Dance Dance Dance

18

Well, been a long time.» Gotanda's voice came through bright and clear. Not too fast, not too slow. Not too loud, not too soft. Not tense, not inordinately relaxed. A perfect voice. I knew it was Gotanda in a second. It's not the sort of voice you forget once you've heard it. Any more than his smiling face, his sparkling white teeth, his finely sculpted nose. Actually, I'd never paid any attention to Gotanda's voice before, couldn't really recall it either, but obviously it'd stuck subconsciously to the inside of my skull, and it came back to me immediately, as vivid as the tolling of a bell on a still night. Amazing.

«I'm going to be at home tonight, so call. I don't go to bed until morning anyway,» he said, then enunciated his telephone number, twice. «Be talking to you.»

From the exchange, his place couldn't have been so far from here. I wrote the number down, then carefully dialed. At the sixth ring, an answering machine kicked on. A woman's voice saying, «I'm out right now, but if you'd care to leave a message.» I left my name and the time and said that I'd be in all evening. Complicated world we live in. I hung up and was in the kitchen when the phone rang.

It was Yuki. What was I up to? My response: Chewing on a stalk of celery and having a beer. Hers: Yuck. Mine: It's not so bad. She wasn't old enough to know things could be a lot worse.

«So where are you calling from?» I asked.

«Akasaka,» she said. «How about going for a drive?»

«Sorry, I can't today,» I said. «I'm waiting for an impor­tant business call. How about another time? But first I got a question. When we talked yesterday, you said you'd seen a man in a sheep suit? Can you tell me more about that? I need to know.»

«How about another time?» she said, then slammed the phone down.

I munched on the celery and thought about what to have for dinner. Spaghetti.

First slice two cloves of garlic and brown in olive oil. Tilt the frying pan on its side just so, to pool the oil, and cook over a low flame. Toss in dried red peppers, fry together but remove before oil gets too spicy. Touch-and-go. Then cut thin slices of ham into strips and saute until crisp. Last, add to al dente spaghetti, toss, sprinkle with chopped parsley. Serve with salad of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes.

Okay, let's do it.

The water for the spaghetti was just about to boil when the telephone rang. I turned off the gas and went to pick up the phone.

It was Gotanda. «He-ey, long time. Takes me back. How're you doing?»

«All right, I guess.»

«So what's up? My manager said you had something urgent. Hope we don't have to dissect a frog again,» he laughed.

«No, nothing like that. I know this call is out of the blue, but I just needed to ask you something. Sorry, I know you're busy. Anyway, this may sound kind of strange, but—»

«Listen, are you busy right now?» Gotanda interrupted.

«No, not at all. I had some time on my hands, so I was about to fix dinner.»

«Perfect. How about a meal? I was just thinking about looking for a dinner partner. You know how it is. Nothing tastes good when you eat alone.»

«Sure, but I didn't mean to ... I mean, I called so sud­denly and—»

«No problem. We all get hungry whether we like it or not, and a man's got to eat. I'm not forcing myself to eat on your account. So let's go have a good meal somewhere and talk about old times. Haven't seen you in ages. I really want to see you. I hope I'm not imposing. Or am I?»

«C'mon, I'm the one who wanted to talk to you.»

«Well, then, I'll swing by and pick you up. Where are

you?»

I told him where my apartment building was.

«Not so far from here. Maybe twenty minutes. So get yourself ready to go. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.»

I'd hop to it, I said, and hung up. Old times?

What old times could Gotanda possibly have to talk about? We weren't especially close back then. He was the bright boy of the class, I was a nobody. It was some kind of miracle that he even remembered who I was.

I shaved and put on the classiest items in my wardrobe: an orange striped shirt and Calvin Klein tweed jacket, an Armani knit tie (a birthday present from a former girlfriend), just-washed jeans, and brand-new Yamaha tennis shoes. Not that he'd ever think this was classy. I'd never eaten with a movie star before. What was one supposed to wear anyway?

Twenty minutes later on the dot, my doorbell rang. It was Gotanda's chauffeur, who politely informed me that Gotanda was downstairs. In a metallic silver Mercedes the size and shape of a motorboat. The glass was also silvered so you couldn't see in. The chauffeur opened the door with a smart, professional snap of the wrist and I got in. And there was Gotanda.

«Who-oa, been a while, eh?» he flashed me his smile. He didn't shake my hand, and I guess I was glad.

