Vintage Rob

Chapter 19 - Time to Paparazzi

Trigger Warning: Sex alluded to but not described. Some character ages ambiguous.

Mr. Young's assistant waved Rob and the two Japanese men into a room. Nothing is shocking if you fear a hotel room filled with glassy-eyed children, but after finding none, the room's size - at least thirty times Rob's - took a moment to get used to.

Mr. Endo fixed himself a drink at a distant bar. The other man, the Stanford graduate, stood by a couch. The suite had more rooms down a hall. The enormous room reminded Rob of money, which meant power, and power leads to excess, abuse and indifference - almost always.

They would not want a Mr. Fitzgerald from the hotel chain around for their discussion, and Rob did not care about the details, not right now anyway. He just needed to make sure that children were not being exploited here. If they believed Mr. Fitzgerald was a vain man interested in nothing except the movie star, then all was good. "Will Mr. Keating attend the meeting?" Rob said.

Mr. Young's assistant stood in the doorway. He shook his head. "Mr. Keating retired for the evening. Mr. Young is on the way."

Rob tried to imbue his voice with disappointment. "Oh." Departing before Mr. Young's arrival might be suspicious. He wished he could manufacture a phone call and an emergency. Instead, he made eye contact with the translator/lawyer guy. "This business doesn't concern the hotel. I'll leave after greeting Mr. Young."

The translator/lawyer guy spoke to his boss, the man with a silver buzz cut in a shiny mustard yellow suit, in Japanese. If he relayed Rob's comment, the boss did not look his way or acknowledge it. Instead, he placed his drink on a low table and walked down the hall into another part of the suite.

What would a silly, affable man do next? Rob chose a chair near the translator's couch and asked if he had been back to California lately.

"No."

Ayako made a bad call bringing in Rob, but she also must have known what occurs here. If she told on him, would trouble enter the room? Was it that big a deal? Or was he a silly and affable man for worrying about it? After all, this was Tokyo, not Baghdad.

Rob stood. "Sorry, I must check on other clients. Please give my regards to Mr. Young."

The translator stood too, but his deep bow faced the door, not Rob.

A handsome, older, Caucasian man adjusted his necktie in the doorway, then greeted them in Japanese. His chiseled features, tailored suit, and aging movie star aura suggested that he was older than he looked, which was about sixty. Rob stepped forward and extended his hand. "Mr. Young, I presume? I'm Timothy Fitzgerald, Vice President of Marketing."

Mr. Young had a firm handshake. His eyes bounced from Rob's name-tag to other parts of the room before he gave Rob his full attention. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Fitzgerald. I expected Mr. Endo."

"He went down the hall," Rob said. "I'm returning to Chicago tomorrow but thought I'd drop by. I wanted to make sure Mr. Keating is satisfied." Rob modeled his broad smile on one of Keating's characters, the cutthroat lead in a movie about business executives.

"Mr. Keating loves the private swimming pool," Mr. Young said. "Unless your competitors build a similar suite, his loyalty is yours when we're in Tokyo."

"That's great to hear, sir."

Without further ado, Mr. Young spoke to Mr. Endo's man in Japanese. They laughed together. Mr. Endo returned and greeted Mr. Young like an old friend. He even fixed him a drink. From a spot between the couch and the door, Rob plotted his exit until Mr. Young's Japanese came to a sudden halt.

The other three men held whiskey glasses and stared at him.

"I should go," Rob said. "I apologize for the abrupt exit, but duty calls."

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald, for your outstanding attention to detail," Mr. Young said. "Like you, I prefer to hammer down each and every nail personally. Perhaps Mr. Keating will be available next time."

Good. Mr. Young assumed Mr. Fitzgerald wanted to meet Keating. Rob did not want to appear too eager to leave, so he tried to compose himself like a man with a large ego who nevertheless understood that hospitality and pleasing others was his place. "Please give Mr. Keating my regards."

Mr. Young smiled and turned to Mr. Endo. Rob closed the door quietly on his way out. In their eagerness to get down to business, he hoped to be forgotten. If Mr. Young alerted the men at the elevator to watch for him, he would claim that relying on Ayako had disorientated him, or that, in keeping with his responsibilities, he had inspected conditions on the floor.

He explored three or four long hallways. He would try some doors too. If he came across children, he would improvise. Photographs might be the best course of action, rather than helping individual children, but he prayed he would face no moral dilemmas. The security guards thought Rob belonged on the floor and was part of the group. He might be able to march children right by them.

Rounding a corner, Rob suddenly came across two Japanese women in schoolgirl uniforms, a prominent trope of Japanese pornography. He almost snickered, but a man with them lay on the floor across a doorway. The giggling schoolgirls, or women, bent over him, trying to get him on his feet. The man pulled one of them down and groped clumsily under her skirt. She rolled away and her legs scissored apart, displaying a panty-less sight that Rob turned from. She looked like she could be fifteen or sixteen years old. Maybe. Possibly.

The man muttered with a familiar voice. It took a moment, but his upside down facial features rearranged themselves into the iconic features of Brian Keating. While he rolled on the floor, his black and white yukata came loose and exposed a chest known even to straight men. His famous smirk lolled on the floor at Rob's feet. His dazzling blue eyes were unfocused and glassy, whereas the girls' were sharp and alert. Despite near nakedness, the girls reeked of sobriety. And sex.

"I'll give you a hand." Rob heaved Brian Keating up and propped him on a shoulder. The girls backed into the room, and Rob followed. Keating was shorter than expected, but even half unconscious and older, he was handsome and impossible to ignore. Celluloid did not do him justice.

Rob put Brian Keating on a couch. It faced a long, glass wall that looked out on an enclosed balcony and a swimming pool. The suite was even larger than the last one.

"Who you?" Keating mumbled.

"Mr. Young's friend."

Keating tapped the hotel logo on Rob's badge. "Great time, great time. I love this place."

The girls could be younger or older. In Japan, even twenty and thirty-year old escorts pranced around in high school uniforms, but a splash of relief that they were not younger children gave way to guilt, because teenage sex partners... that wasn't okay either. Keating had weathered sex scandals before. Even if they were fifteen, inconclusive photographs without further proof probably didn't matter.

One of the girls stood in front of Mr. Keating. When he lifted her skirt, she laughed.

Rob stepped toward the door. Out of sight, out of mind.

Keating rotated his head without much success and called out. "Sit down, Fitz. Take a break." He leaned precariously forward. "Girls, do your thang." The girls stepped into each other and kissed. They watched Mr. Keating anxiously.

Rob stayed behind Keating's couch. "Do they speak English?"

Keating dipped his head. It may have been in response to Rob's question. One girl reached over and awkwardly squeezed the other girl. "Useless," Keating said. "I'll direct." He laughed at his own joke. Aiming his head at them, he lumbered off the couch. He tried to guide one girl's hand but did not have the balance. Instead, Brian Keating pressed his back against the glass wall, slid into a sitting position, and closed his eyes.

The world famous actor passed out.

Do you think it is unfair to photograph Brian Keating at this moment?