«Not so far from here. Maybe twenty minutes. So get yourself ready to go. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.»
I'd hop to it, I said, and hung up. Old times?
What old times could Gotanda possibly have to talk about? We weren't especially close back then. He was the bright boy of the class, I was a nobody. It was some kind of miracle that he even remembered who I was.
I shaved and put on the classiest items in my wardrobe: an orange striped shirt and Calvin Klein tweed jacket, an Armani knit tie (a birthday present from a former girlfriend), just-washed jeans, and brand-new Yamaha tennis shoes. Not that he'd ever think this was classy. I'd never eaten with a movie star before. What was one supposed to wear anyway?
Twenty minutes later on the dot, my doorbell rang. It was Gotanda's chauffeur, who politely informed me that Gotanda was downstairs. In a metallic silver Mercedes the size and shape of a motorboat. The glass was also silvered so you couldn't see in. The chauffeur opened the door with a smart, professional snap of the wrist and I got in. And there was Gotanda.
«Who-oa, been a while, eh?» he flashed me his smile. He didn't shake my hand, and I guess I was glad.
«Yeah, it has, hasn't it?» I said.
He wore a dark blue windbreaker over a V-neck sweater and faded cream corduroy slacks. Old Asics jogging shoes. Impeccable. Perfectly ordinary clothes, but the way he wore them was perfect. He gave my outfit a once- over and offered, «
«Thanks,» I said.
«Just like a movie star.» No irony, just kidding. We both laughed. Which let us relax.
I sized up the interior of the car.
«Not bad, eh?» he said. «The agency lets me use it whenever I want. Complete with driver. This way there're no accidents, no drunken driving. Safety first. They're happy, I'm happy.»
«Makes sense,» I said.
«But if it were up to me, I would never drive this baby. I don't like cars this big.»
«Porsche?»
«Maserati.»
«I like cars even smaller,» I said.
«Civic?»
«Subaru.»
«Subaru,» he repeated, nodding. «You know, the first car I ever bought was a Subaru. With the money I made on my first picture, I bought a used Subaru. Boy, I loved that car. I used to drive it to the studio when I had my second supporting role. And someone got on my case right away.
«Yeah, I like mine too.»
«So why do you think I drive a Maserati?»
«I haven't the foggiest.»
«I have this expense account I got to use up,» he said with a tilt of his eyebrow. «My manager keeps telling me, spend more, more. I'm never using it up fast enough. So I went and bought an expensive car. One high-priced automobile can write off a big chunk of earnings. It makes everybody happy.»
Good grief. Didn't anyone have anything else on their mind but expense account deductions?
«I'm really hungry,» he said, running his hand through his hair. «I feel like a nice, thick steak. Are you up for something like that?»
«Whatever you say.»
He gave directions to the driver, and we were off. Gotanda looked at me and smiled. «Don't mean to get too personal,» he said, «but since you were fixing a meal for yourself, I take it you're single.»
«Correct,» I said. «Married and divorced.» «Just like me,» he said. «Married and divorced. Paying alimony?» «Nope.» «Nothing?»
«Nothing. She didn't want a thing.» «You lucky bastard,» he said, grinning. «I don't pay alimony either, but the marriage broke me. I suppose you heard about my divorce?» «Vaguely.»
It'd been in all the magazines. His marriage four or five years ago to a well-known actress, then the divorce a couple years later. But as usual, who knew the real story? The rumor was that her family didn't like him—not so unusual a thing—and that she had this cordon of relatives who muscled in on every move she made, public and private. Gotanda himself was more the spoiled, rich-kid type, used to the luxury of living life at his own pace. So there was bound to be trouble.
«Funny, isn't it? One minute we're doing a science experiment together, the next thing you know we're both divorced. Funny,», he forced a smile, then lightly rubbed his eyes. «Tell me, how come you split up?»
«Simple. One day the wife up and walked out on me.»
«Just like that?»
«Yup. No warning, not a word. I didn't have a clue. I thought she'd gone out to do the shopping or something, but she never came back. I made dinner and I waited. Morning came and still no sign of her. A week passed, a month passed. Then the divorce papers came.»
He took it all in, then he sighed. «I hope you don't mind my saying this, but I think you got a better deal than I did.»
«How's that?»
«With me, the wife didn't leave. I got thrown out. Literally. One day, I was thrown out on my ear.» He gazed out through the silvered glass. «And the worst part about it was, she planned the whole thing. Every last detail. When I wasn't around, she changed the registration on everything we owned. I never noticed a thing. I trusted her. I handed everything over to her accountant—my official seal, my IDs, stock certificates, bankbooks, everything. They said they needed it for taxes. Great, I'm terrible at that stuff, so I was happy for them to do it. But the guy was working for her relatives. And before I knew it, there wasn't a thing to my name left. They stripped me to the bone. And then they kicked me out. A real education, let me tell you,» he forced another smile. «Made me grow up real fast.»
«Everybody has to grow up.»
«You're right there. I used to think the years would go by in order, that you get older one year at a time,» said Gotanda, peering into my face. «But it's not like that. It happens overnight.»
The place we went to was a steak house in a remote corner of Roppongi. Expensive, by the looks of it. When the Mercedes pulled up to the door, the doorman and maitre d' and staff came out to greet us. We were conducted to a secluded booth in the back. Everyone in the place was very fashionable, but Gotanda in his corduroys and jogging shoes was the sharpest dresser in the place. His nonchalance oozed style. As soon as we entered, everyone's eyes were on him. They stared for two seconds, no longer, as if it were some unwritten law of etiquette.
We sat down and ordered two scotch-and-waters. Gotanda proposed the toast: «To our ex-wives.»
«I know it sounds stupid,» he said, «but I still love her. She treated me like dirt and I still love her. I can't get her out of my mind, I can't get interested in other women.»
I stared at the extremely elegant ice cubes in the crystal
tumblers.
«What about you?» he asked.
«You mean how do I feel about my ex-wife? I don't know. I didn't want her to go. But she left all right. Who was in the wrong? I don't know. It sure doesn't matter now. I'm used to it, though I suppose 'used to it' is about the best I
can do.»
«I hope I'm not touching a sore spot?»
«No, not really,» I said. «Fact is fact, you can't run away from it. You can't really call it painful, you don't really know what to call it.»
He snapped his fingers. «That's true. You really can't pin it down. It's like the gravity's changed on you. You can't even call what you're feeling pain.»
The waiter came and took our orders. Steak, both medium rare, and salad and another round of scotch.
