Chapter 2: A Princess and a Peasant

The two girls stepped through the door and Makoto closed it behind them. The house was tiny, and dimly lit. There seemed to be only four rooms. They stood now in the front room, or living room one might call it, though it had precious little room for living. In the poor light the walls looked quite gray, but it seemed as if they had been at one time painted white. There was an old, threadbare sofa, and two old and mismatched wooden chairs. One was a rocking-chair, and it had clearly been broken and repaired several times. The floor was wooden, and it was badly worn. Though the house was old, it was not so old that a good hardwood floor should not be still in good condition. The warped floor boards betrayed the fact that they were not hardwood at all.

There was a closed door to Zakuro's left, and she was quite sure that the bedroom would be there. Ahead and to the right a door stood open, and the rich aromas that flowed out of it indicated that the kitchen was there. There had to be a bathroom, and that probably was off to the kitchen's left, behind the bedroom. That was all. The house was as tiny as a house could be.

Makoto indicated that Zakuro should sit on the worn sofa, while she herself sat in the old rocking chair. She seemed to want to say something, but did not say it.

So Zakuro had to restart the conversation. "Ah, I think you have something on the stove. Do you need to keep an eye on it?"

"No, I…" the tall girl began. Then she looked away.

Zakuro took a deep breath. There was a problem here, but there was no good way to talk about it. So she attacked it directly, in a most un-Japanese way. "Do you live alone, Makoto-san?"

The girl looked back to her guest and nodded, but then she looked away again.

"And you're only about 16 years old?" Zakuro continued.

Again the other girl nodded, and this time she did not even look at Zakuro.

Then Zakuro asked openly, "How long have you been alone?"

This time the tall girl answered, but she still would not look at Zakuro. "Since… I was 12. My parents were killed in a car accident. I was kind of a rebel, and I escaped the Child Protection Services. I'm tall and I can pass for being older than I am. I lied on job applications, got some part-time jobs, and I've been able to make enough to keep this place."

Zakuro was silent for a second. Then she said, "No wonder you're so poor."

Makoto's head spun and she stared at Zakuro, her eyes wild. Japanese manners simply did not allow Zakuro to say things like that! But Zakuro ignored her discomfort, and continued, "Look, I've already eaten. And I have to watch my figure. I'm sure that you aren't cooking enough for two, and that you don't have much extra in the house. That's OK. Just give me a tiny bit, for courtesy's sake, so that you feel that you've been a proper hostess. And eat the rest yourself."

Makoto stammered and could say nothing, so Zakuro went on, "Makoto-san, don't be ashamed that you're poor. You're making the best you can out of a tough situation. Let's go into your kitchen, and take that soup off of the stove before it overcooks. But remember this: if you choose to try for the role in the movie, and if you get it, you'll never be poor again."

Makoto's mouth opened, as if to say something, but no words came out. And Zakuro realized that she was nearly paralyzed by embarrassment over her poverty. It was sad, Zakuro thought. Maybe she could really do this girl some good. She rose from the sofa and started toward the kitchen.

"No…" Makoto began, and then grew silent again.

Zakuro turned back to her, and said, "If you're a good Japanese, you have to offer me a meal here. Let's go." And she headed toward the kitchen herself, forcing Makoto to follow along.

The kitchen was small. There was a very old stove and a small, old refrigerator, and the pot on the stove was old and dented. But the aroma that streamed from the pot was luscious. If this girl's food tasted as well as it smelled, she was a wonderful cook. Just inside the kitchen door was a tiny table with just two chairs. Zakuro went to the one on the side away from the stove, and sat down.

Makoto opened the old, sagging cupboard and took out a soup bowl. She looked at it, shook her head, and then took out another. She put this one down also, and reached for a third. Zakuro wondered: were the dishes dirty? The old house was scrupulously clean, she thought, and so likely the dishes were, too. So she guessed, and said, "Makoto-san, it tastes the same whether there's a chip out of the bowl or not."

"Stop talking down to me!" the big girl muttered, her voice betraying her embarrassment. Then she apparently found a bowl that was acceptable to her, for she ladled out some of the soup into the bowl, and brought it to Zakuro. There was a teapot on the stove, and she poured a cupful of that for her dark-haired guest as well. A spoon and napkin followed, and then she asked, "Is there anything else you need?"

Zakuro looked at the tall girl with sadness. "I thank you for this, Makoto-san. But I won't eat a bit until you sit down and eat with me. And I don't care what is proper courtesy. Get yourself some soup and tea and sit down here with me. Please!"

