“Can you do muscle?” The request came from the chick with the long ponytail.
“Do what?”
“Muscle, please do muscle.” She lifted her arm and bent it at the elbow. Her two friends at the table giggled.
Three drunken Japanese students were my first guests. They passed an exam and came to celebrate it at the Mansion. It was only their third round of very mild cocktails, yet their behaviour changed considerably over the past hour. They turned from timid, young women, who could barely utter an order and whose faces got red each time I came to their table, into chatty, demanding, and at times quite blunt guests.
I made a fist and bent my arm. They giggled and enthusiastically clapped their hands. The ponytail stood up, felt my biceps and promptly removed her hand with a cry as if she had just touched a hot stove.
The shorthaired one, with dark, purple lipstick, being encouraged by the ponytail stood up as well and reached toward me but changed her mind halfway and sat back down, covering her mouth with her hand as she burst into laughter.
“Anyone else?” I looked at the third student, the prettiest in the group, with straight, shoulder-length hair and a pale, gentle face. She smiled awkwardly and shook her head.
“Okay,” I shrugged and gathered the empty plates on the tray. “Can I bring you anything else? Ehmm, my ladies?”
They put their heads together and exchanged words in Japanese. The ponytail spoke up: “Yes, please bring whisky.”
“Immediately, my lady.”
I smiled to myself as I left the table and walked towards the counter. The night was taking an interesting direction.
“You got lucky today. The fourth round already? Look at them, they are here to spend a lot of money.”
“Don’t know about that, Emile. They’re students.”
“Did you see their designer bags and shoes? Besides, regular students don’t come to this place. The entrance fee alone is high enough to keep away average folks. You’re doing well, mon ami.”
“What’s with you?” I looked over Emile’s shoulder at his guest, a well-dressed, older man, with a neatly trimmed goatee.
Emile grinned and clasped his hands together. “Oh, I can’t complain. Mr Fujimoto iz the nicest guy.”
“Can I ask you something…are you gay?” It was a question, which lingered on my mind since I first spoke to Emile in the showers. I noticed his occasional leering looks at me, but I also saw him flirting massively with any woman in the hostel that showed some interest.
“Why, are you interested?”
“No, no, I’m not….at all. I don’t mind if you are, I’m just asking.”
He smiled cheekily. “Well, if you already want to know, I play for both teams. But, I do prefer ladies.”
“So, your Mr Fujimoto, he is--”
“Yes, he’s gay, but he doesn’t admit that to himself. When he gets a bit drunk he becomes bolder and throws in a few innuendos and sometimes his hand wanders up my thigh, but mostly he only talks…about his job, family issues and so on. He’s a great customer to have, always ordering the most expensive dishes and drinks on the menu, for me and for him.” Emile leaned in towards my ear. “I think he’s quite infatuated with me. He comes in twice per week and always asks for me to be his butler.”
I was beginning to realize the job at the Mansion was not as ordinary as Emile would have me believe.
“Hey, what’s with the judgemental face? Don’t you come from the so-called sin city of Europe?”
“I’m not judgemental, just trying to understand how things work here.”
“Good, ‘cause your next customer might be a man too.”
“I’d prefer to stick with the ladies.”
“No one gives a shit what you prefer, mon ami.”
Emile’s tray full of sushi arrived from the kitchen.
“And now I’m off to enjoy some yummy dinner, ta ta for now.” He winked at me and left. Suddenly I felt hungry.
“Please, sit,” said the ponytail as soon as I served them the drinks.
“I’m fine.“
“No, no, please sit,” she repeated again and patted the empty chair at their table.
I complied.
“My name is Akiko, this is Hana and this is Miya.” She pointed at each of the girls. “We are law students. What is your name?” All three of them stared at me in anticipation.
“It’s, umm, I’m David.” It was the first name that came to my mind. Emile had warned me earlier against disclosing personal information. Apparently some guests could get a bit stalkerlike.
“Butler David,” the purple lips repeated and they all giggled.
“To butler David, kanpai!” They clinked glasses and, to my surprise, downed the whisky in one.
“Oh, wait, he doesn’t have a drink!”
“Butler David, please go get more whisky, and one for you as well.”
By the time I returned to the table with another round of drinks their faces were considerably redder. We toasted and they bombarded me silly questions. They wanted to know my height, age, weight, how often I worked out, if I liked the colour purple…. I lied about every single thing. The whisky didn’t sit well on my empty stomach and I began to feel the effects.
“Please, take off your jacket,” said the purple lips out of the blue.
“I can’t. It’s a uniform we have to wear.”
“It’s okay, we pay for it, we make more orders,” she insisted.
“Yes, we want, umm…” The ponytail quickly consulted with her two friends. “We want two big plates of sushi, you like sushi?”
“Sure.”
“And more whisky,” added the purple lips.
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