Part two gets us to New York, where Eiri finds something he never quite bargained for.
This is a work of fanfiction based on Gravitation by Maki Murakami. Any similarity between it and any future work by her is purely coincidental. (Duh.) 2M owns all the rights to stories and characters, I'm just thankful she lets us play with them.
Snow Fort: Part Two
New York
by Vindaloo
"'She walks out of the water. Her blond hair glittering in the sunlight, like Venus from her shell, the waves lapping at her feet like a whirlpool—' Like a what?" Eiri slammed the manuscript down on the table, and jerked to his feet, glaring down at the woman across the table. "Venus? What the hell is going on here? This doesn't even make sense. You drag me all the way to New York for this?"
She met his gaze calmly, not the least intimidated. Why should she be? He was small fry in her book. A big name in the Japanese market; a pain in the butt, bottomlist import for her. The only reason they indulged him was the fact that her superior happened to be a fan of his work...in the original Japanese.
And that superior's daughter was an even bigger fan of Shuuichi's. He'd never told the brat that one...
She smiled. Faintly. Blonde. Athletic. Perfect makeup. Perfect tan. Perfect...perfect. Everything he used to lust after. Now...he just wanted to throttle her for wasting his time. He'd left a horny and available Shu for this?
Bullshit!
"No, Mr. Yuki. That was your old translator's effort. We brought you to New York for this." She took a single sheet of paper from the stack in front of her and handed it across.
He snatched it from her hand.
"'She arose from the raging surf, her golden hair gleaming in a stray shaft of sunlight. A goddess of water and fire gathering the very . . . forces . . . of . . . nature . . .'"
Eiri sank slowly back into his chair, unable to take his eyes from the printed page. It was . . . good. It was better than good. It was what he'd have written, if he'd been so inclined to shift his thoughts into English.
Exactly what he'd have written.
Damn.
"What—" To his embarrassment, his voice squeaked. He stopped and tried again. "What's this guy doing translating? Why the hell isn't he writing his own shit?"
"What makes you assume it's a man?"
He shrugged. "No reason."
"Well, it so happens, it's not. And I have no idea the answer to your question, but I'd think you'd be glad she wasn't. Would you care to meet her? Ask her yourself?"
She didn't even ask if he was satisfied. Likely his face betrayed him. But...meet her? That made him pause. Would he? Did he want to risk meeting someone, a female someone, who could write... what he'd just read? Could he meet her and not be fascinated? Or... jealous?
"I'd like to think about it."
"Fine. Just don't take too long thinking. We'd like to get this book of yours into production. We've got a slot—"
"Of course you do," he said sourly. Another filler spot.
"We're planning on serious promotion this time, Mr. Yuki. Your last novel caused quite the controversy. A well-known critic who actually reads Japanese read both and called it a scandal. We're planning on making up for our mistakes... including a reissue of your complete backlist with revised translations by Ms Johnson. "
He grunted. A publisher actually doing the right thing? That was a first. This critic must be someone with some serious clout.
"Don't tell me this is the first you've heard of it."
He shrugged. "Frankly, woman, I don't give a damn, one way or another. I never read my reviews. Don't give a shit. I just want something out there with my name on it to resemble what I actually wrote."
She tipped her head and tapped a finger to her lips. "Interesting. Well, Mr. Yuki, I take it we are in agreement on the translator."
"We are."
"Excellent." She stood up. "Let me know in the morning if you wish to meet Ms Johnson. In the meantime, I'll have the legal department draw up the papers."
# # # # #
"Now, take your hand and let it drift slowly down between those beautiful pecks. —Slower!"
"How do you know how far I've gotten?"
"I know you. Now...let's start again."
Eiri let that luscious, suggestive voice drift over him, not really listening, letting Shu play his phone games. Back in Japan, Shuuichi would be lying in bed, naked, with a picture of him, also naked, on the bedroom's big screen TV.
Sometimes, Shu was so easy to please.
But then, so was he, normally. But tonight...tonight his thoughts kept drifting back to that translator, and that single page of text he'd brought back to the room with him. Ten times, he'd read it over, and twice as many times gone over it in his own head. Why in hell wasn't she being published herself? Or perhaps he was just assuming. Perhaps she was and this was just part of the deal she had with the publisher, since she was bi-lingual. The fact he didn't recognize the name...Jessica Johnson... meant squat. He rarely read fiction these days, and never in English—
"Yuuuukiiiii!"
He jerked back to his hotel room, found the cell phone lying on the floor, leaned over and swept it up.
"Yeah, I'm here."
Silence. Then. "What's going on, Yuki?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You're ignoring my sweet nothings. What's going on?" A pause, then: "Who're you with?"
