“You can’t come into the bar, Thomas. It’s a private club. You’ll scare away all my customers.” Kylie scowled at him.
He roped his arm across my shoulders again. “I don’t plan to come in. I’ll just wait for Sam to come out. I don’t think she’ll last very long.”
He was right. After about five minutes in the smoky, slightly seedy atmosphere, I felt ready to leave. I forced myself to stay longer. I didn’t want to offend Kylie and I also wanted to prove Thomas wrong.
Kylie had lent me a dress, a sparkling red number that clung to my curves, and she gave me very high red heels to match. Bethany, my friend back home, would have called them “fuck me shoes.” They did sort of have that vibe.
Kylie had done my hair, fussing with my curls until I looked tousled and sexy. Like I’d just rolled out of bed, but in a good way. She did my makeup, too. Lining my eyes to make them look huge. Brushing my lashes with a heavy coat of mascara. Painting my lips bright red to match my dress. She dressed in a slinky halter dress and piled her red hair up high on her head. I watched in amazement as she transformed herself in minutes from a girl with a ponytail and freckles into a femme fatale. She’d had a lot of practice.
Thomas didn’t look at all pleased when he saw me. I pulled on my skirt self-consciously. Since I stood a few inches taller than Kylie, her dress hit me at mid-thigh level, a little shorter than I would have liked.
He didn’t say a word about my appearance. He just helped me into my coat and grabbed my hand.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
We found a coffee shop across the street from the club, and Thomas parked himself at a table by the window. I looked over my shoulder at him when I crossed the street, nervous for the first time. He gave me a wave and a nod.
I could do this. I needed to do this. I knew in my heart this was the way to banish some of my demons, but I felt curious as well. About the bar. About the women who did this job. About the uglier aspects of human nature.
Kylie introduced me to her boss, an older Japanese lady in a black kimono with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. Mrs. Miyata studied me from the top of my head to the toes of my feet.
“Over eighteen?” she asked, and I nodded. I thought I looked much older, especially with the piles of makeup and the clingy dress, but Mrs. Miyata could not be easily fooled. She narrowed her eyes, acting like she sensed I hadn’t done this sort of thing before.
“One chance,” she said. “No pay tonight. If the customers like you, maybe you can come back.”
“Thank you,” I said, giving her a little bow.
Kylie led me to a long, plush couch that spanned the length of the room. Small glass tables sat in front of us. Around a dozen foreign girls filled the room, all beautiful and wearing tight, brightly colored dresses. They looked like a flock of exotic birds trapped in the dimly lit bar. In spite of the elegant interior and expensive furnishings, something felt a bit off. The girls all had the same look in their eyes, an expression of bored resignation. This had become routine for them, like working in a fast food place back home. Except no one could legally touch your boobs at a burger joint.
“You did well,” said Kylie. “Mrs. Miyata didn’t suspect anything.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble for this, Kylie.”
“No worries. Girls come here all the time to try it out, but she knows it’s not for everyone. She’s a sweet old bird. She’s actually quite…protective. All the employees are here.”
Kylie went to the bar to get us drinks, and spent some time chatting with the bartender. A good-looking Japanese guy not much older than us, very buff and tan, he had longish hair and an easy laugh. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. I saw Kylie reach out and touch one, stroking it, but pull her hand away as soon as Mrs. Miyata looked toward the bar. She picked up our drinks and made her way back to where I sat just as customers began streaming in.
Mrs. Miyata stood at the door, bowing deeply and saying “Irasshaimase okyakusama,” welcome honorable customer, to everyone who entered. The girls readied themselves. Some of them primping and playing with their hair, others downing their drinks, trying to fortify themselves for what lay ahead.
My heart pounded in my chest. Music played in the background, a soulful jazz number. I crossed my legs and then uncrossed them, wishing my skirt covered more. I reached for my wine with a trembling hand, and Kylie gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“You’re fine, Sam. Here comes Mr. Fujiki. He’s nice enough. Not a perv. Just chat with him, pour him some sake, and try to relax.”
