Saying Goodbye, Part Two (Passports and Promises Book 1) (12 page)

Kylie came to visit me with Kenzo, the cute bartender from her hostess bar. She pulled me into a huge hug when she saw me.

“Thomas told me about what happened. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

I nodded, my lips quivering. Every time I thought I couldn’t cry another tear, I somehow found a way, like I had a never-ending tear supply hidden somewhere deep inside me. My body ached from trying to be quiet as I sobbed myself to sleep every night. Hana never mentioned it, but I think she knew. I’d often catch her watching me with worried eyes.

Kylie took my hand. “I’m here if you ever need someone to talk with, you know that, don’t you?”

I nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

We switched to Japanese so Kenzo could be part of the conversation. It surprised me to learn Kylie was quite fluent, although it felt strange to speak Japanese to each other.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“We met last summer,” said Kylie. “When I came to work at the bar.”

“She didn’t like me,” said Kenzo, with a grin. “She thought I was annoying.”

“I still think that,” said Kylie, giving him a wink.

They made a cute couple. Kylie’s curly red hair and pale skin contrasted nicely with Kenzo’s silky dark hair and deep tan. He was muscular, but in a way very different from Thomas. Kenzo’s body reminded me of a panther, sleek and sinewy. Thomas had bigger bones and the bulkier muscles earned from years of playing rugby.

“He invited me to go windsurfing with him,” she rolled her eyes. “Total disaster.”

He laughed. “You were brilliant.”

“Let’s be honest. I nearly drowned. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Maybe you can try again next summer,” I said.

Kylie looked a little sad. “My contract will be up in June, and my visa will expire.”

“Are you thinking about renewing it?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t do this job for another year. I’m barely able to handle it now.”

Kenzo took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. I wondered how they managed to be together when Kenzo had to watch other men touch her and fondle her every night at work. I wanted to ask, but didn’t know how to do it. Kenzo seemed to read my thoughts.

“It’s terrible to work together, but it’s better than not being together at all. At least if I’m there, with her, I get to see her. I can try to protect her. Does that make sense? I can handle it, even the bad parts, as long as we’re together.”

I stared at them, wishing I could be this open and honest with Thomas. It didn’t seem possible. I reached up and touched the thistle necklace. I wore it every day. I couldn’t stand to take it off. Even though it might send Thomas the wrong message, I felt better with it around my neck.

They got up to leave, and Kylie pulled me into another hug. “If you need anything, let me know.”

I nibbled on my lip. “There is something…”

“What?”

I told her about our research project. “Do you mind if I wrote about you and Kenzo and your job at the hostess bar? I won’t use your real names.”

“Sure,” she said, and Kenzo nodded in agreement. “It’s not like Mrs. Miyata will read your paper, but it would be better for both of us if you didn’t give too many details.”

“I understand.”

I thanked her and kissed her goodbye. As soon as I closed the door behind them, I realized something strange. I looked forward to working on the research project again. That and studying gave me something to do with my mind instead of thinking about Dylan.

I’d been stuck in a cycle, feeling guilt over Dylan, anger at Thomas, guilt over Thomas, anger at myself. Then I circled back again to guilt over Dylan. I’d gotten tired of it, running over and over the same emotions like a hamster on a wheel. I couldn’t stand it anymore and just wanted to jump off.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
finally saw Mr. Ando almost two weeks after Dylan died. He looked pale and smaller than I remembered.

“Are you okay?”

“Just old,” he said with a smile that still had megawatt strength. “You look different, Sami-chan. Are you well?”

I shook my head, finding it hard to speak. I’d found him in the outer garden, in a quiet spot near a bare tree. The sunshine peeking through the clouds took away the worst of the chill, but I still worried about how much time Mr. Ando spent working outdoors. He’d been pruning the tree and clearing debris when I’d found him. It seemed awfully hard labor for someone his age, and ticked me off.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? I hate seeing you work like this, out in the cold. It’s too much.”

He shook his head. “I enjoy it. I’ve known this tree a long time. It’s nearly as old as I am. Tell me, what is wrong? Why are you so sad? I know it can’t be all about me and my terrible working environment.”

He spread his hands, a twinkle in his eyes, indicating the beautiful serenity of the garden. I took a deep, shaky breath, not sure where to begin.

“My friend died. He killed himself.”

Mr. Ando made a sympathetic tsking sound. “I’m sorry, both because you no longer have your friend, and also because he chose to take his life. He must have felt he had no other option.”

“I guess.”

Mr. Ando led me to a bench under the bare tree. The branches swayed in the wind, making me feel like we were enclosed in our own little private sanctuary.

