Chapter 6
"But really, I think there ought to be a book, of the laws and customs a-la-mode, presented to all young people, upon their first introduction into public company."
- Frances Burney, Evelina (1778)
Janine
＊ ＊ ＊
A QUICK flicker of thought ran through my mind lately. While I was watering the front yard garden with a sprinkling water hose, I remembered Jackson. Until it piled up to more thoughts it stumbled to roll dominoes in my head.
If Jackson likes pure and innocent girls, then wait—
How many years passed when he said that?
I worked my index up to count until I realized it's been six years now.
Six years?! And I haven't seen him yet?
I yelped that day that I turned off the water hose and ended up scurrying to look for my laptop, searching his LinkedIn account.
I messaged him with this note:
“Hey, Jackson. It's me, Janine. Do you remember that classmate who you always talk about films with? Yeah, that's me. How are you?”
I almost typed the words: do you still prefer pure and innocent girls?
But then I'm 28 years old. No longer a girl but someone who keeps acting like one.
What if Jackson's preferences changed? What if instead of liking pure and innocent girls, it evolved to him wanting experienced and seasoned women?
Then I'm stuck.
So, one among of the many rare occasions, I crashed inside Masato's office. Moving my head around as if to peek through his boring, grinding hustle. My eyes ran through the library he installed, starting from the lowest ceiling down to the floor of his wide bookshelves filled with hardback books as if they’re all dictionaries.
Ever the busybody that he is, he only passed me a momentary notice, slightly raising his eyebrows before his attention returned to his personal computer again.
“Ne, Masato,” came my insolent disturbance. I play pretend to grab a book and started flipping its pages. It's some non-fiction about a business theory written by a Harvard Business professor. I didn't understand anything, so I kept turning the book’s leaves.
“You're 28 years old. Which would you prefer, a girl with no experience or a woman who has one?” I asked one time when he was free from his business trips and he’s around in his study room working that weekend.
He wore his glasses on, looking like those sci-fi glass-wearing guys in movies. Masato stopped for a moment to look up before continuing. “Nande?”
“You see… I’ve been a fan of Western movies. You know, I've been waiting for my true love's kiss, just like those in Western romcom happy endings.” I let out a sigh of longing and looked beyond the horizon—or the windows watching the yard. I turned back and looked at him once more. “Demo, six years have passed since then and my prince charming still hasn't messaged.”
“Dārē? Your university crush who chose that dress for you once?”
“Ee—you remembered?” My face beamed, snapping this book at hand to a close. I nodded. “Sou. The reason for my holiday in South Africa. Why won't you allow me?”
He continued typing. “You might escape the contract.”
Now, I'm offended. “Like I couldn't keep my end of the bargain? I just want to visit him.”
“There's a violent protest there at the moment.”
“Wakatta. Before that even happened?” I retorted.
“You need to attend to a lot of social events.”
Bummed, I pouted. “I wonder what he prefers now. I wish I could call him.”
“Pure and innocent type for the fantasy. Once he has you, it will transform into some kinky bedroom games,” Masato kept talking while he rummages the stack of papers beside him until he focuses back to read them in silence.
I gasped and held my chest. “How do you know?”
He paused, then sucked his breath. “I'm a red-blooded man with healthy needs. It takes one to know one.”
I gasped again. “Usoo! My Jackson is innocent!” I protested.
“Oh, so he has a name.” Masato looked up with that single eyebrow lift. “Who's he?”
“My first love too,” I proclaimed.
“Hmm… sou desu ka?”
“Hai. He's nice, attentive and very fun to be around. He's a big fluffy ball I want to squish.”
“He's fat?”
“He's wholesome, damn it!”
Masato chuckled. “Sou da na.”
But early into the night after that talk, I kept pacing around the first floor’s corridor in front of our rooms. Thinking the most pressing thoughts:
At 28, would Jackson still prefer an innocent and pure girl who doesn't know what a kiss is like?
Or would Jackson already be in the range of the seasoned women who knows about, as Masato said, healthy needs?
Almost eating my thumb’s nail, I ended up knocking on his door. The door creaked and someone in a breathable shirt showed up. “Doushita?”
“Does a man at 28 too prefers someone experienced in kissing or the innocent one?”
Masato furrowed his eyebrows. “You're still preoccupied with that? What's bugging you further?”
I whined and stomped my feet before I grabbed his shirt to shake him. “What if I become an old hag? What if I’m a leftover?”
“Ha?” Masato drew out in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Would Jackson really have preferred someone who does bedroom games as you call it. What's that?” I shook his shirt. “Will I become an old hag in his eyes who doesn't know what she's doing?”
“Janine, you're confusing.” Masato removed the clutch of my hands from his shirt. “Don't make this all about him. Think about what you would have needed first.”
“What's a bedroom game? Would it be like a janken-pon?”
Masato snorted.
E—
Mean!
“Don't make fun of me!” I pushed back. “I need to be a good player if he comes back.”
“It's not a competition.”
“Do bedroom games include a kiss too?”
“Do you want to find out?”
“But what if Jackson prefers the pure and innocent?”
“Then, you should get out of my room. I still have work tomorrow.”
I grumbled. “Fine. I want to find out what's a kiss. Does it include a bedroom game?”
Masato's face wrinkled. “It's related. If you wish to proceed. Nande? Your first time?”
I hate to admit it but it's true. So I nodded. “A regular used to touch me inappropriately and I never bothered. But I don't sleep with my clients.” Mā, that's awkward. “Demo—I know some, I've watched AV too. It's just boring sometimes, since the AV actress has to squeak: ‘Yamete kudasai!’ many times like she's involved in a crime scene it's terrifying.”
Masato tried his best not to snort this time. But the lift of the corners in his lips didn't escape my notice. I furrowed my eyebrows and glared at him. How dare he make fun of me.
“Soka,” he only blurted. He placed one arm on top of the door’s side before observing me further in amusement as if I'm a joke. “Janine, look. That is not even the question,” he continued as he sighed. “I'm asking if this will be your first time.”
I raised my head with a scrunched face. With a disgruntled look, I nodded.
“Ikou,” he gestured.
Okay. But what's that about? Oh—it could be lessons. Oh…
Hihi. Ikou!
I entered and saw how monotonous of a room interior this place is, which by the way, is either in navy blue or powdered gray, accented by a metallic silver. Talk about boring. Unlike my own room, which is a neon pink accented by a lime green. How about that, Masato. “Your room is depressing as hell.”
“E? Does it intimidate you? We can take it to the hall or in the living room,” he said instead, stopping at the foot of his gray bedroom beckoning his hand to me.
“Whatever.” I reached the ottoman placed on the foot of that bed when I stood in front of him, then I sat and waited.
Masato followed suit. He crouched to meet me on a eye-level with his face drawing closer to mine than usual. He has a round brown eyes. His face will pass enough to stare at a long time.
“Ja, it's my first lesson, sou desu ka?” I sighed. When my eyes tend to focus on him, I squinted. “Are those black lines under your eyes? You look like a panda,” I remarked. Man, that's what you get for overtime. An overkill.
“Will this be comfortable enough for you?” He whispered instead as he drew closer.
“Sugoi. You don't have a bad breath,” I replied.
Masato lowered his head before drawing back to chuckle endlessly again. He breathed sharp and pursed his lips when he looked up with bright eyes.
E—
“Don't make fun of me!” I said again and about to slap him but he caught my hand.
“Janine, listen, listen,” he murmured. “You have to be comfortable. But please, try to make it romantic. Let's remove any physiological talks, ne?”
