was uninteresting, sterile almost, except for the lingering smell of alcohol. The club was so quiet and lonely now that it seemed unfathomable that it was regularly the scene of young men and women lustily grabbing, grinding, and fumbling with each other, all in search of some sort of connection.
Mitch waved to the cleaning staff and sauntered up the stairs to Tak’s office. He knocked lightly on the door.
No answer.
Maybe they were still asleep? Mitch looked at his watch and considered the time—12:07. Fuck it. It’s past noon. I’ll go in.
Mitch opened the door and saw Tak sitting glumly at his desk with his head in his hands, a bottle of rum in front of him. It appeared Elle had already given him his walking papers and he was drowning his sorrows.
With rum? Really? What kind of guy goes on a bender with fucking rum?
Tak looked up as Mitch entered. “What you want?”
Mitch could tell by the redness in Tak’s cheeks that he was drunk. He was such a lightweight. Always had been, which is probably why he started in on the coke.
“I’m looking for Elle, is she here?”
Tak made a fist and hit it against his desk. “Why you look Elle?”
“Relax man, I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She was pretty fucked up last night.” Mitch was teed off by Tak’s attitude and behavior. He thinks he’s such a tough guy. What a fucking dick. He hoped Elle had let him have it. Asshole.
“She go. She your apartment.”
This was good news. Mitch must have just missed her. “All right, thanks.” Mitch turned to leave. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. In fact, he hoped he never saw this prick again. What had Elle seen in him? At least it was over now. Good fucking riddance.
As Mitch walked away, Tak added, “She there with Johnny and Mike.”
At the mention of Johnny and Mike, a chill went down Mitch’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. This was no bueno. Those guys were Tak’s goons.
Mitch turned back to Tak. “Why are they with her?”
“You know what Elle do?” Tak tried to stand, but he was so drunk he wobbled.
Mitch paused before responding. He needed to be careful here. What did Tak know? Mitch wasn’t even sure himself how far it had gone with Elle and the Brazilian.
Tak didn’t give him time to answer. “She fuck another guy! Here, in my club!” He slammed his drink down on his desk, shattering the glass into pieces.
Fuuuuck. This was the worst-case scenario. Mitch was now very concerned about Elle. Tak was completely unhinged. Irrational. Who knew what he was capable of?
Mitch tried to stall, desperate to come up with a game plan. “Wait a sec, that’s not exactly right.” Shit, Mitch, think of something, anything.
Tak grabbed the bottle of rum and drank directly from it, saying between sips, “It true. I find rubber package in cloakroom where they are together.”
A rubber? Mitch was glad if Elle had gotten it on with the hot Brazilian, but this was worse than he had anticipated.
Tak looked at him expectantly.
Mitch extended his forearm and opened the palm of his hand, hoping to appear conciliatory. “Here’s the thing. She didn’t have sex with him. They only kissed, and she realized it was a mistake . . .”
Tak shook his head. “No, I see empty wrapper.”
Mitch needed to come up with something better. He considered Tak. He would forgive Elle. The real issue here was his pride. Someone would have to take the fall so he could save face. Mitch would be that guy. “It’s mine. We were in the cloakroom together.”
Tak cocked his head to the side. Mitch had his attention. He needed to make this good. But how?
“You know, it was my birthday, and I was pretty hammered. We went into the cloakroom and, I don’t know, I thought I had a chance with her . . .” Tak wasn’t stopping him. This guy is so fucking stupid, this just might work. “I got the rubber out and she totally shot me down. Swear to God, nothing happened.” Mitch thought he should add something about how sorry he was, but Tak was such a dick, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Why Elle no say this to me?”
“She was trying to protect me.”
Tak nodded slowly. “Ah so . . .”
He’s buying it. Mitch’s confidence grew. “Okay, so we’re cool?”
So, Elle had told him the truth after all. Good. Pleased with this news and his ability to spin such a successful tale, Mitch became a bit cocky. “Well, I could go either way, but you’ve seen Elle’s tits—they’re perfection.”
Tak hurled the bottle of rum directly at Mitch’s head. He felt a sharp sting and fell back, hitting his head along the corner of a file cabinet on his way down.
2:15 p.m.
Mitch was groggy. He remembered feeling like this once before, when he was eight years old, playing in his first tackle football game. He had gotten the ball and started running, the way his dad had instructed, when he was viciously knocked over by a much bigger kid. It was a brutal, hard hit and he had fallen to the ground, his head snapping against the grass. Mitch felt now as he had then: dizzy, confused, and not at all sure what had happened.
He could see the outline of Tak but couldn’t quite focus on him or what he was doing. His head hurt too much—was it bleeding?—and he was overwhelmed by the smell of rum. Mitch was nauseous and worried he might throw up.
Tak had his arms. What was he doing? Was he tying his arms to something? What was going on? Nothing made sense. Mitch couldn’t concentrate. Better for him to just close his eyes and rest a little.
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