Last Dance with Shinobu-chan.
By Project Pegasus
Chapter 8: Glasnost
With the prom just hours away, Shinobu nervously surveyed her state of affairs. She had no dress, and nobody to do her hair and makeup. She wouldn't dare ask Naru, Motoko, or Mutsumi to help her with her because she was convinced that they were already quite resentful over the whole prom incident. Shinobu didn't want to admit it to herself, but after sustaining bruises, trying on dresses that she couldn't fill, flinging away exploding bras, and wearing makeup endorsed by the Continent's finest working girls, she would have to endure one final humiliation. She opened her drawer and beneath a stack of colorful folders and notebooks, she removed a carefully hidden, slender envelope. On it was written a short message:
To my baby girl. Think of me whenever you use this, sweetheart.
With love,
Daddy.
"Baby girl," Shinobu thought to herself, "He wants me to be his little baby girl forever."
Shinobu had promised herself that she would never use his card because of the condition put on its use: that she would have to remember him. Shinobu broke the seal on the envelope and removed a blue credit card. A flood of disturbing memories seemed to race from the envelope along with the small plastic card. Shinobu held it up to the light as she watched the dance of the rainbow laden holograms and the glint of the glossy plastic as it reflected the daylight. As she did so, in her mind she weighed the merits of retaining her dignity against going to the prom with Keitaro. She knew that she was in a position to catch the next streetcar that went downtown, buy herself the most expensive dress and get her hair and makeup done at any salon she damn well pleased. In fact, she knew that her father would be more than delighted if he have to foot such a substantial bill: it would affirm that he remained a vital component of his daughter's life. Furthermore, if she went to the prom in a chic and expensive dress, she knew that even her most relentless persecutors would be silenced into submission.
But Shinobu had promised herself long ago that she would never again be dependent on either of her parents, and up until this point she had never failed. Despite what she felt her shortcomings were, in this matter, she guarded her honor stringently and jealously. If she knew nothing else about maturity, she told herself that at least she knew that she could never return home again; even at such a young age, she was determined to put her parents behind her. Should she compromise her independence on such a fundamental level in order to go to the prom with Keitaro, she asked herself painfully.
After debating for a while, she knew that after today, her school life would become unbearable, but at least she would be able to live with herself the rest of the time. She placed the plastic card back into the envelope and once more concealed it beneath the disorderly mound of papers in her desk drawer. She would have to improvise, she told herself as she walked to her closet. She didn't have anything that approached a prom dress, but she was not deterred. It was then that a knocking came from her door.
"Who is it?" Shinobu asked.
"Shinobu, it's me," Mutsumi called, "May I come in?"
"Of course," Shinobu answered.
Shinobu's door slid open and Mutsumi entered. "Shinobu, how are your preparations for the prom going?"
"Well, I'll be all right if that's what you're asking," Shinobu told her shyly.
"Did you like the dress Mitsune bought for you?" Mutsumi asked sympathetically, her voice trying to touch Shinobu at the depth of her sadness.
Shinobu shook her head in silence while lowering her eyes.
"If you don't mind Shinobu, I was wondering if you'd like a dress," Mutsumi said quietly, "I have an extra one if you'll accept it."
Shinobu lifted her eyes to Mutsumi in disbelief. "It's ok," Shinobu replied despondently, "It probably wouldn't fit me. Your figure is too different from mine. Thank you, but it probably wouldn't work." She recalled with bitter disappointment what had happened when she tried to fit into Haruka's dress a few days earlier.
"It doesn't hurt to try, now does it? Come on, I think it'll be worth your while. I'll do your hair and makeup first," Mutsumi said with a charming smile on her face, "Besides, what do you have to lose?"
Shinobu knew that she couldn't refuse such hospitality, especially since as a rival for Keitaro's affection, Mutsumi had no obligation whatsoever to show Shinobu any kindheartedness. "Thank you Mutsumi," Shinobu said meekly as she followed her out of the room.
*
* *
"Whatcha doing?" Mitsune asked as she peeked over Keitaro's shoulder. The two were in Hinata Sou's small laundry room. Keitaro was holding a small box with the return address reading, "Yamamoto's Tuxedo and Accessories."
