The Other Woman Read online

  The Other Woman

  Short Story by Paul Sean Grieve

  Published by Paul Sean Grieve at Smashwords

  Copyright 2014 Paul Sean Grieve

  ISBN: 978-0-9937028-3-9

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Visit Paul Sean Grieve’s website at: www.psgrieve.com

  The Other Woman

  Short Story by Paul Sean Grieve

  The click of Hikari’s high heeled shoes on the pavement echoed against the walls of the crowded houses as she made her way along the narrow lane way as new fallen leaves swirled around her feet in the stiff autumn breeze. The gusting wind was all that remained of a typhoon that had blown over the island the week before, taking with it the lingering remnants of the searing Okinawan summer.

  Watching the dot move on the screen of her iPhone as she walked, she rounded a corner and began her ascent up the steep hill that led to the residence of the wealthy socialite who’d invited her to a casual Sunday brunch. Her steps lengthening as the hill became steeper, Hikari looked up, feeling the still-strong sun on her face as she watched the white, cottony clouds whisk across the deep blue sky. The phone buzzed in her hand and, despite herself, she felt a twinge of naughty anticipation. Was it him? She asked this question every time her phone announced there was a new message waiting, and she cursed herself for it. Flipping over to the mail screen, she felt a mix of disappointment and relief as her eyes scanned the address bar. Not him.

  She’d gone out twice with the American teacher and both dates had been amazing. Her English was so basic she’d feared she and he might have trouble communicating, but was pleasantly surprised to find that his Japanese was far more advanced than she’d thought. While he wasn’t completely fluent, he had a way of saying so much with words he knew, and he worked hard to understand her. Having met when she showed up for an introductory English course sponsored by the government of Nanjo City, the spark she’d felt for him on the first day had glowed steadily throughout the four-week intensive, eventually flaring up into a raging fire which consumed more of her time and attention than she cared to admit. It was possible they could have a future together, or so she told herself, notwithstanding the excruciating fact that he was already married.

  Switching back to the map screen, Hikari continued up the incline, her shadow rotating around her as she turned a sharp corner. At the top of the hill, as the dot on her screen approached the address Mme Kudo had sent via text, Hikari stopped. Peering through the open gate at the well-pruned Niwaki trees lining the stone path that led to the front door, she felt butterflies churn in her stomach. Second thoughts began to overpower her curiosity and she fought the temptation to turn around. Of course she couldn’t do that. The impropriety of failing to attend after accepting the invitation would be an insult to her hostess. Yet, as she stood at the gate, the October wind tossing her long black hair, feelings of shame over the deeply personal matter she knew she’d have to discuss loomed large in her mind.

  Of course, the other attendees would also be sharing personal matters and Hikari was sure they all felt the same trepidation. Mme Kudo had invited Hikari at the behest of a mutual friend who had once attended her frequent Sunday brunches for younger women and who felt strongly that Hikari would benefit from participating in what had become known affectionately among attendees as Mme Kudo’s Lonely Heart’s Club, after the legendary album by the Beatles. After hearing Hikari’s story from their common friend, Mme Kudo had asked Hikari specifically to come on this particular day in order to hear from the special guest she’d invited. So, reservations aside, she set her phone to manner mode and stepped through the gate into the small courtyard cordoned off by the stone wall which ran the perimeter of the property in traditional Okinawan fashion. She tentatively approached the wooden door and rang the bell.

  As she waited, she tried to make sense of the snippets of conversation that could be heard above the Okinawan sanshin music emanating from within. As far as she could tell, all the voices were of fairly young women and while individual words were hard to discern, she was confident they were all speaking Japanese. This was a great relief to Hikari. Since Mme Kudo had said the special visitor would be one who spoke English, the fact that there were so many other Japanese women there helped her relax a little.

  Suddenly, the door swung open and before Hikari stood a short, dignified woman of about 50, her long greying hair tied back in a relaxed bun. Wearing a green knitted sweater and black slacks under a white striped apron, she smiled warmly at Hikari. Hikari bowed respectfully, her wind-ruffled hair falling forward over her petite shoulders. The woman returned the gesture.

  “Ohayo gozaimasu,” they each said in turn.

  “Kudo-san desu ka?” asked Hikari. Are you Mme Kudo?

  “Yoroshiku o-negaishimasu.”

  “O-jamashimasu,” said Hikari politely as she stepped gingerly through the doorway.

  The other women, all dressed casually, stood and bowed politely, giving their names. There was Keiko, a tall, slender woman who appeared to be in her 30’s, Hiromi, a short and somewhat heavy set but none the less attractive young woman with long, straight hair dyed golden-brown and Aki, a serious looking woman in her mid 20’s. Hikari introduced herself and knelt on the tatami floor.

  Looking around the room, Hikari couldn’t help but stare out the full-length windows offering a breathtaking view of Awase and the east coast of Okinawa. Nestled tightly amid smaller houses in the affluent Kishaba neighbourhood of Kitanakagusuku, Mme Kudo’s home was far more impressive inside than it appeared from without.

