(Art: “The Rescue,” by Mai-sensei)
I awoke early for a weekend morning and found myself tucked around Tomo. My attempt to untangle myself without waking him failed, and he opened his eyes. Since he was awake, I ran my fingers through his tousled hair and said, “Are you okay? No more nightmares?”
“No, and you?”
“Nope, that one was enough. Do you want to hear about it?”
He nodded, and I told him my dream.
When I was done, he told me his. “I was in the Katsuzo temple arguing with Kawanami. The usual, something about the importance of social norms. He was irritating me, so I pointed out that he had his kimono on wrong. It was folded like a corpse. He laughed and replied, ‘You’ll be wearing yours like this soon. You and Ume both. Thank HIM for me.’”
“That ticked me off. I hate it when people misgender on purpose. I was so mad that I reached up and shoved him hard in the chest. He swung away for a moment and then rocked back so that his face almost touched mine, like he was going to kiss me. Instead, he whispered, ‘Bitch.’ That was when I realized he was hanging from the rafters by a noose. I was so thankful you screamed just then and woke me.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.” I said.
“It’s okay. Who am I to stand in the way of true love? By the way, your girlfriend is watching us.”
Before rolling over to look, I whispered to him, “Bitch.”
He laughed and said, “It’s not the same when you do it, Bro.”
Shiomi stood in the bedroom doorway, looking blurry-eyed. The oversized T-shirt she was wearing could have been longer. I couldn’t see anything, but it wasn’t hard for me to paint in the details. If she raised her arms any higher, I wouldn’t have to. I found myself actually blushing.
(Art: “Blurry-Eyed,” by Mai-sensei)
Before getting out of bed, I made sure my top covered everything vital.
Tomo grabbed his clothes and scuttled into the kitchen. Shiomi took the hint and returned to the bedroom and dressed in a dove gray sweater dress, heavy tights, and white wooly leggings. I wasn’t sure if she had noticed my discomfort or not. Tomo had for sure, and I would face ribbing about it later.
When Shiomi was done, she joined me, and we sat enjoying our first smoke of the day. I asked if anything had disturbed her, and she responded, “Only you screaming.”
We ate a hurried breakfast. The plan was to set out for Katashina right after eating. We would stop partway there to buy an offering for Mikito-sensei and the temple. Excluding the stop, the trip should take about two and a half hours. Maybe less since weekend traffic should be light. That would give us time to stop for coffee or food.
The sky was gray with dense, low, threatening clouds when we departed. Snow was always possible during this season, but we had none yet and, hopefully, wouldn’t today. Katashina was low enough that we shouldn’t have trouble with snow, but far enough into the mountains that it was a possibility.
Tomo saw us off with a thermos of strong black tea laced with sugar and milk, a container of salted salmon onigiri, and a warning. “Take it easy, especially if the weather gets worse. The tires are old.”
“Yes, Mother.”
We both laughed as I closed the door and we pulled out.
“I envy you,” Shiomi said. She was fiddling with a smoke but hadn’t lit it yet. “I’ve never had anyone like that in my life. Never.”
“And what is Tomo like? I thought he frightened you.”
“He does, but he cares about you. Makes jokes at trouble instead of guilt-tripping you. He even made stuff for our trip. Mika would never have done that. I would’ve had to beg for enough money to buy lunch or even a coffee.”
“Why would you risk that for me?” She continued. “I can tell he doesn’t like me, and I’ve heard you fighting about me. — I wasn’t eavesdropping. The walls are thin.”
There was that question again or something similar. This time, I had an answer. I had been thinking about it. “Because I like you. I’ve always liked you. You said it, I’m the type to fall for idols. You’re interesting. I hate dull people. You can be sweet and charming.”
“And when I’m not, I am the queen of bitches.”
“Things have been rough for you recently, so we should both cut you some slack. Besides, people who have never suffered are boring. No character. Usually self-righteous too.”
“You sure it isn’t just pity? The failed idol, abandoned by her lover, drinking her sorrows away? I mean, you had to tell me to bathe. Lent me clean clothes. You saw my condo. Pitiful. Gross.”
I glanced over. She was looking intently at her unlit cigarette. Her expression was serious, and I got the feeling my answer was important. I hate that kind of question. I’m not good at it. When I try to be glib, I sound insincere. When I am honest, I offend people. But mostly I don’t know what to say.
“I don’t think it’s pity. We met before everything fell apart, and I liked you then. I like you now. I won’t pretend that your story doesn’t make me feel sorry for what you’ve gone through. You’ll just have to take my word that it isn’t pity. I’m not good at expressing this kind of thing.”
I heard the click of a lighter and tobacco crackle as she inhaled the smoke. “Okay. You pass. You may not be good at it, but I don’t have to worry that you’re buttering me up for the slaughter.”
I searched for words. Had I just been damned with faint praise or should be happy I’d passed some personality test? The silence hung a little too long when she fixed the awkward moment, saying, “You want a cig. I’ll light it for you?”
