by R W Sowrider
“My Trevor?”
“Yeah, your Trevor. He didn’t mention it to you?”
“Come to think of it, he still hasn’t told me what he’s been up to in Tokyo.”
“I think he’s been hosting, bro.”
For some reason, Rowen was having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea. “Trevor’s cool and all, and I fuckin’ love the guy, but I don’t think the ladies do.”
“Well, like I said, I heard he’s been doing pretty well.”
“I guess maybe he could be like a server or something … Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll ask him. Maybe he knows someone who could plug me in. Or maybe he’s heard some pretty cool stories that he could relay to me so that I can dress ’em up. Knead ’em into something entertaining.”
“Yeah, man. That’s the way to go. Just write down stories that no one else would ever put to paper. Lord knows those hosts can’t read or write to save their lives.”
“And if the stories he gets me aren’t up to snuff, I can just come back here and crush it myself.”
“That’s the spirit.”
***
Trevor handed Rowen a fresh pint of Guinness and had a quick pull off of his. “Okay, so what’d you wanna talk about? I don’t have much time, I have a … thing.”
“A thing?” Rowen replied. “Like what thing exactly?”
“Business, bro. Get to the point.”
“Well, I think that is the point. What exactly is it you’re doing in Tokyo?”
“Working, bro. Keepin’ it real.”
“And by ‘keepin’ it real,’ you mean …?”
Trevor had another swig of beer. “Look, dude. I’m kinda busy today, so get to the point or I’ll leave you to play 20 questions with your Guinness.”
“I heard you’re a host.”
“Oh, shit.”
“So it’s true.”
“Yeah,” Trevor replied, reluctantly.
“You know that’s what I’m here to do, so why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because of this. Because you’re a pain in the ass and telling you would only result in more pain in the assness.”
“Bro, I’m like a little brother to you. How could you leave me hanging?”
“I literally just answered that question. You see how you’re a pain in the ass?!”
Rowen hung his head. “…”
“Alright, so what do you want?”
“Your help, bro. If you really are working at a club, how about hooking a little brother up with an in? With a gig?”
Trevor snort-laughed. “Rowen, I know you wanna write a book about the host world, but I’m afraid you ain’t got what it takes.”
“How dare you!”
“Rowen, your Japanese sucks, you know nothing about Japanese pop-culture, and you don’t have anything interesting to talk about whatsoever.”
“That hurts, bro.”
“It’s true though.”
“It’s not true.”
“So your Japanese is good?”
Rowen’s head slumped down once again. “No.”
“You’re up to date on Japanese pop references?”
“Is that song, Turning Japanese, still popular here?”
“It never was.”
“Well, I at least have plenty of interesting things to talk about.”
“Okay, give me one.”
“What, you mean like now?” Rowen replied, caught off guard.
“Yeah, give me one interesting story.”
“Okay. Well, for starters, there’s that … ummm … and the …”
“You see? You got nothing.”
“No, hold on. I just need a second is all.” Rowen took a long pull off his beer. “Got it. What has two thumbs and wants to hump the crap outta you?”
“You see what I mean, bro? I can’t recommend you at Club Cirrus.”
Rowen just about jumped out of his skin. “You work at Club Cirrus?! ”
“Yeah.”
“Doing what? Bussing tables?”
“I’m No. 2 there.”
“Are you fuckin’ shitting me?! But girls despise you.”
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Bro, I know what a woman wants, and I give it to her.”
“You’re sleeping with them?”
“Maybe. But that’s not how you get ’em. You gotta understand their needs first.”
“I understand a woman’s needs.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow as he looked down his nose at Rowen. “What has two thumbs and thinks women love cocky assholes with obnoxious come-on lines?”
As Trevor’s point sunk in, Rowen grimaced before slowly raising his thumbs to his chest. “This guy?”
“Yeah, that guy. I tell you what. I’ll check around for you. See if I can’t find a place that’s more up your alley.”
Rowen’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?! You’ll do that for me?!”
“Don’t get your hopes up, but yeah, I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks, T-Bone. You’re the man! And if things don’t go all that well, maybe you can just share some of your experiences with me and I can put a literary touch on ’em.”
Trevor again looked down his nose at Rowen. “Right. A literary touch. If I do share any stories with you, you better not fuck ’em up like you did with that fake diary you self-published.”
“No need to worry, sir. It will be some National Lampoon level shit.”
As Trevor rolled his eyes, his cell phone buzzed. He polished off his Guinness while reading the text message. “I may have a little sumpin’ sumpin’ for you after tonight. Looks like some nuru-nuru action is in the cards.”
***
“Oh, look,” Sera said to Rowen. “There’s an open bench.”
“Move it or lose it!” Rowen shouted as he beelined it through the crowd, leaving Sera in the dust. “I don’t care if you are elderly or disabled, that bench is mine!”
Since meeting at the ‘international party,’ Rowen and Sera had met up a few times and had further hit it off playing tennis, watching sumo wrestling, and dining together.
