Read United States of Japan for Free Online Page B

handling my drinks.” He ordered a cup of water. “Thanks for your help. If you could help me grab a taxi, I’d be doubly grateful.”
    She held his hand. “How old are you?”
    “Almost forty.”
    “You’re cute for a forty year-old man.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Guess.”
    “I’m too drunk to guess and I don’t want to offend you,” Ben said.
    “Offend me?”
    “Today is a strange day and my social graces are at their worst.”
    “Every day is a strange one for me. Don’t worry. You’re too old to offend me,” she said, which stung and sobered him at the same time.
    “I’m not that old.”
    “I’ll help you grab a taxi.”
    She assisted him outside. There were no taxis in sight, just the sinews of indigo from neon signs and a flood of cars drifting in masochistic yearning, engines silent from the electricity that quietly fueled them. They all drove on the right side, even though that was usually an island custom.
    “Do those rings on your nose hurt?” Ben asked.
    “They’re very comfortable. I feel naked without them.”
    “You take them off when you’re performing, right?”
    “I wear a different mask then. Do you always talk so much?”
    “Only to strangers,” Ben replied.
    “I don’t like men who talk too much.”
    “Why not?”
    “I just don’t.”
    “You sound irritated.”
    She shook her head. “I was hoping you were the quiet type.”
    “Why’s that?”
    She shrugged. “Most older men I’ve met are boring.”
    “Guilty. Especially tonight,” he said, remembering the ceremony, then Claire. “Thanks for your help.”
    “Sure. See you around.” She took out her portical and started playing a game as she walked away. He recognized the music.
    “You’re playing Honor of Death ?” Ben called out.
    She turned around. “You know it?”
    “I play every game for my job.”
    “Are you any good?”
    “Not bad.”
    “No one has ever beaten me in combat.”
    “If I wasn’t so drunk, I could change that,” Ben said. “I know all the cheats, could show you a bunch of them.”
    “Nice try.”
    She walked away, absorbed in her game.
    Ben called Tiffany, but her portical was turned off. He sent her a message: “Hope you’re having more fun than I am.” He checked the time. It was already 4:22am. Just a few hours until work. The alcohol made him feel like the stump of a person, cauterized, then stitched together, a mannequin held by flimsy bandages. He relinquished himself to a motel, treading his way towards collapse. A taxi happened to pass by, which he waved down.
    He thought of Claire again. She’d been like a sister to him, nobler, more honorable, resisting the weaker, easier path of disillusionment. The flaring conflagration of her idealism had been so pure, even the sun would have been burnt by it. He gave his address to the cab driver who asked, “Long night?”
    He would have answered if he wasn’t already asleep.
                                  8:39AM
    The alarm wouldn’t stop ringing, even though he tried to shut it off four times. What’s the point of getting up early? he thought to himself. It annoyed him to remember the toasts for the newly promoted. He threw his blanket off and got up from bed.
    Ben lived in a spacious townhouse full of old American paintings. The white walls were covered with portraits of cowboys, dead soldiers, and dinosaurs – all USJ officers got their pick of American art. His wood floors were pristine and he walked down a flight of stairs to his kitchen where breakfast was prepared by his maid, an old Chinese woman. He sipped on his miso soup, took a bite of his bacon, and ate two rolls of cucumbers. He switched into the standard blues of all foreign services in the United States of Japan. His maid said, “You need to eat more.”
    “The weight scale disagrees,” he replied, patting his belly and steadying himself against the counter. His head was spinning. “Can you get me a cup of water?”
    He