Nadir

Two men guarded Makoto. One stood on either side of his chair, close enough that he could smell their sweat. Across from Makoto, an old man puffed onto a pair of glasses, then wiped the lenses with his shirt. The old man put the glasses on, then sat down at the desk.

“Are you Mr. Weiss?” Makoto asked. The man squinted.

“I am,” said the old man. A shelf of wrinkled skin beneath Mr. Weiss’s chin wobbled back and forth as he spoke. He consulted a ledger that lay open upon the desk. “And you must be Mr… Itou?”

Makoto nodded.

“Very good,” said Mr. Weiss. His finger traced across a line on the page. “Let’s see here, then. What have we as insurance for our little job? Ah, yes. Of course.”

Mr. Weiss opened a drawer, and pulled out an envelope. He opened the flap, and tilted a gleaming ring into the palm of his hand. A sapphire was mounted between gold flower petals. Makoto gripped the armrests, but his face remained relaxed. Mr. Weiss smiled, and placed the ring on top of the ledger.

“As for your task,” Mr. Weiss continued. He pressed a button on the desk, and Makoto heard a far-off buzzer from somewhere in the house. A moment later, he heard the door to the study open, and soft footsteps padding towards the four of them. “You will deliver our package to the man in room 617. At which point, you will receive your payment. Then, you will be free to go.”

Makoto glanced down at the ring again. He wanted to snatch it, and run for the door. The bulky guards beside him seemed awfully close in that moment, though, and he remained in his seat.

The footsteps stopped beside Makoto, and he turned to face another well-built, suited man. This guard carried a porcelain vase with a gold rim and painted with tiny roses. Mr. Weiss nodded, and the guard extended the vase toward Makoto.

“Careful,” said Mr. Weiss, as Makoto took hold of the vase. “It’s quite essential that it remain intact.”

Makoto examined the polished surface of the vase, then looked inside. It was empty. All Makoto could see was a dim gleam from the bottom of the vase.

“Now then,” said Mr. Weiss, “Grace will escort you to the Double Crown hotel. Welcome to Emeryville, Mr. Itou.”

“Thank you,” Makoto said, standing. A woman in a thick fur coat and evening gown strutted from the shadows.

She smiled, and said, “Howdy do?”

With the vase cradled in his left arm, Makoto followed Grace out of the study, through the front door, to a 1994 Chevy Impala.

“Oh, aren’t the stars just amazing tonight?” Grace said. “I could gaze up at them all night long.”

“Yes, they are very beautiful,” said Makoto. He opened the backseat door, and motioned for Grace to sit. “Some nights I forget to look.”

“What a gentleman,” Grace said with a wink. She hopped into the seat, and Makoto closed the door, then walked around to the other side, and got in. “You know, when I was a little girl, I used to go camping with my family. At night, when the fire went out, we’d lie out in the open and count as many stars as we could. But some of them were fireflies.”

Grace giggled, and the car began to move.

“How did you get involved with Mr. Weiss?” asked Makoto.

“Ugh,” Grace said, “he knows my father. All the time, between them, it’s just business, business, business. One day, my father comes to me — and he looks grim and shadowy, like one of those detective movies — and he says, ‘Gracie, it’s time you learned to support yourself. You’re taking a job with my partner, and you’ll learn to be a respectable socialite.’” As she said that phrase, Grace’s voice rose to a falsetto, and she laughed again.

“‘No more of this sad life as an ingenue for my girl.’ And he puffed on his pipe ‘Pah-pah-pah!’”

Makoto watched the houses pass by. The front windows were all illuminated in the luxurious manors. Silhouettes flicked back and forth across the curtains, but not a sound could be heard from the street.

“And so,” Grace sighed. Her head fell back, resting just below the rear window. “Here I am. A socialite. And what about you, Makoto?”

“I’m just passing through, doing my job,” he said. Makoto shifted in his seat. The vase was heavy, and too awkwardly shaped to balance on his lap.

“And when you’re not just doing your job?” Grace looked to the front, then back, through the rear window, then cupped a hand at her mouth. “What do you do then?”

Makoto smiled.

“I like to dance,” he said.

“You must dance with me someday,” said Grace. “Promise.”

“Someday. If I ever come back here, I’d love to.”

