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FLOWER BUSINESS
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by flipstahhz
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Upon hearing the front bell ring, Yamato's attention stirred. His eyes scanned through the dashboard of buttons on the desk, finding and then eagerly pressing onto the flashing intercom button.
"Good afternoon. Who is it?" Yamato responded, cradling the phone between his left shoulder and his ear. He had done his best impression of the company's receptionist, accurately mimicking her high-pitched voice.
After being cooped inside the recording room all morning, Yamato had wanted to sneak out for lunch. However, just as he had been about to leave, the receptionist had begged him to cover her toilet break. Shiori claimed it would be for a minute or two, but it soon stretched out to be ten minutes and, boy, was he hungry.
"Shiori-san, it's me!" A cheerful voice floated out of the intercom. "Could you be a love, and let me in? I've got the flowers for Mr. Rockstar."
Yamato bit the insides of his cheeks, holding in his mirth, but permitted the woman entry nevertheless.
So the florist and receptionist had given him a nickname now? Interesting...
His need for food immediately vanished, and his mood lifted when he noted that the florist was about to make her infamous appearance. He leaned back on the chair, whistling, as casually lifted his feet onto the desk.
Ever since the company had relocated to a building in Ginza, this specific florist store had paid regular visits to his workplace on - almost - a daily basis. Each visited consisted of getting dropped off with copious amounts of bouquets at the reception desk. It was an absurd amount of flowers, all addressed to him from his dedicated fans.
The pattern was endless. Yamato had resulted to telling Shiori to stop the florist from coming, even going to the extremes of personally writing a message to the florist store, telling them to keep the bouquets instead. He had even threatened that he'd throw the flowers out if the florist kept sending the flowers, but regardless of the threats...Yamato's plans were always foiled and never prevailed.
Each time, he'd receive a rejected note, with one message even reading - 'Be grateful you have fans. Our store does not wish to throw away our clients' money by not delivering their bouquets. Deal with it!'
After every rejection, Yamato eventually had given up.
He had assigned Shiori the tedious task of wheeling a trolley of flowers throughout the building, and evenly dispersing the bouquets amongst all the rooms. Some workers even believed that it was the company itself that had wanted a regular flowery 'top up', having gotten used the to bouquets of fresh flowers every second day.
It hadn't helped that Yamato was allergic to the darn flowers. Perhaps he was over-exaggerating as it wasn't like he was allergic to all of the flowers - just most of them. And the fact that he had to resort to taking an antihistamine every morning, was a darn hassle. He couldn't get away from the flowers. They overwhelmed him. Literally.
Sometimes Yamato would recycle the bouquets and send them to his mother (since she was always sulking that he never visited her). That, or whenever his best friend, Taichi, pissed him off, he'd litter Taichi's mailbox with rose petals, or send them to his office from a pseudo name. The only person who appreciated Yamato's recycled flowers the most were, oddly enough, his brother. Takeru liked anything given to him because he loved free things, and had more than a couple of occasions had presented the bouquets to his current girlfriend, pretending they were from him (the cheap bastard).
However, today it could stop.
Yamato was determined.
This pattern of unwanted flowers would hopefully come to a close. He needed to stop this flower business.
Ha! There she is...
He craned his neck when he saw a woman walk - more like stumble - through the glass sliding doors. She was struggling. Arms filled with about six bouquets, she shuffled inside the building, pursing her lips upwards as she blew the strands of auburn hair that continuously kept on cascading over her face.
Yamato had been expecting an older woman, not a florist that looked his age.
She wore a long-sleeved white dress, that flowed beneath her knees and grazed at her ankles. A black apron was tied around her thin waist, criss-crossing around her back. And it appeared, that she was dressed for comfort as she was also sporting a pair of black worn-out sneakers, so worn out that they were fading to a charcoal grey.
Yamato found that the casual fashion style suited her florist looked plain, and even with the minimal makeup that she wore, there was a natural beauty to her that would make anybody give her a second look for her subtle attractiveness.
"I feel like the amount of customers have doubled in the past fortnight. They must really love your Rockstar," the woman remarked, voice tinged with irritation. She set the flowers onto the marbled counter.
When she found that the receptionist hadn't responded, she gazed up above the flowers, furrowing her eyebrows at the man who had replaced Shiori's position at the desk.
She blinked in bemusement and stated the obvious, "You're not Shiori-san."
"No," Yamato agreed. "I'm not."
Yamato leaned further back into his chair.
"Is that so?" she replied, smoothing out her apron despite is being creaseless. A faint blush slowly formed on her cheeks. "Since you're obviously not Shiori-san, just who are you then?"
He easily answered back, "The Rockstar."
