A/N: *cough* *cough* Heehe, SVZ, hope you have a fun honeymoon! Bring back pictures! ... Sorry this is so late, again... but my exams are starting next week (and even though I never study for them) I'm panicking like there's no tomorrow. Besides, I had a tonne of last minute assignments and such... But at least I know where this fic is going (I can't wait for chapter 9). Hope you like this chapter.

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Chapter 6: Bolero

I sat in my boss' office, drumming my fingers impatiently, counting the dust mites settling on the window plane. I had been called down to the office in the morning, there was something Mr. Strorm needed to see me about, and as I trudged through the cold early this morning I was considering just quitting the job and sparing myself the trouble of having my boss do it for me.

I had not yet finished the report on Tomoyo. Though I had ample opportunities to, I felt - strangely enough - that I was not too eager to have it done with. It has been almost two weeks since we first met, a couple of days since our conversation outside my apartment. I haven't heard from her since, and I must admit, I am fearing that I did, indeed, upset her enough to never want to speak to me again. I said some cruel things that day, and I wouldn't be too surprised if she asked my boss to cancel the interview completely. Could that be the reason I was called down here this morning?

"Hiiragizawa?"

I snapped to attention and looked at my boss. He finally noticed that he had company. I snorted and forced my voice to be neutral. "You wanted to see me, sir..?"

He humphed, an action that sent his large, bushy moustache reverberating, and looked at me with his buggy eyes. In that snotty voice of his, the boss man said, "I have looked over the report so far..."

"..and.." I prodded, wanting to get everything over with.

"Don't rush me, boy. I must say, I was expecting better from you, but you are so young after all, I shouldn't have had my hopes so high." The way he said it in his sneering, almost taunting way, I felt like I was sitting in front of the teacher who supervised detention instead of a business man. "It is, however, satisfactory. I would suggest you improve your questions, though."

"How would you want me to 'improve' them, then?" I asked, barely hiding the vehemence in my voice.

He shifted the papers on his desk, searching for what I assumed was my folder (seriously, people with his level of organization should not be allowed to control businesses). Coming up with the said documents, he continued, "Here you ask her what her inspiration is. That simply won't do."

"What is wrong with that question?"

He looked down at me, sneering. "Our audience does not care for inspiration or aspiration. What difference does it make if the broad saw some Broadway show when she was young? There are enough sappy stories like that in the tabloid magazines. As you know, this gazette's intent is informational purposes only, not a source for gossip mongers to leech off. It is the money that is important. Ask her how much she makes annually, how much she receives per show, who her agent is and all that nonsense."

It angered me to hear him speak such words. Since when has money been the most important thing in life? What about family and friends? What about happiness? Money can't bring happiness because it is a material object with an equally material purpose; because it comes and goes and then heralds avarice and woe, not passion or love. Money cannot hug you or kiss you, neither can it comfort you and sooth away your pain. And to hear this fool of a man say that, and about Tomoyo nonetheless, was even more preposterous. I forced down the ire building up in my gut.

Standing up I headed for the door and my escape, throwing in a "I'll to keep that in mind" after me.

"You better do, boy," my boss' voice drifted out when I was half way through the waiting area. "It's your only chance."

I snorted mentally and stepped out into the cold air, heading home and looking forward to a nice, long hot shower. I needed to sort my head, to cool down and perhaps find a way to compromise on my dilemma. I knew that Tomoyo was not the type of person who was interested in money; it was her passion, her dedication to her art that propelled her forward. Asking her something like the cost of professional training would surely wound her; I did not want to be the knife that carved out that wound.

I was twisting the keys inside my door's lock when something caught my eye. At my feet, wedged between the door and the doorframe, was an envelope. I reached for it, pushing the door open with one foot. I inspected the ivory envelope carefully, noting that no name or address had been written on the front. Was it perhaps a mistake? Did someone place it by accident by my door instead of my neighbours'? Or was it a love letter from a secret admirer, like my bravado kept on insisting? Disposing of my shoes and coat, I went into the living room, still inspecting the envelope cautiously.

As I sat in the love seat, Spinel Sun curled himself at my side, purring gently. I scratched the soft spot just bellow his chin and proceeded to open my prize. The uncovered sheet was decorated in sakura blossoms with rows of neat, calligraphy-like scribbles. Who could it be from? I skimmed the contents, eager to solve the mystery of the author. To my astonishment and delight (which was a mystery all its own), I discovered that the writer was no other than Tomoyo.

To make a long story brief, Tomoyo apologized for her uncalled-for absence, saying that she was too busy with the large mound of work and rehearsals she was duped into. That revelation did not surprise me. From the first moment I saw her, sitting by the frosted window and looking into the swirling dark of her coffee, I knew that she was one of those people who threw themselves completely into their work, sacrificed everything, dared anything as long as they reached that certain level of near perfection. Tomoyo's dancing - her passion and love - were more important then her health, or anything for that matter.

The next lines in the letter startled me somewhat. I reread that section, then reread it a second time, and yet the carefully printed letters did not change. Tomoyo had apparently been invited to the opening gala in celebration of the rebuilding of the amphitheatre, and, the invite coming at such a short notice, had not been able to select a male escort. So, she was asking me if I would spare her the embarrassment and be her date for that evening. I was taken aback, I must admit. I had never attended anything as prestigious as a soiree full of celebrities, never even conceived the idea that I would be one day.

Tomoyo asking me to accompany her was another thing entirely, one that left my bowels a jumbled mess and my knees into a pile of simpering goo. Was I prepared for such a commitment? Did Tomoyo's proposal mean anything beyond mere friendship? And if it did, why was I feeling so giddy suddenly?

"Oh, Suppi, what should I do?" I asked the feline, receiving half-open blue eyes and more purring.