“How? Your breath don't really smell.”
He broke out a smile before schooling it back to be serious. He cleared his throat. “First, you must be comfortable. Are you comfortable?”
I nodded. “Your ottoman chair is soft enough.”
He stretched out an idiotic grin this time. “Will you agree that I would kiss you?” He continued. “Will you consent?”
“Ha?”
Masato sighed and stood up. He braced his hips, walking straight to the side of his bed and sat down. “Don't stay there for too long. You'll cramp my legs by now. Kocchi koi.”
I turned sharp. “What did you say just now?” was my protest.
“Janine, sit beside me, this will take a really long time to learn. Mou…” He tapped the mattress.
Fine!
I stood up to sit across him. He then instructed me to be on Indian sit as we face each other.
“First, you have to feel first,” he said, drawing himself closer. “And you should be comfortable. Hold both of my hands.”
He stretched both of his palms open. When I placed my hands there, Masato's hands were a bit bony but soft (obviously, someone who didn't get his hands roughened by manual labor).
“But before everything,” he continued. “It must be your decision. You should be fully aware what you're getting into. Will you agree that I would kiss you? Only a kiss?”
“Hai, hai,” I carried on.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
When I did, there came a rustle and a warm temperature near my cheeks. Then a soft dab landed on my lips.
“There,” he said.
“That's it?” I remarked when I opened my eyes with a blank face. “Ma, I guess I'm good to go. I'm now a seasoned player.”
“No, you're not.” Masato shook his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief
“Ha?! You're not telling me anything! What the hell?!”
He leaned away, chuckling, as he raised both his hands in surrender. “If you want to know more, there are different types, actually. It varies by intensity.”
My lips rounded an “oh” sound. “Tell me more.”
“Kore.” He beckoned that I come closer. “This is a nibble, are you ready?” But when he's about to close the distance, he backed away. “Are you sure? Are you comfortable?”
“At any moment, I want to hit your head now,” I threatened, gazing down when he tipped my chin.
He snickered before grinning. He drew closer. He pressed his lips for about twice until he clamped them to my lower lip and pull it softly. When he withdrew and removed his hold to my chin, I drew out my “oh” sound.
“Can I practice it to you?” I asked, curious.
“So you know it by now? You are quite a fast learner, aren't you.”
l launched to my seat where I ended up smashing our lips.
Masato groaned, immediately massaging his nose. “Ittai.” He backed away, wincing for a moment. “Janine, don't be that aggressive. Take it slow, will you?”
I made another attempt. This time, slower. Masato's lips are thin. Let me see if I know how he did it.
“Should I do this?” I tilt my head.
“Sou. Just in case you'll bump my nose again.”
I gave him my sharpest look. But I tried anyway. I managed to press my lips for one, then two and three. Hmm… quite soft.
Hurray! I'm now experienced.
“I did it!” I cheered, extending my arms out to tap Masato's chest. “I'm so good.”
“For starters, very true. Kawaii, so to say.”
My mood dampened at that. I looked at him fully, annoyed. Not again. “There's more?”
He tilts his head, giving out that cheeky smile. “Oh, you still want to know more?”
Now, I'm annoyed. “Tell me everything! Kuso, Masato. You're not helping. Mendokusai!”
MASATO inhaled and straightened to his seat. He then proceeded to move on the headboard to lean. “The last one really takes time. It's slow and moderately intense.”
Ha…?
“How?” I asked
“It's called make-out.” He tapped beside him to which I followed. He then stretched his arms wide and asked me to nuzzle around him. When I did, I ended up like a rock.
“You're stiff. I told you, it takes comfort,” he remarked. “Maybe we should do this some other time.”
I mean my head is placed around his chest, it's a hard plane. If it were a pillow, I'd relax, duh. Have some common sense, Masato.
“How the hell you expect me to relax when you're hard as a damn rock?”
“Oh?” He looked down, amused. “How would you relax then?”
“I don't know,” I said, curling stiff near him.
He sighed and moved. “Wait let me stretch for a moment. Try wrapping your arm around my waist. If you can't bear it, let's do this some other time.”
He moved his arm to have it place under my head while I tried to wrap my arms around him. “I smell no odor from your armpit,” I mumbled when his arm crowded my face.
“I'm flattered, Janine. Didn't I say no phsyiological talks for a while?”
“But it's true,” I insist.
“Are you comfortable? Are you relaxed? No, obviously, you're not. You've grown stiff.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “So I'm not yet an expert?”
“Maybe in time.” He tipped his head in acquiescence. “You want to get used to it? We can cuddle for a few minutes if you want?”
“I thought it's a kiss,” I whined.
“It's part of that,” he replied. “This kiss really takes time with a relaxed approach. A lot of body contact. Now, I remember… didn't you use to lecture me about body contact?”
“What about it?” Now, I'm sulking. I'm getting zero lessons because I've grown stiff. That means I'm not a seasoned player.
“Don't make a big deal out of trivial body contact. What I suggest you should do is for you to feel everything…”
“Wakaranai,” I started to complain. Eventually, I'm making sobs, lightly punching Masato for not understanding any of this.
I want to be an expert!
“There, now.” He moved and brushed my hair. “You'll get there eventually. Kore. I'll lend you a hug,” he said, stretching more of his arm.
I crawled upwards and nuzzled his neck. “Even this neck doesn't smell.”
Masato's chuckle vibrated on his chest.
He kept brushing my head for a good minute until what I've become aware of is his chest flushed against mine, breathing slowly. My head nuzzled between the curve of his neck and stared blankly while his chest heaved.
I wrenched myself away from him, and with a scrunched face, I’m back facing him. “What type of activity is this? This doesn't look like JAV.”
Masato’s face brightened. He's really making fun of me! Ira ira!
“Nande?” I whined. “Masato…” and whined further. “Do I look like a joke to you? What are you smiling about?! Baka!” Then I threw out a tantrum. “I'm not squeaking like a JAV actress. Nande?”
I feel like crying. Why can't I be an expert at this? But Masato—
Ha?!
Why is he laughing!
“Yamete!” I want to slap him.
“Ii ya. Chotto.” He raised both his hands in surrender. “This is not JAV, you see. There's no camera and scenario.”
“So I'm not an expert?” I pointed out.
He shook his head. “This is not a JAV practice. Mattaku… I didn't know your lack of exposure is on that level. Didn't you have any boyfriends way back in university?”
My face fell flat. “Didn't you hire me to be your girlfriend?”
He rolled his eyes and tilt his head in concession. “After that.”
It is me who shook her head this time. “Of course not. I pledged myself to Jackson. And to Jackson alone,” I declared with pride.
He made a sound before he adjusted to his seat. Once he settled, he stretched both his hands. “Let's get back to start.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, my hand reaching to cover his hold. “Ne, when will your business trip be this time?”
“Next month,” he blurted.
My mind sparked an idea. “You know what should I call this activity?”
“Nani?”
“I know what you did last summer.” I smirked with a knowing look.
Masato, meanwhile, only curved one corner of his mouth, unimpressed, before he tilts his head in acknowledgment. “It suits well enough, however unoriginal.”
“So if you're away again that I'll never see you half a year while I do an all-around job appearing to every social calendar with your name posted on it, maybe you do the justice to give me the full lesson that I deserve.”
Masato lifted one eyebrow with a smug face. “Entitled, are we?”
“I only have one month,” came my persistence. “How do you expect me to be nice? What if I suddenly need it?”
It's his brows this time that knitted in confusion. “Ha? Where?”