“Aww, look who’s the socialite now.” Grace giggled again, then look out the window. “Oh, look. We’re here.”

They were coming to an old hotel. It was a concrete building, about eight stories tall. Windows lined the exterior, and balconies with wrought iron railings jutted out at regular intervals. Two large flags hung on either side of the entrance. Each was emblazoned with a silver crown.

The car came to a stop, and Makoto opened the door. He walked towards the entrance, and turned to look back. Grace blew him a kiss through the glass, then winked, and the car sped away.

Makoto moved the vase from his left to his right side, and the automatic doors parted as he walked up to them.

Inside, the lobby was decorated with a lush, red carpet. Diamond patterns of vines wove across the floor. White, plaster filigree framed an old fireplace, in front of which stood two high-backed chairs and a table. Two young boys sat in the chairs, playing chess. One at a time, they leaned forward to move a piece, then shuffled back into the chairs.

The front desk was unattended, and Makoto stepped up to it. He looked around, and saw stacks of brochures tucked beneath the desk. There was a silver bell sitting on the desk. He rang it.

There was a clatter from the door behind the desk. Slow footsteps announced the arrival of a short woman with white hair and saggy cheeks. She walked with her arms outstretched, feeling the frame of the door, then the surface of the desk. Her face beamed, and her head turned to different parts of the room in turn. There was a nametag pinned to her blouse that read “Dolly.”

“Hello,” she said, “how can I help you sir?”

“Hi,” said Makoto. She turned her head in his direction, but her gaze seemed to go past him. “I’m here to see the man in 617. Can I just go up?”

“I’m sorry, but this hotel is closed right now.”

Makoto looked down the hall, then at the two boys playing chess. They looked back at him with blank faces.

“What?” asked Makoto.

“The Double Crown Hotel is closed for the night,” Dolly said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

“Ma’am, I’m not asking for a room,” said Makoto. Dolly kept smiling at him. She nodded, and licked her lips.

“I know, young man. Help yourself to a complimentary cup of coffee on the way out.” Dolly pointed to a counter topped with an electric kettle, packaged tea bags, and a large thermos. “If you would like, I have some crossword puzzles that you can fill out while you wait. Twenty down is ‘F. Scott Fitzgerald.’ Always is.”

The woman began to fumble through papers beneath the front desk. Bending down to pick them up pushed her to the limits of her flexibility. Grunting, Dolly placed newspapers, one-at-a-time, on the desk.

Makoto walked over to the complimentary drinks. He set the vase next to the kettle, and held a foam cup beneath the thermos. He pressed the plunger, and hot coffee spurted from the base of the plunger, showering his shirt and jacket.

“Ouch! Ow!” he cried. He dropped the cup. He spun, and his elbow knocked into the vase. Makoto almost screamed. His arms shot out, and he caught the vase, just a few inches above the floor.

“You need to let it cool,” said Dolly, and she reached for another newspaper.

Makoto lowered the vase to the ground, then repositioned it in his arms. He looked at the old woman, who was reaching the end of her stack of papers. Stepping only on the soles of his feet, he moved towards the hallway to the left of the front desk.

“Where are you going?” a shrill voice called. Makoto grimaced and spun to face one of the boys by the fireplace. “The hotel’s closed!”

“Sir!” called Dolly. She faced the direction of the hallway, just to the right of Makoto. “Come with me, sir. I will show you the door. You cannot enter this establishment tonight.”

The woman moved towards Makoto, arms outstretched at a wide angle. She hooked his coat with her fingers, and began to pull him towards the door. Makoto didn’t struggle, but he tried to reason with her.

“I’m sorry, but I do need to get up there. It’s very important that I talk to one of the guests.”

The two of them reached the automatic door, and it opened with a squeak. Dolly shoved Makoto outside, and said, “Thank you, have a wonderful night! Goodbye!”

She waved, and stood guard at the sliding door. Makoto started walking away, but Dolly didn’t turn to face him as he left.

Makoto passed several cars in the parking lot, and was wondering what to do now, when he heard a raspy voice.

“Hey, you!” A man with leathery skin and a baseball hat beconned at Makoto from the back of a delivery truck. “You want to get in there?”

“Me?” Makoto asked.

