Several silver candelabra and candlesticks provided a dim and intimate illumination in the large dining room. The place looked old, as in 19th century old, with fake antique furniture, red velvet curtains over paned windows, and table settings with embroidered tablecloths and neatly arranged napkins. ‘The Mansion’ was certainly a befitting name for this late-night bar/restaurant, which was situated in Akihabara, the district in Tokyo most notorious for its nightlife.
“Don’t forget to address them with ‘my lady’ or ‘my lord’.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“No, not whatever. Look, Nik, I’m doing you a favour here, don’t screw up. Ogata sama will be pissed at me if you do. You won’t be given another chance.”
I had the pleasure of meeting Ogata sama, the owner of ‘the Mansion’, earlier in her office above the dining hall. She was a slender woman with the same cunning look in her dark eyes as Miss Isoyama, only she looked younger, about sixty instead of a hundred. She was dressed in a beautiful purple kimono and throughout the meeting held in her left hand a long, ivory cigarette holder in the shape of a dragon with a cigarette coming out of its mouth. As she brought it to her lips the wide sleeve of her kimono slid to her elbow exposing a flowery tattoo stretching from her wrist and, very likely, up to her shoulder. She had a funny, high pitched voice when she spoke in Japanese with Emile, but apart from her voice nothing else was funny about her. She was clearly a woman in charge.
“Ok, Emile. Tell me again, what is this place about?”
“It is an off-shot of the maid cafe. Never heard of them? No, of course, you haven’t. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve ever left the hostel.”
I never explained to Emile my true purpose of coming to Japan nor told him about my futile wanderings on Tokyo streets.
“Bien, it’s like this. ‘The Mansion’ is a night version of the maid café, aimed at female guests, who want to have an experience of being served by their personal butler. I say female, but you should know there are sometimes male customers as well. Just so you don’t get surprised.” He gave me a sly look. “So, while there are cute maids in the maid cafes, here we have handsome butlers serving guests.”
“It sounds a bit kinky to me.”
Emile arched back and waved his hand in dismissal. “Non, non, you just serve food and drinks, engage in conversation if guests want, and you make sure they keep ordering. You told me you’ve been a waiter before, yes?
“I was, back home, before I came to Japan.” Although drunk frustrated workers and soccer fans in a local Dutch pub could hardly compare to this setting.
“So, it’s the same, only you stick with one customer at a time.”
“Did you explain to Ogata sama I don’t have a working visa?”
Emile grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away from one of the employees, who came to check a table near us.
“Listen,” his voice was hushed, “do not mention to anyone you don’t have a visa. That’s only for Ogata sama to know. Look around, how many white dudes you see here? It’s just you and me. I brought you in as a replacement for a German guy, who left a week ago. Our customers like to be served by foreigners. Especially Europeans are valuable goods and hard to come by. Ogata sama is prepared to do an exception for now, and she will take care of your visa later, if you do well. She’s done it before. But you should not speak about it to anyone. Trust me, you don’t want to upset the She-Boss.” Emile seemed to be agitated.
“Fine.” I shook off his grip. “And do we need to wear this?”
The butler suit, which I was wearing, hardly fit me. All the garments, the black jacket, grey waistcoat, black pants, and the white blouse were tight.
“Yes, we all need to wear the uniform. It’s a bit small on you, but it only makes your muscles look more prominent. I’d kill for a body like yours.” Emile smirked and reached towards my neck to tighten the black tie, which I loosened substantially during our conversation.
“Emile…” I caught his hand and pushed it away. The place, the uniform, the rules – it all made me a bit edgy. Ending up in such environment was not what I had envisioned for myself in Japan. But I didn’t exactly have much of a choice. “So, all I have to do is to be a waiter?”
“Oui. You’ll be assigned a table and guests at that table will call for you by ringing a bell. Small advice, use the British accent, they love it. It’s why we Europeans are so popular. We’re closer to their image of a real butler. “
“You know I’m not English, right?”
“Don’t worry, just do your best imitation. They’ll never notice the difference. You got that, mate?“
“Nope, that’s not it…” I shook my head at his poor attempt to sound English.
“Merde, here comes Sato the prick. Follow me.”
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