" … Are you sure you're allowed to be in here?"

He turned his head to the left, then rolled it to the right, as if he was just becoming aware of the fact that he was sitting in a freezer. "…I won't tell if you won't."

I'm sure it's some unspoken societal rule that you are required to laugh when a famous person tries to be funny. The ends of my mouth twitched and curled awkwardly, but didn't quite make it into a smile.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a box of parliament ultra lights. Now that tickled me. Who would have thought that the five-time winner of Tokyo Times' Manliest Man in all of Mandom smoked chick sticks? I mean, I was one gay bitch when I was going through my flamboyant homo slut phase (no seriously, I had pink hair) and even I didn't smoke lights.

"Ar' ya cold?" He mumbled through the recessed-filter-but-you-just-end-up-smoking-a-million-of-them ultra light between his teeth, as he patted himself down for a lighter.

"…A little."

"Then you should probably give me my pizza, Shuichi."

I didn't exactly slap my hands to the side of my face a la Macaulay Culkin and screamed out "how the shit do you know my name!", but the expression on my face must have reflected just that. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and pointed it at my chest.

…… Right. Name tag.
... Right.

"My apologies, Yuki-san. The hanging pork was distracting. As is the temperature and my poorly manufactured shirt."

He pulled one of those superstar moves where they drop their head down to that perfect angle, allowing the eyes to become slightly visible just above the rim of the glasses. That stereotypical over-used utterly sleazy unbelievably sexy let me bamboozle you with my piercing gaze of famous-person-essence move.

Did I say sexy? I meant narcissistic.

"So you do know me. I was beginning to wonder if my publicist was lying about my face being the most recognizable in Tokyo."

"Of course I know you. Costco employees in charge of stocking don't earn enough to be able to afford the nose job and face lifts needed to become 'the most recognizable face in Tokyo'. Plus, that fifty foot billboard of you outside of Ueno Park is kind of hard to miss."

He stared at me. Then stated with vague intrigue, "What a roundabout way of complimenting someone."

"…That'll be four hundred and fifty three yen, please."

He proceeded to hand me the biggest bill I've ever seen in my life and told me to keep the change.

Rich people. I HATE rich people. I know I'm just as desperate for charity as the crazy homeless guys down by the subway, but that doesn't mean I can't still be bitter towards people who have the ability to tip two hundred percent. I stuffed the bill into my pocket and turned. After a couple of dead ends I finally found the door again. Thank god, I was beginning to really…

Oh, you've got to be KIDDING me!

I rounded the corners as fast as I could until I came upon the pop star on the floor chewing pizza sipping beer and puffing what appears to be his second cigarette. He didn't seem all that surprised by my reappearance.

"Um. Excuse me."

"Yes?"

"Is there… like, a back door out of here?"

"Why, what's wrong with the front door?"

"It uh, won't open."

"You know, I've always wondered why freezers only have one way doors. What if someone got locked in?"

Somebody needs to tell that guy he's not funny. If I don't get back to the store within the next half hour, I'm fired.

He lifted the pizza box. "Want some? There's beer behind me, second shelf."

I am so, so fired.

I dug out my cell phone only to realize that I have no idea who I should call and what I should say. Hello 911, I got locked into a refrigerating unit while making a delivery?

"Don't bother, you can't get any reception here."

"What the hell are we suppose to do then?"

"It's not that bad. We have pizza. And drinks. And all this frozen stuff. It's kind of cool, isn't it?"

"...You're not funny."

He smiled. Then he took off his jacket and handed it to me. At that moment I was basically living the wet dream of every single teenage girl this side of the globe: trapped alone in an enclosed space with Yuki Eiri. Who just offered me a piece of his clothing.

…Too bad I'm not into blond guys. Even though he does have a really nice smile. And a really nice voice. And a really nice body. And I really have to stop staring at him. I took his jacket with a quick 'thanks', and slipped it on. Then I just sort of stood there. There was a period of silence.

"Not going to sit down?"

"No, I'm fine right here. The floor's cold."

"Suit yourself."

There was another period of silence.

"…… So… what exactly were you doing in here?"

"Skipping work."

"Oh."

"Want a butt? It'll warm you up."

"No thanks. I've quit."

He took a long drag, then blew the smoke my way. "Good for you."

Must not stare.
Must not stare.
Must stop staring.

"You're one of those emo-indie kids, huh."

"First off, emo and indie are two completely different genres. Second, I am not one of those 'emo-indie kids', whatever that derogatory comment was suppose to imply."

"You just seem very hostile towards me." For whatever reason, he had a smug smile on his face. One look at that and I could no longer control what was coming out of my mouth.

"I just think people should be admired and loved for their talent. Not for superficial qualities like how good they look half naked on the cover of a gossip magazine."

He cocked up an eyebrow, the smile still there. "You think I have no talent."

"Pop stars like you are simply a product of your label. You don't write your own music, your biggest asset is your face, and most of you can't even sing without a back-up track. You're nothing but pre-packaged goods. There's not a single aspect of your 'work' that is original or worth any true artistic value."

