Free Girl in a Box by Sujata Massey Page A

full.”
    Regular positions full. To think she’d called me just to turn me down—what a disappointment.
    â€œOh, I’m sorry to hear that. I was really, really hoping.” My voice broke off. I wanted to cry.
    â€œWhat we can offer girls with your experience, these days, is contract work. It’s on a six-month basis and doesn’t include benefits, outside the shopping discount.”
    â€œOh! But I’m interested in that!” I said, stumbling over my Japanese in excitement.
    â€œDo you really think so?” Ms. Aoki sounded doubtful. “Well, I suppose you should come in for an interview, though I should warn you there is a group of fifty we’re looking at, and only five positions, at least for the Ginza store.”
    â€œI’d be honored to interview. Is there anything I should bring with me, please?”
    â€œWe have your application, so there’s really nothing more needed. We just want to see and talk to you. Friday is our scheduled day. What hour are you available to come in?”
    â€œAfternoon. Late afternoon, if you don’t mind.” I prayed that this wouldn’t make me sound slothful, but flights from the United States typically arrived at noon or later. If I couldn’t get a flight on Wednesday night and had to go on Thursday, I’d still have a few hours’ cushion to reach the store, but I didn’t like to take chances.
    â€œFour o’clock, then.” She paused. “We’ll see you then. Please be punctual, because others will be waiting.”
    I thanked her profusely and rang off. It was too late to go home, by this point; and besides, I had plenty of things to do.

8
    Something soft was tickling my lower back. It was a delicious, sexy feeling, like a cashmere massage. Every nerve ending on my body awoke, slowly and deliciously. I savored the feeling, wondering why I’d been so freaked out by the Korean beauty salon. Whatever Dora and her friends were doing to my back was really nice.
    Blearily, I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a nubby beige sofa armrest. I was crashed out on the sofa in the OCI office, and Michael Hendricks was laying his cashmere overcoat over me like a blanket.
    â€œSorry.” He jumped back, looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just thought you might be cold.”
    â€œI meant to take a catnap.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I have so much to do!”
    â€œYou never went home?” Michael’s expression darkened. “Next time you’re going to do something crazy, clear it with me first.”
    â€œI got the interview,” I said.
    Michael caught his breath, then said, “When?”
    â€œFriday, which means I have to leave this afternoon or evening, if I’m going to have a day before the meeting. Do you think I’ll be able to fly on such short notice?”
    â€œCertainly. I’ll drive you to Dulles myself. You go home and get your passport and the rest. I don’t know when you’re going to have time to look at this file—” He held a manila folder labeled “Farraday,” and I grabbed it.
    â€œI’ll do it in the car. Oh, God, I don’t know if I can do a whirlwind pack-out like last time—”
    â€œTravel light! Remember, you’ll take nothing with you that seems like it was bought outside Japan, from the bag itself down to your socks and underwear.” He reddened slightly after the last sentence, as if he’d forgotten whom he was speaking to.
    â€œI don’t wear socks, Michael. I wear stockings.” I stretched out my legs, which happened to be covered in fashionable, flesh-tone fishnet.
    â€œSo you’ll be able to pack yourself up while I take care of your ticket?” Michael was looking at my legs as if seeing them for the first time.
    â€œYes, but I don’t know what I’m going to do about the apartment and my mail and everything like