“Jackson!” My eyes rounded. “What if he showed up after I sent him a message?”
“Ah. Do you think a man in South Africa would suddenly book a flight just so he can meet you here in Nihon?”
“Why not?”
“He didn't he even showed up for how long, you say? Six years? And you expect him now?”
“Why not? Every Sunday church told me to be always ready when the second coming of the Lord has come.”
Masato bursted a laughter. “Is Jackson a Lord’s coming now?”
“Tch.” I shrugged. “It's called devotion, you pagan.”
He continued laughing. “Then let us be ready, just in case. Let's start with what we did earlier. Let's call it as make-out. Ima.”
So I fixed myself when he drew himself closer. When he cupped both my cheeks, we kept repeating that quick peck and nibble. I've gotten used to Masato's pressing lips. Wakatta, I guess that will do.
“You've relaxed, Janine,” he murmured soon after.
“E?” My eyes opened from the sound of this. “Yoshi! Let's do this!”
But Masato only hummed before he moved his posture and settled himself against the headboard. “That's it for now. I'd prefer it if you're comfortable. But that happens over time. Come back later when you feel like it and we'll see.”
Ha?
I was later kicked out of his room. Late into the night my mouth hang open as I stared in front his door, dumbstruck that I am.
That was it? What the hell?! Damn it! I need lessons!
So every night I knock on his door and every night I do practice. First a peck. Sou, that's a peck. Then… nibble. I've done that. Check. And then… a long stay beside his odorless armpit. Until we proceed to what he called as “make-out.”
Screw him if he's tired. Screw authoritarianism! I'm getting those lessons. I fight for a cause. For Jackson!
But because Masato gets tired if not drunk, staying beside his armpit eventually turns to him wrapping me around until he sleeps like a log. According to him, this is a cuddle. Yet I'm given nothing except the same repetitive routine. You know, peck, nibble and lay beside an odorless armpit.
So I asked him one time, “Am I now a seasoned player for bedroom games?”
“Ii ya,” he clipped in response. “Far from it.”
“Aa mou,” I began to whine beside his odorless armpit. “Why does this take so long?”
He cast a downward look at me with his tired eyes. “Because you should get used to it first. You're stiff like a wood the last time I checked, but you're doing better these days.”
“Ooh.” My ears perked at that. Rising up and pressing myself on his side to reach so close to his profile I can hear his breathing. “Since when?”
“By and by.”
Ha? Did you hear what cryptic shit he's talking about again?
“Then how and when can I become a seasoned player? Where are my lessons? Masato!” I grabbed his shirt and shook him. “I need to be seasoned too!” I demanded.
Masato groaned when he distanced himself away. “Chotto. No need for a loud volume. You're inches away from me.” And he adjusted himself.
Hmm… What now? I’m about to throw a tantrum again when he planted one hand on the mattress and leaned further.
“Do you want another lesson?”
“Obviously. Why do you think I've been staying in this boring and depressing room for a long time? I have a big silk pillow in my room rather than your hard body.”
He gave a low chuckle. “I see that you're complaining.”
“Nani kore?” I grumbled. “Nani? Masato…” I'm about to sulk when he beckoned his hand.
“Kocchi ni kite,” he said.
He straightened back against the headboard and I did what has been our routine. First, I hold his hand. Second, he will draw himself closer, cup my both my cheeks and make-out. Third, I will cuddle next to him. Then, I…
What's next?
Kuso…
Masato!
He moved his head to look at me with a faint smile before speaking. “This is the combination of everything. You can participate if you want, but for now, you'll learn, wakatta?”
I nodded.
He tipped my chin. “Part your lips lightly,” he whispered. I did. “Are you ready?”
I nodded again.
“Close your eyes. Breathe and relax,” he said, drawing himself closer. I can feel his odorless breath. “Janine, take a breath through your nose.”
Okay. New lessons unlocked. Iku ze.
When he pressed his lips this time, it closed that parted gap. The tip of his tongue ran over the inside of my lower lip and my eyes widened. Something spread all over my skin. Masato withdrew and pressed many kisses before doing what he called a nibble.
With rounded eyes, I looked at him. “What's that? There's a tongue now?”
He nodded. “Sou.”
“Ne,” I huffed, reaching closer. “I think I like that one. Do it again.”
“E…you’re advancing quick. Ma, close your eyes and part your lips lightly. Again, breathe through your nose.”
When he drew himself closer again that I felt his lips covered to mine, Masato ran the tip of his tongue that made my skin tickle. He pressed more before giving a light suction then he withdrew. “How's that? Is it good?”
I nodded when I opened my eyes. “Am I now an expert?”
“Ii ya,” he clipped. “But you're getting by. This one has a lot of tongue involvement. Close your eyes, part your lips slightly, feel the movement and follow the rhythm if you can. This is probably your last lesson.”
“Okay.” I nodded and did what he was told. Masato did what he did last time, and then his tongue moved. The tip of it touched mine that it tickles. I made an unexpected yelp. He backed out, chuckling. “It's good? Or not?”
“Do it again!” And I rose up to greet his lips.
But Masato caught both my shoulders and told me to take it easy. “Do as I instructed. Close your eyes, part your lips and move according to my pace.”
I did, and when he drew himself closer for that type of kiss, my tongue met the tip of his tongue. His hand moved to cup my nape. Sure enough, when I finally registered the feel of his movement, he pressed deeper. Masato's tongue intertwined with mine that I gasp. I breathed through my nose as instructed but I kept gulping. I tasted his dinner a while ago. A pizza mixed with a beef ramen and a Suntory beer.
He must have been outside.
My attention focused on my breathing but all I could smell was his office. My awareness turned heady. Yet, his tongue grazed my upper palate, making my neck shudder when this feeling floods all over my body. The tickles spread throughout and I don't know what to do. Before I became aware of it, one hand settled a hold on my waist. He lets go, he withdraws the deep kiss until his lips grew light against my lips. He pressed a few more pecks, then clamped his lips to nibble my lower lip. He then returned to softly cover his lips with mine, running the tip of his tongue one last time.
He finished afterwards, looking at me when I watched him in daze.
“That's it,” he said, my head pressed on his arm while my own arms felt detached when it grew limp around his waist. “You're speechless.”
It took about more than half an hour when I got out of his room. I've been floating in motion after that. It was only a few days later before things started to sink in that I fully understood what just happened.
Oh…
So, that's an intense kiss.
I have to master this… It tasted good. Kimochi? Sukoshi. And I have to be good at this, I can't wait when Jackson feels what I just did. Hihi. Hai. Hai!
So I pestered Masato about it over time.
“Masato, let's do it again!” I said a week later when he got back from work.
He's on overtime when he arrived around 3 am.
“I'm tired. My control could get loose and I might do more than that.”
“There's more?” I prodded further.
Masato didn't speak and ended up going straight to his room.
Bummed, I pouted, standing as if I was abandoned.
“Masato, how about now?”
“Tired.”
Now, he's getting on my nerves. I'm thinking if I should put up a complaint. Maybe a placard that says, “don't offer lessons you can't teach.”
That's why when opportunity came, I'm about to put this complaint to a hearing when I saw him around the kitchen drinking something.
“How could you not give me the full disclosure of those bedroom games, Masato? Unfair!”
There, I said it.
Masato chuckled when he drank. “Sou desu ka?”
Oh, he seems to be in a cheerful mood at this time of the hour. He beckoned his hand that I should come closer, and when I stood in front of him, he tipped my chin. His eyes are glassy. This man is dead-ass drunk.
Alright, so now I know the drill.
