35 Millimeters II - Behind the Lens
by Lady Aishiteru
Chapter 9 - Through a Glass, Darkly

"Minako? Are you okay?"

I jumped up in my seat, then I hastily shoved the letter under a pile of old magazines. I whipped my head around to face the speaker, and then I sighed in relief. "Yeah, I'm fine, Levina." I laughed shakily and pasted on a smile.

"No, you're not," she responded, frowning. "Something about that piece of paper you were reading has you really spooked."

"Spooked? Me? Nah, you just startled me, that's all." I said, smoothing back a piece of hair.

"Are you sure? You look pale to me. Is there something you'd like me to pray for?"

I wondered what to say next. It's not that Levina isn't trustworthy; she's one of the few honest people in this business… well, if Levina was anything like her God and nothing like her sister, anyways. Still, how specific could I be? There was a good chance that I was being watched; I wouldn't put it past the yakuza to slip an informant into Tokyo Inc., and it would probably be someone who worked with me on a regular basis.

"Yeah, I'm going through a rough time right now. Pray for me to have peace of mind."

Levina smiled at me; she knew how hard it was for me to impart even that generic kind of information. "Sure. I'll pray for you." She closed her eyes, bowed her head and placed a hand on my head. She spoke to God quietly, but with a firm sense of certainty. I didn't think it would help, but something in her gentle voice made me feel better, like love was washing over me. She took her hand off my scalp and gave my head a final pat.

"Thanks, Levina," I said honestly.

"You know I'm here if you want to talk," she said.

"Yeah, I know. So, what's on the agenda today?"

"Heat, hairspray, gel, mousse, and more of the same," she said, grinning. She reached over my shoulder and began to work a thin layer of mousse into my hair. I relaxed and let her magic fingers do their work.

"So, where's Rubina?" I asked casually.

I felt Levina's fingers tense up a bit as she said, "I have no idea."

"Did she say when she's coming in? I need my best makeup artist on the job, here."

Levina smiled a bit. "You're just sore because you missed Michelle yesterday."

I groaned. "At least yesterday wasn't a total loss."

Levina grabbed the hair dryer and laughed. "I think I saw here carrying a dozen roses, too."

"Not the red ones again?" I sighed. Michelle is another makeup artist employed by Tokyo Inc. She's skilled at what she does; in fact, she's probably even more skilled than Levina. Professionally, I really don't have any problems with her, but it gets awkward when she wants to get more…personal with me. Last week, she bought me two-dozen long stemmed roses and hung around the makeup room all day, even though she undoubtedly had other clients to assist. I keep trying to tell her that I'm not interested, but it doesn't quite seem to sink in, somehow. Once, she tried to kiss me…it makes me cringe just thinking about it. She's a sweet girl and all…but let's just say my bus doesn't stop there.

"No, I believe they were definitely crimson."

"Oh, please. You can't possibly approve of this," I shouted over the blaring blow-dryer, arching my eyebrows at the mirror.

"Of course I don't," she yelled back. "But I know God loves her, just like He loves everyone. Do you know what I'm trying to say here?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"I've been praying for you for a very long time," she said. "You're so special, Minako. He loves you special." I sat silently, but on the inside, I was fuming. My hands clenched into white, little fists, blood escaping from underneath my fingernails. If God loved me special, why was He allowing all of this to happen to me? Why didn't he heal my mom years ago?

"I know you've been through a lot, Minako."

"How did you-"

"Know? Don't worry, nobody has told me anything…in fact, since the time I've worked with you, I haven't heard much about you at all, not the real you. I could see it in your face, in that split second after the flash bulbs went out, before the photographer clicked the cable release again and you remembered that you had to smile," Levina said, clicking off the hairdryer.

I tensed a bit. How could she see all of that? She couldn't possibly have noticed, not unless what she had said was true, that she had been praying for me, possibly since the day I met her. Only a person who really cared would take that much notice of me. It made me wonder if God cared as much as his Levina did.

"How can you say that God loves me? You can't possibly understand what I've been through," I snapped.

"I don't pretend that I have all the answers," she continued. "I don't. All I know is that He takes a personal interest in each and every one of us."

"What makes you so sure?" I asked. "This ought to be good," I thought wryly.

"Everything, Minako. I can see Him everywhere, in the rising of the sun, the stars in the heavens, and the more I look, the more of Him I see. We're not alone. None of us are."

"Oh, swell, another sermon," snapped a voice coming in from the doorway.

"Hello, Rubina," said Levina, smiling politely at her sister. She merely grunted in reply; she wasn't paying any attention anyways. Her gaze was fixed squarely on the pile of magazines on the makeup counter, almost as if she was looking for something. She squinted, then rifled briefly through the periodicals.

"Did you lose something?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm looking for last September's Vogue. There's this really cool blush trick I wanted to try on you," she said, smiling. She flipped through one last magazine, and then she pulled out a piece of paper. "Yeah, this is the one. Okay, let's get started, shall we?"