“Yes, you.” The man started to limp towards Makoto. Makoto didn’t know if he should run away or approach the man, and he ended up just standing where he was. “Come here, I’ll sneak you in. Name’s Vernon.”

The man held out a hand, and Makoto could see that he was wearing baggy clothes with rainbow stripes. Makoto extended his own hand. Vernon seized it and shook it so hard that he nearly knocked the vase free.

“Whoa, quite the handshake you have there,” Makoto said once Vernon released him.

“Hurry, before Dolly notices,” Vernon said, shuffling back towards the truck. He unloaded a large cart, and began to stock it with colorful boxes. “Hide in here, and I’ll sneak you in.”

Makoto looked back towards the hotel entrance, then at Vernon again.

“Do you want to get inside or not?” asked Vernon. The man hurried to the cab of the truck, and came back wearing a red nose and a frizzy wig. Makoto realized he was talking to a clown.

“Alright, alright,” Makoto said. He crawled into a space on the bottom rack of the cart, and Vernon continued piling boxes around him. They were variety packs of Baby Bottle Pops. Makoto waited between the candy, clutching the vase, then felt the cart begin to move.

The boxes almost completely enclosed Makoto, but he could see out through the cracks between them. The cart was wheeled in through the main entrance. Vernon said “Evening” to Dolly, and she greeted him in return. The cart turned, moved several paces, and came to a stop in front of an elevator.

They rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. As soon as the doors opened, Makoto heard a roar of bells ringing and voices shouting. Between the cracks, he saw dozens of legs as they passed. It looked like there was a crowd gathered in the hall.

Before Makoto could get a good look, the cart turned again, and entered one of the rooms.

“Surprise!” shouted Vernon, and Makoto jumped as an entire room of little girls screamed in unison.

“Suckers!”

“I want the blue ones!”

“Wait for me!”

“Ouch! You stepped on my foot!”

Boxes started peeling away from the cart, and Makoto could see more than a dozen girls, all around ten years old, crowding around the cart. Each of them was wearing a colorful dress with poofy sleeves. Some wore bedazzled tiaras. They pulled away box after box, and started tearing into them. Somehow, none of the girls seemed to notice Makoto. The room around them was littered with pink banners, and balloons floated near the ceiling.

“Now, girls, I still need to get Fiona’s present,” came Vernon’s voice. The door opened, then closed, and Vernon was gone.

Slowly, Makoto poked his head out from under the cart. He felt like a jack-in-the-box unfolding. He smiled towards the group of fifteen or so girls, and waved with his free hand.

“Hey!” said a girl with dark, curled hair, wearing a pink dress. The girl was standing on a bed, and pointed straight at Makoto. All the other girls looked in unison, Baby Bottle Pops still in-hand. “It’s another princess. And she’s got a present!”

“No, it’s not--” Makoto began, but his voice was drowned out by screams of excitement. Little girls rushed in around him, a wave of color. They jumped up and down, called “Princess! Princess!”, and began pulling at his arms and legs.

The vase fell from his hands, and this time, it was caught by much smaller hands. Two little girls rushed it to the leader, who still stood on the bed. The girls surrounding Makoto started to leap onto his shoulders and back.

Makoto was flustered and overwhelmed. He fell to his hands and knees, and he felt tiny hands prying at his face, mouth, and eyes. Several bodies jumped and fell onto him, pinning him to the floor.

“HAAAAALT!” cried a voice. Silence fell over the room, and Makoto struggled beneath the weight of the children to look up. The girl on the bed had seized a ruler, and held it aloft. “Your queen is speaking! What does the foreign princess have to say for herself?”

“Give me back that vase!” shouted Makoto. Something cracked him on the back of his head, and his vision blurred for a moment. “Oww!”

“Don’t talk to Fiona like that!” shouted a girl above him who was brandishing a bright blue golf club.

“YEAH!” shouted the room in unison. Fiona laughed, then raised her ruler to silence them all once again. She spoke.

“When three cocks crow, the traitor will you know. He wears a sweet disguise. His heart is mind is full of lies.”

The girls started whispering to each other. There were nods and concerned glances in Makoto’s direction.

“Little girl,” Makoto choked out, “I think you’re confused. I just need that vase, and I’ll leave.”