First, first lay beside his odorless armpit. But since he's standing, the alternative is to press myself against him. Second, wrap my hands around his waist and third, give a peck.
See? I'm an expert.
And we did it again. Hurray! A peck, a nibble and then the one with tongue. This took longer than expected, I had to breathe through my nose when I felt like drowning from Masato's flavor of alcohol.
He soon parted that kiss with a sound but he remained tipping my chin as I looked above.
“There's actually a bonus lesson for you. It will be beyond your lips.”
Oh…
“What's that?” I asked.
“Like this,” he said, giving a peck on my left cheek. “But I'd go all over your neck. Would you like that?”
“As long as it's a lesson. Ike.”
“Heh.” He huffed before proceeding to give a peck on my right cheek. “I'm going down to your neck. Is it okay with you?”
“I wonder what it feels like?” I pondered. “Whatever. Dōzō,” I said anyway.
When Masato's head lowered, a fluttering touch landed on my neck. It tickled. I ended up chuckling. “It tickles,” I told him.
“Is it uncomfortable?”
I shook my head, but when he shifted from peck to nibble, it really tickled. So I chuckled again. “Ne, it tickles.”
“Is it bad? Tell me to stop if it's uncomfortable.”
“Hai,” I chorused in jest, with my neck stretched for his nibbles. I kept chuckling until I giggled from the ticklish feeling.
But something else happened. Just when I thought it's finished, he tilted my head so that my neck extends when he covered his lips there. From raining little pecks, I get some firm nibbles. Until his tongue spread open sometime, brushing a hot sweep all over my shoulder. Along with the soft nibbles that he already gave. This new lesson goes all the way down to the curve of my neck.
And just when I thought I didn't know what to do before, I was stunned. My own brain short-circuited to nothing when he made a last kiss by a light suction down my shoulders.
“Happy?” He chuckled.
Of course not. But at that time, I didn't know what to say. I stared with my eyes round before he let go of my arm and took a last gulp of what he was drinking, which I later realized was a chilled water.
He soon climbed upstairs and creaked his room open until it clicked close. While I was standing there with my static brain, a bright idea sparked in me.
Masato is in a good mood when he's drunk.
Next time, I should get him drunk.
That's so good! Let's make him drunk and he'll do it again!
The succeeding days made me needy and petty. I pestered this jerk for being too frugal with his lessons, and he doesn't arrive every evening. Business travels made him go away in weeks. Or months.
Kuso…
So my plan turned to doing the routine, and then I should encourage him to go heavy drinking in the kitchen. Then I get to practice the bonus lesson. Operation: seasoned player.
But then he introduced me to another lesson after another lesson where my determination to learn them grew stronger. I didn't make him drunk this time, I just annoy him every time the opportunity calls. When he finally gave in, he didn't hold back. Sure enough, my determination ended up in him going down to everything in between. I have to watch him go down, actually.
Days turned to weeks and it passed by in time, the inevitable happened.
I woke up and it's the weekend. After realizing that I've been naked inside this room with its boring interior, I cried.
“Masato, you jerk,” I whined. “You seduced me! I'm no longer pure! Uwaa~ Bring back my virginity.” And I sobbed, punching him again in the chest.
“Didn't you say you wanted more?” He grumbled, rolling to his sides before he caught my fist. “I told you: I'm tired. Of course, I also wanted my rest. I kept asking for your permission and you’ve been enthusiastic all throughout. Ne, you like it? Omedeto, you're now experienced.”
“So I'm no longer innocent?” I croaked, realizing what I've traded away.
“Sou. You're now a woman who has her own healthy needs.”
And I cried and rolled. Jackson~
What have I done?
My face formed in doubt as I pressed my upper body on top of him. He only grunted. “I'm no longer pure?” I asked again.
In his raspy voice, he mumbled, “it depends on where you place that value. Between what happened or something you always have, regardless.”
“So I'm not pure?” I asked again. “Will Jackson want me still?”
“Did you like it?” He asked instead.
“I'm no longer pure,” I cried, not having a choice but to land my poor head on his bare chest.
What this seducer did instead while I was crying is to stroke my hair in leisure. “Daijoubu. It's all good,” he murmured. “If it's not terrible for you, then, all's well that ends well.”
“Masato, mendokusai. What's with you and your cryptic mutters? It doesn't make sense.”
“Daijoubu,” he only repeated while stroking my head.
I'm making a dramatic sob when I realized what I've traded. I've lost my purity now. No...
One side of my cheek lay on his chest, heaving alongside the rising and falling of his chest. My mind ran fast and blank as I felt this new dimension. A warm human pillow, but it's not soft. Now it has hands that run through my hair.
I looked up to Masato's chin, and he seemed to be unbothered. Because he's mindlessly messing around my hair while he stares at the ceiling. Screw him. He's a certified seducer, there should be special bars meant for this type of criminal.
The wind cruised outside the window. Its interval rustle kept knocking the curtains by its sweeping blow. The sun refused to shine this weekend. It only gave a lot of silver lining through the cloudy skies. The serenade of this passing wind is what keeps the ambience of my train of thoughts.
Going back to prosecuting Masato for no longer making me pure, I have to also consider that I goad him for it. He helped me to be a seasoned player now though. Mattaku. This is all new. I'm not used to this.
But… but… and but…
Chotto.
I'm now seasoned and experienced.
That stopped me from my sorrow.
Oh, yeah. Seasoned.
I've acquired the skills I've been working on with my determination. I knew it. Janine, omedeto!
So I rose and looked at Masato. “Let's do it again!”
He laughed and he stretched up, opening his arms wide open. “Dozo.”
Let's just say things progressed and then I advanced. New lessons kept coming that I know the word such as “kinky” now when I finally reached my level of expertise. After waking up late one time and Masato's off to his typical workaholic routine, a thought came into my mind.
Whose doing the household work? I mean, I do mine in my room. But it's the two of us here. And everytime I'm off to do my job, I usually get back home late and everything is as if it's good as new.
Until I saw the answer of it all.
There was an obaa-chan who actually cleans things as they are. She tapped the door open and we almost bumped to each other.
“Dochira-sama desu ka?” She asked.
I made an awkward smile. “Employee.”
“Ah,” her tongue clicked. “You're checking up this house’s maintenance?”
Maa ne, come to think of it… I've been lounging the pool for two weeks. So maybe I'm a house supervisor too.
Damn that jerk for not clarifying my job description.
That's why my own answer is a nod. She walked in.
“You should supervise me just in case some rumor goes around that I stole a Ming vase around here,” obaa-chan said.
“There's a Ming vase?” I repeated, piqued. I could sell that to an antique owner. Omoshiroi~
“Not that I know of,” obaa-chan continued, she began to check the living area down to the dining area. “My employer told me a couple lives here. Demo, it looks like two housemates who are too lazy to clean their own house.”
Hihi. Gomen. Once, ātē Mina said I'm a messy person. But I cleaned my own room!
“Asoko.” She pointed to my room. “That's the wife’s room. Prohibited. Who knows if it's filled with mess.”
Chigau!
“Demo…” she sighed once she climbed the stairs to our bedroom floor. “The master's room is open. Filled with mess only a master can understand. How does he fool around with his wife?”
And with that, my throat locked, with my face heating up to an intense embarrassment. I rubbed my face.
“I'll i-inform the ma-master of this house next time,” I stammered.
Just when obaa-chan opened the door, she saw the evidence. “Ah… mattaku. Young active couple. You'll never understand this generation.”
I was behind her covering my face. Ano… obaa-chan, those were lessons and practice.
