want to win. I want to win. I want to win.

I want to be number one. I want to be respected.

I want to be someone whom everyone notices.

I want people to say, What an awesome employee Kazue Sat is. So glad we hired her!

But even if I was at the top of the list, who would know? My job was not one where it was easy to distinguish yourself. The work I did was not easily quantified. I wrote reports, and it was difficult for others to recognize my excellence. This drove me crazy. What could I possibly do to ensure that the others in the office noticed me and my abilities? My superiors claimed I’d been admitted to the firm on account of my family connections. I had to think of a way to prove them wrong—to prove myself.

Later, when I heard that Yamamoto had passed the top level of the Government English Language exam, I started studying for the exammyself. After I’d studied like a maniac for a full year, I took the exam and passed the top level also. But it wasn’t particularly unusual to have people in our firm who had top-level credentials; that still wasn’t good enough. I started taking all my notes and writing memos in English. I wrote Japanese with English grammar structure. As a result, those around me stared at me in amazement, and I was delighted by my own success.

Another time, I decided I would contribute an article to the newspaper. With my breadth of knowledge and superior verbal skills, I knew I could write not just on domestic economic issues but on international politics as well. I submitted a short article called “What Gorbachev Should Do” to the readers’ column of one of the national newspapers. When the paper printed the article in the morning edition, I bounded off to work in fine spirits. I was sure everyone would come up to me and compliment me on the piece. “Hey, I saw the paper this morning!” they would say. “Your piece is great!” But contrary to expectations, no one at the office seemed to have even noticed. They all went busily about their work. What, no one here even reads the paper? I found that really hard to believe.

During lunch the office manager frequently read the paper, so I assumed he’d have something to say to me about it. I loitered around his desk during my lunch break, not able to eat anything myself. The office manager looked up and glanced over at me.

“Did you write this, Sat?”

He thumped the paper with his finger. My chest swelled.

“Why, yes, I did.”

“You’re really clever, aren’t you?”

And that was that. I can still remember the disappointment I felt. There must be something wrong here. I could think of only one reason for this oversight, one reason that could redeem me in my own eyes. They were jealous of me.

Two years or so had passed since I entered the firm. Once, while I was writing a report in English, I felt someone hovering over me.

“You write like a native speaker, don’t you? Did you study overseas?”

Occasionally the head of the research division would stop by to check on things. He was now peering over my shoulder, interested in what I was writing. The division head was named Kabano. He was forty-three, a good-natured fellow who’d graduated from a mediocre university and was the kind of person who was often treated with contempt. I ignored him. I didn’t think there was any particular reason to reply. Kabano looked at me—set adrift in that office with no one really to rely on—and smiled compassionately.

“I knew your father well, Sat. He was in accounting when I first joined the firm. He helped me a good deal.”

I looked up at Kabano. A number of people had mentioned my father, but most of them had only been on the fringes of power. Kabano was no different, but I couldn’t help feeling that he was trying to belittle my father for some reason.

“Such a shame about your father—and him still so young. But having an exceptional daughter such as yourself must have made him happy. I’m sure he was very proud of you.”

I said nothing and turned back to my work. Kabano must have been shocked by my lack of response; he left the office immediately. That evening as I was preparing to leave, a male coworker who was five years my senior came over to me. He had been the one who had accused me at the office party of using connections to enter the firm.

“Sat, it really isn’t any of my business, but I’d like to talk with you about something. Do you have a minute?”

He barely spoke above a whisper, glancing around nervously the whole time.

“What is it?”

I could feel my defenses rising. I still hadn’t forgiven him.

“It’s kind of difficult to talk about, but I feel it’s my obligation. I don’t think your attitude earlier was appropriate. In fact, I think you were rude to Mr. Kabano.”

“Really. And what about your own attitude? Weren’t you the one who announced to everyone that I used connections to get into the firm? Don’t you think that was rude?”

I imagine he had not expected me to launch this kind of defense, because his face wilted.

“If I insulted you, please understand it was just the liquor talking. I apologize if I hurt your feelings. That hadn’t been my intention. I meant it as a warning to others that you are part of the G Corporation family and that they shouldn’t be rude to you. That’s what Mr. Kabano was trying to express earlier. That’s why I think your attitude was rude. In a family such as ours, everyone supports and encourages everyone else. That’s just the way we are, and you’d do well to recognize it. Getting sulky about an imaginary offense is counterproductive.”

