The Salaryman's Wife(85)

“You want to be my fashion advisor?” Rambling about the merits of Hugo Boss versus Junko Shimada for Men, Richard led Hugh into his room.

I went into the bathroom where I had a fast shower, shaving my legs so fast I nicked both knees. Mindful of what Kiki had said about my looks last time, I wore Karen’s black cocktail suit the way I had for dinner with Joe, a black bra underneath but no blouse and sheer black stockings. I fiddled around with my arsenal of Shiseido makeup samples and the one lipstick Mariko had left me.

“You look like an extremely bad dream,” Hugh said when I emerged from the bathroom.

“I wore this to dinner at Trader Vic’s and it was acceptable.” I began searching around in my shoe boxes for the solitary pair of spike heels I owned.

“It’s quite appropriate, but don’t be surprised if someone asks you to sit on his lap.”

“Mariko says that kind of thing usually goes on with foreigners. You are going to control yourself, aren’t you?” I carefully slid the photo album into my backpack. It was not an evening bag, but at least it was black.

“I’ll be better than Richard. It was hell trying to talk him out of his tongue and ear jewelry.”

“Now you see what I have to live with.”

“I like him, although when you showed him the photo album I wanted to strangle you.” Hugh held his arm out for me to balance as I stepped into my highest heels. The three extra inches made me feel tough.

“He knows everything about Mariko. Like he said, they’re close. That’s why he should come with us.”

“You must understand the more people we involve, the riskier things get. I can picture young Richard called to my burglary trial.”

“He’d lie for you. He lies for me all the time,” I assured him.

“But you’re not supposed to lie in court!” Hugh protested.

“You and your honesty.” I parroted back what he’d said derisively to me in the English Pub. This time, we both laughed.


Hugh handled the admissions at the door—a whopping 7,500 yen per person, which included a bottle of rail whiskey. As we handed our coats to a bouncer with a bruised-looking face, I muttered to Hugh that I hoped the European union   was paying. He nodded and put a finger to his lips.

The club was busier now than it had been the afternoon I’d visited before, almost every table filled. I was the only woman present who wasn’t in the business. I had no illusions about why I’d been allowed in; the men with me were simply so dishy they couldn’t be turned away.

“We want to see Mariko-san,” Hugh said to Esmerelda, the Filipina in a burgundy lace slip dress who led us to a table with much swishing of the hips.

“There’s no Mariko here,” she said uneasily. “Do you mean Mimi-chan?”

“Yeah, yeah. The girls all have bar names,” Richard said.

“What’s wrong with me?” Esmerelda pouted.

“Absolutely nothing, darling,” Hugh assured her. “It’s just that the wee man fancies Mimi.” He gestured toward Richard, who gave a brilliant smile.

“Ah, you want doubles. Double pay?” Esmerelda appraised Hugh’s suit before looking deep into his eyes.

“No problem,” Richard said as if he were the one holding the credit card.

“I think I see her,” I said, gazing a few tables away at the back of a slender girl with a head of springy curls.

“She’ll be glad we asked for her by name,” Richard said. “It means a two thousand yen bonus.”

A couple of salarymen who had followed us in took the next table. Country bumpkins, I guessed from their cheap suits and the way one of them whipped out a camera and trained it on his hostess’s low neckline. Richard craned his head to see better, and I kicked him back into place.

Within minutes, Esmerelda brought Mariko. The two hostesses approached us arm-in arm with big smiles. When Mariko was close enough to distinguish our faces, she swore and hustled back to where she’d come from.

“Mimi-chan…” Esmerelda’s voice trailed off, and she slid into the banquette next to Hugh. “I think she’s not feeling well. Cramps, or something.”

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.