Thomas had his head in his hands and was sobbing loudly. We were on the balcony at the Idee Café Park on the 3rd floor in the Tokyo Midtown Galleria. Thank god I had not chosen Starbucks for this confrontation. At least here there were only a few other patrons to turn and stare open mouthed at us.
http://www.tokyo-midtown.com/jp/shop/259/index.html
The meeting had not gone exactly as I envisioned. Life seldom does, does it?
His wife and my best friend Miriam had very much enjoyed her afternoon tour of Natsu’s gallery the other day she told me. Miriam was a chirpy little social butterfly but had not, as far as I knew, spent any time alone with any man other than her gynecologist since she got married.
“He is so lovely and has just heaps and heaps of intelligence,” she told me about Natsu sitting tucked up on my big Thomasville sofa, a cup of tea cradled in both hands.
I didn’t say anything. My opinion of Natsu had undergone a remarkable turnaround. I had not told Miriam, indeed how could I? It had been me pushing this connection.
They talked about European art museums, she went on to say. Anything symbolic or with mythological overtones was lost on Miriam but she had lived in Berlin and Amsterdam prior to their Tokyo posting and visited all the major art museums and galleries. She couldn’t exactly walk the art walk and talk the art talk but she could skip along avoiding the cracks.
When I asked cautiously if they were going to meet again, she shook her head, “Oh, I don’t think so. He didn’t say anything. Besides, I have to make a decision about the movers in the next week. Things are going to be very busy…” she trailed off.
I adjusted my position on the other couch, drawing my knees up and hugging one of the throw pillows. The couches were arranged in an ‘L’ pattern, a side table covered in fashion and gossip magazines and one of my big fish patterned porcelain Japanese lamps in between. Overstuffed and comfortable, I loved these couches. “You don’t have to go back,” I said earnestly. “Thomas can’t make you.”
“Thomas, Thomas has become very distant.” She went on to tell me she believed the failure of their marriage was her fault. My heart constricted. I knew, boy did I know, that was not entirely true. It was, however, partially true. Thomas had fallen in love with her ingenuous innocence. He had grown intellectually over the years – if not morally –she had not.
“I can’t help but feel I may have driven him to those other women. If I had been perhaps a better lover, he wouldn’t have needed to look elsewhere.”
I dropped the throw pillow and moved to sit beside her, putting my arm around her shoulder and leaning my head next to hers. “Oh Miriam, please don’t blame yourself.”
“But I do.”
“Do you want to stay with him?” I asked. “Despite everything?”
She sniffled and dabbed at her nose and eyes with a napkin, “I just don’t know. He made it plain he wants the girls and me back in the U.S. If he doesn’t want me, why should I stay?”
“Because we don’t want you to go! Forget Thomas,” I cried. “Lisa, Margot, Steffi and I we love you and your friends at Bible Study, they want you to stay.”
(Miriam went to a bible study class – a woman less in need of saving I had yet to meet. I didn’t think the bible could teach you not to put your foot in your mouth and that was the only thing Miriam was guilty of.)
It was Thomas who needed lessons in morality.
Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing right now about me, sitting on the big open balconey of the Idee Cafe.
‘Fuck,’ I said, to myself , handing Thomas my blue and gold silk Celine handkerchief.
The pictures printed from my spy camera lay scattered across the table. It had not been difficult to get him here. I said I would treat him to lunch because I wanted to talk about Miriam’s going away party – which was not an outright lie as my plan was to discuss its cancellation.
Arriving early and ordering a good lunch I made sure to eat it before Thomas’ arrival, just in case he was tempted to throw it in my face. He showed up a few minutes after 1 p.m. My mouth went dry but I thought about Miriam crying, blaming herself over Thomas’ wandering ways.
Smiling he sat down, looked over the menu, ordered one of the set lunches. After the waitress left I pushed his water glass aside and spread out the photos from the Love Hotel. Steeling myself for the tirade of profanity I was sure would follow.
He looked at them absolutely speechless; sorting through the photos one after the other.
The tears welled up in his eyes and the sobbing began.
That evening at the opening of the boutique, Natsu wasn’t chatting Miriam up — he was getting to know the competition.
I had outed Thomas.
Sobbing he told me the story. They met when Thomas came to one of Noriko’s regular shows at the Spiral Building in Aoyama– before she opened the boutique – to buy a bag for Miriam’s birthday. Steffi had ordered him there after asking him point blank one Saturday what he was getting his wife. Unable to answer Steffi grabbed her cell phoning Noriko right there on the street. She told her Thomas was coming and that Kathy would like to have one of the designer’s handsome large handbags, preferably the one with the red Camellia design. Thomas wisely did as he was ordered; few of us could stand up to Steffi especially when she was in heels which easily made her 6ft.4. He went to the show to pay for the bag. Natsu was there, drinking a glass of sweet plum wine and chatting to the staff. They left together.
“I love him,” Thomas sobbed.
Oh, now we were really fucked. What was I to do?
While I had been imagining him with $500 hookers on his business trips he had probably been phoning for Rent Boys.
“So are you gay or bi?”
He sniffed, “I always swung both ways, you know. Sometimes one; then the other, but Natsu. He’s, I don’t know, he’s special.”
Natsu, as my camera had shown went to the Love Hotel with a ringer girl just like Thomas. After checking in, one of the girls shifted rooms and the boys got busy in the other. Very busy and I had the audio to prove it. “Why can’t you just go to his place?” I asked. “What’s with the complex spy games at the Love Hotel?”
“He’s married, too.”
“Oh Christ,” I moaned.
This conundrum was getting too complicated for Dr. Sacha, marriage counselor and blackmailing tech spy. Gathering up the photos I said, “Thomas I don’t want to ruin your life but you don’t have the right to ruin Miriam’s either. I care about her certainly more than I care about you, despite your problems with your sexuality.”
“Oh god,” his face had gone ashen, “You’re going to tell her aren’t you?”
“Of course not. I thought about it!” I said glaring at him. “I really did, instead I am going to ask you to give her a choice. She knows you don’t really love her anymore and she blames herself. You’re a sorry bastard for letting her shoulder that guilt so you could play “Brokeback Mountain” fantasy games with the Rent Boys. Who is Miriam supposed to be? The cuckold Rodeo Queen?“ He winced, as well he should. “Listen, tell her that you know your marriage is having problems but if she wants to stay in Tokyo she can. Give her the option of saying say yes or no. After that it’s up to you two how this plays out. I’m thinking, though, divorce is your best option here.”
“Thank you Sacha, thank you.”
He was thanking me for not destroying the fantasy of his life, I felt nauseated.
Reaching down I picked up his bulky canvas briefcase pulling out the GPS phone from where it had spent nearly a week in a side pocket unnoticed.
Leaving him my handkerchief if not his dignity, I silently walked out.
He could pay the bill.