“You’re welcome to think whatever you like, but I entered this firm through my own ability. Of course I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps, but I earned my position here on my own. Naturally I’m very proud of my father. But I’m tired of hearing about him.”

My older colleague folded his arms across his chest. “Do you suppose it was really through your own ability?”

When I heard him say this, I practically burst out in tears of rage. “If you don’t believe me, check it out yourself! And stop going on about connections. I’ve had enough.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he continued. “I got in because of connections, too. My uncle worked here. He’s already reached retirement age and isn’t around now. I don’t care if people say I’m here on account of connections or not. There are times I felt protected because of my uncle. Of course, there are always people who will hassle you because of connections. But life is full of enemies anyway. It doesn’t hurt to form strong alliances and turn negatives to your advantage. That’s the way the corporate world operates in Japan.”

“I think it’s wrong.”

“That’s because you don’t understand the first thing about a man’s world.”

With that as his parting shot, my colleague turned and walked away. I was so angry I thought I’d explode. A man’s world! Men trotted that out when it suited them, forming alliances with one another and excluding women at their convenience. If G Architecture and Engineering Firm was supposed to be one big happy family, women ought to be included in these alliances also. I was pretty sure there was a Q University alumni ring in the firm, but no one had told me about it. I was surrounded by the enemy. I really was cast out into the wilderness. Suddenly I heard Yamamoto speaking to someone in a hushed voice.

“Okay. I’ll meet you in front of the movie theater.”

She hung up hurriedly, before anyone could know she was making a private phone call, and looked around her. She looked radiantly happy. Undoubtedly she was going to meet a man. “It’s important to make strong alliances as best you can and turn the negatives to your advantage.” That’s what my senior colleague had advised. If that was the case, the best alliances a woman could have were with men. Yamamoto couldn’t take being here much longer, and that’s probably because she had a man. I returned to my desk feeling dejected, flopped down in my chair, and laid my head on my desk.

“I’m going now,” Yamamoto called, as she headed for the door. She was wearing freshly applied bright red lipstick and her whole body was suffused with joy. I straightened up abruptly and followed her.

The man waiting for Yamamoto in front of the movie theater wore the drab uniform of a graduate student: jeans, jacket, and sneakers. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his face, and everything about him looked ordinary. But there was Yamamoto waving to him as if she were the happiest woman in the world. The two then disappeared into the theater. What the hell? I had assumed Yamamoto’s boyfriend would be incredibly handsome and was bitterly disappointed to find things so contrary to my imagination.

Once the bell for the movie sounded and I was left standing alone in the street in front of the theater, my heart would not stop racing. Small black insects began to crawl their way through my heart. First one, then two, then three, and finally four. The more I tried to chase them away, the more they came. Before long I felt like my entire heart was little more than a wriggling black mass. The feeling was so oppressive, I wanted to break into a run.

Yamamoto had what I would never be able to obtain. And it wasn’t just Yamamoto. The female assistants who taunted me for not being able to do my work, my male peers whose rudeness knew no bounds, the marginal old men like Kabano—all of them had the ability to interact with others: friends, lovers, someone to whom they could open their hearts, someone with whom they could share conversation, someone they longed to see once work was done. They had people outside the workplace who made them feel happy.

The May breeze was cool and delightful. The setting sun dyed the thicket of trees in Hibiya Park orange. Even so, the dark mood that had encircled my heart would not leave me. The black insects swarmed around one another, wiggling, multiplying, dangling along the edge of my heart, and finally spilling over. Why only me? Why only me? I continued to ask myself this as I fought against the breeze, making my way to the Ginza, my back bowed with the effort. Once I returned to my dark lonely house, the only person who would be there to greet me would be my mother. That was all I had to look forward to. The thought of returning to work the next day was more depressing than I could bear. My disappointment, my irritation, fed the insects in my heart.

