Ten Journeys

by Various

  Like most gaijin, Trick was easy to spot. He was tall with pale freckled skin and blonde dreadlocks, and wore a flared suit and coloured sneakers. He stood outside Mr Donut squinting into the sun.

  Trick took both my hands in his and squeezed them so tight I gasped. “Evie-chan, welcome to the wild ride that is Japan,” he said in a low American drawl as his eyes skated across my chest and back up to my face. His skin felt like aged leather, cracked and soft.

  He led me to a small table by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the hurried mess of the street. Outside, Irani illegals sold counterfeit phone cards, dissolving into the crowds as soon as they spotted a policeman doing the rounds. Expensively dressed Japanese teens posed as punk rockers and goths and Californiagirls. They pointed at us through the window and mouthed gaijin as they strolled past. One girl with spiky peroxided hair motioned at us to smile and then took our photo. Trick laughed and blew her a kiss and she giggled and slipped back into the crowd.

  “Crazy kids! They’ll be wanting my autograph next,” Trick smirked, stroking his hair.

  “Yeah, it’s bizarre isn’t it?” I said, dribbling sugar into my tea from a small paper tube. I picked up one of the brown plastic containers of long-life cream. “Can I get some milk? I’m not used to drinking tea with cream.”

  Trick gave me a strange half smile. “You’re going to run into trouble if you can’t learn to adapt, Evie-chan. Usually I tell my girls, ‘when in Rome’ but you’re new so let me take care of you. Don’t let anyone say I don’t take look out for my girls.”

  I shifted uncomfortably against the hard wood of the stool; I need a gig, I thought, so I’ll play.

  Trick called the waitress over and spoke to her in rapid Japanese. She looked puzzled but bowed politely and returned with an oversized jug of scalded milk and some bean buns. “Sumimasen,” she apologised before placing it on the table. I grimaced and poured some of it into my tea.

  Trick stared at me, assessing me. “You know, I can lay my hands on just about anything if you or your amigos ever need a little pick-me-up, Evie-chan.”

  I shoved some bean bun into my mouth and swallowed quickly without chewing. “Thanks, but I’ll be OK. Anyway, I don’t know anyone much yet – only Sandra and a couple of guys at Banana House.”

  Trick frowned. “Let me give you a tip, Evie-chan. Sandra’s one freaky chick. She needs to take care of her issues or go live in a tree house somewhere. Anyway, it’s totally cool. I just wanted to open up the offer to a new friend. Japan is a trippy place sometimes. It can mess with your energy, baby.”

  He sighed deeply and gave me a beatific smile worthy of the Bagwhan, then pulled out a silver Zippo lighter and a packet of cigarettes.

  “I reckon Sandra’s OK,” I said, deliberately slurping loudly on my tea. “She can be intense but at least she cares about something. Hey, why did the other girls leave for India?”

  Trick looked pained as he picked imaginary speck of dust on his sleeve and stroked the knot on his tie before looking me up and down and exhaling a low whistle.

  “You don’t seem to be a stupid girl Evie-chan, so I’ll let you in on a little trade secret. Japan conquers most gaijin in the end, especially money-hungry hostesses. I’ve been in this business for ten years and I’ve seen it again and again. These chicks finally realize that something’s missing and a few million more yen won’t buy them peace of mind, or whatever it is they’re chasing. So they pack their lives away in a week and disappear to an ashram or a yoga centre or a mountain to try and find soul food. Gone. Just like that.” And he splayed his hands in a small circle, like a magician conjuring up a dove.

  “Right,” I said. “Isn’t that annoying for you though?” Actually, pouring a few drinks and lighting some cigarettes didn’t seem important enough to trigger a spiritual crisis. And hostessing hardly seemed a serious business.

  “It’s all part of the cosmic wheel, Evie-chan. Turn, turn, turn. It’s all good. Anyway, it’s better to have a high turnover. Keeps things interesting for the customers. There’s always another girl and my job is to keep finding them.”

  He offered me a cigarette and his Zippo, then checked out my legs and winked at me. “If you lost a bit of weight you could be a righteous babe, you know. You’ll need to keep off the rice and the beer or you’ll blow up like a balloon. Fat chicks don’t really fly over here – you’ve seen how tiny the J-girls are. The blonde hair is good, though, the salarymen will like that. You’ll do for now. You can start tonight.”

