"The simple things are free..."
--------------
A Simple Thing
Chapter III - "Thunder and Rain"
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler
--------------
I awoke at nine a.m. Saturday morning to a virtual symphony of sounds.
Thunder echoed in the distance, a bass drum to the pitter-pattering snare beats
that were raindrops against my windowpane. A reedy saxophone was my ringing
telephone, and the alarm on my coffee maker doubled as a distant trumpet. I groaned
and rolled over, seriously considering another hour of sleep...but my curiosity
got the best of me. I groped for the phone and answered it with the same half-
conscious "mshmshi" of almost a week previous.
"Morning to you too, Sunshine," barked Okuno in a gruff voice, and I could
surmise from his tone that it had been a late night at the "Daily." "I just got
off the phone with the arts editor, and she's panicked. Says tickets for the
show are sold out. Did you get one, or no?"
For a moment, I just laid there, staring at the ceiling and listening to
the rain. I had almost completely forgotten about my impending date with the
teal-haired orchestra beauty and my coming review of "The Tempest." But Okuno had
brought me spiraling back to a reality I wanted nothing to do with... I wished I
could go back to bed.
He was obviously in an impatient mood, because he harrumphed loudly into
the phone. "Well?" he prompted.
I sighed. "I got a ticket," I told him blandly, beginning to sit up in
bed. Lightning flashed outside, filling the city with a shot of brilliant light.
"Some day for a play, isn't it?" I kidded, knowing he would be in no mood to talk
about something as unimportant as the weather.
"How'd you get one?" he quizzed me, completely uninterested in my
tangent. He sounded absolutely confounded at my ability to get a
seat. "Fuki said - "
"You call her by her first name?"
" - that no one but society members could get in." I could tell that he
was just not going to play games with me. "Did you seduce some ticket taker or
something?"
I smirked. Why not play the devil's advocate for a bit? "Naw... Just a
society member."
For a moment, there was silence, and I briefly entertained the thought that
he had fainted in shock. "You WHAT?" he finally said, breaking the silence.
As much fun as it was to play with his mind, I had to tell him the
truth. So I did, explaining my meeting Michiru in as much detail as I could...
including a bit about the frequent deja vu flashes.
"It's your funeral if you play around with the violinist," he responded
to my story once he had digested it all. "I don't think it's the greatest idea I've
ever heard, but I'm not really the one to talk." He chuckled. "Hell, you have
better luck with girls than I do, and you ARE one."
I blinked. "Okuno, I think you misunderstood," I chimed in, realizing
the exact weight of his words. "I'm not dating her, just - "
"You can't pretend with me," he scolded, and I was sure he would be wagging
a finger at me if I were in front of him and not on the other end of a phone. "I
know you, and I know how you work. This woman will end up being Ten'ou Haruka's
newest plaything, just wait and see."
"But she KNOWS," I protested, standing up and stretching. The rain picked
up, slamming against my windowpane in a bitter crescendo. I sighed. "She knows
I'm a woman, too, and I doubt that she would have any real interest. I'm her
second choice for this gig, anyway, and she made certain I knew it. This is NOT
the grandiose seduction of Kaioh Michiru that you're making it out to be."
There was a pause and I could hear someone talking in the background.
A muffled "Okay, in a minute" later, Okuno came back onto the phone. "I have to
go. We're having a meeting about what to run front page today."
I rolled my eyes. Generally, Okuno skipped the first meeting over front
page to actually find out what he COULD have going front. He was just looking for
an excuse to get off the phone, which meant he was probably mad. "That's fine,"
I responded with a small nod. "I'll bring in my article sometime next week."
"Glad to hear it. Later."
I hung up the phone with a sigh and leaned the side of my face against the
window. It was just like Okuno to over-do the fatherly impulses to a point of
taking offence another everything else. You should be used to it, I scolded myself,
instead of being worried by it. It's just what he DOES. He smells a rat somewhere
between you and Michiru and thinks its a good idea to stay away.
"What IS it about her, anyway?" I questioned to the air as I strode
across my room. Hotaru's medical file, which I had left sitting on my dresser,
caught the corner of my eye, and I picked it up. The profile included a small
picture that appeared as though it had been cut out of a larger one. Hotaru was
kneeling in a field of pink wild flowers, her nose buried in a blossom. She looked
so...peaceful.
I flipped the photo over. "Hotaru at the botanical gardens, seventh
grade," it read in a messy black scrawl. Her father's handwriting, no doubt. I
put the picture back, paper-clipped to the file, and sighed.
What was it about all three of them? Michiru, Setsuna, Hotaru... All
three left me both shivering and yet warm, as though I suddenly belonged to
something more substantial than all the pointless things I had done in my life.
Like I needed them...
I wondered if that was what Michiru had meant when she asked me about
Fate.
"Might as well start the day with some light reading," I shrugged. Then,
I closed the folder and started into the living room.
---
How does one dress for a play that is sponsored by the Art Society of
Tokyo? Are you to wear a suit and tie? Are you to wear a skirt? Can you wear
either? Or are females supposed to LOOK like females?
Standing in a bathrobe, my hair dripping upon my shoulders, I stared
blankly into my open closet. Until then - that is, until 4:53 p.m. - the thought
hadn't occurred to me that I might need to dress like a female for "The Tempest."
