Divorce Laywers

“I want a divorce.”  Said the attractive blonde seated at the table next to me. I tried not to eavesdrop but she made her point loud and clear. I looked up from my menu and watched as she viciously eyed the two men seated in front her.

“That’s out of the question” said one of the well-dressed men in front of her. “It is a dishonor to me and my family. You American’s may not think much of it, but we Japanese are not so free in our morals as you.”

“Bullshit” remarked the woman, challenging them with her eyes. “Japanese men are like everyone else. You don’t want a wife. You want a slave. So I’m telling you and your hotshot lawyer here that I’m going to get my divorce and half of everything you own. Welcome to America Nakito.”

Damn. She was really letting them have it. I kind of felt sorry for the guy. One of the men turned to look at me and I quickly glanced back to my menu. I could feel him staring at me and for some reason it made my blood run cold. Thankfully my waitress appeared and asked if I was ready to order.

Just as I had expected, she spoke to me in English. Much to my mothers chagrin, my Japanese heritage didn’t show very much. Most people assumed that I was full blooded, red, white, and blue. I could almost hear my mothers voice now.

Hiro you too much English, too much American Idol.

I can’t stand American idol. But that’s why I’m here at this fine Japanese restaurant, to work on my Japanese heritage. I decided to order in English, I could always understand Japanese better than I could speak it.

“I’ll start with an order of sushi rolls.”

“Would you care for anything to drink?” she asked politely. Now this is the kind of woman my mother would just love for me to bring home. Pretty, well-spoken, and Japanese.”

Hiro, no bring home American trash. You marry nice Japanese girl.
She forgets that she married and American G.I. Joe herself.

“Just a glass of water…Please.” She smiled a headed back toward the kitchen, but not before giving the blonde a look that could stop death in its tracks. 

I tried to keep my attention away from the table next to me, but it wasn’t easy. The gentleman I had come to realize was the lawyer looked at the all-American girl with contempt

“Mrs. Masaaki.” He said in a slow, deliberate voice “My client has made it clear to me that this is unacceptable. If you persist things could get… messy.”  The stench of his veiled threat hung in the air like rotten sushi. The blonde stared at him in disbelief.

“Save your threats Tanaka. I put up with your client here for three long years. I’m done. Do you get it? I want out. End of story.”

Tanaka was about to respond when the waitress appeared carrying a tray topped with platters of exotic smelling foods. She stopped at the table where the woman and the too men sat. Tanaka said something quickly in Japanese that I couldn’t make out.  The waitress gave him a slight nod then gently placed the food in front of each person, serving the men first then the woman.  When she served the woman she gave Tanaka just he slightest of nods and said something in Japanese that I couldn’t possibly have interpreted correctly.  I interpreted it as enjoy your last meal.

I guess my Japanese sucks all-around.

When she was done she approached my table and laid an elegant platter of sushi rolls before me.

“Do you need anything else?” She asked.

“No. Thank you.”  She left without another word.

The sushi rolls were heavenly. Every bite was a magnificent symphony of texture and flavor. I had all but forgotten the drama at the table next door when a loud crash snapped me back to reality. The woman had fallen to the floor in a shower of broken dishes. She lay convulsing, foaming at the mouth.  I started to move to help but a hard stare from Tanaka kept me frozen in place. He spoke to the husband without ever taking his eyes off me. Slowly, it seemed, so I would understand.

“My restaurant serves the finest puffer-fish Mr. Masaaki. But if it’s not prepared just right, it can be deadly. Your divorce is now settled.”

I decided not to finish my sushi-rolls.