You are a practical, no-nonsense man, yet you know you've been lying to yourself all week.
As much as you've tried to deny it, you knew the moment you received the invitation for the photography exhibition that you'd be attending it not because your associates have been nagging you to check out the fancy hotel where it's being held, in the hopes you consider purchasing it, but because you knew he would attend it.
How could he not? His name is headlining the exhibition.
Takaba Akihito, 2-time winner of the prestigious World Press Photo Award. He's the talk of the whole town and for one night only his acclaimed photographs are being put up on display on the hotel's VIP gallery, summoning to them the cream of Tokyo's society with eyes intent on admiring and critiquing in equal measure.
And so here you are as well, in your best suit and your best manners, engaging in the usual bland small talk with associates and acquaintances alike, while you pretend to give a rat's ass about the charity organization that will be awarded the profits of the photographs' auction later in the evening.
It's 7 pm, you are already on your third flute of Dom Perignon, and by now you are acutely aware that you're being stared at from three different spots in the room.
Two women and one man comprise tonight's panel of interested parties.
You snicker under your breath. "Let them stare". You think. You're used to being coveted by strangers' eyes. But if any of them is thinking that they're going to get anything from you tonight, they are sorely mistaken. Sex is not on your mind today.
In truth, sex hasn't been on your mind for the past few months. A fact that would baffle anyone, if they were to learn that (let's face it) you've spent the better part of the last two years fucking every willing man and woman who came your way.
Did you do it out of spite? Out of guilt? Because you were trying to fill some deep void he left you with inside?
You don't care to know the reasons. You have neither time nor patience for psychoanalysis after all. You are Asami Ryuichi. You are who you are, you do what you do, and the world can either try to handle you or bend to your will… And everyone knows the latter normally takes precedence over the former.
A wave of cheers suddenly erupts on the other side of the room and you're thankful for the excuse it provides for you to turn your back on the group of corporate CEOs clinging to you like leeches this evening. One more word about the current state of the financial markets and you'll start punching people in the face.
Your glass is on its way to your lips, when the crowd in front of the gallery's entrance doors parts ways and you finally spot the recipient of the cheers, advancing slowly through the throng of VIPs, looking equally thankful and embarrassed by the attention he's receiving.
Your expression softens despite yourself. Some people never change and if there is one thing Akihito never felt comfortable with, it was being the center of attention of any group. He's a photojournalist after all, and photojournalists tend to be infinitely more comfortable in the shadows rather than in the spotlight.
He hasn't spotted you yet, that much is clear, but you're in no hurry to precipitate the moment. Instead, you content yourself with watching him from a safe distance, trying to spot differences in him from when you last saw him.
It's mid-May now and his birthday was but a couple of weeks ago. Not just any birthday, mind you. The big 3 0. Still, you find it amusing how Akihito manages to look much the same as he did back when you two first met 7 years ago.
You have a feeling he's one of those people who will always retain a boyish appearance about him, no matter how old he grows.
He looks smart in his designer suit, flashy even, but you can tell straight away from the awkwardness of his posture that he'd much rather have attended the ceremony clad in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.
You suppose the suit was her idea, and for a split second your gaze shifts to the female 'appendix' clinging to your ex-lover's arm as if she is marking him a part of her turf.
You're somewhat surprised to find that the scene does not affect you as much now as it did in the past, when you had not yet ordered your private detective to dig into her life, and as such did not yet know a thing about her.
As I've mentioned before, you are a practical man and practical men like to know their enemies.
Deep down you want to hate her, hate her youth, her personality, her no doubt fertile womb waiting to pop carbon copies of Akihito out into the world, but then you remember that you are Asami Ryuichi, and that hatred is a pitiful feeling which is beneath someone like you. Only weak people succumb to hate.
No, at best you are curious about her, but that is all.
Not even a tad jealous then? "Of course not." You think. After all, you never felt jealous of anyone or anything in the 42 years you've been alive... You're not about to start now.
She's an odd beauty. Not exactly a show stopper, but her eyes do nothing to conceal a glow and curiosity about the world that seems to fascinate all around her. You assume that is what he saw in her; her eyes carry the same spark he carries in his own.
Plus, she seems fun, smiles a lot, although you suppose that if you yourself were a 20 something young woman about to get married in a couple of days' time, you too would be smiling.
…Then again, you're not the type who smiles; you're the type who grins.
Your mind travels back momentarily to the precise moment three weeks ago when your downfall started to take shape.
