Categories > Original > Romance
Messages from Autumn Nights
0 ReviewsHe's a hot host in high demand, and she's an under-aged girl with passion. You know what happens.
I was buried in piles of debt that just kept on adding up, and the quickest way I could clear off that debt was to work at Courleone, a top host club in Tokyo. My name had changed from "Jun" to "Dark" during business hours. By my first year of employment, I had already become the highest demand of the club and had paid off half of my debt, bringing in a couple hundred thousand yen a week. Forget college, I told myself. I can rely on hosting for now. That was how my life was started.
A girl most likely still in high school walked in with a crowd of older women in their twenties, and they made the first payment before picking their guy for the night. This girl was glued to the spot in front of the desk until her friends had pulled her into the club and pushed her towards me. A thick woman grinned at me, saying, "Be good to her! This is her first time at a host club." With that, the lady left with her friends to another table, sitting togeher with some of my co-workers. I turned to my client for the night and took a good look at her.
The girl didn't look at me, both hands holding the purse in her hands. Despite the lipstick and eyeshadow, the iron-curled hair, it was obvious that she was under age. She was dressed in skinny jeans and golden high heels, a teal shirt hanging off her shoulders. I sat back in the round booth, resting my arms on the top of the leather couch. When she didn't move, I flashed my teasing smile.
"Don't be shy," I said. "Come sit down with me."
She hesitantly glanced at me before averting her eyes quickly, staring at the floor.
"Your friend will be wasting her money if you don't come here and talk with me."
"I didn't want to be here," she murmured with a faint blush in her cheeks.
"Oh, I see. You don't want my company, is that it?"
"No, that's not it. Really."
"You think it's bad to be in a place like this?"
"Well . . . host clubs are prohibited from students still in high school, and there are a lot of organizations that will fire their employees for coming to a place like this."
" Yeah, but that doesn't make it a bad place. We're not prostitutes, in case you don't know; you can call me a modern day geisha if it makes you feel any better. We're just here to entertain, make sure the ladies are having a good time. Don't worry; I won't touch you if you don't like it."
The girl sat down as far as she could from me, still stiff. Knowing that I couldn't expect much instigation from her, I pushed a glass of water to her and spoke up.
"How old are you?" I asked. "Fifteen?"
"N-no."
"You look underage."
"I'm seventeen. I'm sorry."
"For what? For being so cute?"
I winked at her, but she shook her head in embarrassment.
"I know I shouldn't be here, but my aunt wanted me to come."
"Don't tell me you don't like my company or that you feel too shy to talk to me. If it makes you feel any better, I'm only two years older than you."
"I don't know you, and this is awkward. I mean, you're being paid to talk to me. I feel a little bit pathetic."
"Don't. Look at all the women here. They don't seem to feel ashamed. They're just here to let loose. Who knows? You may end up falling in love with me by the end of the night."
She smiled at this and laughed as if it was just a joke, and it really was as simple as that.
But that night, I found out more about a person than I ever did with any other women I encountered at the host club. I didn't have to force myself to remember that her name was Yuri. It came naturally everytime I saw her. The makeup and the heels, it wasn't her. When she told me that, I told her to be herself when she was with me; I wouldn't be turned off. "I don't need you to flaunt your sexy body at me all the time," I had grinned at her. Soon, I started to say, "You may flaunt your sexy body only at me."
Once she started dressing in the style she normally had, her personality seemed to flow much more easily. Despite her upbeat attitude, the occasional blush of shyness told me that she was quite innocently in love with me. This was something new; as a host, I was usually sought by women for intimate purposes and sex, though I denied both from anyone requesting. When I asked her why she wanted to be with me, she looked up from the book she was reading and gave me a puzzled frown.
"Isn't it because I like you?"
What about me do you like?
This time, Yuri smiled and sat up from the bed and held her book to me. "I could write a book about how you make me feel."
From there on, we were both equally needed and loved in each other's lives, but to me, she was still so innocent that I didn't want to taint her with lustful touches. The year that I was with her, the closest we had gotten to intimacy was simply holding hands and embraces. Besides that, money was also a big part of her life, and I could understand. We were in similar situations, making money to ensure that our families were well and healthy, that they lived as comfortably as we could help. Next in line was her music and writing, also close to her heart, so when she moved out of the country to study abroad and to search for a career in songwriting, I had to let her go.
I won't use the excuse that I had to stay behind because I still had a lot of debt to pay off. The rest of it could have easily been paid off by the next month, and I could have gone with her to America by then. I wasn't quite sure why I was letting her go, and I didn't give her a reason.
"I see," she smiled. "Thank you for being such a gracious host to me."
