On the upside, I’ve been so wrapped up in my little drama that I didn’t even notice that the plane had moved. We’re already well on our way and the captain announces we’re allowed to take off our seatbelts and move about the aircraft if we feel the need. I immediately undo my belt and head to the tiny bathroom in the back.
The gin and tonics aren’t helping. My pickled brain is struggling to make sense of it all. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and splash water on my face.
Why didn’t Meg tell me I’d be away for so long? Everyone who goes on maternity leave gets a farewell party. I might be gone even longer than that.
Did Don know about this? If so, why didn’t he mention it in the elevator the other day? How does my promotion fit into it all? Why bother telling me if it might be a whole year away?
I wonder if Alex will miss me. At least he said he’d visit. And another plus: my reputation will be long forgotten by the time I return. I’ll be lucky if anyone even remembers my name in a year.
I’ll probably never see Luke again. Even if we hadn’t gotten off to such a bad start, no normal guy would wait around that long.
I’m going through all the stages of grieving, right here in the plane’s toilet.
Step 1: Denial—there must be some sort of mistake. I’ll sort it out with Meg when I get there and I’ll be back home within the month.
Step 2: Anger—why did this have to happen to me? What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment? I devote my life to that office and this is how they repay me?
Step 3: Bargaining—if I’m super efficient, will they let me come home early? Maybe Violet can take over for part of the project, and that way she won’t feel so left out.
Step 4: Depression—my life is over. I’m going to be in a foreign country by myself for a whole year and none of my friends even know. (Of course I can contact them when I arrive, but right now I feel as if I’ve been shipped off to prison without my one free phone call.)
Step 5: Acceptance—well, at least I wasn’t fired. And I get to eat sushi every day!
The G & Ts are starting to give me a headache. I’m going to have to ask the flight attendant for something to drink. I don’t know if you can drink the tap water in the bathroom. Not that I’d want to. I’ve heard of the mile-high club. Who knows what body parts have brushed up on that faucet during some amorous couple’s interlude?
I shuffle back to my seat and accidentally wake up my fellow traveller, who had somehow managed to doze off in my absence. He’s not impressed when I ask him to move his stomach so I can get past. I didn’t mean to imply that it was large. But it is.
I press the assistance light and wait. The same woman from earlier comes up and regards me with a wary look.
“Yes?”
“Could I please get some orange juice?”
“Certainly.” I appreciate that she’s not holding the earlier incident against me. I smile gratefully.
She leaves for a moment and then returns with a little vacuum sealed cup of OJ.
“Thank you. And sorry about before. I promise you won’t hear a peep out of me for the rest of the trip.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
I pop open the juice, spill half down my top and drink the rest in one mouthful. A bit small, these airline beverages. I’m still thirsty, but I’m afraid to ask for more.
I twiddle my thumbs. Seven hours to go.
***
I doze off while watching an episode of Sex and the City on the back of my seat. All the excitement of the last few hours has worn me out. That, and all the liquor in my system.
I wake up when we land in Singapore. There’s a fairly long wait before my next flight, so I trawl the duty-free shops and buy lots of cheap vodka. Without thinking, I also grab a carton of cigarettes. I don’t even smoke, but it’s such a good deal that I can’t help myself.
Around 1am, I’m back on the plane. This time I’m a lot more chilled out. I guess my body has used up its adrenalin reserves.
To pass the time, I play the Nintendo on my TV. I used to be really good at these games. I can’t believe I can still find all the hidden coins and shortcuts to the underground bonus areas! I am the Nerd Queen!
Just as I’m nearing the final level, they switch off the entertainment system in preparation for our descent.
I sigh. All that hard work down the drain.
Oh well. It doesn’t matter because we’re finally here. I’m in Japan!
I try to blend in with the crowd as I exit the plane and bow my head to avoid eye contact with the flight attendants. I’m sure they’ve forgotten about me by now, but I don’t want to take any chances.
I line up in Immigration behind a hundred other passengers. I think I’m going to be here a while.
I get out my Japanese phrasebook and begin to study it. I can’t believe I told Meg I spoke Japanese. What was I thinking? Maybe if I told her the truth, they would have sent a guide to meet me or something. I wonder what I’m supposed to do once I clear this line. I really should have asked about these kinds of things before I left the country. Maybe I can somehow get in touch with Don and ask him to clarify the whole work situation. Or at least Meg.
I try and memorise the words for hello, goodbye, please and thank you. That should do for now.
What’s taking so long? This line is moving at a snail’s pace. All I want to do is have a shower and fall into bed.
I eventually get to the head of the queue and hand over my passport.
“Konnichiwa,” I try in my best accent.
The officer looks at me. “You are in the wrong line.”
“Oh. Which line should I be in?”
“That one.” He points to the other end of the terminal where a lone officer is sitting in a booth and staring into space. There isn’t a single person waiting to see him.
“Oops. What’s this line?”
“For people who have come from countries with swine flu or bird flu.”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen another Aussie for a while. I just assumed my flight was mostly people coming home from abroad.
