Gaijin Cowgirl (5): Champions of Harajuku

“But you’re staying in Tokyo, right?”

(Previous chapter, or start at the beginning.)

Val waited in the little cafe, extinguishing her first cigarette and ordering her second glass of pinot blanc. The cozy bossa nova and smokers’ fug provided a womb against the raw March bluster. When Suki finally arrived, a bustle of pink miniskirt and boots, platinum hair akimbo, she collapsed in the chair opposite, clutching at a thick binder and her large purse. “So tomorrow, right?” Suki asked.

“Yep.”

“You’re really going to do it?”

“Too late to back out now. What’s that?” Val nodded to the thick black binder that was zipped shut.

Suki blushed. “I wanted to show you my work.”

“Your photographs?”

Suki nodded eagerly, and Val stretched out her hands: “Gimme!”

Val unzipped the binder. Two dozen plastic pages displayed photographs of various sizes and styles, some black and white, others color. She took her time. Val was no connoisseur, but she thought that some of Suki’s pieces – some – were amazing. A lot of it was obviously Photo 101 from NYU – various still lives, poses, lens trick shots. But as she turned the pages, she was struck by the frankness of Suki’s work.

“I like it,” she said. “This one of the old lady in a tenement.” The photo wasn’t just a typical composition of fire escape ladders – it was the woman, the weary expression on her face, the sense of being bypassed by time.

There was a whole series taken in Soho of shopkeepers and wealthy shoppers that capped the portfolio, Val thought. None of these would be picked by the Manhattan tourist authorities to portray downtown, but they peeled back a layer, gave something honest.

“You just go right up and take these pictures,” Val said. “Wow. You’re so brave.”

Suki smiled behind her Irish coffee.

“Do you ask for permission first?”

Suki shrugged. “I just take it, but I usually talk to them at the same time. You have to smile. But when I talk, I don’t exactly ask permission.”

“These are great. This one of the waiter in the Indian restaurant. What a smile – he’s so happy there, isn’t he? So proud of his place – your picture really captures that, the kind of tacky pictures and lights, but he’s so elated – it’s like you’ve captured the whole immigrant story with one shot.”

“Yes, that’s my favorite,” Suki said wistfully. “I always thought of it as a kind of, um, self-portrait. That was me when I lived there.”

“You really don’t like it in Japan?”

“No, it’s not that. Japan is my home, I’m Japanese. I love my country. But there’s no opportunity here.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Val said, still admiring the pictures. “You’ve got a lot of talent, Suki. Maybe you need more experience, but you could do something with this. You don’t need Cowboy.”

“Thank you, Val,” Suki said, beaming. “That’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me. Wait!” She withdrew a Leica from her purse. “It’s because of you that I’ve decided to start again.”

“Me?”

“You’re about to get paid three million yen. Are you really going to stay at Cowboy forever? And when you go, I’ll be all alone, and then what’ll I do?”

Before Val could ready herself, the picture was taken.

“Can’t I fix my hair?” she asked, a little testily.

“No!” Suki said. “You just have to be yourself.” And she took another.

“Okay, cut it out,” Val said. “Are you going to quit Cowboy?”

“Quit? And live off of what? No, maybe someday I can quit, but for now I need the money.” Suki lowered the camera, feeling suddenly glum again. “I’m starting to really hate that place. If you leave, Mama-san will fire me for sure. Or even call Odama.”

“Then leave with me,” Val said.

“Where will you go?”

Val hesitated, thinking of her father. She hadn’t thought through her instincts yet. She didn’t want to. Thinking them out, vocalizing them, meant admitting that she was about to fly again. Ditch Charlie again.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“But you’re staying in Tokyo, right?” Suki pressed.

Val didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth. “Uh…”

The door burst open and both women turned toward the commotion: two men, one white, the other Asian, but not Japanese – darker, bronzed. Both were slender. The white man was short for a Westerner, and had a round face and closely cropped hair over a large, deeply lined brow. It was blustery outside, but he was shivering as though it was an Arctic winter. His Asian companion was skinny, a twig, but graced with a sensuous face – beautiful long black eyes and lips that parted to reveal straight white teeth.

The men were in mid-conversation. The westerner spoke with a working-class British accent. The Asian man’s silky voice and chocolate skin put him in Southeast Asia.

“Bloody cold, mate, and weird.” They arranged themselves at the table behind Val.

“Simon,” his companion said, “do you think the others are having fun?”

“What, standing in line all day with a pack of whiny six-year olds?”

“I have always wanted to meet Donald Duck.”

“You must be joking.”

“I feel sad,” the Asian sighed. “I think about the team today getting to meet Donald Duck. I think they are lucky.”

“Did I make you skip Disney?”

“No.”

“Did I put a gun to your head and say, ‘Right, Lotdorn mate, if you go to that fucking park I’ll blow your brains out?’”

“No,” conceded the Asian.

“In fact, whose idea was it to come here?”

“Mine.”

“Right then, so you’re not going to make me feel guilty.”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But I still want to meet Donald Duck.”