Before I could stop her, she gave a quick bow and hurried away. I won't deny that what she said hurt me; she said it as if I was only with her for financial benefits. Not once did I let her pay for anything nor did I imply that I wanted money for spending time with her, but if something like that made me feel bad, then it was sure enough that she must have felt a hundred times worse when I told her I didn't want to be with her. Even then, it wasn't a complete break. Twice a week, Yuri sent letters from Berkeley and wrote to me as if nothing wrong had happened. I never replied to her no matter how much I wanted to, and she never asked for any letters in return. By the time a year had passed, I had over a hundred letters from her, all piled in a box under the bed, but the last one she sent, I kept it in my pocket, close to my heart so I wouldn't forget.
One night, as I sat up from the bed of a woman whose name I had already forgotten, I reached into my shirt and pulled out the slip of paper, reading the one word over and over:
"Good-bye."
Close to my heart so I wouldn't forget what I had done.
During the year after Yuri's last letter, I made it a point to forget about her by replacing her with women who were probably married. Did I think it was bad? Not at the time, at least. I erased my memories of her by taking in hard liquor and champagne nightly. I drowned out her voice by listening to the voices of these women. I replaced the lingering presence of her with the bodies of these women. But did I forget? Not even when I was in the company of another client.
One particular night, I did manage to forget why I was seducing every woman thrown at me. A girl walked in with three others, and her gaze never left mine even as I stared at her as she walked over to me. I don't know why, but every step she took made me bitter and angry. She stopped at the table and smiled, flipping her hair.
"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered as if I had a choice.
She sat down anyway, scooting closer to me. Irritated, I moved away and let her yak away as if I cared about her life. I feigned yawns and offered her no replies or anything to eat or drink, yet this girl would not relent. Within twenty minutes, she had moved so close to me that I was sitting at the edge of the booth with her leg touching mine.
"Will you move it?" I snapped at her.
The shock on her face quickly disappeared as she played a coy smile, twirling the ends of her hair. She kept on chattering away even when I buried my face into my palms, letting out loud groans of annoyance. I tuned her out and focused on the music playing in the background, head buzzing from the alcohol and the endless noise. I mumbled along with the words of a song that had been constantly playing the past week.
"Are you crying?" the girl cut in.
"What?" I asked, wiping my eyes. I looked at my finger, a bit of moisture on the side.
"How do you feel about sleeping with underage girls?" she said suddenly. "I hear guys get a kick out of it."
"I prefer dusty old ladies over you."
"There's no reason to play hard to get. Everyone knows you have a reputation of sleeping with all your clients. There's no way you'd pass on me. I'll even pay you extra."
"What are you, color-blind? Does this look like the red-light district? If you want a prostitute, go look somewhere else."
I stood up and walked away, but she came after me. She grabbed my arm with a fierce look in her eyes, tugging at my shirt with her nails digging into my skin. When I pushed her to the ground, she whimpered as my manager and co-workers came to see what was going on. Her bottom lip was caught under her upper row of teeth, eyes hard and unable to belie the humiliation of rejection.
"What's going on, Night?" my manager asked me.
"He pushed me!" she cried out.
"Are you Night?" I knelt, looking at her.
"No . . . ."
"Then shut up," I said, pushing her forehead with two fingers until she fell back from her sitting position.
"Night?" my manager asked again.
"She's underage. Call up her parents and let them know she's trying to pay people to have sex with her."
"Is that right?"
"Yes. In fact, I feel a little sick from this. I'm going to take the rest of the night off."
I stepped out through the back door and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. The smoke faded into the sky and blended in with the rain clouds, hinting that this day would be the beginning of the rainy season. Trying to forget about Yuri wasn't as easy as I thought. Did I feel disgusted with myself for sleeping with people I had no interest in? Yeah. I did. Everything reminded me of her, even that girl completely unlike her inside Corleone. Music reminded me of her, books, cake, the place I work, the place that I first encountered her. Smoking this cigarette even rendered memories of her.
"Jun."
I looked up and saw my friend holding something slim in his hand. "Here. You might want to listen to this."
"What is it?"
"A CD."
I took it and glanced at the cover, an album made by someone named Aki, Messages from Autumn Nights. I nodded a quick thank to him and walked away. When I got home, I took my time changing, showering, eating, smoking and drinking some more before I slipped the disc into the computer. A window popped up, and the first of nineteen songs automatically started, entitled, "Listless Memories." As the seconds passed, the intro dimming and fading behind a soft voice, the words seemed familiar and heart-wrenching. It all reminded me of Yuri, and I was sure it was her, a message meant to reach me.
