elite

The man who was introduced to me as a prospective marriage partner yesterday was part of the elite. 

The last part of his academic record, "Graduated from Tokyo University," came as no surprise. 

"Sorry for coming from such a low-end school," he told me, but the way he played with a ginkgo leaf between his fingers as he spoke made his real meaning apparent. 

The two of us sat on a public park bench and talked about ourselves.  

I narrowed my shoulders from feeling a little cold, and he removed his coat and draped it over me. Of course, it had the Burberry logo on the inside.

His father was an executive at the New Japan Steel corporation. I could tell that just by my woman's intuition; it instantly popped into my head. 

"You're certainly clever," he laughed. He was pretty perceptive himself. 

I'm the kind of person who can pick up on gossip at beauty parlors.

Elite though he was, bragging about that sort of thing really wasn't his style.

He was more the type to nonchalantly walk up to someone at the Tsubaki House disco club and ask: "Would you like to have a marriage interview with me?"

His car was a Mercedes-Benz.

The key holder had the Benz logo on it, so I asked him: "A Mercedes-Benz?"

"Yes, a Benz," he said.

He and I talked for what seemed like forever about our love of Shakespeare. He was telling me that he preferred the young Olivia Hussey.  

"Don't tell me I'm going too far," he said, as he reached for my body.

His naked self looked even more elite than when he was wearing clothes.

There, on his back where he was so carefully trying to hide, was the word "ELITE" tattooed in giant letters.

-i