by York, Mattie
Alex’s rolled her eyes and tried to slouch as far back into the leather seat as she could. She looked down at her cell phone. One missed call. When did it ring? She didn’t hear it ring. She shook her head as she dialed her voice mail.
“Hello? Alex? It’s your mother. Where are you? Why aren’t you returning my calls? I called you yesterday and left you a message? How is work going? Did you call the university? See about teacher’s college? I think you have to put the application in very soon. You need to get on that. Did you make your car payment this month? OK, just wanted to say hello. You know, you can call me sometime. Ok. Good bye.”
Alex pressed 7 to delete the message and hung up the phone.
“So, what do you say?” Ahmed was still staring at her. “We can stop. I could remove those first appointment jitters.”
“You’re married?” Alex pointed to the gold ring on his left ring finger.
“So,” Ahmed shrugged, “my wife doesn’t know.”
“The light,” Alex pointed at the now green traffic light.
“Ok, ok,” Ahmed muttered and turned back around as cars started to honk.
“She is a good wife,” Ahmed said as he drove through the intersection, “don’t get me wrong. She stays at home and looks after my family. Yes, she is a good wife. But she wasn’t my choice. She was my parent’s choice. And she is always tired and now she is getting fat,” Ahmed slowed the car down to honk at a young blonde girl in a tight t-shirt. “Ah, I love women. I cannot give them up for one fat lady that only lies there and doesn’t enjoy it. And I have tried. Believe in me, I have tried everything with that woman. No. It is better this way. Oh, now you are getting me excited talking about this. I love women. Licking and sucking. It tastes so good,” Ahmed sighed loudly. “You Canadian women are all the same. How can you think there is only one man for you? Hah! Obviously, you don’t think so, eh?” He tried to catch Alex’s eye through the rear view mirror and swerved dangerously close to a parked car in the process. “You can’t get enough of the men. You see, that is why we would be so good together.”
Alex had the door open and one foot out before the car had even stopped in front of the Royal York, “Alex wait,” Ahmed called.
“Yes?” Alex leaned her head back into the car.
“I will be waiting for you. If you are not down here in 50 minutes, I will call you. You must answer. Then you will have 10 minutes to get dressed and come downstairs. If there is a problem, please tell me. Now go and have some fun!” He chuckled and waved goodbye as Alex slammed the door.
12
“Exquisite.” Mr. Smith, Chieko’s client of the hour was sitting in front of her, holding her small foot, gently turning it in his palm as if it was a rare jewel. “Small, delicate, perfectly shaped feet,” he said. Squeezing her ankle, Mr. Smith leaned closer to her big toe and inhaled sending Chieko into a fit of giggles.
“I asked Angela for a lady with nice feet,” Mr. Smith said, “but you know Angela. She’s not terribly interested in looking at her girl’s feet. How lucky am I that she found you.” Lucky, indeed, Chieko thought. Angela never told her about this importance of clean pretty feet. She had just told her that Mr. Smith was a regular client, a nice young businessman. She was so thankful that she had decided to splurge on a mani-pedi the day before.
Chieko leaned back in the pale blue arm chair and looked around at the small hotel room. Mr. Smith had booked room 728 of the Howard Johnson’s hotel downtown. When Dora had called to confirm the midafternoon appointment, Chieko had been excited. The hotel was right on the corner of Front and Bay streets. Right in the middle of the banking district. So of course Chieko thought, the Howard Johnson’s would be a luxurious five star hotel and her client would be a rich businessman or an investment banker. Maybe a CEO, a big spender who wanted a little secret afternoon rendezvous, a late naughty lunch. Or maybe not. Chieko’s dreams of re-enacting a scene from the movie Pretty Woman were pretty much dashed as the client of the hour, who yes, was very meticulously groomed, was currently on his hands and knees in front of her inspecting her feet in a tiny, cheap, single hotel room.
But Chieko liked to think positive and even if Mr. Smith wasn’t an extremely dashing, wealthy businessman who wanted to spoil her in the lap of luxury, he was turning out to be a lot nicer than her last client. It still made her stomach ache to think about that man. Baka! He had been so insulting. And rude! And worse, Angela hadn’t even bothered to call her afterwards to apologize.
