The Salaryman's Wife(70)
“Right, here goes. Do you remember the Japan Times piece a while ago about American expatriate businessmen paying Japanese businessmen for privileged information?”
“The economic spies,” I remembered. “It turned out the CIA was behind it. Stories like that make me ashamed to carry an American passport.”
“Right. Some European nations began thinking it would make sense to do the same for the betterment of its trade interests. So I—well, you can imagine.”
The thought of a man who spoke no Japanese and could barely handle chopsticks sneaking around to gather company secrets was ludicrous. I started laughing, a reaction that didn’t please him.
“Damn it, Rei, can’t you see what could happen? If Okuhara digs enough, I’ll be out of the country faster than a subway ride from Roppongi to Hiroo.”
“But how does this relate to Setsuko?” I asked, struggling to be serious.
“She was one of my sources.” As he spoke, I felt like he’d punched me in the stomach. I couldn’t look at him anymore, just stared down at my mineral water, watching the bubbles pop. “Do you remember how you attacked me for buying her gifts? It wasn’t me, really. It was a multinational government group.”
“Oh, that makes it better! You come to this country and stretch out your right hand to be paid. All the while you’re stealing with your left!”
“I don’t believe what I’m doing is so wrong.” He raised his eyebrow, a gesture I would never again consider cute. “Do you have any idea of what the annual trade imbalance is with your own country? Over fifty billion a year. My work is simply greasing the wheels for free trade.”
“The trade imbalance is rising not because the Japanese are nefarious, but because the U.S. dollar is strengthening! Face it, what you’re doing isn’t honest.”
“You and your honesty. The way you rushed to ring up Okuhara without talking to me first!” Hugh’s rage was finally out in the open.
“I have a problem with the partial truth. I telephoned Okuhara because I was trying to put together the pieces. When things are held back, you can’t.”
“If only Setsuko had held back.” Hugh stared into the golden depths of his beer. “She had no problem listening in to her husband’s telephone conversations, thought it a lark because she hated him.”
“And because she wanted you,” I said, having become painfully aware of how desire could make one do very stupid things.
“She did fancy me a bit. I suppose that I played it to my advantage.”
“Like you do with all of us, I suppose.”
“You want me to have my heart carved up and served along with the drinks? I’m through with flirtations with you.” Hugh made a move to leave his seat, but I wanted out before him.
“Thanks for reminding me. I’ll be going, then.” I motioned for Kozo to bring the check. I would put both drinks on my credit card as my parting shot.
“You going to end it like this?” Hugh winced when his left foot touched the floor.
“End what?”
“You’re driving me home,” he said. “It’s the least you can do. I’m lame and under the influence and Roppongi Hills is only five minutes away.”
“Haven’t you heard of taxis? I’m sure your friend Kozo can hail one for you, and if you’re broke, I’ll lend you the money.”
“I’m illegally parked. If I leave the car overnight, it will be gone tomorrow.”
“I can’t drive in Japan!” Although I had an international driver’s license, it had expired and I’d never driven on the left, let alone in Tokyo. I explained this all to Hugh and he waved it away.
“You’re sober, the right color, and they won’t stop you in a hundred years! Come on, Rei, if it’s the last thing you do for me, I want you to take me home.”
All I had to do was stay on the left, I repeated to myself like a mantra. I drove like a terrified zombie down Roppongi Dori, but once we got onto a quieter side street I started to unclench. The car wasn’t that hard to drive. In fact, it had a whimsical sensor that chimed when you approached objects too closely. I couldn’t hit anything with a system like this.
By the time I’d started fantasizing about what it would be like to drive the Windom on the freeway, the twin towers of Hugh’s building had risen up like a sterile monster colony. At Hugh’s direction, I passed the main entrance to Roppongi Hills and swung around a corner to enter an underground garage. I pulled into a spot marked with his name. A classy touch, along with the Acuras and Mercedes that filled the neighboring parking places.