“Silence, invader!” Fiona shouted. Her eyes were alight, and her face contorted as he spoke. “You are charged with being a false princess. The one who came to Princess Madeleine in a dream two weeks ago. Do you think we’re dumb enough that we wouldn’t notice? How do you plead?”

Makoto was too stunned to speak a word. Before he could come up with a response, Fiona continued.

“First witness! Princess Tululine.”

A girl in green piped up from the top of the dog pile holding Makoto to the floor.

“I saw it,” she cried, “the false princess tried to lie to all of us! She wants to take us all back to the dragon’s lair!”

There was a gasp throughout the room.

“I saw it too!” shouted another girl.

“Corroboration!” cried Fiona, and she raised her ruler like a gavel. “I find you guilty.”

“Objection!” a little girl in purple raised her hand.

“Overruled,” responded Fiona. “Cut out the liar’s tongue!”

The room swelled with screams of fright and excitement.

“No! Stop!” shouted Makoto, but his cries were muffled beneath the shrill laughter of the children around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the girls grab a knife that had been resting next to a half-devoured birthday cake.

The door slammed open, and Vernon’s voice boomed through the room.

“I’m baaaaack!” All the girls spun to face the clown. There was a click, and “Happy Birthday” began to play from a tape deck at Vernon’s hip. He carried a cardboard box. “And here is your present, sweetheart.”

Vernon stepped over the pile of girls and Makoto, then extended the box to Fiona. All of the girls on top of Makoto were now too distracted to hold him down, and he scrambled free. Makoto scurried along the wall on hands and knees, until he reached the balcony door. He was breathing fast.

Fiona pulled back the cardboard flaps, and gasped.

“A puppy!” she shouted.

“Awwww!” the chorus responded, surging in around Fiona and Vernon.

Makoto crawled to the side of the bed, reached up, and snatched the vase. Nobody noticed, or else nobody cared. The girls climbed onto the bed to get a better look at the tiny mutt.

Vernon began to sing along with the end of the tape, and a moment later the entire room had joined in.

“. . . to you. Happy birthday dear Fiona… Happy birthday to you…”

Makoto crawled back to the door, vase in hand, turned the knob, and threw himself into the hallway.

The ringing sounds were immediate and overwhelming. Makoto got to his feet and looked down a hallway crowded with men and women in white collared shirts. Long, wooden tables ran along both walls, leaving only three or four feet for them to stand or sit. Each manned several rotary phones that were constantly going off.

“Hello, Double Crown Hotel, please hold…”

“. . . no, the other side. I’m sorry, would you hold the line?”

“. . . yes, sir, I will. What’s that? No, I don’t believe. . .”

“. . . a fire?! How terrible! No, we’ll send flowers right away. . .”

“. . . foreman speaking, how can I help? Uh-huh? Uh-huh. I see. . .”

The chatter and clanging of bells was deafening. Makoto was crowded in on both sides, and he held the vase above his head to keep it from being crushed against his body.

“SIR!” shouted a short, bald man with a pointy nose. He jutted his face upward at Makoto like a pigeon inspecting a birdfeeder.

“YES?!” Makoto shouted over the other voices.

“THERE’S A CALLER FOR YOU ON LINE FOURTY!” the man pointed towards the end of the hall, and a woman with red lipstick and nails waved. She motioned to the receiver, then pointed back at Makoto. “THE NUMBER IS ZERO ZERO FOUR EIGHT SEVEN TWO FIFTY-SEVEN FIFTY-SEVEN.”

The man left Makoto, disappearing into the crowd behind him. Makoto furrowed his brow, and pressed his way towards the woman. Eventually, he reached her. By then, she was finishing off a cigarette.

The woman’s lips moved, and Makoto read, “It’s for you.” She handed him the phone, and blew a cloud of smoke that washed over his face. Makoto coughed. He pressed the receiver to his ear.

“YES, WHAT?! WHO IS IT?!” Makoto shouted.

“Oh good, I’ve got him on the line now. Hello? Itou? How is it going, chap?” The voice of Mr. Weiss was barely audible. Makoto set down the vase on the table and covered his other ear.

“MR. WEISS? I HAVE THE VASE. I’M ON MY WAY!”

“Good! Very good. And it sounds like you’re enjoying the hotel as well. I’m so glad that you’ve had a chance to experience a taste of Emeryville.” Mr. Weiss coughed on the other end of the line, and Makoto heard him fighting with someone else in the room. “Yes, now remember, Mr. Itou: the trees are distractions inlaid with gold. Got that?”