Today, they met up at a picturesque park across town from Kabukicho for a plum blossom festival. In the corner of the park, on a gently sloping grass hill, was a grove of plum trees. Weaving in and out of the porcelain white, taffy pink, and ruby red blossoms were stone paths dotted with benches.
After visiting the adjacent food stall area and loading up on skewers of grilled chicken, balls of fried octopus, and cups of piping hot sake , Rowen and Sera had meandered along the paths in search of a place to sit. The weather was unseasonably warm and sunny so the park was packed.
Rowen popped a ball of fried octopus into his mouth and beamed at Sera as she strolled over. Everything about her made him googly eyed. Her walk, her style, her carefree attitude.
But Rowen remained steadfast in his pledge. No matter how much it killed him, he refused to make a move. While he had made zero progress in finding work as a host, he still had hope. And once he was a host, he could potentially be researching the role for months or even years. Which almost certainly meant sleeping with a girl or two for the sake of his craft.
He couldn’t do that to Sera. He felt too strongly for her to do anything that might hurt her. So for her own good, he had to keep things platonic.
Plus, he had no idea whether she was into him romantically.
She had responded favorably to all of his text messages and invites, and every moment they spent together was pure joy, but either he hadn’t picked up on a signal that she was interested in taking their relationship to the next level, or she hadn’t sent one.
Regardless, even if she threw herself at him, he told himself that he had to remain strong. For her.
“I found us a good one,” Rowen said, as Sera took a seat next to him.
“You’re such a clever boy,” she replied, flashing her adorable smile.
Rowen held the basket of octopus out toward her. “Care for one of my balls?”
Sera shook her head. “And all that cleverness is flushed down the toilet. But yes, gimme some of them balls.”
They savored the delicious snacks and the warm burn of sake as they took in the view. Gorgeous plum blossoms in full bloom everywhere. A beautiful blue sky above. Throngs of families and friends doing the same.
“My God, what a lovely day,” Rowen said.
“Um-hum,” Sera agreed.
“The only thing that could make it even better would be a little karaoke. Care for a tune, my lady?”
Sera glanced at Rowen, then looked at the mobs of people within earshot. “How about a haiku instead?”
Rowen jumped in his seat. “Oh! Even better. An opportunity to display my improv skills and sensitivity. I just need to consult with my Muse.”
Rowen slowly slurped down half a glass of sake as he mulled it over.
“A palette of pink;
Mirthful laugher, flowing drink;
Hot octopus balls.”
Rowen grinned as Sera afforded him a few mock claps. “You really nailed the Japanese spirit. We’re the perfect mix of wistful poetry and toilet bowl humor.”
“How ’bout you?” Rowen challenged. “Can you do any better?”
Sera thought on it a moment and chuckled to herself.
“Plum trees in full bloom;
Sitting with a booze vacuum;
He’s huge in Japan.”
Rowen’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Holy shit, you fucking nailed it!”
***
“This is the place,” Rowen said to Francesco, beaming in front a glitzy sign displaying the club’s name, The Lily Pad.
“A kyaba-kura ?” Francesco replied, puzzled.
“Yeah, let’s head in.”
The guys walked down a flight of stairs to the entrance of the kyaba-kura , which is like a host club with the roles reversed. Girls dressed up in evening gowns entertaining guys via conversation, drink making, and cigarette lighting.
Rowen was awed by the floor-to-ceiling mirrors on every wall and pillar, the abundance of mirror balls twirling above, and the velvet curtains partitioning the establishment into private booths.
They were seated at a plush, four-seater sofa encircling a sleek glass table stocked with booze, an ice bucket, and glasses.
“So what are we doing here, man?” Francesco asked as they waited for a couple hostesses to arrive.
“What are you talking about?” Rowen replied, as if that was the dumbest question he had ever heard. “Research.”
“These places can be pretty expensive. Especially for the inebriated. ”
Rowen waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I got you covered.”
“How do you figure this is research, anyway?”
“What do you mean? Not only do I get a firsthand look at how customer service is done in the industry, but maybe I can pick up a few conversational tricks. Plus,” Rowen added, leering at the pair of girls coming down the aisle to their table. “Check out the eye candy.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
Rowen continued to ogle the hostess who approached his side of the sofa. She was wearing a silky beige dress with thin straps revealing a delicate collarbone and elegant shoulders.
“I’m Yuma,” she said, holding out a name card.
“What has two thumbs and wants to hump the crap outta you?” Rowen blurted out, before he had even received the card.
Yuma tilted her head in confusion.
“This guy!”
Yuma broke into gratuitously loud laughter.
Pleased with himself, Rowen accepted the card and put it face up on the table as is customary. “I’m Rowen.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. May I have a seat?”
“Of course.”
“May I pour you a drink?”
“Of course.”
“Is shochu okay?” she asked, referring to the Japanese liquor that’s typically 50 proof and is comparable to vodka.
“Of course. On the rocks, please.”
“Where are you from?” she asked as she gracefully picked up a glass, used a pair of steel tongs to carefully drop three ice cubes in, and skillfully filled the glass from the carafe of shochu .
“America,” Rowen replied with pride.
Yuma’s eyes lit up. “Oh, America. How wonderful!”