"Hold on, Mitsune," Keitaro said as he used a key to break the tape seal and open the package. After wading through some packaging, Keitaro fished out a small disk-shaped object about the size of a hockey puck or a urinal cake.
"Damn!" Mitsune giggled, "That's quite a condom you've got there, cowboy."
"It's my tuxedo," Keitaro replied, not amused.
"Oh I see," Mitsune said winking and nudging his side, "So that's what you kids call it nowadays."
"Ha ha," Keitaro said in deadpan tone obviously not amused, "Very funny, Mitsune. Actually, to save on packaging costs and shipping, lots of companies are shipping their clothes like this now. They shrink it and put it in this space-age plastic casing."
"'Space-age plastic casing?' So that's what you kids call it nowadays?" Mitsune said before breaking into a peal of laughter. "No, no, no I'm sorry," she said as she put her hand on Keitaro's shoulder. "But seriously, how do you go from that," she pointed to the object in Keitaro's hand, "to a full tuxedo?"
"Well," Keitaro said while reading a set of instructions, "It says here that all I have to do is soak it in some warm water." He looked up from the instructions. "Can you pass me that tub over there?" he asked while pointing to a wash bin behind Mitsune's left foot. She handed it to him, and he put the wash bin in the sink and began to fill it up.
"You put it in some water and presto a tuxedo comes out?" Mitsune asked, still a little incredulous.
"That's what it says," Keitaro said as the tossed the disk into the bin. The disk sat in the water for a few moments. Slowly, it began to lose its definite form as its contours began to soften into a supple jelly. As the plastic melted away, at first the black tuxedo seemed to retain the round, puck-like mold for a while before Keitaro poked and stirred the lump of cloth. The form of a familiar tuxedo gradually emerged.
"Pretty amazing, huh?" Keitaro said blithely. "Now all I have to do is hang it out to dry and it should be ready for tonight." Keitaro and Mitsune headed out toward the wooden platform where the clotheslines were.
Along the way, Mitsune spoke. "Say, Keitaro."
"What is it?" Keitaro replied.
Mitsune continued, "Why is it that clothes are so easy for men?"
"What do you mean?" Keitaro asked.
"Well, I mean, for girls, clothes are so complicated. We have to develop an instinct for color coordination. We have to make sure our styles aren't out dated. When we wear a blouse or shirt, we have to know if it goes best with a pair of slacks, jeans or shorts. And we women are judged so much by what we wear. We lose credibility if our skirts are an inch too long or short"
"That's true," Keitaro concurred.
"But with you men," Mitsune went on, "You can wear whatever you want. In fact, you don't have to worry about matching your tops with your bottoms because you can go around without a shirt if you damn well please. For God's sake, you ordered your tuxedo out of a catalogue," she said as she pointed to the sopping heap of a tuxedo that Keitaro held in his hands.
"Yeah, I suppose your right," Keitaro said guiltily. "What brings this all up?"
"Nothing," Mitsune said trying to be casual, "It's just that Shinobu went ballistic when I tried to dress her up.
"Do you know why?" Keitaro asked.
"I can't be sure," Mitsune said, shrugging her shoulders, "I don't think that it was a violent reaction to the makeup. After all, it only proved unsafe for one out of five Parisian whores. I guess it's a combination of things."
"Wait, you didn't finish Shinobu's hair and makeup?" Keitaro asked.
"No, she ran off before I could finish. She didn't take the dress either," Mitsune said in a worried tone, "But I ran into Mutsumi and she said that she would help Shinobu out."
"Mutsumi," Keitaro said in an absent voice.
"I'm sure Mutsumi and Shinobu can pull it off together," Mitsune said, trying to conceal her anxiety.
Keitaro turned the knob and sunlight flooded into the hall. They went through the door and onto the landing. Motoko broke from her drill when she noticed that she her privacy was being invaded. As they approached the clothesline, Keitaro felt Motoko's eyes on him.
"Hello," Keitaro said amiably, "We're not interrupting your practice are we?"
