The Salaryman's Wife(92)

“I can’t tolerate lectures this early in the morning.”

“In our past, whenever you’ve left my arms, we’ve had a terrible row. You’re coming back to me tonight in a good mood, aren’t you?”

“Who can predict the future?” I asked.

Easing out of bed wearing nothing but the bandage around his ankle, Hugh looked pretty divine. Rolling on my side to watch him, I smiled like the Cheshire cat.

“How about a shower? There’s room for two.” He went into the bathroom, turned on the water, and began singing what vaguely sounded like the Eurythmics’ “Obsession.”

“I never knew a man without a job or future could he so cheerful,” I chided, following him under the spray.

“I have a tremendous future: burglar, spy, or assassin…I can’t imagine you’ve had the pleasure of shagging someone like me before?”

I hesitated just long enough to make him wonder. After all, I was from the USA, crime capital of the world. “I haven’t.” I wrapped my arms around him.

“Prosecution rests, then.”

Our combined laughter splashed across the tiled room as if there were nothing to worry about at all.


As we ate breakfast, we kept looking at each other. Hugh was wearing a white terry cloth robe and I was in one of his Thomas Pink shirts, cuffs turned over twice. He had fiddled with the buttons down the front. “It shouldn’t be too low because you’re teaching salesmen, and I know what they’re like. But open enough that it shows your lovely collarbone.”

“I’ve never spent this much time worrying about what I wear to work. Do you do this every morning when you go off to Sendai?” I grumbled.

“Never, When I’m employed again, maybe you’ll worry for me?” He smiled, handing me a cup of Darjeeling with the milk and sugar already mixed in.

I shrugged, thinking he needed no help in the clothes department. He could probably tell the skirt I was wearing for work was a polyester-wool blend, and my evening shoes were from Washington Shoes’ bargain section. It was a pretty odd combination, but there was no way I dared repeat the outfit I’d worn to work the previous day.

Breakfast was simple, Hugh fix himself a soggy English cereal called Weetabix, which I declined. He made me toast and went back to the Asian Wall Street Journal. As I sipped the pleasantly sweet tea, my eyes strayed to the robe falling slightly open around his thighs and I wished I were staying in. As it was, I spent a good half hour on the telephone talking to my landlord about the urgent repairs needed, and after that, explaining to poor hungover Richard why he couldn’t go home yet.

“What’s on your schedule today?” I asked when finally readying myself to leave.

“I’ll start out with a massage at TAC and then have lunch with Mr. Ota. This afternoon, I’m going to see Setsuko’s travel agent. Ota got the name and number, but I told him I wanted to go myself. I thought I’d try to work a little harder at integrating in the culture.” He tied my belt and kissed me deeply, smelling of toothpaste and shaving cream. “Are you satisfied?”

“Temporarily,” I said, tearing myself away before I was lost. I rode down in the elevator with two businessmen and shot through the lobby, my evening shoes clicking against the marble floor. I walked outside into blinding sun and half-tripped when I heard my name.

“Shimura-san Shimura-san!”

I turned around like a fool into the face of two cameras.

“Aren’t you a friend of the accused murderer Glendinning-san?”

“Are you hoping to become a hostess at Club Marimba?”

‘Chigai-masu,” I said. The expression translating as “it’s different” was the polite way to deny something. But the questions kept coming and if I’d understood correctly, the last one was about whether I’d enjoyed a night in Glendinning’s bed. I cast about desperately for escape and spotted a taxi, its passenger door already swung open in welcome.

I jumped in and locked both doors, ignoring the elderly salaryman with a cane who had been making painstaking progress toward the vehicle.

“Bakayaro!” The salaryman swore and waved his fist as the taxi drove off. But the driver was twinkling at me in the rearview mirror, and I realized that for the first time in Tokyo, I was behaving like I was somebody.





26


At Nichiyu, Mr. Katoh was waiting by my desk, anxious for an update on my health. I assured him that aspirin and sleep had brought me to a near-perfect recover.

“Maybe you came back too early.” My boss studied me with concern. “Your face is flushed and your mouth is swollen, perhaps you should take you temperature…”