I was used to wearing tuxedos, suits, dress shirts with khakis... Anything that
was typically a "male" outfit was the base for my perfect dress-up occasion.
But that base was generally only in use when I went out and spent time as
Ten'ou Haruka - Renaissance Man. Unfortunately for me, Michiru was completely and
totally cognizant of the fact that I was really a female. That didn't bother me.
What bothered me was that I didn't know if she had told anyone I was a girl! If
I wore a skirt and she hadn't told anyone anything, it would be okay. But if I
came to the theater dressed in typical female garb and it turned out that she had
played her cards on the side of society and said I was male, then I would be sunk.
I decided on a conservative black suit with a gold button-down dress shirt
and left the top button unbuttoned. Best to go for suave, androgynous member of
society than to try to overdo either gender.
I blow-dried my hair and raked a comb through it a few times, making sure
it looked just perfect. A single hoop earring in my left ear completed the
ensemble, and - while I failed to look like a million bucks - I looked to be
deserving of an evening at "The Tempest."
5:43. I was a master at cutting it close. Giving myself one last once-over,
I tucked my wallet into my coat pocket and walked out to the foyer of my apartment,
ready to play the waiting game.
How long had it been since I had been on anything even remotely similar to
a date? Maybe I blocked out the experience, I thought with a chuckle. I couldn't
remember for the life of me. There were plenty of attractive female fish in the
sea, but none of them really struck my fancy enough to make me want to pursue a
serious relationship. Take Watari Fuki, for example. Okuno has been head-over-heels
for her since the beginning of time - they were local beat members together before
Fuki, three years his senior, got promoted to editor. He followed her lead about
six months later, taking the local seat. She had been mad for weeks that he stole
her limelight as the youngest "Daily" editor.
Fuki was attractive enough, and I had teased Okuno about her mercilessly.
She was short, spry, and very friendly, with a cute little bob of purple hair and
sparkling blue eyes. As much as my editor tried to pretend he didn't want a thing
to do with her, we all knew that he was in love with the other editor, which made
it all the funnier. Personally, I hardly knew her, but... She was nice to look at.
But I wouldn't go out on a limb and let my heart break for her. No sirree.
The same went with so many women... Even Megumi was a nice enough girl physically,
but I think I would hang myself if I had to spend more than an hour a day listening
to her babble.
As for Michiru... Michiru...
The vision of walking through a park at midnight came to me, and I could
hear an enchanting violin melody fill my ears. I turned around, toward the music's
source...
My doorbell rang, and I leapt almost three feet into the air. I rushed to
the door and threw it open to see a short, balding man standing in front of me.
I frowned. "May I...help you?" I questioned, very confused.
"Ten'ou Haruka?" he replied with a smile. I nodded, and his grin
intensified. "Good! Michiru-sama has sent me to fetch you. She's running a bit
late with getting ready, so you are to come with me and wait in her penthouse."
Penthouse? I began to see little dollar and cent signs in the corners of
my vision. "Alright," I responded after a long moment of silent, a bit
flabbergasted. I had never heard her play, but I was guessing she was good. VERY
good, by the sounds of her apartment. Then, I glanced at him. "And you are...?"
He pulled a little cap from his back pocket and placed it over his bald
spot. "Her chauffeur, sir," he addressed me, gesturing toward the hall. "I left
the limousine running downstairs."
If life were an animated series, I would have facevaulted right there.
---
If the cash signs had only been in my peripheral vision when I was first
told Michiru owned a penthouse, they were blinding me as I walked into her
apartment. No, "apartment" wasn't even the right word; it was house in a high-rise.
The door opened into an enormous living room, furnished with plush couches,
antique mahogany end and coffee tables, and complete with a harp, harpsichord, and
grand piano. A small hallway lead on the right to what appeared to be a kitchen
and a dining room, with another, symmetrical hall on the other side of the apartment
leading to the bedroom (or bedrooms?) and bath.
At least, I assumed that bedrooms were to the left, because that's where
the violin-playing conductor emerged, wearing a bathrobe around her lithe form.
Her hair was perfectly styled in a French twist, so much so that she looked more
like a supermodel than an artist going to a play.
"Haruka-kun! So glad to see you!" she fussed, rushing up to me and kissing
me on both cheeks. I blinked, a bit confused by the sudden show of familiarity.
"I hope that Harigi drove carefully in the rain, yes?"
The balding man blushed slightly. "Madame, I am an excellent driver," he
protested in such a way that I couldn't tell if either was kidding.
She nodded and chuckled as though she was some sort of high-society woman,
a role I wasn't used to seeing her play. "And an excellent driver would be sitting
in the car, keeping it warm for his employer," she returned with a wink. Harigi
obviously got the message, because he bustled out of the room like nobody's
business.
As soon as the door closed, Michiru sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry
about that, Ten'ou-san," she apologized, smoothing my jacket where her little
hug-and-kiss routine had bunched it. "I'm expected to play the role of snot-nosed
maven from time-to-time, and, well..." She flushed and glanced toward the huge
picture windows that lined the farthest side of the apartment. The rain was still
pouring upon Tokyo. "I hate it," she admitted softly, her expression full of
silent pain. "I absolutely hate it."
