(Art: “The Rescue,” by Mai-sensei)
“Did I think the earthquake was weird? No. I’m glad it wasn’t worse.” Shiomi said as we exited the Numata café.
That wasn’t what I meant. Though the earthquake added to my unease, my concern lay elsewhere, but before I could clarify my question, she reached out and grabbed my arm. She had an earnest look on her face, so I stopped next to the car door to hear what she had to say.
“Thank you; it has been a long time since anyone bought me a meal and I had a pleasant time.” She was smiling, looking happier than I had seen her for a long time. The look transcended cute. She was stunning.
“You welcome,” I said, a little flustered. It seemed such a small thing and raised a new question: Had my buying her ramen been that special? Surely she had some pleasant memory of Mikawa; of times they had spent together. And if she hadn’t, why was she so keen on rejoining Mikawa?
My original question about what had just happened was of immediate concern, so I asked it as soon as we were in the car. “No, I wasn’t asking about the earthquake. Did you notice the counter person? The man that I paid didn’t seem like the one who served us. Did you see a shift change? I didn’t.”
“I didn’t notice. Why?”
“The guy I paid looked odd. He had a huge, long nose and tattoos. He reminded me of a yankii biker. The old guy who served us seemed nice, and I noticed nothing like that.”
I took out the “saquila,” and showed it to her. “And this sake, he practically forced it on me. Who would drink something with a maggot in it?”
“Owweee, that’s disgusting,” she said, wrinkling her nose. It was so cute. Her, not the bottle.
“I’d have to be desperate or very drunk to drink that,” she added. Then continued, “Honestly, I saw nothing. The earthquake shook me up, and I wasn’t looking. You seem to be a magnet for weird things. They’ve always happened to me, but since I met you, the number and intensity have increased dramatically.”
I started the car and pulled out onto the road while thinking that the kettle was calling the pot black.
Our route left the expressway, and we headed up 401. It was a straight shot to the village of Katashina. I could drive it on autopilot, so I thought it was a good time to ask my other question. “You asked me to be straight with you. So, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.” Not surprisingly, her response was tentative.
“Frankly, Mikawa-san doesn’t sound like a nice person. She messed up your life, blackmailed you, and treated you like shit later. Why would you want to go back to her?”
I didn’t know what to expect: a scathing reply, a defense of Mikawa, being told to mind my own business, or something else. At first what I got was silence, then the sound of her lighting a smoke. She took a drag and slowly exhaled before replying. “A good question. I think you’ll understand when I tell you the next part of my story.”
*** Hakuboran (Shiomi Shiori POV) ***
(Art: “Fukitsu Suzume,” by Mai-sensei)
I smiled at the joke. True, he had told me the same gag, exactly the same way, last week, but it was my job as a hostess. I took a sip of my tea. My client had ordered me a Reggae Punch, but it was just oolong tea. Yamabuki, my boss, was all about profits, and my client, Hashimoto-san, was cheap. Besides, things happened when I drank too much.
This guy was so full of himself that he didn’t even notice I was bored silly. He had a pretty ex-idol on his arm that listened without complaint to his stupid jokes and thrice-repeated stories. That was good enough for him.
Yamabuki said I was lucky to have Hashimoto-san. That I sucked at my job. The next step for me was working in front of a camera. I was so hollow I wondered if I would even be visible to a camera.
There were other options. Worse clubs where I would be expected to provide “personal services” for clients or outright prostitution. But I refused to consider those options. My skin crawled at the thought of men touching me that way.
“Want to go to the Star Bow show this weekend?” Hashimoto-san said. That got my attention.
Star Bow was a kirakira unit, not my kind of idols, but the audience’s energy would be good. I gave him a genuine smile. “That would be wonderful. I would love it.” He had taken me to see another idol unit, Secret Garden, and it had been a blast. Afterwards, we went for drinks and food. I had learned my lesson by then and had kept my drinking to a minimum. There had been no “incidents.”
Not that night, at least. I briefly flashed back to a scene of drunkenly screaming obscenities at a client who kept touching me. Fortunately, Hashimoto interrupted my thoughts.
“Here, I got you these,” and he handed me a rainbow-colored package tied with ribbon. When I opened it, I found some Star Bow branded light pens. I would have preferred some cigs, but I’d make use of the lights at the show. He would probably enjoy watching me. That made me smile. It would almost be like the old days with stans’ eyes glued to me.
“Would you like a cigarette?” I asked. What I meant was I would like one.
I never got an answer because just then there was a disturbance toward the front of the club.
I could hear some woman loudly demanding, “I want to see Hakuboran!” That was my work name, but who could be demanding to see me?
“Please,” I thought, “don’t make a scene. I don’t need more grief.”
Yamabuki was saying something, but the woman’s voice cut her off. God, was some jealous wife raising a stink about the money her husband spent on me? Not Hashimoto though. He looked upset at the disturbance, but not like a husband about to be confronted by an outraged wife.
I heard from the front, “I don’t care. You don’t want a scene, then you get her out here.”
Wait, I knew that voice. How had Mika tracked me here? How ever she had done it, there was going to be trouble.
Then another voice, “Buddy, you don’t want to try that!” It was Kuma, the stan from the club. There was a threat in his booming voice. I could imagine him staring down the bouncer.
