Authors: William Lashner
Carol Kingsly was looking at the ground beneath my feet. I looked down, too. The interest with which she was staring down indicated that something quite special must lay there, the meaning of the universe, maybe, or at least a quarter. But there was nothing I could see, nothing at all, just the cement walkway outside the very fashionable, very trendy restaurant where she had set up a meeting with that rich guy who was thinking of hiring me as his lawyer.
“Are those your shoes?” she said finally.
“I think so,” I said. “They’re on my feet.”
“They have a rather thick sole.”
“Is that good?”
“On a dinner plate, maybe. Hopefully, no one will notice.” She reached to my neck, fixed the knot of my yellow tie. “Just smile, try to be personable, and don’t say anything intolerably rude.”
“I’d rather change my shoes.”
“Come on, you,” she said, yanking me forward. “We’re late.” Carol didn’t like to joke about business, which I found a little bit awkward, since the business portion of my professional life was pretty much a joke.
Inside, we were greeted as if we were actually important and led to a prime table right beneath the giant golden Buddha that gave the joint its name. Buddakan was bright and crowded, with varnished floors, high ceilings, onyx tables. The waitstaff wore pajamas, a too-hip crowd waited by the indoor waterfall for seating, and you had the sense, just by being there, that you were actually someone, actually somewhere, which was why, I suppose, so many people wanted in. Presiding over everything, on its bright red stage, was the aforementioned Buddha. He looked supremely happy, did the Buddha, content and satisfied, seemingly unworried about the soles of his footwear.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” said Carol when we reached the table. “Victor is preparing for a very high-profile trial, and it’s keeping him crazy busy.” She gave my arm a squeeze, looked adoringly into my eyes. “But that’s the price of being so in demand.”
A very lovely, very young Japanese woman said something in Japanese, and the middle-aged Japanese man beside her nodded.
Carol proceeded to introduce me around. There was Nick, her lovesick business associate, who gave me a sullen acknowledgment. Then the young Japanese woman, named Kyoko, who was apparently here as a translator. Next to Kyoko was the Japanese man himself, the apparent star of the evening, as round and as seemingly at ease as the Buddha over his shoulder. As Carol gave me his name, he stood and bowed and handed me his card, all of which was superfluous. I had never seen him before, but I knew who he was, right off. I could tell by the other woman at the table, the man’s wife, Velma Takahashi.
Velma puffed out her puffy lips as we were introduced. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carl.”
So that was how she was going to play it. Fine, I figured, I’d play along. I nodded at her and said something inconclusive, something like, “Nice to see you,” and then glanced at Mr. Takahashi, who was watching me quite carefully as the lovely Kyoko whispered in his ear. Without taking his eyes off me, he spoke in quick Japanese.
“What kind of trial is it that keeps you so busy, Mr. Carl?” said Kyoko in a musical, heavily accented voice.
“A murder trial,” I said. “A man is accused of killing his wife.”
Kyoko translated. Mr. Takahashi nodded and spoke.
“What will be your role at the trial?” said Kyoko.
“I’m defending the husband.”
“Then Mr. Takahashi is very glad to meet you,” said Kyoko, without bothering to translate.
Everyone laughed heartily, Takahashi included, everyone but Velma.
They served some sort of pan-Asian cuisine at Buddakan, things like diced eel and miso tuna tartare and their famous angry lobster, all washed down with porcelain cups of heated sake. The food was actually pretty good, which was the saving grace of the evening, since it was one of the most awkward dinners I ever had the misfortune to sit through. Carol did her level best to keep the conversation flowing—I actually felt a great deal of affection for her as she struggled mightily against the forces of darkness—and I did what I could to help, but the thing just wasn’t working. Desolation sat at the table as if it, too, had been invited.
First, Nick was moping. Gelheads should be full of silly banter and broad smiles, don’t you think? Otherwise what good are they? But Nick just moped. He was in love, poor guy, and I just happened to be the one dating the object of his desire. By my book, that at least was something to drink to. Cheers. Across from Nick, Velma Takahashi sat at the table like a sullen fifteen-year-old, slurping ginger martinis instead of sake, barely touching her black cod with miso glaze. She wasn’t enjoying herself at the fancy restaurant, seemingly jaded by all the fancy restaurants she had dined in since marrying Takahashi. So what was the deal with her deal? I wondered. This was exactly what she had sold herself for, dinners like this, so you would think she would at least try to enjoy herself.
