"Sofie, darling! How are you?"
Sofie Fatale cursed under her breath, the curse being equally directed at Abby Littleton, the woman who had just shouted that greeting across the hushed interior of the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art and who was now rushing toward her, and Harumi Sato, the well-meaning but hopelessly clueless member of the museum's board of directors who had thought it was such a wonderful idea to get "you two expatriates" together.
It had been almost six months since Ms. Sato had approached Sofie, at an earlier museum function, with Abby Littleton in tow. "Oh, Sofie, here's someone I want you to meet! She, too, is a visitor to our fair land!"
Sofie understood that, even though she was half-Japanese, her French blood was enough to brand her as a gaijin – a foreigner – to many native Japanese, so she wasn't particularly surprised that Harumi had lumped her into the same category as Abby Littleton, as a mere "visitor" to Japan. But, in fact, the two women couldn't be more different.
Sofie Fatale loved Japan and all things Japanese. She spoke the language flawlessly and dressed in more traditionally Japanese fashion than did many younger Japanese themselves (although often overdoing it, sometimes almost to the point of caricature). She wore her hair in simple Japanese styles and, thanks to her Asian genes, she was practically indistinguishable from any other attractive, young Japanese woman at any distance over, say, twenty feet or so.
Abby Littleton, on the other hand, was a chronically loud woman with improbably luminous platinum blonde hair and overdone makeup who wore garishly bright Western clothing and was only in Japan for the career boost the posting would give her. She spoke barely enough Japanese – with a thick American accent – to get by. And while Sofie Fatale had adopted and embraced the gentle and modest Japanese manner of public conduct, she firmly believed that Abby Littleton's brash demeanor could elicit an exasperated "I beg your pardon!" from even the most accomplished Zen master.
Sofie had developed a profound dislike for Abby at that very first meeting when Abby had asked Sofie what she did for a living.
"I'm a lawyer," said Sofie.
"Yikes!" exclaimed Abby. She then made a cross with her two index fingers and held them right in front of Sofie's face, as though warding off some loathsome creature of the night! Sofie was sure no Japanese would ever be so rude.
But Abby wasn't done yet. Grinning like a buffoon, she winked at Sofie and said, "I heard this joke the other day. You know what six lawyers drowned at the bottom of a swimming pool is? A good start!"
Sofie, of course, was aware that lawyers, as a group, were not exactly universally loved, but she herself had never really had to contend with the kind of boorishness that seemed to emanate so naturally and effortlessly from the bombastic Ms. Littleton.
Unfortunately for Sofie, her distasteful encounter with Abby Littleton was not to be a one-time event.
The vast majority of Sofie's time and life was inextricably bound to the world she inhabited with O-Ren Ishii and her yakuza organization. (Sofie's home, in fact, was a luxurious apartment in O-Ren's Tokyo headquarters building.) Her involvement with the Tokyo art establishment, however, was something she did just for herself, and although her duties to O-Ren took precedence over all else, Sofie participated in the art council's events as often as she could.
Unfortunately, Abby Littleton had decided that visibility at those same functions was good for her career. So, much to Sofie's displeasure, she was more likely than not to run into Abby at any given event. And, to make matters even worse, Abby had become quite the fan of lawyer jokes – and of sharing them with her new "friend."
At the opening of a new wing at the Japanese National Gallery: "What's the difference between a good lawyer and a bad lawyer? A bad lawyer can let a case drag out for several years. A good lawyer can make it last even longer!"
At an invitation-only preview exhibit of artworks on loan from the Louvre: "How many lawyers does it take to screw in a light bulb? None! Lawyers only screw us!"
At an after-hours cocktail party in honor of a promising new artist's first exhibit: "Why won't sharks attack lawyers? Professional courtesy!"
It wasn't Abby's disdain for lawyers that irritated Sofie so. Sofie, after all, was second lieutenant to the most powerful yakuza boss in all of Japan. She considered herself much more than just a lawyer and felt no kinship whatsoever with others of the profession. No, what bothered Sofie was Abby's blatant lack of respect and the sheer inappropriateness of her behavior.
Sofie put up with these annoyances for almost six months, hoping Abby would eventually tire of Sofie's obvious disinterest in her company and her comments. More than once, Sofie thought about how easy it could be: One word to O-Ren Ishii would be all it would take to solve this problem (permanently!), but she wanted to keep this part of her life separate from that world – and she especially didn't want her little "hobby" to ever become any kind of burden, no matter how small, to O-Ren.
However, there comes a time when enough is enough. And as Abby approached her now in the main hall of the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art, Sofie smiled at her with genuine pleasure for the very first time.
"Oh, Sofie," Abby enthused. "I just heard the cutest new joke about lawyers! I just know you'll love it!"
"Oh, and I'd love to hear it," Sofie enthused right back, "but I was just about to go across the street for lunch. Why don't you join me? My treat!"
Abby looked a bit surprised. "Well…sure! I'd love to! As long as you don't bill me for the time, that is! Mwahaahaa!"
As the two women exited the museum, a third person, who had been waiting outside at Sofie's request, wordlessly joined them as they started across the boulevard. Abby looked at the young interloper and then at Sofie.
"Oh, Abby," said Sofie with the sweetest smile one could ever imagine. "This is an associate of mine, Gogo Yubari. You don't mind if Gogo joins us for lunch, do you, Abby?"