Dance Dance Dance

thing for her?»

I stretched out in the tub and looked up at the ceiling. Was I still in love with Kiki?

«I don't know. But that's almost beside the point now. I just have to see her. Something's been telling me Kiki wants to see me. I keep dreaming about her.»

«Strange,» she said, looking me in the eye. «I sometimes dream about Kiki, too.»

«What sort of dreams?»

She didn't reply. She only smiled and said she'd like another drink. She rested against my chest and I threw my arm around her naked shoulder. Gotanda and his girl showed no sign of emerging from the bedroom. Asleep, I

supposed.

«I know you won't believe me,» she then said, «but I like being with you like this. I enjoy it, no business, no acting.

It's the truth.»

«I believe you,» I said. «I'm enjoying myself, too. I feel really relaxed. It's like a class reunion.»

«Unique, again,» she giggled.

«About Kiki,» I pressed on, «isn't there anyone who'd know? Her real name, her address, that sort of thing?»

She shook her head slowly. «We almost never talk about those things. Why else would we bother with these names?

She was Kiki. I'm Mei, the other girl's Mami. Everyone's four letters or less. It's our cover. Private life is out- of-bounds. We don't know and we don't ask. Manners, you know. We're all real friendly and we go out together some­times. But it's not really us. We don't actually know each other. Mei, Kiki. These names don't have real lives. We're all image. Signs tacked up in empty air. That's why we respect each other's illusions. Does that make sense?»

«Perfect sense,» I said.

«Some of our customers take pity on us. But we don't do this just for the money. Me, for example, I do it 'cause it's fun. And because the club is strictly for members only, we don't have to worry about crazies, and everyone wants to have fun with us. After all, we're all in this made-up world together.»

«Shoveling snow for the fun of it,» I threw in.

«Right, shoveling snow for fun,» she laughed. Then putting her lips to my chest, «Sometimes even snowball fights.»

«Mei.» I said her name over again. «I once knew a girl whose name really was Mei. She worked as a receptionist at the dentist's next to my office. From a farming family up in Hokkaido. Skinny, dark. Everyone called her Mei the Goat Girl.»

«Mei the Goat Girl,» she repeated. «And your name?»

«Winnie the Pooh,» I said.

«Our own little fairy tale.»

I drew her to me and kissed her. It was a heady kiss, a nostalgic kiss. Then we drank our umpteenth brandy-and-soda, and snuggled together while listening to the Police. Soon Mei had drifted off to sleep, no longer the beautiful dream woman, but only an ordinary, brittle young girl. A class reunion. The clock read four o'clock and everything was still. Mei the Goat Girl and Winnie the Pooh. Images. Deductible fairy tales. What a day! Connections that almost connected but didn't. Follow the string until it snaps. I'd met Gotanda after all these years, even come to like him, really.

Through him I'd met Mei the Goat Girl. We made love. Which was wonderful. Shoveled sensual snow. But none of it led anywhere.

I made some coffee, and at half past six the others woke up. Mei had on a bathrobe. Mami came in wearing a paisley pajama top and Gotanda the bottom. I was in my jeans and T-shirt. We all took seats at the dining table and passed around the toast and marmalade. The fm station was play­ing «Baroque for You.» A Henry Purcell pastoral.

«Morning at camp,» I said.

Cuck-koo, sang Mei.

At seven-thirty Gotanda called a taxi for the girls. Mei kissed me good-bye. «If you find Kiki, give her my best,» I said. I handed her my card and asked her to call if she learned anything.

«Hope we can meet again and shovel some more snow,» she winked.

«Shovel snow?» Gotanda asked.

Gotanda and I sat down to another cup of coffee. It was like a commercial. A quiet morning, sun rising, Tokyo Tower gleaming in the distance. Tokyo begins its mornings with Nescafe.

Time for normal people to be starting their day. Not for us though. Like it or not, we two were excluded.

«Find out anything about Kiki?» asked Gotanda.

I shook my head. «Only that she'd disappeared. Just like you said. No leads, not a clue. Mei didn't even know her real name.»

«I'll ask around the film company,» he said. «Maybe somebody knows something.»

He pouted slightly and pressed at his temple with the han­dle of his coffee spoon. He sure was good at it.

«But tell me, what do you plan to do if you find her?» he asked. «Try to win her back? Or is it just for old times?»

I told him I didn't know. I hadn't thought that far.

Gotanda saw me home in his spotless brown Maserati.

«Mind if I call you again soon?» he said. «It really was terrific seeing you. Don't know anyone else I can talk to like we did. That is, if it's okay by you.»

«Of course,» I said. And I thanked him again for the steak and drinks and girls and . . .

He gave a quiet shake of his head. Without a word, I understood everything he meant to say.

20

The next few days passed uneventfully. The phone rang, but the whole time I kept the answering machine on and didn't bother picking up. Nice to know that my services were still in demand, though. I cooked meals, went into Shibuya, and saw Unrequited Love every day. It was spring break, so the theater was always packed with high school students. It was like an animal house. I wanted to burn the place down.

Now that I knew what to look for, I was able to find Kiki's name, in fine type, in the opening credits.

Then after her scene, I'd leave the theater and walk my usual course. From Harajuku to the Jingu Stadium, Aoyama Cemetery, Omotesando, past the Jintan Building, back to Shibuya. Sometimes I'd stop for a coffee along the way. Spring had surely come, bringing its familiar smells. The earth persisted in its measured orbit of the sun. I always find it a cosmic mystery that spring knows when to follow win­ter. And how is it that spring always brings out the same smells? Year after year, however subtle, exactly identical.

The town was plastered with election posters. Ugly and repugnant. Trucks were making the rounds, blaring out speeches by politicians. So loud you couldn't tell what they were saying. Noise.

I walked and I thought about Kiki. And before long I noticed I'd regained my stride, a lift had come back to my step. My awareness of things around me had sharpened. I was moving forward intently, one step at a time. I had focus, a goal. Which somehow, quite naturally, lightened my step, almost gave me soft-shoe footwork. This was a good sign. Dance. Keep in step, light but steady. Freshen up, maintain the rhythm, keep things going. I had to pay careful attention where this was leading me to next. Had to make sure I stayed in this world.

The last four or five days of March passed in this way. On the surface, there was no progression at all. I'd do the shopping, make meals in the kitchen, see Unrequited, go for long walks. I'd play back the answering machine when I got home—inevitably calls about work. At night, I'd read and drink alone. Every day was a repeat of the day before.