Fallen Angel (9781101578810)

by Patrick, Jonelle

Hopeful smile, wide eyes.

  Flash.

  “You naughty girl!”

  Tongue out.

  Flash.

  “Maybe later?”

  Shinya appeared in the gloom behind the camera and Hoshi glanced at him, momentarily distracted.

  Flash.

  The photographer pulled back, frowned and deleted the shot.

  “Do over,” he chided, tossing an admonishing glance over his shoulder at Shinya. “Go sit on that bench in back until we’re done, okay?”

  “No, wait,” said Hoshi, relaxing and walking to the edge of the backdrop. “I asked him to bring me a few things from my locker. I’d like to try a different look for the last set.”

  The photographer checked his watch impatiently. “I’ve got another client at three,” he warned.

  “I know, I know. I promise I’ll be quick.” He looked at Shinya. “Did you find everything I asked for?”

  “I think so,” his kohai replied, handing him a Jackrose suit bag and transferring the black snap-brim hat he was wearing to his sempai’s head.

  Hoshi thanked him, and a few minutes later reappeared in a tuxedo-style suit with black leather trim on the lapels and leather stripes down the outside seam of his narrow pants. The suit had cost him an arm and a leg, but it was made of a new fabric that was supposedly champagne-proof. The ads claimed that even lipstick and makeup sponged off with ease.

  Hoshi paused before the studio mirror and settled his hat at a sexy angle, then looked around for the cameraman.

  “On the phone in his office,” said Shinya, sprawled on the bench at the rear of the studio, drinking green tea from the photographer’s fridge. “Where’d you get the hat?”

  “Coco-san bought it for me.”

  “You’re gonna ask her to be one of your backers, right?”

  His kohai was the only one he’d told about his plans to open his own club. Shinya was a good listener, remembered that Cherry had been his first choice of investors but Coco was next on the list.

  “You still shooting for year after next?” Shinya asked.

  Hoshi frowned. “Lately, I’ve been thinking sooner. I asked Coco to come in before Mrs. Ono’s party tonight to talk about it. She hasn’t been in the biz that long, but she’s a natural—she shot right up into the top five at the Queen of Hearts. I’m pretty sure she’s got savings because she still lives at home, and I’m hoping she’s a little young to be thinking of opening her own place.”

  They both knew that hostesses who turned thirty and were still unmarried faced dwindling employment options. They often didn’t have high school diplomas and their only job experience was entertaining men. Many sank lower into the mizu shōbai world, making progressively less money and providing progressively shadier services. The smart ones saved like demons and either opened their own clubs or invested in someone else’s.

  “Sorry, sorry,” the photographer apologized, bustling back into the studio. He picked up his camera and regarded Hoshi critically. “You want head shots or full length?”

  “Both.”

  Twenty minutes later, Hoshi was back in his ripped jeans and T-shirt.

  “Do you have time to help me carry my stuff back to the club?” he asked Shinya.

  “Sure.” His kohai accepted the gym tote and a larger duffel bag.

  Hoshi thanked the photographer, paid him in crisp ¥10,000 notes, then slung his suit bags over his shoulder. The fresh autumn air felt good after the stuffy studio.

  “By the way, congratulations,” Hoshi said as they walked back toward the club. “I talked to Manager-san last night. You were top dog at the anniversary event.”

  “Yosh’!” Shinya punched the air. He grinned at Hoshi. “Thanks to you, sempai. It was your patrons who spent money like water. And congrats to you, too—you’ll make number one for sure this week. That cognac Miho Yamaguchi ordered must have put you way out in front of Shō.”

  Hoshi winced, reminded what that bottle had cost him. Miho Yamaguchi thought she owned him now, and if Tuesday night was any indication, she had every intention of keeping him on a very short leash. He needed to figure out a way to slip his collar, fast. But in the meantime, he was stuck with the alibi she’d given the police. Damn, that meant he’d have to lie to Shinya again. If the police asked, he needed his kohai to back up Miho’s version.

  “Uh, Shinya-kun? I have a confession to make.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know how I told you the night Cherry-san died, I dropped her off and then came back to your dorm to sleep? Well, actually…” He paused. It was really hard to say it; the whole idea was so distasteful. “I spent the night with Miho Yamaguchi. At her apartment.”

