The Offer Pt. 03

I looked at the Post-it note and the company card once again.

Something's changed. Tuesday, 7 PM. Tokyo Business Hotel, Shinjuku.

After putting all the receipts I had into an interoffice envelope to send to accounting, I put the card in my wallet.

Then I dialed the number on the account page.

It was 9:03 a. m.

Yamanaka-san's secretary answered the phone after just one ring.

Good, I must be the first sales call of the week.

I greeted her and introduced myself in Japanese. After a year of near-daily lessons, I'd learned enough Japanese to talk to company secretaries over the phone and set up appointments as well as answer any professional inquiries I was asked.

"Ramish-san, your Japanese is excellent," she said in Japanese.

"Thank you, but it's not that good yet and still need to learn a lot and make it better," I said.

Neither one of us completely believed what we were saying, but that's how it works in Japan. Someone pays you a compliment and then you humbly disagree.

Even so, I was beginning to feel confident enough to speak Japanese in most situations. I still had an accent, but so did my high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Sudmeyer, twenty-five years after emigrating from Germany.

Acting as his gatekeeper, she told me he was in a meeting and would be out of the office for the rest of the day. However, when I asked about a lunch appointment, she said tomorrow, Tuesday, would be possible.

She suggested Manchinro, a Cantonese restaurant in Yokohama's Chinatown. It was his favorite restaurant for business meetings, she told me. I also asked her what his favorite beer was.

"Suntory Jun-nama," and I noted it in the account folder.

I confirmed that the meeting would be conducted in English and thanked her politely twice, and then a final time before hanging up.

I spent the rest of the day contacting my existing clients and setting up meetings. Before leaving the office, I called a ticket agency and bought two seats for Thursday's Yokohama Whales game against the Tokyo Yomiuri Giants. I paid with my new company card.

That evening, after my Japanese lesson, I stayed late and asked my teacher for any final tips.

"Make sure to arrive first," she said.

Oh really? I would never have thought of that...

"And sit with your back to the door so that the guest can face the entrance. It's the seat of honor."

Now, that's helpful. I would've done the opposite.

We also practiced exchanging business cards, using two hands and bowing properly.

I've spent two years in Tokyo and still doing it like an American. Bowing in Japan is almost like some form of martial art.

I need to find a business card equivalent of a martial arts dojo and earn my black belt in "exchanging business cards."

I imagined trying to explain that to someone back in Davenport. "I'm taking bowing lessons." My dad would probably think I was on drugs or something...

Afterward, I went back to the office and stayed at my desk after everyone else had gone home, and I read over the details of the Yamanaka file. It wasn't thick. Yamanaka Shinkin was founded in 1962 and had thirteen branches, all in Kanagawa prefecture. Its headquarters was three blocks from Yokohama Station. Yamanaka founded it himself and had never lived outside Yokohama except while studying accounting and finance at Keio University in the late 1940s. The file also included some financials, a business analysis, and some sales targets which were still to be determined.

Tuesday morning, I arrived at the office late because I'd had a meeting with a client from one of my other accounts. An hour later, I was on a train to Yokohama.

I arrived fifteen minutes early at Manchinro and took the seat with my back to the door, as my Japanese teacher had recommended. When the waiter gave me a heads-up on Yamanaka's arrival, I stood to greet him near the door, exchanging business cards face-to-face to avoid reaching across the wide round table later.

Once we were seated across from each other, I took his glass off the lazy Susan at the center of the table, poured his Suntory Jun-nama, and rotated the lazy Susan in his direction. He immediately returned the favor. After he'd ordered the spicy shark fin soup, I ordered the same out of deference to him.

Lunch lasted two hours. We spoke about baseball, Yokohama, and after that, Iowa, which Yamanaka-san had never heard of, but he had heard of corn. We avoided business altogether.

As we finished our oolong tea, and after the waiter had discreetly slipped me the check, I offered him the pair of tickets I had for the Whales vs. Giants game on Thursday night. He suggested going together, and I thanked him.