You know… I have to learn expertise.
“What on earth is a leather strap doing in here?” she followed.
My throat went so dry that I had to massage it. I stretched my head a bit before cooling my face, covering it with a hand. “They were playing janken-pon.”
She then picked up a whip and snapped a sound out of it, which I can't help but to look away from. “I sure do hope they fool around and try to make the birth rate stable. Demo, that's not the case. Foolish generation,” came her sharp exhale.
I nodded. Wakatta. Obaa-chan… wakatta desu yo.
That's the story of the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to that house so far. It was a quick clean-up. I was at the kitchen most of the time drinking my embarrassment away with cool water.
＊ ＊ ＊
I USUALLY ask Mori-san for any of my daily activities. He's my walking to-do list and my reminder. Of course, it's a joke. I can have that on my phone or laptop, obviously. But some jobs are deemed “classified” that an in-person discussion is always the preferred method because it's “confidential.”
Didn't I tell you how shady Masato is? Sou, that type of shady.
If my job weren’t so specialized, I would've imagined myself working from home. I get to lounge near the pool 24/7.
Ha~
Paradise.
While walking to Mori-san’s office or Masato's office, whoever is around—but it's rarely Masato because there's a high chance he will kick me out if I start complaining during his busy days, it's probably Mori-san whom I'll see today—someone on the elevator appeared and when she saw me, she gasped and then greeted.
“Oku-sama.” She bowed. “Thank goodnees I found you sooner than expected. Mori-san sent me an order soliciting your good assistance and opinion.”
Did Mori-san spread my ID card? Why's everybody in this place kept using the same ID card as Mori-san?
Oh no…
Don't they dare tell me they changed “Sakurai-san” which has been my older ID card?
Masato…
You shady jerk.
I made a sound. “Whatever happened?”
The female employee moved sideways first and stretched her arm to redirect me. “We cannot decide the interior design prepared to us by the two differing styles each in Osaka and Kyoto.”
“And then…?” I prodded, trying to grasp something foreign as that.
“One suite is currently in renovation because our guest said he preferred something ‘le Oriental.’ But our Bucho claimed those designs are too unique for a Japanese taste, it might not translate to a foreign diplomat.” She kept rushing towards the hallway. “Oku-sama, you're too obliging. Demo, may you please attend us? We don't have much time.”
“Why not put the design on the most Japanese of them all? Surely, the guest would be happy about that.” came my not-so-helpful suggestion.
The female employee bowed by anxious movement. “Bucho said it does not bear any familiarity that are known internationally…” she faltered.
Ha?
What on earth do I know about that?
When she reached the suite, I saw a vacated room full of construction workers. They are either replacing the tiles or smashing the walls. The sharp shrill of the drilling machine enveloped the rush of this room. Two workers came to carry a large ceramic tub.
“It's supposed to be a jacuzzi. Watch out. Don't scratch this,” one of them grunted as they move the six-tatami-mat-sized tub.
“Ohayō gozaimasu, oku-sama.” one of the employee said until the rest chorused the same phrase.
Now, what the heck? Mori-san, why did you change my ID card?!
I was left dumbfounded, because I have no idea about the roles I'll do with my job description this time. I think I should file a complaint in HR.
This is not what I signed up for!
“Oku-sama, please follow me,” the female employee said, stretching her arm once again while restless to bow and to be quick on her feet.
I did follow suit, and I found out two big photo albums on the table. The first one is an art-deco Osakan while the other one is the minimalist Kyotoite.
“What does the guest say when they said ‘le Oriental'? It could be anything,” I pondered aloud.
“That, I don't know, oku-sama,” the female employee answered, standing beside me.
“Bucho said the Osaka design is too modern and flashy. The other design is the opposite. It's too minimal; it looks too naked or bare, as he said.”
“Who's the guest?”
“An ambassador in the Gulf Peninsula.”
“Iran?” my quizzical voice remarked.
She made an anxious chuckle, smiling uncomfortably. “Doha, oku-sama.”
“Qatar? What for? World Peace? That sounds like a problem Sacho-san would love to solve.”
The female employee only gave a polite smile before bowing.
Do you now see the burden of not having a clear job description? Do you understand my complaints better now? Kore. I don't know what the hell is this task for!
“When will the guest arrive?” I asked again.
The female employee diverted her gaze, looking over her shoulder briefly before she returned her attention and spoke in a measured voice. “His official stay will be two weeks from now, oku-sama. Currently, his delegates have arrived earlier to familiarize themselves.”
“Will he be a Qatari prince?”
She nodded.
My forehead scrunched. Just what job I'm getting paid for? I'm the all-around employee here.
The last time I checked, I'm a house supervisor for the cleaning staff like obaa-chan. Then before that, I'm a corporate wife attendee to a charity event where I exercised my agility to be insufferable next to those two pretty little devils, Takanashi-san and Hanazawa-san. Another one is to study etiquette classes because I have no given training myself!
Kuso…
“Grab these two portfolios and come with me. Please invite one of his delegates, I'll ask them,” was my rapid fire instructions soon after. My temper is not quite pleased from my running thoughts.
The female employee nodded when she proceeded to use her earplug device to connect with another employee. She began carrying those portfolios afterwards.
While we are both waiting here at the restaurant, one brown-skin looking guy in a suit walked by.
“Mrs. Sakurai?” Someone said in English.
I turned around and beamed.
“Welcome to Sakurai Hotels, sir,” I replied, bringing out whatever English I have in my life. I stood up to shake hands. “I hope you're enjoying your stay.”
“Very well, thank you.” The man nodded while returning my handshake. “By the way, are you Filipino?”
I nodded, a bit too surprised.
He relaxed. “Just as I thought. I presumed it might be because of your accent.”
“Oh,” came to my surprise. “Well, I do hope you won’t find it an inconvenience as such.”
“Oh, no, no.” He waved a hand. “The prince has sent me as his Far East Asian supervisor, more or less. I worked for the Embassy. This is what I rarely do. But it's nice to see a fellow countrymen around.”
I smiled before looking at my companion who currently holds the two photo albums. I returned my focus back to the delegate and redirected him to sit. “I'm glad, sir. It's actually our pleasure that the Prince chose this hotel.”
“You work here?”
I nodded. “A supervision likewise. Please have a seat.”
I turned to the female employee and looked quickly. She took the cue when a server with a towel in his arm is followed by a food cart filled with bottle champagne
This flagship restaurant is currently teeming with occasional waves of buzzing murmurs. The clinking plates served as its accompaniment. Some voices hover throughout speaking in Japanese, others in English and few are foreign languages.
The delegate sat down to which I followed, he wandered his gaze around, probably observing the surroundings when he returned his attention back to me and gave a quick smile. I nodded my acknowledgement in return and turned to the female employee who chose to stand still, holding the photo albums. Right now, she's my current aide for this operation inside this slowly seeping backdrop.
We were seated across the glass panel window, overlooking the few high-rise towers ahead and a garden park filled with trees, their leaves puff like verdant cotton balls stretching all over the extended rectangular gardenscape, seeing it above here. The garden park also has a pond that looks like a dot from here, with few people walking around. A blast of the cool air-conditioner sent a chill all over my gooseflesh distracting me from the view. I looked at the delegate and brought out a try-hard moe face. “How’s Japan so far, sir?” I carried on.
The delegate looked over after the server poured the wine and left. While drinking, with the drinking glass on his mouth, he made a sound of agreement. He puts his glass down. “Oh, very well,” he replied. “I actually have to accompany His Royal Highness to the Universal Studios. It's funny that our first stop is there. But it's unforgettable, because that's my first impression before we got to tour in the more specific cultural tourist spots like an onsen.”
