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Naoki Gotoh got off the JR Negishi train at Ishikawacho Station, feeling a little guilty. Come on, he told himself. Yokohama is the second-largest city in Japan. You’re forty-five minutes away from Kanazawa-Hakkei by train. Nobody’s going to care. You deserve this. It was seven o’clock on a Friday night in August. By all rights, he should be home with his wife and family. Instead, he was up here, across the Nakamura River from the Chinatown district, by himself. One night to yourself. A drink, some good music, then across the river for some black vinegar chicken at Restaurant Kokien. What’s wrong with that? It’s not like you’re going to a hostess club… or a massage parlor.
First, drinks and music at Soul Bar Motown. He found it easily; two blocks down Ishikawa-dori from the train station, on the corner near a florist’s shop. There was a big sign on the building, and another small one on the street , pointing up a staircase to the second floor. Faint music drifted out to the street; Little Anthony and the Imperials singing “Out of My Head”. Naoki smiled; he had sudden memories of his father playing this music, dancing with his mother in the kitchen. He went through the door at the top of the stairs and sighed as the air conditioning hit him. The place wasn’t too crowded; only a couple of people at the narrow bar, a couple more at the table by the huge window that looked over the river to the Chinatown district beyond. The bartender was dressed casually in a brown and cream silk shirt and Panama hat over horn rimmed glasses and goatee. Off to one side stood a dignified old man, presiding over a set of turntables and a wall full of vinyl record albums. The decor was all smooth black wood and burgundy trim, with pictures of soul artists on the drink menus and framed records on the walls. There were two bottles labeled ‘Homemade Coffee Vodka’ displayed prominently on the counter. Homemade? Maybe I should try that… No, go easy, you know what booze does to you.
He slid into a chair at the bar and acknowledged the bartender’s greeting.
“What can I get you?” asked the fellow.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” said Naoki. “I came mostly for the music. What would you recommend?”
The bartender considered him for a moment. He’s going to throw me out… thought Naoki. Then the bartender smiled and said, “I have just the thing. A Horse Neck; ginger beer and brandy, with bitters and a lemon garnish. Refreshing, but not too strong.”
Naoki nodded, and watched as the bartender prepared his drink. It was a whole performance; ice in a tall glass, swirled to chill it, then tossed; a long strip of lemon rind curled around the handle of a long spoon and hooked over the edge of the glass; more ice, then a measure of brandy, a dash of bitters, then ginger beer over that, the whole presented with a nod and a smile. Naoki sipped it; the flavors were strong, but not overwhelming. First the hot ginger, sour lemon, and bitter orange, then the sweetness of the brandy underneath. Watch it; drink slowly. You’re liable to do something stupid if you have too many of these.
The master at the turntables brought up Sam & Dave, “Hang On, I’m Comin’”. Naoki felt the brandy start to kick in. He smiled and nodded along, his ears automatically picking out Steve Cropper’s Telecaster licks under the driving horns. He had to stop himself from playing air guitar. The old masutaa kept up a steady flow of ‘60s Motown; Al Green, Aretha Franklin, Sam Cooke, songs of love and devotion and heartbreak. Naoki sipped his drink and smiled and listened, and let his cares float away on the brandy.
Someone slid into the chair to his right. He caught a whiff of pear blossoms and violets, and heard a breathy voice asking for a Manhattan. The corner of his eye caught a woman’s profile, a cream-colored dress, dark hair piled up off her neck. What’s the harm? Take a closer look. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t look at a woman… He turned his head to look more closely, and caught her looking at him. Shit, she’s figured me out, I knew this was a bad idea! Oh well…
She was stunning. Maybe a few years younger than him, a dress that hinted at curves underneath, toned calves with no hosiery, strappy sandals. The polish on her toes matched her fingernails. A simple gold wedding band sat on her left ring finger. Bright eyes, small nose, high cheekbones and a pointed chin. Light makeup over clear skin, faint lines around her mouth and eyes that spoke of quick laughter. Lips… oh, those lips…
Down, boy! Down! Sit! She’s married!
He did his best to look non-threatening, nodded a greeting, and turned back to his drink. The bartender finished mixing the Manhattan and placed it in front of her. She sipped it and sighed with satisfaction. “Perfect! I haven’t had one of these in a while. Thank you!”
That voice. The kind of voice you wanted to hear say ‘Good morning’ about five centimeters from your ear… He could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. Was that the brandy? It had to be the brandy. Stop it, he told himself. Strong drink is a liar. Strong drink leads you to rash acts.