Well played!

I walked him to the door and before he left, bowed lower than he did. Then I returned to the restaurant counter and signed for the check, making sure to keep the receipt before leaving.

Best meeting I've had all year.

IBM 5550, here I come.

* * *

The Tokyo Business Hotel was exactly what its name promised and nothing more. It was an ordinary, rectangular eight-story building. It had a reception desk the size of a grocery store conveyor belt. There were two plain armchairs and a vinyl couch in the lobby, which smelled of cigarettes. That was not uncommon in Tokyo in 1982, but the lobby didn't have the clean, polished look or smell of exclusive places. It also didn't have a bar or a gift shop. Like the furniture, the entrance was simple.

The receptionist at the desk asked if I had a room preference.

"Four-twelve," I said, "if it's available."

It was.

Once upstairs, I put the Yamanaka file on the desk by the window and waited. The rain that had started before I arrived was still coming down hard.

So, is tonight going to be business or just pleasure?

I hope I can last long enough. I haven't gotten laid since I left the US.

And now I'm standing alone in a hotel room fantasizing about having sex with my boss.

I really gotta get out more.

My thoughts were interrupted by her knock, which came at exactly 7 PM. Ms. Whitmire was still dressed from work in her navy-blue business suit. She stuck her wet umbrella in the stand next to the door, then looked at the number on the door before closing it.

"Four-twelve," she said. "Cute."

She put her large purse on the desk, then pulled out a smaller plastic bag and removed a small bottle of Suntory whiskey from it. Next, she took out two glasses, unwrapped them from the napkins they were in, and set them on the desk.

Good. I could use some whiskey to help me be less nervous tonight.

Once she'd removed what she wanted from her bag, she held out her hand without making direct eye contact with me.

That answers my question about handshakes or hugs when we're in private.

Interesting that she's drawing the line at hugs and not at oral sex!

I reached out to shake her hand. She looked into my eyes for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"No, Mr. Ramish. The Yamanaka file."

She was standing right next to the file, but did not reach for it, so I picked it up and handed it to her. I'd brought it without being asked, so I was expecting a remark for thinking ahead.

The acknowledgment never came. Instead, she simply opened it, scanned the first page, and closed it again.

Noticing the look on my face, she said, "Bringing relevant documents isn't showing initiative, Mr. Ramish. It's an expectation."

She was still in business mode. The tone of her voice made that clear.

She sat in the only chair in the room and crossed her legs as she paged through the notes I'd added to the account folder. I stood and waited to answer her questions.

She continued as if she were conducting a meeting. "Tell me about lunch, Mr. Ramish."

I told her the basics: our lunch in Yokohama and Thursday's baseball game.

She nodded slowly. "Where are you sitting?"

"Behind first base."

"Seriously? That's the Giants' side." She said it matter-of-factly, same way she spoke of quarterly losses. "Yamanaka-san would never sit on the visitors' side. So make sure you change the tickets."

Of course she would know that.

In the future, I'll make sure to check the seating before getting tickets at any stadium.

"I'll exchange them tomorrow."

"Good." She turned her head briefly and looked at the rain streaming down the window. "Mr. Ramish, go out and get two cans of beer. You can take my umbrella."

It was raining hard, and there were puddles everywhere. The first vending machine that had beer in it was only a hundred yards down the narrow side street. I got two small cans of Kirin. I preferred Asahi, but I wasn't going to look any further with the rain coming down so hard. I just wanted to get back inside.

* * *

"That was fast, Mr. Ramish," she said when I walked back into the room. It sounded more like an insult than a compliment.

I set the two cans of Kirin on the desk.

Looking at them, she asked, "Mr. Ramish, do you know who likes Kirin?"

"Mitsubishi, that's who," she said, answering her own question.

"And do you know who does not like Kirin? Any company smaller than Mitsubishi."

Driving her point home, she added, "Businessmen like Yamanaka-san."

She followed her statement with a question. "What does he drink?"

"Suntory Jun-nama."

