Elizabeth O' Connor finds herself in Japan, where she is reduced to the status of a company wife, instead of the revered teacher she was in Hong Kong. She is determined to find an escape route-even if it means defying socially entrenched conventions. Tokyo is a mysterious, complex city which could easily sap the identity of a foreign woman, especially if her husband feels it his duty to embrace the local culture! Elizabeth is not used to being insignificant or isolated. The Ginza night life is exciting for those who have expense accounts. Elizabeth does not. She lives in a road without a name in a middle class area, surrounded by her three young children and an elderly, spiteful maid. However, Elizabeth refuses to accept the situation and carefully organizes a plan of action. The tone of the book is ironical, descriptive and sometimes erotic. Elizabeth's bizarre adventures are often amusing and occasionally romantic, but. our resourceful heroine prevails and has no regrets.

I Want Your Husband

By Kate Callaghan

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Kate Callaghan
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-4801-3

Chapter One

"Here are your keys," she said, looking at me coolly. I was surprised to see how different she was from the others. They had been tall, with curly brown hair, nervous smiles, and expressions of sympathetic remorse-except for Kioko, of course. However, Elsa was petite with short blond hair-and not the slightest sign of remorse in her extravagantly blue eyes. She was very pretty-in that delicately brittle Scandinavian way. I pocketed my car keys clumsily, dropping my purse on the tiled foyer floor. As I knelt to pick it up, I heard her firm, high-pitched suggestion, "Let's find a seat in the bar!"

I followed her into a corner, where two enormous brown velvet chairs soon enveloped us. The Tokyo Prince Hotel bar was never full at this time of day. I looked around to see if there was anyone I knew, but even before the young Japanese waiter had reached us, Elsa spoke. "I want your husband," she announced. "Oh, a gin and tonic and a brandy dry", she added as she noticed the waiter hovering at the back of my chair. I admit to being somewhat surprised, not only by her direct approach, but also by her recognizing me immediately, handing me my car keys and knowing my drink. She had obviously done her research. How was I going to deal with this unexpectedly self-assured young woman?

Fortunately, I had time to think. The shape of a large Texan took form between us. "You ladies need margaritas!" he boomed, but my cool companion sat rigidly upright before declaring that he was interrupting private business. He stood for a moment with a hand on each of our chairs; then he shrugged his enormous shoulders and left.

Meanwhile, I had been thinking; I had always played the lead in school plays, so I too, would play it cool. "It's a deal," I announced with what I hoped was conviction. "You take Brendan and the children, and I return to England." There was no way that I would allow this to happen, but I hoped she would be taken in by my immediate response. I sat for a moment without breathing, which is what I always do when I'm nervous, but I watched her carefully and thought I noticed a fleeting flicker of panic cross her ridiculously Barbie-like features.

However, Elsa changed the subject. She explained why she was so enthusiastic about taking over Brendan O'Connor whom she saw as relaxed and romantic, a sharp contrast with her own husband, who was apparently, a work-absorbed bore. Having completed his business in Japan, he was returning to Norway at the end of the month. Her mother had already taken their two-year-old son to her home in Oslo.

The stranger Elsa described had been my husband for seven years. Our three children were all under six, but they never entered our discussion. It was rather like bidding at an auction-dispassionate and calculated. She put forward her assets with calm efficiency. She was only twenty-three while I was thirty; she came from a wealthy shipping family and did not need to work, and in any case, she suggested, O'Connor couldn't possibly be interested in me any more. "Look at all the mistresses he's had in the last seven years," she volunteered by way of evidence. I was amused by her use of the word "mistress." It seemed such an old-fashioned term to describe one-night-stands, and associations of a few weeks at the most. Henry V111th had mistresses-not Brendan O'Connor

I heard our voices rise, and noticed that the bar was now populated by business-suited men of various nationalities, including several familiar faces, but no one I really knew. We had been talking for two hours - or rather- I had been listening. I learned one or two interesting facts, like the names of past "mistresses", and that O'Connor didn't sleep with me now because of the trauma caused by watching our babies being born ... a fact which had obviously escaped my attention.

