Disclaimer: (PG-13) Obviously, it doesn't belong to me. Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. I appreciate criticism: please read, enjoy, review.

Authors Have Parties Too? Part 2: Party Time

Saturday night

Eiko Publishing had rented a reception hall in a posh downtown hotel complete with valet parking, a tuxedo-ed host to point the way to the hall, a full bar, a buffet of hors'd'oerves, and a pianist to play soft music. There was a microphone and podium at one end of the room, next to a prominent display of recent, award-winning books artfully arranged. Tables and chairs had been placed about the room in a typical pattern. They were a little early, but there were currently about forty people in the room. There was probably enough space for over 200. In the next ten minutes, the room would fill. Japanese always tried to be on time. There was no such thing as 'fashionably' late.

Mizuki saw them first. "Yuki-san! Shindou-kun!" She waved from a spot near the buffet. She was standing with two older gentlemen in business suits and ties.

Eiri moved toward her. Shuichi waved back with a bright smile and followed. One of the men excused himself before the two of them reached Mizuki. Eiri thought he saw a look of contempt cross the man's face before his back was turned and he moved away. Eiri didn't recognize him.

"Allow me to introduce my fiancé, Fujimaru Sano." I didn't even know she was engaged, Eiri thought. They greeted each other, bowing respectfully. "I'm so glad you both came," Mizuki gushed. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear red, Yuki-san, you look very nice." Shuichi grinned at him meaningfully.

Eiri pulled out a cigarette, muttering, "Thanks." She didn't comment on Shu's uncharacteristic suit. Wasn't that funny? Maybe she couldn't think of anything to say that didn't insult his usual style of dress? Eiri lit up. Thankfully, he hadn't seen any non-smoking signs in here. To change the subject he asked, "Who were you speaking with a moment ago?"

"Oh, that was Miyamoto-san. He's one of our non-fiction best-sellers. His latest book was a history of architecture in Kyoto. It's on the display table, if you're interested," she offered.

"Hm. What's with that, anyway?" He nodded toward the table and podium.

"There will be some announcements later, to honor the company's most prominent authors." She winked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. He'd better not be required to make a speech. He hated public displays. This may be less-than-public, but still . . . He never felt any need to be honored for the tripe he wrote.

Apparently sensing his ire, Shuichi distracted him. "Eiri, let's get something to drink, okay? Excuse us." The kid grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the bar. Eiri shook him off after two steps, but followed. He really is trying to be good, Eiri mused. He isn't running or bouncing across the room, either.

The hall was filling up now and Eiri could see the cliques start to develop. There; the non-fiction authors— he recognized a man and woman he had met before, speaking with Miyamoto. By the bar were the cookbook folks, loudly discussing the virtues of cooking with saffron. The stuffy-looking group of men in high-fashion suits were the publishing executives. He thought that the giggling group of young women seated at a large round table were secretaries. One of them was pointing toward Shuichi with wide eyes.

"What would you like to drink, Shindou-san?" The bartender asked as he approached.

Shuichi opened his mouth but Eiri put a hand on his shoulder speaking for him, saying firmly, "Orange juice. I'd like a martini, please." He usually drank beer, but this was a special occasion. He could drink something different once in a while. The bartender glanced at them both and started preparing the drinks.

Shuichi looked at Eiri, pouting a little. "I wasn't going to get anything alcoholic. Really."

The bartender handed over the drinks and smiled at Shuichi. "If I may say so, sir, I really like your music."

"Uh, thanks!" Shuichi said. He beamed at the young man, who bowed politely and respectfully. When the man stood up, he wore a big smile.

How did Shu have that kind of effect on people? Eiri wondered. He knew how to charm people with words when he had to, but his Shuichi could always put others in a good mood, just by being around them. Even me, he thought. "Are you hungry?"

"Naw." Shuichi shook his head. "Would you introduce me to some other people? I only know you and Mizuki-san, here."

Eiri looked around. Who might Shuichi get along with? "Ah. You see that guy over there with long black hair? In the green shirt? That's Hitori Izumo. He's a biographer. I know he's written free-lance articles on Nittle Grasper..."

