The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) (37 page)

The entire reception room seemed to be leaning close to hear my embarrassed answer.

"Fine," I said glumly. With an exchange rate of 120 yen to the dollar, the price of the wax about $50, twice the going rate in the United States. I paid up, thinking the only silver lining was that Miss Kumiko wouldn't require a tip. This was Japan, where you never paid extra for good service. It was expected.

I walk this uneasy line between pleasure and pain—and understanding and confusion—almost daily. Four years ago, I emigrated from San Francisco to Tokyo seeking a job working with Japanese antiques. Nobody would hire me, so I had to establish my own business. It's been a struggle at times, but I'm proud to say that at last I've leaped the poverty line. Miss Kumiko would not think of asking me to find her an antique chest, but plenty of older, wealthy Japanese have done that. Even in an economic downturn, I'd had some very lucky breaks.

As I struggled out of the Power Princess Spa, I was headed toward my latest lucky spot: the
Gaijin Times
, an English-language magazine aimed at foreigners living in Tokyo. Their editor, an ambitious young woman journalist called Whitney Talbot, hunted me down after she'd read my article on ceramics for a Japanese antiques magazine. Whitney had asked me to write similar articles with, as she put it, 'an element of street sass.' I was apprehensive, but when she named a price for a monthly column, I decided I had to try. My first article was a guide to haggling for antiques at the weekend flea markets held at Tokyo's Shinto shrines. It was supposed to be a do-it-yourself article, but my phone started ringing off the hook with insecure foreigners willing to pay me to haggle for them. It had become very good business.

I put my quick rush of pride away as I entered the narrow sliver of a building that was home to the Sanno Advertising Agency and the
Gaijin Times
. I rode the elevator up to the third floor and a hall painted a dull beige.

Throbbing music coinming from speakers stationed on either side of the
Gaijin Times
office door was the first indicator that the magazine was striving to break free from a beige mold. Inside were chocolate- colored walls, chocolate brown tables, and a gray lump lying across the chocolate-and-strawberry print carpet.

I drew closer to the lump to identify it. Alec Tampole, an Australian who edited the magazines copious nightclub listings, was stretched out on the floor, arms angled out from his side in an A shape, his knees curled snugly against his chest.

"What's wrong?" I asked, hurrying over.

"I'm doing some Pilates exercises. I forgot you were coming in today, Rye." He pushed his legs over his head in a move that looked like the yoga plow.

"My name is actually pronounced Rei. As in Sugar Ray," I said, striving for a pop music reference that he would understand.

"Come closer so I can hear you over the music—" Alec slowly lowered his legs, grunting with exertion.

I stood as closely to his ear as possible and shouted the correct pronunciation.

He laughed. "Right, Rye. Had an accident coming over?"

"No, what do you mean? Is something going on outside?"

"That's not the kind of accident I'm talking about. What's that gunk on your knickers?"

"You bastard!" I realized belatedly that the music maven had been angling himself for a perfect view up my skirt. I leaped away from him.

"Heh, heh. Had a hot wax for a hot date, eh?" As he swung his hips over his head once again, I kicked his large, khaki-clad behind. His anguished yelp was music to my ears as I left the reception area, heading into the tiny warren of offices and my next assignment.

"Where is Whitney?" I aimed my question at Rika Fuchida, the magazine's college intern, who was standing with bare feet on Alec's desk taping up the edge of a Chibo Matto poster that had come loose. I was surprised Alec wasn't in the room watching Rika. Her skirt was shorter than mine.

"Oh, hello, Rei-san!" Rika was Japanese, so she had no trouble with my name. "Didn't you hear that Whitney-san is not here anymore?"

"No. Is she working from home?" I glanced at my watch. I had to be somewhere else in two hours, but I really had wanted to see the editor for approval of my next column topic. I was proposing a do-it-yourself piece on how to buy and refinish a tansu chest for less than $1000.

Rika shook her head so vigorously that her trendy short pigtails bounced. "Whitney quit."

"Oh, no!" I was aghast.