The life I was living was no different from that of a middle-aged man. I went to work and then I went home. I existed solely to carry home a paycheck. Whatever I earned was turned immediately into household expenses. First Mother put my check in the bank. Then she bought cheap food for our meals, paid my sister’s tuition costs, and made our house payments. She was even responsible for doling out my own meager allowance. If I took off somewhere and never returned, my mother—who had already used most of the savings—would be completely at a loss. I couldn’t run away. I would have to continue looking after my mother until she finally died. Weren’t my responsibilities exactly like those faced by men? I was only twenty-five years old at that point, yet I was already shouldering the weight of a family. I am forever a child with a paycheck.

But men have secret pleasures that they are able to enjoy. They slip off with their buddies for drinks, they play around with women, and they enjoy all kinds of intrigues on the side. I had nothing outside of work. And I wasn’t even able to enjoy work because I wasn’t considered the best; Yamamoto took that title. I had no friends in the firm. And when I looked back to high school, I could think of no one there whom I could have called a friend. No one! The insects in my heart squirmed as they whispered their taunts. I was so overcome with loneliness and despair that I came to a halt right there on the streets of the Ginza and started to cry. The insects writhed.

Someone speak to me. Call out to me and take me out. Please, please, I’m begging you, say something kind to me.

Tell me I’m pretty, tell me I’m sweet.

Invite me out for coffee, or more….

Tell me that you want to spend the day with me and me alone.

As I continued on my way along the Ginza streets I gazed pointedly into the eyes of the men I encountered, beseeching them wordlessly. But every man who happened to glance in my direction quickly averted his eyes with an irritated look. They would have nothing to do with me.

I turned off the main avenue and darted down a side street. Women who looked like they worked in hostess bars brushed passed me, their faces thick with makeup, the air around them heavy with perfume. These women refused to look at me too, assuming I’d accidentally stumbled onto their turf. They only had eyes for men—potential customers. But the men who stumbled by all looked to be the type who worked in a firm just like mine—just like me. The insects squirmed, addressing the women. One of the women standing in front of a club stared long and hard at me. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was wearing a silver kimono with a burgundy obi. Her jet-black hair was swept up atop her head. She glared at me suspiciously through upturned eyes.

The insects in my heart accosted the woman: What are you looking at? And when they did, the woman began to preach to them.

An amateur like you—you’re an eyesore here. Leave. You don’t understand much of anything, do you, you pathetic little princess. These are bars for company men. What goes on here is directly related to what goes on in the company. And both are a man’s world. All for men and men alone.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Women who polish their skills and capture a man are the shrewdest. The kimono woman looked me up and down, clearly unimpressed by my drab appearance. She snorted scornfully. Impossible for you, I suppose. Did you abandon your femininity?

I didn’t abandon anything. If you compare me to a woman like yourself, I look pretty drab; but as a result, I’m able to work a real job. I’ll have you know I graduated from Q University and I work at the G Firm.

All totally worthless, I imagined that the woman replied. As a woman you’re less than average. You’d never be able to get a job in the Ginza.

Less than average. Less than the fiftieth percentile on a standard scale. No one would want me. The thought made me go nearly crazy. How horrible to be less than average.

I want to win. I want to win. I want to win. I want to be number one.

I want people to say, What a great woman, I’m glad I got to know her.

The insects in my heart continued to squirm.

A long thin limousine pulled up. The smoked glass on the windows prevented me from seeing inside. While the people walking down the street paused to watch the car pass, the limousine, almost too big for the narrow lane, turned the corner and came to a halt in front of an elegant-looking establishment. The driver leaped out and opened the passenger door. A fortyish man, looking very enterprising in his double-breasted suit, stepped out with a young woman. The hostess-club women, the waiters, and all the others passing on the street took notice of the woman, expressing awe at her exceptional beauty. She wore a glimmering black cocktail dress. Her skin was pallid, her lipstick bright red, and her hair was long, light brown, and wavy.

“Yuriko!”

I called her name without even thinking. There she was in the flesh: my love rival from high school, licentiousness incarnate. She had no need for diligence or study; she was a woman born exclusively for sex. Yuriko heard me and turned around. She glanced at me briefly, turned back to the man, and took his arm without saying a word. I’m Kazue Sat! You know that perfectly well. Why are you pretending you don’t recognize me? I bit my lip in anger.