I wasn't sure what to say. I was standing three inches away from a
gorgeous woman, and yet I hadn't even breached the social protocol to address her
by her first name. "Well, if you hate high society so much," I responded, stepping
away from her and treading lightly across her velvety carpeting, "you can go
ahead and call me Haruka-chan." I paused and glanced back at her. "If you'd like,
of course."
She chuckled sweetly. I loved the way she laughed; so high and elegant,
like you would imagine a princess doing. "I can't imagine calling you anything
that ended in 'chan,' Haruka," she responded, her lips delicately forming each of
the three syllables in my name. So precise and crisp... I thought I would melt,
such music it was. "So, I think I will just call you 'Haruka.' That way, I won't
make a blunder and give away your gender to the masses, ne?" She winked, and
smirked. Already, a shared secret.
"But enough talking!" she exclaimed, as though she didn't have a clue
what time it was or where she was. "I have to get ready. You wouldn't want to be
late for a Shakespearean comedy, now would you?"
"Not at all," I lied, forcing a smile. I continued to smile, even at her
back, until she had gone and closed herself in her bedroom.
Then, I let out the breath I had been holding. The things we do...for work.
---
I didn't know what time it was when Michiru came out of her bedroom.
Frankly, I didn't know how long she had been standing behind me before she told
me she was present, ready to go. I was too busy playing piano to notice.
That's one personal habit I have, and one I need to break sometime soon.
I flock to pianos. Put me in a room with a piano, and I will play it. I will
sit down at it and I will bury myself in it, and I will enjoy every second of it.
My years of lessons taught me how to play a lot of music by rote, and my mind -
though lacking in general memories - was able to recall musical pieces for years
after I had finished learning them. I love to play, to sit down on a bench and
immerse myself in music.
And that's exactly what I did in Michiru's penthouse. The lure of a grand
piano, well tuned and just gorgeous, was too tempting for me to ignore. The sound
echoed off the ceilings and walls, off the chandelier and picture window, creating
a perfect acoustic chamber.
My selection of the hour was actually an extremely long version of
Pachelbel's Canon that I had learned during my high school years. I had switched
teachers about the same time I switched high schools, and her first piece to test
me on had been a seven-page arrangement of the famous canon. It took me two weeks
to perfect.
Fingers trailed across delicate, polished keys. Feet pressed and released
shining brass pedals. Notes rang in the air, harmonizing and echoing before dying
away into nothing.
I finished the piece to light clapping, something I had not expected. I
hopped out of my seat to come face-to-face with Michiru. Wearing a simple and yet
elegant black dress, she appeared to be more of a goddess than a woman. I blushed
and turned away from her, thankful that I could claim the embarrassment was from
my playing, not my sudden, child-like infatuation.
"I didn't know you could play," she smiled, her blue eyes sparkling like
diamonds in the night. "You're very good."
"Thank you," I smiled, looking up from the carpeting to meet her gaze.
The only thing I could activity think of was how beautiful she was. How very,
very beautiful... "I've been playing since I was in the first grade," I finally
said after an awkward pause. "It's...always been a passion for me."
She smiled gently and nodded in understanding. "The violin was that for
me...until I quit," she responded, her voice light. "You should come sit in on
one of my classes sometime. I could use another adult in the room."
I smirked. "Only if you promise to come into one of my gym classes
sometime," I retorted with a smug toss of my sandy hair.
"Deal," she responded, and I could not tell if she was kidding or not.
---
There is nothing I can say about "The Tempest" that doesn't make it sound
like it's the worst play ever. It is NOT the worst play ever, but I will admit
that I hate it. I hate the English language even more, though, so I had to sit in
my seat and pretend I knew what was going on for the whole first half of the
presentation.
Intermission came, and I found myself wandering around the lobby of the
theater, bored out of my mind while I waited for Michiru to touch up. Society
functions and being part of the upper class were not things I enjoyed. In fact,
if I had my way, they would be wiped from the face of the Earth. So I paced as
I waited, and every time I saw someone who looked even the least bit interested
in me I would walk a few steps away, making it blatantly clear that I didn't want
to talk.
"Haruka," breathed a soft, elegant voice, and I turned around to see
Michiru, as riveting as ever, standing behind me. Her pink lips pursed into a
polite little smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was cornered by the society
president between the sink and the towel dispenser, and she kept asking me if I
would take her position next year, when she retired."
I laughed aloud. I could see that: a young, beautiful woman cornered by
another, older, wrinkled woman, preferably one with a belly the size of Asia.
"And are you going to take her place?" I asked with a flirtatious wink. "Or will
you be content to serve the masses as a plain old Society member?"
She chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "You are incorrigible, H - "
"Michiru-san with a male! Oh, the humanity!" cried a young man in a full
tuxedo, tails and everything, emerging from the crowd. His dark eyes glittered
as he gave my "date" for the evening a ravenous once-over. "Is this the young man
who has won your heart?"
Smoothing her skirt, Michiru smiled charmingly at the young man, though I
was fairly certain she didn't want to be within ten feet of him. "This, Tsubaki,
is my dear friend Ten'ou Haruka." She leaned heavily against my right side, and I -
not know what else to do - wrapped my arm loosely around her slender waist.
"You may recognize the name."
