Yoko the kitsune transforms into a fox. She lands in the pile of clothes she was just wearing a moment ago and looks around her cramped dorm-style room, slightly larger than a closet and located above the host club. A room just large enough to hold her rack of clothing and her bed.
She climbs out of her pile of clothing, flicks her tail free of the strap of her bra, and then climbs to the window ledge. If foxes could smile, she would be. She turns and carefree jumps out the window. She aims to reach the power line. She panics trying to will herself to fly through the air the last foot, but instead she falls and lands on a dumpster below. She lands hard. She takes a moment before taking off running.
She flits across the city, running between trucks and bicycles and people’s feet. She slips onto the roof of the train station. She waits, listening to the crowd below her. The train arrives, and she jumps onto the top. The train starts moving, and she holds on tightly. The wind blowing at her at 40 miles per hour on the small local route, the train stops at the first station. She rides till she hits the second station, then jumps off and makes her way through the city streets till she makes it to his apartment, running as fast as she can for parts of the way and running quickly for other parts.
Hardly breathing hard, she eyes the tall building. She experimentally claws at it with her sharp nails. And is pleasantly surprised when she is able to climb it; she takes a few steps back and runs at the wall, then climbs to the roof. Once there, she peers over the edge and looks into the first apartment window.
The landlady is smoking while watching her old boxy TV. The show is about who can hold their pee the longest. She is laughing hysterically as someone loses control.
The kitsune wiggles her whiskers and runs along the roof edge, peering into the next apartment. A couple sleeping tightly together, their child climbing in bed between them. He looks up and sees the bright glowing eyes of the kitsune and screams, waking up the parents. She scurries to the next window. But she thinks about the scene with longing. A life she has never had.
The third window reveals a man lying in his bed just about to finish masturbating. He cries out “Yoko.”
She feels a pang of arousal at the sight of his cock. Long and curved. She jumps slightly as she watches him orgasm. His cock squirting onto his flat belly.
She jumps down to his air conditioner and curls up, happy to be so close. She covers her face with her tail and falls asleep.
Yoko waits for him the next night at the host club. She puts on her favorite jade blue kimono and takes extra care with her makeup. She knows he said he would return. ‘That’s what they all say,’ she mutters. Most of her sparse customers pay very well but only visit once a week at most. The thought of not speaking with him for 2 weeks makes her cringe.
‘Please visit tonight,’ she thinks, looking around at the noise and confusion of the host club’s main room. She thinks about running away forever. Her skin on her wrists and neck burns as the invisible bonds of her contract let themselves be known.
She sighs. her ears perking up The maître d’ is showing another guest who is left in the stable. The women and men all lined up, all eager to drink and eat and make him feel happy, or at the cynical worst, get him to buy as many bottles of Dom Pérignon as they can.
“Anyone would be thrilled to drink with you, sir.” The maître d’ gestures excitedly.
He looks left and right and doesn’t see her. “Yoko?” he asks quietly.
The maître d’ frowned; he had hoped if he stood in front of the kitsune, the man would give up and request someone else.
“Yoko,” he says, looking for her.
“No, no, no, you need someone else. She isn’t for you. Why not this one?” He pushes forward, a beautiful young and bright-eyed woman.
“I am afraid it’s Yoko or nothing,” the salaryman says, feeling powerful.
Yoko bends at the hips, popping out from behind the manager. “Here!” she says with almost contained excitement.
Every night he goes to see her; every night the maitre d’ tries to convince him to see a different girl. His savings dwindle. Yen by yen he spends it all to be with her.
Meanwhile, Yoko Kitsune is falling deeply in love with him. She spends late nights and early mornings sleeping under his window. The nights are getting colder, but she can peek in on him while he sleeps. She thinks it might be enough.
The landlady stops him before work with a cigarette hanging from her mouth. “Rent was due yesterday.” She says with suspicion, “Everything ok?”
“Yes, I am so sorry. I will have it to you by the end of the day,” he apologizes.
That day at work he stares at the blank document as usual, and soon The day is over; he rushes to get his check and catch up on his bills. He never meant to get sucked up into the world of host clubs. That night he doesn’t go see her.
That night Yoko visits her favorite window. She peers in and sees him sleeping, the blanket half kicked off. She watches as he tosses and turns. Obviously he is having a nightmare. She claws at the window trying to slide it open, but it’s locked. She watches as he tosses and turns; she struggles trying to come up with a plan to comfort him. But finding none, eventually she curls up and sleeps and tries to dream of him.
The next day
“You came to visit today,” Yoko says, her ears perking up in an inhuman way.
“My apologies for yesterday,” he says, head lowered.
“It’s ok; it’s not like we are courting,” she says with a blush.
They sit in silence sipping the cheap wine that’s all he can afford at this point.
He eventually breaks the silence. “What if we were?”
She quirks up an eyebrow. “That’s a good question. What if we were?”
“Courting?” He says they feel like they are stuck in a weird feedback loop.
“Yes, if we were you, we would invite me to go somewhere together, like a date,” she says, waving her fan at herself.
She pours him a glass of wine, and he pours her one. His mind racing, ‘Where do I take her?’
He imagines the places they could go. Finally the image of her licking an ice cream cone cements in his mind.
He drinks the wine for courage and opens his mouth.
“Yes,” she says softly.
“I didn’t get to ask,” he responds nervously.
“Doesn’t matter; my answer is yes,” she says.
“I worked myself up; you got to let me ask,” he says, ruffling the hair on the back of his head.
“Fine,” she says, her face not changing expression.
“Yoko, would you like to get ice cream with me tomorrow? It’s my day off,” he says, his request dripping with apology.
“Sure, it’s a date,” she smiles, hiding her face behind her fan. She knows if she treats it as a work event, her contract will let her go. “11 tomorrow, meet me here; don’t be late.”
He is elated. It’s not uncommon for hosts to see clients after work, but this is special; she called it a date.
She looked so out of place in the modern Japanese world. Her heels are an ancient style worn by courtesans a hundred years ago, her kimono is yellow and bright, and her makeup is perfect with long jade hair sticks.
They stand in line together; it feels natural and normal. She doesn’t hesitate; she asks for red bean ice cream, and he gets banana. They laugh and watch as the people run around outside the glass window of the ice cream shop.
“The world is so busy now, so chaotic and loud,” Yoko says between bites of ice cream. “This was all field not long ago.”
He looked at her disappointed. He wanted to see her lick the ice cream, but instead she is biting it. ‘Who bites ice cream!’ he screams in his head.
“A hundred years ago maybe,” he says with a laugh.
In return he gets a glare, a glare that can only be associated with the horrible mistake of calling a woman old.
He quickly adds, “I, uh, yeah, but you’re right.” He pauses, then whispers, “I only stepped off the train that day because I felt the same way—so much chaos, so loud, so busy, and so empty.” His face formed into a smile. “But we can make it have meaning together. If you wanted”
Yoko feels the weight of her contract around her neck; it’s heavy and strong, like it’s made of steel, weighing her down.
She smiles anyway, hiding it behind her ice cream cup. “Take me to your room; I want to lie on your bed. I want to know if it’s as soft as I imagine.”
He almost chokes on his spoon at the idea. “if you want”
“It’s what I want,” she says quietly, feeling worn down.
