Lipstick Money

Chapter One

The room was white, cold, and the size of a jail cell. It was about as cosy as a jail cell as well. The only furniture was a single chair and table, which the customs officer had gestured at when she'd ushered me in here. I think she told me to sit down, but since my Japanese was limited to saying 'please', 'thank you', and asking where the toilet was, I couldn't be certain. I suppose I should have learned what the Japanese words were for, "Oh god, what did I do wrong and am I going to get deported?" before I left Melbourne, but for some reason I didn't think I would end up needing to know how to say that.

How silly of me.

I thought back to six months ago, when I first made my decision to move here. It had seemed so simple. A little scary, sure, but still simple. I didn't think it was going to begin—and possibly end—in a cold, white room in customs at Narita Airport. I imagined swanning through the gates looking fabulous while a sexy soundtrack played. Instead, I wasn't even allowed into the country, and had no idea if I was going to be arrested, deported, or both. And no one looks fabulous after spending ten hours on a plane, and another hour crying hysterically on top of that.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember all the reasons that had brought me to this moment. Something about independence? Or was that what I'd told my family? I couldn't think straight. All I could think about was that what I was doing was completely and utterly crazy, and that was before I even got on a plane.

At first it was just a fantasy. I did some research, sent a few emails, but I'd never actually really considered what would happen if I got any replies. But then Tom had asked me for a Skype interview almost straight away, and the next thing I knew I was telling my family and friends that I was off to Tokyo... though they thought it was because I got a job dancing at Universal Studios. Yeah right. I hadn't even bothered auditioning. But the lie made sense. If my family knew what I was really up to, they would disown me. And I'm not exaggerating.

It wasn't as if I was entirely lying. I was going to Japan after all, and I was going to dance. It shouldn't really matter who was actually employing me. Or what kind of dancing I was actually doing. Though it certainly meant that calling home and asking them what I should do now was completely unthinkable. How could I explain to my friends and family that I'd been locked up by Japanese custom officials because my fake job didn't issue me a fake visa?

My only contact in Japan was Tom, the owner of the Willow Club, and all I had from him was an email saying he'd give me a job on the condition I covered my own travel costs. I could just imagine what would happen if I'd called the number on his email signature telling him I was stuck in customs. He'd probably tell me that I was fired before I even started work, if he answered at all. What did I know about him really anyway? Only that he said I didn't need a visa, and now look where I was. The Willow Club probably didn't even exist. Tom was probably some crazed serial killer who had lured me over just to kill me in a basement somewhere.

For some reason that didn't make me feel any better about my situation.

The officials had confiscated my passport but had left me my suitcase, which was small comfort considering the embarrassment it caused me an hour earlier. Every time I looked at it I wanted to burst into tears all over again. Everything had been going so well up until the customs gate. Considering the lies I'd told to get here, everything was going perfectly. My plane was on time. My flight was good. No one from home had any idea what my real reason for coming to Japan was, and then, before I could even think about the fact that I'd made it, that I was finally doing what I'd wanted to do for so long by betting everything on a dream... the customs gate.

"Visa?" the man at the window had said to me, after I'd shown him my passport.

"Um," I said slowly, "Visa? What do you mean?"