He blinked a few times, as though he knew that he SHOULD know me, and then
realization dawned and his eyes blossomed. "Ten'ou Haruka of the 'Tokyo Daily?'"
he gaped, as though he couldn't possibly believe a bishounen - or was it
bishojou? - like me could be a well-known reporter. Amazed, he leaned forward and
seized my hand, shaking it a few hundred times. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!"
he gushed, grinning like a schoolchild meeting his childhood idol. "You're a wealth
of talent!"
Michiru smiled. "Tsubaki-san is one of the top violinists in the nation,"
she explained sweetly in her normal, airy manner. "He often thanks me for quitting
the instrument and allowing him the position of concertmaster in the Tokyo Symphony
Orchestra."
"Your girlfriend is a talented woman, Ten'ou-san," the other musician
told me confidentially. I flinched at his choice of words. Girlfriend? No, I did not
deserve a woman as sweet and refined as Michiru. And even if I deserved one, I
would never be able to keep her.
I moved to protest, to tell the man that I was more a co-worker than a
romantic interest, but Tsubaki was called away by another man at that moment. He
uttered a hasty goodbye and, much to my horror, left us, still with the mistaken
impression that I was dating my colleague.
Sighing, I released Michiru's waist. My arm felt cold, empty, without her
warmth against it. My mind filled with thoughts of a younger, more reserved
Michiru, a Michiru with the world on her shoulders. A haunting violin melody echoed
in my otherwise silent mind, taunting me with its bittersweet song.
"You're bored, aren't you?" questioned Michiru suddenly, cutting off my
thoughts. I glanced down at my companion to see her blue eyes sparkling up at me,
her face placid but concerned. I pursed my lips, saying nothing, but it stood alone
as an answer to her question. She nodded to herself and adjusted her tiny purse
on her shoulder, as if making a decision right there. "Fine, then. Let's leave."
Arching my eyebrows dubiously, I turned to look at her. "Are you certain you
want to?" I asked in response, hoping that her statement wasn't too good to be
true.
"Why not? I've mingled with the high society mavens; it's time for me to be
the schoolmarm again." She winked, as if we were sharing a private joke. "Besides,
the rain's let up, and I could use a moonlit walk through Tokyo." Looping her arm
in mine, she smiled. "What do you say?"
I smiled right back at her. "Sounds good to me."
---
We walked quietly through the park that night, though I will be the first
to admit that it wasn't the romantic moonlit ordeal she had suggested it to be.
Excepting the brick path, the ground was all mud and dead leaves, and the gingko
seeds that had fallen and split open on the sidewalk stunk something terrible.
Still, it was there we walked, Michiru's high heels slung over her shoulder as we
wandered in silence.
It hadn't started out as silence. We had talked briefly about our careers,
about what had inspired us to become teachers. Michiru had been inspired by her
first collegiate violin teacher, and openly admitted that - while she really had
gone into the profession for all the RIGHT reasons - she often wished that she made
more money along her career track. I explained my rationale for becoming a
substitute, a story she chuckled sweetly at and labeled as "typically Haruka."
I didn't understand what she meant by that... After all, she didn't really
know me well enough to pass that judgement...
...or did she?
My mind, once again, filled with vague and yet very real memories as we
walked through that park. I could almost remember chatting with a raven-haired girl
just outside of it before driving her home on my motorcycle. Thoughts of a brunette
with an obscenely high ponytail flashed into my head as we passed an intersection.
The playground brought the picture of a pink-haired child; the small bandstand
reminded me of a blonde with a bow singing loudly; a park bench brought thoughts of
a dark-haired child who looked strikingly like Hotaru. And in the midst of all these
pictures was that same, haunting violin melody and the vision of a shadowed woman,
playing her instrument in the shade of a tree.
A clap of thunder shattered the silence of the evening, and I glanced up
at the cloudy sky just in time to witness a cloudburst. Enormous, cold raindrops
began to pour down on us, immediately soaking my short hair and the shoulders of
my coat.
I prepared myself to start jogging for shelter - after all, who would want
to walk in so much rain? - when I heard Michiru begin to chuckle. I turned to look
at her, and I could feel my brow furrow in her direction. There she stood, in the
center of the brick walk, with her arms raised to the sky and her mouth wide open,
catching drops of moisture in her pink mouth.
For a moment, I was absolutely speechless. "You... Your dress..." I
stammered, pointing to the quickly dampening material. It clung to her curved body
like a second skin, illuminating every rise and fall of her form perfectly. My
breath left my body for a moment, and I could feel my heart start to race.
She was the most gorgeous woman on the face of the Earth.
"I like the rain," she told me, lowering her head so that she could meet
my eyes. Rain clung to her hair and face, her makeup running down her cheeks. "Don't
you?"
Looking at her like that, her elegant garb soaked, makeup dribbling down
her skin and her hairdo ruined, I had to smile. "'Oh brave, new world that has
such people in it,'" I quoted from the play, smirking triumphantly.
She laughed.
Yes. She really was the most gorgeous woman on the face of the planet.
---
I sat before the blinking cursor of my word processing software, my hair
dripping onto a fresh, dry T-shirt. The computer clock read 12:31 a.m., Sunday
morning, and yet I was filled with energy and spirit. It was as though I had just
woken up from a long nap.
Smiling, I placed my hands on the keys and began to type my article for
the "Tokyo Daily."
---
End Chapter III.