"This is really strange," I thought. "She's never smiled at me like that before, and since when is Rubina so professional? Why is she being so nice all of a sudden?"

I tried to brush the thought aside as she put on the first layer of concealer, but something kept nagging me. I racked my brains for hours on end to find out what it was, but it didn't hit me until I went back into my dressing area at the end of the day. It was the piece of paper Rubina had ripped out was laying flat on the table. It wasn't even an article, nor was it even remotely tied into any kind of makeup. It was an ad for perfume.

I frowned. Something was very, very wrong...and I wasn't about to stick around long enough to find out. I said a brief goodbye to Levina, and resolved to approach the problem again later - from a distance. I pulled on my disguise of the day, the red wig, black dress, and sunglasses from that morning, and I left as calmly and quickly as possible.

"The question is," I thought to myself while I hailed a taxi, "What kind of distance are we talking about here?" I mused about it as the yellow cab swung by the curb where I stood in my stilettos. I had told Kunzite I wasn't leaving because I refused to allow the yakuza to take over my life. Still, how would I go about making sure I even have a life in Tokyo, or anywhere else on this side of life, for that matter? Once the yakuza are involved, they do everything they can to ruin the life of their victim before taking it altogether. More than likely, they would kill one of my friends, or worse yet, Kunzite. Maybe he'd know what to do; after all, he has experience with dealing with organized crime. Maybe I'd even escape this situation alive. "Well," I thought, grinning sardonically, "I can always hope."

Once in the confines of my apartment, I dialed Kunzite's number, which I had obtained by looking over my caller I.D. My fingers twitched as I touched the digits…I hate feeling helpless like this. I've always prided myself on my independence, so I really hate asking for help. To my relief, he answered the phone at the first ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Kunzite. It's Minako."

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Not well," I said, curling the telephone wires coil around my index finger. "Can you come over?"

"Sure. I'll be right over," he said, and I heard a click, followed by a dial tone.

Three seconds later, I heard a knock at the door. "GAHHH!" I screamed.

I heard a plaintive, muffled voice. "Minako?"

I walked over to the door, passing my hand over my forehead in relief. "Kunzite!" I exclaimed, arching my eyebrows, arms akimbo "How did you do that?"

He turned over his hand and smiled. "Cell phone."

"Well, do come in," I said, making a sweeping gesture with my arm. I walked over to the couch and patted the space next to me. He sat down, put his arm around me, and then he gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

"So, what's wrong?"

"It's Rubina, this girl I work with. She's been acting really weird lately…oh yeah, and I got this at work today," I said, fishing the written death threat out of my pocket.

The color drained out of his face as he read the death threat, almost as if he was in danger instead of me. "Geez, Minako, this is serious," he said, frowning,

"I know," I said, sighing. "That's why I called. I figure this probably has to do with whatever happened at the casino, so maybe-"

"I'd know something about it?" he finished.

"Yeah," I amended lamely, twirling my hair around my finger. "So what do you make of it?"

"Well, this paper is really thin. That and the moiré pattern suggest to me that this was faxed." he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "How do you think this Rubina person ties in to this?"

"She's been nice to me. She's never nice to me. Also, she looked very carefully through a magazine pile, the one I hid this thing in," I said, pointing to the fax in Kunzite's hand. "When I asked her what she was looking for, she lied about it."

"Yeah, that does sound fishy," said Kunzite. "Maybe she had something to do with the fax. She could be a spy. If that's the case, you have got to leave town. Even your work is no longer safe."

"I know," I said, sighing. "I'm still not leaving. If I did something abrupt, my friends could get killed or something."

"Hn…yeah, you've got a point there. It's a miracle they haven't killed me yet," he said, running his hands through his hair in a quick, nervous motion.

"Don't say that," I said, gripping his shoulders. "That's not even funny. I don't want to even think about losing you."

"Believe me, the feeling is more than mutual," he said through a hoarse whisper. "Can I take this to Mamoru? He might know something," he said, cupping my chin.

I nodded my head, as much as I could in my current predicament, anyways. I didn't have much more time to say anything else, for the next thing I knew, he was placing gentle, yet persuasive butterfly kisses on my lips. I can't really explain it, but it was almost like he was asking my permission to let him in. It was more than that, though, I thought as his kisses increased in tempo and pressure. The inquiry passed through his lips, though not in words; "Do you trust me?"

I pursed my lips for what must have been a microsecond. I didn't know why; maybe it was some kind of instinct, but I did trust him, with all of my heart. I responded in kind, opening my mouth and taking the kiss for all it was worth until we ran out of oxygen. After that, we were silent for a moment, except for the sound of our labored, synchronized breathing. "I want to protect you," he murmured into my hair. I snuggled closer into his embrace as my breathing returned to normal, my head resting under his and over his chest. "Maybe accepting a little help now and again isn't such a bad thing," I mumbled, already half asleep.

I awoke to the smell of soy sauce and the sounds of sizzling stir fry coming from the kitchen. "How long did I sleep?" I yelled, even though it was made obvious by the sunlight streaming through my Venetian blinds.