Alec leaned in the doorway and joined our conversation. "She took a job at the
Asian Wall Street Journal
. Going on to greener pastures, heh heh. Good thing for all of us that she did a bunk. This magazine needs to be more culturally connected. Whitney spoke the language, but she didn't know much about the pulse of modem Japan."

"If the
Journal
hired her, somebody obviously thinks she's good." I said. It was true that Whitney had only been in Japan for about six months, and she'd been quite open about how she needed a crash course in Japanese culture and history. That's why she'd hired me, in fact. But if management was unhappy with Whitney, they might not be excited about the contributors she had hired.

"Mr. Sanno, the magazine's owner, is sitting in on the story meeting today. He's the one who's going to select the new editor." Alec looked as if he would explode with excitement. "Don't get any ideas about showing off during the meeting. I saw your resume. The only journalism experience you've had prior to this is the Johns Hopkins University
News-Letter
."

"I'm not interested in the editor job," I replied coolly. His mention of the magazine owner made me nervous. Would Mr. Sanno even want to keep me on as a columnist? I was very grateful for the publicity that the
Gaijin Times
column had given my business. My net earnings were twenty percent higher since I'd started being published in the magazine. To lose my column would be a terrible blow.

"It's almost time for the meeting," Rika said. "May I pause in your office redecoration, Alec-san, in order to serve the coffee?"

"I'll help you," I offered, not wanting to stand next to Alec for a minute longer. It was only when Rika and I were placing small glasses of iced coffee on wooden coasters around the conference table that I realized how foolhardy my move had been. I was acting like an obsequious office lady. This was not the way to reinforce my stature as a columnist to the magazine's owner.

I wondered what Mr. Sanno was thinking when he took the seat of power at the end of the battered steel table. The magazines staff of six full-time editorial employees was a motley assortment of young people who perfectly reflected patterns of immigration to fin-de-siècle Japan. There was Joey, the half-Taiwanese, half-Japanese restaurant critic; Norton Jones, a fresh Columbia University graduate who covered national politics; Toshi Ueda, a recent Waseda University graduate who was the photo editor; my friend Karen Anderson, a former model who had put on weight and now wrote about fashion trends; the repulsive Alec, who did the music and entertainment listings, and Rika Fuchida, Alec's intern assistant. The gang wore assorted hues of patterned polyester, double-knit and jersey, vintage and new. Earrings swung from multiple pierce-holes, and heavy rings and bangles clattered against the table whenever anyone reached for their coffee. There was also an undeniable odor of tobacco hanging over the group, although nobody was smoking yet, perhaps in deference to the magazine's owner.

Mr. Sanno appeared about forty years old, but instead of the gray or navy suit that was de rigueur with men his age, was wearing a flashy green suit with wide lapels. He sat at the end of the table flipping through a large ring binder filled with pages of spreadsheets. Numbers, I thought, tensing up. I suspected that he would talk about what had proven profitable in the past, and how we would need to change.

"Thank you for allowing me to join your regular story meeting. You are kind to let me intrude into your busy day." Mr. Sanno's voice was surprisingly high. I wondered if this was because he found speaking English a strain. He spoke at the level of someone who did business on a daily level with English speakers, but not with the fluency of Japanese who had lived or studied overseas.

"No worries! We'd like to see a lot more of you," Alec said in his brash Australian way, and I sensed stiffening around the table. Alec was trying to turn his role as de facto editor into a permanent promotion.

"Thank you, Mr. Tampon," Mr. Sanno said, smoothly botching the pronunciation of Alec's surname. I didn't hide my smile. "We shall all sorely miss the leadership of Miss Whitney Talbot. However, as we frequently say in Japan and China, the kanji character for "'crisis"' is made from two words: "'danger"' and "'opportunity.' "Our challenging time offers a great chance to move forward, to create a larger circulation for
Gaijin Times
."

I stopped smiling. Mr. Sanno had turned to talking about numbers even sooner than I'd expected.

"You may know that
Gaijin Times
is the only magazine that Sanno Advertising owns. Perhaps you would like to understand why we created this magazine." He glanced around the table. "Because we own
Gaijin Times
, we can run advertisements on its pages for free. Of course, we charge our clients the cost of our advertising services, and they agree that it is a fair system. If we have a Mexican restaurant client, so we run an ad for the spot, and in the same issue, Joey Hirota gives it a good review."

