The Typhoon Lover Read online

  “Both,” I said, looking at the speaker, who was somewhere around twenty-five, though it was hard to tell from his face, which was either really tanned or really dirty.

  “May I see it? Where did you get it, Akibarra or—” He rolled his r’s like someone from Germany or a nearby country.

  “The electronics district is called Akihabara, and sorry, but I can’t let you play around with this camera. I’m not the greatest technophile, so I don’t want to take the risk of changing any settings.”

  “Hmm, I reckon you and I could have more fun playing around at something else! I’m Jürgen.” He grinned suavely, and I cursed myself for the expression I’d used.

  “Acually, Jürgen, I’m not the best of company because I need to make a phone call at the moment—”

  “Ach so! You must be some kind of spy girl with a Chames Bond camera not for sale in the shops—”

  Damn it, but his voice was loud. I looked at him stonily and said, “It’s a gift from my boyfriend, who I was just about to phone.”

  “Don’t you mean your husband?”

  “What?” I looked at him warily.

  “A woman your age would ordinarily be married, right?” He swung off with laughter and returned to his friends.

  I’d had about enough of unruly men, but I really did want to speak to Hugh. And now it was early morning in Washington, time to catch him before he left for the office.

  “Good morning, my sweet,” I said brightly after he finally picked up.

  “Rei. So what’s, what time is it?” He sounded disjointed.

  “I thought it was about eight-thirty in Washington. I’m sorry, you were probably up late last night painting the dining room.” I had made sure he had all the paint and supplies he needed before I’d left.

  “Not quite. Damn, I have a meeting in half an hour.” He groaned. “I feel like hell.”

  “Oh! I can get off the line if you need. I just wanted to let you know I was here and safe—”

  “Don’t go,” Hugh said. “I’ll call my assistant to tell her to reschedule. She’s come up with more than a few excuses since my brother came back. And today’s the end of it. They’re flying out of Dulles for Singapore and then Tokyo.”

  “But that sounds illogical, I mean, shouldn’t they have flown from California and gone to Tokyo first?”

  “Nothing my brother does is logical. Including drinking. We closed the 9:30 Club last night, Rei. I’m knackered.”

  “Aren’t you getting a little old for that?” He was never going to make partner if he kept coming to work late with a hangover.

  He groaned. “I didn’t mean to. And now I’m so hungover I could kick myself. I must say, if you’d been here it probably wouldn’t have happened—”

  “As if I have any impact at all,” I said, with heavy sarcasm. “Remember, I was there at Club Paradise when you were sick enough to lose it in a wastebasket.”

  “So do you think I have a drinking problem?” Hugh’s voice crackled with anger.

  “Not exactly. It’s just that—you seem to be losing count of your drinks, when you go out. You can’t blame me for being a little worried.” I eyed the mojito in front of me. I’d thought it was two-thirds empty, and was on the verge of ordering another. Now I decided it was actually one-third full, and I was going to slow down.

  Hugh began to rail at me, and I saw no point in becoming involved in an argument that the rest of the bar would find amusing, so I simply hung up. Almost immediately the telephone rang again, and I switched it on, still exasperated, but determined to at least give Hugh a chance to apologize and redeem himself.

  “Darling?” I said.

  “What a nice greeting,” Michael Hendricks answered in his cool New England voice. “When I was in Japan before, it was just moshi-moshi. Perhaps times have changed.”

  “Hello, Michael.” I paused to compose myself. “I apologize. I was expecting a call from someone else. Which reminds me—may I use this phone for personal calls?”

  “You’re obviously doing so already, but don’t worry. Just remember to avoid saying things into the phone such as my name, and the names of others involved in our situation.”

  “Sorry.” I took a swig of mojito.

  “Can you explain who the man is in the picture you just sent? You didn’t include a text message.”

  “He’s not of any significance to you! I was just practicing—” I paused. “How the hell did you get that picture?”

  “You must have pressed ‘send.’ As I explained to you last week, the camera is wired to send files straight to my Blackberry. “

  “Oh. I suppose you’re also interested in the bad news from Mr. Watanabe?”