“I understand in your country, suicide is a shameful thing. This is not always the case here in Japan. Do you know about
hari-kiri,
also known as
sepuku?”

“Yes. I studied about it when I learned about samurai.”

“There can be honor in death, and different ways of facing it bravely. We can never know another’s private battles. We can never truly walk in another person’s shoes.”

I thought about how Dylan had described his previous bout of depression, how the darkness had felt ever-present and all-powerful. How he’d been in constant physical and emotional agony. Maybe he just couldn’t see any other conclusion. Maybe he’d just needed to end the torment.

Mr. Ando looked up at the bare branches of the tree. “This tree dies every winter. I have watched it happen for more than half a century. But every spring it finds a way to come back to life again. Look closely, Sami-chan.”

I stared at the bare branches. They looked pretty dead to me, but when I peered closer I saw the start of little green leaves. Buds covered every branch. I hadn’t even noticed them until Mr. Ando pointed it out.

“Life. It happens even now, during this time of bitter cold and darkness. It finds a way. It keeps going. It is stronger, maybe even stronger than death.”

When I walked back to my dorm, Thomas waited for me, a tall, good-looking Japanese man by his side. They both had on rugby clothes.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Sam.”

The man spoke with a strong Australian accent. “I know. We’ve already met.”

“Shinji? Holy cow. You look a little different.”

He laughed. “Without the kimono? Yeah, it’s easier to play rugby in these,” he said, indicating his shorts.

“Shinji got in touch with his friend Michiko, the one who works at the pink salon. She’s off tonight. She said she could meet with us,” said Thomas.

“Really?”

“Do you think you’re up for it? If not, I could meet with her on my own.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, a little surprised at the surge of jealousy that coursed through me at the thought of him meeting up with a professional blowjob artist. “No, I’m coming with you.”

We met Michiko after dinner at a small coffee shop near Kyoto Station. Shinji came with us for the sake of making the introduction, but he had other plans and didn’t stay. I had to wonder if his “other plans” involved dressing up in women’s clothing. It seemed pretty likely.

Michiko was not at all what I expected. Tiny and delicate, wearing a white frilly blouse that buttoned to her chin and a conservative skirt, I couldn’t imagine her saying the word “blowjob” let alone working in a pink salon.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” I said. “You are very kind.”

She seemed so fragile. So beautiful. I immediately felt protective of her. I’m sure Thomas did as well. I was very glad I hadn’t sent Thomas here on his own. First of all, Michiko was way too pretty. Secondly, she didn’t speak English. Thomas wouldn’t have learned much from her at all.

“I am happy to help you,” she said, her cheeks turning pink, “but I must ask you not to use my name in your report. My boyfriend doesn’t know I do this.”

“Of course. We’ll keep everything private. It must be hard to keep such a secret.”

“He thinks I work for a big corporation, covering the phones at night. I told him I’m in customer service.” She covered her mouth delicately with her hand as she giggled. I caught a glimpse of her teeth. Several were crooked, overlapping slightly. In Japan, people thought crooked teeth were cute. In America, she probably would have had braces. “We’ve been together a long time. He has no reason to suspect anything.”

“Why do you do it?”

She shrugged, an elegant lifting of her tiny shoulders. I felt huge and clumsy sitting next to her. “For the money. I am saving for our future. Mine and my boyfriend’s.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Three years. When I started, I was a virgin.”

“No way.”

“Yes. It was okay, although some customers hurt me when they tried to finger me.”

I didn’t translate that for Thomas. I tried, but my cheeks got hot and the words wouldn’t come out. I just promised I’d tell him later. I turned back to Michiko. “They can do that? Is that part of the whole pink salon thing?”

She nodded. “Mostly we give blowjobs, but I could charge them a lot to finger me when I was still a virgin. But then I met my boyfriend and I’m not a virgin anymore. They still want to do it, but I can’t charge as much.”

I stared at her in shock. “You’ve only been with one guy?”

“Yes.”

It took a moment for that to sink in as I realized in many ways I was more of a slut than a woman who gave blowjobs for a living. “So how do you feel about your job?”

She wrinkled up her face. “I don’t really like it, but I’m used to it. And I make a lot of money.”

“How many…uh…customers do you see in a day?”

“Anywhere between eight and fifteen. Fifteen is pushing it for me. Sometimes my jaw gets stuck, especially if the men are big.” She looked at Thomas, probably figuring out his size based on the size of the rest of him. “We don’t take foreigners.”

Thomas puffed up a bit at that. “Because of our size?”

She shook her head. “Because foreigners are dirty.”