"Then why is there Kirin on the desk?"

"It was the closest machine."

You asked for two beers. You didn't say what kind.

But I couldn't remind her of that, because that would be insubordination, and all I cared about was remaining on her good side for a few more coaching sessions, until I knew what she expected of me, in and out of bed.

"There is a vending machine around the corner with Suntory Jun-nama, a favorite of smaller companies. Instead of walking a few extra feet, you went to the closest. Your clients will notice when you take shortcuts with them. This time, walk the extra inch, Mr. Ramish."

"Yes, Ms. Whitmire. May I borrow your umbrella?"

"No, you may not. This time, wear your jacket and tie until you get to the lobby. Then remove them, leave them with the receptionist, and pick them up on your way back upstairs. You don't want them to get wet. The receptionist will understand."

Then why bother wearing them downstairs at all?

Of course. Appearances.

I knew what she was thinking. A man in a suit stepping out for beer doesn't raise any eyebrows. But a man in an unbuttoned shirt stepping off an elevator is a man who's probably coming from someone's room. And God forbid that anyone at the front desk suspects any hanky-panky is going on upstairs!

I was soaked by the time I returned to the hotel lobby and requested my jacket and tie from the receptionist.

Once on the fourth floor, I walked into the hotel room with two cans of Suntory Jun-nama and placed them on the desk.

While I was gone, she'd kept her blazer on, but she had undone the top four buttons of her blouse, revealing the depth of her cleavage between her large breasts pushed up by her undergarment. At the office, she never undid more than the top button.

I stared, fantasized, and prayed all at the same time.

Please God, make this a short meeting.

She caught me looking.

My eyes moved from her cleavage to her eyes, which appeared to be waiting for me.

She didn't say anything. She just held my gaze as she reached into her bag and removed two more glasses, setting them on the desk without once looking at them.

Four buttons -- not three, but four. She wanted me to look and knew I would. That's as clear a message as I'm ever going to get from her.

It was like a promissory note without the writing: business first, ample pleasure later.

Then I remembered where I was and I saw the two glasses she'd set on the desk.

So, she knew all along we were going to have beer and whiskey.

She could have just gotten the beer on the way.

It was clear from the look on her face that she knew I had figured that out. It was the same look that conveyed she didn't care. And it was all part of the game.

She poured the Suntory Jun-nama into two of the glasses and handed me one.

"Your shirt is soaking wet, Mr. Ramish. Take it off and hang it up so it will be dry by the time you leave. The same goes for your shoes and socks. Then come back and take a seat here on the edge of the bed," she said, patting the bed directly in front of her.

I came back and sat where she'd directed me to sit. I was shoeless and shirtless.

It reminded me of the signs posted on the glass doors of shops around town when I was growing up in Davenport:

No Shirt

No Shoes

No Service

Once again, Ms. Whitmire picked up the file and put it on her lap.

"Let's see what you've learned about his company that will help us at IBM, Mr. Ramish. I'll ask the questions. You give the answers. Every unsatisfactory answer will cost you something."

Her eyes traveled up from my bare feet and paused at my bare chest for a moment before she began speaking.

"You already lost your shirt to the beer. Berkemeyer would've had an undershirt underneath. You didn't."

Who cares? Berkemeyer isn't here. I am.

"How many branches does Yamanaka Shinkin have?"

"Thirteen, and all of them are in Kanagawa prefecture."

"What is a shinkin?"

"It's comparable to a credit union in the States."

"That's rather vague, so it'll cost you your belt. Do some more research on the banking industry, Mr. Ramish. Learn the details before dealing with any banks in the future, large or small."

I removed my belt and tossed it on the edge of the bed as she made a note in the account folder resting on her knee.

"What did he order at lunch?"

"Spicy shark fin soup. I ordered the same."

"Why?"

"Because this is Japan. I did it out of deference."

"Good."

I saw her staring at her empty beer glass.

"Never put your client in a position where they need to remind you to pour their beer, Mr. Ramish. That'll cost you your pants. Remove them in front of me and then go hang them up in the closet."