Good God. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm with you, Shu-chan."
"Don't you 'Shu-chan' me, you two-timing—"
"I'm alone, OK? I'll email you a picture."
"She just hid in the closet."
"Cut it out. We're long past this."
"Never. Can't trust you out of my sight. I'm hopping the first flight—"
"The hell you are. Quit making excuses to join me here. I'm just distracted."
"Hmph. No kidding."
"Business, Shu. They ... found me a hell of a translator."
"Why didn't you say something? That's great! When are you coming home?"
"Not for a few days. They're talking promo and they want my input."
"Promo. A tour? In the US? When? Can I come?"
"You'll have to pay for it yourself."
"As long as I'm with you to chase the bimbos off."
He chuckled and reached for the Scotch lying forgotten on his bedside table. "Y'know, brat, I like the sound of that. My pint-sized bodyguard."
"Think I can't?"
"Know you can. You scare hell out of me all the time."
"Liar. —So, tell me about the translator."
"You're uncommonly interested in my affairs these days."
"I'm trying not to be so self-centered. Hiro says—"
"Hiro can mind his own damned business."
"No. He's right. It feels good to know. Like I'm part of it, y'know?"
"In other words, it's still all about you."
A completely unselfconscious ripple of laughter emerged from the phone along with the thump as Shu bounced upright, legs crossed, completely comfortable in his nudity.
God, he could picture—
"Yup. So...tell me all about him."
He gathered his wayward thoughts. "Her. And I don't know much, yet. I'm meeting her tomorrow."
"But she's good? She ... got the melody right?"
He chuckled. "Yeah, Shu. She got the melody right."
"That's good, Yuki. That's really, really good."
No more than that. No more was necessary. The kid understood. Completely, in his own weird way. Eiri smiled into the empty room.
A pause that grew into an extended silence. Then a very small: "Uh, Yuki?"
"Yeah?"
"D'you mind if we finish what we started now?"
He chuckled, took another sip of the twenty-four-year-old Macallen... hell, as long as the publishing company was paying the tab...and, putting the phone on speaker, set phone and Scotch back on the table and lay back into his pillows.
"Sounds like a plan."
# # # # #
Here went nothing.
Eiri took a deep breath, set a hand to the door latch. He'd told his editor—damn, what was her name? The damned publishing house had changed the position three times since his first book—to go ahead and set up a meeting, but he had no idea what he was going to say.
He wanted this translator, damned if he didn't, but there was something ... that prose reeked of skill. That didn't mean the ability to put together story was there, but if it was ... the woman should be spending her time writing her own shit, not making his ... sing.
He pressed the handle down and with a loud, at least to his ears, click, the door swung open.
It was dark inside, the insulating shades drawn as if a visual presentation were forthcoming, but the screen was still tucked into the ceiling.
What the hell?
He frowned into the silent room. As his eyes adjusted, he discovered a figure, at the far corner of the table, limned by the single shaft of light piercing a small opening in the magnetic seal between the drapes.
Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic. He searched the wall beside the door, found the switch and pressed the slider switch, bringing the lights up abruptly.
A soft grunt and the woman lifted a hand to shield her eyes.
"Jessica Johnson?" he asked, regretting this meeting more by the moment.
Another grunt which he took to be acknowledgment.
"I'm—"
"God, I know. I know." A hard swallow that worked the thin throat below that masking hand. "Do you... mind?"
Suddenly, he knew. It wasn't melodrama, it was—
"You've got a hangover."
A third grunt.
He began to laugh, pulled out a chair and threw himself down, crossing his legs comfortably.
"Been there. Done that. Not generally the night before an important business meeting." At least not for several years. "Mind telling me why?"
Another hard swallow and the fingers parted slightly, giving him a glimpse of soft brown eyes rimmed expertly with smokey makeup. Below the fingers, the face blushed hotly.
"Yes."
"Ah." He let that single syllable rest between them for a moment. Then: "Because of me?"
"Yes."
"Because you need this job?"
"No."
That surprised him.
"Why, then?"
A long pause. Then, the eye closed, and the head sank forward into crossed arms. A tiny groan arose from the graceful lump.
Well, wasn't this a royal waste of time?
"Hell." Eiri rose to leave. "I was going to ask you why you were wasting your time translating, but obviously, that's all you're capable of. Fine. I'll sign the agreement and you've got the—"
"Because meeting an idol is a fucking nightmare!"
He paused, hand on the door. That had been in Japanese.
"Ah. Dialogue." He sat back down. "So, I'm your idol?" He responded in the same language. "America must be extremely short on deities these days."