“Ah.” I quickly get out of the way and scurry down to the other booth.
“Passport, please.”
I obediently hand it over.
“Purpose of visit?”
“Well, business I guess. I thought I was only going to be here for a few weeks, but it looks like I’m going to be staying for a year!”
The officer couldn’t care less.
“This stamp is valid for six months. Contact your embassy if you wish to stay longer.”
He hands back my passport and continues to stare into space.
“Well, arigato to you too!” So far, these Japanese aren’t as polite as they seem in the movies.
At least I’ve made it officially into the country.
I get my suitcases from Baggage Collection and drag them behind me to the exit.
Oh, look at that! A sign with my name on it!
A pleasant-looking Western guy is peering about, obviously thinking he’s too late. I’m thankful I won’t have to try out my non-existent language skills on him.
“Hello there! I’m Jessica Harper.” I stride over confidently and shake his hand. I’ll have to be on my best behaviour from now on. I still want to impress Don, even if the details of my future are a bit hazy. And while I’m at it, I can pretend to be the strong, independent woman I’ve always wanted to be.
He looks a little surprised.
“Oh, hi. I thought I must have missed you. Your flight got in over an hour ago.”
“Yes, sorry about that. Immigration was a nightmare.”
“Ah, yes. I know all about that. Have you been to LAX? It takes forever to get through their checkpoints.”
“I know,” I feign understanding. “LAX is the pits.” Hmm. Perhaps that’s going a little overboard. And where’s LAX again? I always get confused between Vegas and Los Angeles.
“Here, let me take your bags. I’m David by the
way.”
“Thanks. So you work for Bella?”
“Yes. I’m in the marketing department.”
“Oh, great. So we’ll be working together?”
“That’s right. I’ll be your manager.”
Okay. So I definitely need to be switched on.
“How long have you lived here?” I read somewhere that people warm to you more if they’re talking about themselves.
“Four years.”
“Wow. And before that?”
“Two years in Korea.”
“And before that?” I’m trying to figure out where he was born.
“I’m originally from New York, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh. Your accent isn’t very American.”
“Really? You’re the first person to say that. Everyone else says I sound too American.”
Seriously? He talks like one of those weird SBS reporters who’ve been posted away from home too long and forget what they’re supposed to sound like.
“How funny,” I say neutrally.
“So do you visit the States often?” he asks.
Just ahead of me is the biggest vending machine I have ever seen. I stare at it wide-eyed. “Oh, I’ve never been,” I say without thinking.
“But I thought you just said you didn’t like LAX?”
Oops. Better pay attention. “Uh, that was just a stopover on the way to England.” Why do I say these things?
“So you’ve been to England.”
“Only when I was a kid.” Shut up, Jessica. The furthest you’ve been is Fiji. You’re supposed to be making a good impression, not fabricating an impressive travel history.
“I can’t believe the Los Angeles airport made such a negative impression on you as a child that you still remember it.” He shakes his head as if it’s partially his fault because he’s American.
“Oh, it’s okay. It wasn’t that bad. I just remember it being really noisy.”
“That it is. And the security is ridiculous. 9/11 has a lot to answer for.”
I change the subject to something a bit safer.
“So do you know where I’ll be staying?”
“Yes. I’ll get you oriented with the public transport system and show you to your hotel. I’ll give you my number too, in case you get lost. Your boss said you speak a bit of Japanese?”
Thanks, Meg. I curse her silently. “Ah, not a lot. Just a little from high school. I’ve mostly forgotten it all now.”
“I’m sure you’ll pick it up again fairly quickly.”
“I hope so.”
“Shall we head for the train?”
“Yup. Lead the way.”
I follow him down to the lower levels of the airport to the train platform.
A few minutes later, we are ensconced in an immaculately clean carriage with velvety seats. They certainly put Australian trains to shame. Outside, it’s stifling, but it’s nice and cool in here.
“So do you like living in Japan?” I ask politely.
“It took a bit of getting used to at first. But I feel quite at home now. Just prepare yourself for a culture shock.”
“You mean like using chopsticks instead of a knife and fork?”
“Among other things,” he replies cryptically.
That sounds ominous. I make a mental note to ask him to clarify that statement later.
“How long till we get to my hotel?”
“About forty-five minutes. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just a bit drowsy.”
“I can imagine. Close your eyes if you like. It’s what all the Japanese do. I can wake you up when we get there.”
“Ah, no. But thanks anyway. I don’t think I can relax enough to fall asleep.”
He smiles faintly. “Me neither. I don’t understand how they do it.”
I smile back. David doesn’t seem that bad. A little distant perhaps, but maybe that’s just his personality.
His phone rings a few minutes later and he answers in fluent Japanese. I vow to enrol in lessons right away. He sounds really impressive, rattling off those little staccato phrases.
I try to study him out of the corner of my eye without being too obvious.
He’s tall, like over six foot five tall. This makes him an absolute giant amongst all the Japanese people sitting near us. For the first time ever, I seem to be rather tall too. Hooray.