Bingo. There's the hook.
I made a gentle and approving laugh before stretching out a smile. “Oh, the prince is adventurous?”
The delegate waved a hand again. “No, not to that degree.” He leaned closer that I followed suit, leaning closer too to hear it. “He just wants to play like a tourist,” he whispered.
I threw my head back and giggled. “Truly, sir. That's interesting because his suite has been designed by someone from Osaka.”
That piqued his interest. He moved his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Actually…” I turned around next to the female employee and stretched out my hand to take the Osakan portfolio. “We have a lot of options to make the interior design of the prince’s room. Maybe an onsen-inspired bathroom is much better than a jacuzzi?” I said, pointing out one photo in the album. “How was your experience, sir?”
He chuckled. “Don't ask me. We're made to walk naked.”
I laughed in perfect pitch again. “Well, if the prince wanted to experience an onsen again… Maybe this would be more special with this…” I turned and took the other photo album which the female employee reached out to me.
“Oh. Hmm…” the delegate hummed. “Let me see.”
And so he reached out to examine the two portfolios while I plod on to talk and talk. I laughed, smiled and giggled as if it's another Ito-san but a diplomat. My theatrical charm oozes like a soda fizz. Breezing my way with this whatnot I have to put up with.
The delegate soon found himself replenished when he felt the right timing to bid his leave and go back to their current venue. When I handed the portfolio back to the female employee, I gave her a shrug. “Maa ne… what do you think? Did it help?”
The female looked at me and gave a soft exhale. “Yokatta desu. Arigatou gozaimasu, oku-sama.” Then she gave a saikeirei.
Oh, no, no, no… what's with these people affected by my ID card Mori-san gave me? I'm also doing my job here. Duh.
For the sake of my fellow employee, I returned a bow. “Ma, all's good then? Why not synthesize the strengths of the two? As far as I can see, the prince cannot seem to tell the difference anyway.”
The female employee chuckled. “I will try and suggest it to Bucho, oku-sama.”
My face gave a relaxed eyebrows raise, easing after that information-gathering I did. “I guess that's it. Tell Mori-san if he needs more of me, I'll be around the lobby lounge.”
The female employee bowed again. “Hai, oku-sama.”
I WALKED in my block heels shoes that are partially elevating, but hell if this is comfortable. It isn't. These marble tiles lingered a cool air around my ankles and lower leg. But it's nice to walk around like I'm surfing.
When I found the lounge lobby, I sat to an ivory chesterfield armchair nearby an equally ivory upholstered sofa. One man also began to sit near me, him on that sofa. He is a man of lean build who sits in a decided posture. His back is straight even while his head leans down reading a magazine. It's Harvard Business School periodicals. I almost snorted and caught myself before I could roll my eyes. Come on, even this man in his seventies reads the same thing like that workaholic Masato?
Nai, nai.
My gaze teared itself away from the solitary man to take a fill at the bustling view of the spacious lobby lounge. Where the foot traffic among the concierge, servers and front desk staffs weaved along with the guests. Those guests who have their stacked Louis Vuitton cases being strolled by a concierge. Or a woman in her forties carrying a shitzu in her arms, wearing that annoying Hanazawa-san’s trademark Chanel tweed coat in hot pink.
The lobby is still buzzing with chatters, but this time, the foreign languages are more prominent. Maybe I've heard French because they say, “Oui,” a few more times. Or a Spanish when they say, “¡Hola!” at some point. Or a German when I heard someone say across something like, “Nein.”
“It has a good view from here, don't you think?” The man near me spoke in a distinctly accented English. “To watch them across feels like a flâneur on a morning coffee in Berlin.”
My head whipped at that. “Hmm? Suimasen?”
“Ah,” his mouth draws, with a slight move of his head. “You speak Japanese?” He switched in Japanese.
I nodded slowly, unsure of where this is going. It took me moments to register this man. He's a senior, because I can see a subtle crinkle around his chin. He has a long hair that's currently tied and he's wearing a vest with a well-ironed slacks paired with a polished brown Oxford shoes. He must be a guest.
He continued to look at me with an unusual curiosity. “Have we met before?”
I'm not sure so I shook my head.
He leaned back on the sofa to rest his seat for a bit. “It's fascinating since I saw you talking to a diplomat a while ago. Are you a guest here?”
I shook my head again. “Employee, dochiru-sama.”
“Nakamura desu. You're good to address me with that.”
I nodded. “Sakurai desu. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” I said before bowing.
He, however, has raised his brows slightly. “You're a daughter of the Sakurai?”
“Yome.” My mouth winced at how far my ID card would take me.
His one eyebrow lifted a bit higher before he breathed out and looked straight ahead. “Masaka. Musuko no yome desu ka?”
And the conversation is…
How's that my business?
Nakamura-san must have sensed my wonder. He turned around to me. “I'm friends with the Sakurai founder.” He nods. “Quite my mentor back in my early days.”
Oh…
I nodded. “No wonder you read the same periodical like my husband.”
On paper. Husband on paper.
That took him a minute, his eyes rounding for a quick moment as he chuckled. “Sou desu ka?”
“Hai.” I gave another nod. “He has this big library in his office, inside his own home and I have picked up a popular book written by a Harvard professor.”
His mouth thinned to a smile. “What did you find?”
Me, however, shrugged. “Nothing much. I was busy negotiating with him. Nakamura-san, do you, by chance, happen to be a guest here? Or since you're friends with the founder, you're also a shareholder? I've been wanting to find an investor lately.”
He made a quick eyebrow raise again.
“What business does a Sakurai yome would have now? My wife also build one of her own. And she's planning to pass it down to our daughter.”
“Reminds me of that corporate merger I attended,” I said, planting my head on my palm when my elbow rests on the armchair. My eyes eased to watch the bustling foot traffic throughout. “Masato has this childhood friend who's been engaged when she said her mother's business is a chocolate brand that tastes like menthol.”
Nakamura-san rumbled a crisp laugh. “Hounto ni? But how did you figured that one out?”
I looked at him, unbothered, since the idea of a business got in my head now. “We were introduced when we all attended the same university. I talked to her that time during the merger. She’s very nice to have offered me the chocolate. I was planning to grab a takeaway later that day but I didn't proceed.”
Nakamura-san only chuckled quietly with amusement written all over his face.
“I heard she's married now,” I added.
Nakamura-san made a sound in agreement.
“And that she has a kid,” I continued.
He made a sound again.
Matte. Are they close or something?
The thought of it didn't last long when Mori-san’s silhouette came near us. Once he reached our direction, he immediately gave a saikeirei to Nakamura-san. “Kaicho,” he said.
Oh. He must be that type of investor. VIP.
I straightened myself back.
“Kaicho, they solicit your good audience at the boardroom meeting.”
Nakamura-san nodded. “Sou da. I'll go there. Here's Sakurai-san in case you didn't notice. Sakurai-san.” He turned to me. “This is Mori-san, a nephew of mine, currently training himself as the Sakurai secretary.”
I nodded. “Sou. He's also my secretary. It's the reason why I talked to the diplomat, Nakamura-san. Mori-san usually gives me an odd job like picking up an interior design between Osaka or Kyoto.”
Mori-san stood still and bowed his head slightly. His cheeks blushing.
Ha? What happened? What did I say?
Nakamura-san leaned a bit close. “How's a diplomat involved in this?”
