October 4th - late night

"Ehhhh, he's so hot, Cheryl!" Keiko chatters, cigarette between her fingertips and her head almost spinning all the way around while she looks at him. Time has worn on already, and I remain on the balcony with her. Yoshio watches TV inside the vacant room, his eyes moving as though he's reading it rather than staring like we do. Traffic in the street is still heavy down below, and our conversation is muffled by the bleating car horns. A slight chill hangs in the air, which is now dark, thick, and hazy with light pollution and Keiko's cigarette smoke.

"I guess he must be, 'cause everywhere we go people are staring at him. So there's nothing outwardly wrong with him then?" I have to ask, paranoia setting in. Popular culture, and the Western view of this strange country, wouldn't put it past Japan to put true artificial intelligence robots on the street so casually, and being the first citizens to own them, surely the Japanese would be able to spot one on the bus, or at FamilyMart.

"What, are you blind?" Keiko's eyes widen as she puffs, reminiscent of an anime character's. "He's perfect! What could be wrong with him? Except that he's hanging out with you. How did you come across this guy again?"

"Um, he needed some help around town," I tell her. "He's planning to attend Tokyo U very soon. He's transferred from Korea and is looking for a cheap place to live."

"All the way out here in Atsugi?"

"Well, he wants a job first. He likes the scenery here better."

"And you want me to help him get a place to stay for the next three days."

"Yeah, while he's apartment-hunting."

More cool, casual, disturbing lies. Still, Keiko scrutinizes me, her narrowed, astute eyes scanning me. She raps her fingernails against the railing of the balcony. Ruby grapefruit-colored lipstick stains the filter on her Marlboro Light.

"Okay, but no more favors for awhile," she says, wagging her finger.

"Thank you Keiko-san!" I wheeze with relief, giving her a deep bow. This is going to put a significant dent in my bank account, but it's only three days, and I'm not about to risk keeping Yoshio at home.

"I never knew a Korean-Japanese could be so handsome," Keiko half-whispers to herself.

Downstairs, Yoshio's eyes are busy taking in everything -- the new, polished tiled floor of the lobby, brass pots that hold dusty fake moss and dusty fake trees. A few workers are still busy putting in the new koi pond in the center of the room, and Keiko's voice is honeyed as she speaks to the front desk about a room for Yoshio.

"This seems like a fine place to work," Yoshio says in breathless admiration. "It's so comfortable and attractive!"

"Well, we do get to eat some of the continental breakfast right before we open the buffet in the morning," I admit. "You'll have to try it tomorrow morning. It's free."

'Oh, that's right, dumbass. Yoshio can't taste food. Well, that sucks.'

"What kind of food do you serve in there?" he asks, towering over me. "They speak both Japanese and English here, so will they serve Japanese food or American food?" I feel like a child when standing in the shadow of his gargantuan height -- but my god, he is hot. Especially when he absently combs his fingers through that clean-cut hair, and his smile dimples. He definitely looks like a pop star, or a TV drama actor.

Maybe I'm supposed to feel special, in a way.

"Western pastries and cereal and stuff for breakfast," I explain, offering my card up to the front to pay for the room. "Japanese food is available for lunch and dinner though. Want to see what your room looks like?"

"Sure! That's all I really wanted. Just to have more time alone with you."

"I'm not sure you're understanding," I have to explain firmly as we enter the elevator. "I can't stay. You remember Kimberly, my roommate. I can't leave her to take care of the apartment all by herself, and I like to get to sleep early, because I have to be back here tomorrow morning. To work."

"I don't mind going home just to relax. I'll help take your mind off things. You seem so tense anyway. And I'll make sure you get to bed extra-early." He nods earnestly.

"Yoshio…" Dammit, I'm tired. "I can't do that. Out of respect for my roommate, who was there first, I can't have you staying there when that little box I live in can barely contain two of us."

"I completely understand," he says in all his pre-programmed inhuman patience. "And I hope I'm not being annoying when I bring this up, but we do only have these three days together."

"I won't forget." Like hell I would forget. Although I kind of wish I could. I mean, I still haven't gotten over the fact that I actually willingly (however unknowingly) signed up to have this happen to me.

Are there really women out there who understand what this is beforehand, and jump and scream in sheer joy over getting such a big mess in the mail?

"I'm just gonna have to make sure these three days are fun," I manage to say with a straight face. I am way too damn good at caving in.

But…

BAM, BAM, BAM! Luxury suite that goes for the equivalent of maybe $2,000 a night (and that's pushing it), with carpet I'd be happy to sleep on, a bed I could sail to China on, flat-screen plasma TV that's way too big to fit in my apartment door, a fucking chandelier, a full-sized fridge. A door leading into a separate living room area complete with couches and a recliner, with yet another TV… a kitchen with a dining table, chairs, stove, oven, the works… and a bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub I could swim in, plus a separate shower stall, its own couch, and a vanity mirror fit for Britney Spears.

Sure enough, under the name of Yoshio Ishihara. ALL EXPENSES PAID.

Fuck my life. That's all I have to say.