  The numbness in me shifted and settled. “I betcha say that to all the girls,” I said and faked a smile. I pocketed his Zippo, the cigarette and an extra bun for later. Trick paid the bill and we headed out into the crowded street.

  “Make sure you dress up nice tonight, Evie-chan. No casual Australians allowed. Hey what were you doing in Australia baby?”

  “Studying to be a lawyer. I’m halfway through my degree.”

  Trick stared at me, puzzled. “Wow! Ali McBeal but not as skinny. Watcha doing looking for work as a hostess in Osaka? You running from something? Maybe looking for something?”

  “I’m just taking a break, checking things out,” I said, and dived into the gaping swallow of the crowd.

  Sandra had been right about Trick getting me a good deal, although I never did find out about his cut. I was on 7000 yen an hour and I got a commission on every bottle I sold. If a customer wanted to take me on dohan and I brought him to the club afterwards, I got a bonus. For smiling and pouring a few drinks, I earned more in a week than English teachers did in a month. Even so, hostesses weren’t that well regarded in the gaijin community.

  I received a postcard from Mum the day Lucy told me about her Wish List. Mum hadn’t mastered email, said she preferred to communicate the old fashioned way. The card had one of those tourist photos of an evening at Cottesloe beach, purple sky ablaze, sun sliding into the horizon. On the back a brief, scrawled message.

  Dear Evie,

  I visited Hopey today and took gerberas, as instructed! It was very peaceful. You mustn’t worry so much. I hope you’re enjoying yourself and learning Japanese. Having a second language will be a great string to your bow. People tell me Japan’s temples and stone gardens are very peaceful and Kyoto is particularly beautiful. What do you think?

  Love Mum.

  PS Some sunset for you in case you’ve forgotten.

  I shoved the card in my bag and took it to work to show the photo to Lucy. Perth might not have the British Museum or the Louvre but we know how to do beaches. Lucy told me it looked like paradise and what was I doing in a concrete jungle like Osaka. Then she pulled out a neatly typed piece of paper from her black silk jacket and told me I should put one together too.

  “What is it?”

  “A Wish List, sweetie. You write up a list of everything you want from your customers and you make sure you get it. I’ve been given makeup, jewellery, clothes, holidays. Once I got a ticket to fly home but I just pretended I went and cashed it in. One of the girls who used to work here even got given a car and an apartment in Tokyo.”

  “What for?”

  “Nothing. The customer just liked her and she went on dohan with him. You should do it. Save you feeling like you have to pocket everything that’s not nailed down.”

  I flushed and bit my lip. It’s not like I ever took anything very valuable. Just a few bits and pieces here and there.

  “I don’t think any customer likes me that much,” I said. “Not like you and Hiroshi-san. I don’t want to get involved in anything like that. I’d feel like I owed them something. Anyway, I can’t believe you get a car and an apartment for nothing.”

  Lucy sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a lot to learn about relationships Evie, darling. Particularly here. Hasn’t anyone told you about the Two Ten Theory?”

  “The what theory?”

  “Two Ten,” Lucy said patiently. “You know, a guy is a Two but you make him feel like a Ten. That’s your job. Hoste
sses are the fantasy, wives are the reality. Hiroshi-san comes here and I serve him drinks and flirt with him and make him believe he’s a Ten. He gives me gifts from my Wish List because I’m a foreign-girl-fantasy. But it’s just a fantasy, a business transaction. He knows the rules.”

  “Even if he’s connected with the Yakuza? I didn’t think they were big on rules.”

  Lucy smoothed down her skirt and laughed, all white gappy teeth and glinting eyes.

  “I can handle him. It’s not real, remember? It’s all smoke and mirrors. You’re a bit too paranoid Evie. You don’t need to be. You could get a lot more out of this job if you relaxed a bit.

  “Maybe,” I said, unconvinced.

  By 10.30pm Amber is pumping. Lucy’s still wound up but she’s doing a good job of hiding it.