But the truth was, I couldn’t blame her for sulking, because right there at our table, Mr. Takahashi and his beautiful translator, Kyoko, were having what appeared to be, even in the midst of our little party, a private tête-àtête. Kyoko, who was far younger than Velma, spoke softly into his ear, he responded lowly, they giggled like the teenagers one of them might actually still have been. She rubbed his neck; his right hand never appeared above the table. They were even sharing their food like lovers. I expected them to link arms as they slurped their sake.
While Takahashi and Kyoko were in the midst of their private conversation and Carol was trying to cheer up the morose Nick, I leaned over to Velma and said softly, “You seem full of good cheer tonight.”
“I have so much to be happy about,” she said.
“Your husband, at least, looks like he’s having a fine time.”
“He sees life as an oyster to be savored, then swallowed.”
“And Kyoko?”
“Already shucked. I appreciate you not mentioning our other business with my husband.”
“I thought it best to be discreet, considering this is something akin to a job interview.”
“Let me warn you, he can be a tyrant.”
“But you look so happy. Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Please don’t.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Was what worth it?”
“Marrying Faustus over there.”
“I think you have the roles confused, but yes.”
“Really?”
“He has made my life a dream.”
“From the looks of it, though, it’s wake-up time.”
“He’s entitled to his diversions.”
“And you to yours?”
“No, that’s not part of the deal.”
“Too bad.”
“You were hoping, maybe, for something more than a check?”
“One always hopes,” I said while glancing across the table. Mr. Takahashi was staring at me. He smiled at me strangely and nodded. I nodded back. He said something in Japanese.
“Do you do bankruptcy law, Mr. Carl?” said Kyoko.
“Not really,” I said. “I thought you needed a real estate lawyer.”
A lengthy conversation in Japanese between Kyoko and Takahashi.
“We have real estate lawyers,” said Kyoko. “New York real estate lawyers. Only Tokyo real estate lawyers have a sharper bite. But we might, in the future, have need of a bankruptcy lawyer with special talents.”
“Are you having trouble paying your bills, Mr. Takahashi?”
Carol kicked me under the table. Takahashi stared at me as Kyoko translated. When she was finished, his eyes widened for a moment, and then he laughed in quick, angry spurts.
“It is not my bills I am worried about,” he said through Kyoko. He stared at his wife for a moment and then said, “One of my investments is on the edge of failure. I would like to save something of it. We might have to push the business into bankruptcy court.”
“I’ve never done bankruptcy law before, but I’m sure I can figure it out. Not much to it, from what I understand.”
“It might not be as simple as you think.”
“There’s a book, isn’t there?”
“You mean the Bankruptcy Code?”
“That’s it. I’ll just follow the recipes. A pinch here, a dash there, and bam, we have ourselves an involuntary bankruptcy.”
Mr. Takahashi spoke and then raised his sake and smiled as Kyoko translated. “Excellent,” she said for him as he bowed his head. “Then it is settled.”
I lifted my own cup and bowed my head back. “To our future relationship,” I said.
“To our success,” said Kyoko.
“To the Bankruptcy Code,” I said.
Carol put her hand on my knee, leaned her lips close to my ear. “He likes you,” she said. “I didn’t know you could be so effective in a sales environment.” She leaned even closer and whispered, “I find business so hot, don’t you?” before she squeezed.
My little reflexive leap was noticed. Nick stared balefully into his sake glass. Velma smirked.
Kyoko pursed her lips at me, tilted her head. “I like your tie,” she said.
“Tell Mr. Takahashi I like his tie, too,” I said.
“I wasn’t translating,” said Kyoko.
“I know,” I said.
Kyoko giggled.
Later in the evening, I was in the bathroom, moaning softly as I drained the sake from my system, when the door opened behind me. I looked around. Takahashi.
I zipped up, turned, did the little bowing thing. Takahashi locked the door.
“Thank—you—for—the—dinner,” I said slowly and loudly.
