Last Dance With Shinobu-chan.
By Project Pegasus
Chapter 7, Part II: Perestroika
There was a quiet rap on the door as a soft voice came wafting through, "Shinobu? Shinobu, are you in?" There was no response. The door slid open and Mutsumi surreptitiously entered. She quickly surveyed the room, and when she was sure that Shinobu was out, she approached Shinobu's dresser and opened a drawer. She rummaged through a set of Shinobu's slacks before closing the drawer and proceeding to another, this time inspecting her shirts before finally inspecting the drawer with her undergarments. Mutsumi carefully replaced everything, closed the drawers and silently departed from Shinobu's room.
*
* *
With both arms crowded with brimming brown paper bags, Mitsune struggled to open the bathroom door. Holding the bags close to her side, she cautiously turned the knob of the door and flung it open, propping it open with her foot as she entered. In a huff, she set the bags on the counter and turned to lean out the door. "Shinobu! Shinobu, I'm back! Let's get started!" Mitsune returned her attention to the bags and began to remove their contents before Shinobu appeared in the doorway.
"Mitsune, thank you for doing this for me," Shinobu said.
"No problem Shinobu," Mitsune assured her, "I know that you're in a bind."
"I'm sorry I can't pay you back right now. Just give me a few . . . " Shinobu began humbly.
"Don't even mention it Shinobu. This is my gift to you, ok?" Mitsune said with a hint of impishness in her voice.
Mitsune took Shinobu by the shoulders and set her in front of the mirror.
"Look into the mirror, Shinobu," she said as they both looked forward into the mirror, "Do you see that?"
"It's me?" Shinobu answered cautiously.
"No," Mitsune replied, "I see a prom queen." She placed her chin on Shinobu's shoulder as they continued to stare into the mirror.
"Mitsune," Shinobu pleaded, "you don't have to try to make me feel any better. I know that . . . "
"Shhh! Shhh! Shhh! Shh!" Mitsune hissed in rapid succession as she barred Shinobu's mouth with her hand, "I hear a prom queen deep inside of you. Can you hear her, Shinobu? Can you hear her?" Mitsune's eyes grew wide in orgiastic fanaticism as Shinobu stared at Mitsune with dread. Not waiting for a response, Mitsune continued, "Of course you don't hear her. She's buried so deep within you that it's impossible. But I hear her. Oh yes I do! And by my honor, I vow that I will liberate her!" Her voice began to tremble in anticipation. "I will overcome, no matter the cost! Are you with me Shinobu?!" Mitsune cried in delight. "Of course you are! I knew I could count on you!" Mitsune said, again disregarding the fact that she was covering Shinobu's mouth. "I went to the store and bought the best for you," she chattered, "This is the stuff I would wear to my junior high school graduation prom." She reached over and placed a nearby stool in front of the mirror. She sat Shinobu down as she continued in a furor, "Look at the makeup I bought just for you!" She unfurled a sheet and wrapped it around Shinobu to protect her clothes from the makeup. Mitsune picked up a compact from the counter, opened it, removed a slender brush from a compartment and began to rub it into a crimson cake of rouge.
"What is that?" Shinobu asked, distressed.
"It's blush," Mitsune said while dabbing some on her face.
"But why is it so," she paused, searching for the right word, "heavy?"
"Silly," Mitsune admonished, "tonight, you want the boys to see that you're healthy, right? If you don't want to look anemic, then you need a good flush in the cheeks."
"I suppose," Shinobu acquiesced, "but you're putting so much on." A swirling cherry-colored powder clouded about Shinobu's head in an angry, lingering flurry. The Shinobu gave a modest sneeze and almost felt the layered makeup shift on her face.
"Ok that should be enough," Mitsune said as she put the brush back in the compact, "Now for the eye shadow. This shade has always brought me good luck. Here, take a look." She handed Shinobu a thin, black, circular container. On the side Shinobu read the ominous words, "Nashville Allure."
"I don't know if this shade will go well with, ummm . . . " Shinobu knew she had to choose her words well. Should she say her hair, her dress, her eye color, she asked herself. She finally decided to complete her phrase with, " . . . anything."
"Nonsense," Mitsune asked as she leaned over and began to smear the eye shadow on Shinobu's eyelids, "Trust me, Nashville Allure will draw men by the fly of their pants."
"Eye shadow can do that?" Shinobu asked as she stared into the mirror, attempting to discern what was so tempting about a bit of goo covering her eyelids.
"Sure," Mitsune assured her, "Men are simple creatures. Oh, by the way, do you want to see your dress? I picked it out personally. Happousai, the old guy I took it from, had some gambling debts he owed me and he couldn't pay them, so he gave me this dress instead."
"What is an elderly man doing with a prom dress?" Shinobu asked, puzzled.
"Oh, well, you see," Mitsune stammered before quickly turning away to retrieve a brown paper bag. "Hey you know what?" she asked, hell-bent on changing the subject, "I think that it would fit you perfectly!" From the bag, Mitsune revealed the prom dress. Shinobu stared at it, browbeaten into a silent horror broken only when Mitsune goaded her for a response, "Well, do you like it?"
"It's, ummm, got a lot of bows on it," Shinobu said diplomatically, "I've never seen a dress with so many bows before."
