by Mel Nicolai
•
Across the street from the state capital, the Hyatt looks like a committee-generated facsimile of post-modern Mediterranean luxury. The cab dropped us in front of the lobby. We were about twenty minutes early, so Mio suggested we wait inside. We found a sofa not far from the front desk and took a seat. One of the staff, a young Asian woman, approached and asked if we would like a cup of coffee. I’d never been to the Hyatt before, so I didn’t know if this level of hospitality was normal, or if it had something to do with Mio. It’s often like that with her. She projects a presence that is almost regal. In the absence of any guiding etiquette, people have a tendency to become a bit servile around her. There was also the fact that her clothes and jewelry were easily worth more than the young woman’s annual salary, a fact the woman was no doubt more sensitive to than I was.
Mio opened her purse and took out two one-hundred-dollar bills. “We’re fine, we’re just waiting for some friends.” She held out the two hundreds when she said this. “I wonder if you could change these to twenties for me?”
The young woman took the money without a word and walked back to the front desk. When she returned, she counted out ten twenties and gave them to Mio. Mio separated one bill, deftly folding it into quarters with one hand and held it out to the woman as a tip. When the woman took the money, Mio gently squeezed her hand as she pressed the bill into her palm. The woman momentarily lost her professional composure, flushed a deep red, then mumbled a thank you and hurried away.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Mio dropped the twenties into her handbag and gave me a dismissive little shrug by way of telling me to mind my own business. A few minutes later, Tony walked through the sliding glass doors at the front entrance. Grandiose architecture, like courthouses and pretentious hotel lobbies, tend to dwarf the humans who inhabit them. This is what they’re supposed to do. The courthouse is meant to intimidate, the hotel lobby to give the illusion of status by virtue of scale. The guy at the front desk did a double take when Tony walked in. He probably wasn’t used to seeing someone big enough to diminish the lobby’s pretensions.
Tony saw us sitting on the sofa and performed a minimalist gesture that consisted of raising one index finger, pointed in our direction, as if he were shooting from the hip. Mio waved back, more conspicuously, and stood up. Tony waited while we crossed the lobby. The two of them shook hands. The difference in size was like an adult shaking hands with a four year old, but they carried it off naturally enough, though Tony had a look of mild awe on his face. Mio was no doubt one of the few people other than Tony’s wife, Patricia, who was seemingly indifferent to his physical dimensions.
“Good evening, Tony,” Mio said.
“Good evening, Mio. You look dangerous tonight.”
“Why, thank you. You’re looking pretty good, yourself”
Tony shook my hand. “Shake.”
“Tony, good to see you.”
The three of us walked to the car. Mio said she’d sit in back. Tony opened the back door for her on the passenger side. I went around to the driver’s side and got in behind Karla. It was the sensible arrangement, since Tony needed to put the seat all the way back in order to make room for his knees, whereas Mio needed no legroom at all. After slipping her shoes off, she sat with her legs curled under her on the seat.
When we were all in, Karla turned around and looked at Mio. “Hi, I’m Karla Lambretti.”
“Mio Nagaishi.”
Mio looked at me, her expression a mixture of amused curiosity and playful reprimand, then turned her attention back to Karla. “Now that I’ve had a look at you,” she said, “I can see Shake hasn’t been entirely forthcoming. He told me you were attractive, but he didn’t tell me you were stunning.”
Karla smiled, her eyes fixed on Mio. “Shake hasn’t told me much about you, either, except that you’re not his wife and you like to dance.”
“Two of the essentials,” Mio said.
I wasn’t particularly interested in seeing how long the two of them could keep this up. “It’s a long drive to San Francisco. Why don’t we talk on the road?”
The conversation lagged while Karla got us to the freeway heading west. Mio was leaning into the corner, her body angled toward Karla, studying her profile while she drove. Mio was showing a little more interest in Karla than I’d expected, but I assumed she’d tell me what was on her mind, if and when she chose. Tony sat quietly until Karla asked him a question.
“So, Tony, if you don’t mind my asking, what do you do for Mio?”
Tony looked her way briefly, then returned his eyes to the road ahead. “I accompany her.”
Karla waited patiently for an elaboration that didn’t come. Mio finally offered one.
“Tony keeps the wolves off me.”
“He’s like a bodyguard?” Karla asked.
“Not exactly. More of a caution sign—to other men who think I might be grateful for their attention.”
Karla and Tony exchanged looks. Apparently Tony didn’t feel the need to add anything, so Mio continued.
“A woman as fine looking as you, Karla, knows what goes through the minds of men when they see you walk into a room. I’m not as beautiful as you are, but that doesn’t stop men from thinking I’d make a nice little oriental sex toy. It gets so tiresome sometimes, like having a swarm of flies constantly buzzing around your face.”
“I see,” Karla said, “the flies see Tony and they think twice about doing anything that might get them swatted.”
“It works pretty well, most of the time,” Mio said.
Karla sized Tony up, as if she’d forgotten how big he was. “When it doesn’t, does Tony rescue you?”
Mio considered the question. “Do you rescue me, Tony?”
