すすきの - July 2012
There are no front desk staff at love hotels. A recording says いらっしゃいませ! and he selects a room via a touch screen panel. At 5:30AM, the hotels were full up so our drunk couple (stabilized by an overdose of red bull and a ration of soba) had to go into a half dozen before finding a room. The long lobby here has booths, the shapes and sounds of two or three people, behind a beaded curtain. There is one room left: top floor, corner suite. They kiss in the elevator. They go inside. She waits while he interacts with a machine set into a panel in the wall by the door. The machine speaks very polite Japanese. She is nervous about the slippers but one set is black and the other pink, and the tataki sunken. Gendered as they are and resting on the elevated floor of the genkan, the objects themselves, as much as the man who sees her hesitation, gesture at her.
The room has two floors. A twisting iron staircase penetrates the foyer. There is a huge jacuzzi tub, a shower with four heads and a tanning bed on this first floor. The toilet is also here on the first floor which is immediately troubling to the drunk woman for whom vomiting is a frequentist probability.
She swings her hips up the stairs in an imaginary fan service tracking shot by Antonioni’s ghost. The second floor has a view, a bed, a couch, a glass coffee table, a big screen tv with karaoke machine, and a sink and mirror equipped with two individually wrapped toothbrushes, hand soap, makeup remover, facial cleanser, moisturizer, hair gel. Everything a woman needs to do herself up after coming undone.
The couple sit together on the couch. They kiss. The man and the woman have an equal number of accessories, which they remove and arrange neatly on the coffee table. Together they have three phones, five bracelets, one necklace, one ring. He smokes a cigarette. She drinks vitaminwater®. They kiss and he unclasps her bra through her dress gracefully with one hand.