«Yeah, it has, hasn't it?» I said.

He wore a dark blue windbreaker over a V-neck sweater and faded cream corduroy slacks. Old Asics jogging shoes. Impeccable. Perfectly ordinary clothes, but the way he wore them was perfect. He gave my outfit a once-over and offered, «Tres chic.»

«Thanks,» I said.

«Just like a movie star.» No irony, just kidding. We both laughed. Which let us relax.

I sized up the interior of the car.

«Not bad, eh?» he said. «The agency lets me use it when­ever I want. Complete with driver. This way there're no acci­dents, no drunken driving. Safety first. They're happy, I'm happy.»

«Makes sense,» I said.

«But if it were up to me, I would never drive this baby. I don't like cars this big.»

«Porsche?»

«Maserati.»

«I like cars even smaller,» I said.

«Civic?»

«Subaru.»

«Subaru,» he repeated, nodding. «You know, the first car I ever bought was a Subaru. With the money I made on my first picture, I bought a used Subaru. Boy, I loved that car. I used to drive it to the studio when I had my second support­ing role. And someone got on my case right away. Kid, if you want to be a star, you can't drive a Subaru. What a busi­ness. So I traded it in. But it was a great car. Dependable. Cheap. Really terrific.»

«Yeah, I like mine too.»

«So why do you think I drive a Maserati?»

«I haven't the foggiest.»

«I have this expense account I got to use up,» he said with a tilt of his eyebrow. «My manager keeps telling me, spend more, more. I'm never using it up fast enough. So I went and bought an expensive car. One high-priced auto­mobile can write off a big chunk of earnings. It makes every­body happy.»

Good grief. Didn't anyone have anything else on their mind but expense account deductions?

«I'm really hungry,» he said, running his hand through his hair. «I feel like a nice, thick steak. Are you up for some­thing like that?»

«Whatever you say.»

He gave directions to the driver, and we were off. Go­tanda looked at me and smiled. «Don't mean to get too per­sonal,» he said, «but since you were fixing a meal for yourself, I take it you're single.»

«Correct,» I said. «Married and divorced.» «Just like me,» he said. «Married and divorced. Paying alimony?» «Nope.» «Nothing?»

«Nothing. She didn't want a thing.» «You lucky bastard,» he said, grinning. «I don't pay alimony either, but the marriage broke me. I suppose you heard about my divorce?» «Vaguely.»

It'd been in all the magazines. His marriage four or five years ago to a well-known actress, then the divorce a couple years later. But as usual, who knew the real story? The rumor was that her family didn't like him—not so unusual a thing—and that she had this cordon of relatives who mus­cled in on every move she made, public and private. Gotan­da himself was more the spoiled, rich-kid type, used to the luxury of living life at his own pace. So there was bound to be trouble.

«Funny, isn't it? One minute we're doing a science experi­ment together, the next thing you know we're both divorced. Funny,», he forced a smile, then lightly rubbed his eyes. «Tell me, how come you split up?»

«Simple. One day the wife up and walked out on me.»

«Just like that?»

«Yup. No warning, not a word. I didn't have a clue. I thought she'd gone out to do the shopping or something, but she never came back. I made dinner and I waited. Morning came and still no sign of her. A week passed, a month passed. Then the divorce papers came.»

He took it all in, then he sighed. «I hope you don't mind my saying this, but I think you got a better deal than I did.»

«How's that?»

«With me, the wife didn't leave. I got thrown out. Liter­ally. One day, I was thrown out on my ear.» He gazed out through the silvered glass. «And the worst part about it was, she planned the whole thing. Every last detail. When I wasn't around, she changed the registration on everything we owned. I never noticed a thing. I trusted her. I handed everything over to her accountant—my official seal, my IDs, stock certificates, bankbooks, everything. They said they needed it for taxes. Great, I'm terrible at that stuff, so I was happy for them to do it. But the guy was working for her relatives. And before I knew it, there wasn't a thing to my name left. They stripped me to the bone. And then they kicked me out. A real education, let me tell you,» he forced another smile. «Made me grow up real fast.»

«Everybody has to grow up.»

«You're right there. I used to think the years would go by in order, that you get older one year at a time,» said Gotanda, peering into my face. «But it's not like that. It hap­pens overnight.»