  Hiroshi-san has brought in a group of international businessmen for a night on the tiles, Japanese style. He’s throwing back the whisky but sweat is forming in cruel droplets above his lip. Maybe he’s worried about his English, which is basic and trips clumsily on his tongue. Some of his subordinates have been educated overseas and are fluent, but they pretend they only have the basics and converse mostly in Japanese.

  Lucy sits next to Hiroshi-san and pours him shots of whisky and orders his favourite food: tempura, sashimi and sushi. When he’s not eating she holds both his hands, which looks affectionate but is a tactic to stop him mauling her.

  When I first started, Lucy gave me the lowdown on how to fend off amorous advances tactfully. If you offend the customers or make them lose face Mama will sack you faster than you can breathe.

  “Most of these guys will try and touch you at some point, Evie darling,” she warned me. “Grab both their hands if you can and hold on tight or else wave your finger at them like a schoolteacher and tell them to stop being naughty. This works most of the time – maybe it reminds them of their mothers.

  You can order snacks they need both hands to eat and charge everything to their company accounts. If they still won’t leave you alone, pour another round of shots and toast them. The drunker they get the sleazier they are, but you need to keep them drinking because this makes the most profit for Mama and ups our commission. And remember to keep the bottle label-up when you pour, honey. Everyone needs to see that it’s an expensive brand.”

  Most nights I follow all Lucy’s instructions but I don’t have the knack like she does and every now and then I have to escape to the karaoke stage. I’m no threat to Lucy’s ‘number one hostess’ status but as long as I get paid OK and the customers don’t touch me, I don’t care.

  Lucy’s careful attention is making Hiroshi-san relax. He leans back in his chair, legs spread, thigh pressing into hers, and raises his glass in a toast to his guests.

  “To new friends. Very special and kind. Welcome to Japan!” he bellows.

  “Kampai!” we all shout, downing shots in a communal greedy gulp before moving onto different topics of conversation and a new bottle of whisky.

  Sebastian, a tall, thin guy from Ireland, tells me the group’s been doing business at the bank all day.

  “We’re in the money game,” he says impatiently when I ask what he does.

  Well, we’re all in that, I think as I pour him another shot.

  I smile politely. “Sebastian doesn’t sound a very Irish name.”

  “It’s Greek. My mother chose it. It means majestic.”

  “That’s very flattering. Does anyone call you Seb for short? Australians shorten everything…”

  “Never,” says Sebastian dismissively and looks curiously around the bar. “Where are all the Japanese girls? I thought we were coming to a geisha house. I can see foreign girls in a bar any night of the week at home.”

  “If you want the company of geisha you have to pay for them. A lot. This is a hostess bar, it’s different.”

  “Aren’t hostesses the modern version of geisha? We’re paying for you. Or at least Hiroshi-san is.”

  I pull out Trick’s Zippo and move in slowly to light Sebastian’s cigarette, waving the flame a little too close to his hair.

  “Sumitomo Bank, not Hiroshi-san, is paying for the privilege of storing a bottle of whisky or sake here with his name on it so he can come and relax with his colleagues after work,” I correct him. “Geisha are artists, who study music, dance and the art of conversation. Depending on what you read, some may also be prostitutes. Hostesses pour drinks, order snacks, light cigarettes, sing karaoke. We’re the party.”

  Sebastian leans back and surveys his surroundings. He glances at Lucy, who’s listening intently to Hiroshi-san, hands holding his, head cocked to the side, and laughs.

  “Are hostesses sometimes prostitutes too, depending on what you read? What about that girl who’s gone missing? I read in the paper today that they think there’s been foul play. She’s an English girl – what’s her name again?”

  “Katherine Daniels,” I say quietly. “Most people say she was just hostessing like the rest of us but I guess it depends on the girl and the money on offer. It happens. Not at Amber though. We’re strictly drink pourers here.”

  I throw back another shot and watch Sebastian through the haze of smoke. I’m not sure if I’m telling the truth or not. There will always be rumours about what the girls do for money.

  “It’s international business really. Just the same as your banking,” I say.

  Sebastian’s eyes wander up and down my body. “Ah, I see. It’s just different kind of whoring. I guess we’re all hostitutes here.”

  I pour him another shot and raise my glass in a salute. It’s going to be a long night. “Kampai!” I say cheerfully, biting the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds.