Inside the booklet was nothing that said exactly who the artist was. There was no biography or any addresses, and there wasn't even a publishing company on it. So, I looked through all her letters and found an address where I could reach her and called her sister to confirm it.
"She already graduated from the college," she said through the phone. "She moved back to Tokyo three weeks ago, but I don't know where you would be able to find her."
"What do you mean?"
"She didn't give any of us any way of contacting her. The best thing you can do is hope to bump into her on the streets."
Could I waste another second now that I knew she was back after two years? Would I even be able to sit through another night without going crazy?
The front door slammed shut as I walked out and headed for Daikanyama District. The rain drenched me and soaked my hair, the pavement slick and wet. Water dripped from my face, my vision blurred, but somewhere, I would find her. I dialed her number on my cellphone continuosly with no answer. I wasn't even sure if her number was still the same. Throughout the whole district, there wasn't a single person in the streets. When midnight had come and pass, I had given up the search.
Trudging through park number 18, I retrieved the pack of cigarettes and dropped them into a puddle. I tossed the lighter against a tree, and I clutched the phone to dial one more time. It rang once, it rang twice, and it rang once more before someone answered, "Hello?"
"Yuri?" I murmured.
"Who is this?"
"It's me, Jun!"
"Hello? Hellooo? Are you still there?"
"Yuri?"
Silence.
I checked my phone, and it was dead. Angry, I thrust the phone at the ground and left the pieces behind. I walked a few more steps before I stopped at the edge of the park, looking up into the sky. Several drops of rain fell and hit my eyes, trailing down as they brimmed the edges. When I looked to the side, there was a figure holding an umbella underneath a lamplight. I walked closer and recognized the shape. I tried to call out but couldn't find my voice. She turned around and looked my way, just watching.
"Is it you?" I asked when I neared her.
She nodded, dropping her umbrella. Her hair was matted with the rain, her undergarments visible through her soaked clothes. I gripped her shoulders, unable to say anything about what I did except for, "Are we okay?"
"What is it that you like about me?" she asked me, gaze averted to the glistening ground.
"Didn't I tell you?" I asked, lifting up her face so that her eyes met mine. "I could write a book about how you make me feel."
She blurted out laughing and shoved me, surprising me. "You're so funny."
"I mean it."
"But can you catch up? I mean, I did make a hit album about how you make me feel."
"No problem."
I pulled out the slip of paper I kept in my pocket and unfolded it, showing it to her flat on my palm. It fell from my hands and stuck to the floor until the rain washed it away. She took my hand and sighed, walking side by side as if nothing was wrong until she said with a grin, "So, I here you're quite the ladies' man while I've been gone."
A girl most likely still in high school walked in with a crowd of older women in their twenties, and they made the first payment before picking their guy for the night. This girl was glued to the spot in front of the desk until her friends had pulled her into the club and pushed her towards me. A thick woman grinned at me, saying, "Be good to her! This is her first time at a host club." With that, the lady left with her friends to another table, sitting togeher with some of my co-workers. I turned to my client for the night and took a good look at her.
The girl didn't look at me, both hands holding the purse in her hands. Despite the lipstick and eyeshadow, the iron-curled hair, it was obvious that she was under age. She was dressed in skinny jeans and golden high heels, a teal shirt hanging off her shoulders. I sat back in the round booth, resting my arms on the top of the leather couch. When she didn't move, I flashed my teasing smile.
"Don't be shy," I said. "Come sit down with me."
She hesitantly glanced at me before averting her eyes quickly, staring at the floor.
"Your friend will be wasting her money if you don't come here and talk with me."
"I didn't want to be here," she murmured with a faint blush in her cheeks.
"Oh, I see. You don't want my company, is that it?"
"No, that's not it. Really."
"You think it's bad to be in a place like this?"
"Well . . . host clubs are prohibited from students still in high school, and there are a lot of organizations that will fire their employees for coming to a place like this."
" Yeah, but that doesn't make it a bad place. We're not prostitutes, in case you don't know; you can call me a modern day geisha if it makes you feel any better. We're just here to entertain, make sure the ladies are having a good time. Don't worry; I won't touch you if you don't like it."
The girl sat down as far as she could from me, still stiff. Knowing that I couldn't expect much instigation from her, I pushed a glass of water to her and spoke up.
"How old are you?" I asked. "Fifteen?"
"N-no."
"You look underage."
"I'm seventeen. I'm sorry."
"For what? For being so cute?"
I winked at her, but she shook her head in embarrassment.
"I know I shouldn't be here, but my aunt wanted me to come."
"Don't tell me you don't like my company or that you feel too shy to talk to me. If it makes you feel any better, I'm only two years older than you."