Motoko retained a sullen silence as Keiatro gave her a good-natured smile.
"OK, well don't let us bother you," he told her. She stared at him coldly as he began to pin the segments of his tuxedo to the clothesline, first the jacket, then the trousers, and finally the shirt and bowtie.
"I'll see you later," he said as she continued with her exercises. Mitsune and Keitaro turned and went back through the door into Hinata Sou.
*
* *
Shinobu back in her chair as Mutsumi began to shake a bottle of shampoo.
"Just tilt your head back," she said as she turned on the faucet and drew warm water from the spigot. She leaned her head back as Mutsumi, the watercarrier, pooled the water in her cupped hands before running it through Shinobu's hair. Shinobu closed her eyes as the water weighed discreetly upon her hair and calmly heated her scalp.
"Keitaro had been her first love back when they were still children playing in a sandbox," Shinobu reminded herself, "Now here she is readying me for my date with Keitaro."
Mutsumi opened the bottle and rubbed the shampoo between her hands.
"Why is she helping me now when I'm the competition?" Shinobu asked herself as Mutsumi began to lather her hair.
The perfumed scent of crushed herbs held Shinobu in a sweet swoon of tranquility as Mutsumi began to hum in a quiet gesture of grace. Her voice carried Shinobu's thoughts as she recollected her experiences with Keitaro.
He and his Promised Girl. Could Mutsumi be The One? No. Somehow, Shinobu knew that Mutsumi was not, and Mutsumi knew it herself. There was something resigned and mournful in Mutsumi's behavior toward Keitaro, perhaps something even unnatural, as though her foresight permitted her to recognize something that the rest of them could not.
Mutsumi had just finished rinsing Shinobu's hair when she said, "All done. Would you like me to do your makeup now?"
"Yes, please," Shinobu said timidly. Mutsumi wrapped a sheet around her neck then went to retrieve some makeup from the counter.
She powered Shinobu's face delicately.
"Not too much now," Mutsumi said as she brushed Shinobu's face, "The trick of makeup is to create the illusion that you aren't wearing any. Actually, I suppose that it's not much of a secret, but it's good to know." Mutsumi took a step back and looked at Shinobu. She opened her eyes to find Mutsumi intent on her face. "Do you like it?" she asked.
Shinobu looked at herself in the mirror. Her shell-pink cheeks rose in unison as she gave a restrained smile to Mutsumi. She nodded her head.
"I knew you would like it," Mutsumi said returning Shinobu's expression of delight and relief. From the counter, she picked up a tube of red lipstick.
"This is what I use," Mutsumi said as she traced it over Shinobu's lips. "Now go like this." Mutsumi puckered her lips, and made a smearing motion with them. Shinobu followed in kind. Mutsumi plucked a tissue from a nearby box and gave it to Shinobu. "Just put it between your lips and press down. It'll get rid of the excess." Shinobu did as she was instructed, and gave the spent tissue to Mutsumi for disposal.
"I'm sorry, but that's all the makeup I own. I actually don't use very much myself," Mutsumi admitted, "If you'd like, I can ask the other girls for some makeup, maybe some mascara or eye shadow."
"No!" Shinobu shouted emphatically. She paused for a moment in embarrassment. "I mean," she reiterated in a subdued tone, "that won't be necessary."
"All right then, now how about that dress? Let's swing by your room for your slip." She removed the sheet mantling Shinobu's shoulders. They left the washroom and went toward Shinobu's room.
As they approached her room, she said, "Mutsumi, if the dress doesn't fit, please don't feel bad. I know that I'm small for my age. Finding clothes in my size isn't easy."
She went into her room and picked out a slip hanging in her closet and returned to Mutsumi's side. As they walked down the hall, Mutsumi took Shinobu's hand. Shinobu glanced at Mutsumi's hand, then at her face.
"You shouldn't put yourself down like that, Shinobu," she said somberly, "You don't seem to understand how mature you really are." They walked on in silence before Mutsumi spoke again.
"I think that you'll like the dress," Mutsumi said optimistically. "It isn't fancy and you won't look like that other girls, but it's a very respectful dress."