“Do you know her?” The kimono-clad woman asked me suddenly. All this time I’d been having an imaginary conversation with this woman. To have her suddenly address me took me by surprise. Her real voice was surprisingly youthful and kind.

“We were in high school together. I was good friends with her older sister.”

“You’re kidding. Her older sister must be a beauty, too.”

The woman could hardly conceal her admiration. I was quick to reply, “No, she was a real dog. They didn’t look a bit alike.”

I left the kimono-clad woman standing there looking shocked and hurried home. I felt a great sense of satisfaction; I think the sight of Yuriko set it off, knowing how humiliated her older sister would be to know what Yuriko was up to. The knowledge released me from my own misery. Here was someone even more pathetic than I was! Yuriko’s older sister was not as intellectually gifted as I. She reeked of poverty, and she would never be able to get a job with a first-rate firm. I was still better than her, I told myself, appeasing my earlier despair. All it took was a petty incident like that and the insects in my heart vanished into thin air. That night I was freed from the anxiety I thought would hound me forever. But I still feared the insects would return to torture me—a foreboding that still seemed very real.

I don’t have any good memories of my childhood. I have tried to forget it. Gazing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I cannot help recalling unpleasant times from the past. I’m now thirty-seven. I’ve still retained my youthful looks. I diet, so I’m thin. I can still wear a size two. But I’ll be forty in three years and it terrifies me. By the time a woman is forty, she’s basically an old hag. When I turned thirty I was afraid I was slipping over the hill, but it’s nothing like turning forty. At thirty there was hope for a future. By hope, I mean I thought I might finally get selected for something good at work that would seal my success, or I might meet Mr. Right, or something equally ridiculous. Now I don’t entertain any such notions.

I always get a little crazy when I reach a turning point in age—like when I was teetering between nineteen and twenty or twenty-nine and thirty. I was thirty when I first started the prostitution business. I was annoyed that I had no sexual experience. When I said I was a virgin, I got a customer right away just because he was curious. I don’t want to remember that encounter. But at the time I figured I wouldn’t ever be fifty. I doubted I’d even live to be forty. At any rate, I thought it would be better to die than become an old hag. That’s right. I’d rather die. Life has no meaning for an old hag.

“Would you like a beer?”

I heard the customer calling to me from the other room. I was in the shower washing myself, washing every nook and cranny, washing away the sweat and spit and semen that glistened all over my body—fluids from a man I didn’t know. Even so, the customer that night was not particularly bad. He was in his late fifties. From his clothes and his manners, I would say he was employed by a respectable company. He was gentle. And he was offering me a beer. That was a first for me.

From the perspective of a fiftyish man, I must have appeared young, even at thirty. If I always had customers like him, I’d be happy; I could continue in the business even after I passed forty. I wrapped the bath towel around my body and returned to the room. My customer was sitting in his underwear smoking a cigarette while he waited for me.

“Here, have a beer. We’ve still got time.”

His relaxed manner calmed me. If he’d been younger he’d want to try to do it again and again.

“Thank you.” I used both hands to lift the glass to my lips, and the customer’s eyes narrowed in a smile.

“You’ve got good manners. You must have been brought up to be a proper young lady. Tell me then, why are you doing this?”

“I wonder…” It made me feel good to hear him say I had good manners, so I smiled at him politely. “I guess at some point I just got bored with going back and forth to work, day in and day out. Women sometimes want adventure in life. A job like this—I mean, for a woman, I see all kinds of people I might not otherwise have ever had the chance to meet. I guess I get to know a little bit more about the world.”

I do it for the adventure? Oh, please, that had to be the oldest line in the book! But the customer was the type who wanted the fantasy. He wanted a woman who would give him a story.

“Adventure?” He fell for it.

“Selling your body is the ultimate adventure. I’m sure a man couldn’t do it.”

I smiled sweetly and adjusted my wig. Even when I shower I don’t get my face wet, and I never remove the wig.

“You work for a firm?”

“That’s right. But it’s a secret!”

“I won’t tell; let me in on your secret. Which firm is it?”

“If you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

I did my best to build the suspense. If I played my cards right, he might ask for me again. At least that was what I was banking on.

“It’s a deal. I’m kind of embarrassed to say, but I teach at a university. I’m a professor.”

