The Dusk Parlor

by S. A. Stovall

  Regaining my senses, I shove Ren off my lap and stand. “We shouldn’t have been doing this.”

  “What? C’mon. The worst is over. We’re alone again.”

  Ren jumps to his feet and attempts to persuade me with light touches and his close proximity. I deflect his hands and shake my head, dispelling my lust. “Kaito made it clear we shouldn’t be doing this during work hours.”

  “Tsk. Kaito.” Ren steps away and throws his clothes back on, the shirt and vest falling into place without a single wrinkle. He’s done this before. I take a moment to organize my thoughts now that they’re not consumed with his physique.

  “I didn’t know you were tattooed,” I say.

  Ren lifts an eyebrow. “You wanna get another good look at it?”

  I walk over to the lounge door and keep my hand on the doorknob. “I was just curious.”

  “It’s something I picked up in the States.”

  “Lottie mentioned something about… thugs in Kobe having tattoos.”

  “Eh. A bunch of weirdo politicians think all the youngsters with tats are thugs. You know how it goes.”

  Ren is a defensive individual. I know he’s lying at some level—a man with a handgun came asking for him, after all—but I don’t push the issue. He doesn’t seem like a dangerous guy, and he’s holding an honest job. Perhaps it’s all in the past.

  “Maybe we can talk more after work one night,” I say, opening the door.

  “Hm,” Ren says with a smile. “Maybe.”

  His tone of interest is enough to get me hot again, and I know I need to leave. I exit the lounge and walk into the kitchen feeling riled. With shaky hands I fasten my belt and pants, adjusting everything so that nothing’s noticeable.

  Lottie motions me over, and I hear—and feel—the music from the dance floor continuing on into another song. I wonder how long they’ll dance before we need to go back to attending to them, but I push it from my mind as I join my new coworkers.

  “What were you doing in the lounge?” Lottie asks, her Japanese stiff.

  Fuck. I forgot to eat my sandwich.

  I let out a long sigh.

  “It’s none of our business,” the chef, Mio, cuts in. She glares at me with her squinted eyes, and I open my mouth to comment, but she interjects before I get a word in edgewise. “What we need to discuss is the lack of food in the last shipment. Potatoes. I’m still missing potatoes.”

  Her statements and attitude carry weight. Everyone in the small group of employees nods along.

  “I’ll tell Hanamura,” Lottie says. “I’m sure he just forgot them on the last inventory check.”

  “Hanamura never forgets.”

  “Well….”

  “One of you will need to bring them in tomorrow.”

  Everyone turns to me. I glance between them—I barely know this group—and I see they all think the same thing. The new guy needs to handle it. I let out another long sigh.

  “How many potatoes do you need?”

  Chef Mio mulls over the question. “I need eighty.”

  Eighty potatoes? Jeez! All right. I guess I need to carry a whole goddamn sack of potatoes to work tomorrow. Perfect.

  “Hey,” one of the other waiters says, addressing me. “Are you… hāfu?”

  I snap my attention to him. He’s tanned and has his black hair swept back. In every way, his stance and attitude screams American, but his darker complexion and bright dark-brown eyes hint at his Middle Eastern heritage. His Japanese speech is spot-on—he’s almost a complete amalgamation of all cultures… if he says he’s from the Amazon I’ll know I’m in The Matrix.

  “Yeah,” I force myself to say. “I’m hāfu.”

  I realize I must look equally weird to all of them. Ren said they’d understand me, but I’m skeptical, especially after the question.

  The man holds out his hand. “I’m Hassan. I’m also hāfu. It’s good to see someone else like me working here.”

  “You… are?” I ask, gawking. I take his hand and we shake.

  How did I not notice it before? But now that I look, I can spot all the hallmarks.

  “My father is from Tokyo,” Hassan says with a chuckle. “My mom came here with her sisters from Tajikistan. I mean, I was born here and consider myself fully Japanese, but people still say I’m hāfu. You must know the feeling.”

  I can’t help but laughing. “I totally understand.”

