find a missing Michiko, but there she was, sitting wide eyed and pretty on one of the lobby sofas.
She saw Hazzard coming across the lobby and a fleeting expression of relief flashed across her lovely face. Then she smiled and stood up. Hazzard almost tripped on one of those idiotic rugs that the hotel had spread in the middle of the lobby. Michiko was a rather something in her office uniform of sweater, blouse, and skirt—but in a cocktail dress she was fabulous.
This had been Hazzard's office girl for six months, and he never even knew it. Her hair was swept back along the sides and up in back. A white feather tiara was fixed along one side and curved upwards over her jet black hair. The gold brocade cocktail dress was low cut and clung to every curve of her body like another layer of skin. High-heeled gold pumps accentuated the calf muscles to show a perfect set of legs.
Hazzard gulped, and found his voice as he came up to where she stood, and almost lost it again as he got a whiff of the perfume she was wearing.
"I'm sorry to be late," he mumbled.
"It's all right," she said.
Hazzard said nothing, and there was a long embarrassing pause.
"Well, ah, shall we go?" asked Hazzard.
"Yes," she said.
There was another pause as Hazzard just stood and stared at her. Then he caught himself and smiled.
"Shall we go?" asked Hazzard.
Michiko giggled. "That is the second time you say same thing."
Hazzard shook his head. So it was. He reached out, took her arm and guided her out to get a taxi. As they crossed the lobby Hazzard was conscious of the gawking tourists. Gripes, but he hated them. He could almost read their filthy little minds. The two-and three-week wonders going around the world before it was too late. Plane loads of doddering old busy bodies. Each one seeking out the place to buy silk, pearls, the book on flower arranging, and passing judgment on all foreigners with Oriental girls. He had seen them all before, every year it was the same, and he stuck out his tongue at one shocked lady who was leering at them through a pince-nez.
A little revenge for past insults, he thought.
Over dinner at the Mikado they watched the floor show that is always tops at this palace-like theater restaurant, and talked of many things; mostly Michiko. Hazzard was surprised that he knew so little about his office girl. From now on, he promised himself, he would spend more time thinking of personnel problems and less about unpaid bills.
Michiko had graduated from Doshisha University in Kyoto. Her father was chairman of the board of a large Kyoto bank. Her sister was an airline hostess and her younger brother was still in college. She had led a rather strict life at home; her father keeping a tight rein on all of her activities. She had to be home every night before ten, she could not go out with anyone unless her father approved beforehand, and at night she had to give a detailed account of everything she had done and where she had gone during the day.
One day she had gotten up courage enough to tell her father that she was going to Tokyo to find a job and support herself. To her surprise he had agreed and only warned her to be careful of the type of work she chose. It would have to be dignified and not be anything to disgrace the family name. She had been in Tokyo three days when she had seen Hazzard's small want ad in The Japan Times.
Watching her talk was fascinating, and before Hazzard realized it himself, he was asking her if she would like to see his apartment. Her answer almost floored him.
"Yes," she said. "I would like to very much. I have wanted to see where you live for long time."
All the way across town in the taxi to Shibuya, Hazzard held her hand. Everytime he squeezed, she squeezed back.
When they arrived, Hazzard began to worry if he had left the apartment in its usual mess. As the door opened and the light went on, he heaved a sigh of relief. He thought it looked quite presentable, then he saw Michiko's face. She was frowning and shaking her head.
"Yappari," she said, "You can tell a man lives here."
Hazzard shrugged his shoulders. Well, you can't win them all, he thought, and he followed her meekly around the apartment. She was interested in everything. She puttered around the kitchen, peered into the cupboards, stuck her head in the Japanese-style bathroom, glanced at all the books, ran her finger along the window sills, wanted to know if he had a maid, and who did the cooking.
When she learned that there was no maid, and that he did the cooking, she smiled.
"It is very nice," she said as she turned around from inspecting the bedroom.
"Very nice," said Hazzard, only he was looking at Michiko. Suddenly the perfume of her hair became intermixed with the Scotch and waters he had had at the Mikado and he reached out for her. She was in his arms and they were kissing. Hazzard could feel the fast beat of her little heart as he crushed herto him. Then, still holding her tight, he snuggled his face into the side of her neck and took the lobe of her delicately shaped ear between his teeth. Michiko stiffened and rose up on her toes against him.
"Michiko," he whispered, "Will you stay here tonight with me?"
"I do not know," she answered, and pushing herself away she walked past him to the living room.
Hazzard could not understand this piece of Oriental female logic. Either you do or you don't, he thought, but Hazzard still had much to learn of a woman's heart, especially if the woman was Japanese.
"Why don't you know?" asked Hazzard.
"Do you like me?"
"Yes," said Hazzard, wondering where this conversation was leading. "I like you very much."
"Do you like me enough to marry me?"
He looked at her for a long time. So that was it. Be careful Mike.
"I—I don't know," he answered truthfully.
"Then I cannot stay," she said with a smile.
Damn these women, thought Hazzard. Always got the hook out for a man.
"You mean if I say I like you enough to marry you, then you'll stay here with me?" he asked. "I could lie to you, then what would you do?" That ought to take some of the wind out of her sails, he thought.
She shook her head. "No, you would not lie, especially about a thing like this. I see you every day for six months. I know you, I know your heart. You are not the kind of man who tell lies. I never stay with man before, but with you I will stay. But only if we become married."
"Okay," said Hazzard. "I understand what you mean. Will you stay if I say I will marry you?"
"Oh, I Will stay, she answered. "But I will not sleep with you, or make love with you. I will kiss you if you want, but we cannot make love with each other."
Hazzard was more confused than ever. "But you just said . . ."
"When you want me for your wife, I will make love with you. But if you say this now, I will not believe. You spoke truth first when you say you do not know how much you like me, desho? Someday maybe you ask me to marry, then I be very happy. If you do not ask me, I wait. If you marry someone other girl, I be sad."
