An interlude in Tokyo... oriental style
Laugh lines
By Amrita Dhingra

IT was all the boss’ idea. The boss is, of course, as bosses will be, terribly fond of his own ideas. He doesn’t mind dumping one of yours in the wastepaper basket, but his own ideas he likes to see through to what he calls fruition. Or if he’s too busy, he ensures you see them through to fruition. You may or may not like the idea but the boss is the boss and so your brief is to obey. Which is why you are abandoning the latter half of a very enjoyable weekend, abandoning the peace and quiet of your bachelor pad and heading on a plane for Tokyo.

A plane for Tokyo with Amanda Spence on it. Amanda Spence, with whom you would not like to travel two metres, Amanda Spence with whom you would not like to be found dead in a ditch. Neither would she apparently. For when you arrive, flushed and slightly out of breath, just in the nick of time, she subjects you to an ice cold glare. You are slightly preoccupied with stowing away your hand luggage, but had you been paying attention you would have realised that it was the kind of glare she’d give to a particularly ugly member of the cockroach family.

In any case you pretend not to notice. After all you did wear your most ill-matched shirt and shorts just to get on her nerves. A sidelong glance reveals your shot was not of the mark, Amanda Spence does not relish being seen around with a man dressed in a particularly florid set of clothes. She herself is of course dressed in a new Armani suit and her hair looks as if she’s just come back from an appointment with her hairdresser.

You try and break the wall of silence.

"It’ll be a good trip! We should be able to wrap up this deal in no time flat"! A keen observer could have detected the forced heartiness in your manner.

"Yes", succinct, that’s our Amanda.

"You brought the new requisition figures?" Talk shop, it’s bound to melt the ice.

She arches one eyebrow which suggests that only an imbecile would ask such a question, then says sweetly, "That’s what I’m here for. I take it you have all the data we’ll need?"

"Right here", you pat your laptop affectionately.

"Good, because we wouldn’t want anything to go wrong on this deal, would we?"

You can see that she hasn’t forgotten the Van Gogh incident, you can see that Amanda Spence is not a girl who takes defeat sportingly. Settling back into your seat, you curse yourself for not putting the old man straight on this point. He thinks that there isn’t a better team in his entire conglomerate; you know otherwise. The fact, of course, was that Amanda hadn’t complained to him and you certainly don’t want to be the first to buckle. So you take a deep breath and carry on. If she can take it so can you.

As the plane begins to take off, your hands tighten imperceptibly on the handrest and you send her another sidelong glance. A picture of unconcerned ease, she is engrossed in a new murder mystery. Slightly ashamed of your unease at the plane’s assent you reach for your own copy of the very same book. Predictably, like the show of bravery about flying, like everything else, the reading of the book becomes tacit competition between the two of you.

As you read furiously, you can’t help thinking that a girl who takes in murder mysteries by the sackful, Amanda Spence would sure know how to get rid of you. You console yourself with the knowledge that doing that would mean giving you an easy death which no doubt would be highly unacceptable to Miss Spence. No doubt she wanted to see you die slowly. A thousand deaths and slowly.

She beats you to the end. Surreptitiously skipping about 20 pages, you manage to finish ten minutes later. Then you get on your phone and have a long conversation with Martha. A long, loud conversation filled with sweet nothings. Martha is your four-year-old pet Macaw, but Amanda doesn’t know that. She tries very hard to ignore you completely, but when you’re sitting six inches away and gushing into a phone, it isn’t easy! When you hang up 20 minutes later Amanda Spence’s irritation is enough compensation for the astronomical bill you’ve run up.

Amanda makes it very clear that she doesn’t want to stick around with you, which makes it imperative for you to stick to her the way a hermit crab sticks to a sea-anemone. Here fate digs in and gives you a nasty poke in the ribs. Your luggage is absent from the carousel. So while she efficiently picks up her case and makes her exit in fine style, escorted by a Japanese gentleman, you run around the airport in a crazed treasure hunt. The airport officials go out of their way to challenge your abilities as a treasure-hunter. They take their duties very seriously and you get the general impression that they would rather shut down the airport than leave any area of knowledge uncovered as far your skills as a treasure- hunter go! And all along you have the sneaking suspicion that they know exactly where your bags are!