I could tell he was proud of what he did and who he was. If I could get a bit more information I would have scored a great success.

“You’re kidding. Which university?”

“I’ll give you my business card. And if you have one, I’d like to have it.”

And so, naked, we exchanged cards. My customer’s name was Yasuyuki Yoshizaki. He was a professor of law at a third-rate private university in Chiba Prefecture. Putting on reading glasses, Yoshizaki peered at my card respectfully.

“Well, this is a shock! So you’re the assistant manager of the research office at G Architecture and Engineering. My, my, what a distinguished person. Your job must come with considerable responsibility.”

“It’s not so bad. I do research and write reports about the economic factors affecting our markets.”

“Well, then, we’re practically in the same line of work. Did you go to graduate school?”

Yoshizaki’s eyes revealed both fear and curiosity. I was driven to take advantage of his excitement.

“Oh, no. After I graduated from the economics department at Q University, I didn’t go on. Graduate school was too much for me!”

“You graduated from Q University and you’re working as a hotel call girl? Well, that’s a first! I’m impressed.”

Clearly excited, Yoshizaki filled my glass with beer.

“I hope you’ll see me again. Let’s drink a toast to our next meeting.”

We clinked glasses. I’ll look forward to it, I offered. I queried Yoshizaki as I studied his name card.

“Professor, may I call you at your office? I’d like to meet you without having to go through the escort service. If I go through the office, they take a cut and I lose. If it’s all right, could I have your cell phone number?”

“Oh, I don’t carry a cell phone. But you can call me at my office. If you tell them you’re Sat from Q University I’ll know who it is. Or you could say you’re Sat from G Firm. That’d be fine too. My assistant would never suspect a graduate of Q University of being a call girl!”

Yoshizaki chuckled. Doctors and professors were the most lascivious of all. From what I knew of their world, most men who were obedient to authority figures, as well as those who had earned authority positions, were always idiots. When I recall the anxiety I once felt about being at the top of that world, I laugh so bitterly it makes my teeth ache.

When we left the hotel, Yoshizaki stepped into the street away from me as if he had never met me. But I didn’t care. Instead, it made my heart throb with excitement. Yoshizaki was interested in me as a woman, and surely this was proof that he was destined to become one of my loyal customers. I’d be able to meet him privately, without the escort management taking a cut from my pay, which was the ideal way of earning money in this business. Women use their bodies to earn money—so it seems unreasonable that we can’t stand on street corners alone. Yet there isn’t anything more dangerous than trying to procure your own customers off the street. But Yoshizaki was different. He was an affable university professor who seemed to have a real interest in me. I was counting on him to become a good customer.

I hummed happily as I strolled through the night with Yoshizaki. I forgot the chilly reception that awaited me at the escort service office, the Braid’s belligerence, the way my colleagues at the firm snubbed me, my mother’s nagging, even my fear of growing old and ugly. I was flushed with a sense of victory. The future was bright. Good things were in store for me. I hadn’t felt this sense of optimism for a long time. For the first time since I entered the escort agency at the age of thirty, my position as an elite businesswoman was appreciated, and I was being celebrated and sought out.

I grabbed Yoshizaki’s arm and linked my own around it. Yoshizaki broke into a grin and looked over at me.

“Well, well, don’t we look like a fine pair of lovers.”

“Shall we become lovers, professor?”

The young couples we passed along the hill turned to stare at us and then broke into whispers. A bit old for it, aren’t you? they seemed to say. I couldn’t care less what they thought and didn’t pay any attention, but Yoshizaki brushed my arm away, looking confused.

“This doesn’t look good. You’re young enough to be mistaken for one of my students—and a mistake like that could cost me my job. Let’s be a bit more discreet, shall we?”

“I’m very sorry.”

I apologized politely for causing any inconvenience, to which Yoshizaki waved his hand in front of his face timidly. “No, no, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not blaming you.”

“I know.”

He still looked upset, though, and looked nervously around him. When a cab approached he flagged it down.

“I’m going to take a taxi the rest of the way,” he said, as he began to climb in.

“Professor, when will I be able to see you again?”

“Next week. Call me. Say it’s Sat from Q University. I’ll have my assistant put you through.”

