Rising Sun

“Many Japanese shop at Maxim Noir now. It’s like most expensive American stores—it’d go out of business without visitors from Tokyo. It’s dependent on the Japanese.”

As we approached the front door a large man in a sport coat appeared. He had a clipboard with names. “I’m sorry. It’s by invitation only, gentlemen.”

Co

“Which guest is that, sir?”

“Mr. Sakamura.”

He didn’t look happy. “Wait here, please.”

From the entryway, we could see into the living room. It was crowded with party-goers, who at a quick glance seemed to be many of the same people who had been at the Nakamoto reception. As in the restaurant, almost everyone was wearing black. But the room itself caught my attention: it was stark white, entirely unadorned. No pictures on the wall. No furniture. Just bare white walls and a bare carpet. The guests looked uncomfortable. They were holding cocktail napkins and drinks, looking around for someplace to put them.

A couple passed us on their way to the dining room. “Rod always knows what to do,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “So elegantly minimalist. The detail in executing that room. I don’t know how he ever got that paint job. It’s absolutely perfect. Not a brush stroke, not a blemish. A perfect surface.”

“Well, it has to be,” she said. “It’s integral to his whole conception.”

“It’s really quite daring,” the man said.

“Daring?” I said. “What are they talking about? It’s just an empty room.”

Co

I sca

“Senator Morton’s here.” He was standing in the corner, holding forth. Looking very much like a presidential candidate.

“So he is.”

The guard hadn’t returned, so we stepped a few feet into the room. As I approached Senator Morton, I heard him say, “Yes, I can tell you exactly why I’m disturbed about the extent of Japanese ownership of American industry. If we lose the ability to make our own products, we lose control over our destiny. It’s that simple. For example, back in 1987 we learned that Toshiba sold the Russians critical technology that allowed the Soviets to silence their submarine propellers. Russian nuclear subs now sit right off the coast and we can’t track them, because they got technology from Japan. Congress was furious, and the American people were up in arms. And rightly so, it was outrageous. Congress pla

Somebody asked a question, and Morton nodded. “Yes, it’s true that our industry is not doing well. Real wages in this country are now at 1962 levels. The purchasing power of American workers is back where it was thirty-odd years ago. And that matters, even to the well-to-do folks that I see in this room, because it means American consumers don’t have the money to see movies, or buy cars, or clothing, or whatever you people have to sell. The truth is, our nation is sliding badly.”

A woman asked another question I couldn’t hear, and Morton said, “Yes, I said 1962 levels. I know it’s hard to believe, but think back to the fifties, when American workers could own a house, raise a family, and send the kids to college, all on a single paycheck. Now both parents work and most people still can’t afford a house. The dollar buys less, everything is more expensive. People struggle just to hold on to what they have. They can’t get ahead.”

I found myself nodding as I listened. About a month before, I had gone looking for a house, hoping to get a backyard for Michelle. But housing prices were just impossible in L.A. I was never going to be able to afford one, unless I remarried. Maybe not even then, considering—

I felt a sharp jab in the ribs. I turned around and saw the doorman. He jerked his head toward the front door. “Back, fella.”

I was angry. I glanced at Co

In the entryway, the doorman said, “I checked. There’s no Mr. Sakamura here.”

“Mr. Sakamura,” Co

The doorman shook his head. “I’m sorry, fellas. Unless you have a search warrant, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“There isn’t a problem here,” Co

“I’m sorry. Do you have a search warrant?”

“No,” Co

“Then you’re trespassing. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Co

The doorman stepped back and planted his feet wide. He said, “I think you should know I’m a black belt.”

“Are you really?” Co

“So is Jeff,” the doorman said, as a second man appeared.

“Jeff;” Co

Jeff laughed meanly. “Hey. You know, I like humor. It’s fu

Co

Jeff said, “Hey. Fuck you, buddy. I told you you’re in the wrong place—“

Co

Co

“And this man?” Dwyer asked, pointing to Jeff, who was gasping and coughing on the floor.

Co

“I didn’t fucking assault him!” Jeff said, sitting up on his elbow, coughing.

Dwyer said, “Did you touch him?”

Jeff was silent, glowering.

Dwyer turned back to us. “I’m sorry this happened. These men are new. I don’t know what they were thinking of. Can I get you a drink?”

“Thanks, we’re on duty,” Co

“Let me ask Mr. Sakamura to come over and talk to you. Your name again?”

“Co

Dwyer walked away. The first man helped Jeff to his feet. As Jeff limped away, he muttered, “Fucking assholes.”

I said, “Remember when police were respected?”

But Co

“Why?”

He wouldn’t explain further.

“Hey, John! John Co

Up close, Eddie Sakamura wasn’t so handsome. His complexion was gray, with pock-marked skin, and he smelled like day-old scotch. His movements were edgy, hyperactive, and he spoke quickly. Fast Eddie was not a man at peace.

Co

“Hey, can’t complain, Captain. One or two things only. Got a five-oh-one, drunk driving, try to beat that, but you know, with my record, it’s getting hard. Hey! Life goes on! What’re you doing here? Pretty wild place, huh? Latest thing: no furniture! Rod sets new style. Great! Nobody can sit down any more!” He laughed. “New style! Great!”