When you make it to your hotel four hours later, you are informed that Miss Spence has left to take in the sights and sounds of Tokyo. The only sights and sounds you’re ready for are a hot running water and a meal, in that order. When you’re finished with those, jet lag gets the better of you and you hit the sack. The imperious summons of the telephone rouse you.

"I hope you’re not going to be late". Imperious summons from an imperious girl.

"Nag, nag, nag! Don’t you do anything but nag? Don’t you trust me?"

"No". She put the phone down.

Grinning, you heave yourself out of bed and head for your tux. Louis would have been proud of your rendition of What a Wonderful World. Idly, you wonder, what you’d do without Amanda Spence there to keep you on your toes. Then hauling yourself back to common sense you remember how wonderful life was without her. Still, there’s whistle on your lips as you pick up your trusty laptop and make your way down.

That’s when things start going wrong, again. The sight of Amanda laughing and being over pally with Mr Tamahato cools your blood. The whistle flees and is replaced by a half-smile half-snarl as you shake his hand. Not that his reaction is any warmer. He makes it clear that as far as he’s concerned they were all better off without you. Either way with a decent enough show of urbanity you settle down. After a while of small talk,in which no one is interested in any way, you start to talk shop.

While Amanda handles the sales pitch, you flick open your laptop and go to the Tamahato file. Instead of doing as it’s bid, the computer now flashes a totally uncalled for stumper. Password? Here three questions race through your mind: Why on Earth does it want a password? Did you actually specify a password? What is the goddamn password?

Running a nervous hand through your hair you type in the first three associations that come to your mind. Japan. Rejected. Kimono. Rejected. Hara-kiri. Rejected. At this point Amanda sends you a glance which mixes impatience and concern very nicely. It is just as well that Mr Tamahato doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Tokyo, you type in, Rejected. Requisition. Rejected. Sushi. Rejected.

As you type in one password after another, a shiver runs down your spine. A shiver full of nameless foreboding. It seems like a re-run of one of your most horrible nightmares, only it’s worse. Just as you are about to give up and think of the easiest way to get out of there, the waiter serves the first course. Taking a long reinforcing swig from your glass you thank your guardian angel for the reprieve.

As reprieves go, this one is a poor one because it is with a sinking of the heart that you realise you’re expected to use the chopsticks. Amanda, of course, uses them like she’s never seen a fork in her life. Needless to say your chopsticks fail miserably as far as their raison d’etre are concerned. They fail to convey food from place A, i.e. your plate, to place B., i.e. your mouth. They seem very adept at conveying it to the table cloth, the floor and horror of horrors within an inch of Tamahato’s suit!

Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. Amanda, however, most certainly does notice. It’s quite a sight the way she smiles at Tamahato, pretending to be sooo interested in what he’s saying, and then the way her grey eyes chill to chips of ice whenever they alight on you. So back and forth it goes. The smile followed by the ice followed by the smile... The nightmare carries on. You wonder if she’s guessed there’s something wrong with your file, but no even she can’t have guessed, can she?

Giving up the chopsticks as a lost cause, you put your mind to the problem of the password. It may as well have dropped of into the void of a blackhole, you think morosely, because that is exactly where you’re going to end up when all this is over. Think man, think! Your eyes are drawn back to Amanda and her shining grey eyes. She’s already sold the stuff to Tamahato, who needs requisition figures when you have a pair of grey eyes. Still he must see them. It’s all a mess and your mind seems to be caught in the vortex of a whirlwind. The password-the chopsticks-Tamahato-grey eyes. The password-the ch.... Hang on a minute what was that! Grey eyes.

Feverishly you reach for the laptop. Out of the corner of your eyes you can see Amanda glaring at you. You don’t care if it’s rude. Grey eyes, you type in and hold your breath.... Accepted! Giving thanks to the powers that be, you recover enough to send a pleasant smile Amanda’s way.

The rest of the deal is a breeze. Not that requisition figures have anything to do with it. Still, the success is jointly yours and you enjoy it.

When you call in to report to the boss, he says in his best I-told-you-so-manner, "I knew it, you are the best team I’ve had working for me for a long time!"

"Well yes sir, I guess you could say that! She certainly does bring out the best in Me!"

Amanda, who is also on the conference line, agrees as sweetly as you please with her Daddy and proceeds to send you a look straight from Antarctica. Nobody said the world was perfect. Nobody said the battle was over, yet.