It’s the three of us. Me, the stoic chairman who looks like his idea of fun is reading the newspaper, and the nephew who is around my age but is too deferent to his uncle to be anything more than a helpful guide as we journey to an upscale gentleman’s club in Ginza.
This is gonna be great.
I don’t dare text my girlfriend to see what she’s up to. That would be rude in present company, even though Akihiro Isoya is glued to his phone, rattling off in Japanese. I think he’s firing someone on the other side of the company until I hear his voice briefly soften in a way I would around my girlfriend.
His wife, hm? Or maybe his mistress? Hey, the things I hear around here…
A Japanese man in a tuxedo awaits us at our destination. He welcomes the Isoyas with superfluous Japanese before saying, “Welcome, sir. Allow me to show you up.”
We go to the top of a tower overlooking the downtown core of Tokyo. From our lofty, transparent elevator, I can see every bright, twinkling light of a city built on sounds and colors. Down below is the rabble of millions of people going about their business with friends, associates, and lovers. As usual, I find myself pining for a simpler life, even if for a night, while I’m stuck on the top floor of some multimillion dollar building hoping I don’t make an ass out of myself. There’s a reason Katie and I had so much fun in Vegas that we accidentally got married.
If only she were with me now. Nothing sucks more these days than going to new places and experiencing new things without her. If this were another jaunt to Vancouver, Canada, that would be one thing. Going to a place like Tokyo, that I barely get to see even with my money and access to a private plane? I should be spending at least part of this night with her.
The gentleman’s club is most assuredly men only. Not counting the women who work there, of course. Gorgeous, talented women who hail from all corners of the earth and dress like the millions of dollars their sugar daddies surely push into their bank accounts. Kunihiro is quick to nod to a Russian beauty who flashes him a dazzling smile that is a mix of careful practice and genuine affection.
A middle-aged Japanese woman dressed in a simple black dress – although those diamonds around her neck are far from simple – approaches us with a respectful bow. Her light, airy voice says something I don’t understand, but I quickly ascertain that she’s either the owner or the manager of the establishment. The other women, at least, treat her with immediate respect whenever they’re in the same vicinity. Sometimes so much so that it comes off as disingenuous.
“Welcome,” she says with an accent I can’t place. “We have a VIP room for you.”
If you think we’re alone in this VIP room? Ha!
I knew the old man in my presence had a semblance of a dick on him, because he and his nephew must have hired the company of every woman in the establishment. From the moment I enter the spacious VIP room furnished with leather and subdued with blue lighting, I’m greeted with Russian, French, Italian, Middle-Eastern, Indian, and even Canadian accents, all speaking nearly perfect English. It feels like a night in New York more than it does a night in Tokyo, a city infamous for its homogeneity even with its foreign population.
“Drink up,” Kunihiro says as a bottle of Cristal flows thanks to the dexterous hands of a blond British woman. “Tonight we relax and enjoy our spoils.”
The only one not pretending to have a good time is Akihiro, who I believe is actually working on his phone in the far corner of the room. That leaves Kunihiro and me, the two thirty-somethings stuck with the wonderful pleasure of entertaining a bevy of international beauties who can’t keep their hands off us.
Kunihiro is in heaven. I don’t see a ring on the guy’s finger, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could still be married. Nevertheless, I share a toast with him and drink Cristal.
I also immediately begin fending off more than three pairs of feminine hands as they come for me with a mission.
Now, I would never say these women did certain things on the side to make some extra money, but I would not be surprised in the least if I found out that I could purchase the seedier services of every one of them that night. If I wanted, I could flaunt my billions of dollars and get them to do things to each other for my own amusement. Most of them had looks on their faces that insinuated they didn’t mind. Hey, I know how this works. This place isn’t so different from the Chateau back home, although the madam here has nothing on Monica Warren’s levels of untouchable sophistication.
“No thanks, ladies.” I sit in a chair and hope it’s enough to deter them from putting their hands where they are not allowed. While they’re not going to touch me anywhere but my shoulders, arms, and maybe my knees, I don’t need that kind of temptation tonight.