"I know," Mitsune said enthused, "Isn't it great? I really like how the fuchsia offsets the orange and yellow. Oh and he gave me the petticoat that goes with it!"
Mitsune handed the dress to Shinobu for her inspection. She had never seen such a dress that went with a petticoat before. Examining the full petticoat and the obscenely low neckline, Shinobu wondered how she could wear so much and yet so little. The colors were loud, obnoxious, and dyspeptic all at once. She tried to imagine herself that night gliding across the dance floor, Keitaro holding her in his arms while she was wearing that dress, but it was impossible. The scene would have been ridiculous.
The dress reminded her of something that might have been worn by a bankrupt Russian duchess having a drunken baron, a lecherous priest, and a petty bureaucrat over for a cup of tea, the tea stale and cooling, and her china filthy and chipped; filthy, like the lurid and vulgar décolletage of the dress.
"Tea and broken cups," Shinobu thought. Once, while visiting her grandmother in Assabu, Shinobu had broken one of her teacups. How nervous she had been, with her grandmother instructing her on table etiquette, the proper way to fold a napkin, appropriate posture while sitting in a chair, along with a mishmash of disparate rules of conduct: when to eat, when not to eat, what forks were for salads or entrées. When Shinobu asked her why she needed to learn these elaborate protocols when her family usually ate while sitting on the floor with chopsticks, her grandmother replied, "A true lady is prepared for any situation, Shinobu."
"Prepared for any situation," Shinobu told herself. A real woman would be prepared. If she were prepared for any situation, would that make her a real woman, she asked herself back then. A real woman would be prepared to dine with dignity in a fancy restaurant. She was rapt by the possibility her grandmother offered her, the chance to be a true woman, but at the same time she was wracked by anxiety as she attempted to keep the dining rules straight in her mind.
"Use your forks from outer to inner," she told herself as her grandmother poured her a cup of tea.
"OK, I also got you a bottle of perfume," Mitsune said, calling Shinobu back to the present. Mitsune took a dark purple bottle out of a paper bag lying in a corner. As Mitsune went to retrieve the paper bag, Shinobu was draw back to the memory of her grandmother on that day.
"Keep your back as upright as possible without looking strained," Shinobu kept in her mind as her grandmother poured herself a cup of tea.
"With this stuff, you can't fail. If the blush and eye shadow don't work, this will," Mitsune crooned, unwittingly fighting against Shinobu's grandmother for Shinobu's attention.
"A lady must engage in lively and charming conversation with a man over dinner, never too serious lest the man be bored or affronted by her discourse," Shinobu remembered as her grandmother passed her a cup of tea.
"Plus, I've got some lipstick," Mitsune went on.
"A woman is demure at all times."
"Men are pigs, but at least they're stupid enough to be herded like cattle."
"Laugh at their jokes, always, even if you're not amused."
"They're all yours, Shinobu. The boys in your class don't stand a chance. Keitaro either!"
"And remember . . ."
"And never forget . . . "
" . . . men only want one thing."
" . . . men only want one thing."
Her afternoon with her grandmother and Mitsune priming her like a brothel girl . . . what did it mean to be a real woman? The two voices danced in her head shouting riotously against each other and at Shinobu. She closed her eyes tightly while clenching her fists, trying desperately to regain control of her own thoughts. In her memory, she reminded herself of how tense and jittery she had been. How she wanted to make herself worthy of her grandmother and how she wanted to be a true woman. She took her cup of tea nervously from her grandmother.
Was her posture correct?
Was she sipping too loudly?
Was she holding the cup correctly?
Should she drink with the pinky out or was that ostentatious?
Ouch! Hot!
Shinobu had forgotten to test the heat of her tea. The delicate porcelain teacup fell to the table and shattered. The green tea, still steaming, poured and streamed across the tablecloth, staining it as it was absorbed into the sheet. Shinobu could only cover her face as she did her best to press back her tears. She was a failure, she told herself. She would never be a true woman. She would never get it right, she told herself even as her grandmother consoled her, told her that she was still young, but would have plenty of time to grow up.
The memories press hotly against Shinobu's mind as Mitsune bedewed her with the cheap, noxious perfume. It seemed almost rancid as it clung in her nose and wouldn't let go. With the slutty dress and the cheap makeup and perfume, she knew what was Mitsune pushing her towards. Would she again try too hard to be a real woman and go too far, Shinobu asked herself. First time. They say it hurts. Why does everything have to hurt for girls? Even back then, she knew that if you broke your teacup, you would never get it back. Never. Never. Never. And they say when it is broken a little bit comes out. She saw it pour out darkly against the sheets, trickling softly over them, staining them irrevocably. And would she cry this time as well?
"No!" Shinobu screamed.
"What's wrong? You don't like the perfume? I can get a bottle of mine if you want," Mitsune said kindly.
"No, no you don't understand! I can't do this!" Shinobu said nervously, her voice escalating in intensity.
"Shinobu, what's going on? Don't you want to look nice for your prom, get the boys' attention? Get Keitaro's attention too?" Mitsune winked.
"I've got to go," Shinobu said while jumping out of her seat and running toward the door.
"Wait! But we didn't even get to try the lipstick," Mitsune said shouted after her, "It's recommended by four out of five Parisian whores! Parisian whores! That says class right there!"
But it was too late. By that time, Shinobu had already dashed out of the room and down the hall.
End of Chapter 7.
Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only.