Chapter Text
Langa hit his head on the ramen shop’s counter. After a pause, he lifted his head and did it again, and a third time.
“That bad, huh…” Reki said around his mouthful of noodles.
Langa nodded, his forehead grinding further into the counter.
There was a part of him that thought that this was going to be simple. Go to university, get a job to cover university costs, have his best friend as a roommate. But, as always, Langa’s lackluster writing skills meant that every interview ended with apologies, unanswered phone calls, and other rejections that all avoided the word “no”.
Calling his mother for help was out of the question. She had enough to deal with given her long hours at the hospital, covering her own bills, and the lingering debt from his father’s funeral. She even sent him money to help with tuition, no matter how much Langa tried to object.
Reki put down his ramen bowl, poking at a bean sprout that floated in the savory broth with his chopsticks. “You know… I could give you an in?”
“Hmm?”
“You know that night job I have? Being a waiter? I could see if my manager has an open position. But…”
“I’ll take it.”
Reki slapped his chopsticks on the counter. His bowl rattled a little from the force. “You don’t even know what kind of place it is!”
“A job’s a job, right? If there’s an opening and they will hire me, I’ll take it.” Langa straightened up in time to see Reki rub a hand over his reddening cheeks. What about a waiter job would get him embarrassed?
“Look, it’s a bit of a… water trade club, okay.”
“I already said I’m willing to take a chance. Don’t really care what or who they serve.”
It was moments like these that Langa figured that his friend forgot that he wasn’t raised in Japan. ‘Water trade’? What did that mean? Seafood? Reki couldn’t be embarrassed over working for a seafood restaurant, could he? Granted, the smallest things could get Reki’s face as red as his hair. And geoduck was rather phallic.
“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll give the manager your email and phone number.”
There were three heart pounding days where Langa would check his email every thirty minutes, and jumped whenever his phone buzzed a text alert or phone call. Every time, it had been nothing. So when he checked and there was an email from “[email protected]” with the subject line “Interview”. He couldn’t hold in the shocked exhale that he made. Of course Reki would come through for him, but after that, it was all in some stranger’s hands.
Langa opened the email.
Langa Hasegawa,
I have been informed of your circumstances by our mutual acquaintance, Reki Kyan. He tells me that you are ready and eager to work, no matter the circumstance or challenge. I want to see if he has told the truth.
Come to Club S tomorrow evening at eleven. If you pass, I will put you to work.
Tadashi Kikuchi
Manager, Club S
No chance to negotiate, no chance to say when he was available. Langa would just have to arrive or skip it and prove that what Reki said to pump him up was wrong. A heat suffused his chest. Langa gripped over his heart. A challenge, that had to be it, this was a challenge, a dare, and there was little that would make him turn that down.
Perfect.
Though Langa hadn’t known what to expect of Club S, what he was greeted with as he stood outside its front door wasn’t it. The name had Langa thinking of secrets and that the location would be something low-key. Maybe a flair that showed off their main menu item, or a bit of personality.
The sign was bright, with yellows and reds swirling together to make the “S” that was the club’s name, with a heart tipped arrow piercing the center. The windows were rigged with bright lights that made the calls to action - Cocktails, Companions, Cuisine - stand out and entice people more than any of the dark suited workers standing outside the other businesses.
“S” did not mean Secrets or Subtlety. It meant Succulence, Surety, and all other words that were beyond Langa’s grasp but meant being proud and luxurious. Would he even be able to fit in at such a place?
Never knew until you tried.
Langa heaved a heavy breath and opened the door.
There was an immediate shift in the soundscape. Soft jazz danced down the long entrance way, and all the sounds of cars and people outside were completely silenced.
The main room was populated mostly with little booths and tables, only big enough for two or four people to sit intimately close. The chairs were plush leather, things you could sink into and never want to leave. On the far end of the room, a curtain was pulled across what may have been a stage, but left unused, there was a large table there instead, set up with a pyramid of tall crystillian glasses. Against one wall there were a couple of larger booths, still with the same plush feelings of the chair, but not quite so cozy.
It all made Langa feel like he had walked into something that he could never afford, and yet was still invited in to sit and stay a while anyway.
“Langa Hasegawa? Tadashi Kikuchi.”
Langa jumped in the air at the sudden voice behind him. He turned to see a tall-ish man in a plain dark suit.
Kikuchi was a man that could blend into the background. His only really unique feature was a beauty mark on his face, near the inner corner of one eye. Langa couldn’t help but to wonder how long he had watched him gape at the plush surroundings before drawing attention to himself.
“Yes, I’m Langa Hasegawa. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Langa said, making half a bow at Tadashi.
“Kyan made a good plea on your behalf.” Tadashi passed Langa a small leather folder and a pen. “We’ll just do a small test, see if you can handle talking to customers. You’ll need to write as fast as you can.”
Langa rolled the pen between his fingers. Writing fast meant writing in English, but, well. He’d see if he could make it.
The test itself was more than just one order. Tadashi went through a series of different customer personas, usually with nothing much different than his accent and the way that he sat at one of the plush booths. Through it all, Langa felt like he was becoming lighter and lighter, as each customer act became more belligerent or odd. The feeling was almost like the first time that he made an ollie on his skateboard; a lifting in his chest and the promise that more could come from it.
Tadashi looked over the ordering notes that Langa had taken with a blank face. Langa gripped one hand into a fist behind his back. It was a small outlet for the anxiety that decided to take up his torso like expanding cotton.
“You can read and write in Japanese, right?”
The question took Langa off-guard. “Ah, yeah.”
“Good. The English is fine. Orders are entered on a POS system, so as long as you are able to translate on the fly, you’ll do fine.”
“What?”
“You’re hired. First shift is tonight, I’ll take you around to meet your co-workers and do a tour of the premises.”
Hired? Just like that?
Fucking A!
A weight left Langa’s shoulders and he felt like his legs would give out under him. “Thank you, Mr. Kikuchi. I won’t let you down.”
“Good,” it may have just been the lights, but maybe Tadashi smiled. “Follow me, and welcome to Club S.”