  “We’re waiting for our guest of honour,” explained Mme Kudo as she poured Hikari a cup of hot tea.

  The doorbell rang and a few more women trickled in. There were more introductions as Mme Kudo poured tea for the newcomers, who took up places on the tatami mats. The conversation was light and convivial, in the manner of a group of women meeting for the first time, yet there was an air of tension in the room, which grew as the chatter died down into an awkward silence. The silence was broken by a gentle rap at the door.

  Mme Kudo hurried from the kitchen to answer it and the door opened to reveal a tall, white-skinned man in his 50’s with grey-speckled blonde hair. Mme Kudo reached out a hand to him, which he shook warmly as they both bowed. They chatted briefly in English as he removed his shoes on the landing, then Mme Kudo led him into the large tatami room where all the women knelt.

  The man smiled and waved hello to the assembled crowd of Japanese women, who remained seated as they perfunctorily bowed, a little unsure of how to greet him. Mme Kudo introduced him as Greg-san, explaining that he had lived in Okinawa for close to five years and that he owned and operated two successful western-style restaurants on the island.

  “Greg-san is going to share some of his experiences with us today,” said Mme Kudo in polite Japanese. “I believe he may have insight into some of the matters you all have in common.”

  Mme Kudo then asked a couple of the women to help her serve the meal, which was a mix of Okinawan and western light foods, including sushi, mini-sandwiches and a platter of cheese, crackers and sliced fruit. They all chatted casually as they munched and the women were impressed by Greg’s Japanese, which, though far from natural, allowed him to express himself rather well.

  When the meal was ov
er, Mme Kudo addressed the women.

  “I would like to formally thank you for coming,” she said in Japanese. “I know that what brings us together today is not happiness, but sadness, and that what unites all of you is not success, but what you perceive as personal failure.”

  The women looked on glumly as Mme Kudo continued.

  “You have all been invited because, in one way or another, you’ve recently experienced tragedy in your love lives and by coming together and sharing these experiences, you have the opportunity to learn from each other and to grow. I’ve asked Greg to share some of his experiences in the hope that hearing what he has to say might help you understand your individual situations better.”

  Hikari’s sense of dread intensified. Having spent most of the last four months doing her level best not to think about what had happened to her, the fact that she’d have to dredge it all up in front of a group of strangers was almost more than she could bear. But she was determined to see it through.

  Mme Kudo turned to Greg and asked him in English if he was ready to begin.

  “Before I start,” said Greg, “I’d like to get a sense of how many people here speak English. Could I get a show of hands?”

  His words were met with a room full of blank stares until Mme Kudo translated, at which point all the shaking heads indicated that he was going to have to rely on her services as interpreter.

  “Alright then,” he said. “Mme Kudo told me you knew I’d be coming, but that you didn’t know what I’d be talking about. Is that correct?”

  “I told them only that we would have a very special visitor,” answered Mme Kudo after translating his words.

  “In that case, I’d better give a bit of background,” he said as Mme Kudo simultaneously translated. “You can ask me all the questions you want later, but the short version is that I’m a retired pick-up artist.”

  Hikari joined the chorus of surprised introjections as eyes widened around the room.

  “I was never a professional, like some men claim to be, but I was prolific enough to be able to say that I’ve had a lot of experience with women. I’ve also helped a lot of men who’ve had problems in their relationships with women understand themselves and their situations better.”

  “Western men or Japanese men?” asked Keiko in Japanese.

  “Western men, always,” answered Greg without waiting for the translation. “But a the fact that I’ve lived the latter part of my life in Japan means I’ve had experience with Japanese women and with western men who’ve had relationships with Japanese women. While Japan is special in a number of ways, I’ve found that relationships between men and women are very similar to those of their western counterparts in many ways.”

  “Perhaps you could explain how you feel you can help the women here today,” suggested Mme Kudo.

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt,” he replied, “but if the unmarried women leave here today with dashed hopes and shattered expectations, I’ve done my job.”

  “I’m not sure how to translate that,” chuffed Mme Kudo.

  “Let’s just say my central message is that what we’ve been been taught to expect in our love lives is the stuff of fantasy and the longer we cling to that fantasy, the less likely we are to find and maintain satisfying relationships.”

  Mme Kudo translated and the women looked down grimly as Hikari thought deeply about Greg’s words. She knew all too well about dashed expectations and wondered what this older man might have to say. But for that, she’d have to wait.

  “Now that Greg-san has had a chance to introduce himself,” said Mme Kudo, “I’d like you all to share your stories one by one and listen carefully to his comments.”

  The women looked around nervously. Mme Kudo had asked them all in advance to prepare a brief presentation about their individual situations and all of them had, but Japan’s “tatamae” culture was not amenable to the expression of strong emotions and the prospect of having to spill their guts in front of a room full of strangers was daunting to say the least. When Mme Kudo asked for volunteers, to no one’s surprise, not a single hand went up.