  “Hey, if you have questions or you’re looking for some cool spots in Kobe, hit me up. I’ll give you my phone number after work.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Lottie steps close and gestures to the group. “I forgot I needed to introduce you. Obviously you met Hassan and me… but this is Chef Mio and her sous-chef, Yuta.”

  Mio holds her hands behind her back, grunting to herself and dismissing the conversation like it’s a waste of her time. Her sous-chef, a huge man with half his weight in his protruding gut, gives me a small smile. His baby face is smooth, like he’s never grown facial hair in his life, and his bald head shines under the fluorescent lighting.

  They say nothing. I give them a curt nod.

  “And these two are twins, Itsuki and Soshi. We call them both Soki—a combo of their names—because it’s impossible to tell them apart.”

  The two men, identical down to the knots of their shoelaces, both hold out hands, one left and one right. I smile and take both in a double-handed shake… never done that before… and it elicits a chuckle from the two. They’re taller than everyone else, but their honey shade of skin, lush black hair, and dark eyes mark them as Japanese.

  “Nice to meet you,” Itsuki states in awkward English, no doubt trying to make me feel “at home.”

  Soshi nods. “Yeah. It’s good to get another waiter.”

  I know the moment I look away I’ll forget which one is which.

  “Everyone,” Lottie announces, “this is Hugh Harris.”

  They nod in unison.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m glad that—”

  My stomach quakes with a mighty desire. The rumble is audible over the music, and the group around me chortles.

  Chef Mio glares. She picks up a spatula and uses it to point at a box on the far kitchen counter. “You eat first and have fun later.” She emphasizes the two words with a drawl, and I flush hard when I realize she meant my time with Ren in the employee lounge.

  “Y-yes,” I mutter. “Of course.”

  “Go,” she commands with a curt tone. She waves her spatula again, motioning to the box.

  I hustle over to the counter and see eight boxes sitting in the sink. They’re bento boxes—single-portion meals contained in a convenient box. I laugh to myself as I pick up the box Mio pointed out. Bento boxes are the Japanese equivalent of American picnic baskets or tin 1950s lunch pails. My mother made them for me from time to time…. It brings back nostalgic memories to open one.

  Inside I find cooked rice, tempura chicken, grilled carrots, and a green salad. The presentation is master quality—the food glistening with perfection. I’m so hungry I don’t even reach for a pair of chopsticks; I scoop up a piece of chicken and wolf it down.

  Delicious. Crunchy on the outside and moist on the inside.

  “Thank you, Mio,” I say, turning to the group. “This is delicious.”

  The older woman shakes her head. “I am a professional chef. I do not make bento boxes.”

  “Er, okay. Who did?”

  “Hanamura. He makes them for everyone.”

  I lift both eyebrows. Kaito made lunch boxes for everyone? Damn. I never would’ve guessed. I never would’ve guessed he was a good cook either… and I definitely wouldn’t have guessed he made me a bento box.

  The music stops.

  Lottie tenses and motions me to the door. “It’s time to get back to work,” she says. “Hurry up!”

  I scarf down a handful of chicken and funnel some rice before chasing her to the door. I can’t have my stomach growling while I
shadow Lottie, and I’ve got to keep my stamina up if I’m going to learn everything the first night.

  THE BAND playing the music is impressive. They play for several hours, breaking every few songs for a drink and a rest, but otherwise staying to their corner and keeping the mood. Live music is the best, and I find myself drawn into their melodies, be it ragtime, parlor songs, or corridos.

  Lottie chats at our table for a moment before breaking away and walking over to me. I hold myself ready, and she motions to the kitchen. I follow her.

  “This is dessert time,” she says. “Remember that the table orders and then you bring the order back to Chef Mio.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And remember that there are no substitutions or alterations to the food.”

  I give her a one-sided smile as we enter the kitchen. “No alterations or substitutions to the food? Why?”

  “Well, you see—”

  Chef Mio slams a fridge shut and glares at me from across the cold steel of the kitchen. “My meals are art,” she states. “I do not change my brush strokes so that individual viewers accept my paintings.”