“Well, you become the muay thai champion at Lumphini Stadium, my good man, and I’ll buy you a flight to California and you can hug the real one.”

Lotdorn brightened at the idea. “Business class?”

“Sod that.”

“What about you? What do you want if you become muay thai champion at Lumphini?”

At this point Val noticed Suki was staring past her left shoulder. Val managed to drop her napkin and glance back. The Englishman’s own gaze was fixed back on Suki.

“That,” he said to Lotdorn, “is a very good question. Right then. I think I’ll have me a cappuccino.” Val heard him lower his voice. “What, you grinning monkey, never seen me drool before?”

“I think you have fallen in love,” said Lotdorn softly, his languid voice a reed bending in the breeze. “But with which one?”

“Oi, now don’t you get me in trouble. I reckon that lot’s out of my league. Besides I wouldn’t know which one to chat up first. You want tea?”

“Yes.”

Meanwhile Val and Suki sipped wine and smoked. Val was grateful for the distraction the men created. Otherwise her thoughts would be remain on the following day’s journey to Izo-hanto where she would allow Takahashi to make a painting of her – whatever that meant – at his home. She was nervous: about the content of the painting, about the money, about the logistics, about Fast Freddie, about what she was going to say to Charlie.

But Val was also aware that Suki was distracted by the Englishman. The attraction was lost on Val, for the man looked neither particularly handsome nor interesting to her.

Suki whispered, “What do you think of that guy, Val?”

“He’s okay, I guess,” she replied sotto voce.

“Is he American?”

“No. British.”

“Hmm. Should I say something to him?”

“Sure, if you want.”

Suki covered her mouth with one hand. “I’m shy,” she said.

“Shy? Suki, you talk to men at Cowboy all the time.”

“But that’s different!” And Val had to concede that it was. But she chuckled at the irony: two beautiful bar girls frozen at the prospect of flirting with a man.

“Well, then, I’ll help you,” Val said.

“No, please, wait—”

But Val had already turned around and said to the men, “Excuse me, do you have a lighter?”

Simon looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh, um, no, not exactly.”

“We don’t smoke,” Lotdorn said.

“Well, not anymore,” Simon said. “Body’s a temple.” He immediately winced. “Sorry, that’s a crap thing to say.”

Val smiled. “Hey, if I kicked this habit I’d be proud of it too.”

“Well, that’s the trouble, you see, ’cause I hate having kicked it.”

Val narrowed her gaze as she inhaled. “So burn some incense in the temple.”

“Ah, that’s against the rules.”

“Whose rules?” Val prodded.

“Khru Chatri,” said Lotdorn. “He is our teacher.”

“Are you monks?” Suki asked.

“Nah, we ain’t monks,” said Simon. “We’re fighters.”

“Muay thai boxers,” Lotdorn said. “We are here for a tournament.”

“Really!” Suki cried, delighted. “You’re from Thailand, right?”

“Yes,” said Lotdorn.

“Direct from the Land of Smiles,” Simon added.

The ice broken, Suki glided to the other table. “Let me see your muscles,” she said.

“What, here?”

Val moved to the bar and retrieved a box of matches.

“Mine are bigger,” said Lotdorn, removing his windbreaker. Beneath he wore only a tight T-shirt over nothing but rippling sinews.

“What about you, Fish’n’chips?” Val said to Simon. “Show us.”

“No, I don’t think so – it’s beneath me,” Simon replied with mock haughtiness. “And the name, Big Mac and Fries, is Simon.”

She leaned forward and they shook hands. “Val. This is my friend Suki.”

“Hai!” Suki said, giving him a pert bow and a coy smile.

“And I am Lotdorn,” added the Thai. He shook hands with Val feebly, as he was unaccustomed to the practice, but to his fellow Asiatic he placed his palms together before his face and bowed his head, giving her the traditional Thai greeting, which she returned with a giggle.

“Thai names are crazy long,” Val said. “What’s yours, the whole thing?”

“Lotdorn Pattanadamrongjit,” he said with a big smile.

“Patalongit?” Suki stammered.

“Padama-rama-ding-dong-doo,” Val laughed.

Simon: “Oi, no teasing the man.”

“Oh, that is too difficult,” Suki declared.

“Yes,” said Lotdorn. “Thai names are very long.”

“Well,” Val said, “I can handle Lotdorn.”

“So how long are you in Japan?” Suki asked.

“Well, we been here two days now,” Simon said. “Tomorrow we go to our first competition in Nagoya, just a friendly really, and then we’re back here for the last show, in Yokohama I think it is. After that it’s back to Bangkok.”

“Some are just exhibitions,” Lotdorn explained. “Some are matches with Japanese boxers.”

“Yeah,” Simon added, “we’re here with a whole squad, eight of us. Our coach Chatri took the others to Disneyland today.”

“How come you didn’t go?” Suki asked.

“Mickey Mouse ain’t my thing,” he said.

“Simon made me keep him company,” Lotdorn interjected. “And I do not mind because he is my friend, even though I wish I could meet Donald Duck.”