Dark eyes met his through a fall of tastefully highlighted, dark brown hair. "Don't toy with me, Yuki-san."
"Why not? You're jerking me around. Just thought I'd return the favor."
"Damn. You're just as maddening as Sharon described you. —I mean it. Ever since I read your first novel, I've wondered why I ever bothered trying. Everything I'd written seemed... trivial. Childish. When the opportunity came to translate your work, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."
"I told you, you've got the job—"
"I don't think I want it."
His heart stopped. He swallowed hard. "You're—" His voice caught like Shu's after a good cry. He mastered it firmly and tried again. "You're kidding, right?"
The words came in a flood. "I can't handle it. What if I screw it up? I've been wondering, ever since I sent in the sample, what was I thinking? I can't possibly do your prose justice and—"
"Get over it." Eiri broke in ruthlessly.
Those dark eyes blinked at him. The mouth below opened and closed like a koi searching for food.
"You know damn well you nailed that translation. You're speech is completely fluent. You know you could do this in your sleep. Quit giving me this insecurity act. Take pride in your obvious ability."
"I—"
"Can it. I have only one question."
"I—"
"Where's your own work? I looked last night and there's nothing—"
"I haven't published yet."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not good enough. I thought it was, then I read your first novel and realized how utterly inferior—"
"Fuck that. Don't you know not to compare yourself to anyone? Be proud of—"
"But what you wrote... that's what I heard in my head. Oh, the story was different to be sure, but the style, the voice...the exquisite word choice...that's what I strove for and could never attain. Then I read yours and—"
"What? You write in Japanese?"
"No. But when I read yours, I hear it... both ways. In my head. At the same time... damn, I'm not saying this—"
"I want to read it."
Those stunning eyes just blinked.
"I want to read your work. I want it before tonight. No more editing, no messing with it. I want to see for myself."
"But—"
"These are the conditions for my signature on that contract. I want to read your original work. I want to know the mind of the man doing the translation."
"But—"
"Do you want the job?"
"Yes! But— I think, anyway. But—"
"So, go home and email me your most recent." He pulled out a card and scribbled his private email on the back, flipped it down the length of the table. "And meet me for dinner. Tonight."
"But... why?"
He stood up. "Because I don't want some hero-worshipper doing the translation any more than I want an indifferent idiot with a Japanese dictionary. I want to know where you are in your own head before I start letting you mess with mine. So...if you want the job, send me that sample."
"H–how much?"
"If you've got a finished novel, send me that."
"I—I write in English."
"I should hope so." He paused, his hand on the door, and glanced back. "Damned if I want to compete with you on my own turf, ... Mr. Johnson."
He pressed down on the handle and left, resisting the urge to glance back and see the reaction of one of the more convincing cross-dressers he'd ever encountered.
End: Part two
# # # # #
Next: What's in a Muse: Eiri finds inspiration ... and deadly distraction ... in a fellow author's work. Shu gets pissed...but not necessarily for the reason you think.
Just a few responses to some of the reviews. I'm sadly behind! To everyone who's reviewed since I began posting this...my goodness, almost four years ago? Thanks so much. I love when these little stories happen and I'm delighted you all do too.
Roxas, Empress and KyoHana...it's wonderful to be back. I'm glad you haven't all forgotten me. I don't have a lot of time to write...I've got my own books, plus the covers and conversions now, but I do love playing with these two. I'm hoping they're going to start talking to me again. This one has been brewing for two years but just never "happened." It finally turned into a story, which I take as a good sign!
Kenny'sSC: How do I put this...It's not that I'm smart, I'm just old. :D I've had most of these things happen to me and learned the hard way. The ending of this current story is something I honestly considered doing two years ago when Spokane got dumped on by the white stuff! And I took up figure skating a few years ago...Love it.
Moon: as always...thank you. I frankly love these characters and while I enjoy some of the stories that give them this crazy, turbulent future, and enjoy torturing them myself in the early days of their relationship, I like to think of them as winning at least some of the battles they so bravely fight. Doesn't mean their lives become easy, just different.
I figured Silent Night was both the sort of simple but beautiful melody I like to associate with Shu, but also the sort Yuki would throw at him because of all the Ls. :D It makes his mastery of it truly significant. I should really have worked that in... But it's also got the lusciously simple descant the makes their little duet very real in my head. Yuki's voice actor (in either language, but esp in Japanese) has such a luscious voice (hmmm...that seems to be my adjective de jour) that I have no trouble at all hearing it!
Emalathe: Yushu is something of an amalgam of all my black furry familiars. I've had three, all of whom were special companions and had very long lives. (Have I mentioned, I'm an old person? :D) I'm glad he rings true.