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When his associate came around yesterday, I went to bed, exhausted from trying to do some last-minute studying. Diego never told me he’d signed the papers. He never said anything. Yet he’d done it, and tonight was just to celebrate the contract or something. He knew all this, yet he behaved the way he did. I hate him even more than before.
He knows I don’t have the money to leave. He’s used me in so many ways, and all I want to do is go home. Not home to the apartment I no longer have, but back to Cobeña in Spain. The place I grew up. I just don’t want to be with this man anymore.
The table is set with precision—delicate porcelain, polished silverware, and meticulously arranged floral centerpieces.
Hana and Yuki talk about which club we should go to afterward and tease me about not leaving the suite in the hotel.
“We did go to the theater two days ago.”
I try to think of something else for them to talk about other than Diego and me being on our honeymoon. If this were a true honeymoon, then why would we be having this business meeting?
There’s nothing honeymoony about it, and there’s no marriage between us anyway. I’ll be far from my best behavior tonight once I’ve eaten and the ladies show me a good time in this club they’re talking about. The idea of doing something fun away from Diego should make me nervous, but I bet I will have a better time knowing he isn’t around to make sure I don’t embarrass him.
Tomorrow, my focus will be on getting back to Spain, even if it means walking there.
Marrying him was the worst mistake of my life. Living with him would be one I’d regret forever. Each course is a masterpiece, presented with meticulous attention to detail. I take sips of sake between each dish.
Tonight will be the last time I ever sit down at a table with Diego. I don’t care if our abuelas say that now that Jorge is back, Belén must marry Jorge, and I, Diego. I’m not going down the aisle with him ever again. I won’t be his bride nor his fucktoy anymore.
20
Diego
She does her best to avoid me at dinner by never making eye contact and staying as far away from me as possible. She even went as far as to change the sitting arrangement. She made a comment about it being best for the wives to be seated together.
“Chicos juntos y chicas juntas1,” she slurred in broken Spanish. The men were confused, my wife couldn’t even speak any Japanese. I’d been gloating about how proud I was that she’d learned in such a short space of time, yet as the night went on, she failed to even speak in her own native language.
In their culture, they would deem me to be a liar, and then the whole deal would be off. It would be a matter of honor, one I clearly don’t have.
I smiled at her once in a while, an apologetic one, and even waited for her when she went to the bathroom. She was in there for ages, and I grew concerned, but she came out and walked past me. Then attempted to talk to a server, who politely nodded and smiled. By then, she was way past tipsy and getting drunk. She was mixing three languages in one sentence. They never understood a word she was saying, and if it wasn’t an importantbusiness deal, then maybe I would have found it amusing, but by that point, I found it childish.
One thing I’ve learned from this dinner is that Leticia is a good actress. The wounded, hurt Leticia left the building and was replaced by one that made me feel fearful of being left alone with her. When we are on to dessert, Hana, my main business associate Aoto’s wife, takes Leticia’s hand and they get up from the table. I’m distracted by Aoto and his son, Ryota, confessing that they cannot wait for the women to go so that they can have some fun. I know it means one of two things—karaoke or strippers—and seeing as we’re in a restaurant, I assume they’re talking about karaoke.
Before they leave, Leticia walks up to me and whispers, but then nearly everyone can hear her as she can hardly keep her balance.
“Lo sé que antes esta noche habías firmado el contrato. Muy bien, Diego. No puedes encargarme nada más.2”
One of the wives must have told her that I’d signed the contact yesterday, but she needs to understand that in Japanese culture, this is how business is done here. It’s not just about signing. It’s about showing that you can be social too. The way she narrowed her eyes and looked at me with such disgust as she said it. I knew this wasn’t the time nor place to be having this type of conversation. It will only end up in a row.
As the wives bow to their husbands, Leticia subtly gives me the finger. It worries me that she may leave Japan because she feels that I’ve been keeping her here on false pretenses.
But she doesn’t have any money; she can’t leave and even if she wants to, I’ll let her. She’s not a prisoner and I have no right to make her feel like one. The conversation is no longer about business as the wives leave, but they start talking about American women. I know this can only mean one thing; thestrippers are coming. These wives may look innocent on the outside, but I bet, just like their husbands, they are horny as hell. Leticia may have been a virgin when she came to Japan, but she hates me just as much as she did when she first came here, maybe more, and I don’t want to give her a reason to do something she will regret, or even worse—I will.
I smile at Aoto and ask him to lend me his phone. He does without hesitation and pats me on the back as if I’m a pet.
One phone call, and I get my contact on the phone. “Follow my wife.”
I hang up, knowing he will do his best to make sure she’s safe. That’s all I need. The men don’t speak English, but I heard some of the conversation around the table. Mi abuela used to say that I had supersonic hearing, though I don’t. But I picked up on what the wives were talking about. They’re trouble, and I wouldn’t want them getting my wife into anything she couldn’t handle in her state, especially because she’s angry and would happily do anything to get back at me.
An hour passes, and no news from my associate. It should make me feel at ease, but as the drinks get poured and the strippers enter, I feel even more tense.
Aoto motions for me and the other partners to leave the table and go into another room. He loosens his tie, as we all do, and the jackets come off as if we now have a sense of freedom. The strippers will jump out of the big birthday cake that’s being pushed in the room. The men’s white shirts are not tucked in anymore, and a couple have even removed them in anticipation for the night.
We’re in a back room, which has been set up for this purpose and somehow been converted into a large hotel suite with bars, sofas, and a couple of rooms. One has a big one-way mirror so you can be watched from the other side, something I have no interest in. The other has a bed as big as my apartment—well, not quite—so a few people can get busy at the same time. These men are a different species on the inside, not the calm, conservative type I expected. I’m breaking every rule in the book by not indulging with them, but I can’t get Leticia off my mind.
We’re not really married. If she wanted to run off and upset me, she did it when she ignored me all dinner.
A sharp pang grabs hold of my heart and twists at the idea of her going out with these ladies and doing anything with another guy. I can see it already, and it’s winding me up.