"I don't know you, and this is awkward. I mean, you're being paid to talk to me. I feel a little bit pathetic."
"Don't. Look at all the women here. They don't seem to feel ashamed. They're just here to let loose. Who knows? You may end up falling in love with me by the end of the night."
She smiled at this and laughed as if it was just a joke, and it really was as simple as that.
But that night, I found out more about a person than I ever did with any other women I encountered at the host club. I didn't have to force myself to remember that her name was Yuri. It came naturally everytime I saw her. The makeup and the heels, it wasn't her. When she told me that, I told her to be herself when she was with me; I wouldn't be turned off. "I don't need you to flaunt your sexy body at me all the time," I had grinned at her. Soon, I started to say, "You may flaunt your sexy body only at me."
Once she started dressing in the style she normally had, her personality seemed to flow much more easily. Despite her upbeat attitude, the occasional blush of shyness told me that she was quite innocently in love with me. This was something new; as a host, I was usually sought by women for intimate purposes and sex, though I denied both from anyone requesting. When I asked her why she wanted to be with me, she looked up from the book she was reading and gave me a puzzled frown.
"Isn't it because I like you?"
What about me do you like?
This time, Yuri smiled and sat up from the bed and held her book to me. "I could write a book about how you make me feel."
From there on, we were both equally needed and loved in each other's lives, but to me, she was still so innocent that I didn't want to taint her with lustful touches. The year that I was with her, the closest we had gotten to intimacy was simply holding hands and embraces. Besides that, money was also a big part of her life, and I could understand. We were in similar situations, making money to ensure that our families were well and healthy, that they lived as comfortably as we could help. Next in line was her music and writing, also close to her heart, so when she moved out of the country to study abroad and to search for a career in songwriting, I had to let her go.
I won't use the excuse that I had to stay behind because I still had a lot of debt to pay off. The rest of it could have easily been paid off by the next month, and I could have gone with her to America by then. I wasn't quite sure why I was letting her go, and I didn't give her a reason.
"I see," she smiled. "Thank you for being such a gracious host to me."
Before I could stop her, she gave a quick bow and hurried away. I won't deny that what she said hurt me; she said it as if I was only with her for financial benefits. Not once did I let her pay for anything nor did I imply that I wanted money for spending time with her, but if something like that made me feel bad, then it was sure enough that she must have felt a hundred times worse when I told her I didn't want to be with her. Even then, it wasn't a complete break. Twice a week, Yuri sent letters from Berkeley and wrote to me as if nothing wrong had happened. I never replied to her no matter how much I wanted to, and she never asked for any letters in return. By the time a year had passed, I had over a hundred letters from her, all piled in a box under the bed, but the last one she sent, I kept it in my pocket, close to my heart so I wouldn't forget.
One night, as I sat up from the bed of a woman whose name I had already forgotten, I reached into my shirt and pulled out the slip of paper, reading the one word over and over:
"Good-bye."
Close to my heart so I wouldn't forget what I had done.
During the year after Yuri's last letter, I made it a point to forget about her by replacing her with women who were probably married. Did I think it was bad? Not at the time, at least. I erased my memories of her by taking in hard liquor and champagne nightly. I drowned out her voice by listening to the voices of these women. I replaced the lingering presence of her with the bodies of these women. But did I forget? Not even when I was in the company of another client.
One particular night, I did manage to forget why I was seducing every woman thrown at me. A girl walked in with three others, and her gaze never left mine even as I stared at her as she walked over to me. I don't know why, but every step she took made me bitter and angry. She stopped at the table and smiled, flipping her hair.
"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered as if I had a choice.
She sat down anyway, scooting closer to me. Irritated, I moved away and let her yak away as if I cared about her life. I feigned yawns and offered her no replies or anything to eat or drink, yet this girl would not relent. Within twenty minutes, she had moved so close to me that I was sitting at the edge of the booth with her leg touching mine.
"Will you move it?" I snapped at her.
The shock on her face quickly disappeared as she played a coy smile, twirling the ends of her hair. She kept on chattering away even when I buried my face into my palms, letting out loud groans of annoyance. I tuned her out and focused on the music playing in the background, head buzzing from the alcohol and the endless noise. I mumbled along with the words of a song that had been constantly playing the past week.
"Are you crying?" the girl cut in.
"What?" I asked, wiping my eyes. I looked at my finger, a bit of moisture on the side.
"How do you feel about sleeping with underage girls?" she said suddenly. "I hear guys get a kick out of it."
"I prefer dusty old ladies over you."
"There's no reason to play hard to get. Everyone knows you have a reputation of sleeping with all your clients. There's no way you'd pass on me. I'll even pay you extra."