Tony answered as if reciting from memory. “Under no circumstances do I intervene between Mio and any man, woman, child or animal that I judge to be a threat to her. No exceptions.”
Karla was incredulous. “I don’t get it. You don’t help her if some jackass starts getting rough?”
“It’s part of the deal,” Tony said, “between the three of us: myself, my wife and Mio.”
“Patricia doesn’t want Tony getting into any trouble,” Mio explained. “I pay him to accompany me, to be present, nothing more. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that’s all I need. The other one percent I deal with myself.”
Karla fell silent. I suspected she was thinking along the same general lines I was: Could Tony really resist stepping in to help the tiny little Mio? If so, it made me wonder just how much Tony knew about her. They’d had a working arrangement for several years. Maybe Tony had seen Mio in action and that was enough for him to accept the idea that she didn’t need his help. Karla, on the other hand, had no idea what Mio was capable of, and their explanations were only confusing her.
Mio, sensing Karla’s perplexity, changed the subject. ”How long have you been working for Shake?”
“Just a few weeks.”
“How’s it working out? Is he treating you right?”
“All in all, it’s going pretty well, I think.”
“What were you doing before you started working for Shake?”
“Tending bar, mostly.”
“Mostly? What else?”
Karla hesitated, glancing in the mirror before answering. “Well, actually, I was turning tricks. Not regular. Just now and then, for the extra cash.”
Mio absorbed Karla’s disclosure without the slightest indication of surprise. “That’s risky, isn’t it? You’re not still doing that, are you?”
“No. Not since I started working for Shake.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Shake should be paying you enough to leave all of that behind you.”
“He is. Absolutely,” she said, coming to my defense. “He’s been really generous.”
“So, what about your love life? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Karla answered, after a moment of hesitation, “I have a girlfriend.”
“A girlfriend?” Mio said.
“Yeah. Her name is Beanie. Beatrice, but she likes me to call her Beanie.”
“Have you been together long?”
“About a year. I had a boyfriend before that, but, I don’t know, turning tricks and all, it was hard.”
“How so, exactly?”
“I couldn’t keep it separated,” Karla explained. “I’d have sex with guys for money, then I’d try to have sex with my boyfriend for pleasure, and, you know, for love. But I couldn’t keep them apart in my head. All those shits who paid for it, I couldn’t keep them out of my mind. Everything was sort of contaminated. You know what I mean?”
“And it’s different with Beanie?” Mio asked.
“Yeah, it is. Being with Beanie, with a woman, lets me keep the two things completely separate. Sex for money was only with men, sex for love was, is, only with Beanie. They’re completely different. They have nothing to do with one another.”
“A sensible solution,” Mio said, after briefly weighing the matter. “Since you don’t seem to mind me prying into your private life, what does Beanie do?”
“When she isn’t a complete mental wreck, she’s an artist, a painter, and she’s really talented, too.”
“Has she sold many paintings?”
“That’s where the mental wreck part comes in. She’s never sold even one. But I know she will.”
Mio looked at me, an unvoiced question in her expression. I answered with a barely noticeable shrug.
“Tony, do you have one of my gallery cards with you?”
Tony leaned sideways to get to his wallet. I thought the car was going to change lanes. “For Karla?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Tony handed Karla a business card, which she took and slipped into her jacket pocket.
“That’s my gallery in Tokyo,” Mio explained. “If you think Beanie would be interested, have her email some digital photos of her work.”
“She’ll be thrilled.” Karla said.
“No promises,” Mio cautioned. “I’ll look at them. If I think they might sell in Japan, I’ll have her ship a few pieces over, and we’ll see what happens.”
Mio was always the businesswoman, but I had a feeling there was something more going on.
•
It was a little after 10:00 when we exited the freeway into downtown San Francisco. We parked the car at a nearby garage and walked to Satellite. Not surprisingly, the doorman carded Mio, who looks about fourteen. He studied her driver’s license long enough to let us know he wasn’t fooled by it, then let us in. The club’s interior consisted of a large, rectangular dance floor at street level, with raised balconies on the two sides, each with its own bar. The balconies were about three feet above the dance floor, with steps at the front on both sides, and tables lining their length. Padded railings ran along the balcony edges, providing patrons with a place to stand and watch the action, and preventing them from falling over the side as the evening progressed and they made whatever adjustments they considered appropriate to their blood chemistry. At the back, more steps led to a slightly higher balcony along the rear wall where a DJ manned an elaborate electronic sound studio. On each side of the DJ, larger tables were set in the corners. The club wasn’t particularly crowded so we sat at one of the larger tables, giving us a fairly unobstructed view of the interior.
The music seemed to be convincing everyone they were having a good time, the volume high enough to prevent the brain from forming any thoughts to the contrary. A waitress came to the table and took our orders: club sodas for Mio and me, a beer for Tony, and Karla ordered something called a Screaming Orgasm.
“I know,” she explained, yelling to be heard over the music, “it’s a stupid name, but I love the taste. Irish Cream, Triple Sec, and Cognac.”
Mio wasn’t going to waste any time. “I’ll be on the dance floor,” she said, leaning toward Karla, “come and find me when you’ve had your Orgasm.”
