a joke, but gradually it got interesting. I was this beginner, and I lucked into a couple decent roles. Pretty soon I realized I had a talent for that kind of thing. I'd have this role and I could actually make it work. After a couple years, people started to know who I was. Even if I was a real mess in those days. I drank a lot, slept around all the time. But that's how everyone was.
«One day a guy from the movies came around and asked if I'd ever considered acting on-screen. Of course I was interested, so I tried out and I landed a bit part. It wasn't a bad part—I was this sensitive young man—and that led to something else. There was even talk of TV. Things got busy, and I had to quit the theater group. I was sorry to leave but, you know how it is, you think, there's a big, wide world out there, gotta move on. And, well, you know the rest. I'm a doctor and a teacher and I hustle antacid lozenges and instant coffee in between. Real big, wide world, eh?»
Gotanda sighed. A charming sigh, but a sigh no less.
«Life straight out of a painting, don't you think?»
«Not such a bad painting, though,» I said.
«You got a point. I haven't had it bad. But when I think back on my life, it's like I didn't make one choice. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it scares me. Where's the first-person 'I'? Where's the beef? My whole life is playing one role after another. Who's been playing the lead in my life?»
I didn't say anything.
«I guess I'm running off at the mouth.»
«Doesn't bother me,» I told him. «If you want to talk, you ought to talk. I won't spread it around.»
«I'm not worried about that,» said Gotanda, looking me in the eye. «Not worried in the least. There's something about you—I don't know what it is—somehow I know I can trust you. I trust you from the word go. But it's hard to be open with people. I could talk—well, maybe I could—to my ex-wife. For a while there, until everyone around us screwed up the works, we really understood and loved each other. If it was just the two of us, things might have worked out. But she was too insecure. She needed her family too much, couldn't get out from under them. So that's when I ... No, I'm getting ahead of myself. That's a whole other story. What I want to know is, is all this talk a drag?»
Nope, I said, not a drag at all.
After that he talked about our science lab unit. How he was always uptight, having to see to it that the experiment came out right, having to explain things to the slow girl. How, again, he envied my puttering along at my own pace. I, however, could scarcely recall what we'd done in science class. So I was at a total loss what there'd been to envy. All I remember was that Gotanda was good with his hands. Setting up the microscope, things like that. Meanwhile, I could relax precisely because he tended to all the hard tasks.
I didn't say that to him. I just listened.
At some point, a well-appointed man in his forties came up to our table and tapped Gotanda on the shoulder. They exchanged greetings and talked show business. The fellow glanced at me, pegged me immediately as a nobody, and continued his conversation. I was invisible.
When the fellow left, after a promise of lunch and golf, Gotanda fretted one eyebrow a few millimeters, raised two fingers to gesture for a waiter, and asked for the check. Which he signed, with no ceremony whatsoever.
«It's all expenses,» he said. «It's not money, it's expenses.»
19
Then we rode in the Mercedes to a bar down a back street in Azabu. We took seats at one end of the coun ter and had a few more drinks. Gotanda could hold his liquor; he didn't show the least sign of inebriation, not in his color or his speech. He went on talking. About the inanity of the TV stations. About the lamebrained directors. About the no-talents who made you want to throw up. About the so-called critics on news shows. He was a good storyteller. He was funny, and he was incisive.
He wanted to hear about me. What sorts of turns my life had taken. So I proceeded to relate snippets of the saga. The office I set up with a friend and then quit, the personal life, the free-lance life, the money, the time, . . . Taken in gloss, an altogether sedate, almost still life. It hardly seemed to be my own story.
The bar began to fill up, making conversation difficult. People were ogling Gotanda's famous face. «Let's get out of here. Come over to my place,» he said, rising to his feet. «It's close by. And empty. And there's drink.»
His condo proved to be a mere two or three turns of the Mercedes away. He gave the driver the rest of the night off, and we went in. Impressive, with two elevators, one requiring a special key.
«The agency bought me this place when I got thrown out
149
of my house,» he said. «They couldn't have their star actor broke and living in a dump. Bad for the image. Of course, I pay rent. On a formal level, I lease the place from the office. And the rent gets deducted from expenses. Perfect symmetry.»
It was a penthouse condo, with a spacious living room and two bedrooms and a veranda with a view of Tokyo Tower. Several Persian rugs on the hardwood floor. Ample sofa, not too hard, not too soft. Large potted plants, postmodern Italian lighting. Very little in the way of decorator frills. Only a few Ming dynasty plates on the sideboard,
«Nice place,» I said with understatement.
«You leave things to an interior designer and it ends up looking like this. Something you want to photograph, not live in. I have to knock on the walls to make sure they're not props. Antiseptic, no scent of life.»
«Well, you've got to spread your scent around.»
«The problem is, I haven't got one,» he voiced expressionlessly.
He put a record on a Bang
«Whatever you're drinking,» I said.
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with vodka and soda and ice and sliced lemons. As the cool, clean West Coast jazz filtered through this glorified bachelor pad, I couldn't help thinking, antiseptic or not, the place was comfortable. I sprawled on the sofa, drink in hand, and felt utterly relaxed.
«So out of all the possibilities, here I am,» Gotanda addressed the ceiling light, drink in hand also. «I could have been a doctor. In college I got my teaching credentials. But this is how I end up, with this lifestyle. Funny. The cards were laid out in front of me, I could have picked any one. I could've done all right whatever I chose. Not a doubt in my mind. All the more reason not to make a choice.»
«I never even got to see the cards,» I said in all honesty. Which elicited a laugh from Gotanda. He probably thought I was joking.
He refilled our glasses, squeezed a lemon, and tossed the rind into the trash. «Even my marriage was by default, almost. We were in the same film and went on location together. We got friendly and went on drives. Then after the filming was over, we dated a couple of times. Everyone thought what a nice couple we made, so we thought, yeah, what a nice couple we make, let's get married. Now I don't know if you realize it, but the film industry's a small world. It's like living in a tenement at one end of a back alley. Not only do you see everybody's dirty laundry, but once rumors start, you can't stop 'em. All the same, I did like her, truly. She was the best thing I ever laid hands on. That really came home to me after we got married. I tried to make it last, but it was no go. The second I make a conscious choice, I chase the thing away. But if I'm on the receiving end, if it's not me that's making the decision, it seems like I can't lose.»
I didn't say anything.
«I'm not looking on the dark side,» he said. «I still love her. Maybe that's the problem. I still think of her. How it might have been if we both had given up acting and settled down to a quiet life. Wouldn't need a condo that looked like this. Wouldn't need a Maserati. None of that. Only a decent job and our own little place. Kids. After work I'd stop somewhere for a beer and let off steam. Then home to the wife. A Civic or Subaru on installment. That's the life. That would be everything I needed—if she was there. But it's not going to happen. She wanted something different. And her family —don't get me started on them. Anyway, I guess some things just don't work out. But you
