The Salaryman's Wife(113)

“All you have to do is smile.” Joe held out his hands for my coat. “Say, that’s some number you’re wearing.” He blinked several times before he was elbowed out of the way.

“It’s Rie Shimura!” A slim, red-haired woman held out her hand. “I’m Molly Mason! My husband Jim’s over there. He wants your autograph but is too shy to ask.”

“My name is Rei, not Rie,” I corrected. “I believe you’re confusing me with the actress Rie Miyazawa—I could understand your husband wanting her autograph—”

“I saw your picture in Friday,” another woman interrupted. “I had to get my maid to translate the whole story. Rei’s bow, it was called. Completely adorable!”

“Hugh’s a squash buddy of mine, I suppose he hasn’t mentioned it—I’m Jerry Swoboda.” A well-fed, Rotary Club-type had a glass of champagne for me in one hand, his business card in the other.

“So, is Hugh good in bed or better off dead?” The last comment was whispered rather waspishly by a woman behind me. I began feeling dizzy and retreated into the arm Joe put around me.

“Hold on, what’s this nonsense? Damn rude of you to talk like that.” Joe attempted to cut a path for us across the room. We encountered a photographer en route, an Australian in a little black dress who identified herself as a photojournalist on assignment for the Tokyo Weekender.

“I know you aren’t taking questions about the murder, but I have to ask…your dress? Whose is it?” She spoke while focusing her lens.

This time, I knew the verbal shorthand. “It’s a Léger.”

“Of course! One of his bandage dresses—some say he copied Azzedine Alaïa.”

“Really? I thought that kind of thing only went on in the art world!” I was fascinated.

“I can’t believe you—here—with Hugh on his sickbed!” Winnie Clancy stage-whispered from the side. The society photographer turned to snap Winnie’s angry face, and I couldn’t help imagining how it would look on the party page.

My mischievous thoughts faded as Joe steered me down a spiral staircase and into a small lounge. This could be trouble, being alone with him. He pushed open the door, and I made out the silhouette of a man looking out the window at the sparkling Tokyo night landscape. He wore an ill-fitting gray suit that didn’t follow the evening’s black-tic dress code. As he turned, the weathered face with dark blue eyes snapped into my memory. He was the leader of the veterans who had stonewalled me in Yokosuka.

“Master Chief Jimmy O’Donnell, meet Rei Shimura.” Joe’s voice was hearty.

What did one say in a case like this? Pleased to see you again? I took a sip of wine and shifted from foot to foot until Joe told me to sit down.

“I can leave you two alone if you like,” Joe offered.

“Please don’t,” I begged. As nervous as I was about Joe, Jimmy O’Donnell was a totally unknown entity.

“I had to sort some old business out before I could talk to you. Do you understand?” O’Donnell’s voice rasped.

“Yes. I’m glad you decided to trust me.” I settled down in a plush chair across from him and after a second, he also sat down.

“I thought you weren’t being straight. I didn’t understand why you cared more about the grandfather than the gal who claimed to be his offspring. The whole thing rubbed me the wrong way.” He cast a glance at Joe. “We talked about it, and he told me you were the real thing.”

“I’m not the granddaughter,” I said quickly.

“No, but you’re the genuine article. You support yourself in Tokyo without any handouts. You’re asking questions because you’re in love with that fellow who’s in trouble, the Englishman.”

Mrs. Chapman must have exaggerated wildly to Joe, who in turn was feeding the rumor. I shook my head. “There has to be a link between the American father and Setsuko’s death. I think he’d stopped sending her money about six months ago.”

“Five months ago, a guy called Willie Evans died. We got a copy of the obituary at Old Salts for our scrapbook,” O’Donnell said. “Kind of a sad hobby we have, keeping track of the dead.”

“Did you know Mr. Evans well?” I asked.

“Not at all. There were so many sailors around, three times as many as there are now. I knew most of the gals who worked the bars and was sorry when the big stores drove them out. I guess I felt as much loyalty to them as I do my own people.”

I knew what Jimmy O’Donnell was talking about. He was as in love with Japan as Joe and I were. The three of us sat quietly for a minute, as if appreciating that.