---
--------------
A Simple Thing
Chapter III - "Thunder and Rain"
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler
--------------
I awoke at nine a.m. Saturday morning to a virtual symphony of sounds.
Thunder echoed in the distance, a bass drum to the pitter-pattering snare beats
that were raindrops against my windowpane. A reedy saxophone was my ringing
telephone, and the alarm on my coffee maker doubled as a distant trumpet. I groaned
and rolled over, seriously considering another hour of sleep...but my curiosity
got the best of me. I groped for the phone and answered it with the same half-
conscious "mshmshi" of almost a week previous.
"Morning to you too, Sunshine," barked Okuno in a gruff voice, and I could
surmise from his tone that it had been a late night at the "Daily." "I just got
off the phone with the arts editor, and she's panicked. Says tickets for the
show are sold out. Did you get one, or no?"
For a moment, I just laid there, staring at the ceiling and listening to
the rain. I had almost completely forgotten about my impending date with the
teal-haired orchestra beauty and my coming review of "The Tempest." But Okuno had
brought me spiraling back to a reality I wanted nothing to do with... I wished I
could go back to bed.
He was obviously in an impatient mood, because he harrumphed loudly into
the phone. "Well?" he prompted.
I sighed. "I got a ticket," I told him blandly, beginning to sit up in
bed. Lightning flashed outside, filling the city with a shot of brilliant light.
"Some day for a play, isn't it?" I kidded, knowing he would be in no mood to talk
about something as unimportant as the weather.
"How'd you get one?" he quizzed me, completely uninterested in my
tangent. He sounded absolutely confounded at my ability to get a
seat. "Fuki said - "
"You call her by her first name?"
" - that no one but society members could get in." I could tell that he
was just not going to play games with me. "Did you seduce some ticket taker or
something?"
I smirked. Why not play the devil's advocate for a bit? "Naw... Just a
society member."
For a moment, there was silence, and I briefly entertained the thought that
he had fainted in shock. "You WHAT?" he finally said, breaking the silence.
As much fun as it was to play with his mind, I had to tell him the
truth. So I did, explaining my meeting Michiru in as much detail as I could...
including a bit about the frequent deja vu flashes.
"It's your funeral if you play around with the violinist," he responded
to my story once he had digested it all. "I don't think it's the greatest idea I've
ever heard, but I'm not really the one to talk." He chuckled. "Hell, you have
better luck with girls than I do, and you ARE one."
I blinked. "Okuno, I think you misunderstood," I chimed in, realizing
the exact weight of his words. "I'm not dating her, just - "
"You can't pretend with me," he scolded, and I was sure he would be wagging
a finger at me if I were in front of him and not on the other end of a phone. "I
know you, and I know how you work. This woman will end up being Ten'ou Haruka's
newest plaything, just wait and see."
"But she KNOWS," I protested, standing up and stretching. The rain picked
up, slamming against my windowpane in a bitter crescendo. I sighed. "She knows
I'm a woman, too, and I doubt that she would have any real interest. I'm her
second choice for this gig, anyway, and she made certain I knew it. This is NOT
the grandiose seduction of Kaioh Michiru that you're making it out to be."
There was a pause and I could hear someone talking in the background.
A muffled "Okay, in a minute" later, Okuno came back onto the phone. "I have to
go. We're having a meeting about what to run front page today."
I rolled my eyes. Generally, Okuno skipped the first meeting over front
page to actually find out what he COULD have going front. He was just looking for
an excuse to get off the phone, which meant he was probably mad. "That's fine,"
I responded with a small nod. "I'll bring in my article sometime next week."
"Glad to hear it. Later."
I hung up the phone with a sigh and leaned the side of my face against the
window. It was just like Okuno to over-do the fatherly impulses to a point of
taking offence another everything else. You should be used to it, I scolded myself,
instead of being worried by it. It's just what he DOES. He smells a rat somewhere
between you and Michiru and thinks its a good idea to stay away.
"What IS it about her, anyway?" I questioned to the air as I strode
across my room. Hotaru's medical file, which I had left sitting on my dresser,
caught the corner of my eye, and I picked it up. The profile included a small
picture that appeared as though it had been cut out of a larger one. Hotaru was
kneeling in a field of pink wild flowers, her nose buried in a blossom. She looked
so...peaceful.
I flipped the photo over. "Hotaru at the botanical gardens, seventh
grade," it read in a messy black scrawl. Her father's handwriting, no doubt. I
put the picture back, paper-clipped to the file, and sighed.
What was it about all three of them? Michiru, Setsuna, Hotaru... All
three left me both shivering and yet warm, as though I suddenly belonged to
something more substantial than all the pointless things I had done in my life.
Like I needed them...
I wondered if that was what Michiru had meant when she asked me about
Fate.
"Might as well start the day with some light reading," I shrugged. Then,
I closed the folder and started into the living room.
---
How does one dress for a play that is sponsored by the Art Society of
Tokyo? Are you to wear a suit and tie? Are you to wear a skirt? Can you wear
either? Or are females supposed to LOOK like females?
Standing in a bathrobe, my hair dripping upon my shoulders, I stared
blankly into my open closet. Until then - that is, until 4:53 p.m. - the thought
hadn't occurred to me that I might need to dress like a female for "The Tempest."