Just like this. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one,” he found himself saying. He winced inwardly. Ugh, you sound like a bad comedy skit!
She looked at him skeptically. “I probably have, but let me hear it anyway.”
Dammit, what do I say now? “Um… Two penguins, a horse and three monks walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says ‘What is this, some kind of joke?’”
She laughed. It was music. “You know, I actually have not heard that one,” she said. “It’s a terrible joke, but still… I’ll give you forty points for the effort. How’s that?”
“Forty out of sixty?” said Naoki. His tongue was loosening. “Only forty? I spent forty seconds working on that joke.”
She laughed again. “You only got that much because it wasn’t a pickup line. And I gave you five extra points because you didn’t call me ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie’.”
Naoki took a large swig of his drink. Liquid courage… “Hear that a lot, do you?”
She made a wry face. “Not as much as I used to,” she said. “You get to be my age, you pretty much become invisible.”
“Invisible?” That’s it, said the brandy. Keep talking… “You’re hardly invisible. Anybody who doesn’t notice you is either blind or an idiot.”
Again, that musical laugh. “Now that is a pickup line,” she said. “Not a bad one, so you don’t lose any points.”
She’s talking to you, said the brandy. This is good. “Pickup line?” said Naoki. “I’m just paying you an honest compliment.”
“Really? You just go around complimenting people?” She turned to the bartender. “Hey, buddy, has this guy paid you any compliments?”
“He hasn’t even paid me for his drink,” said the bartender, then nodded his thanks as Naoki laid some cash on the counter. “But he’s right. You’re very noticeable. You’ve got this sophisticated Nomiya Maki vibe going.” He set down the glass he’d been polishing. “Don’t take it from me, though. I get paid to notice people.”
Almost on cue the old master at the turntables brought up Pizzicato V’s “Sweet Soul Revue”, which made her laugh and shake her head. “Nomiya Maki, huh? I was trying for Audrey Hepburn. But being compared to the Queen of Shibuya-Kei isn’t bad.” She struck a pose, spine straight and legs crossed, one finger on her chin. “What do you think, boys? Am I Vogue Japan material?”
“Oh yes,” said Naoki, a little too quickly. “Most definitely.”
“Am I making you nervous?” said the woman.
“Me? No, not at all.” He could feel the blush coming again. Stop it! He took another swig of the Horse Neck, only to get a noseful of ice cubes and lemon rind. Empty. Should he order another one? Be a devil, said the brandy. One more won’t hurt. He signaled the bartender, who started the ritual again.
“You look like you’re about ready to eat your glass.” She leaned in a little closer. “So what’s a guy like you doing in a Yokohama soul bar all by himself?”
“A guy like me?” asked Naoki, taking a sip of his new drink. “What do you mean, a guy like me?”
She gave him an appraising look. I think she likes you, said the brandy. “Well, you’re wearing a business suit, so you haven’t been home yet. There’s a ring on your left hand, so you’re married. Let me guess… your boss is really demanding and makes you work late. You’re married to a fat shrew and your kids are juvenile delinquents, so you’re here drowning your sorrows and hoping nobody recognizes you.”
Naoki smiled back at her. The brandy made it easier. “Actually, no,” he answered. “I’m one of those deadbeat employees you hear about. I take naps in the office, and my boss doesn’t expect much of me. My wife is a gorgeous woman, and I couldn’t be happier with my daughters. As for why I’m here…” He glanced downward in what he hoped was a meditative pose. “Sometimes you get tired of seeing the same faces all the time. You get into a routine. Same people, same conversations, same things day after day. So, I came here. There’s good music, and the people seem pretty friendly…”
“So, happily married and no sorrows to drown,” she said. “Just out for drinks and random conversation, huh?”
“That’s right,” he said. “Just in the mood for something different.”
She nodded. “I get that. I’m kind of the same way. I got married young, the kids came fast… would you believe I used to be a party girl?”
Naoki could, but he wasn’t going to say so. “Really?” he said, trying to show casual interest.
“Oh yeah. Go out to live houses every night, see all kinds of crazy bands, get hammered at the after parties.” A faraway look flashed briefly in her eyes, then she shook her head. “Had to give it up, of course. You can’t come home drunk and tell your three-year-old ‘Here’s a change; Mommy’s going to throw up on you.’ Don’t get me wrong; my husband’s a great guy, and I like having kids… but sometimes I miss the life.” The faraway look came back. “There’s nothing like seeing a really good band that’s putting everything they’ve got into the music, and you feel it and give it back, and it just builds and builds and it takes you out of yourself and you feel like anything is possible, like you’re in the presence of a god…”
“I was in a band,” said Naoki. His lips felt a little numb. “The Rascal Kings. Covers, mostly, but we did some originals. Some J-Rock, a lot of Western alternative stuff. I was the lead guitarist.”