The place we went to was a steak house in a remote cor­ner of Roppongi. Expensive, by the looks of it. When the Mercedes pulled up to the door, the doorman and maitre d' and staff came out to greet us. We were conducted to a secluded booth in the back. Everyone in the place was very fashionable, but Gotanda in his corduroys and jogging shoes was the sharpest dresser in the place. His nonchalance oozed style. As soon as we entered, everyone's eyes were on him. They stared for two seconds, no longer, as if it were some unwritten law of etiquette.

We sat down and ordered two scotch-and-waters. Gotanda proposed the toast: «To our ex-wives.»

«I know it sounds stupid,» he said, «but I still love her. She treated me like dirt and I still love her. I can't get her out of my mind, I can't get interested in other women.»

I stared at the extremely elegant ice cubes in the crystal

tumblers.

«What about you?» he asked.

«You mean how do I feel about my ex-wife? I don't know. I didn't want her to go. But she left all right. Who was in the wrong? I don't know. It sure doesn't matter now. I'm used to it, though I suppose 'used to it' is about the best I

can do.»

«I hope I'm not touching a sore spot?»

«No, not really,» I said. «Fact is fact, you can't run away from it. You can't really call it painful, you don't really know what to call it.»

He snapped his fingers. «That's true. You really can't pin it down. It's like the gravity's changed on you. You can't even call what you're feeling pain.»

The waiter came and took our orders. Steak, both medium rare, and salad and another round of scotch.

«Oh yeah, wasn't there something you wanted to talk to me about? Let's get that out of the way first. Before we get too plastered.»

«It's kind of a strange story,» I began.

He floated me one of his pleasant smiles. Well-practiced, but still, without malice.

«I like strange stories,» he said.

«Well, here goes. The other day I went to see the movie you have out.»

«Unrequited?» he said with a grimace, his voice dropping to a whisper. «Terrible picture. Terrible director, terrible script, it's always like that. Everybody involved with the thing wishes they could forget it.»

«I saw it four times,» I said.

His eyes widened, as if he were peering into the cosmic void. «I'd be willing to bet there's not a human alive in this galaxy who's sat through that movie four times.»

«Someone I knew was in the film,» I said. «Besides you, I mean.»

Gotanda pressed an index finger into his temple and squinted. «Who?»

«The girl you were sleeping with on the Sunday morning.»

He took a sip of whiskey. «Oh yeah,» he said, nodding. «Kiki.»

«Kiki,» I repeated.

Kiki. Kiki. Kiki.

«That was the name I know her by anyway. In the film world, she went by Kiki. No last name, that was it.»

Which is how, finally, I learned her name.

«And can you get in touch with her?» I asked.

«Afraid not.»

«Why not?»

«Let's take it from the top. First of all, Kiki wasn't a pro­fessional actress. Actors, famous or not, all belong to some production company. So you get in contact with them through their agents. Most of them live next to their phones, waiting for the call, you know. But not Kiki. She didn't belong to any production group I knew of. She just hap­pened through that one time.»

«Then how did she land that part?»

«I recommended her,» he said dryly. «I asked her if she wanted to be in a picture, and I introduced her to the direc­tor.»

«What for?»

He took a sip of whiskey. «The girl had—maybe not tal­ent exactly—she had the makings of ... presence. She had something. She wasn't really beautiful. She wasn't a born actress. But you got the feeling that if she ever got on film, she could pull the whole frame into focus. And that's talent, you know. So I asked the director to put her in the picture. And she made that scene. Everyone thought she was great. I don't mean to brag, but that scene was the best thing in the movie. It was real. Didn't you think so?»

«Yeah, I did,» I had to agree. «Very real.»

«So I thought the girl would go into movies. She could've cut the ice. But then she disappeared. Vanished. Like smoke, like morning dew.»

«Vanished?»

«Like literally. Maybe a month ago. I'd been telling every­one she was exactly what we needed for this new part, and she was set. All the girl had to do was to show up, and it was hers. I even called her up the day before to remind her. But she never showed. That was the last time we ever

talked.»

He raised a finger to call over the waiter and ordered two

more scotches.

«One question, though it's none of my business,» Gotanda said. «Did you ever sleep with her?»

«Uh-huh.»

«So then, well, if I were to say, supposing I slept with her too, would that bother you?»

«Not especially,» I said.

«Good,» said Gotanda, relieved. «I'm a terrible liar. So I'll come right out with it. We slept together a few times. She was a good kid. A little mixed-up maybe, but really a good person. She should've become an actress. Could've done some good things. Too bad.»