Mr. Fujiki, a businessman in his mid-fifties, spoke to me in very precise and polite English, asking me where I came from and complaining about the weather. It seemed like a very ordinary sort of conversation, but I couldn’t relax. He sat too close, his leg pressing against mine, his arm brushing my breast at every possible opportunity. When his hand gripped my thigh under the table, my eyes widened in panic.
Kylie must have sensed my alarm. She very deftly got up and walked around the table to sit on his other side, diverting him. She flirted with him shamelessly, and Mr. Fujiki turned to her, ignoring me completely.
In the four minutes I’d spent with Mr. Fujiki, my questions had been answered. I’d been secretly afraid I could do a job like this; that I’d somehow lost my moral compass, but now I knew. I’d once been the girl who flitted from boy to boy like a bright butterfly among the flowers. I wasn’t that girl anymore, but I wasn’t a slut, either. I’d judged myself too harshly, torturing myself for months. Now I knew the truth, and it felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders.
Kylie interrupted my self-evaluation, holding up the empty sake bottle and giving it a wiggle. “Sam, could you get Fujiki-sama some more of his favorite drink? He’s very, very thirsty. Kenzo, the bartender, will know what he likes.”
Mr. Fujiki laughed, his hand between Kylie’s knees. “Yes. Very, very thirsty. And hungry, too,” he said, nibbling on her neck.
She nodded her head toward the bar, and mouthed the word go, giving me a momentary reprieve. More customers streamed into the bar. It wouldn’t be long before someone tried to touch me again.
“Irasshai,” said Kenzo when I approached the bar, the less formal form of welcome.
“Onegai shitai koto ga arimasu no de, Fukijisan no tame ni.” I have a favor to ask, for Mr. Fujiki.
I handed him the empty bottle. He took it with a smile.
“Nihongo ga jouzu, desu ne.” Your Japanese is good.
I shook my head. “Tandemo arimasen.” Heavens no.
The acceptable response to any sort of compliment in Japanese was to deny it. Vehemently.
Kenzo laughed, but the smile froze on his face when he looked at Kylie. Mr. Fujiki was getting extremely handsy. She dealt with it well, but it took a lot of maneuvering.
One very drunk bald guy decided to approach me. His head barely came up to my chest, and he kept trying to grab my butt. I gave Kylie Mr. Fujiki’s sake and decided it was time to go.
“I’d better take off, Kylie. Talk to you soon.”
She waved, pouring Mr. Fujiki some sake to keep his hands busy. “Let’s meet for a coffee tomorrow.”
Mrs. Miyata bowed to me on my way out. “Come back. Maybe I will pay you. Mr. Mori likes you a lot.”
Mr. Mori, the bald butt grabber, grinned at me from across the room. I had to hold back a shudder of revulsion. “Arigato gozaimasu, Miyata-san.”
CHAPTER SIX
Thomas waited for me outside. He’d abandoned his post at the coffee shop and stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the door of the club and causing all pedestrians to have to veer around him on the sidewalk. His face had turned bright red, and he positively pulsated with fury.
“Where have you been?”
I pointed behind me, confused. “Uh, in the club. As you know.”
He grabbed my hand and started pulling me down the street. I nearly had
to jog to keep up with him, quite the feat in the shoes I currently wore.
“You were in there a very long time.”
I checked my phone for the time. “Forty-five minutes. Not that long. I didn’t want to be rude.”
He pulled me over to a shop, my back to the window, and glared down at me. “Did you enjoy it, Sam? Did you like having those men touch you? Shall I do the same?”
He caressed the line of my jaw, sending shivers up my spine and making my knees turn weak. I blinked in surprise.
“It wasn’t like that…”
When Mr. Fujiki touched me, I’d felt repulsed. Invaded. When Thomas touched me, I wanted to rip the clothes off his perfect body and have my way with him.
