Tokyo Espionage

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Bvlgari was a luxury venue with a reputation for private parties. It rested on the eastern edge of Tokyo where it looked out across the bay. My new client had taste, and I wondered who she was.

I stopped thinking, and kept to my routine. I stood in my Calvin briefs fresh from a hot shower, admittedly taking a shameless moment to drink in my marble poise, before sliding on a freshly pressed suit and shirt. My mother always said that I looked good in black, looking at myself now, I couldn’t disagree.

I wore a little Dior pour Homme, together with the pomade in my hair I smelt delightful. The Nivea for men on my throat and face gave my skin a subtle hue. I checked all my things before taking one last look at the apartment, switching off the lights, and locking the door.

The Exige burst down the Atsugi highway and when I passed the university the butterflies set in. I didn’t know why I was so nervous, something just felt different.

The clerk told me Erika was on the terrace, expecting me. I rode the elevator up, and alighted. It was dark; the ambient lighting set a sultry mood. There was wooden decking, small rectangular tables, square chairs, that is to say, typical Japanese décor. Not that I’m complaining, I liked it. Then I saw her on the samurai terrace sipping champagne. She pressed the flute to her lips while her eyes looked out in the direction of the sea.

I walked over to her, “Excuse me – Erika?”

She smiled, and gestured to a seat opposite her. I unbuttoned my jacket, and sat, taking a moment to appraise this enigma. She seemed to be doing the same. Erika was early 60’s, though I always found age difficult to tell. She kept herself in shape, and thus by way of an elegant cut of the suit displayed an old but beautiful body. Her silk blouse exposed her chest. Her hair was in a chignon bun, black. With a poise that was both alert, and at ease, she snagged my curiosity from the outset. I even thought I had seen her before, although I couldn’t be sure.

“You’re handsome.” Her voice was kindly.

“Thank you,” I said as I took a champagne flute and poured myself a glass. “I understand you wish to have complete discretion. Romeo is the best, you needn’t worry.”

“I’m a very public figure. If this got out, I would be ruined. I’m paying you to see that it does not happen, am I understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Very well,” she said, gesturing to a nearby sofa. We walked over, close. I saw the neon spray of the white Bvlgari sign on the side of the building.

“What?” the feline purred.

“I’ve never been anywhere like this before. I’m humbled.” She smiled.

Experience had taught me to be a good listener, but Erika wanted me to do the talking. While I obliged her, I would now and then notice the corner of her lips move to form a slight smile before her expression again became neutral. I wondered about what she was thinking, but it was impossible to tell.

I finished much of the champagne, and the wine; Erika ordered more. I said that I’d had enough, but she insisted that I continue to drink. By the time that we rode the elevator down, I was utterly drunk.

She bundled me into the Lotus, and drove to a small apartment. Erika covered her face, seemingly to avoid any camera, or passing car that might have recognised her. I fell out of the Exige, and onto the hard asphalt. She looked down while throwing me the keys; she told me to get up.

The room I found myself within was small, but well furnished: flat screen, table, bed, they were all top of the range. She told me to shower; I did the best that I could, but I was struggling to stand. When I came out she was wearing a silk kimono. She told me to drop the towel that was around my waist, and to come closer.