The way he said it was a bit haughty, but I didn’t mind. I was happy. Yoshizaki had recognized my talent, my superiority. What a fortunate chance meeting ours had been.

Once I made the crest of the hill on Dogenzaka Avenue, I turned to look back toward Shibuya Station. The road rose in a gentle curve. It was past midnight and a breeze had come up, fairly strong for October. It ruffled the hem of my Burberry coat. My armor during the day was a flowing cape; at night it became Superman’s cape. By day a businesswoman; by night a whore. Inside my cape was an attractive woman’s body. I was capable of using both my brains and my body to make money. Ha!

The taillights of a taxi winked at me between the trees along the avenue as it slowly made its progress up the hill. A little faster and I would catch it, I thought. Tonight I looked beautiful, full of life. I turned down a narrow street lined with small shops. Perhaps I’d run across someone I know. Tonight of all nights I wanted to give the people at the firm a glimpse of my other self.

“You look like you’re having a good time.”

A businessman who appeared to be in his fifties called out to me, squinting as if into a dazzling light. His suit was gray and his dust-covered shoes were worn and shapeless. His suit jacket was open and the sleeve was being tugged down his arm by the strap of the heavy black shoulder bag he was lugging. I could see a men’s magazine stuffed inside the bag. His hair was mostly white and his face was gray and discolored as if he suffered from some kind of liver disease. He looked like the kind of man who’d spread out the pages of a sports paper on a crowded train, oblivious to the discomfort of others; the kind of man always short of cash. Definitely not the type who’d have a job at a prestigious firm like mine. I smiled at him sweetly. Few men ever called out to me in the streets, even when I addressed them first.

“Are you on your way home?” he asked, somewhat timidly. His voice bore a trace of some kind of accent. Clearly he wasn’t from the city.

I nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, would you like to stop off for a cup of tea with me or something?”

He clearly wasn’t interested in food or even booze. What were his intentions? I wondered. Was he trying to pick me up? Had he figured out I was a prostitute?

“That would be nice.”

I’ve got another customer! I felt my heart tighten with excitement. And to have found him so soon on the heels of Yoshizaki. I had to be careful not to lose him; this was my lucky night.

The man looked down nervously. He wasn’t used to women. I could tell that he was afraid of what was going to transpire and I reverted back to my former self. When I first entered the water trade—you know, prostitution—it was the same for me. I didn’t really understand what men would want and I was full of anxiety. But now I knew. No, that’s not true. I still don’t know. Perplexed myself, I put my hand on the man’s arm. He wasn’t as pleased with my gesture as Yoshizaki had been and he shrank back instinctively. The hawker in front of the cabaret looked at me and laughed. Looks like you’ve snagged yourself an easy mark there, haven’t you, girlie? You bet I have, I thought, as I gazed back at the hawker, my confidence soaring. I’m having fun tonight.

“Where do you want to go?” the man said.

“What about a hotel?”

The man was startled by my directness. “I don’t know. I don’t have that much money. I just thought I’d like to sit and talk with a woman, that’s all. And then you walked past. I didn’t know you were that kind of woman.”

“Well, how much can you pay?”

Embarrassed, the man answered in a small, timid voice.

“Well, if I have to pay the hotel costs, probably around fifteen thousand yen.”

“We can find a cheap hotel. Some only charge three thousand yen. And I’ll charge you fifteen thousand yen.”

“In that case, I think I can manage….”

When I saw him nod, I began to head in the direction of a hotel. The man followed. His right shoulder dropped slightly under the weight of the bag he was carting. He really was a slob. A shabby excuse for a man. But he had called out to me, so I had to treat him like gold.

I turned back and asked, “How old are you, mister?”

“I’m fifty-seven.”

“You look younger. I thought you were probably around fifty.”

Yoshizaki would have appreciated the compliment. But this man just frowned. Before long we made it to the hotel. It was a love hotel near Shinsen Station, just on the border of Murayama-ch. When I pointed it out to the man, he couldn’t hide his discomfort. I suppose he was regretting his decision to come with me. I glanced at him warily. What if he tried to back out now? I’d need to think of something to keep him, I told myself, surprised at my own temerity. I was used to the agency making all the arrangements.