  Shinya whistled and nudged his sempai. “And then she started drinking Richard? You must be good.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t want to drag her into a police investigation, but it turns out she told the police herself. So if they ask you…”

  “I’ll tell them the truth.”

  If only, Hoshi thought. But his kohai must never find out where he really was that night. Hoshi’s life had been turned upside down because of one impulsive act, and the future he’d planned so carefully had been put in serious jeopardy. He might still be able to salvage it if everything went according to plan today, but…

  He checked his watch. 3:10. He had to hurry. Shower. Change into the stuff he’d bought this morning. Get himself out to Koenji by 4:00. But first he had to get rid of Shinya.

  “Hey, Shinya-kun, would you do me a huge favor?” he said as they stopped in front of Club Nova. “I’ve got somewhere to be at four, but I just remembered I told Manager-san I’d pick up the rental suits at the dry cleaner. Would you mind going to get them for me?”

  “No problem, sempai,” Shinya said, trading the bags he was carrying for three ¥10,000 notes to ransom the designer clothing that new hosts were allowed to rent from the club until they could afford to buy their own.

  “Thanks. I owe you.”

  Chapter 36

  Wednesday, November 13

  6:30 P.M.

  Hoshi

  Several hours later, Hoshi leaned toward the mirror and darkened his eyebrows a little. He frowned. The stress of the past few days had taken a toll on his skin; his face looked blotchy under the locker room’s unforgiving lights.

  This afternoon’s setback had caused a little sore patch between his eyes to swell into an angry red bump. The memory of that crushing “no” echoed in his head like a slamming door. His options were narrowing. He was tired of fighting his way upstream, having to swim for his life without ever getting ahead, but there was no time to feel sorry for himself. He straightened and looked himself in the mirror. He was still Club Nova’s #1. Now his future depended on looking good for Coco and Mrs. Ono. Rummaging through his zippered grooming kit, he found his tube of cover-up.

  He’d changed into his silver suit and Coco’s snap-brim hat, plus the usual rings, earrings, and lapel pin. He took off his watch and stashed it in his locker, in case Ono-san gave him a nice little present for arranging the birthday party of her dreams. If she’d been paying attention to his hints, she’d bring him a box containing a stainless Rolex Oyster, just like the one he already owned. He’d take the new watch to the pawnshop tomorrow, then wear the old one next time she came in; she’d be none the wiser. Hoshi hated the person he was becoming, scraping for every yen, but if he wanted to open his own club this year instead of next, he had no choice.

  The veteran host who taught him everything he knew appeared in the mirror beside him, hair color radically altered.

  “Whoa, Yūta, you going all natural on us?” Hoshi exclaimed.

  “Black is the new blond.” His mentor switched out his plain stud earring for a dangling cross and retreated to the lockers.

  Shinya replaced him. “Hey, Hosh’. Lookin’ good.”

  “Thanks for helping me with Ono-san’s party tonight.”

  “I owe you.” Shinya grinned, p
atting the pocket where he’d stowed the bonus for being #1 at the anniversary event. He looked in the mirror and gave his hair a few final tweaks. “I’ll check to make sure her music is queued up. See you upstairs.”

  Hoshi zipped his bag. 6:40. He needed to check on Ono-san’s cake, flowers, and champagne tower before Coco arrived at 7:00. Taking the stairs two at a time, he pushed away the anxiety that prickled his armpits whenever he thought how screwed he would be if Coco turned him down. As he emerged into the main room, two of the younger hosts bustled past, carrying ice buckets, glasses, and tongs.

  The fake stars had not yet replaced the glaring fluorescent lights that would illuminate every scuff and splatter until the club had been scrubbed to Manager-san’s satisfaction. Just past the DJ corner, a crate of wide-mouthed champagne glasses sat next to a table covered in white linen. Shō had just finished lining up the third layer of Ono-san’s five-by-five-by-five champagne tower.

  “You wanted rainbow, right?” he confirmed.

  “Orange, pink, purple, blue, and green. No yellow,” Hoshi reminded him.

  “Why no yellow?” the nearest junior host asked, pausing with his dust rag.