My mind was beginning to wander, and the nauseous feeling at the pit of my stomach had doubled. I knew that a migraine was about to strike. Elsa's shrill voice was saying something about having dinner and going to see a play. I knew I had to beat a hasty retreat. My mouth was fixed in an unconcerned pseudo smile, which was beginning to ache. If I stayed one minute longer, I would hurl my remaining half glass of brandy dry at her tiny pink mouth and accompany it with a load of abuse. I looked around for a sharp knife to plunge into her pearl-covered throat ... but I only saw chopsticks.

"No thanks," I managed, "I can't stay for dinner ... I must rush!" As she looked up, I struggled out of my brown velvet encasement, studied the clock above the bartender's head, gasped with exaggerated astonishment, and hurried out into the late Saturday afternoon twilight.

It took me a long time to find the ugly gray vehicle my husband and I shared, and as I drove out of the parking lot towards Tokyo Tower, the strain of the last two hours hit me. I felt limp and exhausted. Had I done the right thing? Would O'Connor leave me? Would he fall for the lure of power and wealth? Elsa could certainly help him; I could not. Perhaps I had been too understanding. I desperately wanted to turn the clock back to the carefree days in Hong Kong.

I thought about the early days of our marriage and the intense happiness we had both felt at the appearance of our three children. Here in Japan everything had changed. I had felt that if I made an effort to understand and tolerate his meandering, normality would eventually resume. I certainly did not expect this pale Viking creature to sweep him off his feet. What a naive fool I had been!

When I had first learned of the meeting she had arranged with me today, I had not felt unduly concerned. It had happened before, and I had behaved impeccably (I thought), and everything had ended amicably. I remembered playing hockey with Elaine, getting quite intoxicated with Pauline, and receiving a lavender-colored shawl from Kioko.

I suddenly realized that this was my third circulation of Tokyo. The freeway was built above many of the city's old houses, offering a spectacular view of the crowded buildings, the flat landscape, and the colorful lanterns of hidden temples. One sparkling spring day a taxi driver nearly crashed his car as he threw up his arms in excited reverence, "Fuji-san," he shouted, and we caught a clear glimpse of the famous mountain topped with snow - an unusual sighting from smoggy Tokyo.

Here was I ... Elizabeth Bryan O'Connor, mother of three, wife of one, teacher of many, a traitor to the feminist cause - on the edge of doom! I was thousands of miles from family, alone in an anti-female country-with no means of escape. I might manage to borrow enough money to return to Hong Kong on my own, but I would not be allowed to take the children. Anyway, they were devoted to their father. What had other women done in my situation? I remembered reading about a German woman who had thrown herself under the Bullet, Japan's fastest train. Maybe she was inspired by Anna Karinina. Then there was the Japanese woman, who, horrified by the thought of desertion, walked into the ocean with her two children, drowning herself and them.

I was becoming quite lugubrious at the thought. I knew, however, that my solution had to be different. I couldn't stand water, and the idea of blood sent shivers down my spine. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and looked down again at the flickering lights of Tokyo, colorful but unreal, like a television screen. There was Tokyo Tower again. Suddenly, I knew where I was-and where I was going.

Chapter Two

Azabu was full of small bars; Kioko's was at the end of a busy narrow street. I had helped her to design it. I mean I had suggested colors and arrangement of stools and tables; she had listened politely and taken no notice. She wanted to attract foreign customers and had called the bar Kioko's Tavern, but it remained stubbornly Japanese.

Kioko was a pretty, elfin-like ex-dancer. Her husband, Goro, was both sensitive and handsome, and played the guitar elegantly. He sang Japanese and Irish songs in dulcet, sentimental tones. His English was limited, whereas Kioko's was always understandable. I wanted to hear Goro now in the hopes of dulling the pain of anger that was still tormenting me. However, he wouldn't appear until much later.