As I looked toward the front, I saw Yamabuki beckon. “I’m going to hear about this later,” I thought.
“Sorry,” I told Hashimoto, “I’ll try to be back as quickly as possible. I have no idea what this is about. If I can’t, I’ll meet you at ‘Matsumoto’s Backdoor’ before the show.”
As I walked off, I could see the sour look on his face. I’d need a good story for him by the time I came back or when we met. Maybe I could say it was someone I owed money to. I knew some of the women did that to get bigger tips or outright gifts.
That was if Mika didn’t get me fired again. I may not have liked this job, but it was better than anything else I was qualified for.
“You know this woman?” A furious Yamabuki asked me as soon as I arrived up front.
I almost said, “Yeah, she got me fired from my last job,” but thought better of that. No point in letting Yamabuki in on how much trouble this person might be.
Instead, I addressed Mika. “Hello, Mikawa-san. Can’t you see I’m working now? I’ll LIME you later.”
I stood so Yamabuki couldn’t see my face, so I mouthed, “Please, go away.”
Kuma looked like he might leave, but Mika ignored my request. She looked determined, but she had no idea who she was facing. Yamabuki had grim shadows following her, the fruit of evil deeds. Some days they would drag her off to hell, but for the moment they only served as a warning that Yamabuki wasn’t a person to be messed with.
“You call this work,” Mika continued, unaware. “I told you I would take care of you. You don’t have to do stuff like this.”
I almost froze. Mika was digging me deeper. Outside romantic relationships were every bit as poisonous in this profession as for an idol. If clients suspected you were in a relationship, they would drop you dead.
But I did some quick thinking. I had to keep this job.
“I’ve told you before, you don’t have any claim on me. Besides, I have debts to pay. Yamabuki has been generously helping while I got back on my feet.” That was a nice way of saying she had taken advantage of me by paying my rent, buying me suitable clothes, covering my bar tab, and keeping me in cigs. There was the understanding I would work it off. Turned out, I was a terrible investment.
“How much do you owe?” Mika pressed on.
“Three hundred thousand yen,” I muttered. Not so much it would be impossible to pay, but it would take me a while. Especially if Mika blew up this client of mine. He didn’t tip well, but the cigarettes and small envelopes of money were keeping me afloat, so I didn’t need to borrow more money.
She turned to Yamabuki. “I’ll pay you what she owes.”
“What?” I thought. “This is getting out of hand.” Mika was a loose cannon, and she was careening around my life.
Yamabuki didn’t bat an eye and replied, “Four hundred thousand, and you can have her.”
I almost protested, but one look at Yamabuki convinced me my desires had no bearing on the situation. Anything I said would only make things worse. Kuma looked as bewildered as I was. Kuma had probably come along with a desire to help me, but hadn’t bargained on anything like this.
Mika was unphased though, “I don’t have that. I only have three-fifty, but I can have that for you tomorrow, tax-free.”
“Three-fifty now and ten-thousand a month for a year. And if you’re late by even one day, I take the girl back and no refunds.”
I’m not good with math, but that didn’t sound right, but it didn’t bother Mika.
“Sure, ten thousand. Half on the third and 18th of each month. I get all her things, clothes, makeup. I’ll have the money for you tomorrow.”
“You got yourself a girl. She wasn’t good at her job, anyway. Pretty as sin, but a bad attitude and cursed. Some clients say they see things when she is around.”
“You should have given me a discount.”
“You already got the discount, so no chance. She’s getting better and I’m not superstitious. But take my advice, keep her away from the sauce.”
I followed Mikawa meekly out of the club. There’s nothing like being sold to make you feel worthless. Kuma’s looks of pity didn’t help. He offered before disappearing, “If you need help, please call. I miss you, Fukitsu.”
If he’d been a woman, I might have taken my chances with him. But he wasn’t, and I hated to think what would happen if Yamabuki didn’t get her money. Instead, I watched him walk off and wondered if I would ever see him again. I would miss his silly grin and bucket hat.
I turned to Mika and ventured, “Guess you own me now.”
She didn’t deny it and only said, “Yeah.”
*** Jinshin Baibai (人身売買) (Ume POV) ***
(Art: “Ume Fumiko,” by Mai-sensei)
“See, she rescued me,” Shiomi said.
“Yabia…” I started protesting, but she cut me off.
“Life with Mika wasn’t so bad. We had a wonderful house. She paid off all my bills. If any guy started getting fresh, she dealt with it. If I couldn’t decide about something, she would do it. Mika never hit me. She was loyal. She never abandoned me. No matter what I said or did, Mikawa was always there. She is the only one. Then Mika got sick, and…”
There was a pause, and I thought, “And she died.”
Shiomi resumed finishing her sentence, “…and they took her away. — I owe her.”
She wasn’t ready to confront that Mikawa was dead yet, I thought. But I couldn’t see how she owed Mikawa anything. Mikawa had stalked, blackmailed, ruined her life, and then… “She bought you!” I exploded. “Didn’t she ever deny it?”
In a voice I almost couldn’t hear, she whispered, “No. She never did.”
I would have protested more, but yellow flashing lights appeared ahead out of the fog.
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Note:
What a sweet woman Mikawa-san was.
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Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
Mastodon: sakurajima.moe
WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance
Art by Mai-sensei
Twitter: @Maiisheree
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