  “We’re charging her too much for it to look like beer.”

  Shō reached for the purple food coloring and carefully squeezed a drop into the bottom of each glass. Later, when the champagne overflowed from one to the next, mixing with the coloring, this layer would magically bloom lavender.

  Hoshi moved on to the bouquets of long-stemmed roses in tall stands flanking the entrance, to make sure Ono-san’s name had been penned with the correct characters on the congratulatory signs. She hadn’t asked for flowers, but Hoshi knew she’d expect them.

  He poked his head into Masato’s office. “Did the cake arrive?”

  The manager looked up from his paperwork. “In the fridge.”

  Hoshi retreated and pushed through the swinging door to a small room outfitted as a bare-bones kitchen. Microwave, refrigerator, hot water pot, sink, and dishwasher crammed into the utilitarian, linoleum-floored space. Hoshi pulled open the refrigerator door and spotted a white box from the Burdigala bakery. The “Noir” cake Mrs. Ono had requested was a masterpiece of chocolate mousse piped atop a chocolate crust. White script spelled out, “Happy Birthday, Ono-san” on a thin pane of dark chocolate stuck at a jaunty angle into a rosette of whipped cream.

  The roof of Hoshi’s mouth itched just looking at it. He was already dreading the allergic reaction he’d get from sharing a piece of the overly rich confection his patron had ordered with no thought for anyone’s pleasure but her own.

  Where were the birthday candles? Opening a drawer, he pawed around the miscellany within. There they were, shoved way in the back. He only intended to put one on her cake, but slipped the entire box into his pocket, just in case. The fluid in his lighter was low. Hadn’t he just refilled it yesterday? He really ought to cut down on his smoking. As he recapped the lighter fluid, his phone buzzed. Coco was here.

  Hoshi emerged into a transformed club. Overhead the stars now twinkled, spotlights made the tables glow, music throbbed. His potential investor stepped from the elevator in a spangly gold dress that barely covered her cleavage in front and her bottom behind.

  He swept off his hat, bowing like a fairy-tale prince, and Coco laughed. He offered his arm and led her toward the intimate room reserved for customers willing to pay a premium for one-on-one time with their shimeishas. He didn’t want this conversation overheard by anyone, and it wouldn’t hurt to get Coco a little drunk and make her feel special before he made his business proposal. He caught the bartender’s eye as they passed.

  In the VIP room, strings of crystal beads surrounded each dark leather booth. Hoshi parted the sparkling curtain at the corner table to let Coco slide in first, then followed. The bartender arrived with an ice bucket and a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon Pink.

  “Ooo, my favorite!” She turned to Hoshi with an expectant smile.

  He expertly popped the cork and poured two glasses. Handing one to her, he said, “Kampai.” After they drank, he set down his glass and said, “I was looking through my pictures the other day and I found the ones from the night we met. Christmas Eve. Do you remember? A couple of your co-workers dragged you along to our Sexy Santa event.”

  Coco laughed. “All I remember about that night was how cute you looked when we made you into Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with Mami-chan’s lipstick.”

  “All I remember is how glamorous you looked. I couldn’t believe you asked for me the next time you came in.”

  Coco scooted closer to him. “I’ve never regretted it, Hosh’.” She gave him a sidelong glance and touched her glass to his. They drank. He topped up her drink and laid his arm on the seat behind her. She leaned against him and sipped contentedly.

  Setting down his glass, he gazed into her eyes. “We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well in the past year, haven’t we, Coco-chan? But I was wondering if you’d given any thought to the future?”

  Coco looked at him, surprised. Then she turned her gaze to the thin stream of bubbles rising in her glass. “The future? Yeah. All the time. A year ago, I never thought past what I was going to wear that night, which customers I hoped would come into the club, whether I liked Dom Peri Pink better than Gold. But now…I wish I could look into a crystal ball and see five years ahead. I wish I could know if I’ll be happy.” She drank her champagne.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Hoshi refilled her glass. “Because I’ve been thinking about the future, too. And when I think of the future, I think of you.”

  “Really?” Hope leaped in her eyes.

  “I want to go out on my own. Start my own club. But I can’t do it alone.”