"Yuki-sensei!" A woman in a soft pink suit stepped directly in front of him, cutting off his path to Izumo. She put one hand on his arm, familiarly. She was pretty, in an artificial way. Her short hair had been styled and firmed in place by chemicals. She wore a lot of make-up and walked in her own cloud of cloyingly sweet perfume. Her dark eyes shined with the glassy look of the hopelessly enthralled. She had been interested in him for a long time. "How's your latest book going?" She pointedly ignored Shu, turning diagonally in front of the singer, as if to edge him out of any conversation.

Eiri moved to displace her hand and gestured to his lover. "Yakamoto Megumi, Shindou Shuichi," he introduced. "Yakamoto-san is another romance novelist," he added to Shuichi. Eiri inhaled deeply from his cigarette, amused at the woman's brief, crestfallen expression. She adjusted her posture to include Shu, grudgingly. Eiri didn't answer her question.

"Uh, nice to meet you," Shuichi said, filling the silent pause.

"Uhm. Nice to meet you, too," Yakamoto said sullenly. "Aren't you... in a rock band?" As if she didn't know, Eiri scoffed. She was probably trying to tie Shu into a conversation just so she had an excuse to stay by Eiri, where she could try to work her wiles on him. Fortunately, Shuichi was more interested in speaking with Izumo.

"Yes, Bad Luck," the kid answered. "Our latest single, 'Airplane', hit number one last week." Shu's bright smile worked such wonders. Megumi's responding smile looked kind-of sick, though, when she glanced up at Eiri. Did she catch some hint of the indulgent pride he felt for Shuichi? The singer's voice changed a little, becoming brusque. "Excuse us; Eiri was going to introduce me to other people." Was the kid bristling?

Eiri blew out smoke and moved around Megumi. "Don't worry," he said quietly to Shu as they crossed the floor. "I'd never have anything to do with her."

Shuichi glanced at him with mild surprise. He was so easy to read, with his emotions bared to world and his big eyes giving away his every thought— yet he always seemed surprised that everyone could read him. Hmmm. Reading him and understanding him are definitely two different concepts, though, Eiri reflectedThey made their way over to Izumo.

The other author was not quite as tall as Eiri, putting him somewhere under six feet tall. He wore a tailored, pinstriped grey suit with a bright green shirt the color of spring leaves and shiny black dress shoes. His long black hair was mostly pulled back in a loose ponytail that left long strands of hair falling onto his shoulders. The hair style reminded Eiri of Shuichi's friend, Hiro. Izumo had a long thin face and sculpted bone structure. His green eyes registered interest as the two of them approached. The man set his drink on a nearby table, freeing his hand and offering it, American-style. "Yuki-san, nice to see you again."

Eiri stuck his cigarette in his mouth and transferred his glass to his left hand to shake hands. The man's grasp was firm and dry. He had long, thin fingers, Eiri noted. "You, too," he greeted. "This is—"

"You're Shindou-san, of Bad Luck," Izumo interrupted, turning to Shuichi. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He offered his hand again and Shuichi took it, shaking hands tentatively.

"Thanks! Nice to meet you, too," Shuichi said. "Eiri said you've written about Nittle Grasper?"

"Oh, yes. Years ago . . . I interviewed Seguchi-san a couple of times for magazines. Now that they've reunited, I considered writing a book about them. I wanted to fill in the three-year gap, for fans, but I couldn't get Seguchi-san to agree. He said Sakuma-san wouldn't want to talk about it, either." With a half-smile, he asked, "Has anyone approached Bad Luck about a biography?"

Uh-oh, Eiri thought. I hope I didn't make a mistake, introducing them. Shuichi looked a little flustered. "No..." he responded, cautiously.

Izumo laughed. "Don't worry, someone will. You've been on top of the pop-charts steadily for the last . . . hmm . . . about two years, right?" He shook his head a little. "Someone's probably writing a biography about you or your band now. It'll sell, authorized or not." Izumo waved a hand, dismissing the idea, "Right now, I'm working on a biography of a Warring-states-era warlord. It's just a piece of history that interested me."

"Um, 'authorized or not'?" Shu repeated in confusion. "If someone writes it, doesn't that make him author-ized?"

Shuichi's stupidity is showing, Eiri thought. "Idiot," he drawled. "Authorized means 'approved'. If you don't approve of it, it's unauthorized." He took a drink.

