Notes: This is probably one of the most original Aoki/Karen fics out there (not that that's a difficult title to gain, considering there really aren't very many of them ~~;;;). Most fics about them deal with the issue of his wife and daughter as opposed to his relationship with Karen; mine simply asks, what if the wife and kid never existed? ^___^ It's written from Aoki's POV, and you may think he is a bit out of character, because for some reason his voice ended up coming off as more smartass and sarcastic than I had planned. ^^;;; OK, I've babbled enough. Enjoy and leave C&C! ^_^

Little Lies
by Kerianne H.

Chapter One

The moment that Ikaru Shimako entered my office, I knew that whatever was about to happen could only end badly.

Er... excuse me, Aoki-sama, but...

No one ever calls me unless they want something. And, taking into account the kicked-puppy expression on this particular mangaka's face, it was going to be something horrible. However, since I am a really nice guy, I simply smiled brightly and said Yes, Ikaru-san?

If I may be so bold as to ask you for a very important favor... She squirmed, face heating up.

I braced myself. Go ahead.

I need you to go to a soapland for me.

Definitely. This was definitely going to end badly, I thought, desperately trying to fight down the blush I could tell was working its way into my cheeks.

Ikaru refused to meet my eye, face flaming bright red at this point. Would... would you?

... Why? I managed to choke out.

Well... you see... I want to set a few scenes of my new manga in a soapland... and I think an interview with a soapland mistress would add a layer of realism to it that I couldn't get on my own...

So why don't you go yourself? The thought of me setting foot in a soapland... I found myself running nervous fingers through my hair, picturing myself being dragged into one of those dens of depravity. God only knew what could happen to a respectable, unassuming man like me in that sort of place!

Ah... well, there are a few reasons for that, really. She was sweet-talking me now, all big innocent eyes and soft plaintive voice. First of all, I've heard that the women who work in those places aren't really willing to talk to other women...

What's the other reason?

She coughed, looking away again. Well, you must admit it would look a little odd... for a woman like me to be seen in a place like that...

Apparently she thought I'd fit right in, then. I was almost offended. My mind raced as I tried to come up with some kind of excuse. Er... why don't you ask one of the other men to do it, then? Why me? is what I wanted to say, but somehow I doubted that would go over too well.

Suddenly she looked doubly embarrassed. I thought you would be a good choice because... ah... well... you wouldn't get... distracted... as some of the others might...

I frowned, not quite understanding. You mean...

Well... you are... um... gay... aren't you?

For the second time that day, I found myself speechless.

I'm sorry, did I say something wrong--

I closed my eyes. No, Ikaru-san. Nothing at all. I'll do it.

* * * * *

And that is how I found myself standing in the middle of one of Tokyo's most low-class districts, in front of a small, dingy building with a flickering neon sign that read Flower.

I'm sure by now you're wondering why I didn't just tell the mangaka where to shove her little idea. Believe me, I was wondering the very same thing as I stood there in front of that building, trying to force my feet to move me through the doorway. There I was, dressed up in my best brown suit, hair neatly combed, briefcase and files under one arm, just begging for some half-dressed immoral woman to pounce upon me and force me to carry out any number of her perverted desires.

Well, okay, maybe I was overstating the situation a little. Still, at that moment, I would have preferred to be nearly anywhere else but in front of that little building called Flower.

A man walking by on the street whistled and gave me a thumbs-up. Good luck, buddy! They say your first time's always the best, he said with a wink, probably noting my nervous demeanor and taking me for a first-time customer.

I decided maybe I had better just go inside and get it over with.

The inside of the building wasn't quite as bad as I had expected. If you ignored the two scantily clad women who welcomed me as I walked through the door, or the nude statues generously scattered around as decoration, it almost looked like some sort of hotel lobby. The woman at the front desk was polite and accomodating. She was also wearing clothing, which was a plus.

How may I help you, sir?

I coughed, realizing that a thousand businessmen much like me had probably stood at this counter with intentions to do a lot more than simply speak to the girls who waited beyond the service desk. Er... I'm Aoki Seiichirou from Kadokawa Shoten... I'm here for an interview?

She shuffled through some papers, then looked back up at me and smiled. Ah, yes, Aoki-san. I've chosen one of our most experienced girls to speak to you. She's waiting for you in room number 4.

Maybe it was the most experienced comment, maybe it was the she's waiting for you part, but something about that introduction didn't exactly set me at ease. I managed to keep from blushing too badly as I took the key from the woman's hand. She smiled in an almost understanding way, and pointed out the hallway that led to the rooms.

My mind raced with possibilities as I slowly made my way down the unlit hallway. What was it like to interview a prostitute? What if the girl didn't realize I was only here for an interview? What if she tried to--

There it was. 4, a small gold plate proclaimed on the otherwise blank white door. It didn't look like a den of depravity. It looked like the outside of every hotel room I'd ever stayed in. But the thought of what was behind it was enough to make my knees weak with nervousness.