The florist gazed at him in awe, but disguised her initial shock by rolling her eyes. In that fraction of time, Yamato had caught her lips tilt upward into a weak smile.
"Well, isn't this awkward?" She said, knowing well in fact that she had made it even more awkward. She scratched the back of her neck. "I'm about to bring in the other batches of flowers...could you sign on the dotted line that you've collected it? Over here?"
Yamato watched her pull out a pen from the pocket of her apron, placing it on top of a sheet of paper. She gestured at the bottom of the page.
"There's more?" Yamato stated the obvious. Of course, he knew there would be. Six bouquets of flowers wouldn't cut it. His fans always tended to go overboard, that he had become accustomed to the absurd of amount of flowers he'd receive from each delivery.
She repeated, "Could you just sign it?"
"What if I don't want to? If I don't, I don't need to accept them, do I?" He was being stubborn, and guiltlessly difficult, but he really wanted the influx of flowers delivered to cease. Even now, he could feel his nose itching.
"But you really should," she persisted.
It was like they were playing a game of pass the parcel, with flowers as the replacement. However, this time the parcel wasn't wanted and there was no eager enthusiasm from either party to receive them.
"Miss Florist, I don't want them. I've passed on a message to your boss every time to stop them from coming. Can't you bring them back today and tell him?"
"No can do."
Yamato raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because I'm the boss."
He stammered, "What?!"
"I'm my own manager. Do you know how long flower arranging takes? I will not return the flowers when they clearly belong to you, especially after I have taken my time and effort, to make up each one of them." The florist had her hands on her hips. "I stick to what I said, Mr. Ishida."
No longer was she addressing him by his nickname, but his actual surname. She had some guts to fight against him. Not many people did (asides from his direct family and select close friends), considering he was a famous musician. She didn't seem to care that he was a common household name, as she stubbornly stood in front of him, arms folded and gazing him straight in the eye.
Seeing that she refused to budge, Yamato resorted to a different option. "Then how about some tea?"
"Pardon me?" She said. "Unlike you, I have more deliveries on my list today. And-"
Yamato warned, "If you don't hear me out, what about I make my personal assistant return them back to your florist? Will you lose business if many bystanders and customers see your store crowded with unwanted flowers?"
She bit on her bottom lip, frowning. Yamato had made a brew of green tea earlier for Shiori, so it was still hot enough to serve to the florist.
The florist reluctantly took the steaming tea from Yamato, looking inside the cup as if he had spiked the beverage. "So you're bribing me?"
"We're talking business." Yamato put his hands together. "Take a seat."
She dragged a seat from the waiting area, bringing it in front of the reception counter. She shook her head to herself. "I don't know whether to laugh or to get mad at you. You're wasting my time."
He pointed out. "But have you ever considered that you're wasting time putting these bouquets together for somebody who doesn't really care…"
"You must really hate your fans."
"No," Yamato denied. "I hate my allergies; and I don't know what to do with all the flowers."
"Haven't you tried to make it public that you hate flowers then?"
"They know. They think I'm joking, so they do it to spite me," Yamato replied.
She commented, "You have an interesting group of fangirls after you."
"Yes. They're happily crazy."
The florist actually laughed at that.
Yamato groused, "You think it's funny? You wait until somebody stalks your home address, or rakes through information from your childhood friends about what cartoon you liked, or what your favourite ice-cream topping is. Fans can be scary. Correction - they are scary."
"Which would be another reason why I can't suddenly stop sending you flowers," Sora said.
"Then is it money?" Yamato asked her. "Do you want money? I can give you money to stop it."
The florist rolled her eyes. "I'm not money hungry, nor corrupt enough to receive extra money from you when your fans are already paying me good amounts."
Yamato sighed. He strummed his fingers onto the counter, wishing for an idea to pop into his mind. If he had known the florist would be coming, he would have brainstormed further into it. There had to be a way about it; a way without him having to receive the flowers, while not disappointing his fans.
The florist slowly sipped her tea, eyes above the paper cup as she observed the musician in curiosity. As much as she wanted to go, she couldn't leave the building without getting his signature. She wondered, and waited, hoping that the musician would give up already, sign the sheet of paper, so that she could do her next delivery at the local Italian restaurant.
"Mr. Ishida, I really need to go-"
"A foundation!" He blurted out, cutting her off.
The florist blinked. "Huh?"
"For funerals."
"What?" She exclaimed. "What has funerals have to do with this? How do they fit into the equation?"
Yamato's eyes were bright, as the idea continued to dawn over him. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner?
"Instead of delivering the bouquets to me, wouldn't it be a great idea to use the flowers for funerals...for families who can't afford to buy flowers for their loved ones? Or maybe to hospitals? Yes, bringing colours to spruce up hospital rooms will be nice too…"
She choked. "Are you serious?"