«And you really don't know where to contact her? Or what her real name is?»

«Afraid not. I don't know of any way to find her. Nobody knows. 'Kiki' is all there is to go on.»

«Weren't there any pay slips in the film company account­ing department?» I asked. «They've got to put your real name and address on those things. For the tax office and all.»

«Don't you think I checked? Not a clue. She didn't bother to pick up her pay. No money accepted, so no record, nothing.»

«She didn't pick up her pay?»

«Don't ask me why,» said Gotanda, well into his third drink. «The girl's a mystery. Maybe she wanted to keep her name and address a secret. Who knows? But whatever, now we have three things in common. Science lab in junior high. Divorce. And Kiki.»

Presently our steaks and salads arrived. Beautiful steaks. Magazine-perfect medium rare. Gotanda dug in with gusto. His table manners were less than finishing-school polished, but he did have a casual ease that made him an ideal dining companion. Everything he ate looked appetizing. He was charming. He had a grace you don't encounter every day. A woman would be snowed.

«So tell me, where did you meet Kiki?» I asked, cutting into my steak.

«Let's see, where was it?» he thought out loud. «Oh yeah, I called for a girl and she showed up. You know what I mean, there are these numbers you call. Right?»

«Uh-huh.»

«After my divorce, for a while there I would call up and these girls would come and spend the night. No fuss, no muss. I wasn't up for an amateur and if I was sleeping with someone in the industry it'd be splashed all over the maga­zines. So that's the companionship I had. They weren't cheap, but they kept quiet about it. Absolutely confidential. A guy at the agency gave me an introduction to this club, and all the girls were nice and easy. Professional, but with­out the attitude. They enjoy themselves too.»

He brought a forkful of steak to his mouth and slowly savored the juiciness.

«Mmm, not bad,» he said.

«Not bad at all,» I seconded. «This is a great place.»

«Great, but you get tired of it six times a month.»

«You come here six times a month?»

«Well, I'm used to the place. I can walk right in and no one bats an eye. The employees don't whisper. They're used to famous people, so they don't stare. No one coming to ask for your autograph when you've got your mouth full. It's hard to relax and eat in other places. Really.»

«Rough life,» I kidded. «Plus you can't slack off on that expense account.»

«You said it! So where were we?»

«Up to the part about call girls.»

«Oh right,» said Gotanda, wiping his mouth with his napkin. «So, one time I call for the usual girl. But she's not available. Instead, they send these two other girls. I get to choose, because I'm such a special customer. Well, one of the girls was Kiki. It was tough to decide, so I slept with both of them.»

«Hmm,» I said.

«That bother you?»

«If I were still in high school, maybe. But not now, no.»

«I never did anything like that in high school, that's for sure,» chuckled Gotanda. «But anyway, I slept with both of them. It was a funny combination. I mean, one girl was absolutely gorgeous. I'm talking stunning. Some expensive work on that body, let me tell you. Every square millimeter of her dripping with money. In my business you run into plenty of beautiful women, and this girl was no slouch. She had a nice personality, intelligent too. And then there was Kiki. Not a real beauty. Pretty enough, but no pizzazz, not like the typical club girl. She was more, well,...»

«Ordinary?» I offered.

«Yeah, ordinary. Regular clothes, hardly any makeup, not a super conversationalist either. She didn't seem to care a lot about what people thought of her. No one you'd give a sec­ond look. And the strange thing about her was, somehow she was more attractive, she interested me more. After the three of us got it on, we were sitting on the floor, drinking and listening to music and talking. I hadn't enjoyed myself like that in ages. Not since college. I felt so relaxed with them that the three of us got together a few more times after that.»

«When was this?»

«This was about six months after I got divorced, so that makes maybe a year and a half ago,» he said. «We had this threesome five or six times. I never slept with Kiki alone. I wonder why. I really should have.»

«Yeah, why not?»

He set his knife and fork down on his plate, then pressed at his temple again. Seemed to be a mannerism of his. And a charming one too.

«Maybe I was scared,» Gotanda said.

«What do you mean?»

«Scared to be alone with her,» he said, picking up his cut­lery. «There was something challenging about her, almost threatening. At least that was the feeling I got. No, not exactly threatening.»

«Sort of suggestive? Or leading?»

