conventional chocolate with enough sugar or milk, but you can’t make high-percentage cacao products with this. You must change suppliers.”
Yuji nodded. I would need to call Granja Manana to see if they could supply Ono Sweets as well.
We left the secret factory and went upstairs to meet with Yuji’s legal adviser, Sugiyama, who explained some of the challenges of opening a Dark Room–like club in Japan. “An official from the Department of Wellness will need to place a government stamp on every product, verifying the cacao content and the health benefits. This requires much money,” the adviser said.
“At first,” I said, “but then you’ll save money. You won’t have to run a secret factory, for instance. And if your business is anything like mine, you were paying off officials before. Now you’ll be paying off different officials instead.”
Sugiyama did not look at me or acknowledge that I had spoken. “Perhaps we are better off as operations stand, Ono-san,” he said.
“You must listen to Anya-san,” Yuji said. “This is what I want, Sugiyama-san. This is how it must be. We will no longer be a Pachinko operation.”
“As you wish, Ono-san.” Sugiyama nodded to me.
Yuji and I went outside to wait for a car. “These people are hopelessly conservative, Anya. They resist change. You must insist. I will insist as long as I am able.”
“Where are we going now?” I asked.
“I want to show you where the first cacao bar could be, if you approve. And then I want to introduce you to the world as my wife.”
Though we planned to open five locations in Japan, the location Yuji had selected for the flagship was an old, abandoned teahouse in the middle of the most urban part of Osaka. As soon as you passed through the gray stone front you were in another world. There were sakura trees and a garden with a few stalwart purple irises that had not yet resigned themselves to the despotic weeds. Everything was hopelessly overgrown. The feeling was unlike our location in New York, but it could be lovely. Romantic even.
“Do you think this will suit?” Yuji asked me.
“It is very different from New York,” I said.
“I want a place that will operate in the daylight,” he said. “I am so tired of the darkness.”
“Originally I wanted to do that, too, but my business partner talked me out of it. He said the club should be sexy.”
“I see his point. But the Japanese are different from the Americans. I think we will be better in the daylight here.”
“It can’t be called the Dark Room then.” I paused. “The Light Bar?”
He considered my suggestion. “I like this.”
About fifteen minutes later, several members of the media arrived along with Yosh, Yugi’s company’s publicist, who translated for me the parts of the press conference that were in Japanese.
“Ono-san, it’s been months since anyone has seen you,” one of the interviewers noted. “Rumor has it you are ailing, and you do look very lean.”
“I am not ailing,” Yuji said. “Nor did I summon you here today to discuss my health. I have two announcements to make. The first is that my company will undergo a dramatic reorganization in the months that follow. The second is to introduce Japan to this woman.” He pointed to me. “Her name is Anya Balanchine. She is the president of the renowned Dark Room cacao club in New York City, and she has done me the great honor of becoming my wife.”
Flashbulbs went off. I smiled at the reporters.
The story went global. In certain parts of the world, both my name and my husband’s were notorious, and it was noteworthy, I suppose, that two organized-crime families should have merged. In reality, our families had joined years before, when Leo had married the illegitimate Noriko.
I knew without him having to say it that Yuji wanted to see at least one of the clubs open before he died. And though I was only a bogus wife, I wanted to make him happy. For the rest of the summer, Yuji and I worked to launch the Light Bars. It wasn’t easy—the cultural and linguistic barriers could not be overstated. I worried for Yuji’s health. He was as tireless as a dying man can be.
About a week after my twentieth birthday, the first Light Bar opened. The mood of the place was more like an upscale teahouse than a nightclub. When you entered, a carpet of rose petals led you to the main room. Tiny Christmas lights hung everywhere in messy strings, and column candles in hammered silver cans lit the wrought iron tables, which were each canopied by diaphanous white fabric. Yuji and I had made it the most romantic place imaginable—the irony being that the two people who had created it had not been in love.
His heart was incredibly weak by this point and he was not able to stay at the opening long. “Are you happy?” I asked him on the ride back to his estate.
“I am,” he said. “Tomorrow, we will return to work. Maybe I will live to see Tokyo, too.”
That night, I went down the hall to Yuji’s room. He often couldn’t sleep through the night. I made sure his light was on before I knocked.
“Yuji,” I said, “I’m going home to help my sister move into her dorm, but I’ll return in two weeks. I’d invite you to come along with me, but in your condition…”
Yuji nodded. “Of course.”
“Please don’t die while I’m away.”
“I won’t. Do you want to know a secret?” he asked.
“Always from you.”
“Go to the window and look by the koi pond,” he said.
I obeyed. Yuji’s gray cat was sitting next to a black cat on the bench. The gray cat licked the black cat’s cheek. “Oh! They’re in love, aren’t they? How do you think they met?”
“There’s a farm not so far down the road from here. I suppose he might be from there.”
“Or maybe he’s a city cat,” I said. “Come to the country for the girl of his dreams.”
“I like your way better.” He was smiling to himself.
He patted the spot next to him in bed, and I lay down beside him.
“How do you feel?” He hated the question, but I wanted to know.
“I feel happy that I have been able to push Ono Sweets into the new era. It’s 2086, Anya. We must be ready for the twenty-second century.”
“How is your heart?” I specified.
“It beats. For now, it beats.” I lay my hand on his chest, and he flinched slightly. “Am I hurting you?”
“It’s fine.” He inhaled. “No, it’s good. The only people who touch me are doctors so I appreciate the change.”
“Tell me a story about my father,” I said.
Yuji thought for a moment before he spoke. “When I was introduced to him, it was not long after the kidnapping. I was wary of strangers. I think I have told you this before.”
“Tell me again.”
“He was an enormous man, and I was terrified of him. He got down on his knees and held his palm faceup the way you would when approaching a timid animal. ‘I hear you have an interesting battle wound, young man. Would you like to show it to me?’ he asked. I was embarrassed to be missing a finger, but I held out my hand to him anyway. He looked at it for the longest time. ‘That is a scar to be proud of,’ he said.”
Yuji held out his hand to me, and I kissed it in the broken place. Years earlier, my father’s hand had touched that hand, too.
“I am glad I will always be your first husband,” he said.
“And last,” I said. “I don’t think I am built for marriage or for love.”
“I’m not certain you are right. You’re still so young, and life is usually long.”
He fell asleep shortly after that. His breathing was labored, and beneath my hand, his heartbeat was so weak that I could barely make it out.
