"God this is boring." Amanda McIntyre thought to herself as she reached for another drink.
For the hundredth time, she cursed Jim Peterson for getting sick two days before the trade delegation was to leave for Osaka. Then she cursed her boss, Bill O'Hare who had volunteered her to take Jim's place. Nine days in Japan and she hadn't been included in any discussion of importance. Every day they'd hold meeting after meeting where nothing was really accomplished. Then at night, the men on both sides would go out and survey Osaka's night life. And of course she wasn't included in this male-bonding ritual. Never mind that it was during this hedonistic forays that the real deals were made.
She had considered telling Bill to go to hell, but then she'd be looking for a new job by now. Ever since she had come out last year, Bill O'Hare had made no secret that he didn't want that "dyke", as he always referred to her in private, in his department. He never said or did anything in public that Amanda could prove, but the signs were always there.
Looking at her watch, the 24 year old blonde decided she'd done her bit for the company and started to make for the door. The cocktail party was already gearing down and she knew she wouldn't be missed. Besides, the men were probably already gearing up for their next pornographic excursion.
As she neared the door, she ran into Pete Wilson, the head of their delegation. Her luck was really running in the red today, Pete's view of her was only slightly less antagonistic than Bill O'Hara's.
"Leaving already?" The tall gray bearded man said.
"I have a little headache, I was going to lay down." She lied.
"I see," Wilson said in a disapproving tone. "Well I'm not surprised. It's not like you've been much of a team player on this trip. When we go home tomorrow without the trade agreement, I'm sure your lack of cooperation will be noted."
"Lack of cooperation...?" She asked.
"That's what I said." He replied. "There's not a man on our delegation that wouldn't put it all on the line to get the Japs to sign. Yet when Hitanuma asked you out for drinks, you insulted him by refusing. He's not the type of man who forgives or forgets."
"Wait a second ,buster." Amanda shot back. "No way you're going to pin this one on me. You've never even looked at all the position papers I've submitted. If you did and followed some of their advice, the people here at Hiraizumi Industries might've been more willing to deal. If this agreement falls through it's become of your hard nose non-cooperative negotiation stand. Not because I wouldn't roll over for Mr. Hitanuma. If you wanted a corporate whore, you should've brought your secretary."
With that she turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes burning into her back. Of course Wilson and the others had already agreed to put the blame on her. They'd report that if only she'd have been a little friendlier to the Japs, they'd have gotten the agreement.
"I've been set up." Amanda noted. "It had all been a set up." Jim Peterson had never been sick. It had all been arraigned beforehand. If the mission went sore, it was all that dyke's fault.
Her face flushed with anger as she reached the elevator. "Well fuck them all." She said out loud as she hit the call button. "I'm better off leaving this lousy job anyway."
Amanda took the elevator to the rooftop gardens instead of her room. She needed the night air to clear her head. After about a half hour, she began to regret her earlier outburst. She should've quit this job months ago, at least then it would've been on her own terms. Now as a fired employee, one which was blamed for the failure of a important trade deal, her future prospects would be few.
Lost in thought, she hadn't heard the soft footsteps behind her. When the new arrival finally spoke, Amanda nearly jumped five feet.
"Konbanwa, Amanda san." A soft fluid voice said.
Amanda whirled about to find herself facing a rather attractive Japanese woman. She stood a few inches shorted than Amanda's own five foot six. Her short black hair showed the slightest touches of gray and Amanda guessed her age to be about mid- forties. Of course it was always hard to tell with some oriental women. They looked pretty much the same from thirty to sixty. She wore a bright green cocktail dress which accented her small breasts.
Searching her temporarily hazy memory, Amanda tried to place where she had seen the woman before. She had to have been some executive or other's wife. How else could she have known her name. Try as she could, the young woman just couldn't place her.
The older woman just smiled for a moment, then made a hand motion leading to a large glass door off to the left of the garden.
"Yokoso oide kudasareta, Amanda san." She said as she made an inviting gesture with her hand.
Now seeing that there was an apartment beyond the glass doors, Amanda realized that she had just been invited in. The woman must be married to one of the corporate big wheels to rate a home like this. Reaching the door, she stopped and gasped in amazement at the decor. It was totally western. It could've been a Penthouse on Park Avenue.
"Dozo." The woman said as she again motioned for Amanda to enter.
Once inside, Amanda took a moment to take in her surroundings. Most apartments in Japan were tiny affairs yet just this living room could house an entire family. A large screen TV occupied the far wall, surrounded by a state of the art stereo system. On the nearby piano was a photograph of a younger version of the woman standing next to a much older Japanese man. She didn't recognize the man, he hadn't taken part in any of the trade talks.
The woman said something else that Amanda didn't quite catch. She felt a little foolish not being able to understand. Yet it wasn't her fault that she didn't speak Japanese. Searching her memory for what she hoped were the right words, Amanda said the only Japanese phrase she had been able to memorize.
"Gomen nasai nihon goa hanase masen" She said, hoping that she'd just said she didn't speak Japanese and not some other ridicules remark.
The woman just smiled again and pointed to herself.