But Makoto turned away, and would not look at her guest. So Zakuro shrugged and got up from the table. She walked over to the stove, lifted the lid, and looked into the pot. There was almost nothing there. She shook her head. "Makoto, please be honest with me. I told you I wanted only a little. You gave me the whole pot."

"It's only leftovers," Makoto muttered. "Here I am, with a famous guest, and I have nothing but leftover soup."

Zakuro took one of the chipped bowls and poured the last of the soup into it. Then she opened the cupboard and took down a chipped teacup. She filled that and took the bowl and cup to the table. She placed the nearly-empty bowl by her chair and pushed the full one over to the other chair. "Now please," she said, "be a good hostess, and eat. I told you, I've already eaten. I'm just having a little, for the sake of good manners."

Makoto would not sit, but stood with her back to the table. So Zakuro sat again, took a sip of the tea, and tried the soup. Then she said softly, "The tea is good, but the soup is wonderful. Now please, I beg you, eat your soup before it gets cold. Please!"

Makoto turned around, and finally sat, and began eating. Zakuro returned to her own bowl. She knew she had to keep the conversation going, so while she ate, she spoke: "Makoto, do you want to try for the part?"

The tall girl stopped eating and put her spoon down. "I don't know anything about acting. I don't know anything about any of this. I don't know where to go, I don't know what to say, I don't think I have any talent..."

"You do have a good strong voice," Zakuro responded. "It isn't… squeaky. So many young Japanese girls have squeaky voices. As for the talent part, we'll try to check that tonight. This folder I have here has a copy of the script. We'll try a scene here, to see if you can manage it."

Makoto looked at Zakuro with interest for the first time. "What's the story about?" she asked.

Zakuro looked up from her food as well. "It's one of those historical dramas, set in medieval Japan, with a lot of kung-fu fighting and that sort of thing. The action scenes attract the boys, and they throw in a love triangle to attract the girls." Zakuro was silent for a second while she searched the eyes of the other girl. Seeing interest there, she continued, "The story concerns a princess of the emperor's extended family, who falls for a brave, heroic Samurai warrior. After the battle where the Samurai saves Japan – of course – he returns to his home in the provinces. The princess disobeys all the rules and chases after him. When she finds him again 'way down in Kyushu, she finds another problem: he has a secret girlfriend there, a peasant girl. Now as a Samurai he isn't supposed to marry a peasant – she's too far below him. Maybe he could use her and forget her, but not marry her. But they're in love. Eventually, the princess and the peasant-girl clash, and then they fight, of course. I play the princess; your part, if you get it, is the peasant. There are a lot of fantasy elements – dragons and such – in the story also, of course."

"And who wins the fight?" Makoto asked. The story was simple and very formulaic, but she clearly was interested.

"I do, of course," Zakuro said.

Makoto's mouth twisted. "Of course," she muttered. "You wouldn't ever let me beat you."

Zakuro's mouth also twisted into a smile. "I win the fight. But you win the guy. The hero spurns the princess and chooses the girl he has loved all his life, even though he knows that the princess can demand his head if she wants to. It's one of those sentimental endings that Japanese love. You end up in the hero's arms. Your last scene is a big kiss with the hero. I end up alone outside in the rain, in tears and shame, the great and beautiful princess rejected in favor of a peasant girl."

"That doesn't really make much sense," Makoto said.

"Well, we could put in a scene where the hero chooses the peasant girl because she makes the best soup in Japan," Zakuro said. "There are a lot of guys out there looking for a gal that can cook like this." She pushed her empty bowl away.

For the first time, Makoto smiled broadly. Then the smile left her face. "But I don't know anything about this movie stuff. How do I even try out?"

Zakuro said, "I'll take care of that stuff for you. We'll have your audition Monday morning at nine. If you pass, we have a meeting at ten, and the final decision will be made there. I'll make sure that they treat you fairly in your contract – my lawyer will make sure that they give you a good one. You'll be paid well."

"How much?" Makoto asked.

Zakuro shrugged. "I don't know for sure. You're new, so you get a much smaller contract than a well-known actress would get. But you'd have a big role in the movie, and so that pays well; and you'd get paid extra if you do your own action scenes." She thought for a second. "I'd make sure that you'd get paid at least ten million yen up front, and also get a piece of the action."

Makoto's eyes popped wide open when she heard the amount. Then she asked, "A piece of… what?"

"A piece of the action – that means a share in the profits, if any are made. I always demand that for myself, and I'll make sure some goes to you, too." Zakuro took a breath. "You never know for sure if a movie will be popular and make a profit. But this is a pretty good script, as this kind of stuff goes. They can make this kind of thing on a pretty low budget, except for the graphics when they make the dragons and such. This thing should make money."