I almost laughed at the expression on his face, the first time I’d felt like laughing in ages. Thomas noticed. He put an arm around my chair, and gave me a crooked grin.

Michiko described her technique, acting very matter-of-fact about it. Another thing I didn’t translate for Thomas. “Aren’t you afraid of getting diseases?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “We rinse our mouths out after every customer with an antiseptic wash, and we make them bathe beforehand, but the risk is always there. I especially worry about AIDS, you know, and about passing something onto my boyfriend. I would hate myself if that happened.”

“Are there any other things your customers ask you to do?”

“Sometimes they want to sixty-nine. I don’t like to do that as much. I feel guilty if I come.” Her cheeks got pink again. “One customer makes me come every time I’m with him. It’s almost…embarrassing. I can’t stop myself. And the last time…”

“What happened?” I couldn’t exactly use this information in my report, but I was curious, and Michiko proved way more open about everything than I’d expected. I guessed there weren’t many people she could talk to about things like this. She probably kept it a secret from her friends as much as she did her boyfriend.

“Last night, he paid for extra time with me, but he didn’t want a blowjob at all. He just wanted to give me head.” She lowered her head in shame. “I came three times. I could hardly even face my boyfriend this morning. I felt so ashamed.”

Later, as we walked home, I thought about Michiko and her guilt. “I wonder what will happen? Do you think she’ll end up with that customer or stay with her boyfriend?”

“Can you imagine coming home from work and giving her a kiss?” He shuddered. “He has no idea where that mouth has been.”

“But she’s only slept with one guy.”

“But she blows off fifteen every night.”

“I guess you have a point,” I said. “It feels kind of weird, though, thinking that I’ve been with more guys than Michiko.”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

“Did any of them pay you?”

I shoved him, laughing. “No.”

“Then you see my point.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking so close his arm sometimes brushed against mine. It felt nice. “So how many men have you been with? Tell me so I can slay them all.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you seriously want to know?”

“Yes, I do, actually. I can guarantee I’m more of a slut than you. I lost my virginity before I even turned fourteen.”

I tripped over a bump in the sidewalk. “You’re kidding me.”

He shook his head. “I was big for my age, of course, and I always looked older.”

“Who was the girl?”

“A waitress in a pub. She thought I was eighteen. She would have been a bit surprised if she ever found out the truth.”

“She could have been arrested.”

“I suppose. But she was quite bonny and I’d been a very willing participant. There were quite a few girls after that, but I didn’t really keep track. I can sit down and try to calculate it, if you’d like.” He gave me a wink. “But I never thought it was that important.”

We were only a block away from my dorm. I let out a sigh. “I had this idea in my head that numbers really mattered. I guess Michiko kind of proves that wrong, doesn’t she?”

“I guess so. Tell me about your numbers.”

I laughed. “You really won’t let this drop, will you? Fine. I thought five would be my limit. My grand finale. Any more meant entering questionable territory. Slut territory. I didn’t want to go there.”

“So what is your total?”

“Five.”

“Five?” He looked incredulous. “Including me?”

“Yes.” My cheeks burned. The only people who knew this were Bethany and Gabriela, and even they had no idea I’d slept with Thomas. 

He let out a whoop and picked me up, swinging me around. “This is grand.”

“What is wrong with you? Why are you so happy?”

He put me back on the ground, leaning over so his face was only inches from mine. “Because I know what I am now. I’m Lucky Number Five. What splendid news.”

I came to a dead stop. “Stop. Stop all of this. Stop being so charming and funny and nice. You need to listen to me, once and for all, and get this through your thick skull. You aren’t Lucky Number Five. There is nothing lucky about it. I have tried to explain this a thousand different ways, but you refuse to get it. You aren’t anything, except a huge mistake. The biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

“What have you tried to explain?” His face got very still, and I knew something of what I tried to tell him had finally sunk in.

I let out a sigh. “The night we spent together is a night I wish with all my heart had never happened. Every time I’m around you, every time I see you, I picture Dylan going into that bathroom and strangling himself. I can’t disassociate you from what happened. I just can’t. It’s torture. Can’t you see that? Can’t you understand? I can’t be with you. Not now. Not ever.”

His hand went to his chest, like he’d just endured a physical blow. “You mean it, don’t you? I thought you just needed time, but you’re never going to be able to move past this.”

I shook my head, unable to speak. Unable to tell him how much I loved him, how much I wished everything could be different. Instead, I kept silent, watching as Thomas’ sweet face turned into a mask of bitterness and regret.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not so lucky after all.” He gave me a sad little smile and walked away.

I stood there a long time, watching him. My feet glued to the ground. I couldn’t run after him. I was stuck.