Patricia West is a long way from home, considered a gaijin in Tokyo where she is on assignment. The last thing she wants is to cause a scene, become one of those outlandish Americans. However, once meeting Hiroshi Takamaura, she can’t help herself. She does something totally against her true self, has a one night stand. Or is it that? Her night of passion lands her in a world she never expected to be in, and along the way, she falls in love. Is it with the right man? Time will tell.
It was another cold, rainy evening in late September, and there I was in Mayko’s bar nursing a scotch and soda—as I had several evenings ago, though the circumstances were different.
The inside of Mayko’s, the rain and my mood were as one—blue, all the darker shades of it. The lighting inside was misty, foggy yet had that American appeal that Asian countries like to copy so much. Exciting neon colors in places, like near the bar with electric signs indicating anything you want is what we have here. Mayko’s didn’t have what I wanted, at least, not yet.
So, there I stayed because I had to. If I’d gone straight to the airport, I would have missed him. Tonight dfinitely wouldn’t have been the night to miss this man, even if all I got were fleeting moments—all he would give me before solely interacting with his friends.
I set my watch by this beautiful stranger, yet one who was not so strange to me in the grand scheme of—sex and love. I looked at my watch and it was time—six p.m. sharp. The doors would open at any moment, announcing a man so full of life that I could hardly stand not being with him. Yet I didn’t want him to see my gaze on him the minute he entered. That would make me seem too anxious, too childish. But wasn’t I? I was in a bar waiting for a man so I could have one last look at him before our lives together ended.
As I stared into the bottom of my glass awaiting his arrival, I heard the doors open and laughter filtering in from at least six people. He was one of them and I wanted to look, wanted him to ask me over to join the crowd—but he wouldn’t, and I would not make a fool of myself by approaching him. I was a gaijin, and he would seem less honcho if he were associated with me. I finished my drink and ordered another as he and his friends found a booth not far from me. This, he did on purpose.
We gazed at one another as we had once before in this particular bar. I knew he wanted to touch me again, wanted to hear me say to him how good he was, yet he wouldn’t let himself. I knew the attraction and sentiment was still there. It was as present and as strong as it had been three nights ago—when our worlds collided…
