The Salaryman's Wife

by Sujata Massey

  Hugh winked at me and there was a blinding flash of light from somewhere. I shut my eyes fast.

  “Let me pour for everyone.” Esmerelda leaned so her dress fell away from her bosom. She brushed her fingers against Hugh’s when handing him his drink, but filled my glass only halfway and set it down squarely on the table.

  “How about some games?” Esmerelda whipped a deck of cards out of a tiny black handbag containing a wad of money and a Chanel compact.

  “I’m good at games, how about you?” Hugh smiled at her.

  “Is the Mama-san here tonight?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, but if you’re asking for a job, I’m sorry. Mama likes younger girls.” Esmerelda began distributing the cards with a practiced hand. “What shall we play? Strip poker? For that we need a privacy booth.”

  “A private booth?” Richard sniffed. “I’m not shy, baby.”

  “I’m feeling nauseated. I’d better go to the bathroom.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder and got up, unable to watch the two men I was closest to dissolve into a molten pool of testosterone. Hugh I could understand, but Richard?

  “In the back.” Esmerelda didn’t look away from her conquests.

  As I sauntered past the table where Mariko had rejoined her customers, one of them said something and gestured to me. I smiled, angling to join them. Mariko shook her head.

  “Hey, I like your lipstick. Meet you in the ladies’ room?” I said to her in English.

  I never made it there. In the unlit hallway that sprung off from the main room, I was grabbed. I struggled briefly against the arm that cut in below the rib cage and knocked the wind out of me. They’ll never know what happened, I thought as a large, sweaty hand clamped over my mouth and a knee shot into the back of my thigh.

  24

  My moan was absorbed by the attacker’s hand, and I was propelled into a dark, overheated room that stank of fuel. I flashed back to my nightmare with the gas heater in Shiroyama and realized this time I might really die. Hugh and Richard would be consumed for at least an hour with the tantalizing Esmerelda.

  A fluorescent light came on overhead, revealing I was with Mariko’s Mama-san in the dressing room. A kerosene heater burned, smelly but not lethal.

  “We have a lot to talk about, Keiko.” I swayed a little as I took the stool in front of the mirror, the room’s only seat, a power play she couldn’t miss. I looked at her leaning against the door as if to revalidate her authority. Now I saw past the grape-colored velvet dress stretched too tightly around the abdomen and the unflattering feathered haircut to hard, cool eyes that were very much like Setsuko’s.

  “My name is Kiki.” Her voice remained calm. “Being a foreigner, Japanese is a little hard for you, maybe.”

  “Kiki is a nickname for a hostess who wants to disguise who she really is. And the blood that runs through me is Japanese and American, like your sister’s.”

  “Setsuko wasn’t my sister,” Her eyes darted to the door. Who did she think might enter?

  “I didn’t say she was Setsuko, but I thank you for confirming it.” I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the photo album, flipping to the picture of the two teen-aged girls in the arms of the businessmen.

  “This was back in Yokosuka, wasn’t it? In the nightclub that’s now a bank.”

  As Keiko glanced at the picture, her expression changed. I let her take the album in her hands, go through the pages herself.

  “I want to know why the daughter with pure blood wound up working in a bar while the konketsujin got the salaryman and house in the suburbs,” I said, my fear starting to subside.

  “There’s nothing wrong with what I do. I pay my rent and taxes and employ twelve people—how many women in this country can say they do that?” Keiko pushed the album back at me.

  “But you can’t tell me the bar has been a good environment for Mariko. Where will she be in ten years? She has no security, must rely completely on men.”

  “Men rule the world, don’t they?” Keiko stared at her sagging face in the mirror.

  “Tell me about Mariko’s father,” I said, pushing my luck.

  “He was an American soldier here on R&R.” She spoke in a monotone. “When he went back to Vietnam, he stepped on a mine. Setsuko heard about it just before Mariko was born.”

  “Really?” If this was true, it would mean Mariko was more American than me—three-quarter’s worth.