He moved closer, his eyes on my face. “What did they make you feel? What do I make you feel?” he asked, his voice husky and his Scottish accent now so pronounced I almost had to translate what he said in my head before I could understand his words.
“Different. Not the same. Not even close.”
He slipped both of his hands inside my coat, sliding them against the curve of my hip. My hands automatically went to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt. I sighed, leaning against him, certain he would kiss me.
A van drove past behind us, with loud music playing and someone shouting political slogans from the roof using a megaphone. I backed away from Thomas like I’d been burnt, the spell broken.
“Aye,” he said, his eyes cold. “Jump away. Like always.”
I wrapped my coat closer around my body and marched away from Thomas as fast as I could. I wanted to get back to my dorm, take off this sexy train wreck of a dress, and curl up on my futon.
I was practically jogging, but didn’t make it far. He reached me in two long strides, putting a gentle hand on my arm and making me stop.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, you did.”
He thought about it a second, tilting his head from right to left as he considered the validity of my claim. “Yes, I did, but I have my reasons.”
“And what are those?”
He ducked his head, putting his face close to mine. “Did you ever consider what it was like for me outside that club, knowing what might be happening inside? Knowing other men touched you when I cannot?”
His blue eyes bored into me, so honest and sincere, refusing to let me back away. Making me face the truth.
“This is why we can’t date. I’ve hurt you already. I hurt everyone I get involved with. I mess people up.”
He snorted. “I highly doubt that is an accurate statement.”
Tears filled my eyes. “I like you, Thomas. I’m so afraid.”
Terrified would have been a better word for it. Suddenly, my throat started closing up. I clutched Thomas’ shirt, trying to find a way to force oxygen into my lungs. This time the anxiety attack had come out of nowhere. Usually, I had a few minutes warning, a chance to pull myself together. This had hit me like a speeding train.
Thomas cupped my face in his hands, his eyes worried. “Sam. You’re going to be okay. Look at me. Breathe with me.”
I stared at his face, watching him breathe in and out. I focused on him, trying to control the fear and the feeling I might die. Right here. On the streets of Kyoto. Miles away from my parents. I pushed everything out of my head except for Thomas’ eyes and the slow, steady sound of his breathing. Finally, with a shudder and a gasp, I could breathe again.
I put my head on his chest and sobbed. He held me, murmuring soft words against my hair and stroking my back. When I finally stopped crying, I realized his nice white shirt now had streaks of black and red all over it from my mascara and my lipstick.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, hiccupping as I tried to talk.
“No need to apologize, Sam. I’m just glad you were able to get it under control.”
“I wasn’t apologizing for that. I’m sorry about your shirt. It’s a mess.”
He looked down and chuckled. “That it is. Nothing a good toss into the wash won’t fix.”
I had my doubts about the lipstick. It might not wash out as easily as Thomas thought. “I bet I look a mess, too.”
He studied my face very seriously. “Actually, you look a lot better than my shirt.”
He took my hand, lacing my fingers with his, and we headed back to campus, walking more slowly this time.
“You knew what to do,” I said.
He nodded. “My youngest brother used to get them. It began when my father got sick. How long have you been having them?”
“Since Dylan. Since I found him…” I took a long shaky breath. “The scariest part is not knowing when it might happen again.”
“That’s understandable.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m getting a bit tired of this little dance we’ve been doing. Can we make a deal? If I stop making you uncomfortable, will you stop pushing me away?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I let go of his hand and slid my arm around his waist as we walked, getting closer to the warmth of his big body. He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.
“Well. That’s a fine start.”
When I got home, I Skyped with my friends Bethany and Gabriela. We tried to connect at least once a week, planning it out so we wouldn’t miss each other. I told them about the hostess bar, and they laughed about Mr. Fujiki.
“It was kind of funny, I guess, but on the way home Thomas got mad at me and I had an anxiety attack. It came out of nowhere.”