After she had handed me a Pianissimo, she continued, “You want to hear the next part of my story? It’s bad. If you didn’t pity me before, you will after you hear it.”
“Sure,” I said.
*** Ghosting ***
(Art: “Fukitsu Suzume,” by Mai-sensei)
The shift was over and I felt bruised. Being a hostess was like being an idol without the musical high and with the male energy ramped up by a thousand percent. There was no being a goddess from afar. You needed to be up close and personable.
Every minute was agony.
I took out my phone and opened my LIME account. I hadn’t done that since I left the idol agency. No one ever used it except management, and I didn’t want to hear from them.
Shit, there were a lot of messages.
>Mika: What the hell? They just posted you were on hiatus for your health.
>Mika: What’s going on? Can I help?
>Mega: Better call Muira. He’s really steamed you walked out like that.
>Mika: You weren’t going to avoid me! 💢 You promised!
>Mika: Talk to me!
>Mika: What’s going on?
>Mega: Call Muira! He’s all over our case about us letting you run wild.
>Mega: If you don’t care about yourself, think of us.
>Suzu_Official: Call the office. I want to talk to you.
>Mika: What’s going on? I tried to find out where you were from Mega, and she told me that if I saw you to tell you to call the office.
>Mika: I’m coming over.
>Mika: I’m here.
>Mika: Answer the door!
>Mika: Answer the door. Damn it. 💢💢💢
>Mika: I’m going. I’m done with you.
>Mika: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. 💖
>Mika: Where are you? You in the hospital?
>Mika: You’re scaring me.
>Suzu_Official: Are you okay? You didn’t do something stupid, did you?
>Suzu_Official: I’m coming over. You better be there!
>Mega: Call for god’s sake, Muira went to your place and just got back. I’ve never seen him look so mad. I don’t know if you can fix this, but if you don’t call, you’re done for.
>Suzu_Official: I checked your place and called the hospital.
>Suzu_Official: That’s it. You’re done. Don’t bother showing up. You’re never going to work again.
>Mega: I’m sorry. Maybe I should have done more. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.
>Mega: When you feel like it, text me, if only to tell me you’re still alive.
>Mega: PS: Kuma and that woman Mikawa are both frantic. There are people who care about you.
>Mega: Please be alive!
>Mika: They posted that you’re fired. Said they didn’t know where you were. Fukitsu, are you okay?
>Mika: I love you Fukitsu. ♥️♥️♥️Please tell me you’re okay.
>Mika: Please just tell me you’re okay.
>Mika: Fukitsu???
>Mika: I love you. 💘
>Mika: Kuma and I are going to find you.
I stared at the screen. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I don’t want them to see me here. Not now. Not this way.
My finger trembled as I typed a message to Mika.
>>Fukitsu: Don’t Mika. I’m fine. I got a job. Earning a lot of money.
>>Fukitsu: You wouldn’t like it, what I do. Please leave me alone. I love my life now.
I was so lying. Lots of money; Right! Somehow I’d ended up owing my manager, Yamabuki-san, a lot of money for rent, clothes, cigs, booze, etc. The truth? I hated it.
>Mika: You’re alive! Thank God!
>Mika: I love you. 💘
>Mika: I’m going to find you.
I deleted the account and sat staring at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
*** Numata Junction (Ume POV) ***
(Art: “Ume Fumiko,” by Mai-sensei)
When she stopped, I almost said, “I’m sorry,” but I remembered she didn’t want to be pitied. Instead, I said, “You must be very strong to have gotten through all that,” and then winced. It was the kind of patronizing statement that I hated when someone said it to me.
I glanced over at her to see how much damage I had done, but she was staring into space. I guessed she hadn’t heard my comment until she said, “Thanks.”
It didn’t sound sincere. We were obviously both failing at being diplomatic.
I started again, “Actually, it sounds awful. You said you didn’t like men, so I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.”
“I hope you never do. And Ume, I like you better when you just say what you’re thinking. It’s like makeup; Simple, straightforward; it suits you better.”
“I meant it. It must have been dreadful.”
“I know, but the first line was total cringe. ‘Strength,’ give me a break. It’s the sort of tripe Mega would say, but not you.”
I could imagine Tomo calling me out for the same thing, only with humor. But, I wasn’t sure I could be straightforward with Shiomi. Many people say that and when you’re straight with them, they bite your head off. I hadn’t forgotten the things Shiomi had said to me. She was drunk, so maybe I should let them go, but I wasn’t ready for that.
After that, we drove on in silence. Not an awkward silence. It was the kind where people have run out of conversation while driving.
It was around ten-thirty when we arrived at Numata and I got off E17. Shortly thereafter, I pulled into the parking lot of a liquor store with a blue tile front. The bright tiles made it easy to spot in the light fog that lay in the valley.
I turned to Shiomi and explained my selection. “The father of one of my co-workers owns this place. He says they’ll give us a good discount if I mention his name. You want to come in?”
“Better not. I really want a drink, and you know how I get.” She shrugged. “But while you’re shopping, I could go to the 8 PM. I saw one a couple of blocks back, and I can get us some coffee and cigs.”
