"Isn't it a beautiful morning, Aizawa-san?"
"Huh?" Taki looked around at the garden of singing birds, calming fountains, wandering paths and ornamental flowers, but only money and groupies were beautiful to him. "Uh huh."
The nurse could tell he wouldn't be good company today, so she gave up on the small talk and wheeled him over to what she considered the prettiest part of the garden, even though he probably wouldn't appreciate it. There was a carefully carved koi pond surrounded by bonsai trees, with a wooden bridge and a weeping willow nearby for shade. Was it really only a few weeks ago when she used to sit here during breaks, daydreaming about ASK?
Burning, always burning,
your love finally took its toll
Or at least their front man, Taki Aizawa.
When you play with matches
The devil gets your soul.
It was a kind of sorcery the way he'd grab the mic stand and work the crowd with his raunchy lyrics and bestial charisma. Zepp Tokyo had never rocked the way it did the night she saw ASK the first time. A friend dragged her along to a show she hadn't really wanted to see, but when she got home that night she couldn't sleep—and it wasn't just the bedspins from drinking too much. Taki invaded her fantasies, filling her head with thoughts of ditching this job and this life to follow the band. She could sew costumes for them, become a roadie, a gofer—anything to be near Taki. He was so cocksure and seductive, flirting with the audience and daring them to fly with him.
The other bands played pop that night, but ASK blew them away with angry anthems about death, lost love and social change. Their music broke the heart or whipped the crowd into an angry frenzy, but whatever they played, they made the audience feel something. When Taki took the stage, she could feel the agony of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the love of Orihime and Hikoboshi, and the fire of Shinmoedake. It was like all the longing and frustration of Japan was echoed in this one singer when Taki grabbed the mic; that he somehow spoke for everyone about the horrors of today's society. And he made her believe he could change it all with just a song.
But that was last month, before she'd ever met him.
Onstage he was so dangerously lewd, exciting and reckless; yet in television, radio and magazine interviews he was calm and charming. Was it all just a carefully crafted persona for the cameras? Or was he truly all the fire and energy he embodied onstage? She thought she had his personality figured out until she met him in the flesh right here in the hospital.
The first time she ever saw him at a distance of less than 10 meters was the day they transferred him from Tokyo General after the car accident. She didn't know the specifics of the crash—only that he'd been hit while crossing the street one night. Strangely, he never told the doctors any details, as if afraid of repercussions. For days he refused to leave his bed, clinging to it doggedly like it was the only safe place in the world. For almost a week he used the bedpan when he easily could have manipulated crutches to walk over to the bathroom. It took a promise of cigarettes from the psychiatrist to finally coax him out of his room, and to this very day he still viewed the bed as a kind of refuge.
"Are you comfortable, Aizawa-san?" she asked as she jockeyed Taki's wheelchair into position under the tree.
"There's no such thing anymore," he replied caustically, and she quizzed him further.
"I'm sorry? I'll go get a pillow for—"
"Don't bother. It won't help. Nothing helps. Just leave me alone."
"Oh. All right. Is there anything you need before I go, Aizawa-san?"
"Yeah. A bottle of painkillers, a new record company, and a friend who doesn't stab me in the back."
"Are you in pain? Maybe the doctor can prescribe a stronger dosa—"
"Never mind. There aren't enough painkillers in the whole goddamn world to cure this. Just go away."
"If you like, I'll send the doctor to—"
"Can't you take a hint? Just go away, you stupid bitch. I have enough trouble without you annoying me. Capiche? Go the hell away."
"Okay." She could remember back when he was a star, and even now she still thought him incredibly attractive. So cruelly handsome...but cruel was the way he did everything. Why did he have to be such an ill-tempered pig? Funny that once upon a time she'd found that so honest and refreshing, as if kindness was counterfeit. She'd changed her mind. Wasn't it better to be considerate and cheerful, like Shuichi Shindo?
If Shuichi were here, he'd probably be sweet and bubbly, like he was onstage. Okay, this wasn't exactly paradise, but the staff was doing the best they could for the patients, and one couldn't deny that celebrity patients got the best care of all. Why couldn't Taki recognize they were on his side, doing everything they could to help him? Nothing she did was ever good enough for him.
The nurse used to regret missing ASK's last concert, but after meeting Taki up close and personal, she was glad she'd saved her money. Heading back to the building, she recalled those days of dancing in the mosh pit and collecting ASK memorabilia, hours wasted hanging posters and shelling out thousands of yen on CDs and concert tickets. She could probably make all that money back with a tell-all book about Taki's life in the hospital, and for a moment she pictured herself on the talk show circuit, peddling the unauthorized biography If Beds Could Talk.
It felt good for a minute, but it sounded like something Taki would do, and worse yet, she wouldn't wish this kind of disappointment on any of his other fans. Let them think he's still the god he once was. Or that I once thought he was.
If only he'd get some visitors—they might straighten him out and tell him how obnoxious he was—but apparently everyone he'd ever known had abandoned him. Not surprising, but still sad. Thank goodness she didn't have to deal with him any more today. After lunch she was using some of her sick leave to take the day off so she'd have plenty of time to get ready for the club tonight. Her friends were taking her to Zepp to see her new favorite band, the most awesome group that ever was or ever would be.
Bad Luck.