  “Look here.” Keiko took the album back and showed me a group shot I’d glanced at without much interest before. A young Setsuko sat cozily on the lap of a good-looking, light-skinned black man who looked around twenty, clearly military from the cropped hair and the dog tags he wore around his neck. I judged the time period to be the early 1970s based on her short, flared dress. I had the same reaction as I did to the picture of her with the Japanese businessmen—she was too young for this. Her open, excited expression reminded me of uniformed schoolgirls I saw giggling on the subway.

  “Setsuko was stupid to get pregnant just as she was starting in the business. Stupider still to go ahead and have the baby, someone you could never pass off.”

  “Because she’s half-black?”

  “Yes. It’s girls like her who fill the strip bars and soaplands—exotics, they’re considered. She could never be hired at a high-class company. It was a miracle Setsuko even found her that bank job,” Keiko said.

  “Mariko might be okay in the United States. After all, her American grandfather has some money—”

  “Forget about the American,” she said tightly.

  “You knew him when you were little. What was he like?”

  “I remember a man who gave me chocolate. He was around for a few years and left. He married someone suitable, my mother told me.” Keiko moved to the clothing rack and began fiddling with a cocktail dress.

  “Surely you remember his name,” I wheedled.

  “Listen, I brought you back here to warn you that I’ve had enough. Tonight two customers asked to have you sent to them! I had to say you weren’t my girl.”

  “If you give me the name of Setsuko’s father, I won’t ever come back.”

  She knew the name. It was clear from the way she paused before exhaling, her boozy breath hitting my face. “I’ve had enough! You and your friends finish the whiskey and get out.”

  “If I go, I want to be assured of Mariko’s security. Did your yakuza friends—”

  “Don’t say that word. The walls have ears!”

  “Okay, did they find who attacked her?” She did not answer me, so I asked, “What makes you think she’ll be safe here?”

  “I don’t believe anyone was after Mariko in particular. Esmerelda was also mugged, but she kept her head and didn’t run away to foreigners for shelter,” Keiko blazed. “And I have a question for you—why do you even care? You have your own life.”

  “I’m fond of Mariko,” I said. It was true, despite my nagging worries about her intentions. I liked her straightforward style and thought she deserved a better life. Maybe she could be steered into taking her bank job more seriously, or even a better career.

  “That’s American bullshit. People from your country say they are in love after one night. I’ve heard it before.”

  “I do like her! We aren’t soul mates, but we get along. I also know she’s truly attached to my roommate Richard.”

  “Infatuated,” Keiko spat. “It’s older than the war but still goes on, the Japanese girl falling for the foreign man. He thinks she’s a geisha to serve his every need, and she thinks he’s stronger than her own people. You too. It’s like that opera, what do they call it?”

  “Madame Butterfly. What do you mean?”

  “Why are you with Big Red instead of a Japanese man?”

  Hugh and I weren’t together, and the hard truth was most Japanese men were not interested in someone as mixed-up as I was.

  “You want the foreign man, they want him all over Asia. My girls from Thailand and Philippines and Singapore are all the sam
e. It’s like one hundred years ago, still.”

  And with that, Keiko threw me out.

  Hugh and Esmerelda were playing patty-cake when I limped back to the opposing banquette.

  “How was the card game?” I took a small sip of whiskey and put it down. I preferred the Scotch version.

  “I taught Esmerelda rummy and she won quite handily.” Hugh raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I’ll bet. Where’s Richard?”

  “He went to chat up Mariko. Didn’t you see him in back?”

  Catching Esmerelda’s eye, I said, “I was in the dressing room. I had a long talk with your Mama-san. She mentioned that you were recently attacked.”

  “What happened, Esmerelda? Tell me,” Hugh entreated.

  Esmerelda’s face blossomed into radiance. “Oh, that is not a happy story! You should not hear—”

  “On the contrary.” Hugh slid an arm around her. “I want to know everything about you.”

  “I’d gone out to buy cigarettes.” She paused. “I know you do not smoke, but I do. The life of a hostess is high stress.”