“Are you okay?” asked Bethany.
I nodded. “It freaked me out, but I’m fine now.”
“Why did he get mad at you?” asked Gabriela.
I’d told them all about Thomas. Bethany begged me to find out if he went commando under his kilt. I had yet to see him in a kilt, but I’d kind of wondered the same thing myself.
“Because I went to the hostess bar. When I had the attack, though, he was a total rock star. He helped me breathe through it and get it under control. I couldn’t believe it actually worked. I guess the visit to the hostess bar scared me more than I realized.”
“That was kind of a dumb move, Sam. Why did you do it?” Bethany, in “mom” mode, looked at me with concern. I usually didn’t engage in risky behaviors, but suddenly I wondered how far I might actually go.
“I was curious, mostly about how a person could do a job like that every single day and not end up…damaged.”
“People will do a lot of things for money,” said Gabriela. “But money can’t solve everything.” She took a deep breath. “Speaking of which, we have some news for you. About Zach. He’s in jail.”
She mentioned it so calmly, which amazed me. Zach had raped her, brutally, only a few months ago, but she didn’t allow it to defeat her. She didn’t allow it to define her, either.
I was not that strong. I could barely even say his name. Just hearing it, knowing what he’d done to her, felt like a sickening stab to my chest.
“What happened?”
“Over Christmas break, he got caught with a fourteen-year-old girl. He’ll be in jail for quite a while,” said Bethany. “At least until the trial. And I’m sure he’s going to do some serious time for what he’s done. Nearly twenty girls have filed charges against him at this point. A few others are still considering it. He’s a serial rapist. Things do not look good for Zach McGaffrey.” She and Gabriela did a little fist bump.
“He should have been in jail a long time ago. If he had, he never would have hurt you, Gabriela, or that girl, or anyone else,” I said.
“The girls he attacked at school were all at the Sig house, drinking, when the assaults occurred. Every single one of us blamed ourselves. We felt responsible.”
“But you weren’t. It had nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do. Even if you drank, it doesn’t mean you should be held accountable for his actions.”
“Kind of like you and Dylan, right?”
Bethany asked.
I stared at her pretty face, stumped. “Well, that’s a little different.”
“In what way?” asked Gabriela. “None of it was your fault. Guilt and blame are tough things to let go of. Trust me. I know. I kept going over everything in my head, seeing so many things I did wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have flirted with Zach. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to that party. But he was the one who put that pill in my drink. He’s the one who raped me. Even if you’d never dated Dylan at all, the result would have been the same. It might even have been worse. He could have died alone in that apartment if you hadn’t found him.”
I stared at her, flummoxed. “When did you get so smart?”
She grinned. “I’ve always been smart. I just never realized it. Now tell us more about Thomas. Is he going to be Mistake Number Five? That’s the big one. The most important number. The grand finale, right?”
“Thomas isn’t a number, he’s…”
“Different?” asked Gabriela.
Suddenly, my whole numbering system seemed very juvenile. Infantile, really. Bethany must have read something about my thoughts on my face.
“I think our little Sam is growing up.”
“Spoken from someone much older and wiser than I am,” I said with a smile. Bethany’s birthday was only a few months before mine, but she held it over me.
“Much,” she agreed.
Gabriela gave me a shy little smile. “I have something to tell you. I kind of have a boyfriend.”
“Who?”
“His name is Noah. He’s a pre-med student. We’ve been dating for almost a month now.”
I couldn’t believe it. “And you waited until now to tell me?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s my first time dating someone since…”
Since Zach.
Gabriela’s life would forever be divided into before and after. As I hung up the phone, I wondered if I’d be the same. Before Dylan and after.
I still called my mom every day, waiting and hoping for good news. It never came. I’d spent months suffocating under the weight of my own guilt. Maybe Gabriela was right. Maybe I needed to look at it from a different angle.
Saying Goodbye, Part Two (Passports and Promises Book 1) Page 5