Apparently, he didn’t like Asian girls. He had taken one look at Chieko, dressed up in her new suit and rolled his eyes in disgust and called Angela. Since he had left the door open, Chieko wasn’t sure what to do. So she followed him into the room listening while he demanded a new girl. “You owe me, Angela,” he had shouted. “I told you I don’t like Asian sluts. What the hell are you doing sending me this one? I wanted a hot blonde slut. One with big tits. I mean huge. And an ass. I need something to grab. This one is skinny. Almost too skinny to fuck.”
Chieko had stood against the door and listened as the client shouted louder and louder. “Damnit, Angela, you come down here,” the client shouted, “I’ve been waiting all week to come up to Toronto. I want to see a hot blonde on her knees sucking my cock. You’re blonde ain’t you?” Finally, after nodding and grunting a few times, the man quieted down and hung up the phone.
He had looked surprised to see Chieko still there. Maybe she was supposed to leave. She should have left. He had quietly walked over and closed the door without looking at Chieko. “Don’t bother undressing,” he had said with a sigh. “Just come over here.”
“You see,” he rubbed his hands over Chieko’s chest, “Angela was supposed to send me someone with big tits. No offense,” he laughed and pinched Chieko’s nipples. “You’re just not what I ordered.” He turned her around, lifted up her skirt and snapped her panties. “But, you’re here and I’m paying,” he said, “so bend over.” Chieko wasn’t even sure if he put on a condom. She didn’t watch him. She couldn’t. She just bent her head down and leaned over.
“Ohma!” Chieko gasped. Mr. Smith had just put her big toe in his mouth and was slowly sucking on it. Chieko shivered as she felt his warm wet tongue caressing her toe.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Smith looked up at Chieko. “Is this ok? I just couldn’t help it.” He slowly dropped her toe. “Don’t move,” Mr. Smith patted the tops of Chieko’s feet as one would pat a well behaved child’s head, then he got up and went into the bathroom. Chieko could hear the tap being turned on and the sounds of bags rustling and things being moved about.
She watched curiously as Mr. Smith ran in and out of the bathroom carrying out various sized bottles of lotions which he must have brought with him. He arranged them in a circle around Chieko’s feet with a pumice stone and a small stack of towels. Lastly, he brought out a large bowl of steaming water and carefully placed it in front of her feet. He hiked up his trousers, rolled up his sleeves and then with a wink, got back down on his knees in front of Chieko. “I must apologize. I didn’t have all this ready for you, but you never know who you are going to get. I like to have Angela surprise me every once in a while. But the last girl she sent had awful feet, and I wasted so much time getting ready before she came.” He squeezed soapy liquid into the water. “This way I can inspect the feet first. Plus it only takes a minute to get ready,” he lifted her feet and slowly placed them in the water. “Is that ok? Is it too hot?”
“No. Very nice.”
“Good,” Mr. Smith stirred the top of the water slightly, just enough to create a layer of tiny bubbles, then sat back. “Now we wait.”
Chieko smiled as she realized that she really wasn’t expected to do anything with this client, expect relax; which she was quite happy to do. It seemed that Mr. Smith on the other hand, was finding it difficult to relax. Chieko watched as he rearranged the bottles and towels, inspected his own fingernails, picked lint off of his trousers and then stood up and stretched. Was he nervous? Or e
xcited? “Ok,” he said after a few push-ups, “let’s see how they are doing.” He gently removed Chieko’s right foot from the water and rested it in his lap on a towel.
He was quite handsome, Chieko thought as she watched him meticulously dry her feet. A full head of light brown hair. Nice blue eyes. Early thirties, not going gray yet. And so well dressed. Was that an Armani suit? It was immaculately pressed. Chieko liked the pattern. A dark navy suit with thin pink pin stripes. It matched his white oxford shirt which had thin light blue and dark pink pin stripes. Strong hands too, Chieko sighed. How odd. Out of all her clients so far, this was the one she would have most liked to see naked. He might even be fun. And this was her easiest appointment so far; no sex, no blow jobs, hardly any conversation.
Mr. Smith’s strong hands and the smell of peppermint and lavender foot cream soon over powered Chieko and she felt herself drift off, floating back in time to a peaceful afternoon in Tokyo.