  Michael spoke rapidly, his anger practically flashing across the phone. “What bad news? I haven’t heard any news, and I don’t expect to get progress reports from him! You are the one I expect to hear from, and I wonder about the fact that you’ve been on location for over twenty-four hours and I haven’t heard a peep, just a photo of this Hispanic-looking guy holding a silver device that looks like a grenade—”

  “It’s a cocktail shaker,” I said. “And Enrique’s a bartender, not anyone you need to worry about.”

  “I see. So you’re in a bar again?”

  “What do you mean by ‘again’?”

  “Is it a situation where you can talk?”

  I glanced around. At their table, the backpackers were giving a drink order to Enrique, so I told Michael about the auction, how I’d met Takeo but quickly learned about his engagement to the daughter of the minister of the environment.

  “Aha. I know that name. He was in Japan’s diplomatic corps before. I ran into him once in the UAE.” Michael sounded as if his annoyance had ceased.

  “UAE?” I asked.

  “United Arab Emirates. It was during the first Gulf War,” Michael said. “And regarding this engagement, I’ll have our guys check it out. He might not really be engaged, but just trying to pull your chain.”

  I snorted and said, “He declared the news right in front of Emi, and she certainly didn’t protest.”

  “He spoke to you in Japanese?” Michael asked.

  “No, he was speaking English, perhaps because he noticed that my Japanese isn’t as good as it was,” I said glumly. “But she seemed to understand completely. I also saw her ring and the way he looked at her.”

  “And how did you feel about that?”

  There was something in Michael’s tone that made me shiver, so I said briskly, “I’m upset because it greatly compromises my chances at succeeding. You know that I came here to do something, which I’ll still try to do, but with this gorgeous young girl around, the situation’s going to be little dicey—”

  “On the contrary. Engaged men are easy marks.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Men on the verge of losing their freedom do last-gasp, risky things. Why do you think bachelor nights are such an institution?”

  Michael seemed as if he wanted to rattle on, but I noticed that Richard and Simone had entered the bar and were heading toward me. “Ah, I can’t really talk anymore.”

  “Okay. Keep going, then, and make sure the next picture you send off into cyberspace is of something other than a frigging bartender.”

  Very cranky. I clicked off while Richard and Simone took off their raincoats glittering with water and came at me for a group hug that smelled of perfume and smoke, a strange kind of smoke I couldn’t identify.

  “Rei, it’s been so looong,” Simone moaned in her pretty French accent and came in close to peck both sides of my cheeks. Then Richard rushed at me like a small blond whirlwind and kissed me long and hard on the lips.

  “What was that about?” I pulled away, stunned by the unusual show of affection.

  “Just trying to pull Enrique’s chain,” Richard said, smiling at his boyfriend, who was grinning at the three of us. “You’re a good kisser, Rei. We should do it again.”

  “I’ll take a rain check,” I said
uneasily, because Jürgen and his friends were watching with considerable interest.

  “It’s the crystal,” Enrique said, coming in close and setting down a dubious-looking pink drink in front of Richard.

  “Cristal? That doesn’t look like champagne.” I was confused by Enrique’s offering.

  “Happy pills,” Richard said. “Also known as shabu or yaba around here. Enrique says I get wild when I pop one. But, ooh, is it fun. Teacher’s little helper!”

  “It’s not an everyday thing, chérie,” said Simone, seeing the shock on my face. “But you know how it is. One of Richard’s students, he passed a tough English qualification exam, so he brought his sweet teacher a little presento.”

  “I thought we could go dancing after this!” Richard bobbed his head back and forth. “Rei, I’ve missed you so much that I could almost jump your bones.”

  “You’re gay, Richard,” I reminded my friend. Looking at him so ebullient and silly made me feel wretched. I’d missed Richard and longed many times for a heart-to-heart chat like those we’d once had as roommates in a shabby, cold apartment in Minami-Senju. Now, he had shown up for our reunion flying as high as a Boys’ Day kite. There would be no way to talk with him about the confusing situation I’d gotten into with Hugh, let alone anything else.