Mutsumi slid the door of her room open and welcomed Shinobu in. "It's right on the bed. I'll give you a moment."
Shinobu entered and Mutsumi closed the door behind her. She approached the bed with soft steps, wary of what she might find. It seemed as though nothing had fit Shinobu. In her training gi, she had been assaulted and battered by Motoko. In Haruka's prom dress, she had been made the fool. She didn't even want to remember the exploding bra incident. But most painful of all, she remembered looking at the chest of her school uniform when Moto made her snipe about Shinobu not being grown up. She had changed so many times and yet she had always remained the same: insecure, self-conscious, and obsessed with the notions of inadequacy.
With care, she lifted the black dress that lay on Mutsumi's bed. She held it up and allowed it to tumble open. To her disbelief, it did not unfurl to Mutsumi's length. Instead, the dress seemed to accommodate perfectly to Shinobu's measurements. In awe, Shinobu gazed at it a while longer. Mutsumi was at least six inches taller than she was. The dress was much too short and slender to fit Mutsumi.
She couldn't have bought the dress especially for Shinobu. Even with her financial aid at Todai, she still had to take an abundance of loans. She was always short of money and even though she never told anyone at Hinata Sou, they all suspected that most of the money she made from working her college jobs went back to Okinawa to support the sizable family she left behind.
Shinobu searched her memory trying to recall if she had ever seen that dress before.
"Of course," Shinobu thought. This was the dress that Mutsumi had worn when the residents of Hinata Sou treated Naru, Keitaro, and her to dinner for their acceptance into Todai.
Suddenly, it struck Shinobu: Mutsumi had mutilated her finest dress for her sake.
Holding up the dress, she felt the fabric in her fingers: like fine silk or a mother's touch.
What was it about Mutsumi's nature that wouldn't allow her to care for herself? Her selflessness and acts of sacrifice were almost frighteningly masochistic.
Was it true that there were some people that needed to be saved and some people who just had to save others? And would she always give away what was dearest to her: her dress, Keitaro too . . .
Shinobu removed her clothes, put on her slip, and then slid the dress over it, being careful not to smudge her makeup. She peered at herself in the mirror. It was a perfect fit.
Mutsumi was right. It was not a fancy dress. But in the quiet dignity of its lines and its minimal ornamentation, there was something undeniably demure and understated about it.
What was it that motivated Mutsumi to help prepare her for the prom? Did she recognize something of herself in Shinobu: the longing for a man despite foreknowledge of the inevitable failure? As Shinobu gazed into the mirror, she knew that if there were any real justice, Keiatro would return Mutsumi's love. Why should a silly promise keep them apart?
Was it Fate? Were Keitaro and Naru destined to be with each another because Fate was granting their promise of fifteen years ago?
But even that made no sense to Shinobu: was Fate so absurd, illogical or just plain stupid as to grant the wishes of toddlers indulging in grown-up fantasies of love?
If it were Fate, then was Keitaro really happier being a mistreated slave to Fate and Naru rather than breaking free and accepting Mutsumi's unconditional love?
As far as Shinobu could tell, Fate had made victims of them all. Both Mutsumi and she would never be able to reach any level of fulfillment with Keitaro, their first loves. As for Naru, she was emotionally unready to return any affection for Keitaro. In order to get her into a relationship with Keitaro, Fate would have to coerce her against her will and persuade her to be satisfied with Keitaro. It was as though she were placed in an arranged marriage by unsympathetic parents and there was nothing she could do besides deceive herself into a false sense of contentment. Then there was Keitaro. Fate had turned him into a sort of comical Caliban. He had nothing to sustain his love for Naru beyond his own pleasant delusions. When those were lacking, he supplemented them with pornographic desires: his soul grew fat and grotesque as he fed off his lust for Naru. Fate had transformed Hinata Sou into a ship of fools drifting aimlessly toward an indecisive conclusion. She cowered in the shadow of it all, but felt a degree of comfort and assurance as she wore Mutsumi's dress.
"Mutsumi," Shinobu called beyond the door, "Please come in. The dress is lovely."