She had just returned to her dormitory after a long Sunday afternoon of strolling through Ueno Park in her wooden clogs. She had had a tea appointment that day, at the temple with a group of American businessman. Ugh. She hated doing the tourist shows. Tourists didn’t understand the meaning behind the tea ceremony. Nor did they care to learn. This particular group had talked the whole time. When they were finished, one of the older men had asked Chieko if she would have dinner with him. Or at least that’s what the translator had asked her after much prompting. She could just imagine what the man had actually asked for. She remembered being so furious at them for thinking what all foreigners assume about Geisha girls. Luckily, Chieko was still only a Maiko and was not allowed out after dark or unaccompanied. She had the translator explain for her and hurried away.
She remembered coming back to her dormitory alone. The other girls weren’t back from their appointments yet. Her house mother had created a small stack of floor pillows on the tatami mat for Chieko to lean her back against and had made Chieko a small pot of tea and put out the sweet rice balls she loved so much. Chieko remembered that feeling of being at home. Of sitting somewhere safe and secure and being wrapped up in the warmth of her house mother’s concern, savouring the feeling of relief and satisfaction of a long day’s work done. She wished she could be back in that quiet cool room, sipping her tea, watching as her house mother brought out a large steaming bowl of water to soak her feet.
Chieko and her house mother sat together in the shady cool room all afternoon, listening to the sound of water from the stream that babbled under the floor boards, and talked about Chieko’s day. Chieko remembered how her house mother, who was usually so strict and bossy, had sat quietly beside her, listening and nodding. “Today my kimono was so hot,” Chieko pouted and pulled at her silk collar, “why is it so heavy? And why do you have to tie my obi so tight? It is already so hot outside, with my obi on. I can barely breathe when I walk. Oh why? Why do I have to do this? I hate walking through those streets, especially in the park. All those loud tourists who stop and point and laugh at me. They try to take my picture or follow me. Damé! They are so rude! Why do I have to do the ceremony for the tourists? They don’t understand. Why should they? Even, I don’t understand why I must study to be geisha. Why bother? It’s so old fashioned. There is nothing special about it anymore.” Chieko looked at her house mother, searching for an answer, but the older woman just nodded her head and smiled warmly, her round face crinkling itself up until her eyes were just tiny slits in a sea of wrinkles.
Chieko looked around the small, dark room, at the aging paper window screens, the frayed edges of the floor pillows, the tired painted screens hanging on the walls. When she had first arrived at the academy, Chieko had loved the traditional Japanese decorations. It had seemed magical to her, like she was going to become a part of a fairy tale out of the past. She had loved how the floorboards creaked under her feet, how the smell of the tatami flooring blended with the freshness of the grass in the small open courtyard to create a scent of newness and growth. Chieko would sit for hours in this room, studying ‘The Way of Tea’ under her favorite large painting of four chrysanthemum flowers in full bloom. The bright red, yellow and blue blossoms against the dark green leaves always cheered her up and filled her with hope. But not that day. The flowers were faded, the colours were dull and lifeless. There were brown stains along the rice paper where the roof had leaked rain water and a rip in the bottom of the embroidered frame. Even the rice cakes were flavourless. They had lost their crunch and seemed as bored with this room, with this life, as she was.
“The men in the temple today, said I should be proud for upholding such a distinguished art. Ha! How do they know? They just say that because to them, I am a novelty. Something interesting to do when they come to Japan. Like drinking sake and going to karaoke. That is stupid. Why not just let geishas die?”
Chieko looked out the door at the quiet peaceful garden, between the dormitory and the main house with the tiny waterfall flowing down over the rocks. She watched the gardener, lost in his own silent reverie as he raked his precious sand into a perfect circle. “Nobody understands what we do, you know. Everyone just thinks geishas are whores. Well dressed, well painted whores. You know, I think that American was trying to get the translator to tell him how much it would cost to have sex with me? Oh,” Chieko cried, “it was so awful. Why do I have to study this? Why can’t I go back to normal school?”