“You don’t have to shout,” said Takahashi in flawless English. “I’m not French.”
I was so taken aback, I almost backed into the urinal.
“I went to Stanford, actually,” said Takahashi, avoiding my eyes as he talked, staring at my still-clasped hands as if they were the maniacal tools of a homicidal strangler. “But when it comes to business, I’m more comfortable in my native language. This little meeting,” he said, indicating our environs, “is personal. You know my wife.”
I stammered something, but he waved me quiet.
“Don’t bother denying it,” he said, still staring at my hands. “I have her followed at all times. She has been in your office on two occasions. It is why I agreed to meet with you. Have you slept with her?”
“No, of course not.”
“But you would like to. Of course you would, she has been sculpted to evoke that very desire. And, Mr. Carl, let me say this. You would do me the greatest favor if you did.”
“Excuse me?”
“Between you and me, it is quite the experience. She is very talented. A night with her is enough to drive sane men to do insane things.”
“Like marrying her?”
He laughed his hard laugh. “Why don’t you wash your hands while I talk? Your standing there with them in front of you is enough to give me the…” He paused to get the slang just right. “The willies.”
My hands were still clasped, and I realized that in all the surprise I hadn’t washed them after urination. I jumped to the sink.
“Thank you,” said Takahashi as I soaped and scrubbed. He took a paper towel from the dispenser, placed it against a tiled wall, leaned his shoulder onto the paper. “My marriage is over. Our differences are irreconcilable. Or maybe I should say our differences are existential. She continues to exist in my life. It happens. I would be upset at the prospect of losing her, but Kyoko is quite slim, don’t you think? The lawyers are already involved. All that remains is determining the amount of the settlement.”
“And you are telling me this why?” I said as I dried my hands.
“There was, of course, a prenuptial agreement,” said Takahashi. “In the event of infidelity on my wife’s part, her settlement is greatly diminished. It’s not that the amount actually matters to me, it is the principle of the thing. And, I suppose, the amount. So any way I could prove infidelity would be most advantageous.”
“What does your private detective say?”
“He has suspicions, but no specific proof.”
“Then you need a better detective.”
“You represent the chef she was sleeping with before she met me. Did she sleep with him after the marriage? Or does he know of someone with whom she did? If the answer is yes, and you have proof, it could be quite valuable to both of you.”
“I don’t want any part of this,” I said. “It’s your business.”
“That is almost admirable, Mr. Carl, but if things go as we both hope, my business will soon be your business. I must say, I am somewhat surprised. Your reaction seems so out of character.”
“And what do you know of my character, Mr. Takahashi?”
“You’re a lawyer, for one thing,” he said. “And you haven’t cultivated the reputation of a priest.”
“No, I suppose I haven’t.” I paused for a moment, thought. “Just out of curiosity, how much are we talking about?”
He laughed again. “Now I see before me a man with whom I can do business. Think about it. I am sure a clever man like yourself can come up with sufficient proof. You would not be disappointed in the result. As for the bankruptcy case, I will have one of my people send around the file shortly. I am certain you will be able to turn the entire situation around in no time. Will you be needing a retainer?”
“Oh, yes, indeed.”
“As I expected.”
“What kind of business are we talking about?” I said.
“My wife asked me to invest with an old friend whose business was failing.”
“Are there assets?”
“A building, a business. Pots and pans. It is a restaurant, you see. My wife seems to have a thing for restaurants, but they never work out. This one is in an old bank building. It is called Marrakech. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“Yes,” I said, trying to remain inscrutable, even as my heart fluttered like that of a guy who has just hit trip aces on the flop. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Good. The financial slide is getting more precipitous, and I have been having some disagreements with my partner, an oily little man who runs the place. His name is Sunshine. He is of the opinion that he has done me a great favor by taking my money. You must understand the way I do business. Financial success is only the penultimate goal.”
“What could be more important in business than money?”
He smiled. “Spite.” Takahashi shifted away from the wall. The paper towel drifted to the floor. He showed no intention of picking it up. “It would be quite acceptable for you to save my investment. It would be even more acceptable if you could cut off Mr. Sunshine’s testicles.”