  I raise a hand to interject, but Lottie stops me halfway through. “Don’t bother,” she mutters. “Chef Mio won’t listen. Besides, most places here in Kobe won’t do alterations—not even the local diner. They consider it an insult.”

  “That’s… weird,” I reply. “I can’t imagine that going well in California.”

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t go well in Ipswich either.”

  “All right. I’ll keep it in mind. Food is art.”

  The kitchen countertops are covered in elegant crystal bowls with multicolored golf ball–sized orbs of food in each one. I get in close and examine a single pink orb. It’s mochi—a rice cake pounded to a soft gel consistency—and it appears to be stuffed with strawberry ice cream.

  I love mochi. It’s semisweet and chewy. And stuffed with ice cream? Mouthwatering.

  Yuta, the sous-chef, notices my staring. He’s large and his hands could crush watermelons whole, but he picks up a crystal bowl of mochi with the finesse of a master surgeon. He passes it over.

  “Here,” he says, his voice a whisper.

  I pop a chocolate mochi ice cream ball into my mouth and savor it. So good. “I like this.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Yuta restrains his smile, but I can tell he’s pleased.

  “Did you make this?” I ask.

  “I did.”

  Hm. He’s not talkative. Still… this is good. And I’m impressed.

  Chef Mio clacks her spatula on the counter and waves to the waiters. “The dessert is ready. You may serve it now.”

  Lottie, Hassan, and the Soki twins grab bowls of mochi. I step forward and take two bowls, hoping to help. The others smile and approve of my assertiveness. I follow Lottie and the others to the main room, where we serve the dessert without a word.

  Kaito watches me—and only me—from a shadowy corner behind the bar. His intense and discerning eyes follow my movements. I can’t help but feel like he’s irritated that I’m helping to serve, but I ignore it and continue on regardless.

  Ren, on the other hand, leans up on the bar and gives me one of his signature smiles, his canines flashing in the dim light of the Dusk Parlor. As I walk by, he slides down the countertop and fills a small cup full of amber liquid.

  “You enjoying yourself?” he asks as he pushes me the glass.

  I take it and shotgun down the smooth liquor. Although the ice cream and whiskey are expensive, everyone hands me samples without a second thought. I must admit—I feel like one of the crew already, and I haven’t even finished my first shift.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I’m enjoying myself.”

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  I return his smile, and I catch a glint of mischief in his eye. I’m excited, but I know Kaito is still watching like a goddamn hawk. When I glance across the room, I swear he’s seething. I turn away and focus on my work, hoping I haven’t upset him too much.

  The other waiters pass out the last of the desserts and the band closes shop. At the end of the evening, Lottie has to insert all the orders into the computer. Apparently the patrons of the Dusk Parlor don’t pay like normal customers. We don’t take them a check—they have their bank information on file, and we charge them later. They never look at the bill.

  I suspect the patrons must be from old money. They act like the place is their own, and they expect certain treatment and privileges. To my surprise they don’t leave any tips. According to Lottie and Ren, tips aren’t customary in Japan. I hadn’t known… I’ve been tipping everyone, and no one said anything.

  Ren and Kaito disappear into the back. Chef Mio and Sous-Chef Yuta head out earlier than everyone else, nodding to me as though they are proud. I nod back, happy to be part of the group.

  With the front room empty, I help the other waiters clean.

  It doesn’t take long.

  Hassan and the Soki twins were housekeepers in a past life because they tear through the place with a scary efficiency. Lottie scrubs her two tables a little slower than the rest, but she’s working hard. After a few minutes, she turns to me.

  “Hey,” she says. “Can you go to the back office and grab tonight’s audit? It should be on Hanamura’s desk in a large yellow envelope.”

  “Of course,” I reply.

  Without a wasted moment, I turn to the kitchen door and jog through. The lights are off, but I don’t need them to make it to the back. Everything is so clean that there’s no fear of tripping over anything before making it to the office door.

