By lunch, I’m more than a little concerned.
I call Valerie, but it goes straight to voicemail. I tell her I can’t find Ian and I need her to call me back.
Where the hell is my boyfriend?
I decide to try his original room next. After pounding on the door a few times – certainly loud enough to rouse him out of drunken sleep – I still get nothing.
This is when I begin to panic a little bit.
What the fuck am I supposed to think? My boyfriend isn’t answering my calls, my texts, or my knocking on his door. He’s either beyond incapacitated, or…
He’s actually not here?
This is ridiculous.
“Where the hell are you?” I text him. “I hope you’re really hungover because you’re freaking me out. Give me a heads up that you’re okay. Anyway, I’m going out to get some fresh air. Text me if you want to meet up somewhere.”
Me? I’m going shopping?
Say what you will about New York and Paris, but Tokyo is seriously one of the best cities to go shopping in. (Although I do recommend being a size six or smaller.) You can find every international designer under the rising sun within single blocks. Because instead of building out like most other cities, Tokyo builds up. Tall, skinny buildings stick up in the air, bright, neon lights tacked on even during the day. You could spend one day in a single building spending thousands of dollars and walking away with everything you came to Tokyo to buy.
Shibuya is one of the greatest examples of this. Down by the huge intersection at the station, there’s a place called Shibuya 109 that is nothing but a huge, circular shopping mall dedicated to the latest teen styles. I outgrew that place when I graduated college, but it’s still worth visiting with friends if only to take in a completely different shopping culture.
These days I stick to the couture boutiques lining the main street. I’m particularly interested in local high-fashion designers, since Japanese designers tend to think way more out of the box than their Western counterparts. I won’t be able to get away with bright pink stockings coupled with a canary yellow sheath dress and strings of pearls, but my best friend Eva would. She needs these bright pink stockings like I need a text from my boyfriend right now.
Seriously, where the hell is that guy?
Shopping distracts me long enough. By mid-afternoon I’m in a teashop looking for my father’s favorite Eastern blend to take back as a souvenir, and… still nothing from Ian. While the shopkeeper goes back to find his more sensitive blends, I try calling Ian again. Nothing. I call Valerie soon after.
“So sorry I missed your call earlier, Kathryn,” she says with a groggy voice. “I really don’t feel good today.”
“Do you know where your boss is?”
She sighs. “I haven’t heard from him, no. Was I supposed to?”
“No, but I haven’t heard from him since our meeting yesterday. I’m getting worried.”
“I can try getting through to him, but if you of all people can’t, then I don’t hold out much hope that I will be able to.”
“Thanks for trying anyway.”
Five minutes later, I have my tea and a return call from Valerie. “Sorry, Kathryn. Can’t get a hold of Mr. Mathers. I left a message, but I’m guessing you did too.”
“This is ridiculous. He better be in a ditch somewhere.” I don’t mean that. Not… really.
I ask Valerie if she feels up for meeting me in the hotel restaurant for dinner. She says she thinks she’ll be able to swing that, so an hour later I’m sitting with my boyfriend’s personal assistant and ruminating on the current state of my relationship.
Too bad Valerie keeps distracting me with how hellish she looks.
Someone has been throwing up. At first I think food poisoning, and then I wonder if she has a virus I should be aware of. As soon as I bring this up, she brushes me off, insisting that she doesn’t have anything contagious. “I thought I would be well enough for this trip,” she begins, “but I think the traveling messed me up.”
“I didn’t think you had traveler’s flu.”
“Ah, well…” Valerie dithers over telling me something else, but finally says, “What the hell. I might as well tell you. Although keep in mind I haven’t told Mr. Mathers yet.”
That so? This should be good.
Valerie drinks more of her Coke and stares at her salad. “I’m pregnant again. This one isn’t as behaved as the first one, either.”
I almost drop my fork. “Whoa. Congrats?”
“Oh, it was planned, so thank you, but I only found out for sure a week ago.”
This certainly explains a lot. Valerie already has a son with her husband, and she has talked about having more. Yet them planning the second so soon after… wait… how old is her son? He was still an infant when I started dating Ian, so that would make him two or three. Right?