«Yeah, maybe. I can't really say. But whatever it was, I got only a hint of it. I never got the full frontal effect. So anyway, I never felt like sleeping with just her. Despite the fact that she attracted me more. Does this make any sense to you?»

«I guess.»

«Somehow, if I'd slept with Kiki, just the two of us, I wouldn't have been able to relax. I'd have wanted to go a lot deeper with her. Don't ask me why. But that wasn't what I was after. I only wanted to sleep with girls as a kind of release. Even though I really did like Kiki.»

We ate in silence for a moment or two.

«When Kiki didn't show for the audition, I rang up her club,» Gotanda went on, as if he'd just remembered. «I specifically asked for her, but she wasn't there. They told me they didn't know where she was. True, she could've told them to say that if I called. Who knows? But in any case, she evaporated, just like that.»

The waiter cleared the table and asked if we wanted coffee.

«No, but I'd like another drink,» said Gotanda. «How about you?»

«I'm in your hands.»

And so we were brought our fourth round.

«What do you think I did today?» Gotanda asked out of nowhere.

I told him I had no idea.

«I assisted a dentist, all afternoon. Background study for a role. Right now I'm doing this series where I play a dentist. Ryoko Nakano's an optometrist, and we have clinics in the same neighborhood. We've known each other since child­hood, but something's always conspiring to keep us apart. Pretty harmless stuff. But, well, TV dramas are all the same. You ever seen it?»

«No, can't say I have,» I said. «I don't watch TV. Except the news. And I only watch it twice a week.»

«Smart,» said Gotanda. «It's a stupid program anyway. If I wasn't in it, I wouldn't watch it myself. But it's a popular show. The ratings are pretty high. You know how the public loves this kind of stuff. And you wouldn't believe the mail I get every week. Dentists writing in, complaining about how such-and-such a procedure wasn't rendered right or the treatment for such-and-such a toothache should have been something else. And then there are these jokers who say they never saw such a poor excuse for a show. Well, if you don't like it, don't watch.»

«Nobody's forcing them to.»

«The funny thing is, I always get stuck playing a doctor or a teacher or somebody wholesome and respectable like that. I've played more doctor roles than I can count. The only thing I haven't been is a proctologist! Imagine how much fun that would be! But I've been a vet and a gynecolo­gist and of course I've been a teacher of every curriculum in the book. I've even taught home economics. What do you make of all this?»

«Well, obviously, you radiate trust,» I laughed.

«Yes, a fatal flaw,» Gotanda laughed back. «Once, I played this crooked used-car salesman. A bullshit artist with one glass eye. Boy, I had fun with that. The role had some bite to it, and I wasn't bad either. But no way. The letters came pour­ing in. It was too mean a role for the noble likes of me. Some­body even threatened to boycott the sponsor! Toothpaste, if I remember correctly. So my character got scratched in the mid­dle of the season. Written right out. A pretty important part, killed by natural selection. And ever since then, it's been doc­tors and teachers, doctors and teachers.»

«Complicated life.»

«Or a truly simple one,» he laughed again. «Anyway, today I was doing time as a dental assistant, studying tech­nique. I've been doing this for a while now, and I swear, I can probably do a simple procedure myself. The dentist—the real live dentist—even praised the way I handle the tools. I have this gauze mask on, and none of the patients knows it's me. But still, they all relax when I talk to them.»

«Can't stop radiating that trust, can you?»

«Yup, that's what I'm beginning to think. Matter of fact, I get to feeling so relaxed I wonder if I wasn't cut out to be a real dentist or a doctor or a teacher or something. I could've done that, you know. Maybe I'd be happier doing something like that.»

«You're not happy now?»

«Don't know,» said Gotanda, finger in the middle of his forehead this time. «It's this trust business I'm such a pro at. I don't know whether I trust myself. Everybody else trusts me, sure, but, really, I'm nothing but this image. A push of the button and—brrp!—I'm gone. Right?»

«Hmm.»

«If I really was a doctor or a teacher, no one could switch me off. I'm always there.»

«True, but even with acting, you always have to be there.»

«Sometimes I just get tired,» said Gotanda. «I get headaches, and I just lose track. I mean, it's like which is me and which the role? Where's the line between me and my shadow?»

«Everybody feels that way, not just you.»

«I know that. Everybody loses track of themselves. Only in me, the slant is too strong. It's, well, fatal. I've always been this way, since I don't know when. To be honest, I was always envious of you.»