"Mr. Sanno, if I might say a few words, the magazine is more than a advertising circular. I report stories on the banking crisis, the yakuza, the future of the Diet," Norton interjected.

Norton didn't know the right etiquette for a conversation with a Japanese boss. I exchanged quick unhappy looks with Toshi and Rika. Joey Hirota was staring down in his lap, as if he'd been horribly embarrassed to be revealed as having written phony reviews. I should have figured out the reason for the review scam long ago. Personally, I never took much stock in anyone who thought you could buy a decent chimi-changa in Tokyo.

"With changes in the economy, however, our loyal advertisers have less money to spend. To keep the magazine alive, we need more subscriptions."

I did know that the business of being a working foreigner in Tokyo had gotten tough. Salaries for English teachers, bar hostesses and the like had dropped precipitously in the last seven years. Young gaijin were deeply skeptical of the length of time that they could make a living in Tokyo, which made the prospect of their paying 6,000 yen up-front for twelve magazines unlikely.

"I agree that we need to up our subscriber list," Alec chimed in. "We have to increase page space for music and clubs, things that remind gaijin of the things they left behind. A cover with the Beastie Boys or Fiona Apple would sell far more than one with a Japanese person on it. Get it?"

"I see your point," Toshi Ueda, the photographer, said. No Japanese person would blatantly tell another person he was wrong, but I had a sense that Toshi had something up his sleeve. "Speaking of musical culture, it is interesting that the Amuro Namie cover sold more than any other issue to date."

"Yes. Sales of that issue prove that Japanese idol singers appeal to foreigners. Foreigners come to Japan because they admire our popular culture!" Mr. Sanno 's mild voice had become vehement, proving to me that Alec 's brash, anti-Japanese comment had annoyed him.

I saw my chance to make a gentle comment to help my own cause along. "I agree. Another aspect of Japanese culture that foreigners love is Japanese antiques. Even if budgets are small, people will go out of their way to study and perhaps buy vintage Japanese furniture."

"What about original Japanese fashion?" Karen chimed in. "Why don't we point out some of the local designers who aren't yet in the department stores, and are thus less expensive?"

"So many good ideas." Mr. Sanno rubbed his smooth chin. "In this case, I have looked at the Japanese publishing market for guidance. Can you identify the single largest selling category of book in Japan?"

"Business," Norton said with a yawn.

Mr. Sanno shook his head.

"Pornography," Alec sneered.

"No, I'm afraid it's something rather more innocent in its nature."

Rika raised her hand. When Mr. Sanno nodded at her, she said timidly, "Manga?"

He smiled expansively. "That's right. Forty percent of all written material sold in Japan is a comic. Will the young lady please tell me her name? I'm afraid we haven't met."

"Rika Fuchida. I'm just the intern here from Showa College."

"A fine school. I am a graduate." Mr. Sanno twinkled at her. "Do they still have the animation club?"

"Oh, yes. I'm a member."

Mr. Sanno flipped open the binder he'd been perusing, and read from it. "As Rika-chan could probably tell you, there are several English language magazines aimed at fans of Japanese animation. But there has not yet been an English language comic book that tells foreigners how to live life in Japan."

Was he going to turn the
Gaijin Times
into a comic book? No wonder Whitney had quit. Every face at the table was neutral. I could only imagine that the others were as shocked as I.

"When do you anticipate the change happening?" Toshi croaked. I imagined he was pondering what role his artsy, black-and-white photographs could have in a comic magazine.

"Since most of the three future issues' articles and art are already completed—yes, Miss Talbot was very efficient—that must not go to waste. However, I would like to see at least two articles in next month's issue that explore the idea of animation. We will also put out a call for cartoonists to audition their work and begin running two or three different comics per issue. It's now July, so let's see, a full comic book format issue by December would be reasonable. With the hard work of everyone, it could happen. Joey will write his restaurant reviews as comic strip—imagine the possibilities. People will not only read about what the food is like, but will see it in a manner like never before. Likewise for you, Miss Karen. Photographs don't accurately express fashion."