Chieko’s house mother took her feet one by one out of the hot water, carefully drying them with a soft towel. “Yes, Chieko-san,” she said in a low soothing voice, “all maiko’s say the same thing, especially in the summer. It is so very hot. But just you wait. You will get used to it. You will grow to be a beautiful geisha. You will be proud of the tradition someday. It is very important. What should you care what some stupid tourists think, eh? Can you imagine how cold and dull their life must be outside of Japan? Of course, they want to know more about you. Everyone wants to know more about our ways. Our way of life is the best. I know it’s hard, Chieko-san. Sometimes we don’t fit in this world. But your grandmother would be so proud of you. You know, you look like her sometimes. She used to sit here just like you. And she hated the long hot summer days too. I promise,” the house mother smiled, “one day you will think dressing up in this costume is very enjoyable.” Chieko remembered how her house mother softly hummed as she gently pushed and pulled on Chieko’s sore feet just like Mr. Smith was doing now.
“Mr. Smith!” Chieko opened her eyes and tried to pull her foot away. But Mr. Smith’s hands were wrapped firmly around Chieko’s feet, holding them tight in his strong grip while his tongue slowly circled each toe. His eyes were shut tight and he moaned as he rubbed his thumb up and down the arch of her foot, oblivious to Chieko’s protestations. Wincing in pain, she clenched her fists to stop herself from crying out as Mr. Smith focused all his powers of suction onto her big toe.
Chieko watched as Mr. Smith’s eyes rolled back into their sockets and his whole body twitched, stiffened and then shuddered. Chieko’s foot dropped to the floor and with barely a nod to Chieko, Mr. Smith crawled over to the bed and lay down with a flop. “Money is on the TV. Thank you,” he whispered and then closed his eyes. Within seconds, Mr. Smith was snoring peacefully leaving Chieko looking down at her pickled toe. She wiggled it gently, then she wiggled the other toes. Funny, Chieko thought as she shook her head, her feet had probably never been cleaner, but had never felt so dirty at the same time.
13
Alex stood on the 7th floor of the Royal York Hotel just outside the door to room 704. It was 3:55. She sighed. 5 minutes early. She didn’t want to be 5 minutes early. Wouldn’t it be better to be 5 minutes late? She turned and walked slowly back down the hall and tried to remember what else Angela had told her about this client.
“His name is Joseph Cohen. He spells it with a J but it sounds like a Y, like Yo-seph. I don’t know, is that French? I think so. He sounds French. He has the most gorgeous low voice. He is 45. Nice age. And h
e’s wealthy. He’s a new client for us. But he was so excited to meet you. He said you were just what he was looking for. Young, beautiful, perfect! That’s what he said. And,” Angela had paused to catch her breath, “you’re meeting him at the Royal York Hotel. That’s a high class hotel. Luck you!”
Alex wasn’t sure how lucky she was as she stood by the elevators waiting for the clock to turn 4:00. What if she screwed this up? What if he didn’t like her? Would Angela give her another chance? What if she didn’t like it?
“Say he is one of your first dozen appointments. Don’t tell him he is your first,” Angela had said. “That way you still sound new, fresh, but not so inexperienced that you don’t know what you are doing. And be loud honey! Make sure that he thinks he is amazing. Moan and groan and climax just before he does or when he does. Don’t worry, if you really are there, you know what I mean? You know how to do that, right? Oh and be touchy with him. Touch his arm when he talks to you. Smile at him. Play with your hair, men like that. But, don’t forget. Make sure he thinks he is the best lover you have ever had. And don’t do everything on the first appointment. Hint at other things you can do to please him. Something to do at a future appointment. Then he’ll ask to see you again. Just remember, you are there to please him. It’s the little things that drive men wild. And that’s why my Angels are so special. But, really darlin’ I don’t worry about you. You have built in sex appeal. If you are half as good as you look, he’ll be dreaming about you for days.”
“Yeah, right,” Alex snorted as she looked in the mirror, “dreaming about me for days.” She put another layer of pink lip gloss on so it looked wet and moist and pulled a few more strands out of her bun to frame her face. She pushed her hand to her stomach to try and stop the butterflies and then closed her eyes, breathing as she counted to 10. “Calm down,” she said to her reflection. “You can do this.” She grimaced, then turned and walked down the hall.