Oh, that…
I shrugged. “I don't know about design, so I threw the decision back to the diplomat. We had a lunch date.”
“Ah,” Nakamura-san draw out this word again. “Soka. Naruhodo.” Then he grinned before chuckling. “Jaa, if you don't mind me, I'll bid my leave here for a meeting.” He stood up and fixed himself.
I gave him a keirei after Mori-san gave another saikeirei. “If you have plans to invest somewhere, would you please consider mine?” I added when he was about to walk.
He paused and turned around. “I'll talk to your husband, Sakurai-san.” Then he's gone.
My face scrunched in skeptical disbelief of what I just heard.
Why the hell it has to go through with Masato first? Nai, nai.
Men.
I made a mental eye-roll.
When I looked at Mori-san whose entire appearance is astounded like a frozen statue, I broke the silence. “I didn't know you're a nephew to a shareholder,” I uttered.
“A nephew of a very distant degree, oku-sama. It didn't do much when it comes to real practice.”
E… I guess. Since he has the most efficient skills anyway.
“Do you want to make an investment in my business?” My mouth uttered again.
Mori-san looked at me with a faint horror. “Oku-sama, I think it would help you to know that Honbucho is currently in his office.”
Masato again? Why? Why can't you just decide on your own without him knowing?!
Kuso…
“Wakatta.” I sighed out as I stood up to go exactly where Mori-san suggested. “You men can't really function without going through bureaucracy.”
Mori-san only gave an eshaku before he accompanies me a walk to Masato's office.
WHILE walking through the lobby lounge up to the elevator and those who are conscious enough that they recognize Mori-san, some employees tend to pause and greet him through an eshaku. Their eyes wandered and likewise did it to me. Too much ceremony for this job. I mean, my ID card has a type of role that involves a lot of ceremony, now that I found out.
E…
Mendokuse na.
My brain flushed out that part when business gave a big spark inside my very bright mind.
Right.
Ever heard my business? It's really not that hard to figure out. Sou. I'm thinking about my grandfather’s garden.
Ma, now that I think of it, I remember during my elementary school days I'd run to my grandfather while he was tending his garden after lunch break. It was a time I'd constantly ask him, “Lolo, what's my allowance for today?”
My grandfather would then huff while he takes a break plowing the garden. And out the plastic bags are those unripe Indian mangoes that are fit for the summer. “Ask to borrow a knife from your school canteen,” I remembered him saying.
How's he doing these days…
The elevator beeped an open door, and out we went to the air-conditioned hallway. This hallway, compared to the lounge lobby, is too quiet. Even the pathway is more likely carpeted than a marble tiled floor where I don't hear my clanking block heels as we walk. When we reached the office of the Honbucho—quite a different floor now than the Bucho—Mori-san pulled one door and stretched his arm for me to enter.
Masato has his head down, flipping the pages eagerly with a face like he's calculating physics. Typical.
Inside his new office, it was nothing but a big painting that gives zero appeal to me except someone might call it art. All I see is a scribble mess. The rest are some green plants and a spacious glass table, curtained glass panel overlooking the skies and a glass floor that almost looks like a marble. This place is also cooler than the outside world.
“Masato, my husband on paper!” I beamed in the most exaggerated theatrical greeting ever, echoing throughout his office, my voice a decibel higher like how I saw a tsukinowa-guma mother last time. “This is the first time we've met here in your office. How refreshing! Ever since the day I agreed to this contract, I could finally see your ass sitting in this office for real.”
Masato, this nonchalant guy, looked again with his perfect on-brand blank face. “Dōmo.”
I flipped my wrist when my head swung for a dramatic flair. “Fufufu. Tell you what, sir. I met a shareholder a while ago and I've come up to invoke my sales pitch.”
Masato's posture straightened on his seat without looking up as he sighed. When he raised his eyes, he stretched his forehead when his brows rose in question. “Unn?”
I eased down on the chair presented across his desk in response. “My grandfather—or Lolo as I call him. You see, Lolo always has a garden to tend. And I'm thinking of importing this native yam. You know that trendy thing that's popping up on TikTok lately?”
“What's a TikTok?”
Look at this pampered boy living under a gilded rock. He doesn't know a thing when it comes to modern civilization. But I must go on. For a new venture!
“SNS,” came my assist to this internet noob. “It's where our peers reside. Or are you living in a different timeline? Some parallel universe isekai thing—”
“Jaa,” he cuts off. “If that's all you have to say, you should leave it to my secretary.”
“Masato… listen…” I groaned low in despair. “Yatta. I'm serious this time. Hai.” I stifled a cough and straightened up to my seat too. “Listen, that native yam, you see, is called an ube. It has gotten popular lately that the demand shot up causing the supply to run short. But not only that…” My attention briefly turned on him only to find that Masato is somehow quiet and focused
Game on.
“Think of the beauty of kakigori. Think of kakigori exported somewhere in the tropical islands.”
He moved to lean, planting his elbows on his desk. One hand reached to his chin for him to cover it with his fingers. “What's with that?”
“Now here comes something you might want. The Philippine version of kakigori is called halo-halo. It's a dessert currently a craze in the West. One of the key ingredients of that halo-halo is ube. That purple colored scoop at the top?”
“Naruhodo.” He made a quick bob of his head. “Go on.”
“You have Siam-Nihon fusion, ne?” came my breezy voice. Masato's headscrews are moving fast. My cue to go in for the win. “You might want to invest in a plantation that supplies the ingredients? Do a little tie-in next to your flagship restaurant and introduce that type of Philippine kakigori dessert called halo-halo?” My eyebrows wriggled. “How about it? Let's strike a deal?”
That got him. He took a sharp breath and leaned back as he straightened his posture. “It's not that hard to see. Wakatta desu yo. Where will it go in five years?”
I'd rotate it with tomatoes and cabbages. But he didn't have to know that.
“Oh, you know…” I stall.
Janine, mou… hayaku... Think!
“We can specialize a variety later.” My brain finally sparked. I winked. “Or try to switch it with the sweeter kind: taro crops. For boba tea.”
“Hmm…” He lay both of his arms down the desk. “Sou desu ka…”
“Hai. So invest now,” said by my terebi advertisement voice luring him like a scam.
Masato rolled his pen with his hand when he lightly tapped it on the table. After a moment’s breath, he spoke, “how about this way, I can't do some investment but let's form a subsidiary.”
My face twisted, taken aback. “I'll be working under you?” came my disbelief. “It's my whole idea.”
He reclined, putting his arms on the executive chair’s armrest. “The most recommended recourse, let me tell you... we can’t deal as spouses since it meddles too much when it comes to conjugal properties—”
“Chotto—” I raised my palm to an abrupt pause of what he just said. “There’s no such thing as outdated conjugal property like 50/50 during marriage or absolute conjugal property like the ones in ancient Philippine laws. Regardless of what we do, we’re here in Nihon. What’s mine is mine and yours is yours.”
“And I, meanwhile, don’t want to deal with that. Didn’t I already mentioned years ago, I’m too busy building my own career? I don’t want to give it as your allowance either, as the hefty gift tax will wedge me sharp out of it.”
My eyes made a sideway glance at this man. “So…” my voice drawn out. “Where are we at? Tax evasion?”
Masato looked at me fully. “Don’t make it sound like an accusation. It is legal and it is compliant to the laws of the land.”
I didn’t bother to conceal my eye-roll in front of him. “I can’t believe I have to listen to a high-spec ikemen complaining about some first world problems.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult, my not-so-supportive wife on paper? I see that you’re not playing your role. You’re supposed to strike a deal with me.”
