The Host of My Heart (On Hiatus)

Chapter 1

The Host of my Heart 

Host clubs, the strangest solution for lonliness ever invented. Paying attractive men to tell you all the things that you've ever wanted to hear. A place that made you feel like you were only girl to that paticular man, even if only a short moment later he was off to another woman with a bigger purse than you. As sad as it sounded, when some women had money, time and wrinkles, Host Clubs seemed to be all they had.

But how did I, a twenty five year old secondary school teacher, with a puny salary, zero wrinkles(okay like two) and a fully stocked fridge end up in front of the most popular Host Club in all of Japan?  

Cherry Blossoms, Osaka’s (and Japan’s) all time number one host club. Somehow, this run down little shack drew in the lonliest (and richest) women in all of Japan. A cloud of sickly-sweet perfume assaulted my nostrils and answered the question I had been asking myself for the last fifteen minutes.

Oh yeah.

That is why I was there. Utada, Hikaru. Best friend of twenty years, part time fashion blogger and full time daddy’s girl. There certainly were benefits of having a rich childhood friend but the disadvantages kind of balanced it out.  The particular disadvantage on that fateful night was taking the train all the way to the belly of Osaka to visit a host that charged 100$ an hour, because your best friend just broke up with her boyfriend.

On a school night.

When mid year reports were due the following morning.

So yeah, disadvantages.

I took in Hikaru’s newly cut bob of sleek black hair and the tight midriff she bared in her white crop top. I was surprised that the breasts her father paid for weren’t popping out of the thing. Her effortlessly skinny legs were wrapped in white leather and a pair of…Gucci Pumps? Fendi Pumps? I couldn't tell, I wasn't a master at spotting foreign designers.

Regardless, she had pinked her cheeks and lined her lovely eyes with kohl and looked ready for the cat-walk. While I, after a full day of work, probably looked ready for the trash heap. I didn't have any time to cut my hair so it sat in an untamed, messy bun at the back of my neck; I had no make up on; I woke up far too late for that, I had slipped my feet into my trusty old lady flats (they were comfy) and a worn brown pencil skirt. So basically I looked my mother.

Who was 50.

As I felt a migraine creep into the back of my skull, I pleaded with her again.

“C’mon Hikaru. Can’t we go next weekend? My vacation starts then!”

“No” she replied quickly “Delayed gratification is for losers. Or poor people.”

“Ugh” I pinched the skin between my eyes together “Can’t you just go by yourself? I have work tomorrow!”

“No! What kind of loser goes clubbing by herself?”

The pain in my head slowly began to thrum as Hikaru grabbed my hand and dragged me inside. As her pink stiletto nails pinched into my fleshy arm, she smiled at me with her cute, crooked teeth.

“You’ll like it Rika, I promise.”

The ominous ‘I promise’ bounced back and forth in my achy skull. That poisonous phrase had been uttered many a time during our two decade long friendship and never yielded good results. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as her pumps clicked on the shiny tiled floors.

She pulled me down the stairs and soon we came to a door with a simple ‘Enter’ sign on it. Hikaru pushed open the door and immediately my nose was once again assaulted by a barrage of ugly smells. Smoke, alcohol, and cheap perfume; the makings of a successful Host Club.