He also has light brown hair cut short, and a big wide mouth showing really white teeth. He reminds me of the typical American boy next door—like a model for Ralph Lauren or GAP. If he wasn’t so serious, he’d almost be my type.
He shuts his phone and looks back at me with a slight grimace.
“Change of plans. That was Hiroshi from the office. He wants to meet you.”
“What, now?”
“Yes.”
“But what about my hotel? Can’t I drop off my bags and have a shower first?”
“I’m afraid not. You can’t argue with Hiroshi. He’s upper management, so we must do what he says.”
I want to cry, but that wouldn’t be very professional. I try to keep my voice steady.
“I’m actually really tired. I think it would be best if I met him later this afternoon, or even tomorrow.”
“He’s flying out tonight and insists you meet him now.” He shrugs his shoulders as if to say What do you want me to do?
This is crazy. I’ve been in the country for less than an hour and I already feel like I’m losing my edge. Plus, I probably look awful. I’ve been wearing the same clothes since yesterday and I haven’t had a chance to brush my teeth or wash my face properly.
Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected it to be all roses. I came to here to work, not take a vacation.
I turn to David and force a smile.
“All right, so tell me about this Hiroshi guy.”
SEVEN
Well, this is unexpected.
David has just spent the past half hour telling me about Hiroshi and the rest of Bella’s management. But the one thing he failed to mention about Hiroshi—and it really should have been the first thing—is that Hiroshi is not Japanese.
He looks like my Uncle Barry from Chermside. He has fluffy grey hair and a runaway beard, and he’s wearing some sort of robe over long pants that look like pyjamas. He also has a pair of tiny round spectacles perched on his nose.
We’re standing in the lobby of Bella’s head office, a large building in the heart of Umeda. Hiroshi bows slightly. I pretend to sneeze to disguise the fact that I’m trying not to laugh.
“Jessica-san, it is so nice to finally meet you. Your boss Donald has said such great things about your work.”
I don’t know what to process first. The fact that he has a Japanese accent, or that Don has been singing my praises to this strange man. I wonder what Don thinks of him.
Before I have a chance to respond, a business card materialises from the folds of his robe and he hands it to me with two hands, again bowing slightly.
“Oh, um, thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t have my business cards with me right now. I think I have some in my luggage. I’ll give you one after I unpack.”
“Jessica, Jessica, relax. We can sort out details later. Why don’t we go and have a drink? David will show you the way to our local Izakaya. I just have to make a phone call, but I’ll be there shortly.”
“Um, excuse me Hiroshi?”
He looks at me expectantly.
“Why is your name…” I see David frantically shaking his head behind Hiroshi.
“Oh, sorry. I meant, you’ll have to tell me all about the Bella brand and the history of its name when you get a moment.”
He beams. “Of course. We’ll cover all of that in due time. I’ll see you soon.”
David practically drags me by the arm out onto the street.
“What are you doing?” I pull away indignantly.
“I can’t believe you were about to ask him about his name! He’s a superior! You can’t ask things like that!
”
I almost snort, and then remember I’m trying to be mature. But I can’t help myself.
“You’re kidding, right? You’re telling me that no one has questioned the fact that Hiroshi is actually a Western man when he clearly thinks otherwise?”
“No. You don’t question upper management. This is not your little backwater office in Australia. We do things differently here in Japan. You must be mindful of your position in the hierarchy.”
“But he’s not Japanese! That rule shouldn’t apply to him!”
“You are in Japan and working for a Japanese company. Never ask personal questions to anyone higher than you. And make sure you treat everyone respectfully, regardless of where they were born.”
I decide I’ve pushed my luck far enough and nod to show I agree.
But I suspect Bella is unique in some of its views. I highly doubt that all Japanese companies would tolerate someone like Hiroshi. Wouldn’t they find it insulting?
David seems to think I need further instruction. “Jessica, you’ve only just arrived. There will be a lot you’ll want to question, both professionally and socially, but it will do to keep your mouth shut while you’re at work.”
Gosh, they sure are strict here. But if I’m going to have any chance of surviving the next few months, I suppose I’ll have to make an effort to play by their rules.
“Of course. I apologise for speaking out of turn.”
David smiles. I guess I said the right thing. I mentally switch to fifties housewife mode. I know I’m not very assertive at the best of times, but this is going to be hard.
We arrive at the doorway to a modest looking restaurant. There are horizontal timber slats across the walls and paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. David ushers me in and greets a petite Japanese waitress standing behind a podium. She giggles hysterically at something he says. He doesn’t seem like an especially humorous person, so I wonder what he said to elicit such a reaction.
We sit in a private room out the back. There is tatami matting on the floor and what looks like a coffee table in the middle. David removes his shoes and sits cross-legged at one end. He motions for me to sit to his right. I slip off my shoes and join him.
The waitress brings us a hot towel for our hands and places a bowl of snow peas on the table. Yuck, I hate snow peas.
Zen Queen Page 6