“THE WHAT? I COULDN’T HEAR YOU!” shouted Makoto. The noise around him seemed to be getting louder. He noticed a flurry of activity moving down the hallway, like the motion of a falling line of dominos. “MR. WEISS, I CAN’T HEAR--”

There was a click, and Makoto heard a dial tone spring to life. He handed the phone back to the woman, and said, “CAN YOU CONNECT ME TO ROOM SIX-SEVENTEEN?!”

The woman dialed the number, and with each click of the rotor, the crowd of telephone operators seemed to grow noisier. The wave of movement was sweeping closer.

After a moment of listening to the phone, the woman hung up. She crumpled the last of her cigarette in an ashtray. Makoto read her lips as she spoke again.

“That number was disconnected.”

Before Makoto could say anything, the woman placed his vase back in his arms. The crowd of operators were no longer answering their phones, and were instead backing them into large cases. When all the phones on a table had been carried away, the two nearest workers grabbed the ends of the table, and steered it into the closest hotel room. The evacuation was fast and professional. None of the operators looked concerned. Several more people followed each table into its room, and the door would close. Makoto heard the locks click, and soon he was alone in the hallway.

He turned around. The hallway seemed to stretch on for hundreds of feet. At the opposite end, a figure turned a corner. It was a shirtless man, but Makoto could see only a white blur where the man’s head was. The man was running down the hall, but still far away.

Makoto looked closer, and realized that the man’s head and feet were wrapped up in bubble wrap. He was making no noise, except for the pop and scrunch of plastic on carpet.

The man was moving fast, and Makoto felt his skin crawl. Arms flailing, the man seemed to be swiping at the air. He was only a few seconds away from reaching Makoto, and Makoto’s heart drummed.

Makoto ran. He ran past the elevator and a rusty ice machine. There was an illuminated exit sign above a wooden door. Makoto took it.

The door swung open, and Makoto rushed into a stairwell. He felt the vase slipping in his sweaty hands, and he readjusted his grip. The stairs were concrete, and Makoto spun just in time to see the strange man skidding to the doorway.

Bulging eyes peered from beneath the plastic, and the bubble wrap conformed to the gaping mouth, pulled tight every time the man sucked in.

Makoto sprinted up the stairs. His shoes squealed as he took the corner. He climbed up one floor, then two. The sound of plastic on concrete followed close behind.

The number six caught Makoto’s attention, and he slammed into the crash bar of the door, emerging onto the sixth floor.

Makoto spun, and threw his weight at the door. It banged shut just as the shirtless man reached the sixth floor landing. Dull thuds began to sound from the stairwell, but Makoto pressed himself against the door, holding it shut.

The sounds faded, and Makoto heard footsteps from the other side growing softer. He sunk to the floor.

After a moment passed, and Makoto was sure the man was gone, he turned the vase over in his hands. It was undamaged, still. Makoto kissed it, and got to his feet. He looked around.

The sixth floor was lavishly decorated. A small chandelier hung in the lounge just outside of the elevators. Velvet-cushioned chairs and couches stood beside glass tables. White daisies dotted the yellow-gold wallpaper, and the rest of the hallway was closed off by a set of large, wooden doors with golden handles.

Makoto approached the doors, and he heard the sound of music from the other side. A sign next to the elevators told him that rooms 611-625 were through the wooden doors. He opened them, and stepped through.

Makoto stood in a large ballroom with a low ceiling, dim lights, and a polished wooden floor. Couples in suits and dresses swayed to sultry jazz being played by a live band in the corner.

“Makoto,” came a familiar voice. Grace stepped away from her partner, and strutted to where Makoto stood. Her rosy smile calmed the panic that had arisen in his chest. She reached out a gloved hand, and said, “You ready for that dance?”

A waiter arrived, and took the vase from Makoto. A jerk of resistance pinged in Makoto’s mind, but he didn’t fight to hold on. The waiter moved to the side of the room, and stood like a sentry.

Makoto took Grace’s hand, and she pulled him close. They began to move to the music. Trombones and saxophones tugged and pulled at the melody. A high hat ticked and clashed to the tempo.