Kioko looked up from the beer she was pouring and must have noticed my grim expression. "You angry?" she asked.

I didn't want to enlighten her-although she was shrewd enough to guess my problem. I wondered if O'Connor had introduced Elsa to her. "No, I have one of my headaches," I told her, "I need a drink."

Kioko handed a pint of foaming beer to a crumpled, middle-aged man who seized it gratefully, showing immediate signs of revival. The only other character, an elderly English man known as the Mayor of Gotanda, was not very sociable at this stage of the evening. He was always alone, but it was common knowledge that he had lived in the area for thirty years, never married, but had a following of pretty Japanese girls who appeared to worship him. I never understood it; he was neither rich nor handsome. However, there were many things I didn't understand about men - or life in Japan. It was time I found out.

I surprised Kioko by ordering a margarita. She looked at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. I had, I thought, had my very last brandy-dry. "Never more, Elizabeth, never more," I told myself as I crept into a corner and took out my notebook. I had done research in the past on topics like war poetry and the psychology of linguistics, but this next project was vital to my family. Of course, part of it might be fun! I underlined my first point in red. The family must relocate to England or return to Hong Kong- preferably not into abject poverty. I must restore my self-confidence and face reality. I would have to be patient ... it might take two years. Yes, I underlined a two-year deadline.

It was eight-o'clock on Saturday evening. More and more familiar faces glanced in my direction, but nobody interrupted me. They were used to seeing me sitting in a corner waiting for Brendan, whose office was within walking distance. I was usually grading students' papers. This time my task was vital; my self-esteem had to be restored and family life had to be saved. I looked around the small bar at the cosmopolitan group of men. No, none of them would do; I needed someone who didn't regard me as Mrs. O'Connor, the patient school teacher who sat quietly in a corner waiting for her errant husband. I wished I were more outgoing. If only my friend, Alexis, were here to turn me into a glamorous, captivating "femme fatale"!

I had just finished an outline of my new plan when I noticed Goro tuning his guitar. He began singing one of his most sentimental Irish songs. He was looking at me with his beautiful dark eyes. I started to regret my first rule-no man whose wife I had actually met. Suddenly, I started to sob. I had been in control all day and now I had lost it. I felt a complete idiot as everyone turned to watch my performance. What a great beginning! Where was the actress now?

"I knew it." whispered a voice from behind. "She's a little bitch that Elsa. Don't worry. He'll soon know it." Kioko paused before adding ... "You so beautiful ... much nicer." She put her hand gently over mine. "You want Goro; you have him for summer. He likes you. You have big vacation soon ... yes?"

She spoke so kindly and looked so sympathetic that I sobbed even more profusely. "I appreciate your offer," I said eventually, "but I'd rather have another drink. Can you make me an Irish coffee?" I knew she could.

Kioko soon appeared with it, placed it on top of my notebook and disappeared. Two minutes later she was back, dragging a tall, bewildered man by his sleeve. "Look what I found," she grinned triumphantly. "He know nobody. Just come from Ireland. Drives planes."

I looked at him with interest. He was still in uniform-one I did not recognize-and was obviously tired. He had sandy-colored hair and dimples when he smiled. I guessed he was in his late thirties. In spite of his rugged Irish face, he was quite attractive. Kioko introduced him as Michael Shaw from Belfast. "I met Goro-san in Cork about two years ago," he explained. "He was touring the pubs with his guitar and made me promise to visit him when my airline started flights to Tokyo."

When I expressed surprise that he had found his way to this small hidden bar, Michael groaned. It had not been easy. No wonder he looked so lost. Foreigners (gai-jins) find Tokyo very confusing. Once outside the center, even taxi drivers get lost. Residents carry homemade maps showing landmarks like police stations, sushi bars and 'gasolinu standus'. Streets have no names. I know this because I lived between Meguro and Shibuya, a middle-class area with Western-styled houses each hidden behind huge iron gates and tree-lined walls. Roads are narrow and gardens small but beautiful. "It's such a pity to hide them," I explained to Michael.