You have to give credit to your assistant though. Kirishima did attempt to break the news to you as gently as he could.
Funny enough, in the end he did not have to utter a word about it. For you could instantly tell by the look on Kirishima's face as he entered your office room that morning, your breakfast in one hand and the daily newspaper on the other, that Akihito was lost to you for good.
Dead or to wed, you thought immediately.
Jokingly you advanced the second option, the first one being far too inadmissible to your mind.
It turned out you were right...
Your assistant was wise to leave you alone shortly after, the newspaper in front of you spread out on the social events' pages which announced the upcoming wedded bliss of socialite Shinomori Mayu, the Japanese minister of foreign affairs' daughter, with the famous award winning photographer Takaba Akihito.
Minister Shinomori's daughter, how ironic.
You secretly wondered if the newspaper would have been so quick to felicitate the happy couple, if they were to learn that the bride-to-be's famous father, is in fact a corrupt politician who often hires your services to deal in international arms trafficking on his behalf.
But you know it is unfair to blame the daughter for the father's sins. After all, you never blamed yourself for the sins committed by your yakuza father.
You don't remember how long you sat on your office chair, with the newspaper on your lap and your eyes fixed on the couples' latest public picture.
You didn't get much work done, that much you recall. You spent the day with a glass and a bottle of Scotch, watching the golden liquid disappear from the bottle as the hours passed.
You remember feeling numb though, so numb that you no longer felt the urge to repress the memories of the past, and so you ended up playing the scenes from your breakup two years ago over and over again in your mind.
How did it all come to pass exactly?
Oh yeah,.. it all started with the photograph Kuroda found at Sakazaki's office when it was raided by the police on a drug felony charge.
The photo itself was not of interest to the police. It was just one among many others hidden away in a stash they found, all of them depicting Sakazaki having 'fun' with multiple different young men.
The cops just took it as proof that the drug dealer was also a pervert. Kuroda, however, was smarter than that. It was obvious to him that the photos were used as a form of blackmail against the young men they portrayed.
He never said anything to you, but you know Kuroda was just as surprised as you were to learn that your lover was part of the sordid collection.
You confronted Akihito that same night with the evidence of his betrayal. You two argued… a lot, had angry sex, and then argued some more. You're aware you made him feel as if he was nothing but an object to you that night; you're aware that when he left you the next morning, eyes clouded with tears he was too stubborn to let run freely, his heart was broken,… but so was yours.
Shattered, bleeding, to the point you didn't recognize it as belonging to you anymore.
You didn't go after him.
For two days you couldn't even bear to pronounce his name out loud, but you knew that eventually he'd come back to you.
He always did, no matter how ugly things got.
In the meantime you threw yourself back to work, kept your mind busy, making up for the previous day's bout of unproductivity on your part.
Days turned into weeks though, and still no sign of Akihito.
Still then you didn't worry. Your fight had been an ugly one after all. You had said some pretty nasty things to each other, but time would eventually heal everything.
You hired a private detective to keep an eye on him, fearful the kid would get himself into trouble while he was out from under your wing, went back to work and when you next checked two months had passed and still nothing.
It was around that time that the detective sent in a different kind of report from the usual ones where he merely detailed the small professional hassles Akihito faced on a daily basis.
One day, a note appeared at the end of one of the reports mentioning that Akihito had been spotted going out with a young woman.
From then on you asked to be provided with daily reports, and consciously used to skip all the work related paragraphs, reading but those where the detective detailed Akihito's supposed 'love' life.
When one of the reports you received mentioned that the same young woman had been seen leaving Akihito's Shinjuku apartment at two in the morning, your perfect mask of control began to crack.
You couldn't wait any longer. You took action.
The following night Kirishima drove you to the downtown bar area where Akihito was working part-time.
You stood vigilante, eyes like those of a fox glued to the entrance of the izakaya where your lover worked at, and you waited. What for, is something that till this day you cannot tell.
You could hear your MontBlanc wristwatch ticking away the minutes and still you waited.
Kirishima never said a word to you. Perhaps he could tell why it was that you were there, at half past midnight, concealed behind the limo's dark windows. He seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself those days.
Your wristwatch had just ticked away 1 am when you suddenly heard Akihito's voice.
You heard his voice before you saw him, and were forced to acknowledge the jolt that electrified your heart at the sound.
Your pulse quickened as he finally came into view, exiting the izakaya, mid-way of putting on his favorite jacket, still talking animatedly over his shoulder to someone inside; the establishment's owner perhaps.