“Through subordination?” I complained. Leaning in close as I lay my palms flat on his glass table. “This is a negotiation whose premise is constructed for my control to be relinquished at your hands until I’m all tied up to nothing.”
“You’re asking for my capital. I can only give you that amount of investment you’re talking about if you give me your concessions. It’s a negotiation for sure. And it will be a negotiation through and through. It’s your choice. Take it or leave it. That’s your business coming to life.”
My head turned around the door and found it closed. “Where’s Mori-san? I need a third opinion on this. I want something more objective.”
“As you wish.” Masato sighed and reached out the telephone to dial back Mori-san. “How much is your proposition anyway?” He asked when he finished the call.
I reached the out-of-place shiny basic Casio calculator scattered at the edge of the table and started typing on it. “Five million yen for land,” I began and typed. “Five million yen for seedlings. Five million yen for hiring employees. Five million yen for my Lolo’s hardworking labor. Five million yen for fertilizers—”
“Is that the only value you can estimate at any time of the day?”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, remembering something. “The inflation rate rose up. We’ll make it 10 million yen now.”
Masato’s features blanked to that expresionless deadpan stare. “Do you want me to commission you with your own appraiser?” he asked flatly.
The nerve of this guy.
I stopped typing the basic calculator and straigthened my posture quick. “I'm kidding!” I beamed. “Cheer yourself up, sophisticated keiretsu. Not everything is a speculation.”
“Then what the hell am I doing right now?”
“Mind games.”
Masato pursed his lips when his hand ran through to rub his face. “You’re not testing my patience now, are you, Janine?”
But before any of us could talk or reply, there was a knock on the door. Masato called them to come in before it opened to present Mori-san as he greets.
“Would you please assist my wife to value her own properties,” began this dictator’s orders. “Send her an appraiser or an accountant.”
Mori-san can only comply with this autocrat’s ruling until I was escorted away from this workaholic “Honbucho” when it was his turn to flip the papers he’s been reading a while ago and started typing the basic calculator like he’s playing Nintendo.
Mori-san sent me off to a firm, where I talked and talked, and then nodded like a schoolgirl about whatever they say when it comes about the time value of the money or net worth or valuation or risk or anything that sounds American.
The firm told me to come back later after they assign my new “appraiser” who I’ll be meeting for the follow-up. After that, they’ll send the entire information to my “husband” also known as the dictator.
These things are what run as an all-around “wife” on paper. If 15 million yen a year is a high pay for an entry level employee, after going through it for two years, it feels like chasing my own tail in circles thinking this has got to be something.
After the corporate wife hustle, I do the expensive wife on public relations bustle. Right now, in the peak hours of 7 pm, I'm around a boutique getting measured up as said by my stylist.
There's no shopping in H&M. Masato's face of grimace would have been obvious. One reason he told me is to support the domestic economy by becoming a client to any aspiring domestic fashion designer since I am able to. Give their craft a shot or something—I don't know what logic of philanthropy these first world people have working in their brains. Except that I wanted my pay so I dragged myself along to whatever that dictator’s policies were.
Besides, my stylist prefers anything customized. So, there we have it. My plus-sized proportion is measured to look like every week my apparels are measured for my full body. When that's over, and retail therapy bores me, I end up eating.
I tried to shoo my chauffeur and that black car that moves like a panther and told him that I'll ride with the shinkansen instead. The chauffeur insisted in his roundabout way that he might get fired if he couldn't get his job right. Or at least in the chauffeur’s words, “You must be safe, oku-sama. Onegaishimasu! It is my duty that I must not neglect.”
“Mou, Daiki-kun,” I said to the young man. “The railway station is just meters away. I want to eat solo.”
Instead of leaving, the chauffeur bowed for minutes long. I almost stomped my feet in confusion and was about to cry out of pettiness. I'm almost overruled by it, but then I realized the extent of how selfish I could become if he is at the receiving end of his superior's yelling outlet in case Masato said a word or two.
Kuso!
“Wakatta.” I sighed instead of stomping my stilettos. “Drive me somewhere in Shibuya, I'll be chewing alone. Would you like to have a light dinner with me?” I invited.
Daiki-kun blushed and panicked, he stammered his adamant refusal. Nani? Have I said something wrong?
“Then you'll wait?” I asked instead.
“Hai,” he replied in full conviction.
So there I was, following the protocol when I still had to wait for Daiki-kun to open the door for me. As if it would break my wrist if I did it myself. When he drove me to the restaurant I picked somewhere on app recommendations, somewhere easily visible for my chauffeur, Daiki-kun parked in an area that's right across the restaurant.
As promised, I chewed mindlessly in contemplation. Zoning off my entire grind as a Sakurai-san, somebody of something, somewhere in Tokyo whatnot.
MY eyes looked over the horizon. Lo and behold, I saw a glimpse of what Daiki-kun will never see or would rather prefer not to see. Since my chauffeur was parked near the tall bushes, Daiki-kun wouldn't see the elevation I have in here and to witness across the clear glass window of a building with two people facing each other. They recently clinked their wine and drank. It's a burgundy so bright, it matches Thaptim’s smiling red lips right across the very alive eyes of Masato. Thaptim leaned towards Masato when her ears reached his whispering lips, their stares lingered for seconds before she giggled. Masato smiled. And here I am, who can't believe what's in front of me.
It's not that I did not know it. A shake of vertigo crossed my consciousness for a brief moment, I leaned further to observe. My head throbs but my curiosity becomes much stronger to know more.
Is this real? I'm more intrigued until Thaptim rose and Masato followed as he put on her coat. Such a gentleman, this guy. And they walked on where I could no longer see them.
Kuso. That's it. I'm so intrigued I felt like committing a violation, something so perverse like intruding their privacy and snooping on what they're up to.
I stood up and rushed towards Daiki-kun. After knocking on the car window and Daiki-kun pulled it down, I spoke in a fast voice, “I'll be back, wait for me here. I'll be at the other side of the building, ne?” I asked and nodded. He nodded too. “Twenty minutes. Wait for me.”
Then I rushed to go somewhere in the garage of that building.
A feminine chuckle floats throughout. “What would be warmer after a hearty dinner, Masato? A bath or a cuddle?”
“Both. One experience at a time,” Masato said, before a car door swung open and closed. Footsteps followed soon after when another car door swung and closed. The next thing I know, the car engine revved up somewhere and off they go.
The garage left an echo, and I'm left with its vacancy. Soka... this is how it goes. Is it an instinct to feel something so keen for my mother when she threw those plates at my father when I was eight?
Days and many more to go, Masato began his business trips. He says it's three months long, but by the fourth month, he never arrives in Chiyoda.
He—
Sou da ne...
I guess that's it.
It was fun while it lasted.
This is why we can't have nice things like free assumptions. Such a liberty when I entered a transaction in the first place. Paper or not, it makes no difference with my dad. Except mine is business. Marriage on paper is a contract, not a lost faith on whatever vow I promised before God.
But I don't give up hope since I still carry Jackson in me. He's the reason why I'm here, he's the reason why I keep moving forward.
Maa ne, I get the money and I hustle hard.
Cha-ching.
The only downside is that there's no one to practice my bedroom games with. But… I've learned a lot, so maybe it's a good store for Jackson. Hihi.
And so I flushed this matter out of my brain. As they say: out of sight, out of mind. I will keep my peace.
Breathe in and breathe out. And so I did.
I owned the glass house throughout those months and I've gotten used to it. Nn… it's peaceful.
[End of Chapter 6 part I]