He seemed genuinely interested in life in Tokyo, and I was surprised to find that he wasn't rushing off to nightclubs with the rest of his crew. Encouraged by this, I went on to describe my area, emphasizing the isolation one can feel as a female foreigner. "The little girls never wear shorts or jeans; so of course, my daughter won't either," I told him. "And even though she speaks fluent Japanese, she isn't always accepted. She's very blond. Last week she came home in tears because the other little girls were calling her 'Ghost Face'."

Michael smiled sympathetically. I paused and watched for signs of boredom, but only registered close attention - something quite new to me-outside the class room. We then discussed our own childhood problems, and I learned what it was like to grow up as a Catholic in Northern Ireland. He was so easy to communicate with that I eventually told him about my meeting with Elsa and my plan for survival. He wanted to know where Brendan was now, and was I waiting for him?

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed He took off to Nara with his office staff-leaving me and Elsa to bargain for him. In fact, he'd even left our car with her; she handed me the keys at the hotel ... I pretended to be cool ... but I was mad". I clenched my hands in silence as I relived the scene.

Returning to the present, I decided it was time to drive Michael to his hotel. The Takanawa Prince was on my way home I assured him, although, of course, it wasn't. However, we followed the map in the brochure with no problem. I remembered the unusually spacious gardens and the sensitive palm trees which were carefully bound with straw for the winter months. Fortunately, the dining room was closed. (Was it that late?) We could order room service. Things couldn't have worked out better if I had arranged them myself. I glanced at Michael, who was looking at me with an amused expression.

"I'm going to insist you stay the night", he said. "After all, you did say your whole family will be away until tomorrow."

"Yes, you're right;" I replied, trying to assume a little modest hesitation; "even old Keiko-san will be taking her day off. She might have left today, since the children are with their father ... or more likely in the expert hands of his capable young clerks."

Room service included champagne, which I admit to liking much more than Irish coffee, margarita or even brandy-dry. I suddenly felt just a little guilty because I hadn't asked Michael when he to had to return to the airport.

As if reading my mind, he stared thoughtfully at the elegant flutes of bubbling nectar frothing flirtatiously in front of us, and said, "I can never remember whether I'm allowed eight drinks one hour before take-off ... or one drink eight hours before."

I laughed because he looked so serious. However, he didn't take off until Monday. We had plenty of time. I soon stopped worrying about his being too tired when I saw his athletic body poised for action. Sleep was the last thing on our minds.

Sunday made its inevitable appearance. Spring was fleecing the Takanawa Prince gardens with early cherry blossom. I remembered Ovid's poetic words: "Lente, lente currite noctis equi," when he too, wanted the night to last longer. It seemed to me paradoxical that the intangible feeling of eternity that lingers throughout successful sexual encounters should also be so transient. The horses of the night had galloped into the rising sun, and soon, reality would resume.

We ate breakfast in comfortable silence. Michael seemed in high spirits and suggested a stroll around the gardens. "I'm pleased to be part of your research," he announced. "Do I get a good grade?"

"Definitely," I smiled, "but you had an unfair advantage; you practically looked at the answer sheet. I think I should promote you to personal advisor."

Michael was serious for a moment. I think he realized that I was feeling apprehensive about my return home. I had told him that I had no idea what I was going to say to O'Connor. It would be unnatural not to mention my meeting with Elsa. On the other hand, it might be unwise to reveal my true impression of her.

We were alone in the hotel gardens, wandering over the wet grass and crossing winding streams rippling under tiny arched bridges. Then reality hit in the form of a children's playground which could have been anywhere in the world. My mind leaped to my own children. Would they leave half their clothes behind as they usually did? I realized that I ought to be driving home in time for their return.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from I Want Your Husbandby Kate Callaghan Copyright © 2009 by Kate Callaghan. Excerpted by permission.
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