Closing my eyes, drawing a deep breath, I placed my hand on the cool gold doorknob. It took every inch of courage I had to twist that doorknob and open the door, but I'm somewhat proud to say that I managed to do it.

The first thing I noticed was a rush of sweet-smelling perfume. It wasn't cheap or overpowering, just... nice. Like roses. I almost relaxed.

Then I opened my eyes.

And blinked in confusion. It didn't just look like a hotel room on the outside, it looked like one on the inside too. Well, it was a little small, and most hotel rooms didn't have a bathtub in the middle of the bedroom, but it certainly didn't look like a place where twisted sex acts went on at all hours of the day. There weren't even any whips or chains or torture devices. I almost went back out into the lobby and asked the woman if she was sure she'd sent me to the right place-- maybe this was the employees' lounge or something.

Then I heard the voice.

Please come in, sir...

She sounded nothing like I'd expected her to sound. Sure, there was a little seduction in her voice, but it didn't make me feel as if I were about to be pounced upon the moment I stepped through the door. So, since I figured I had nothing to lose by doing so, I walked in.

I noticed two things right away. There was a bed, and she was sitting on it.

She smiled. Hello, would you like to sit down? Make yourself at home.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard her words. The rest of me was pretty much focused on staring at her. I had pictured a little blonde underaged temptress, or an older woman with heavy makeup and frizzy hair and a desperate need to hang on to her youth.

The woman before me was neither of those things. She was... beautiful. Really beautiful, in a way that wasn't cheap or promiscuous at all, despite the fact that she was wearing skimpy lingerie and a seductive smile. Her eyes were golden, and her hair was a light red, curled around her face in a perfectly tousled style. She seemed a little surprised to see me, too. I guess I wasn't what she had expected either, because we both took a moment to look each other over.

After a while, the intelligent part of my brain kicked back in, and I realized I looked like a real idiot standing there gaping. Stepping forward quickly, I offered my hand to her. I'm Aoki Seiichirou from Kadokawa Shoten. Editor of Asuka magazine.

She smiled slowly, taking my hand with a firm but gentle grip and shaking it. An editor, hmm? I used to read shoujo manga when I was younger...

I realized that she was probably around my age-- in her thirties. She didn't quite look her age, but there was a mature air about her that most women in their twenties didn't seem to have. Not that I was any sort of expert on women.

It's nice to meet you, Aoki-san, she said, interrupting my thoughts. If you'll excuse me, I'll get everything set up...

She was already halfway across the room when the words finally sank in. I sputtered.

The woman turned back to me with a surprised expression. I... I think there's been a mistake, I explained hurriedly. I'm not here for... you know... services... /Oh God, please kill me now./

An amused smirk crossed her face. Well, what are you here for, then?

I had the most mortifying feeling that she thought I was playing some sort of game, or just being shy. I... I'm here to interview you. For Asuka. I mean, for a manga in Asuka.

Really... an interview... I've never been interviewed before. She smiled. It should be an interesting experience. Why don't you come and sit down, then?

I breathed a slight sigh of relief, then took it back when I realized where she wanted me to sit. Next to her. On the bed.

You're awfully nervous, aren't you? she noted, sitting down so close to me that our legs were nearly touching. Have you ever been to a soapland before?

I shook my head vehemently, and she laughed. You don't seem like the type. That's why I looked so surprised when you arrived.

What is the type?

Well, for one thing, you're too handsome. Most men who come here are here for a reason-- namely, because they can't get a respectable woman to cater to their needs. I don't think you have that problem, though. She winked at me.

I cleared my throat and lied smoothly. Oh, no... not at all. /I just haven't had a date in nearly a year, that's all,/ piped up that little taunting mental voice that always seemed to turn up at the worst possible time. I did my best to ignore it.

So most men who come here are either old, fat, bald, ugly, or some combination thereof. I must say, it's refreshing to spend some time with an attractive, respectable man like you.

I couldn't figure out if she was flirting with me or just buttering me up. Either way, I wasn't taking the bait. I was here for an interview and nothing more. Arranging my notepad on my lap, I looked down at the list of questions I had hurriedly prepared. How long have you worked here?

I've only been working here at Flower for three years, but I've been in the soapland business since I was eighteen, she responded, without a trace of bitterness in her voice. I'm nearly thirty now.

That's... a long time, I murmured, feeling a sudden rush of compassion for this woman and what she might have become had she not found herself stuck here at such a young age.

She shrugged, smiling a little. It's not so bad, as jobs go. The pay's not terrible. At least I'm making a living. She stopped, and frowned. I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Kasumi Karen.

Nice to meet you, Kasumi-san, I responded automatically.