  “Aki, why don’t you begin?”

  Aki pointed to her nose the way Japanese do when they aren’t sure if they’re the one’s being spoken to. Mme Kudo nodded encouragingly and Aki looked self-consciously down at the table. After rounds of encouragement from all present, she finally worked up the nerve to begin. In a series of disjointed vignettes, she pieced together the story of a husband who continued to maintain an affair with a woman he’d been dating on the side before they were married.

  “He told me he’d broken off the relationship,” she whispered, her cheeks quivering as she strained to contain the sobs she knew would spill out of her like a mighty river through a ruptured dam.

  “This went on for the whole time you were married?” confirmed Mme Kudo.

  Aki nodded yes.

  “How many years have you been married?” asked Keiko.

  “Four.”

  “Who pursued who before you got married?” asked Greg after a silence. “I mean, did he try to convince you to marry him, or the other way around?”

  “Maybe, I chased him,” Aki admitted contritely.

  “It’s important because it appears that you were a bit more enthusiastic about the relationship than he was.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “It’s unfortunate we don’t get to choose who we feel sexually attracted to,” Greg lamented. “If he could have, I’m sure your husband would have chosen to love you and only you. But the reality is, we sometimes have strong feelings for people even when society says we shouldn’t.”

  Mme Kudo’s translation elicited nods of rueful agreement from all present.

  “Most of us are brought up with the expectation that we’ll find one special person who’ll be all things to us, but the truth is, human relationships rarely work that way. The kind of person we want to raise our children with is not always a person we can feel romantic love for or enjoy satisfying sex with.”

  Hikari’s body tensed up at Greg’s words. She felt great sympathy for Aki, who must feel so alone even with the two lovely daughters whose pictures she’d shown everyone before Greg arrived. What Aki was going though must must be incredibly painful, but at least she had a family and a husband who, even if he hadn’t been entirely faithful, didn’t seem like he was planning to leave her. For this, Hikari couldn’t help but envy her.

  Mme Kudo signalled it was Keiko’s turn. Since Aki had already broken the ice, it seemed more natural for Keiko to share her story, which was that of a husband who’d admitted to repeated trysts with prostitutes in Tsuji, the low-key red-light district in Naha, Okinawa’s largest city. This had come to light after she found out by accident that her husband had been working a side job for cash. When she’d asked what he’d done with the money, his answers hadn’t sounded plausible, so she’d hired an investigator and had him followed. When she confronted him with photos of him visiting one of Naha’s “Soapland” establishments, there was little he could do but admit the truth.

  “It’s like he had this whole separate life,” complained Keiko. “I can’t take being lied to like that.”

  “It makes you wonder what other lies he’s told you,” added Aki.

  “Maybe other women, not in Tsuji,” said Hiromi.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Keiko. “Paying for sex at Soapland I sort of understand, but I don’t know who else might be out there. Maybe someone he desires more than me.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Greg piped up, “a lot of western women would’ve already left him.”

  “What about their children?” Keiko asked.

  “They’d be the subject of court battles which would drag on over number of years. The mother would almost certainly be awarded custody and the father, if he was lucky, would have certain visitation rights.”

  “They’d have to pay for two houses,” reasoned Keiko. “Unless he was rich, everybody’s li
ves would get harder.”

  “Is that why you’re still with him?” asked Greg. “For economic reasons?”

  “I still love him. I just wish he could love me, physically, the same way he loves those other women.”

  “The expectation that we’re supposed to be with only one person all our married lives isn’t realistic for everyone. Not everybody feels the need to have other partners, but it’s pretty clear your husband does.”

  “So what should I do?” asked Keiko.

  “Treat yourself to something you want,” said Greg. “Go have a massage, a facial, something sensual, and ask him to pay for it out of the money he earns at his other job. If you ask him the right way, I bet he’ll agree.”

  The other women looked at each other, perplexed.

  “A massage and a facial will hardly make up for the pain Keiko’s husband caused her,” protested Aki, to the agreement of all the women.

  “Very few species are truly monogamous,” said Greg, “and humans are not on that list. Genetic research has turned everything we used to believe about nature on its head. Offspring of females we previously thought mated with only one partner are not uncommonly fathered by other males. The same genetic tests have shown that up to a third of kids born to mothers in stable married relationships are fathered by men other than their mother’s husbands. One third. Think about it.”

  Aki crossed her arms as Mme Kudo translated. Keiko nodded her understanding. Hikari silently wondered what she’d do in Keiko’s situation. If the man she loved with all her heart admitted to seeing prostitutes, apparently lots of them, would she contemplate leaving him, like the legendarily strong-willed western women Greg spoke of? Perhaps. But even if he agreed to pay for her house and all her expenses, she couldn’t imagine life as a single mother. Even if she couldn’t have him all to herself, at least she could still be with him, be held by him, at least sometimes. Having to share was a second rate option, but it was better than what she had now.