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  Back in her apartment, she watched TV while she ate her lunch and drank some oolong tea. As she bit into a piece of pork soaked in brown sauce, she remembered how Yayoi had kicked over the pot. The woman had been a mess this morning, she thought, so absent-minded that she was no help at all. In fact, she was a real drag on the team. So what if her husband was beating her up; if it were Kuniko, she'd just hit him back. Polishing off the pork cutlet, she poured some soy sauce over a pack of frozen dumplings and slathered them with mustard. As she was digging into them, she found herself thinking about Yayoi again. If she were that pretty, she wouldn't be caught dead working the night shift in a factory; she'd get a job at a bar or a pub, or even someplace slightly disreputable - it wouldn't matter as long as the pay was good. The only problem was that she wasn't pretty like Yayoi, and she had no confidence in her own looks or style.

  A special feature on high-school girls came on, and Kuniko found herself setting aside her chopsticks and focusing on the programme. A girl with long, straight, dyed-brown hair was talking. Her face had been disguised with digital blurring and her voice was distorted, but Kuniko could tell that she was pretty and stylish.

  'Men are wallets, just wallets,' she was saying. 'Me? What did I get out of them? A suit, a ¥450,000 suit.'

  'Shit!' Kuniko shouted at the TV. 'Stupid little creep.' A suit costing that much must be Chanel or Armani. I want a Chanel suit, but if a little slut like that can get one for nothing, what's the point? 'Damn, damn, damn,' she kept muttering.

  The only good that had come out of working at the factory was meeting Masako, she thought, chewing on a lump of cold rice. She'd heard that Masako used to have a job at a good company, but she'd been forced out when they'd been restructured. She sensed that she wasn't the kind of woman who would go on slaving on the night shift at the factory for ever. She might be promoted to a regular employee, or even to management. And when she was, good things were bound to happen to anyone who stuck close to her. The one hitch in the plan was that Masako didn't seem to trust her.

  When she had eaten every last scrap in the lunch container and practically licked it clean, she tossed it in the garbage can next to the sink. Then she studied the Help Wanted section she'd saved from the newspaper. On her current salary at the factory, she could never hope to pay back the mountain of debt she'd run up; in fact, it was all she could do to manage the interest. But the pay for daytime work was even worse than what she was getting now. She'd have to work eight hours to make what she made now in five and a half, so there was no point in giving up the night shift. But then she had to sleep all day. It was a vicious circle. The bottom line was that Kuniko didn't want to admit she was bone idle. But at the same time, she was unable to bring herself to acknowledge how huge her debts had become. The interest alone was now so crushing that she had no idea whether she was even paying off the principal any more, no idea what the principal was.

  In the evening, she put on her make-up and her imitation Chanel suit and went out. She needed to find herself some sort of part-time job that she could do before going to the factory at eleven thirty. A housewife who lived next door was just pulling up to the racks as Kuniko went to get her bike. She was dressed in a cheap summer suit of the sort they sold at the supermarket, and carrying shopping bags. She looked tired. They must work hard at those company jobs, Kuniko told herself, bowing slightly at her, and the woman smiled back, sniffing the air as she passed. She can probably smell my perfume, Kuniko thought, it's 'Coco' today though I doubt she has any idea about expensive scents. They were forbidden to wear perfume at the factory, but she'd be taking a bath before setting out for work.

  She straddled the bike and set off clumsily down the busy, narrow street. The pub was near the next station, Higashi Yamato. There was probably no parking lot, so she'd have to go by bike, which was a drawback. What would she do on rainy days? Still, it was better than walking all the way to the station. If things went well and she got the job, she would think about moving.

  Twenty minutes later she was standing in front of the pub. 'Bel Fiore', the sign read. She'd thought that her chances for getting the job were poor, but seeing how remote and seedy the place was, she changed her mind. She could feel her spirits rising, her heart racing for the first time in a long while.

  'Hostess. 18-3 0 yrs old. ¥3600/hr . Uniform rental. 5.00 p.m.-1.00 a.m. nightly. No drinking necessary.'

  Recalling the details of the advertisement, Kuniko thought she might even quit the factory if she got the job. It took her a whole night of hard work making boxed lunches to earn what she'd earn in two hours here. Though she had just made a resolution to stick close to Masako no matter what, she could already feel herself moving in another direction.

  A group of young men in flashy suits stood by the door with a girl in a miniskirt who seemed to be advertising the place. 'I phoned earlier about the job,' Kuniko said to one of the men.

  'You want to go around back,' he said, staring at her with a surprised look.

  'Thanks,' she said. As she walked away, she could sense that they were watching her and she thought she heard someone laugh. When she reached the spot where the man had pointed, she turned into an alley where she found a metal door with a small sign for 'Bel Fiore'. 'Excuse me,' she said as she pushed it open and peered in. 'I phoned earlier.' A middle-aged man dressed in black was just hanging up the phone. Rubbing the deep wrinkles on his forehead, he studied Kuniko for a moment.

  'Ah, yes. Come in,' he said eventually. His look was a bit unnerving but his voice was low and gentle. 'Have a seat,' he said, waving toward a sofa set in front of the desk. Trying to look confident, Kuniko sat down, keeping her back straight. The man held out a name card that identified him as the manager. He bowed slightly, but as he raised his head it was clear that he'd quickly sized her up. She was miserably uncomfortable now, but she plunged ahead.

  'I'd like to apply for the hostess job you advertised.'

  'I see. Then maybe we should have a little chat,' the man said pleasantly, sitting down in a chair opposite the couch. 'So tell me, how old are you?'

  'Twenty-nine.'

  'I see,' he said again. 'And do you have some proof of your age?'

  'Oh, I didn't bring any with me today.' Almost as soon as the words were out, the man's tone changed.

  'Okay. You ever done this kind of work before?' he asked bluntly.

  'No, never.' She wasn't sure what she would do if he said they weren't hiring housewives, but the man had no more questions.

  'The fact is,' he said, getting up from the chair, 'the minute the ad came out we had six girls, all about nineteen, show up. We like them fresh like that; seems to be what the customers want.'

  'I see,' said Kuniko. But it's not just age, she thought, her spirits falling like an elevator. If she were pretty and stylish, her age probably wouldn't matter. Age wasn't really the problem at all, she thought, her insecurities now in the ascendant.

  'Sorry you had to go to all this trouble,' said the manager, 'but I'm afraid at the present time ... '

  'I understand,' Kuniko blurted out, nodding hastily.

  'If you don't mind my asking, what d'you do now?'

  'I work part-time in the neighbourhood.'

  'That's probably best anyway,' he said. 'This is hard work. The customers are spending ten or twenty thousand an hour, so they don't like to go home empty-handed. You're a big girl; you get my drift. They want "relief". That's not the kind of work you're looking for, is it?' The man gave a coarse laugh. 'Sorry you came all this way,' he said, slipping a thin envelope into her hand. 'This is for cab fare.' Probably a thousand yen, she guessed. 'But just for the record,' he added, '- you're really over thirty, aren't you?'

  "'No, I'm not.'

  'Whatever you say,' he sniffed, no longer bothering to hide his scorn.

  Feeling thoroughly depressed, Kuniko went out the back door of the pub, as she couldn't face the touts at the front again. A side street took her back to the restaurant where she'd left