She entered the room. When she saw Shinobu, she clasped her hands and in joy exclaimed, "Ara! Ara! Shinobu, you are beautiful! You will be the prettiest girl at the dance!" There was a tone of sincerity in her voice that convinced Shinobu that Mutsumi wasn't making an empty compliment.
"Thank you so much for the dress Mutsumi," Shinobu said humbly, "but why did you . . . "
"Please Shinobu," Mutsumi interrupted, "This is for you. Please accept it as a gift."
"Thank you," Shinobu said while bowing, "I'll never forget this."
"Ara! Ara! Shinobu," Mutsumi said brushing it off, "You'd better hurry up and get ready or you'll be late to your prom."
Shinobu nodded her head and passed Mutsumi on her way out the door. Suddenly, Shinobu turned back to face Mutsumi.
"Mutsumi," Shinobu began slowly, "I've heard that men only want one thing. Is that true?"
Mutsumi looked away for a moment before replying. "It's true. Men only want one thing," she said softly, "but it's never the same."
Shinobu looked at herself and Mutsumi in the mirror once more. "What do you think Keitaro wants?" she asked.
Mutsumi also looked into the mirror before answering, "We both know the answer."
Shinobu was struck wordless by the truthfulness of what Mutsumi had said. She bowed once more before leaving the room.
*
* *
Keitaro furiously opened cabinet doors and shuffled through various boxes of detergent, cleaning rags, and buckets.
"Where could that . . ." he muttered to himself. Suddenly, he spotted Koalla walking by the laundry room. "Hey, Koalla," he cried out, "Do you have any idea where the iron is?"
"You mean that old hunk of junk? It's so heavy. Why don't we get one of those new plastic ones?" she asked.
"Would you like to buy one?" he asked lightheartedly.
"Yeah right," she retorted. "It's on the top shelf, in the cabinet right next to the wall."
"Thanks," Keiatro said as he found a nearby stool and reached the top shelf. Koalla was right. It had been a while since he had used the iron and he forgot how heavy it was. He plugged the ion into the wall and hoisted himself onto the washing machine while he waited for it to heat up. While he sat, Naru stuck her head into the room.
"Oh, you're here," she said nervously, "Hurry up because I have to do my laundry tonight."
Keitaro remained silent for a moment, waiting to see if Naru would continue to speak. When she did not, he asked, "Is there something wrong? Would you like to come in?"
"Sure," she said. She took a seat next to him on the dryer. For a moment they were seated next to each other in silence before Keitaro began to chat.
"It sure is cold outside," he stated.
"Yes," she agreed, "Cold indeed. The rain came at the worst time, didn't it?"
"Uh huh," Keitaro concurred, "At least it stopped raining for now." He paused in his conversation before continuing in desperation. "In the summer, when it's warm outside, sometimes the rain is pretty nice."
"Yeah, nice in the summer," Naru decided.
"Hey," Keitaro said after they had been sitting together without speaking for a while, "I think the iron is ready. Would it be ok if I took care of my tuxedo?"
"Sure, don't let me keep you," Naru urged. Keitaro hopped down from the washing machine and picked up the iron. As Keitaro began to move the iron methodically back and forth over his tuxedo, Naru broke the silence. "Hey, Keitaro," she said while pretending to be engrossed with paring her nails, "I just wanted you to know that I got you something for your dance tonight." From her purse, she produced a small, white cardboard box. She broke the seal on the box and removed the contents: a small white rose. "It's a boutonniere, you know, for your tuxedo's button hole."
"Naru, I don't know what to say." Keitaro spoke slowly, choosing his words wisely. "It really means a lot to me."
"Well," Naru said almost flippantly, "I just didn't want you to make an idiot out of yourself tonight. You can't just look like a slob, you have a responsibility to look good for . . ." Her voice broke off in mid sentence as she turned her eyes from Keitaro. She placed the boutonniere on the washing machine. He looked up from his ironing and approached Naru.
"Are you all right?" he asked as he put his hand on her shoulder.
Angrily, she knocked his hand away. "I told you never to touch me! I know where your hand has been!" she shrieked as she swiped the iron from his hand and batted him across the head with it. With second-degree burns scorching his face, Keiaro crumpled to the ground.