“You seem to be at home here,” Makoto said.

“I told you,” Grace responded, “I’m a socialite. These big parties are practically in my blood.”

Makoto twirled Grace out, then back in. Her body was warm, pressed against his.

“I remembered,” said Makoto. “You didn’t sound excited about this kind of life, though. What does excite you?”

“Oh, I suppose there’s some excitement to it. After a couple of drinks, and spinning long enough of the dance floor, anything will do.”

Grace’s hand felt along Makoto’s back to his shoulder.

“But,” she whispered, “I’ve always wanted to go skiing in the mountains. The women in the magazines look so… powerful. The plush coats, beaming smiles, the relaxed calm as they race across a glacier. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Makoto laughed. He nodded, and said, “I can see you now. Bright red suit, and fur scarf. You’d be the gem of the Rockies.”

Grace giggled, and it sounded like glass tinkling in a windchime.

“You really think so?” she asked.

“Of course! Do you like the cold?”

“I love it,” Grace said. They spun again, and Makoto caught Grace as she faced away, towards the band. Grace leaned back into Makoto’s arms, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. “The cold feels free and open. It makes you shiver, but it’s just you and the air and the snow, and nobody else.”

“Would your father ever let you go?” asked Makoto. “To the mountains, that is?”

“Oh,” said Grace. Her voice deflated. “I don’t know about that.”

“There are plenty of rich, socialite women all over the country. In Colorado, they host parties in chalets at the bottom of the mountains. You could ski during the day, then drink and dance to your heart’s content in the evenings.”

“Would you be there to dance with me?”

Grace turned, and looked up into Makoto’s eyes. He nodded.

“Maybe,” Makoto said. Grace laughed, and shook her head.

“No, it’ll never happen,” she said. “I belong here. This town is my home. I can’t leave it.”

“You don’t want to get out someday?”

“I wish I could, but I don’t think I can.”

The song came to an end, and Grace and Makoto stopped swaying. They clapped, but Makoto just kept staring down into Grace’s face.

“Thank you,” she said. “Come on. Right this way.”

The waiter appeared next to Makoto, and handed back the vase. Grace took Makoto’s elbow, and began to lead him away from the dance floor, to a door on the opposite side of the room. The rest of the people looked shadowy, almost transparent.

Grace turned the knob, and opened the door into a hallway. Across from the ballroom, Makoto saw a door with the number 617 painted in shiny gold. He felt nervous.

“Here,” said Grace. She let go of his hand, and took out a small key. She unlocked the door, and stepped aside. In the light, she suddenly looked old. Multiple layers of dimples were etched into her cheeks. Her brow was wrinkled, and bags hung beneath her eyes.

Makoto stepped up to the door. He turned the knob, and it opened. Inside, the room was dark. Makoto stuck his head in, and looked around. He found a light switch, and flicked it on. There was nobody there; just a fresh-made bed, a mirrored dresser, and a couple tables that held lamps warming the room with an orange glow.

Makoto walked inside. Grace followed, closing the door behind her. The sound of the ballroom music was deadened to a soft hum and pulse. Makoto walked to the table at the foot of the bed. He set down the vase, and sighed. It matched the room.

Grace approached Makoto, smiling. She reached into her pocket, then placed her hand in his.

“I found this, by the way,” Grace said. Her voice had grown old as well. Makoto felt a weight drop into his palm. “I think it’s yours.”

Grace stepped back. Makoto looked down and saw a golden ring with a sapphire sparkling in his hand. His eyes felt hot, and soon tears began to drip down his face.

“Ohh,” cooed Grace. She embraced him. “It’s alright.”

Makoto felt Grace rubbing his back. He felt tired. He shook his head, then wiped the tears from his eyes. Makoto put the ring on his finger.

Grace let go. She patted his hand one more time, then walked to the door. A beam of light shone through as she opened it, and stepped out. Grace turned around, smiling back at Makoto.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. The door closed.

Makoto’s eyes were heavy, and he sat down on the bed. The covers were already pulled back, and he took off his shoes, then curled his feet beneath the covers. He reached out to a switch next to the lamp, and turned out all the lights.

A scream rang out in the night air. It came from outside, somewhere in the city below.

But Makoto didn’t hear it. He smiled, and closed his eyes.