The Salaryman's Wife(87)
“Because she’s half-black?”
“Yes. It’s girls like her who fill the strip bars and soaplands—exotics, they’re considered. She could never be hired at a high-class company. It was a miracle Setsuko even found her that bank job,” Keiko said.
“Mariko might be okay in the United States. After all, her American grandfather has some money—”
“Forget about the American,” she said tightly.
“You knew him when you were little. What was he like?”
“I remember a man who gave me chocolate. He was around for a few years and left. He married someone suitable, my mother told me.” Keiko moved to the clothing rack and began fiddling with a cocktail dress.
“Surely you remember his name,” I wheedled.
“Listen, I brought you back here to warn you that I’ve had enough. Tonight two customers asked to have you sent to them! I had to say you weren’t my girl.”
“If you give me the name of Setsuko’s father, I won’t ever come back.”
She knew the name. It was clear from the way she paused before exhaling, her boozy breath hitting my face. “I’ve had enough! You and your friends finish the whiskey and get out.”
“If I go, I want to be assured of Mariko’s security. Did your yakuza friends—”
“Don’t say that word. The walls have ears!”
“Okay, did they find who attacked her?” She did not answer me, so I asked, “What makes you think she’ll be safe here?”
“I don’t believe anyone was after Mariko in particular. Esmerelda was also mugged, but she kept her head and didn’t run away to foreigners for shelter,” Keiko blazed. “And I have a question for you—why do you even care? You have your own life.”
“I’m fond of Mariko,” I said. It was true, despite my nagging worries about her intentions. I liked her straightforward style and thought she deserved a better life. Maybe she could be steered into taking her bank job more seriously, or even a better career.
“That’s American bullshit. People from your country say they are in love after one night. I’ve heard it before.”
“I do like her! We aren’t soul mates, but we get along. I also know she’s truly attached to my roommate Richard.”
“Infatuated,” Keiko spat. “It’s older than the war but still goes on, the Japanese girl falling for the foreign man. He thinks she’s a geisha to serve his every need, and she thinks he’s stronger than her own people. You too. It’s like that opera, what do they call it?”
“Madame Butterfly. What do you mean?”
“Why are you with Big Red instead of a Japanese man?”
Hugh and I weren’t together, and the hard truth was most Japanese men were not interested in someone as mixed-up as I was.
“You want the foreign man, they want him all over Asia. My girls from Thailand and Philippines and Singapore are all the same. It’s like one hundred years ago, still.”
And with that, Keiko threw me out.
Hugh and Esmerelda were playing patty-cake when I limped back to the opposing banquette.
“How was the card game?” I took a small sip of whiskey and put it down. I preferred the Scotch version.
“I taught Esmerelda rummy and she won quite handily.” Hugh raised an eyebrow at me.
“I’ll bet. Where’s Richard?”
“He went to chat up Mariko. Didn’t you see him in back?”
Catching Esmerelda’s eye, I said, “I was in the dressing room. I had a long talk with your Mama-san. She mentioned that you were recently attacked.”
“What happened, Esmerelda? Tell me,” Hugh entreated.
Esmerelda’s face blossomed into radiance. “Oh, that is not a happy story! You should not hear—”
“On the contrary.” Hugh slid an arm around her. “I want to know everything about you.”
“I’d gone out to buy cigarettes.” She paused. “I know you do not smoke, but I do. The life of a hostess is high stress.”
“Talk about stress!” Richard rejoined us, and I made space for him beside me.
“Go on, sweetheart. What day was it?” Hugh toyed idly with Esmerelda’s spaghetti strap.
“The Wednesday before New Year’s Eve. At night it was very cold weather. I am not used to it, coming from Manila.” Esmerelda shivered, which made me wonder why she hadn’t worn a sweater over her skimpy silk dress. “I had just stepped outside when I felt someone grab me from behind. A pillowcase went over my head, two hands around my throat. And a voice. English.”
“A British accent?” I asked, remembering that Hugh had been in Tokyo prior to the New Year.