  “Will you come dancing, Rei?” Simone purred. “Bar Isn’t It has a really good ladies’ night.”

  “I just came in last evening. I don’t think I could make it, but you know, in a few days Angus Glendinning and his band will be here. Why don’t we go dancing that night?”

  “Hugh has you by a ball and chain, huh?” Richard said. “I knew you should never have moved in with him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just I’m still going through jet lag and had hoped for a cozy night catching up.”

  “Oh, of course! We don’t have to go dancing,” Simone said, shooting Richard a reproving look. “I have longed to talk with you, Rei, so many times. I don’t even understand what has brought you from Washington—”

  “A very serious job, which is another one of the reasons I can’t paint the town red tonight—I’ll never cope tomorrow,” I said.

  “But you can’t work here. Your visa’s revoked,” Richard said a bit too loudly.

  “Not anymore,” I said, shooting him a warning glance, which he blithely ignored.

  “How? It’s impossible to get visas these days. Immigration to Japan has been cut, like, in half, after 9-11. How did you get back in?”

  Trying to seem casual, I shrugged. “I’m doing some consulting for a government museum. They wanted me over, so they were able to pull a few strings.”

  “That’s surprising. Your country’s reputation is in the gutter, worldwide.” Richard, proudly Canadian, sounded almost gleeful.

  “Let’s not talk politeeks,” Simone said. “It’s very dull, don’t you think? Rei, is something wrong with your drink? Shall Enrique bring you wine instead?”

  I shook my head. All I wanted was to escape the manic gaze of two people whom I’d once been comfortable with, but who now seemed like strangers.

  13

  Despite Richard and Simone’s protests, I left Salsa Salsa soon afterward. Finding a taxi in the rain in a fashionable part of town proved impossible. My Bally pumps were waterlogged, and Grand’s beautiful wool suit smelled like a wet dog when I finally arrived back at the Hyatt.

  “Oh, dear,” said the desk clerk, looking at me.

  Oh dear, indeed. The rain became even harder during the night, and it was mixed with rough, gusting winds that startled me awake at three. And given my jet lag and the two drinks I’d had, I couldn’t fall back into slumber. I tossed through idea after idea of how to get to Takeo. By five in the morning I thought I had a possibility.

  Eight o’clock was about the right time to telephone Aunt Norie, who would have already given breakfast to her family. The Shimuras usually breakfasted together, no matter what. My aunt was the kind of cook who made miso soup and rice fresh every morning, and would present enough pickled vegetables and fish alongside it to make you think you wouldn’t need another meal that day.

  “I’m back,” I said when my aunt picked up the telephone.

  “Your father told us you would be coming. This news is wonderful, that you’re back in Japan. How did you manage it?”

  “It’s a long story. Could you come into Tokyo today? I’d love to take you to lunch somewhere to catch up. I’m staying in Roppongi Hills, but I’d love to get someplace more traditional—”

  “But Roppongi Hills is extraordinary! Mrs. Morioka and I ate at the French Kitchen in the Grand Hyatt last week after ikebana class. There are so many restaurants in Roppongi Hills that we could easily choose something. And perhaps Chika can join us, because her office isn’t too far away.”

  I agreed, thinking that I might as well take her somewhere nice, since for once in my life I was on an expense account. We settled on a spot called Kitsune, which Norie said served Japanese nouvelle cuisine.

  After the meeting time had been set, I asked Norie if she’d have time to take me to the Kayama Kaikan, the headquarters of Takeo’s family’s flower arranging school. Norie was a master teacher at the school, and she had always enjoyed a close relationship with the Kayamas. Norie credited herself with getting Takeo and me together, and had mourned when the relationship ended. Still, the situation remained warm enough between her and Takeo that every fall, he came to her garden to cut back her hydrangeas with his own special technique.

  “Do you wish to study ikebana again, Rei-chan? I assumed you would be too busy with this wonderful new job!” My aunt’s excitement fairly crackled over the line.