  We take turns singing karaoke on the small wooden stage at the front of the club. I do the version of The Carpenters song Rainy Days and Mondays that I do most nights because it’s too hard to learn the lyrics to anything else.

  Sebastian winks at me and requests Roxanne by The Police.

  “We’re not actually prostitutes,” I tell him when he returns to the table.

  He winks at me and repeats his joke. “We’re all hostitutes here!”

  I kick Lucy under the table and she winks and mouthes, “Ganbatte ne,” and orders Sebastian a cocktail so lethal that he’ll spend tomorrow throwing up his stomach lining.

  At 2.00am the group is still lingering and Mama, at 55, elegant and immaculate in a silk kimono, swoops on our table to move them out. They’re so soaked in whisky and sake they can hardly stand, and they’ve ordered platters of expensive snacks throughout the evening. There’s no more money to be squeezed from the night.

  Hiroshi-san suddenly bangs the table and announces that we, the entire drunken mess of a group, will visit Osaka Dome tomorrow for lunch and then go to the baseball, Hanshin Tigers versus the Yomiuri Giants. The Tigers are his team.

  I’m exhausted and about to protest but Lucy glares at me. Smile. I glare back. I don’t feel like going just because she wants to tick something else off her Wish List.

  “Arigato gozaimasu Hiroshi-san, we’d love to but Sunday is our only day off…” I say.

  “Great,” says Sebastian, leering at Lucy and me. “It’ll be a nice day out for all of us.”

  Hiroshi-san flings an arm around Lucy. “I will collect you at Lucy’s apartment and take you there,” he announces.

  Lucy catches my eye and I remember the manga drawings and Katherine Daniels.

  “Thank you Hiroshi-san but Osaka Dome is quite close to where we live so we’ll meet you at the entrance at midday,” I tell him.

  Mama smiles and bows gracefully to our table saying that the Dome is a very interesting monument for tourists and we will all enjoy our day there. Her courteous tone and controlled gestures kill the bawdy atmosphere and the men rise obediently and stumble toward the exit. Hiroshi-san is the last to leave and before heading to the small, mirrored elevator located just outside Amber, he bows low to Lucy and I.

  “Sayonara Lucy-san, Evie-s
an,” he says formally.

  We smile and bow lower. “Arigato gozaimasu. Sayonara Hiroshi-san. Sumimasen.”

  I flop down on one of the leather couches and light my winding-down cigarette. The table is scattered with half-empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays and the air is a clammy mix of sweat, smoke and the fragments of drunken conversations. It makes me feel tired and dirty and old.

  Lucy slides down beside me, wrapping a grubby coat around her bony frame.

  “Wanna share a cab, Evie darling?” she asks tiredly, grabbing a couple of cigarettes from my pack.

  “Sure,” I say, picking up the wooden coasters I’ve hidden and shoving them into my bag. I’m exhausted and I don’t feel like talking so I’d prefer to get a taxi on my own but it’s safer with two and at least I’ll save a few yen.

  “Give me five,” says Lucy and goes to pick up the leftover food from the kitchen. I don’t know why she does that. It’s been sitting there for hours and it’s not like she can’t afford to buy her own.

  In the taxi Lucy leans her head against the window and begins to cry silently. The driver stares at her in the rearview mirror.

  “What’s wrong, Satellite?”

  “Nothing sweetie, I’m just tired.”

  “Come on. You’ve been wound up all night so something’s the matter. Hiroshi-san was pawing you tonight. Is that getting to you? I know you say he’s not a chikan but I reckon he’s a bit of a sleazebag.”

  “No, he’s all right, I can handle him. It’s just that things are getting weird here. I’ve been hostessing for three years and I’ve never felt this unsafe. Those manga pictures are freaking me out and I’m pretty sure it’s Trick trying to scare me. I owe him a lot of money and if I don’t pay him now he’ll make me do something I don’t want to do. He’s made other girls who owe him money sleep with customers, who pay him back on their behalf.”

  “Get serious. He can’t do that.”

  Lucy rolls her eyes. “Evie, you’re so naïve sometimes. Do you think I’d make something like that up? That’s why those girls took off for India.”