tipped back on to my heels.
‘How much is it?’
‘Two hundred dollars a month.’
‘I only need it for a week.’
‘Fifty dollars, then. It’s a steal.’
‘I can’t afford it.’
‘You can’t afford fifty dollars? How much d’you think it costs to live in Tokyo? Fifty dollars is so outrageously not expensive.’
‘I haven’t got any money.’
Jason sighed. He finished his cigarette, chucked it out on to the street and pointed at the skyline. ‘Look,’ he said leaning out. ‘Look there, to the south-east. Those tall buildings are Kabuki Cho. And see beyond them?’
In the distance, black against the sky, a behemoth of tinted glass supported by eight massive black columns, rocketed up above all the other skyscrapers. Four gigantic black marble gargoyles crouched on each corner of the roof, gas streams in their mouths blowing fire jets fifty feet out until the sky seemed to be on fire.
‘The building is private. It’s one of the Mori brothers’ buildings. But see that, on the top floor?’
I squinted. Bolted by a mechanical arm to the crown of the skyscraper there was a vast cut-out of a woman sitting on a swing. ‘I know who that is,’ I said. ‘I recognize her.’
‘It’s Marilyn Monroe.’
Marilyn Monroe. She must have been thirty feet from her white high heels to her peroxide hair, and she swung back and forward in fifty-foot arcs, molten neon flickering so that her white summer dress appeared to be blowing up above her waist.
‘That’s Some Like It Hot. The club where we work – me and the baba yaga s. I’ll take you there tonight. You’ll pay your week’s rent in a few hours.’
‘Oh,’ I said, backing away from the window. ‘Oh. No – you already said about it. It’s a hostess club.’
‘It’s cool, laid back – Strawberry’s really gonna go for you.’
‘No,’ I said, suddenly uncomfortable and clumsy again. ‘No. Don’t say that, because she won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because . . .’ I trailed off. I couldn’t explain to someone like Jason. ‘No. She definitely wouldn’t hire me.’
‘I think you’re wrong. And, anyways, from where I’m standing it seems like you don’t have a choice.’
6
The hostesses who lived in the rooms on the north wing, the baba yaga s, were twins from Vladivostok. Svetlana and Irina. Jason took me in to see them when the sun was getting low and the heat had let up a little. They were in Irina’s room, getting ready for work at the club, almost identical in their black leggings and Spandex bras: tall as stevedores, and well fed, with strong arms and muscular legs. They looked as if they spent a lot of time in the sun and both had lots of long, bobbly, permed hair. The only difference was that Irina’s was yellow-blonde and Svetlana’s was black. I’d seen the dye, Naples Black, in a faded pink box on the kitchen shelf.
They sat me on a stool in front of a small vanity table and started firing questions at me.
‘You know Jason? Before you come here?’
‘No. I met him this morning.’
‘This morning ?’
‘In the park.’
The girls exchanged glances. ‘He work fast, eh?’ Svetlana made a clicking noise in her throat and winked at me. ‘Fast work.’
They offered me a cigarette. I liked to smoke. In hospital the girl in the next bed had taught me how, and it made me feel very adult, but I hardly ever had the money to keep it up. I looked at the carton in Irina’s red polished fingertips. ‘I haven’t got any to give you in return.’
Irina half dropped her eyelids and pursed her lips as if she was kissing the air. ‘No problem.’ She waggled the box at me again. ‘No problem. You take.’
I took one and for a while we all smoked, looking back and forward at each other. If their hair hadn’t been so different Svetlana and Irina would have been almost indistinguishable: they both had a sort of confident glitter in their eyes that I recognized from some of the girls at university. I must have
‘How much is it?’
‘Two hundred dollars a month.’
‘I only need it for a week.’
‘Fifty dollars, then. It’s a steal.’
‘I can’t afford it.’
‘You can’t afford fifty dollars? How much d’you think it costs to live in Tokyo? Fifty dollars is so outrageously not expensive.’
‘I haven’t got any money.’
Jason sighed. He finished his cigarette, chucked it out on to the street and pointed at the skyline. ‘Look,’ he said leaning out. ‘Look there, to the south-east. Those tall buildings are Kabuki Cho. And see beyond them?’
In the distance, black against the sky, a behemoth of tinted glass supported by eight massive black columns, rocketed up above all the other skyscrapers. Four gigantic black marble gargoyles crouched on each corner of the roof, gas streams in their mouths blowing fire jets fifty feet out until the sky seemed to be on fire.
‘The building is private. It’s one of the Mori brothers’ buildings. But see that, on the top floor?’
I squinted. Bolted by a mechanical arm to the crown of the skyscraper there was a vast cut-out of a woman sitting on a swing. ‘I know who that is,’ I said. ‘I recognize her.’
‘It’s Marilyn Monroe.’
Marilyn Monroe. She must have been thirty feet from her white high heels to her peroxide hair, and she swung back and forward in fifty-foot arcs, molten neon flickering so that her white summer dress appeared to be blowing up above her waist.
‘That’s Some Like It Hot. The club where we work – me and the baba yaga s. I’ll take you there tonight. You’ll pay your week’s rent in a few hours.’
‘Oh,’ I said, backing away from the window. ‘Oh. No – you already said about it. It’s a hostess club.’
‘It’s cool, laid back – Strawberry’s really gonna go for you.’
‘No,’ I said, suddenly uncomfortable and clumsy again. ‘No. Don’t say that, because she won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because . . .’ I trailed off. I couldn’t explain to someone like Jason. ‘No. She definitely wouldn’t hire me.’
‘I think you’re wrong. And, anyways, from where I’m standing it seems like you don’t have a choice.’
6
The hostesses who lived in the rooms on the north wing, the baba yaga s, were twins from Vladivostok. Svetlana and Irina. Jason took me in to see them when the sun was getting low and the heat had let up a little. They were in Irina’s room, getting ready for work at the club, almost identical in their black leggings and Spandex bras: tall as stevedores, and well fed, with strong arms and muscular legs. They looked as if they spent a lot of time in the sun and both had lots of long, bobbly, permed hair. The only difference was that Irina’s was yellow-blonde and Svetlana’s was black. I’d seen the dye, Naples Black, in a faded pink box on the kitchen shelf.
They sat me on a stool in front of a small vanity table and started firing questions at me.
‘You know Jason? Before you come here?’
‘No. I met him this morning.’
‘This morning ?’
‘In the park.’
The girls exchanged glances. ‘He work fast, eh?’ Svetlana made a clicking noise in her throat and winked at me. ‘Fast work.’
They offered me a cigarette. I liked to smoke. In hospital the girl in the next bed had taught me how, and it made me feel very adult, but I hardly ever had the money to keep it up. I looked at the carton in Irina’s red polished fingertips. ‘I haven’t got any to give you in return.’
Irina half dropped her eyelids and pursed her lips as if she was kissing the air. ‘No problem.’ She waggled the box at me again. ‘No problem. You take.’
I took one and for a while we all smoked, looking back and forward at each other. If their hair hadn’t been so different Svetlana and Irina would have been almost indistinguishable: they both had a sort of confident glitter in their eyes that I recognized from some of the girls at university. I must have
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