His hair was slightly longer, he seemed to have lost weight, and in the midst of these observations your hand was flying to the door handle so fast you barely had time to register the action.
You opened your mouth, called out his name, but it wasn't your voice he heard.
Confused, you looked beyond him towards the end of the street, and that's when you saw her for the first time; smiling, waiving, and you soon heard Akihito's name being pronounced again; her sweet, melodic voice as painful to you as a punch in the stomach.
The woman walked towards your lover, her eyes glowing, and stopped right in front of him.
A small moment of awkwardness ensued. She looked uncertainly at Akihito, Akihito looked uncertainly at her, both apparently not knowing what to do next.
You saw him massage the back of his neck with his hand, a sign you knew meant he was nervous, but then out of the blue he lowered his head and kissed her on the lips.
You could instantly tell it wasn't their first kiss,… one of the firsts maybe, but definitely not the first.
You twitched then, you're sure you twitched. You know you gripped the door handle until your knuckles turned white, but outwardly that was the extent of your reaction to the scene.
Inwardly, your cells were on overdrive, your organs close to shutting down, but still you didn't move.
You didn't get out of the car, you didn't march towards Akihito, you didn't pick him up, throw him over your shoulder, and calmly walk back to the limo with your lover kicking you on the ribs and shouting at you to put him down.
Why?
Because looking at the couple standing on the other side of the road, you noticed something which shattered you inside.
You noticed that Akihito was smiling,… and that he looked happy and carefree.
Happier and more carefree than he'd ever looked while he was by your side, and you suddenly couldn't bear the thought of making him unhappy.
You suddenly realized Akihito was the most important person in the world to you; that his happiness was more important to you than your own.
You suddenly realized you were deeply and unequivocally in love with him and that you were doomed to love him for the rest of your life.
Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, you sank into the backseat of the limo, your eyes coming to rest on the ceiling above your head. You opened your mouth intent on saying something out loud, but soon realized the limo was on the move again.
No doubt Kirishima had witnessed the scene too from the driver's seat, and so had spared you the need of verbally giving him the order to move along, knowing that at that moment your voice might not have sounded as steady and confident as was always the norm.
Your assistant always did know you well.
Thankful, you closed your eyes and let exhaustion lull you to sleep...
You could go further on your trip down memory lane, but there isn't much else worthy of note.
When a report arrived a few days later, mentioning that the young woman, whose name you had learned in the meantime, had spent her first full night at Akihito's apartment, you dismissed the detective's services for good and went on with your life.
You worked, you ate, you slept, you worked some more, and somewhere along the way you turned 41, and then 42.
You moved to a new penthouse, you travelled several times abroad, you made new business deals, enlarged your fortune and more than often, you slept around.
Never twice with the same person though, and never at your home; you don't want to give any of them an inkling of hope that they are somehow special to you; that they somehow matter.
You have spent the last two years in a daze and now you are here, in a crowded gallery, filled with people you can barely tolerate to socialize with, waiting for your ex-lover's eyes to fall on you.
It takes another 5 minutes, but they eventually do, and when it happens, the ghost of what resembles a smile appears on your lips, because Akihito's countenance changes immediately and drastically.
He's shocked, he's surprised, he's tense, but more than anything he's unable to move, stopping mid-sentence to stare at you from the other side of the gap that opened among the crowd of people who surround him at present, wanting to know more about his photographs.
His fiancée is quick to notice something is wrong, yet it is clear to you she has no clue what it might be from the way she inconspicuously touches his arm, trying to draw back his attention to her.
You find yourself reveling at that. She still can't read him as well as you do. She might have been his lover for the past two years, but he was your lover for the better part of five.
"Asami-san." Your associate's nagging voice calls you to attention.
The man is afraid to voice his concerns out loud, but you know he wants you to make a decision regarding the hotel deal.
"Go ahead and arrange for the deal." You say to him, your voice calm and professional; your gaze not for a second leaving Akihito's. "I'll buy the hotel…and everything in it."
You don't register the relieved look on the man's face as you hand him your empty champagne glass and slowly walk away.
You don't register pretty much anything besides the look on Akihito's face as you exit the gallery in the direction of the hotel's lobby.
You lost him, you know you lost him, but at least you know now that you've left an imprint in his life, that you were not forgotten.
For it wasn't indifference you saw in his eyes as he regarded you just now from across the gallery.
It was pain…And you know better than anyone that pain is bittersweet.
(to be continued...)