  “Talk about stress!” Richard rejoined us, and I made space for him beside me.

  “Go on, sweetheart. What day was it?” Hugh toyed idly with Esmerelda’s spaghetti strap.

  “The Wednesday before New Year’s Eve. At night it was very cold weather. I am not used to it, coming from Manila.” Esmerelda shivered, which made me wonder why she hadn’t worn a sweater over her skimpy silk dress. “I had just stepped outside when I felt someone grab me from behind. A pillowcase went over my head, two hands around my throat. And a voice. English.”

  “A British accent?” I asked, remembering that Hugh had been in Tokyo prior to the New Year.

  “I do not know. She said it funny. Mary-ko. I said to her in English, no, no! I am Esmerelda! I threw out my purse with the alien worker’s card on the ground. Then she kicked me so I fell. While I lay there I heard her pick it up. She kicked me again and told me to count to one hundred or she’d kill me. Then she left.”

  “Do you think it was a woman?” I asked carefully. Japanese people speaking English sometimes mixed up “she” and “he”; I didn’t know whether the same was true for people from the Philippines.

  “I cannot say for sure. The hands were rough, rough like a man, but the voice was maybe a woman. I am not sure. I just say it because…” she batted her eyes.

  “Yes?” Richard breathed.

  “When I was pulled against this person’s body, I felt—” Esmerelda gave a coy smile and gestured to her breasts. “How do you call them politely in English?”

  Hugh choked. I refused to look at him, but noted that Richard’s eyes were sparkling.

  “Breasts,” I said in a no-nonsense voice. “What happened to the pillowcase?”

  “I left it there.” Esmerelda shrugged. “I think the garbage man removed it later.”

  I threw up my hands. “You lost important evidence.”

  “I could not return it! It would only cause questions.”

  “Where would you return it?” Hugh asked.

  “A hotel,” Esmerelda replied shyly.

  “What makes you think of hotels?” His voice was casual.

  “It was foreign size, big enough to go over my head and shoulders. And good white cotton, like they have at the New Otani. I once spent an afternoon there. So know.”

  I thought of Joe Roncolotta and his familiarity with the hotel. He could have padded his chest to resemble a woman’s, and his Southern accent could have confused someone not fluent in English. “What happened to your purse?” I asked.

  “The person did not take it. I still have it here.” She patted the expensive little bag.

  As Hugh asked Esmerelda to describe the scene once more for him, I turned my attention on Richard.

  “I tried to talk to Mariko in the back alley,” Richard whispered. “I apologized for…some awkwardness that happened. Then the bouncer came out and told me to get going. Mariko had to beg him to let me back in the club.”

  “What do you mean, awkwardness that happened? Did you make Mariko leave the apartment?”

  “That’s not it.” Richard looked nervously toward Hugh and Esmerelda, who were paying us no attention.

  “I tell you everything!” I hissed in my roommate’s ear.

  “Okay.” Richard sounded miserable. “When you were gone this afternoon, she tried to convert me.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “She couldn’t comprehend I wasn’t interested, so she split.”

  Keiko passed our table, slapping the check in front of Hugh. “If you go now, you won’t miss the last train.”

  “No worries. I drove.” He looked up and smiled.

  “Really? Is your car the black Windom I called the towing company about?” Keiko said in a mock-concerned voice.

  “Will you give me your card?” Esmerelda looked forlorn as Hugh started counting out cash for the bill.

  “With pleasure.” Hugh handed her his card and a five thousand yen note. “Please keep Mariko safe. And yourself, of course.”

  “You shouldn’t be so kind. It’s really not necessary,” she beamed, tucking the tip into her little bag.

  “Oh, it’s just a token of a Scot’s gratitude. Remember, I’m not English.” He laughed as if that were an old joke they shared.

  “Not English,” she repeated, as if trying to memorize that. “Come back soon!”

  25

  I pulled a parking ticket off the windshield and handed it to Hugh before getting behind the wheel.