  “I am interested in ikebana.” I paused, knowing that with my aunt, it paid to be direct. “However, I’d like to talk with Takeo Kayama about it. I thought you might be able to be our go-between and establish a meeting.”

  To my surprise, my aunt paused. At last she said, “I don’t know if a go-between is a good idea. He’s actually engaged to be married.”

  “You knew?” How ironic that my own aunt had the facts, while American and Japanese intelligence were clueless.

  “Yes, her name is Emi Harada. She is a lovely young girl whose father is a government minister. She’s started studying flower arranging at the school, of course.”

  “I see. Well, you’re right that she’s lovely and young. I saw Takeo and Emi last night at the auction, and I think he was embarrassed to talk to me in front of her. It’s unfortunate because—because I really want to spend a little time with him, and this business trip of mine is so short. Does it seem too much to expect—that he would be civil and give me a few hours’ time?”

  “Perhaps it is,” my aunt said gently. “Maybe it’s an American custom for the ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend to remain friendly, but it’s not often done here in Japan.”

  That’s right, I thought bitterly to myself. Because in Japan, women and men had such prescribed roles that they rarely had pure friendships, once they’d left childhood. I said, “I thought Takeo was different. And after what we all went through in Washington—Hugh and Takeo and I—it seems a shame that I can’t continue a friendship with Takeo.”

  “Well, knowing Kayama-san’s personality, I’m still a bit doubtful, but I’ll try to smooth things. I think the only way, though, is if it seems like a coincidence that you see each other, not planned.”

  That’s what had happened the previous night, and had failed. However, my aunt was privy to resources I didn’t have. She told me she needed to think a bit more, but she’d have a plan in place by the time we met for lunch. I thanked her and hung up the telephone, feeling hopeful for the first time since I’d touched ground in Tokyo.

  Two hours later, the streets were a quarter inch underwater when I set off for Kitsune. The restaurant was only a five-minute walk from my hotel, so I shouldn’t have gotten as wet as I did. However, I’d decided to go shopping for a raincoat, umbrella, and the pièce de résistance I�
��d been missing in my wardrobe ever since I’d moved away: rain shoes, the ankle-high rubber shoes that were, as far as I knew, unique to the practical Japanese. I knew I wasn’t going to find them at Christian LaCroix or Louis Vuitton or any other of the luxury boutiques in Roppongi Hills, so I shot over on the subway to the Ginza and ducked into one of my favorite department stores, Matsuya, where I found rain shoes on the eighth floor, along with a zebra-patterned umbrella and a shiny black trench coat in young fashion on the third floor. I also couldn’t resist picking up a pair of slim-fitting trousers made of pleather, the plastic form of leather that had looked so good on Chika. I paid with my own credit card for the pants, figuring they weren’t a work expense that Michael would want to cover—although the raincoat, umbrella, and shoes might pass muster, so I put them on the card he’d issued me to use for the hotel and incidentals.

  As cool as I felt leaving the Ginza, I realized when I arrived at Kitsune that I had gotten the fashion code wrong.

  “Rain shoes—in Roppongi Hills!” Norie muttered in my ear as we’d embraced.

  “But Obasan, it is raining.” I broke the embrace, sat down quickly, and picked up a menu, so as not to attract any further inspection.

  “Yes, but…” Her voice faltered. “Those are more for…the suburbs or country. Gardening and so on.”

  “You can’t mean to say you think that I should have worn my Bally pumps today?” I glanced at her low-heeled leather pumps, which appeared strangely dry. “How did you get here, in a plastic bubble or something?”

  “I came by train, of course. I wore different shoes until I arrived at Shibuya Station, where I changed them. I placed my wet walking shoes are in a plastic bag, which is in the coat check area, where you may leave your coat and umbrella.” She sighed and picked up her menu. “This typhoon is going to be a terrible one. It’s a good thing we’re meeting today, because the trains might stop tomorrow.”

  “Typhoon?” I’d been so caught up in worries about the auction that I hadn’t turned on the television in my hotel room, or taken the time to read a newspaper.