"Oh and have fun at the dance," Naru called out over her shoulder as she skipped away from Keitaro.
Keitaro picked himself up and returned to the ironing board. Just as he had finished, Mitsune knocked on the door and peeked her head through. "Hey there Keitaro," she said slyly, "What's up? Your tuxedo came out all right?"
"Yeah, actually it did," Keitaro said proudly.
"Well, I just wanted to wish you the best of luck at your prom tonight and give you these." From her coat pocket, she removed a small metal flask and a packet of cigarettes.
"Oh Mitsune," Keitaro said while waving his hands in a gesture of refusal, "You know that I don't smoke. Plus, those aren't allowed at school functions. What if I'm caught?"
"That's the whole point silly," Mitsune said almost amused, "Let the kids see you with these and you'll make Shinobu a hero. Just be careful the chaperones don't catch you."
"I don't know," Keitaro said while uneasily picking up his tuxedo and moving quickly toward the door, desperate to escape from Mitsune, "I really don't want to cause any problems. They'll probably be watching me closely in any case."
"Who cares?" Mitsune said confidently as she pursued Keitaro down the hall. "At any rate, if you pull this off, you can maybe get Shinobu into the cool crowd just in time for high school. Don't you want the best for our little Shinobu? I know that I do." By this time, Keitaro had almost reached his door. Mitsune began to press her case even more desperately. "Come on! Plus, if you get bored, you can always entertain yourself with a swig or two. What do you say?"
Keitaro looked peevishly at Mitsune before he blurted out, "Fine! Whatever!" He snatched the box of cigarettes and the silver flask from her hand and slid his door closed without another word.
Mitsune stood outside his door for a moment. "OK, you're welcome," she said almost bewildered before walking on.
*
* *
There was a knock on Koalla's door. At first, the pounding didn't reach her through the music of her headphones, but as the thumping became louder, she noticed and went to answer her door. It was Shinobu.
"Wow, you look great, Shinobu," Koalla said admiringly.
"Thanks. How's your forehead?" Shinobu asked, concerned.
"It's getting there," Koalla said while rubbing her head, "So, what can I help you with?"
"Well I was just wondering if I could use your computer for a moment. If that's ok with you," Shinobu said.
"No problem," Koalla said, "I was just going to step out for a minute anyway. I've got that new wireless Internet connection, so go right ahead."
Koalla went to the kitchen for a glass of water and searched the cupboards for a banana or two. She returned just in time to pass Shinobu who was leaving her room. "Find everything ok?" Koalla asked.
"I did. Thanks for letting me use your computer," Shinobu said.
"Anytime. By the way, have fun at your dance tonight." She watched Shinobu walk down the hall toward her room. When Shinobu was out of sight, Koalla went to her computer to find that Shinobu had been searching for the lyrics to a song: Wild Horses.
*
* *
"Seta is here!" Mitsune called out from the living room. Her voice reached Shinobu to produce a spell of anxiety and relief.
"Away! Away!" Shinobu thought to herself, "I'm finally going to the prom with Keitaro!" She gathered up the last of the items she needed for the prom. When she had everything, she rushed out of her room and down the hall. Along the way to the door, she passed Koalla and Sara.
"Have fun Shinobu!" Koalla said encouragingly.
"Yeah, good luck tonight!" Sara added.
"Thanks you guys," Shinobu replied as she kept up a brisk pace.
When she reached he living room, she saw Keitaro, donned in his full tuxedo, waiting for her. Shinobu did her best to subdue her elation. After the long week of deceit, misunderstanding, bitter resentment, and the general insanity of Hinata Sou, Keitaro and she had survived it all to finally go to the prom together.
"You look great!" Keitaro said admiringly. "Shall we go?" he asked, "Seta is waiting for us outside."
"Yes, let's go," Shinobu agreed.
The pair walked into the out of Hinata Sou together, unsure of what would follow, but unafraid of the possibilities. The cold night air seemed to remind them that they were being welcomed into a world that was strange and new.
End of Chapter 8.
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.