When we got to the entrance of the hotel, the man fished out his wallet. I glanced inside and saw that he really did only have two ¥10,000 bills.

“Don’t worry about it now. You pay later.”

“Oh? I didn’t know.”

The man slowly slipped his puny wallet back in his pocket. Looks like he’d never come to a love hotel before either. I was going to have to come up with a way to make him one of my regulars. He wasn’t an ideal customer, but if I could get men like him and Yoshizaki to patronize me regularly, I wouldn’t need to depend on the escort agency. That seemed like the only way out of the rut I was in, my only defense against the onslaught of old age. I picked the smallest room on the third floor and we squeezed into the tiny elevator. It looked as if it could hardly hold more than one person at a time.

“Let’s talk for a while in the room, shall we? You might not realize it, but I work in the corporate world myself.”

The man looked at me in surprise. I could tell he was feeling mortified at having been snagged by a prostitute. He was blushing.

“No, I really do. Once we get to the room I’ll give you my business card and tell you all about it, okay?”

“Thanks. That’d be nice.”

The room was small and dirty. The double bed filled it from wall to wall. The paper shoji screen covering the window was torn in places, and the carpet was mottled with stains. The man dropped his shoulder bag to the floor and sighed. He’d removed his shoes and his socks smelled.

“This for three thousand yen?”

“It’s the best I could do. This is the cheapest place in Maruyama-ch.”

“Thanks for trying.”

“Would you like a beer?”

The man smiled, and I pulled a bottle of beer out of the minibar. I poured the beer into two glasses and we toasted. The man drank in little sips, almost as if he were lapping it up.

“What kind of work do you do, mister? Would you mind giving me your business card?”

The man hesitated for a moment and then pulled a wrinkled card holder out of his suit pocket. “Wakao Arai, Deputy Chief of Operations, Chisen Gold Chemicals, Incorporated.” The company was based in Meguro, it said. I’d never heard of it. Arai stuck out a bony finger and pointed to the name of the company. “We sell chemicals wholesale. The firm is based in Toyama Prefecture, so I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

I handed him my business card with a self-important flourish. A look of shock washed over Arai’s face.

“I’m sorry if it’s rude for me to ask, but why do you do this sort of thing if you have such a good job?”

“Why, you wonder?” I gulped down my beer. “At work nobody pays any attention to me.”

I’d let slip a bit of my true feelings. It was only until I was thirty that I worked with such zeal. When I turned twenty-nine I was sent to a separate research facility. My rival Yamamoto worked only for four years and then quit to get married.

That left only four of the women who’d originally entered the firm with me. One was in advertising. Another in general affairs, and the other two in engineering. They were responsible for architectural planning. When I turned thirty-three, they finally brought me back to the research office. But there wasn’t a single interesting person there anymore. All the men I had entered the firm with had long since been promoted to higher positions in the inner administration, where women would never be accepted. The younger female office assistants clearly didn’t like me. University women who had entered the firm after me were working less and getting ahead. In short, I had slipped off the fast track. I had clearly been shifted from the winners to the losers. Why would that be? Because I was no longer young. And I was a woman. I was doing a lousy job aging and I could no longer build a solid career.

“It’s really gotten to me. I feel like I want to get revenge.”

“Revenge? On who?” Arai looked up at the ceiling. “I suppose everyone feels like that from time to time. We all want revenge. We’ve all been hurt one way or another. But the best thing to do is keep on going as if none of it matters.”

Well, I didn’t agree. I was going to get revenge. I was going to humiliate my firm, scorn my mother’s pretentiousness, and soil my sister’s honor. I was even going to hurt myself. I who had been born a woman, who was unable to live successfully as a woman, whose greatest achievement in life was getting into Q High School for Young Women. It had been all downhill since. That was it—that was why I was doing what I did, why I turned to prostitution. When it finally struck me, I started to laugh.

“Mr. Arai, I’d like to keep talking about this, so it’d be great if we could get together again. Fifteen thousand yen will be fine. We can meet here and drink beer and talk. How about that? I’m quite good at economics, you know, and I’ll spring for beer and the snacks and bring them along.”

When he heard me make my request in all earnestness, desire flashed across Arai’s eyes. It was the first sign I’d had all evening. Men are weird. They have to think they’re the ones in control.