  Coco’s face fell. But the light in her eyes slowly rekindled as he outlined his plans: the small but choice space he’d spotted in the heart of Kabuki-chō, the solid clients he’d bring with him, how they’d start with Shinya and a small group of experienced hosts and build from there. How both of them could stop kowtowing to customers every night, taking home a fraction of the money they earned for their owners.

  “I’ve saved half of it myself,” he added, “but I’ll be honest—I need a financial partner as much as I need a business partner. I was hoping it might be you.”

  She asked him how much. He told her.

  She set down her glass and looked him in the eye. “I’m interested, but…I’m beginning to want more than a party every night. I want a real life, a regular life, with someone who loves me.”

  She searched his face, then raised her chin and kissed him on the lips.

  He let her. He had to let her.

  She drew back and smiled dreamily. “I’ll come back after I get off work tonight.” She kissed him again, more lingeringly. “We can talk more then.”

  Chapter 37

  Wednesday, November 13

  8:00 P.M.

  Hoshi

  “O-tanjōbi omedetō! Happy birthday!” Hoshi cried, striding out to greet his patron’s taxi. Mrs. Ono emerged and Hoshi tried not to stare. What had happened to her lips? They looked unnaturally puffy, and not just because they were siren-red. Pinprick bruises showed through her makeup where her smile lines used to be.

  He pushed the button to summon the elevator. “Is that dress new? Red really suits you.”

  He didn’t mention that the aggressive push-up bra she was wearing made her décolletage resemble crepe, not silk. Fortunately, once they stepped into the dark club, the white lies came easier. Mrs. Ono’s dress looked sultry rather than sleazy, her ringlets looked luxuriant not dyed, and her jewelry looked glamorously expensive instead of ostentatiously vulgar. The diamonds in tonight’s earrings must add up to at least six carats, plus several more on the Cartier watch sparkling on her wrist. The accessory Hoshi found most arresting by far, however, was the Tenshodo gift bag looped over her arm.

  Mrs. Ono was charmed by the flowers and stopped to admire the tower of glittering c
hampagne glasses before following Hoshi to the table he’d reserved.

  Ninety minutes and several toasts of Rémy Martin VSOP later, after all the hosts had joined him around her table to sing and the rainbow champagne tower had been poured, Hoshi’s mouth itched like crazy as he reached around Mrs. Ono’s neck to fasten the clasp of the tiger-charm necklace he’d given her. His new Rolex slid down his wrist, too big without having a few links removed. A waiter whisked away their mousse-smeared plates and the rest of the cake.

  All his former kohais had pitched in to help Shinya entertain Hoshi’s other customers while he devoted his attention to shoring up his relationship with Ono-san. So far, his efforts seemed to be paying off—she was giggling as giddily as a teenager, and her bar bill was climbing nicely. He might even keep the #1 spot this week without Miho Yamaguchi’s help.

  Shinya caught his eye across the room, flicking a glance toward the entry. Oh no. It looked like Miho wasn’t going to give him a chance to make #1 without her. She arched an eyebrow at him as his kohai seated her across the room, as far away as possible. Shinya knew exactly what to do, engaging her in conversation after assuring her Hoshi would come soon. With luck, Hoshi thought, he could pack a satisfied Mrs. Ono off in a cab within the next half hour, then make the rounds of his other tables.

  As his patron grew steadily more intoxicated—for every finger of brandy Ono-san drank, Hoshi added a polite drop or two to his own glass—he kept an anxious eye on Shinya and Miho.

  Miho had ordered up the rest of her bottle of Richard. She was making Shinya drink his straight, but watering down her own. His kohai needed a refresher on how to divert customers from that kind of behavior. The club was devilishly busy tonight, so none of the other hosts noticed that Shinya was badly in need of rescuing. Finally, Hoshi saw the manager stop by and Shinya was able to excuse himself to stagger to the men’s room.

  Masato seamlessly took over, bending his ear toward Miho and nodding attentively as he lit her cigarette with practiced grace. Shinya returned, looking a little more sober, bearing a fresh bucket of ice. Miho graciously released Masato and accepted Shinya’s return, but Hoshi could tell by the way her foot was jiggling that she was going to punish him later for making her wait. He really had to regain the upper hand with her; she was beginning to make his life miserable.