chapter nineteen

He meets her in the lobby of the hotel. He's wearing his best suit, Ermenegildo Zegna, charcoal black with a suggestion of pinstripes, white dress shirt and a red silk patterned tie that he hopes isn't too wide. Black shoes and he feels like a million dollars. She comes from the elevators and he catches his breath twice she's so pretty. Black wrap jacket tied around the waist with what looks like a trio of enormous goldfish scales somehow interlocked, fitted matching black pants and boots that have the same hint of red as her hair. She has on a single gold chain around her neck and she smiles when she sees him. "Ah, Ben-san, you are so handsome!" she says and he's reduced to feeling all 'gawsh shucks'.

"I wasn't sure how dressed up to get, so I went all the way with it," he says, "I hope I didn't go too far. But I have to tell you, you look..." he trails off. "My father taught me a lot of things, but he never told me what to say when you see someone so lovely."

"You flatter me, Ben-san. I put on what I could find." Shallow bow and quiet smile.

"It's just Ben," he says, "Only my mother ever called me Ben-san, and that's when I was in deep trouble." She laughs and so they head off to the bar before going to the restaurant. She orders a glass of white wine, he a vodka martini.

"I never know what to order," she says, "I just get white wine and pretend I like it."

Ben puts down his martini. "I'm sorry," he says, "I hope you don't feel like we have to drink."

"Oh, no, it's not that! I don't mind drinking. It's just that I always feel like I should have white wine, like it's the correct thing to do."

"Well, if there was nobody here but us, what would you have?" he asks.

"Sake, of course. Perhaps a lager. But mostly, I think that whisky is a good drink." She has a small, playful smile.

"Well, yeah, it's a good drink," he says, "If you're looking to forget someone, or if your dog just died, sure."

She laughs. "I am not saying that I would finish the bottle! No, I like a good sipping whisky. But not right now. I think perhaps the wine will be all right for now."

"You know, your English is very good. Have you lived here for a while? Did you go to school here or something?"

"Oh, no," she says, "This is only the fourth time that I have been to America. But for my job, it is very important that I speak other languages well. I know English best, though. It's the most fun."

"Probably all that television," says Ben. "Or do you get American television over there?"

And they chat about light things, culture and movies, music and books. She has a fascination with computers, and he loves to cook. "Oh, if I had known! Then we would not be going to a restaurant tonight!" She's finished nearly a third of her glass of wine. Normally he'd be looking to the bartender for another martini, but that doesn't seem like a good idea right now. So he paces himself, enjoys each sip and continues.

"Oh, I don't know, it's kind of scary at my place," he says. "I guess I ran away a little bit after the divorce, got a small place and it's sort of geeked out right now."

"Oh?" she says, tilting her head a little, looking off to the side, "You were married?"

"Yes I was," he says, "Married almost four years." He talks about it, openly and without rancor. He leaves out the precise details of her infidelity, but she understands that he must have been very hurt indeed. "I really didn't want to talk about it, I guess, because I didn't want to seem like 'that guy,' you know, the one who's singing a torch song and always seems to be relating everything to his ex. She dinged me up pretty good, but I'll survive.

"Hey, enough of that," he says, "I mean, that's all boring and done with." He checks his watch. "And if we walk slowly, we can make the reservation."

She stands, smoothes her top. "Walk with you? Wouldn't a taxi be better for keeping us out of any fights?" And so the doorman hails a taxi and they take the short drive to Locke-Ober where they're more than welcome to be a little early tonight. They share a few quiet minutes looking over the menus, enjoying the refined stillness of the room. She has the scrod with hot crab, and he decides on the panko and lobster crumbed pork. "I hope we don't have to do dishes, later," he says, "Did you notice that they don't list the prices of things on the menu? That means it's really really expensive."

"Oh, I don't mind doing dishes," she says, "I think it would be a good exercise, seeing what it's like to wash dishes for a living."

"You'll probably pull that 'diplomatic immunity' thing and head back to the hotel," Ben says, "And I'll be stuck here washing all the dishes." She laughs. "Hey, I don't know how to ask, really, so I'm just going to ask: How do you go about getting diplomatic immunity? Do you really work for the Japanese government? Are you, I don't know, an Ambassador or something?"

She smiles at Ben. His eyes are so open and childlike, she thinks. He's funny, he tells good stories, and he's careful with other people's emotions. Looks like Yaida-chan will be teasing her tomorrow. How could she be falling for an American, when she's supposed to be working?

"I really do work for the Japanese government. A small agency, not one that most people have heard of. Mostly I deal with specifically Japanese cultural issues."

"And what brings you here?"

"I was sent to do research," she says, "I'm... looking for something that you Americans seem to have that we'd really like to have in Japan." There. Not a lie.

"That's interesting," says Ben, "You know, there's something maybe you could help me with. My Japanese reading skills aren't probably as good as yours, and I have this thing, it's like a piece of paper, that's got some writing on it, well, I guess I was hoping that maybe, if you have time,  you might be able to help me figure out what it means. It was sort of a gift from my father."

"Ben, I would be honored to help you. I think I may have some time coming up. It doesn't look like I'll be headed home very soon. I have a lot of research, I'm afraid."

The food is excellent, and she manages to convince him that she can pay, actually, that the government of Japan can afford two Locke-Ober meals, but just this one time. They decide to walk back to the hotel, down Tremont across from the Public Gardens and to Boylston. It's warm for November, the moon just past full and climbing over the ridge of brick, glass and steel that is the Back Bay, making it feel more like summer than autumn. He explains Indian Summer. The city is much quieter than Tokyo, it feels almost provincial to her. The buildings are small, spaced openly more like Europe than Japan, of course. They can just see the hotel doorman when her handheld screams out an alarm yet again. She retrieves it quickly from her clutch bag and silences the sound. LCD shines fluorescent and she looks grim as she reads.

"I am sorry, Ben. I was hoping that we might talk some more tonight, but..."

"I know," he says, "That sounds pretty important. It's okay. I had a great time, and thanks." Doesn't look like a kiss tonight, dammit.

"Please, I will call you. Probably tomorrow," says Kitsune. Kiss? No kiss? She has a neutral look on her face because inside her stomach is dropping because she doesn't know the protocol for this. He smiles that warm smile and says that it's okay. He'll talk to her tomorrow. She bows. He waves.

[Shit!] On her way up to her room, she calls the office.