I was used to wearing tuxedos, suits, dress shirts with khakis... Anything that
was typically a "male" outfit was the base for my perfect dress-up occasion.
But that base was generally only in use when I went out and spent time as
Ten'ou Haruka - Renaissance Man. Unfortunately for me, Michiru was completely and
totally cognizant of the fact that I was really a female. That didn't bother me.
What bothered me was that I didn't know if she had told anyone I was a girl! If
I wore a skirt and she hadn't told anyone anything, it would be okay. But if I
came to the theater dressed in typical female garb and it turned out that she had
played her cards on the side of society and said I was male, then I would be sunk.
I decided on a conservative black suit with a gold button-down dress shirt
and left the top button unbuttoned. Best to go for suave, androgynous member of
society than to try to overdo either gender.
I blow-dried my hair and raked a comb through it a few times, making sure
it looked just perfect. A single hoop earring in my left ear completed the
ensemble, and - while I failed to look like a million bucks - I looked to be
deserving of an evening at "The Tempest."
5:43. I was a master at cutting it close. Giving myself one last once-over,
I tucked my wallet into my coat pocket and walked out to the foyer of my apartment,
ready to play the waiting game.
How long had it been since I had been on anything even remotely similar to
a date? Maybe I blocked out the experience, I thought with a chuckle. I couldn't
remember for the life of me. There were plenty of attractive female fish in the
sea, but none of them really struck my fancy enough to make me want to pursue a
serious relationship. Take Watari Fuki, for example. Okuno has been head-over-heels
for her since the beginning of time - they were local beat members together before
Fuki, three years his senior, got promoted to editor. He followed her lead about
six months later, taking the local seat. She had been mad for weeks that he stole
her limelight as the youngest "Daily" editor.
Fuki was attractive enough, and I had teased Okuno about her mercilessly.
She was short, spry, and very friendly, with a cute little bob of purple hair and
sparkling blue eyes. As much as my editor tried to pretend he didn't want a thing
to do with her, we all knew that he was in love with the other editor, which made
it all the funnier. Personally, I hardly knew her, but... She was nice to look at.
But I wouldn't go out on a limb and let my heart break for her. No sirree.
The same went with so many women... Even Megumi was a nice enough girl physically,
but I think I would hang myself if I had to spend more than an hour a day listening
to her babble.
As for Michiru... Michiru...
The vision of walking through a park at midnight came to me, and I could
hear an enchanting violin melody fill my ears. I turned around, toward the music's
source...
My doorbell rang, and I leapt almost three feet into the air. I rushed to
the door and threw it open to see a short, balding man standing in front of me.
I frowned. "May I...help you?" I questioned, very confused.
"Ten'ou Haruka?" he replied with a smile. I nodded, and his grin
intensified. "Good! Michiru-sama has sent me to fetch you. She's running a bit
late with getting ready, so you are to come with me and wait in her penthouse."
Penthouse? I began to see little dollar and cent signs in the corners of
my vision. "Alright," I responded after a long moment of silent, a bit
flabbergasted. I had never heard her play, but I was guessing she was good. VERY
good, by the sounds of her apartment. Then, I glanced at him. "And you are...?"
He pulled a little cap from his back pocket and placed it over his bald
spot. "Her chauffeur, sir," he addressed me, gesturing toward the hall. "I left
the limousine running downstairs."
If life were an animated series, I would have facevaulted right there.
---
If the cash signs had only been in my peripheral vision when I was first
told Michiru owned a penthouse, they were blinding me as I walked into her
apartment. No, "apartment" wasn't even the right word; it was house in a high-rise.
The door opened into an enormous living room, furnished with plush couches,
antique mahogany end and coffee tables, and complete with a harp, harpsichord, and
grand piano. A small hallway lead on the right to what appeared to be a kitchen
and a dining room, with another, symmetrical hall on the other side of the apartment
leading to the bedroom (or bedrooms?) and bath.
At least, I assumed that bedrooms were to the left, because that's where
the violin-playing conductor emerged, wearing a bathrobe around her lithe form.
Her hair was perfectly styled in a French twist, so much so that she looked more
like a supermodel than an artist going to a play.
"Haruka-kun! So glad to see you!" she fussed, rushing up to me and kissing
me on both cheeks. I blinked, a bit confused by the sudden show of familiarity.
"I hope that Harigi drove carefully in the rain, yes?"
The balding man blushed slightly. "Madame, I am an excellent driver," he
protested in such a way that I couldn't tell if either was kidding.
She nodded and chuckled as though she was some sort of high-society woman,
a role I wasn't used to seeing her play. "And an excellent driver would be sitting
in the car, keeping it warm for his employer," she returned with a wink. Harigi
obviously got the message, because he bustled out of the room like nobody's
business.
As soon as the door closed, Michiru sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry
about that, Ten'ou-san," she apologized, smoothing my jacket where her little
hug-and-kiss routine had bunched it. "I'm expected to play the role of snot-nosed
maven from time-to-time, and, well..." She flushed and glanced toward the huge
picture windows that lined the farthest side of the apartment. The rain was still
pouring upon Tokyo. "I hate it," she admitted softly, her expression full of
silent pain. "I absolutely hate it."