Remember, she likes things done slowly!

I slowly unzipped them and slid them down to my ankles, then stepped out of them, and took them to the closet, and hung them up. When I came back, I poured some more Suntory Jun-nama into her glass, saving what was left in the can for her. That left me with the Kirin. I certainly didn't expect her to pour my beer for me, so I opened a can of Kirin and poured it into my own glass.

"What does Yamanaka-san think of IBM?"

"We haven't spoken about business yet."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Relationships come first. Business follows."

"What he thinks, Mr. Ramish. Not how business relationships work in Japan. I have, after all, been here since you were still in high school." She nodded at me. "You just lost your briefs, Mr. Ramish."

I stood up, slowly pulled them down, stepped out of them, and placed them on the foot of the bed before sitting back down.

"I don't recall telling you to sit. Stand up and answer the question, Mr. Ramish."

I stood. She looked into my eyes, then lowered her gaze until it was fixed straight ahead.

"Well, Ms. Whitmire, agreeing to have lunch with a salesman from IBM, in my opinion, means he's willing to consider doing business with us once a relationship has been established."

"That's an opinion, not an answer. Your socks, Mr. Ramish," she said, looking down at my bare feet. "I forgot. You lost your socks to the rain, didn't you? Next time it rains, we'll have to extend you a line of credit or come up with some other alternative."

Feeling the rough carpeting under my feet, I didn't think twice about what someone else might consider humiliating as I stood naked across from my female boss. I was too worried about getting a hard-on.

"Two more questions. You may remove one of my shoes for every answer you get right. The first comes in three parts. First, who is his biggest competitor?"

"The Bank of Yokohama."

"Second, what's their advantage over Yamanaka Shinkin?"

"Their size."

"Third, what does Yamanaka-san have that they don't?"

"He's got time and service that the larger banks don't," I said.

I waited.

"Take a seat on the edge of the bed, Mr. Ramish."

She smiled, uncrossed her legs, and rested one foot on my bare knee. I got the hint, removed her shoe for her, and set it on the floor next to the bed.

"The second is a one-part question, Mr. Ramish. What did Yamanaka-san say to me about you?"

"You've spoken to him?"

"That wasn't the question."

"I have no idea, Ms. Whitmire."

"No, I don't suppose you would have any idea," she said. She looked at me and after lifting one of her feet off my knee she replaced it with her other foot. I removed that shoe as well and placed it on the floor next to the other one.

She removed her second foot from my knee, closed the folder, and set it on the desk.

"You've been sitting there with something on your mind since I walked in. What is it?"

"Your note said something's changed."

"Yes, it did." She reached for the bottle of Suntory and poured me a double, then a single for herself.

She picked up her glass and held it up until I took a sip of mine. It was a long, slow sip. I felt the heat of the whiskey warming me as it went down my throat.

That's when I realized she hadn't touched her own whiskey glass. There was no lipstick on the rim.

Once again, she lifted her glass toward me, as if toasting, and I took another sip. She, in turn, took a drink of her beer, which I immediately topped off with the last of the Suntory Jun-nama.

"Now you may ask about it, Mr. Ramish."

"What has changed, Ms. Whitmire?"

"The accounting department has started updating the board on excessive business expenses. We'll stick to places like this one occasionally, but mainly love hotels, which don't stand out on an expense account in Japan."

"And, since you're a man, Mr. Ramish, they're more likely to look the other way and give you the benefit of the doubt, especially with respect to love hotel expenses. So, let's plan on using your card exclusively when booking locations for our private coaching sessions. I'm quite sure nobody on the board has ever heard of this hotel, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Let's plan." "Our plan." "Our coaching sessions."

So now, suddenly, it's "us."

But it's still her call. And my name, my company card, and my signature.

I thought about the receipts I'd sent to accounting that morning.

"I understand," I said.

"I doubt that, Mr. Ramish. But you will."

End of Part Three...

The story continues in Part Four...