  “I promise I’ll pay it. Sooner or later.” He stuffed it in his jacket and slid into the passenger seat. Richard was curled up in the back with his feet against the window.

  “Where do you want to go?” I was filled with a crazy energy.

  “Let’s drop off your roommate first, then decide.” Hugh looked over the seat at Richard. “He’s sleeping like a baby. Now can you tell me why I had to entertain that junior Joan Collins by myself?”

  I told him about how Keiko had grabbed me and how I’d turned the tables on her enough to learn something about Mariko’s parentage.

  “So she’s the violent type.” Hugh clicked the door locks shut, as if there were some danger in the streets of brightly-lit Kabuki-cho. “She could have easily gone after Mariko and Esmerelda.”

  I thought that was unlikely since the young women worked for her and shared a quasi-mother-daughter relationship. I explained my doubts.

  “If Keiko attacked Esmerelda while calling her by another woman’s name, it would make her seem like an outsider who didn’t know the bar,’ Hugh suggested.

  “That’s too convoluted.” Hugh’s comment had triggered a memory of my visit to JaBank, when Mariko had told me a young woman teller had been attacked by an unknown person. Three attacks at the two locales where Mariko worked; it seemed likely someone was looking for her. But why? “Maybe Keiko eliminated Setsuko and is trying to kill Mariko so she can make a claim on the American’s estate,” I said.

  “Why would she want to kill them now as opposed to decades earlier? Where does my laptop battery come in?”

  “Your battery’s not important. But Keiko—I could tell from the way she was looking at old photographs of Setsuko, she was moved. No matter how many names she calls Setsuko, she still cares about her.”

  “Emotion runs high in family situations. Perhaps the sister who had to scrabble for a living envied the one who landed the salaryman and life in the suburbs. One day, it got to be too much.”

  “Why did Mr. Nakamura come to her bar twice? I didn’t ask Keiko. I should have.” I was in north Tokyo now, sailing through dark and lonely streets. In no time, I was in front of my apartment building.

  Hugh reached back to shake Richard’s shoulder. “Time to get up, laddie.”

  “What about Rei?” Richard mumbled.

  “She’s driving me home,” Hugh said as if I’d already agreed.

  “Do you have your key?” I worried
. My roommate waved it at me and ambled sleepily toward the building.

  “I’ll only be a minute,” I promised Hugh and jumped out, feeling strangely maternal toward my roommate.

  The entry hall was dark. The cheapskate landlord had installed a light rigged on a timer, meaning that when we came in, we had only three minutes of illumination while traveling upstairs.

  “Out like a light,” Richard cackled, fumbling at the switch. I reached over him and clicked up and down a few times without success. The bulb must have burned out. There were only two other tenants in the building, and unfortunately neither of them had taken the initiative to replace the bulb. As always, I would do it the next morning.

  I knew by heart the steps leading to the apartment and would have bounded upward were it not for the listless roommate I was helping along. It took forever to reach the last flight leading to our landing. Richard was giggling about the fact I was holding his hand.

  Only five more steps to go. I resolutely put my foot forward and stepped into air.

  I grabbed Richard tightly with one arm, and with the other sought the railing. I had no idea of what had happened to the staircase. I searched again and found that the step I’d been heading for had been knocked out. There was nothing above it either. I stretched out my hand and touched the rough, splintering edges around where the wooden stairs had been.

  “Whassit, Rei? Hurry up, I’ve got to take a leak.”

  “Richard, the stairs are gone!”

  The light bulb could not have died a natural death, just as the missing steps hadn’t broken with age. The person who had done the damage had selected the stairs leading to where Richard and I lived. It would have been easy to do the job between the time we had left for the club and the other building residents hadn’t yet returned from work.

  The trap had been laid for me. I had been meant to fall. Even if I made it past the monstrous gap, I didn’t know what was waiting on the landing. Another hole, or maybe the person who had chopped out the stairs.

  “We’re going downstairs,” I whispered to Richard. “Let me lead.”