“Now that, my good man, is a low blow,” Simon riposted. “You’re making them think I’m horrible. First I insult Big Mac when she asks for a light, and now you’re making it out like I’m a heartless bastard. But I do hate fucking Disney, I must say.”

Val grinned. “I’m more of a Hanna-Barbera girl myself.”

“Right you are. Now Scoobie Doo, there’s a classic,” Simon declared. “Scoobie snacks and cigarettes, two things I had to give up to join master Chatri’s school last year.”

“What happens in an exhibition?” Suki asked.

“It is matches just among our group,” Lotdorn said. “But the fights are official and count on our record in Thailand.”

“Let’s see one,” Val said, lighting up again.

“What, a fight?” Simon demanded.

“Yeah,” she said, “why not?”

“Oh please!” Suki begged, her big eyes even wider. “Show us how good you are!”

“Here?” Lotdorn asked.

“Here and now,” Val decreed.

Simon and Lotdorn exchanged glances, and Lotdorn said, “What do you think, Simon?”

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” he replied. “It’s absolute pants. But for the two most gorgeous women in Tokyo, I reckon no’s not the answer.”

“Yay!” Suki cried, clapping her hands.

“Right then.” Simon and Lotdorn headed outside into the freezing cold day. Suki and Val hurried out after them, and a few of the other customers craned their necks to watch them from the cafe’s comfortable interior.

The two gladiators stretched on the black asphalt street, kicking their feet up. They were in the heart of Harajuku, a low-rise jumble of bistros, shops and galleries just off the grand boulevard, Omote-sando.

“Now what we require is a bit of music,” Simon told the women. “Muay thai is always accompanied by musicians, who quicken the tempo as the action heats up.”

“What kind of music?” Suki asked.

“Traditional Thai fare.”

“Let me see if they have any.” She disappeared into the cafe.

“I have a feeling they won’t,” Simon said.

Suki must have convinced the waitress standing at the bar to help out, because as she emerged they could hear disco funk blasting out the door. By now the other customers had all gathered around the door and windows, and a few passing shoppers paused to watch the two men warming up.

“Ladies and gents,” Simon called, still stretching, “welcome to the muay thai title match at Harajuku Arena. Today’s match to decide the Thai kickboxing world champion features, in this corner, the unbeaten champion, the Titan of Thailand, the Bad-Arse Battler of Bangkok, Lotdorn Pattanadamrongjit!”

Suki and Val applauded and cheered.

Lotdorn called out, “And in this corner, also unbeaten, the Lightning Lord of London, the…the, uh, the Big Boy of Britain—”

“Big Boy of Britain? You can do better than that—”

“My English not so good. Mister Simon Newby!”

More cheers from the ladies, a few polite claps from inside the cafe.

They began to dance around, fists raised, circling.

Then Lotdorn paused. “Don’t we need a referee?”

“That’s right, we do. Who’s gonna ref?” Simon headed for the two women and tugged on Suki’s sleeve.

“Oh good,” said Lotdorn, “she will make a good ref.”

Suki covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggles, very embarrassed, but she didn’t run away. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Stop the fight if you catch him cheating,” Simon replied.

“How do I know if he is cheating?”

“If I’m losing, he’s cheating.”

“Okay, then, begin!” she shouted, cutting the air with her hand.

Again they circled, and with the first punch Suki screeched and backed away.

They threw a few easy jabs, bouncing on the balls of their feet. Without gloves, they weren’t going to do anything more than fool around. Lotdorn landed a palm on Simon’s nearly shorn head, setting them both laughing, and the Englishman responded with a few kicks to Lotdorn’s legs.

“I think that’s cheating!” Suki called at one point.

“Who, me or Simon?”

“Both!”

Then Simon took a knee in the ribs, not a real blow but enough to be felt, and he let Lotdorn glance a blow off his chin. He pretended to reel drunkenly around in a circle and then collapsed on the street, limbs akimbo.

“The champion!” Suki cried, holding Lotdorn’s hand aloft.

“I’m going to California!” the Thai shouted.

“Rubbish,” Simon said from the ground. Suki pushed her sunglasses back up to the crown of her forehead and smiled down at him.

“Are you okay, Simon?”

“I may live. Give us a hand up?” He clasped her hand but his core muscles levitated him upright.

“Thanks for showing us your boxing.”

“Well, it was my – our – pleasure.” He hesitated, then asked, “Perhaps you’d like to come see the real thing when we’re in Yokohama.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“Oh! Well, uh, good, that’s good. I don’t have a flier on me now, but I could, uh, a pen or maybe…”

“You could e-mail me.”

“Yeah! Good idea. The waitress has a pen…” He realized he was still holding her hand, and he suddenly let it go. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Hey, hold still. I’m going to take your picture.”

Val’s cell phone purred. It was a text message from Charlie: Breakthrough in our case! Dinner tomorrow night to celebrate. Not taking no for an answer.

“Val, something wrong?” Suki asked.

“Charlie,” Val sighed, “you always did have lousy timing.”

(Next chapter.)