There was a doorway in the corner behind us leading to stairs down to the main level. Mio disappeared through the doorway, and a few seconds later I could see her dancing her way toward the center of the floor. Tony followed her progress, too. His behavior toward Mio was unmistakably fatherly, which was amusing considering she was about two hundred years older than he was.
Karla got up and stood at the rail, watching the dancers below. When the drinks arrived, she took hers back to the rail and drank it while standing. When she was finished, she sat the glass on the table, gave Tony and me a little wave, and headed after Mio.
Tony didn’t usually say much, which was something I liked about him. Anyway, the noise level was too high for conversation. His attention was on the dance floor, and it looked like he was content to keep it there. Since entering the club, I’d had my eye out for large Ukrainian types, but so far hadn’t seen anyone who fit that description. The crowd was made up for the most part of young professionals, people in their twenties and thirties. They looked like they had money, like they had devoted themselves to acquiring it, and having accomplished that, were now bereft of imagination. I suppose I wasn’t being very charitable.
I hadn’t expected to just walk into the club and bump into one of the Ukrainians, so what happened next was something of a surprise. Leave it to Mio to be the catalyst of the unexpected. I noticed that both she and Karla were attracting a certain amount of admiring attention from the other dancers. A small but noticeably disproportionate space had grown around the two of them as a result of the others watching. At one point, a young man, maybe in his late twenties, moved in between the two women, with the obvious intention of appropriating Karla. Mio simply danced around him, and as she did, Karla turned away from the guy, reestablishing her position with Mio. When the guy tried it a second time, Karla made an unequivocal gesture of dismissal and I could read her lips as she told him to fuck off. The guy stopped dancing and intentionally brushed her with his shoulder as he walked past. Karla lost her balance and almost fell.
Tony may have seen what happened next. I don’t think anyone else did. While Karla was staggering to catch her balance, ninety-one pounds of haute couture blur flashed low and fast across the intervening space. Mio swung her right arm, driving the entire force of her body through her fist and into the side of the guy’s right knee. There was a loud crack, probably not audible to human ears over the noise of the music, then a much louder scream that definitely was audible, and the guy went down. The best part came after Mio hit him. She spun around a full turn and a quarter in a kind of figure skating-kung fu-tango move, and melted inconspicuously back into the dancers. Neither the guy, nor anyone else around them, seemed to have a clue as to what had just happened. By the time Karla had regained her balance, Mio had calmly taken her by the arm and was walking her toward the stairs.
“Mother of God!” Karla said, when she got back to our table. “I need another drink!” She wiped the sweat off her forehead with a napkin and beckoned at a nearby waitress. “How about you, Tony? You want another beer?”
Tony nodded and Karla ordered his beer, along with another Screaming Orgasm for herself. She daubed more sweat off her face and looked at Mio. “Damn, woman! You haven’t even broken a sweat!”
“Sweetheart,” Mio said calmly, “I’ve barely warmed up.”
Mio’s words were directed to Karla, but her eyes were on me. I’d noticed the endearment, “sweetheart,” but I was more interested in what was happening on the dance floor.
“What do you see, Shake?” Mio asked.
I had to admit, it was a little too good to be true. I stood up and moved to the rail for a better view. Mio followed. “The guy whose leg you tapped,” I said, “you see the big guy helping him off the dance floor? When he turns, check out the back of his right hand.”
The big guy was helping the injured man to the front of the club
where a waitress had brought down a chair for him to sit on.
“Four-o-four,” Mio said. “One of your Ukrainians?”
“Very possibly,” I said, pointing. “He came through that door behind the bar.”
The big guy was on his cell phone, probably calling an ambulance. The one with the knee problem was clearly in a lot of pain. He was gripping his injured leg by the thigh, his face constricted in agony, his head rocking forward and back as if he were emphatically answering a question no one was asking. The waitress who’d brought the chair had gone and come back with a glass of something strong for him to drink. Meanwhile, the guy with the tattoo had been joined by a second large specimen, also possibly Ukrainian, but younger and without the tattoo. These two milled around the front of the club until an ambulance pulled up outside. An EMT came in, assessed the situation, then radioed for her partner to bring in a wheel chair. When they’d rolled the guy out, the two maybe-Ukrainians went back through the door behind the bar.
“What do you want to do?” Mio asked.
It was a little after 11:30. The club closed at 2:00. “I think I’ll just watch for a while, see if one of them leaves. If he does, depending on what time it is, Tony and Karla can stay here while we have a talk with him outside.”
“And if they’re both still here at 2:00?”
“Don’t know yet. I’ll think about it.”
Mio and I returned to our table. I sat down but she wanted to dance some more.
“Rested up?” Mio asked Karla.
Karla had finished her drink and was eating the ice. “Maybe Tony would like to dance some?”
All three of us looked at Tony. His eyes moved slowly from Mio to Karla and back again. “I’m happy right here,” he said.
“Tony’s not too keen on dancing,” Mio said. “His idea of a good time usually has something to do with fuel injection.” She stood up and placed her hand on Karla’s shoulder. “Come on. I want you to show me some of your moves.”