So you’re in Tokyo, where everything you see is a hodge-podge and people rush around as if they’re perennially late. You wait in your room at the Westin Hotel Tokyo for his call. The sun sets over the city, suffusing everything with a golden glow that fills you with anticipation. Just who is this John Rain? What’s he like? It’s your first blind date in a decade.

The phone rings, a subdued trill that matches the room.“Welcome to Tokyo,” a voice says, quiet but edged with steel. Gooseflesh comes up on your arms. “Leave your hotel by the front door and walk through Ebisu Garden Place. I’ll meet you along the way.”

You pick the subtlety of Zen to go with your gray silk sheath. Single pearls from Mikimoto in your ears. A delicate gold chain about your neck. A glance in the mirror on the way out earns yourself a smile. The hours of aerobics give meaning to your silhouette.

Outside the hotel, you choose the walkway between the Mitsukoshi Department Store and the Garden Place Tower. “I always have liked Zen,” comes the quiet voice in your ear as you pass the Beer Station. “Walk straight to the taxi stand, please, as if you were alone.” You turn slightly to look at the man, but there’s no one there. Still, you do as he says. When you get to the stand, a taxi opens its rear door for you. Inside, against the far rear door, sits a man dressed in charcoal gray, his face in the shadows.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He smiles, a slight uplifting of a well-formed mouth. His eyes glitter. “I thought we’d go to Alfie. Do you like jazz, or would country music be more your style? Jazz is wonderful, you say, wondering if this sprawling city of swarming Japanese really has a place where the players can get down and dirty. “Alfie’s what they call a ‘live house’ here in Japan,” he said. “It’s just a small place, and only the true jazz lovers go there. Mostly trios and quartets play.”