Sighing, I untangled myself from the love seat and went to my bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As I entered the dimly lit room, I discovered that my decision was apparently already made for me. On my bed lay a neatly pressed tux, complete with a silky shirt and dress shoes (trousers included). I picked up the yellow sticky note and grinned crookedly at the smiley faces and hearts dancing around a "hope that'll persuade you to the dark side." So it was decided then, I was going on a date (though it wasn't one technically) with Tomoyo.

* * * (A/N: I originally planned to end it here, but decided to be merciful ^___^)

Later that day, I was pacing in my livingroom, the words "CAUTION: nervous wreck in front" spelled out on my forehead. I couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive about tonight, various humiliating scenarios playing out in my head. What if I tripped on Tomoyo's dress and accidentally spilled champagne over my borrowed jacket? What if I sounded like a complete idiot in front of all the Big People? Worse yet, what would the various paparazzi think of me being Tomoyo's entourage?

The letter had said that the pick-up car would arrive a quarter to nine. It was almost thirty to. Worry seized me. What if something happened to Tomoyo on the way here? What if she was stuck in a snow blizzard - even though this part of France is rather warm and rarely gets more than two inches of snow - or was a victim in a car accident? My edginess was beginning to irritate Spinel Sun, who settled for another nap after a round of "catch the mousy, which is actually Eriol's shoe lace."

"Am I completely insane?" I asked him. I didn't even need his confirmation; anyone who would question a cat about one's own sanity must be a raving lunatic. The anticipation was propelling me closer toward a nervous breakdown. Just then, a brisk knock sounded on the door and I nearly flew to answer it.

Outside stood an elderly man with pale, humorous eyes beneath bushy eyebrows and a teasing smile gracing the corners of his lips. He must be the chauffeur, I mused following the man into the evening air.

As I stepped outside, my eyes nearly gravitated toward the earth. Parked along the curb side was a shiny, midnight-blue corvette, catching the attention of passerbys like a glorious flame drew moths toward its brilliance. Even I was impressed, which was a great accomplishment considering that it takes a miracle to leave any kind of impression on me.

"This way, Monsieur," said the aging chauffeur, showing me to the open rear door and unwittingly waking me up from my almost-dream.

Still slightly dazed, I slid into the passengers' seat beside Tomoyo who gave me a warm "hello" and a sunny smile. Strange; I didn't even realize that I missed it during the few days we've been apart. I looked over her attire and noted that nearly everything was covered by a warm-looking long coat; only the slight darkening around her eyes and more voluptuousness to her lips suggested that she was dressed for the occasion at all.

"I'm glad you decided to come," she broke the silence, giving me another grateful smile.

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I? After all the trouble you had gone through to deliver this outfit for me, I couldn't possibly refuse, could I? How did you get into my apartment anyway?" That particular question had been plaguing me the entire day. I had three locks on my door, two of which only I had the keys to. How could she have enough time to get into my house, arrange the clothes so they looked fresh from the store and have time to leave before I came back?

Giggling, she ducked her head and slid closer to me. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you, though there are certain advantages to not giving away my secret..."

I mock growled and shook her by the shoulders in an intimidating fashion, though not powerfully enough to hurt. "I demand to know. I need to make sure a certain someone won't ever do that again."

"All right, all right, I'll tell you, just don't dislocate my shoulder blades," she whimpered, but I could hear the jest in her voice and let go of her with a smile. "But you have to promise that you won't write that in your report; I can't ruin my good reputation so early into my career. No, I would save that for later. Perhaps create a huge controversy or a scandal..."

I laughed and held my hand over my heart, a gesture I've seen on t.v. once. "I promise, I won't go ruining everything you've worked so hard to achieve so early into the game."

"Good, then." Looking a bit fearful, she reached behind her head where her dark tresses were bundled in a stylish bun and removed a thin, black pin. "I picked your locks. I used to do that when I was young and wanted to get out of the house; my room was always locked from the outside. " She said sheepishly. I was stunned, more so than if I was hit with a shovel in the face. Tomoyo? Resorting to waif-ish tricks to get her way? That seemed as unlikely as potatoes sprouting from my ears.

"Then why didn't you leave the letter with the clothes?"

"I didn't think you'd notice it that way. But enough of that, I don't like discussing my... unusual habits." She said with a shrug. "Are you nervous?"

"Me? Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" After all, she was the internationally famous dancer, not I; she was the one who every aspiring artist looked up to for appearances and inspiration. Why should me being nervous matter, I was there only to support Tomoyo.

She smiled almost wistfully. "Whenever you step out into the lights, even if you are not the main focal point, attention is just drawn to you. You have to appear a certain way, have to act another. I just thought the glam and all the attention would make you uncomfortable; you're not Mr. Impenetrable, you know."

"I guess you're right." On both your statements, I wanted to add.

The corvette stopped fluidly (I just love these kinds of cars, you just feel so important when riding one; nice mileage and handling, too) and the elderly chauffeur turned to us. "Mademoiselle, Monsieur? We have arrived."

"Oh! Already?!" Tomoyo exclaimed, quickly looking over her person to make sure she looked all right. She glanced at me and gave a once over. With a panicked squeak, she reached out and rearranged my bow tie for me, smoothing out the wrinkles that were beginning to form on the silk of the fabric. "Here you go; that's much better. Ready?"

I nodded and took her hand.

"Then c'mon, it's show time."

Just then, the passengers' door was opened by the valet. I carefully stepped out, only to be blinded by the sea of cameras and paparazzi.

(tbc)

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Ya! I have everything sorted out! I even started on a rough draft for Danse Macabre (my next non-angst long ficcie), I even have the costumes picked out. I also started on rough notes of Goblin Market! *so happy, she dances on her spot*...Now all I have to do is plan Blue Divide and that detective fic...;___;