«Of me?» I was incredulous. «Why the hell would you be envious of me?»

«I don't know, you always seemed to get along just fine doing your own thing. Didn't matter what others thought, you didn't really care. You did what you wanted, how you wanted. You were solid.» He raised his glass and looked through it. «I, on the other hand, was the eternal golden boy. I never did anything wrong, I got the best grades, I won elections, I was a star athlete. Girls liked me. And teachers and parents believed in me. How do things like this happen? I never really understood what was going on, but you sort of get into a groove, you know. You probably can't even imag­ine what I'm talking about.»

No, not really, I told him.

«After junior high, I went to this school that was big in soccer. We almost made it to the nationals. So it was like an extension of junior high. I kept on being good. I had a girl­friend. She was gorgeous. Used to come cheer for me at the soccer matches. That's how we met. But we didn't go all the way, as we used to say. We only fooled around. We'd go to her place when her folks weren't home and we'd fool around. We'd have dates at the library. High school days right out of NHK Teen Playhouse.»

Gotanda took a sip of whiskey.

«Things changed a bit in college. There was all this cam­pus unrest, the United Student Front. I got put in a leading role again. And I played the role all right. I did everything. Put up barricades, slept around, smoked dope, listened to Deep Purple. The riot squad broke in and we got dragged off to jail. After that, there wasn't much for us to do.

«That was when the girl I was living with talked me into doing underground theater. So I tried out, partly as a joke, but gradually it got interesting. I was this beginner, and I lucked into a couple decent roles. Pretty soon I realized I had a talent for that kind of thing. I'd have this role and I could actually make it work. After a couple years, people started to know who I was. Even if I was a real mess in those days. I drank a lot, slept around all the time. But that's how every­one was.

«One day a guy from the movies came around and asked if I'd ever considered acting on-screen. Of course I was inter­ested, so I tried out and I landed a bit part. It wasn't a bad part—I was this sensitive young man—and that led to some­thing else. There was even talk of TV. Things got busy, and I had to quit the theater group. I was sorry to leave but, you know how it is, you think, there's a big, wide world out there, gotta move on. And, well, you know the rest. I'm a doctor and a teacher and I hustle antacid lozenges and instant coffee in between. Real big, wide world, eh?»

Gotanda sighed. A charming sigh, but a sigh no less.

«Life straight out of a painting, don't you think?»

«Not such a bad painting, though,» I said.

«You got a point. I haven't had it bad. But when I think back on my life, it's like I didn't make one choice. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it scares me. Where's the first-person 'I'? Where's the beef? My whole life is playing one role after another. Who's been playing the lead in my life?»

I didn't say anything.

«I guess I'm running off at the mouth.»

«Doesn't bother me,» I told him. «If you want to talk, you ought to talk. I won't spread it around.»

«I'm not worried about that,» said Gotanda, looking me in the eye. «Not worried in the least. There's something about you—I don't know what it is—somehow I know I can trust you. I trust you from the word go. But it's hard to be open with people. I could talk—well, maybe I could—to my ex-wife. For a while there, until everyone around us screwed up the works, we really understood and loved each other. If it was just the two of us, things might have worked out. But she was too insecure. She needed her family too much, couldn't get out from under them. So that's when I ... No, I'm getting ahead of myself. That's a whole other story. What I want to know is, is all this talk a drag?»

Nope, I said, not a drag at all.

After that he talked about our science lab unit. How he was always uptight, having to see to it that the experiment came out right, having to explain things to the slow girl. How, again, he envied my puttering along at my own pace. I, however, could scarcely recall what we'd done in science class. So I was at a total loss what there'd been to envy. All I remember was that Gotanda was good with his hands. Set­ting up the microscope, things like that. Meanwhile, I could relax precisely because he tended to all the hard tasks.

I didn't say that to him. I just listened.

At some point, a well-appointed man in his forties came up to our table and tapped Gotanda on the shoulder. They exchanged greetings and talked show business. The fellow glanced at me, pegged me immediately as a nobody, and continued his conversation. I was invisible.

When the fellow left, after a promise of lunch and golf, Gotanda fretted one eyebrow a few millimeters, raised two fingers to gesture for a waiter, and asked for the check. Which he signed, with no ceremony whatsoever.

«It's all expenses,» he said. «It's not money, it's expenses.»