“Of course. Totally understandable. He’s expecting such a call.”
Kathryn glances at me and writes something down in her personal notes. This action does not go unnoticed by the two Japanese women sitting across from her.
The meeting drones on all afternoon. The Isoyas have concerns. We have concerns. Even in America or Europe a meeting like this would take one to two days before both parties reach even some semblance of an agreement, and even then that agreement will continue to change shape over the next few months. Yet, let me tell you, having this kind of meeting with a Japanese business is a lot more mind-numbing than a Western one. Those have room for some jokes and light-hearted tomfoolery if you’re with the right people. The Japanese? Nothing kills a deal faster than some idiot American making a tired joke, regardless if it’s funny or not. The Japanese save their humor and ability to have fun for the after-party.
Oh, I knew there would be an after-party. They’re legendary in Japan. After you strike a deal or get done doing your big business in general, everyone goes out to get shitfaced and pay women to jiggle their tits. Or something. Obviously, I wouldn’t know first-hand.
As we wrap up the final meeting of our trip, I assume all six of us (because poor Valerie wouldn’t be invited, since she was “the help,”) would head out to a fancy rich people bar to drink cognac and talk about our family histories and personal lives as if it were the common thing to do. I am… kinda right.
We would be partying, but not together.
“Mr. Mathers,” Kunihiro says with the thickest accent I have yet to hear in Japan. If you’re not familiar with Japanese, then you may not know that the sounds “th” and “r” do not exist in the language. Tons of Japanese people can’t say either sound to save their damn lives and you learn to not hold it against them when your name is “Mathers.” Even Ms. Junri could barely wrap her competent tongue around my mouthful of a name. This guy? I don’t know who Masasurus is but I hope he’s as handsome as I am. “If you are ready, my uncle and I have made reservations for the three of us at a location we’re sure you will enjoy.”
I look to Kathryn, who is likewise approached by Fujiko Isoya with that same girlish look that she had last night when she interrupted us in our room.
So this is a gendered party? Fine. I can play this game. I’ll be back in Kathryn’s company by daybreak. We’re going to spend a couple more days here in Tokyo playing tourist before heading back to America and…
“Here you are, Mr. Mathers.” Valerie interrupts my thoughts when she hands me my work cell phone. “Have an enjoyable night.”
I really, really don’t like how pale her complexion has become as of late. It started before we came to Japan. I hoped to speak with her about it after we got back, but after her nausea last night, I’m thinking we should discuss it sooner.
As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “If you’re available tomorrow, Mr. Mathers, I’d appreciate a brief meeting with you to go over something.”
“Everything all right?”
She smiles. “It will be. Go on. Enjoy your night. I’ll be returning to my room after getting some dinner if you need me.”
I wave her off with another inquiry to her well-being. She assures me once more she’s fine before disappearing down the hallway. After that, I’m in Kunihiro’s hands.
And his uncle’s, but the magnanimous chairman (who still manages to be magnanimous even with his short height) of the family business isn’t going to touch me outside of a handshake. That would be silly.
Instead, he’s going to treat me to how rich Japanese businessmen party in Tokyo. You think you’re prepared, but you never are.
***
Image is everything in Japan. This is especially true if you represent a powerful company that stands to lose face if you act like a git in public. I have a distant cousin who taught English here right after college. The big topic at that year’s family reunion was how her company expected her to be on her best behavior even when she was off-duty from work. The fear was that some parent would complain about seeing their kid’s lovely English teacher getting drunk off her ass with her friends and lose the school a bit of business.
Obviously, these things can translate in America as well, but for the most part, people don’t worry about harmless things they do outside of work getting them fired. Now, amplify this in Japan to a million (for every dollar spent that night) to represent the kind of pressure the higher-ups of a company like the Nippon Royal Hotel were under.
So we were not going to hit up the local bars that most business peons went to on Friday and Saturday nights after work. Nor would we touch Kabuki-cho, land of middle-management playtimes… because then there might be rumors that the Isoyas were friends with unsavory yakuza types that are said to own half the neighborhood. We’re also not going to Roppongi, which is where the foreigners love to party… for a lot of the same reasons. Nope. We’re getting in the back of a private car to head back to Ginza, which is where respectable people of Tokyo’s upper echelons entertain their business associates after a long, grueling meeting.