"Call me bitter, but when I was younger I remember not being able to send off my aunty. I couldn't do or give anything because my father and I- you see, we were quite penniless at the time. She died right after my parents divorce and I was always upset that we couldn't even give her expensive flowers for the parting."
Yamato scratched the back of his head, giving a weak smile. It wasn't often he divulged information like this, yet he had told her. However, he felt like he needed to for the florist to understand the message he was attempting to convey.
He questioned her, "What do you think?"
The florist debated whether he was creative or a tad bit insane. Sure, various customers ordered flowers for many reasons…but to start a foundation out of unwanted flowers. It was 'kinda' ingenious, not that Sora wanted to admit it to him.
"I don't know...are you sure about this?" She started, "Wouldn't your fans feel insulted by it?"
Yamato smiled. "I don't think so. It'll be for a good cause, right?"
"It sounds complicated."
"Don't worry, I'll help you out with it. I'll even write personal messages, telling the fans where the flowers are being sent to." Yes, Yamato knew this would be much work - but at least it would be getting rid of the flowers, and it gave him peace of mind acknowledging that the flowers would be going to good use.
From the way the florist's eyes lit up, Yamato knew that he may be able to convince the woman.
The florist reasoned out, "Would you really have the time to write to your fans individually?"
He challenged her, "Wouldn't you feel better that your flowers will be going to a better home?"
"But-"
"I can clear some time in my schedule for this. It'll be a nice way to thank my fans, right...Takenouchi-san?" Yamato guessed.
He knew it was a good assumption since the florist store was called Flowers by Takenouchi, and the woman claimed to be the manager.
"I'd prefer Sora-san," the florist admitted. "Everybody calls my father and mother Takenouchi-san, since the store was founded by my great grandmother."
"A family business?"
"You could say that." She smiled.
It was rare that children continued their parents' businesses these days, but Yamato found it both peculiar and interesting that a woman, his age, was still interested in the floral industry.
He tilted his head, studying her, "And you like it?"
"I love it." Her eyes lit up, glowing embers of cinnamon and honey.
Yamato smiled back. They may had started on the wrong note, but at least they finally agreed on something.
"Good for you."
Not often people were employed in jobs that they enjoyed. He had almost taken the wrong career choice and had almost taken an engineering course, but when a song that he had composed had won a competition...he opted out of university, much to his parents frustration. However, if he hadn't taken the risk, Yamato wouldn't be where he was now. The struggle had been ultimately worth it.
"Sora-san?"
Shiori had returned, eyes squinting through her silver-rimmed glasses as she glanced at the florist then at him.
Yamato took this as his cue. He flipped open his leather wallet and passed her his business card. "My manager will keep in contact with you in the next few days. Think about my offer..."
Sora accepted the card, bowing. "I'll definitely take it into consideration. I really hate the thought of my flowers not being appreciated."
"I'm not saying they're bad," Yamato laughed. "They're great. I just get allergies."
"Right. Because flowers are on the top of a rockstar's bucket list," Sora smirked. "Anyway, I've got to go. I need to make my next delivery. Thanks for the tea."
"I'll see you out."
Yamato stumbled out of his chair, going after her. Once outside, he lingered at the entrance, watching the woman wander to the parked van.
He waved as she drove off. It wasn't like him to get out of his way to do something for another person, but it was refreshing to know that this woman was her own person. She stuck to her own values, wasn't ashamed to talk back to him and...well...just didn't know him.
Tucking his hands into his pockets he ducked back inside the building. He had been intending to leave work to fetch some lunch, but had realised that he had left his wallet on the reception counter when he had taken his business card of for Sora.
As he slipped back inside the building, the receptionist was already handing the wallet back to him.
"Really," Shiori snorted. "The least you could have done was ask for her number."
Yamato scowled, despite being used to the receptionist's endless teasing, "Shut up."
But as he turned around, a smirk played on his lips.
Perhaps next time he would…
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(a/n)
Happy New Year!
This was meant to be a one-shot, but it might become a two-shot...or I might just leave it like this. I kind of like how it ended. Who knows? Maybe I will write a second part to it one day.
Anyway, this was meant to be posted last year. I thought I'd edit this piece before getting back into the swing of writing. A lot of things have happened over the past month. Lots of distractions, family drama, work craziness (each day is a challenge) and...life. Just many things had overwhelmed me and I needed to take a deep breath of air to figure quite a few things out. I think I tend to put a lot of things on my platter, that I forget that it's OK to have a break. (Yet, I signed up for a writing course next month…)
I'll stop ranting now. I know a few of you are waiting for a Bittersweet Update...so that will be my main focus now.
Hope you enjoyed this random story :)