Please, call me Karen. She smiled warmly. Formality isn't my style.

All right... Karen-san... I couldn't help leaving the honorific on, considering formality was my style.

Karen laughed softly. Karen-san... I like it.

I found myself smiling back at her, and realized with a start that I was actually feeling rather relaxed. Remembering where I was, and who this woman really was, I quickly collected myself and went back to the interview.

After only a few questions, I knew everything I needed to know for the mangaka. Karen clearly liked to talk-- it didn't seem like she had many friends, and I got the feeling she was a little starved for companionship. It was quite disconcerting to realize that this dreaded woman of loose morals was nothing more than a human being in a bad situation. I was identifying with her far too much. It was time to leave.

Well, I think I've got all the information I need-- I said, beginning to stand up.

Good. Then you won't mind if I ask you a few things about yourself in return. Her eyes sparkled. It's only fair.

I hesitated, then sat back down. All right, but only a few. Meanwhile, the sane part of my mind was screaming at me to get out while I still could. I ignored it.

Oh, it won't take long. In fact, now that I think of it, I really only have one question for you... Would you like to go out to dinner sometime? She looked straight into my eyes, and I felt the beginnings of butterflies in my stomach. I guess I took too long to respond, because she quickly continued, I won't look like this, of course. I actually do own respectable clothing. If anyone asks, you can tell them I'm a secretary or something. It's just that... I don't meet men like you every day... and I can't just let you leave without taking a chance and asking you...

She was still staring into my eyes. It had an almost hypnotic effect. I was finding it very difficult to think, so I just opened my mouth to speak, and what came out was...

I'm married.

Her face fell visibly. she said in a reserved tone, .... oh.

I'm sorry... I said in a distracted voice. I couldn't believe that such an utterly, completely bald-faced lie had come out of my mouth. I couldn't possibly have been any further from married. I hadn't even had a steady girlfriend in over a year. But now the damage was done, and she was sure to want to know more about my supposed wife, and I was going to have to come up with some kind of story.

Yes... her name is... My mind immediately raced through the names of every female I knew, finally settling upon the name of the mangaka whose fault this whole insane business really was.

That's a pretty name, Karen said softly, a faraway and disappointed look in her eyes. She paused for a moment. What does she look like?

Oh, she's... quite lovely really... long dark hair, and blue eyes... I described the young mangaka to a tee, all the while aware of the fact that this particular Shimako had a boyfriend-- an extremely large boyfriend-- who would probably be more than willing to pound me into a little flat sheet of former manga editor if he found out I was claiming to be married to her.

She sounds quite beautiful, Karen continued in that same subdued voice. Well, you know what they say... all the good men are taken or gay...

Ouch. That was the second time that day that someone had mentioned me and gay in the same context. Maybe I should have accepted Karen's offer of a date, if only to keep up appearances...

The truth was, I almost did wish I'd taken her up on the offer. She was gorgeous, and she seemed to be quite intelligent and quite good company as well. She was also practically a prostitute. And I was just not that kind of guy. Case closed.

Just one little lie was all it took. One harmless, little lie. It hadn't hurt anything. Not even when I embellished upon it by adding a child to the mix, a young daughter, nearly four years old. Who would ever know the difference? I was never going to see Karen again, and it was better to let her down this way than to tell her the truth and make her feel inferior. After a while, I was really getting into it, describing our lavish wedding and our honeymoon in the Bahamas and the way she had proposed to me, instead of the other way around. Karen seemed really interested, after she got over the initial disappointment.

After a while, I happened to look at my watch and noted with shock that I had been there for nearly three hours. I've really got to be going, I said in a regretful tone. I have a lot of other work to get done today, and I'd rather get home to my family than work overtime tonight.

Your daughter is very lucky to have a father like you, Karen said softly as she saw me out the door, giving me a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. And your wife is very lucky to have a husband like you. Goodbye, Aoki Seiichirou. It was wonderful to meet you.

The pleasure was all mine, Karen-san, I said, sparing her a real, warm smile as I walked out. I didn't turn back. I might not have been able to leave if I had.

Once out on the street, I breathed a sigh of relief, but a sort of emptiness had settled itself in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't thought about being lonely for quite a long time, but now it seemed almost unbearable. My thoughts lingered on her as I drove home; once or twice I considered turning the car around and going back, but of course I didn't.

There was no loving wife to await me when I returned to my apartment that night, and no bright-eyed child to sweep up into my arms and hug. Still, I managed to convince myself that I was going to be all right. I would forget her, and she would forget me, and we'd each live the lives we were meant to live, completely separate of each other. This wasn't some cheesy romance novel, where the hero and heroine met, then lost each other, then found each other again. That one meeting had been the beginning and the end of any story that Karen and I could possibly share.

However, in the spirit of all true romances, the plot twist was yet to come.