4,742 steps later, Kanae was still being watched by amber eyes. She braced herself on shaking thighs, panting as she stared back.
"You-- can't-- come-- in," she said, struggling. She'd never covered the route that fast. The whole time, it had loped at her side, ears stiff and tongue flapping in the wind. Kanae had tried everything. Thrown sticks, jogged across busy streets, even chucked her Nike jacket down an alley in the hopes the beast would chase something that smelled like her.
It had barked at the stick, howled at the cars, and gone and fetched the jacket. Now it sat before her, slowly mangling the jacket it held between its teeth, tail pounding the ground outside of her apartment building.
"Absolutely not."
The tail pounded harder.
"Keep the jacket," she said. She jogged backward. It took some fumbling to position her key card without looking, but the door lock clicked and she slipped through, tugging hard against the auto-close to slam it in the beast's furry face.
She could hear his whimper through the glass. No, she mouthed. Go away.
It sat down.
She threw her arms in the air. Not her dog, not her problem.
The elevator ride up to her seventeenth floor apartment (read: closet masquerading as an apartment) was too short to catch her breath but more than long enough to stare at her disheveled appearance. Her ponytail was full of leaves. Her makeup was smudged, "no-smudge" eyeliner smeared across her cheeks like a quarterback's eye marking. Sweat discolored her running tank; her entire face was flushed red.
Moments like this were when she missed her family the most. At home, she'd have burst into a living packed to the gills with Kotonamis, each one immediately sizing her up and knowing exactly what to say to get under her skin. Without them, in the sterile silence of the tiny elevator, she had no good way to force her emotions out of anxiety and into anger.
"Control," she whispered to her reflection. She worked at one of the leaves, tugging it out carefully so as to not create any split ends.
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open, revealing a miniature woman wizened with age and draped in black chiffon on the other side.
"Excuse me," Kanae said, ducking her head as she turned sideways, making space for the woman to enter before she left.
The woman pulled off her circular sunglasses and peered at Kanae, ignoring the annoyed chime of the elevator to take her time looking over every inch of her. "Hmmmm," she hummed in a gravely voice. "Yes. You'll do."
"What?"
The lady rapped her glasses against Kanae's arm. "Hurry now. You'll be late."
"What?!"
She walked past the elevator and to the stairwell at the end of the hall, as if never intending to take it at all and merely standing there waiting for Kanae to appear.
Kanae stood slack jawed. Her hand fell. The doors sighed closed in relief. The sight of her messy self in the mirrored door snapped Kanae back to present with a choice shit and a stab at her floor number.
—
Twenty minutes later, a spritzed, brushed, makeuped and pencil-skirted Kanae stride briskly into the same elevator, ignoring her reflection in favor of a pile of typewritten script papers. Her eyes whipped across the page, reading them for the second time. Just for insurance. This was her first reading with Cedric, for her first international movie, and she couldn't afford to make any mistakes.
The back door opened onto the same road as the train station. Kanae eyed it warily, opting for the main door and a taxi in lieu of risking dog slobber on her black skirt. The only thing worse was baby spit up—an audition last spring had started off terribly when her sister had shoved a baby at her for lucky kisses on her way out the door. The baby had oozed a lot more than kisses all over Kanae's last clean blouse.
The bushes rustled as she walked out, causing her to freeze, holding the script out like a shield. Worst case scenario she could fling it at the beast and run—she had the entire thing memorized already anyways. But the path stayed empty.
"Come on Kotonami," Kanae said to herself, pulling her skirt so the stitching ran perfectly straight down her legs. "Pull yourself together. It's just a dog."
You'll do. The woman's voice echoed briefly in her mind. Kanae tossed her hair at it, holding long slender fingers out to summon a taxi. Whatever the woman had been talking about, at least she agreed on that. Kanae Kotonami was always the right choice.
—
Cedric seemed to agree with the woman too. Kanae sat ramrod straight in the seat beside him, waiting for her character's next line. Three more lines to go, and she could speak.
Three more to go, and she could focus on something other than the way Cedric had his arm draped over the back of her chair.
Two more to go, and she could ignore the waggle of the director's eyebrows as he watched the two of them. Ignore the muttered chemistry he kept sliding into the space between the lines. "Chemistry" was just good acting. This was not chemistry, this was borderline insulting.
One more to go, and she'd have a reason to lean forward, as if emphasizing her character's words. Out of the reach of this man's fingers, toying slowly with the end of her hair.
Go.
"Noble sir, my father must not know I have left home at this hour. Please help me find my little sister, I beseech thee."
She wanted to strangle her character. A princess, of all things. Kyoko's butterfly arms waved at the rage building inside Kanae's stomach. She could hear her best friend screeching in awe. It held her to her seat as Cedric leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek. "You have my sword."
The director clapped, standing up out of his chair so suddenly it clanged over backwards. "Chemistry!" He thrust his clapping hands toward them, then at his Producer Kuresaki sitting beside him. "CHEMISTRY!"
My god, the man only knows one word, Kanae thought.
"Should we continue?" Kanae asked aloud.
Kuresaki waved his hand in negation. "You are dismissed. Cedric, a word."
Kanae breathed a sigh of relief, patting at her skirt briefly before standing. The producer would explain to Cedric how to conduct himself in a manner that would save Cedric face and give Kanae relief. She twisted open a bottle of water.
And then nearly choked on it when the director squealed in delight.
Kanae wiped her mouth and turned to see two men beaming at her and Producer Kuresaki looking like a river had carved canyons from his brow. "It is decided, then?" Kuresaki said.
"With pleasure," Cedric smarmed.
The director clapped. "Fake dating is the most glorious of all tropes! We shall unleash this chemistry upon the unsuspecting populace—a superstar, in love with his debutant costar! A story everyone yearns for—love at first sight, destined couples—"
Kuresaki waved him off, his forehead canyon growing. "Kotonami-san, not without your permission."
"Of course, Producer-sama." She nodded, not knowing what else to do. "It will all be fake, correct?"
"Assuredly," Kuresaki said, sounding terribly bored.
Kanae glanced at Cedric. He said nothing, adjusting the blooming handkerchief in his designer suit pocket as he looked her up and down.
"Only in public," Kanae said. Cedric began to frown. She continued. "To increase the exposure." Her costar smiled. She couldn't offend him without risking being thrown off the show and replaced with any number of actresses waiting in the wings. This was her break, her chance to outpace Kyoko and prove to President Lory once and for all that it is skill, not love, that makes a world-famous actress.
Kanae nodded her head, and struggled to hide her grimace as a beaming Cedric left Kuresaki's side to wrap his arm around hers.
This was going to be a delicate dance, indeed.