"Through the night. You hungry?" Moments later, I saw my "master chef," clad in my favorite apron, hair tied up in one of my ponytail holders. It was so cute that I couldn't help but laugh. "What?" he asked, giving me a Look.

"It's just…you look…" I stammered, but soon my laughter took over my voice box. "Like a Martha Stewart cross-dresser!"

"Ah, that," he said, letting a small chuckle escape. "Well, I asked myself, 'Do I look fat in this apron?' So I had no choice, really; I needed your hair tie to accessorize," he finished with a fruity flick of the wrist, sending soy-covered beef flying onto the floor, which Artemis was only too happy to lick up.

"You moron," I said, stretching my arms over my head. "That makes absolutely no sense."

"You're right," said Kunzite, returning to the stove. "The hair tie doesn't go with this apron at all."

I shook my head at him and walked into the kitchen. "It smells great. Thanks," I said, sitting down at the table and smoothing out my hair as best as I could.

"What can I say," he said. "I aim to please. It's just about done now anyways." He turned the stovetop off and spooned out some stir-fry onto a pair of plates. I licked my lips and happily dug in. My nose was right; he was an excellent cook. I wonder if he and Zoisite took cooking lessons from Makoto.

"How long did you let me sleep? I mean, were you just stuck there?"

"Not nearly long enough. You're really cute when you're asleep," he said, smiling.

I wondered if he could possibly be serious. Why would anyone want to watch me sleep? It couldn't be all that interesting. Then again, maybe sleeping men hold the same charm for their female watchers. "I bet he looks really hot when he's asleep," I thought. "I wonder…does he sleep in his boxers, in pajamas, or…" I flushed deep crimson as my thought completed its evolution. Maybe I needed another cold shower. Then again…those things are even less fun than I thought they would be. I opted to pass on that for the time being.

"I sent a copy of that fax to Mamoru," he said, picking up a piece of cabbage with his chopsticks. "He thinks it was probably Beryl who sent it. He put it up next to her handwriting, and they match."

"How does he know that?"

"Signatures, forms, and the like. You do know that Beryl's the leader of his competitor, Bixbite Inc.?" he asked me.

"Yeah. Mamoru does talk about his work every now and then." I replied, taking a sip of water.

"The strangest thing is that the fax came straight from Chiba Inc, out of my office of all places. I guess there's a mole hiding in Chiba," he mused, crossing the empty chopsticks absently.

"Gee, I wonder who that could be," I thought. "Danburite?"

"Probably," said Kunzite, sighing. "I had hoped that Danburite wasn't in that deep, but it doesn't look like I can yank him out of the yakuza, not without the police."

"But wouldn't that boost his reputation amongst the Crimson Fist?" I asked.

"Not necessarily," said Kunzite. "If he received the original message from Beryl, which Mamoru and I suspect he did, then he's already her senior, her second in command."

"So he can't really gain any more prestige." I mused.

"Well, he'd look good in the eyes of Beryl's underlings, but that won't really help him any. Their loyalty is to her, not Danburite," said Kunzite.

"I'm sorry," I said simply. "I didn't want this to go so far."

"Don't worry about it," he said, sighing. It was clear that he had done enough worrying on his own. "He'd be involved whether you were or not. I guess I'll have to release the evidence to the police. That makes things even more dangerous for you."

"I know," I said. "But I'm still not leaving."

"Then neither am I," he returned.

"You mean you're moving in?"

"Don't worry; I'll be the perfect gentleman," he said, holding up his hands so his palms were facing me.

I raised my eyebrow. "What if I don't want you to?"

Kunzite unbuttoned the top of his vest and stretched it out, his face flushing deep red. "Excuse me," he said. With that, he bolted towards the bathroom, locked the door and turned on the shower water. "At least I'm not taking the cold shower," I mused. He was in there for a good half hour, and my suspicions about the temperature were confirmed when he exited, fully clothed and toweled off. There wasn't a trace of steam on the bathroom mirror.
"You can have the guest bedroom," I said, gesturing for him to follow. "Do you need anything from your apartment?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

"So why did you run off?" I asked. "I know how you feel about me."

"Because," he said, stroking my cheek. "I won't defile you, not until and if we get married."

"What about the other day?"

"We got carried away, and after I calmed down, I was relieved that I didn't…follow through."

"Wait a minute," I said, crossing my arms. "Does that mean you're religious or something?"

"Yes and no," he returned. "'Yes' in the sense that I follow Scripture, 'no' meaning I don't do things to attain God's approval; I act in response to it."

"So you're approved, are you? Lovely," I mumbled, staring at the hard wood floor. "So what are you doing with a heathen chick like me?" He didn't say anything for a moment, and I raised an angry face to him. "What kind of God would allow this? Show Him to me!" I demanded.

"I am," he replied without malice, "the only way I know how." With that, he gave me a peck on my forehead and shut the door gently behind him.