I wasn't sure what to say. I was standing three inches away from a
gorgeous woman, and yet I hadn't even breached the social protocol to address her
by her first name. "Well, if you hate high society so much," I responded, stepping
away from her and treading lightly across her velvety carpeting, "you can go
ahead and call me Haruka-chan." I paused and glanced back at her. "If you'd like,
of course."
She chuckled sweetly. I loved the way she laughed; so high and elegant,
like you would imagine a princess doing. "I can't imagine calling you anything
that ended in 'chan,' Haruka," she responded, her lips delicately forming each of
the three syllables in my name. So precise and crisp... I thought I would melt,
such music it was. "So, I think I will just call you 'Haruka.' That way, I won't
make a blunder and give away your gender to the masses, ne?" She winked, and
smirked. Already, a shared secret.
"But enough talking!" she exclaimed, as though she didn't have a clue
what time it was or where she was. "I have to get ready. You wouldn't want to be
late for a Shakespearean comedy, now would you?"
"Not at all," I lied, forcing a smile. I continued to smile, even at her
back, until she had gone and closed herself in her bedroom.
Then, I let out the breath I had been holding. The things we do...for work.
---
I didn't know what time it was when Michiru came out of her bedroom.
Frankly, I didn't know how long she had been standing behind me before she told
me she was present, ready to go. I was too busy playing piano to notice.
That's one personal habit I have, and one I need to break sometime soon.
I flock to pianos. Put me in a room with a piano, and I will play it. I will
sit down at it and I will bury myself in it, and I will enjoy every second of it.
My years of lessons taught me how to play a lot of music by rote, and my mind -
though lacking in general memories - was able to recall musical pieces for years
after I had finished learning them. I love to play, to sit down on a bench and
immerse myself in music.
And that's exactly what I did in Michiru's penthouse. The lure of a grand
piano, well tuned and just gorgeous, was too tempting for me to ignore. The sound
echoed off the ceilings and walls, off the chandelier and picture window, creating
a perfect acoustic chamber.
My selection of the hour was actually an extremely long version of
Pachelbel's Canon that I had learned during my high school years. I had switched
teachers about the same time I switched high schools, and her first piece to test
me on had been a seven-page arrangement of the famous canon. It took me two weeks
to perfect.
Fingers trailed across delicate, polished keys. Feet pressed and released
shining brass pedals. Notes rang in the air, harmonizing and echoing before dying
away into nothing.
I finished the piece to light clapping, something I had not expected. I
hopped out of my seat to come face-to-face with Michiru. Wearing a simple and yet
elegant black dress, she appeared to be more of a goddess than a woman. I blushed
and turned away from her, thankful that I could claim the embarrassment was from
my playing, not my sudden, child-like infatuation.
"I didn't know you could play," she smiled, her blue eyes sparkling like
diamonds in the night. "You're very good."
"Thank you," I smiled, looking up from the carpeting to meet her gaze.
The only thing I could activity think of was how beautiful she was. How very,
very beautiful... "I've been playing since I was in the first grade," I finally
said after an awkward pause. "It's...always been a passion for me."
She smiled gently and nodded in understanding. "The violin was that for
me...until I quit," she responded, her voice light. "You should come sit in on
one of my classes sometime. I could use another adult in the room."
I smirked. "Only if you promise to come into one of my gym classes
sometime," I retorted with a smug toss of my sandy hair.
"Deal," she responded, and I could not tell if she was kidding or not.
---
There is nothing I can say about "The Tempest" that doesn't make it sound
like it's the worst play ever. It is NOT the worst play ever, but I will admit
that I hate it. I hate the English language even more, though, so I had to sit in
my seat and pretend I knew what was going on for the whole first half of the
presentation.
Intermission came, and I found myself wandering around the lobby of the
theater, bored out of my mind while I waited for Michiru to touch up. Society
functions and being part of the upper class were not things I enjoyed. In fact,
if I had my way, they would be wiped from the face of the Earth. So I paced as
I waited, and every time I saw someone who looked even the least bit interested
in me I would walk a few steps away, making it blatantly clear that I didn't want
to talk.
"Haruka," breathed a soft, elegant voice, and I turned around to see
Michiru, as riveting as ever, standing behind me. Her pink lips pursed into a
polite little smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was cornered by the society
president between the sink and the towel dispenser, and she kept asking me if I
would take her position next year, when she retired."
I laughed aloud. I could see that: a young, beautiful woman cornered by
another, older, wrinkled woman, preferably one with a belly the size of Asia.
"And are you going to take her place?" I asked with a flirtatious wink. "Or will
you be content to serve the masses as a plain old Society member?"
She chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "You are incorrigible, H - "
"Michiru-san with a male! Oh, the humanity!" cried a young man in a full
tuxedo, tails and everything, emerging from the crowd. His dark eyes glittered
as he gave my "date" for the evening a ravenous once-over. "Is this the young man
who has won your heart?"
Smoothing her skirt, Michiru smiled charmingly at the young man, though I
was fairly certain she didn't want to be within ten feet of him. "This, Tsubaki,
is my dear friend Ten'ou Haruka." She leaned heavily against my right side, and I -
not know what else to do - wrapped my arm loosely around her slender waist.
"You may recognize the name."