She had the courtesy to look impressed. “Lead guitar, huh? Bet you were a real chick magnet.”
Naoki waved his hand dismissively. “Nah. You know how in every band there’s one guy who looks just a little bit goofy? That was me. Jun and Makoto, the vocalist and bassist, they had the long hair and the tight leather pants, so they got all the attention. I just stood off to one side and did Hendrix impressions.” He took another sip of his drink. “Bad ones, mostly.”
“Oh, come on,” she scoffed, nudging his arm. “The lead guitarist always gets the girls. A good-looking guy like you? No way you were getting ignored.”
Naoki blushed furiously. It wasn’t just the brandy this time. She thinks I’m good-looking! When was the last time a woman called me that? “Well…” he said, “Maybe there were a few, here and there…”
“That’s more like it,” she said, nudging him again. “I bet you miss it, too… the crowds, the smoky bars, the pretty young girls looking at you like you’ve just descended from heaven…”
Naoki snorted. “Drunk American sailors shouting ‘Freebird!’...”
She nudged him again, this time with her shoulder. There was that pear-blossom scent again. When had she gotten so close? “Ever try reliving the old days?” Her voice was husky now, a purr rather than an exhale.
“I tried getting the band back together once,” he said. “We were pretty horrible.”
“How about spending time with an old fan?” she said. She was almost whispering now, her eyes half-lidded. “I remember the Rascal Kings. Had some great times at your shows. Even hung out with you a couple of times.” Naoki felt her foot touch his ankle, gentle, thrilling. “What do you say, Mister Guitar Man?”
His phone chimed, then hers. Incoming text messages. She pulled back, looking disappointed. Several more dings, then a ringtone. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s the babysitter. I have to take this.” She tapped her phone then held it up. “Hello? Hi, Sayako, what’s wrong?”
Naoki looked at his own phone. Two messages, both from Sayako. <I’m sorry to disturb you, but Futari has gotten sick.> <She feels very warm to the touch, and she’s thrown up. >
“What?” she said into her phone. “No, don’t worry, we’ll be home as soon as we can. Thank you for calling.” She hung up and gave him a wry smile. “There goes date night…”
Naoki smiled back and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Michiyo. Maybe next time …” They paid for their drinks and thanked the masutaa for the music, then headed back to the station to catch a cab.
Twenty minutes back to Kanazawa-Hakkei by cab, Michiyo glued to her phone, comforting Futari and telling Sayako where to find the thermometer and the medicine. The brandy high slowly faded as they drove, but Naoki didn’t mind. He paid the cabbie, then paid Sayako the full amount, even though it had only been a couple of hours. “Hazard pay,” he told the fourteen-year-old girl. “Tell your folks we said thank you for letting you do this.”
Soon Futari was calmed down and settled in bed, her fever lowered and her mind soothed with her favorite book and stuffed toy. Naoki kissed her forehead and turned out the light, leaving the hall light on. His phone pinged; a photo from Hitori, a group selfie showing the Kessoku Band onstage with the Osaka club audience behind them. I did it, Dad!
Yes you did, he typed back. Go fly, Little Wing.
Michiyo was in their bedroom, unpinning her hair in front of the mirror. “All set,” he said. “Hopefully she won’t come crawling in at 3 AM like she used to.”
“She’s seven years old,” said Michiyo, taking the last pin out and letting her hair down fully. “Let her be a kid for a while.”
He came up behind her and put his arms around her, smiling as she leaned back just a bit to fit into his embrace. “How do you do it?” he asked in a low voice. “How do you keep getting more beautiful like this?”
“I have a delusional husband,” she said wryly. “But thank you anyway.” He felt her start to turn, and loosened his embrace so she could face him. Her eyes were bright, and she was smiling.
“You know,” she continued, “You never answered me, back at the bar.” She draped her arms around his neck and slowly drew him closer. “How about spending time with an old fan?”
She kissed him then, her mouth blooming like flowers in spring, tasting of peat and iodine and cherries, and for a while Naoki was no longer forty-three years old, devoted father and loving husband. He was twenty-five, fresh off the stage, kissing the girl he was going to marry.