“Why not come in with me? I’m told they make good miso ramen, and I’ll buy us some with tea. No alcohol or unagi. And I promise not to try to seduce you.”
“Okay, just one.” She laughed. I think that was the first time I had heard her laugh since I’d rescued her. It was nice.
I got out of the car and headed in.
It was early for lunch, but it was chilly, and the ramen would be warm. We sat down at the counter and looked at the offerings. Miso, shoyu, salt ramen, stewed beef tendon, and lots of other things. We didn’t sit long before a wiry, gray-haired man came over and took my order for miso ramen and a mini chashu bowl.
Shiomi hardly looked at her menu and said “Same.”
The counter person was friendly, so I mentioned I worked with Matsuda Hajime, adding, “He recommended your shop and said you might give me a good deal on sake.”
The old man smiled. “Matsuda-san is a good man. I hope he is doing well.”
“He’s well and hopes to visit soon.”
“I’m glad. Tell him I still need someone to run the place for me.”
Still smiling, he left and soon reappeared with our meals and two bottles of sake. He held one out, so I could see the plain white label with the name printed in classic calligraphy, 水上酒. “These are local,” he said. “They have a fine delicate flavor just right for sipping. We have it on sale. Would you like a sample?”
I glanced at Shiomi. She was looking down, intently studying her ramen. “Better not,” I thought. I had promised no alcohol.
“I’ll trust your judgment,” I told the man. As an afterthought, I glanced at the price. It was a little high, but if they were discounting it, I should be okay. “We’ll take two bottles,” I said.
We enjoyed the rest of the meal and I chatted pleasantly with Shiomi. At first, we talked about our favorite foods. Then she asked me about what it was like in the US.
“I kept to myself mainly. Since other Asians might spot I was born male, I avoided them. I still sometimes fall into ‘guy’ speech. Americans were interesting, and very forward. Some seemed to revel in being rude, like it was a virtue.”
I paused and Shiomi said, “They were always polite to me, but I know some fans didn’t like the way they would push to the front of the audience sometimes. — Go on.”
“I studied and wrote poetry and stories; Josei romances. Tomo says I use too many fancy words. I was worse then. Professors said I wrote purple prose.”
That got a smile. I thought, she must think I talk that way, Tomo did.
Then she said, “Tomo sounds like your Americans,” so maybe that was what the smile was about.
“Tomo can be abrupt,” I said, defending Tomo, “but he’s basically a good guy.”
“I can tell. I wish he would be nicer and not glare at me. But go on, what else did you do?”
“I sometimes saw silent movies at an old theater, The Paramount. I liked that. Or I rented classic films from a place called Scarecrow. Humphry Bogart films were the best. You remind me of a woman in them, Lauren Bacall.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She was a bit like Yūko Takeuchi…” And I told Shiomi what I could about Bacall. The movies she had done, her stage presence, her romance with Bogart, etc. Then about other movies and actresses I liked, but after I had finished talking about Bacall, she began looking bored, and the conversation ran out of steam.
When we had almost finished our food, she suddenly said, “I like Bacall. I wish I’d been her.” Then she fell silent again.
I was about to pay when the bottles in the shop began rattling. The floor wavered and my stomach heaved. I grabbed for my purchases and almost knocked them over. Then it was finished, and the ground stopped moving.
The room was silent. Shiomi’s face was white, her hands pressed against the counter. The clerk looked remarkably undisturbed, and I said to him, “Hope, that’s all and not a foreshock.”
“Huh? Yeah, whatever?” He sounded almost like he hadn’t noticed.
“Funny,” I thought, “Why hadn’t I noticed his nose before?” It dominated his face. It was so large it was hard not to stare. Instead, I looked down at the counter. I had spilled change onto it during the earthquake, but what caught my eye were the clerk’s arms. They were heavily tattooed. A snake or dragon curled around the arm closest to me. Strange, I should have noticed this before.
“Before you pay,” the clerk said in a voice deeper than I remembered. “That stuff you bought was already on sale. But I can give you a great deal on this.”
His hands disappeared from sight. When they appeared, there were two more bottles. In bold gold letters, the labels declared the contents to be “Mexican Saquila.” Pictured below the brand name was a wrecked Zero fighter plane amid tall cacti. He turned a bottle, so I could see into the clear liquid. A worm was floating at the bottom.
“Their motto is ‘Mezcal to get wrecked by.’ I don’t know what they were thinking of,” he said.
Neither did I. “Who would drink something like that?” I thought.
As politely as possible, I said, “I think I’ll pass.”
“Your loss.”
I paid for the meal and the local bottles of sake and got ready to leave.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw one of these in for free since you bought those other two bottles. If you don’t want to drink it, give it to Matsuda-san.”
“Thank you,” I muttered and left, stepping out into a fog that had grown deeper while we ate. As soon as I was outside, I turned to Shiomi, saying, “That was weird.”
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Note:
That date seemed to go well, at least the part with Umi and Shiomi.
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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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