He blinked a few times, as though he knew that he SHOULD know me, and then
realization dawned and his eyes blossomed. "Ten'ou Haruka of the 'Tokyo Daily?'"
he gaped, as though he couldn't possibly believe a bishounen - or was it
bishojou? - like me could be a well-known reporter. Amazed, he leaned forward and
seized my hand, shaking it a few hundred times. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!"
he gushed, grinning like a schoolchild meeting his childhood idol. "You're a wealth
of talent!"
Michiru smiled. "Tsubaki-san is one of the top violinists in the nation,"
she explained sweetly in her normal, airy manner. "He often thanks me for quitting
the instrument and allowing him the position of concertmaster in the Tokyo Symphony
Orchestra."
"Your girlfriend is a talented woman, Ten'ou-san," the other musician
told me confidentially. I flinched at his choice of words. Girlfriend? No, I did not
deserve a woman as sweet and refined as Michiru. And even if I deserved one, I
would never be able to keep her.
I moved to protest, to tell the man that I was more a co-worker than a
romantic interest, but Tsubaki was called away by another man at that moment. He
uttered a hasty goodbye and, much to my horror, left us, still with the mistaken
impression that I was dating my colleague.
Sighing, I released Michiru's waist. My arm felt cold, empty, without her
warmth against it. My mind filled with thoughts of a younger, more reserved
Michiru, a Michiru with the world on her shoulders. A haunting violin melody echoed
in my otherwise silent mind, taunting me with its bittersweet song.
"You're bored, aren't you?" questioned Michiru suddenly, cutting off my
thoughts. I glanced down at my companion to see her blue eyes sparkling up at me,
her face placid but concerned. I pursed my lips, saying nothing, but it stood alone
as an answer to her question. She nodded to herself and adjusted her tiny purse
on her shoulder, as if making a decision right there. "Fine, then. Let's leave."
Arching my eyebrows dubiously, I turned to look at her. "Are you certain you
want to?" I asked in response, hoping that her statement wasn't too good to be
true.
"Why not? I've mingled with the high society mavens; it's time for me to be
the schoolmarm again." She winked, as if we were sharing a private joke. "Besides,
the rain's let up, and I could use a moonlit walk through Tokyo." Looping her arm
in mine, she smiled. "What do you say?"
I smiled right back at her. "Sounds good to me."
---
We walked quietly through the park that night, though I will be the first
to admit that it wasn't the romantic moonlit ordeal she had suggested it to be.
Excepting the brick path, the ground was all mud and dead leaves, and the gingko
seeds that had fallen and split open on the sidewalk stunk something terrible.
Still, it was there we walked, Michiru's high heels slung over her shoulder as we
wandered in silence.
It hadn't started out as silence. We had talked briefly about our careers,
about what had inspired us to become teachers. Michiru had been inspired by her
first collegiate violin teacher, and openly admitted that - while she really had
gone into the profession for all the RIGHT reasons - she often wished that she made
more money along her career track. I explained my rationale for becoming a
substitute, a story she chuckled sweetly at and labeled as "typically Haruka."
I didn't understand what she meant by that... After all, she didn't really
know me well enough to pass that judgement...
...or did she?
My mind, once again, filled with vague and yet very real memories as we
walked through that park. I could almost remember chatting with a raven-haired girl
just outside of it before driving her home on my motorcycle. Thoughts of a brunette
with an obscenely high ponytail flashed into my head as we passed an intersection.
The playground brought the picture of a pink-haired child; the small bandstand
reminded me of a blonde with a bow singing loudly; a park bench brought thoughts of
a dark-haired child who looked strikingly like Hotaru. And in the midst of all these
pictures was that same, haunting violin melody and the vision of a shadowed woman,
playing her instrument in the shade of a tree.
A clap of thunder shattered the silence of the evening, and I glanced up
at the cloudy sky just in time to witness a cloudburst. Enormous, cold raindrops
began to pour down on us, immediately soaking my short hair and the shoulders of
my coat.
I prepared myself to start jogging for shelter - after all, who would want
to walk in so much rain? - when I heard Michiru begin to chuckle. I turned to look
at her, and I could feel my brow furrow in her direction. There she stood, in the
center of the brick walk, with her arms raised to the sky and her mouth wide open,
catching drops of moisture in her pink mouth.
For a moment, I was absolutely speechless. "You... Your dress..." I
stammered, pointing to the quickly dampening material. It clung to her curved body
like a second skin, illuminating every rise and fall of her form perfectly. My
breath left my body for a moment, and I could feel my heart start to race.
She was the most gorgeous woman on the face of the Earth.
"I like the rain," she told me, lowering her head so that she could meet
my eyes. Rain clung to her hair and face, her makeup running down her cheeks. "Don't
you?"
Looking at her like that, her elegant garb soaked, makeup dribbling down
her skin and her hairdo ruined, I had to smile. "'Oh brave, new world that has
such people in it,'" I quoted from the play, smirking triumphantly.
She laughed.
Yes. She really was the most gorgeous woman on the face of the planet.
---
I sat before the blinking cursor of my word processing software, my hair
dripping onto a fresh, dry T-shirt. The computer clock read 12:31 a.m., Sunday
morning, and yet I was filled with energy and spirit. It was as though I had just
woken up from a long nap.
Smiling, I placed my hands on the keys and began to type my article for
the "Tokyo Daily."
---
End Chapter III.
---