  I grab the doorknob and turn, but I stop an inch into opening it. Voices waft from the employee lounge.

  “—if you wanted Hugh so bad, you should’ve said something.”

  “You never listen.”

  “Don’t I? I’m listening now.”

  “Tsk. I swear you are insufferable at times.”

  I recognize them quick enough—Ren and Kaito. I know I shouldn’t listen, but the fact that they mentioned me gets my curiosity piqued. Silent and slow, I lean closer to the narrow opening I’ve created and stare inside. Heat flares through my body the moment I catch sight of the other two men.

  Ren has Kaito against the wall, one hand down the front of Kaito’s slacks and the other gripping the back of his neck. Ren purrs into Kaito’s collarbone as he speaks, lust lacing his every word.

  “I can’t believe you told Hugh to stay away from me,” Ren drawls. “You’re such a hypocrite, ya know that?”

  To my surprise, Kaito doesn’t resist or complain. On the contrary—he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, his face flushed and his breathing heavy.

  Ren chortles. “He’s pretty receptive to advances. I’m sure if you told him what you wanted, it would go over well.”

  “Enough,” Kaito snaps, though he doesn’t stop Ren’s petting. “I have said my piece. We do not need to discuss it further.”

  Kaito becomes ever redder with each word but, again, never attempts to escape or move. Ren runs his tongue up Kaito’s neck, and I have to stop watching or else I’ll never leave this spot. I close the door and take a long breath.

  For a moment I struggle to remember why I even came to back office.

  The audit report.

  Right.

  I turn and contemplate telling Lottie that I can’t get the report yet, but my eyes spot a patch of yellow on a nearby countertop as they adjust to the dark. Kaito must have left this out…. He thinks of everything. Knowing this makes me feel extra guilty for spying—there was no need to have even opened the door.

  I snatch up the yellow envelope and pause for a moment while I weigh it in my hand. It’s heavy. And thick. Odd. I push it from my mind.

  Without another thought I jog back to the main room, my pulse fast and my body hot. As I walk through the door, I laugh—at least I’m not thinking anything negative, that’s for sure. Not once all night, in fact.

  Lottie s
pots me and beams. “You got it! Good. Hey, can I ask you one more favor?”

  “Sure,” I say, glancing around and taking note of the empty room. Where had the Soki twins and Hassan disappeared to?

  “Will you wait the few minutes for the delivery guy to show up?” Lottie asks. “He collects the audit reports every night. He should be here soon. I want to go home and catch up on my sleep.”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  Lottie pats my shoulder. “Wow, really? Thanks!”

  When she turns to leave, I lift my hand and she stops. “I have a question,” I mutter.

  “What is it? You just hand him the envelope. It’s easy.”

  “Not about that. It’s about Kaito and Ren. Are they… in a relationship?”

  She laughs once and waves away the question with a twirl of her hand. “Ren thinks he’s in a relationship with everyone.”

  I stare, waiting for further explanation. Lottie frowns.

  “No,” she says. “At least, I don’t think they’re in a relationship… I mean, they act different around each other, but Ren is off doing his own thing a lot. I dunno. If they’re a couple, they’re a strange couple.”

  That doesn’t explain their physical romp in the back room….

  Lottie picks up on my pensive silence and lifts an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

  “I… uh, forget it. I shouldn’t be nosing around.”

  “Hey, if Ren is all over you…. Just don’t take it seriously, okay? He’s all for a good time, but I don’t think he likes to be tied down.”

  “I appreciate the warning.”

  I want to make a comment about how I’m a grown-ass man who can handle friends-with-benefits relationships, but I stop myself from commenting. Lottie is just looking out for me.

  “Well,” she says, “I’m going to take off. See you tomorrow night?”

  “Of course.”

  I wave, and she exits the Dusk Parlor, leaving me to my thoughts.

  A part of me wants to head back to Ren and Kaito….

  No. They’re busy. I shouldn’t interject.

  On the other hand, I’m curious about why they are talking about me. And Ren did say he wanted to hook up after work….