Makoto squirmed uneasily as she asked the next question. "If I got the part… would I have to, uh, take my… clothes off?"

Zakuro sighed again. "No, I don't make those kinds of movies. There'll be a lot of fan service in this thing – when we have our big fight, for example, well, a lot is going to come off before it ends. But both top and bottom will stay covered, if you take my meaning."

Makoto sat silently for a while, and then she said, "I can't go on Monday. I have school."

Zakuro smiled. "You'll have to call in Monday. And if you get the part, you'll be out of school for a while. The studio will have to provide you with a tutor. When the filming's done, you can go back to school, if you want to."

"And why wouldn't I want to?" the big girl asked.

Zakuro smiled again. "Because after the movie comes out, you'll be a famous star, and everybody will be staring at you and all of the boys will be asking you out and all of the girls will be jealous." She watched as Makoto smiled broadly, and then asked, "Well, do you want to try it?"

"I suppose I should. You went through so much trouble for me…" Makoto's voice trailed off, and now Zakuro's smile became broad. The girl really wanted to try it, but she was still playing hard-to-get.

So Zakuro took the script and opened it to a marked page, and said, "This is the big confrontation scene, right before we fight. This is the scene we'll use for your audition." And so they began going over it, reading their lines back and forth.

This went on for at least an hour before Zakuro said, "Your voice is loud, and clear. And you seem to have knack for looking at least a little natural as you say them. But you have to show more emotion. You have to feel your lines, and make the audience feel them. Think! Did you ever have a boyfriend?" The tall girl nodded, and Zakuro continued, "OK! Now the famous actress Fujiwara Zakuro comes into your school and tries to make time with your boyfriend. Feel the hurt! Feel the anger! Now, say your lines, and I'll say mine!"

"I love him! You stay away from him!"

"You can't have him anyway! He's Samurai, and you're just a… peasant."

"I've loved him all my life, and he loves me. That's all that matters!"

"All that matters? We'll see about that, when he can have a princess!"

"A [F-bombing] Princess? You're hardly even a woman, so skinny and flat-chested..."

And back and forth they went, their voices rising to ugly shrieks, their words growing ever more coarse until it was time for them to come to blows. And when it was done, Zakuro smiled, and said, "You do that Monday, and I'll see that you get the part. You're doing it more than well enough, and already you have the lines down for that scene. You really can do it naturally."

Makoto smiled back, and then dropped her eyes. "I was just remembering what happened with my boyfriend. He was older than I was, and an older girl stole him from me."

"That's the idea. Make it real," Zakuro said. "Ah, by the way, what happened with that boyfriend?"

Makoto stared at her own feet and would not look at Zakuro. "I… uh… confronted that other girl. We had a screaming fight, and then I… uh… roughed her up a bit. Got kicked out of that school for that incident. Been kicked out of two schools, now."

"Odd, for a magical girl hero," Zakuro said. "A magical girl hero with a kind heart, no less. Still, it will help you get the part. I'll pick you up here on Monday morning at 6:00 and take you to the studio."

"What should I wear?" Makoto asked.

Zakuro looked the big girl over. "Show off your assets. Wear a miniskirt to show off those long legs – I saw you enough in your Sailor outfit, and you've got great legs. Try a tank top, a tight one, to show off your chest. They'll like that. Normal makeup, normal hair. OK?"

"OK," Makoto answered. Then she reached out her hand. "And… thank you, Fujiwara Zakuro. Thank you for offering this to me, and… thank you for your patience. I tried so hard to run you off…"

"You're welcome," Zakuro said. "Remember, I owe you this, and a lot more than this. I'll see you Monday. And be ready at 6:00 sharp! Don't sleep in."

"I will be," Makoto responded. "Just who do you think I am, Usagi?"

And Zakuro shook her head, and smiled.


Author's note: I apologize that this story is starting so slowly. The contents of this chapter could have been covered with a few sentences. However, I thought it important to establish the relationship between Zakuro and Makoto, and also to show just how hard Zakuro is trying to do something really nice for Makoto.

I promise that the "action" will really start the next chapter, if anyone is still reading this story.

And yes, I am aware that "kung-fu" is a Chinese, not Japanese, form of martial arts. But if I had used the term "martial arts fighting," people might think of MMA and other actual fighting sports. The term "kung-fu fighting" seems to generally be used for the obviously overdone and fake fighting done in east Asian movies.

By the way, ten million Japanese yen is worth about 98,000 U.S. dollars at the current rate of exchange.

tgwWhale