The smile was gone, and it was replaced by something that looked much more… devious. And it finally hit me that I just totally insulted the most famous person in Japan. Shit. I hope he doesn't sue me. More so, I hope he doesn't beat me up. Even more so, I hope he doesn't have connections with the mob and get them to beat me up.

Just when I was contemplating whether or not it would even be worth it to try and take back what I said, there was a loud boom that sounded alarmingly similar to an explosion. The ground shook, the hanging meat swayed, and frozen cans toppled. Through the misty condensation I could make out the form of a tall figure walking towards us.

Is that…
Is that a bazooka?

"AHA! Found you! Gotcha! Game over! You've been a bad boy, haven't you! Do you know what happens to bad bo …Eh? Who is this little fella? And why is he wearing your jacket? GAAASP! You've- You've hired one of those boy prostitutes, haven't you! Jesus Mary and Christ this is going to be terrible publicity; I hope you're ready to do some hard-core cover up! You see? You see what happens when you play hooky! Bad publicity, that's what happens!"

"Good job. You found me. Now turn around and count to one thousand again."

"Oh ho ho, I think NOT. You fooled me once, but you won't fool me again! I'm locking you into the recording studio for as long as it takes."

"I haven't slept in two days, K. I think I deserve a break."

"And you've just had one. Now let's go make us a hit single!"

Hereally is carrying a bazooka. A real mother fuggin' bazooka.
Are those things even legal for use outside of the military?

"Fine. Let's go. I'm not guaranteeing anything, though."

"What about the prostitute?"

"He's not a prostitute, moron. He's the pizza boy."

"Pizza boy. You ordered pizza."

"I was hungry."

And they went on for a while, completely forgoing my existence. I didn't particularly mind; this whole situation was getting a little too twilight-zoney for me. I vaguely remember being thanked for my troubles, and being offered a ride. But I must have declined it because shortly after I found myself back on my little delivery scooter wondering what the hell just happened and why the hell I passed up on the chance to ride in a limo.

I didn't bother telling anyone what really happened. I figured my manager would most likely accuse me of getting really high and hallucinating everything. As the day went on I began to wonder if there was something weird in last night's meatloaf and it indeed caused me to hallucinate everything. The rest of the afternoon carried on fairly smoothly and by the time I was getting ready for my night shift at Chao's, I had pretty much forgotten the whole encounter.

That was until… about eight o'clock that evening. When God once again demonstrated his unfailing desire to see me suffer.

I was opening a bottle of cabernet for some rich yuppie couple when the entire restaurant went up in a frenzy. Everyone was craning necks, people were dropping things everywhere, and all the waitresses were doing that silent scream thing. The next second my manager had grabbed me by the arm and yanked me aside with more force than necessary. The plump balding man sneered into my ear with his barely understandable Chinese accent. "You, you leesen! Wataheva you do, you no scwoo up! You heea? You scwoo up, I fiya you!"

Then, I was unceremoniously shoved in front of a corner table.

Yuki Eiri looked up from his menu.

"Ah. What a coincidence."

...I found it very hard to believe that this was a coincidence. Might have something to do with the fact that he was wearing that smug grin again. I adjusted my tie with a nervous cough.

"Good evening. Could I interest you in something from the bar?"

"Jack on the rocks. Please."

Well. Someone's in a hurry to get wasted. I could smell the rich alcoholic self-righteousness permeating along with his expensive cologne. All I could hear on the way to the bar was:

"It's him it's him ohmigod it's really him!"

"This is so crazy! We're like, in the same room!"

"Kyaaaa! I can't believe this!"

"God I could die right now, no regrets!"

"Why the hell does Shindou get to wait his table? He's not even sitting in Shindou's section!"

"I heard he was requested! Maybe they're friends?"

"No. WAY. Shindou knows Yuki Eiri?"

I got out of there before the waitresses could bomb rush me. Technically I do know him, if by knowing they mean trapped in the back of Costco for ten painfully awkward minutes. I brought him the Jack, and he took his damn time with it. In fact, he took his damn time with his whole damn meal, torturing me with constant small talk.

"You go to school?"

Involuntary cough. "Yah, night school."

"You're a busy boy, aren't you, Shuichi."

More coughing followed by tie loosening. "We just met. I'd rather you call me Shindou."

"Something wrong with your throat?"

"Probably a cold. You know, from earlier today."

"Shouldn't you be home resting, then?"

"I have bills to pay. Some of them are from three months ago."

I was getting more and more uneasy with each bite he took. It seemed like any minute now an army of lawyers along with complimentary paparazzi would storm in to deliver me the lawsuit of the century. That had to be the reason he 'coincidentally' showed up at the restaurant where I worked, and 'coincidentally' requested me to be his waiter. I patiently awaited my fate.

He was almost done with his desert, and still, no storming army. The next time I came by, he was thanking the manager. A nod and a smile later, he was gone. Leaving in his wake a lot of disappointed waitresses. While my manager congratulated me on 'not scwooing up', I held my breath and opened the checkbook. Lying on top of the cash, were two concert tickets. And a note.

Isabella live house, Saturday night. So you can make a more accurate assessment of my "talents".

Y. Eiri

P.S: You looked cute in that waiter outfit.


To be continued.