truth, it doesn’t become you.”
Mari reddens but manages a slightly awkward smile.
“Mind if I have one?” Kaoru asks.
“Sure.”
Kaoru puts a Camel in her mouth and lights it with Mari’s Bic. She does, in fact, look much more natural than Mari smoking.
“Got a boyfriend?”
Mari gives her head a little shake. “I’m not much interested in boys at the moment.”
“You like girls better?”
“Not really. I don’t know.”
Kaoru puffs on her cigarette and listens to music. A hint of fatigue shows on her face now that she is allowing herself to relax.
Mari says, “You know, I’ve been wanting to ask you. Why do you call your hotel Alphaville?”
“Hmm, I wonder. The boss probably named it. All love hos have these crazy names. I mean, they’re just for men and women to come and do their stuff. All you need is a bed and a bathtub. Nobody gives a damn about the name as long as it sounds like a love ho. Why do you ask?”
“
Alphaville
is the title of one of my favorite movies. Jean-Luc Godard.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Yeah, it’s really old. From the sixties.”
“That’s maybe where they got it. I’ll ask the boss next time I see him. What does it mean, though—‘Alphaville’?”
“It’s the name of an imaginary city of the near future,” Mari says. “Somewhere in the Milky Way.”
“Oh, science fiction. Like
Star Wars
?”
“No, it’s not at all like
Star Wars
. No special effects, no action. It’s more conceptual. Black-and-white, lots of dialogue, they show it in art theaters…”
“Whaddya mean, ‘conceptual’?”
“Well, for example, if you cry in Alphaville, they arrest you and execute you in public.”
“Why?”
“’Cause in Alphaville, you’re not allowed to have deep feelings. So there’s nothing like love. No contradictions, no irony. They do everything according to numerical formulas.”
Kaoru wrinkles her brow. “‘Irony’?”
“Irony means taking an objective or inverted view of oneself or of someone belonging to oneself and discovering oddness in that.”
Kaoru thinks for a moment about Mari’s explanation. “I don’t really get it,” she says. “But tell me: is there sex in this Alphaville place?”
“Yes, there is sex in Alphaville.”
“Sex that doesn’t need love or irony.”
“Right.”
Kaoru gives a hearty laugh. “So, come to think of it, Alphaville may be the perfect name for a love ho.”
A well-dressed, middle-aged man of small stature comes in and sits at the end of the bar. He orders a cocktail and starts a hushed conversation with the bartender. He seems to be a regular, sitting in his usual seat and ordering his usual drink. He is one of those unidentifiable people who inhabit the city at night.
Mari asks Kaoru, “You said you used to be a professional wrestler?”
“Yeah, for a
long
time. I was always on the big side, and a good fighter, so they scouted me in high school. I went straight into the ring, and played bad girls the whole time with this crazy blond hair and shaved-off eyebrows and a red scorpion tattoo on my shoulder. I was on TV sometimes, too. I had matches in Hong Kong and Taiwan and stuff, and a kind of local fan club—a small one. I guess you don’t watch lady wrestlers?”
“I never have.”
“Yeah, well, that’s one hell of a way to make a living, too. I hurt my back and retired when I was twenty-nine. I was a wild woman in the ring, so something like that was bound to happen. I was tough, but everything has its limits. With me, it’s a personality thing. I don’t know how to do things halfway. I guess I’m a crowd pleaser. They’d start roaring and I’d go crazy and do way more than I needed to. So now I get this twinge in my back whenever we get a few days of rain. Once that gets started, I can’t do a thing but lay down all day. I’m a mess.”
Kaoru turned her head until the bones in her neck cracked.
“When I was popular I used to pull in the money and I had people
Mari reddens but manages a slightly awkward smile.
“Mind if I have one?” Kaoru asks.
“Sure.”
Kaoru puts a Camel in her mouth and lights it with Mari’s Bic. She does, in fact, look much more natural than Mari smoking.
“Got a boyfriend?”
Mari gives her head a little shake. “I’m not much interested in boys at the moment.”
“You like girls better?”
“Not really. I don’t know.”
Kaoru puffs on her cigarette and listens to music. A hint of fatigue shows on her face now that she is allowing herself to relax.
Mari says, “You know, I’ve been wanting to ask you. Why do you call your hotel Alphaville?”
“Hmm, I wonder. The boss probably named it. All love hos have these crazy names. I mean, they’re just for men and women to come and do their stuff. All you need is a bed and a bathtub. Nobody gives a damn about the name as long as it sounds like a love ho. Why do you ask?”
“
Alphaville
is the title of one of my favorite movies. Jean-Luc Godard.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Yeah, it’s really old. From the sixties.”
“That’s maybe where they got it. I’ll ask the boss next time I see him. What does it mean, though—‘Alphaville’?”
“It’s the name of an imaginary city of the near future,” Mari says. “Somewhere in the Milky Way.”
“Oh, science fiction. Like
Star Wars
?”
“No, it’s not at all like
Star Wars
. No special effects, no action. It’s more conceptual. Black-and-white, lots of dialogue, they show it in art theaters…”
“Whaddya mean, ‘conceptual’?”
“Well, for example, if you cry in Alphaville, they arrest you and execute you in public.”
“Why?”
“’Cause in Alphaville, you’re not allowed to have deep feelings. So there’s nothing like love. No contradictions, no irony. They do everything according to numerical formulas.”
Kaoru wrinkles her brow. “‘Irony’?”
“Irony means taking an objective or inverted view of oneself or of someone belonging to oneself and discovering oddness in that.”
Kaoru thinks for a moment about Mari’s explanation. “I don’t really get it,” she says. “But tell me: is there sex in this Alphaville place?”
“Yes, there is sex in Alphaville.”
“Sex that doesn’t need love or irony.”
“Right.”
Kaoru gives a hearty laugh. “So, come to think of it, Alphaville may be the perfect name for a love ho.”
A well-dressed, middle-aged man of small stature comes in and sits at the end of the bar. He orders a cocktail and starts a hushed conversation with the bartender. He seems to be a regular, sitting in his usual seat and ordering his usual drink. He is one of those unidentifiable people who inhabit the city at night.
Mari asks Kaoru, “You said you used to be a professional wrestler?”
“Yeah, for a
long
time. I was always on the big side, and a good fighter, so they scouted me in high school. I went straight into the ring, and played bad girls the whole time with this crazy blond hair and shaved-off eyebrows and a red scorpion tattoo on my shoulder. I was on TV sometimes, too. I had matches in Hong Kong and Taiwan and stuff, and a kind of local fan club—a small one. I guess you don’t watch lady wrestlers?”
“I never have.”
“Yeah, well, that’s one hell of a way to make a living, too. I hurt my back and retired when I was twenty-nine. I was a wild woman in the ring, so something like that was bound to happen. I was tough, but everything has its limits. With me, it’s a personality thing. I don’t know how to do things halfway. I guess I’m a crowd pleaser. They’d start roaring and I’d go crazy and do way more than I needed to. So now I get this twinge in my back whenever we get a few days of rain. Once that gets started, I can’t do a thing but lay down all day. I’m a mess.”
Kaoru turned her head until the bones in her neck cracked.
“When I was popular I used to pull in the money and I had people
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