"Damn! The tabloids are bad enough, Eiri. What awful things could they print in a whole book?" Shuichi's eyes began to water.

Not here, he thought. "Don't think like that," Eiri scolded him coldly. "Most biographies are all about the good things." He glanced at Izumo, silently asking for help.

"That's true," Izumo added quickly. "Most biographers would ask about the music— how you were inspired to write each song, what brought the band members together— that kind of thing. While I'm sure some of that is very personal, most of us don't want to get a reputation for mistreating or betraying the people we write about."

Shuichi sniffled, looking at both men. He stepped closer to Eiri, almost unconsciously. "Sorry," he said to the floor. "I didn't mean to insult you, Izumo-san," he said quickly, looking up to see if the man had taken offense.

"Not at all. I think you have reason to be cautious." He smiled affably, "I think I'll go visit the buffet. Excuse me." He nodded to them and moved away, sliding between tables.

He has a point, Eiri considered. No one had approached Eiri about a biography because as an author, he guessed he was expected to write his own auto-biography. He had no intention of ever doing that. Not directly, anyway. Little pieces of his life were always finding their way into his writing. He crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray and had another swallow of his drink while Shu contained himself.

Eiri had been in the limelight before Shuichi had come into his life, but the singer had added another dimension to the media blitz. If someone did write a biography about Bad Luck, how much would they pry into his life? Eiri resolved to check into Eiko Publishing, to see if there were any such book proposals floating around. If there were, then he would decide what action needed to be taken.

"Why don't we just sit down?" Eiri suggested. Shuichi nodded. "People will come to us to talk, you'll see," he told the kid. Shuichi nodded again. He was biting his lip. "Stop worrying about it," Eiri commanded.

Shuichi looked up at him again. "I'll try," he said in a small voice. "You hungry?" Eiri shook his head no. "I'm going to go get some food."

Eiri pulled out another cigarette. Shuichi jumped up, but quickly controlled his first inclination to bounce or run. Eiri could see the effort it took for him to walk like a normal adult. It made him want to laugh. He toned his reaction down to a smile before it escaped. He hoped the singer wouldn't take too long. Eiri didn't want to be swamped by the secretaries.

He crossed his right leg over his left knee, slouching in the chair and puffing on his cigarette. He idly looked around the room and moved the table's ashtray closer to himself. It seemed that Shuichi was the one who'd be swamped by the secretaries. Eiri smirked, watching the women converge on the singer. The crowd of females had appeared around Shu as soon as they saw that he was by himself. I won't rescue him until he needs it, Eiri thought. Scenes like that had been happening more often, lately. Almost two years of rock hits, Eiri mused. He still writes shitty lyrics, Eiri thought, but the public sure eats 'em up. He could hear Shuichi's melodic laugh over the subdued din of conversation.

One of the senior executives came before him, bowing, and cutting off his line of sight to Shuichi. "Yuki-san, I'm glad you've come." What was his name? Eiri considered the man before him. His face was lined from age and stress. He had thin white hair and wore a very expensive suit. The man pulled out a chair and sat beside him, in a rigidly upright posture. "You are this company's most prominent author, you know. I'm aware that you usually don't come to our gatherings and I just wanted to take a moment to personally thank you."

Eiri raised an eyebrow. What did the man expect him to say? Was it a ploy to flatter and then ask for a favor? "You honor me," Eiri temporized. It wasn't likely he'd blow-off a request from senior management . . . Well, within reason, Eiri amended.

The man smiled, transforming his face from pale, aged leather to that of a pleasant grandfather. "We'll be making some company announcements in a few minutes. Would you be willing to have some publicity photos taken, in honor of Eiko Publishing's 25th anniversary?"

Eiri shrugged. At least he wouldn't have to give a speech, unprepared. "That would be fine, sir," he replied. Mizuki should have warned him. Maybe she hadn't known?

"Good, good." The old man slapped his knees and stood. "I see your friend is returning," he commented, "enjoy the party." As the man walked away, Eiri could see Shuichi making his way back to their table, carrying two small plates. He was stopped and spoken to often enough for Eiri to be able to finish his cigarette by the time Shuichi returned. Eiri sat back, content to watch the room, as the kid came closer.

