A personal adventure that haunts me
“You have a job in Saipan,” my agent, Satoru, announced when I walked into his Tokyo office on a spring day in 1981. Short in stature and equally as round, the head of my Japanese modeling agency was the spitting image of a bespectacled Buddha. Peering over his wire-rimmed glasses, with a beatific smile plastered on his face, and his folded hands resting on a jelly belly, he looked as pleased as if he had just handed me the secret to enlightenment, instead of a modeling assignment.
“When?’ I asked.
He picked up a packet on his desk and handed it to me. “Tomorrow.”
“Who’s the client?”
“Luggage company.”
“How many days?”
“Five. Three days’ work, two days’ travel.”
“How much?”
“360,000 yen.”
I quickly calculated. $1,600 divided by five comes to $325 a day. Not bad, but not great.
As if he could read my mind, Satoru gave a little laugh, which sounded more like a squeak followed by a hiccup. “Client has a budget. He cannot pay more. But you stay in a luxury hotel. Easy job shooting luggage and bags.”