"What are you, color-blind? Does this look like the red-light district? If you want a prostitute, go look somewhere else."
I stood up and walked away, but she came after me. She grabbed my arm with a fierce look in her eyes, tugging at my shirt with her nails digging into my skin. When I pushed her to the ground, she whimpered as my manager and co-workers came to see what was going on. Her bottom lip was caught under her upper row of teeth, eyes hard and unable to belie the humiliation of rejection.
"What's going on, Night?" my manager asked me.
"He pushed me!" she cried out.
"Are you Night?" I knelt, looking at her.
"No . . . ."
"Then shut up," I said, pushing her forehead with two fingers until she fell back from her sitting position.
"Night?" my manager asked again.
"She's underage. Call up her parents and let them know she's trying to pay people to have sex with her."
"Is that right?"
"Yes. In fact, I feel a little sick from this. I'm going to take the rest of the night off."
I stepped out through the back door and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. The smoke faded into the sky and blended in with the rain clouds, hinting that this day would be the beginning of the rainy season. Trying to forget about Yuri wasn't as easy as I thought. Did I feel disgusted with myself for sleeping with people I had no interest in? Yeah. I did. Everything reminded me of her, even that girl completely unlike her inside Corleone. Music reminded me of her, books, cake, the place I work, the place that I first encountered her. Smoking this cigarette even rendered memories of her.
"Jun."
I looked up and saw my friend holding something slim in his hand. "Here. You might want to listen to this."
"What is it?"
"A CD."
I took it and glanced at the cover, an album made by someone named Aki, Messages from Autumn Nights. I nodded a quick thank to him and walked away. When I got home, I took my time changing, showering, eating, smoking and drinking some more before I slipped the disc into the computer. A window popped up, and the first of nineteen songs automatically started, entitled, "Listless Memories." As the seconds passed, the intro dimming and fading behind a soft voice, the words seemed familiar and heart-wrenching. It all reminded me of Yuri, and I was sure it was her, a message meant to reach me.
Inside the booklet was nothing that said exactly who the artist was. There was no biography or any addresses, and there wasn't even a publishing company on it. So, I looked through all her letters and found an address where I could reach her and called her sister to confirm it.
"She already graduated from the college," she said through the phone. "She moved back to Tokyo three weeks ago, but I don't know where you would be able to find her."
"What do you mean?"
"She didn't give any of us any way of contacting her. The best thing you can do is hope to bump into her on the streets."
Could I waste another second now that I knew she was back after two years? Would I even be able to sit through another night without going crazy?
The front door slammed shut as I walked out and headed for Daikanyama District. The rain drenched me and soaked my hair, the pavement slick and wet. Water dripped from my face, my vision blurred, but somewhere, I would find her. I dialed her number on my cellphone continuosly with no answer. I wasn't even sure if her number was still the same. Throughout the whole district, there wasn't a single person in the streets. When midnight had come and pass, I had given up the search.
Trudging through park number 18, I retrieved the pack of cigarettes and dropped them into a puddle. I tossed the lighter against a tree, and I clutched the phone to dial one more time. It rang once, it rang twice, and it rang once more before someone answered, "Hello?"
"Yuri?" I murmured.
"Who is this?"
"It's me, Jun!"
"Hello? Hellooo? Are you still there?"
"Yuri?"
Silence.
I checked my phone, and it was dead. Angry, I thrust the phone at the ground and left the pieces behind. I walked a few more steps before I stopped at the edge of the park, looking up into the sky. Several drops of rain fell and hit my eyes, trailing down as they brimmed the edges. When I looked to the side, there was a figure holding an umbella underneath a lamplight. I walked closer and recognized the shape. I tried to call out but couldn't find my voice. She turned around and looked my way, just watching.
"Is it you?" I asked when I neared her.
She nodded, dropping her umbrella. Her hair was matted with the rain, her undergarments visible through her soaked clothes. I gripped her shoulders, unable to say anything about what I did except for, "Are we okay?"
"What is it that you like about me?" she asked me, gaze averted to the glistening ground.
"Didn't I tell you?" I asked, lifting up her face so that her eyes met mine. "I could write a book about how you make me feel."
She blurted out laughing and shoved me, surprising me. "You're so funny."
"I mean it."
"But can you catch up? I mean, I did make a hit album about how you make me feel."
"No problem."
I pulled out the slip of paper I kept in my pocket and unfolded it, showing it to her flat on my palm. It fell from my hands and stuck to the floor until the rain washed it away. She took my hand and sighed, walking side by side as if nothing was wrong until she said with a grin, "So, I here you're quite the ladies' man while I've been gone."
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