Shuichi put one plate in front of him. "Look! Strawberry shortcakes," he said, excitedly. "I know they're your favorite. They're really good, too. Try one," the singer urged.

Eiri took another sip of liquor. Shuichi's own plate was half crumbs. He wondered how the younger man had been able to eat from his own plate while both hands were full. He hoped Shuichi hadn't just sucked the hors'd'oerves directly off the plate. Eiri waited for Shu to tell him about the people he'd been talking to, because Shuichi talked about everything. Using his fingers, Shuichi ate a small, puffy pastry in one bite and watched him back. Eiri bit into the strawberry shortcake and was rewarded by Shu's smile. The dessert was good. He ate some more. For Shu, Eiri's acceptance of the food was his cue to jabber.

"The secretaries here are really nice. I didn't know how many authors like Bad Luck, either! A lot of people already knew who I was!" Eiri thought that made perfect sense. Not all writers were veritable hermits, like he was, after all. If any of them listened to radio or TV, they would have heard of Bad Luck and Shindou Shuichi. Shuichi himself just never seemed to grasp his own popularity. Maybe that naivety was part of what kept him striving for 'bigger' and 'better', blithely unaware how much he had attainted.

Shuichi giggled, catching Eiri's attention again. "I'm glad I didn't wear those pants— the ones I bought last weekend." Eiri knew exactly which pants he was referring to. "Someone over by the snack bar already pinched my butt. If those secretaries were any more forward, they might have carried me away. One of them even put her phone number into my pocket." He shook his head. "Does that sort of stuff happen to you, Eiri??"

Eiri looked at him, golden eyes narrowing. He leaned forward to comment, when a chime rang out over the crowd, calling for attention. Most of the people who were standing swiftly found chairs to sit down in, accompanied by a variety of scraping and settling noises. Others moved to stand at the edges of the room so everyone had a clear view of the podium.

A young executive called out in his best announcer's voice, "As you know, we are here to celebrate twenty-five years of Eiko Publishing." Everyone applauded, briefly, as expected.

The elderly man who'd spoken with Eiri earlier took the microphone. "Welcome, everyone. I'm happy to see such a good turnout for this event. We have had a very successful twenty-five years. This is the result of hard work on the part of our authors, editors, publishers, and staff; we thank you." He bowed, humbly, eliciting another brief round of applause.

"We have many exciting ventures planned for the future," the executive continued. "First, I wish to formally announce that we plan to expand our company in the new year. Our romance novels, in particular, have become so popular that we are opening a new division. It will be called "Never Ending Dream". This new division will have all the support of the company's main branch, but will allow our readers to easily identify our most popular genre of books. Our growth would not have been possible without the work of one man in particular . . . Yuki Eiri!"

I guess that's my cue, Eiri thought. He laid his cigarette in the ashtray, standing up during the applause from everyone in the room. Shuichi was grinning at him and clapping like a madman. Photo flashes went off. Eiri did not enjoy being singled out like this. The new publishing division was a complete surprise to him. He didn't really care who published his books but how had the announcement stayed a secret until now? Big company changes weren't usually quiet matters. Indeed, there were a lot of surprised faces in the room. Hopefully, the change wouldn't affect him too much. He hoped Mizuki would be part of the new venture. He didn't want to deal with breaking in a new editor.

The old man gestured him to the front of the room. Eiri performed for the crowd: smiling and shaking hands with the executives, holding still for publicity shots, and toasting the company's future. Did Shuichi ever feel like this? Like an exotic animal on stage, paraded out by its trainers to perform tricks? No, it was probably different for a performer. The performance was the band's payoff for hard work in the studio— a chance to dazzle their fans and reap the praise of a live audience. Eiri knew Shuichi loved that aspect of the music business. The kid craved the attention.

Eiri felt his real work was done in private; in the cool, (relative) quiet of his office. This . . . this kind of exploitation felt too open. He hated it. He hadn't done anything remarkable and, in his estimation, he didn't feel deserved of this kind of treatment.

As soon as he was released from the obligation of . . . trashy pandering, he collected Shuichi and they left immediately. Why did people pat him on the back over such nonsense? Why did they feel it was necessary? Eiri wondered.