“Yeah, I’m pretty proud of being born there. It was quite an accomplishment.”
“Yes, it’s very cool. You must be very rich.”
Rowen shrugged his shoulders and smiled as if embarrassed by his wealth.
“What are you doing in Japan?”
“I’m writing a book,” he replied, smugly. He then took a large gulp of shochu which burned his throat and chest, transforming his look of self-satisfaction into an unsightly wince.
Yuma was nonetheless very impressed. “Oh my God! An author,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm. “You must have so much money.”
Rowen blushed. “Well, I do have a smash-hit novel under my belt and I’m here to write another one.”
“About Japan?”
“Yeah. Well, about host clubs anyway.”
“Host clubs? Why?”
“Because I find them fascinating.”
“Fascinating? Why?”
“Well, you might not believe it, but we don’t have host clubs in America.”
“Really?!”
“Yeah, for some reason it’s not part of our culture for girls to pay guys to party with them.”
“Yeah, I guess I can see that. But they’re very popular here. A lot of Japanese girls are boy crazy.”
“Just as God intended. Anyhoo, I plan on getting a job at a host club and then writing a book based on the experience.”
“Oh, there are lots of those in Japan.”
“Is that right?”
“Yup. Tons.”
“Well, there aren’t any in the States. I don’t think there are, anyway.”
“Well, I think you’re gonna do great.”
“Really? ”
“Oh, yeah. With those blue eyes of yours, you’ll do very well.”
Rowen blushed. “Oh, these old things?”
“I bet you’ve always been very popular with the ladies.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I guess I have. Especially since the Lasik surgery. I mean, I had conjunctivitis for like two years after the surgery, like I was cursed or something, but after that, the old Mediterranean blues have been reeling ’em in like fish in a bucket.”
“I’ll bet. And they’ll be even more useful here since they’re so rare.”
“Well, thank you very much.”
“You know what?” Yuma said, as she pulled out a pen and flipped her name card over. “Here’s my cell phone number. Text me any time and maybe I can help. I bet your book will be even bigger than the first.”
As Yuma finished writing her number down, she noticed Francesco’s hostess rising from the sofa.
“It’s time to switch,” Yuma said to Rowen.
“I’m so glad I met you.”
“Me too,” she replied, dollar signs in her eyes.
***
“It’s good to see you again,” Rowen said to Francesco before taking a big fat bite out of his Double Quarter Pounder.
“Yeah, it’s been awhile,” Francesco replied. “Since the kyaba-kura , right? How’d the rest of the night go after I left?”
“It was great,” Rowen said, thinking back fondly on the parade of hostesses that visited his table, a steady stream even after Francesco had gone home.
“That first girl, Yuma, she seemed pretty into you. Any extracurricular activity there?”
Rowen smiled sheepishly. “I kinda drilled her that night.”
Francesco leaned forward. “No kidding?! Did you have to pay?”
“What?! No.”
“Really?!” Francesco replied, raising both eyebrows with great interest.
Rowen found Francesco’s reaction to be a lit
tle odd. “Yeah, really. Why? Is something up or something?”
“No,” Francesco replied with a shake of the head. “So, what’s been going on since then?”
Rowen let out a long sigh. “Well, it’s been really good and really bad. She texts me every day and has invited me out a bunch of times. She’s really a great girl, but you know, I can’t get into a serious relationship because of the host research, so I’m kind of in a pickle.”
“Right. The ‘research.’ What’s up with that, anyway? Other than staring at billboards and paying money to chase tail at kyaba -kuras , are you ever gonna start?”
“I’ve been researching, bro. Everything I do here is research.”
“Like what?”
“Like being here in Tokyo …”
“And?”
“…and listening to Trevor’s host club stories. That certainly hasn’t hurt.”
“You should really consider translation.”
“I told you, my Japanese reading ability isn’t that good.”
“Yeah, but still.”
***
“Holy crap, that was incredible,” Francesco said, taking a post-coital puff off his cigarette while staring at the ceiling in complete satisfaction.
“Yeah, baby. You were wonderful,” Yuma replied, snatching the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag, and slowly blowing a cloud of smoke in his face.
“You’re so bad.”
“I know.”
“It makes you even sexier.”
“I know.”
“We should do this again.”
“Sure. But before you go, I’ve got another little present for you.” Yuma put out the cigarette, rolled Francesco onto his stomach, and began giving him a full body massage.
“Holy crap, this feels so good!”
***
“Cheers!” Rowen said as he tapped his Cheesy Gordita Crunch into Francesco’s Double Chalupa before taking a big-ass bite out of it.
Francesco dug in as well.
“So, how’s the cancer research going?” Rowen asked.
“Not bad.”
“You got a cure yet?”
Francesco smiled wryly. “Not yet.”
“Well, you keep at it,” Rowen said in that quintessential high-pitched tone that the speaker thinks is encouraging but everyone else finds unbearably patronizing.
“How ’bout you? How’s the host research coming?”
“Fantastic. I have a feeling that I’m on the cusp of hearing of a potential lead from Trevor soon.”
