Author's Note: The traditional road I've seen writers take with the Phantom Thieves (…well, this is excluding Akechi Goro anyway) is how characters like Ann or Ren are written essentially as good people with minor faults to their easily likeable nature, while having some form of believable struggle and personal conflict. That's cool. Even with my works, I have more than once written these characters to fit that trope.
With Sugar Rock Derby and its AU premise, I wanted to try out something different while fulfilling secretfanficlover's request of "a no-powers AU with an Older Woman/Younger Man romance" for this ship. I wanted to write Ann as a woman who's been called beautiful for most of her life, shaped by the vanity driven business of stardom, how growing up in such an environment would mould her as a person. And how Ann learns when pride's limitations are confronted by life's complications. Hence, the characterisation you're about to read.
Reading guidelines:
Octothorpe - Change in POV, same location or vicinity
X - time jump
Break line - Change in location
"The goals we pursue are always veiled. A girl who longs for marriage longs for something she knows nothing about. The boy who hankers after fame has no idea what fame is. The thing that gives our every move its meaning is always totally unknown to us."
-Milan Kundera
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
-M️ovie IN-
Jun Fukuyama blinked, his eyelids weighing heavily. Somehow, through his helmet and the V8 engine's roar, he could also hear his mouth breathing get louder. At his chest, the pain was spiking again. Jun's eyes dropped to the dashboard, at the tachometer. The race car was needling above 200km/hr and climbing.
Jun remembered his father's words:
x
"Out there, when you break 200 – it's like the entire universe slows down for you. You're in your head, so viscerally aware, so connected to the car like it's your extension. The driver can feel every explosion of unburnt high octane, every forced intake that's ignited from the supercharger's push. At 200 Jun, is where the grim reaper will come to meet me."
"But papa, you're the best racer there is! You've gone faster than 200 before, many times!"
His father hugged him tightly. Outside, the crowd at the race event roared in excitement.
"Not this race, chief. My heart is cursed."
Jun did not understand then. He was only five.
x
"Ack!" Jun cried out, with one hand dropping from the wheel to clutch at his chest.
Shit! thought Jun.
The earpiece comms opened. Someone from the pit crew was issuing instructions in the final two laps?
"Jun."
Nana? Why was she on comms? Where was-
Wait.
"Jun, I know you can hear me. I know. I know, you son-of-a-bitch. I just spoke to the doctor. How could you keep this a secret from me?! You slow down and bring that car to the pit stop right now!"
Jun looked in the rear-view mirror. Team Typhoon and Arasaka Motorsport's race cars were hot on his heels. It was an all-in or nothing now for the championship cup. All three teams were tied for the podium's first place until now. It was Sugar Rock Derby's moment of truth.
"But the race. If we don't win, your father's race team will dissolve," said Jun, trying to keep the tightness out of his voice.
"Fuck the race! I don't care about Sugar Rock Derby anymore! Not if it means you'll die!"
". . ."
"Jun."
Jun switched off comms. He could feel his circulatory system reaching its limits.
This was his inheritance.
Jun shifted the gear forward, gunning uphill. The race commentators were shouting excitedly that Sugar Rock Derby's car was first with a four second lead. Jun truly inherited his father's brilliant talent behind the wheel, they are saying.
This was his inheritance.
A dangerous moment of dark spots appeared in his vision before clearing out. Jun's heart was burning, its cells screaming from being pushed too hard by his adrenal glands, from the cognitive demands of racing so fast, for so many laps. The son also inherited his father's kind but flawed heart.
-Movie OUT-️
Everyone in the cinema was hushed and still. All the seats were filled out and each patron was watching the movie's climax with an abated breath. Beauty Thief Production's first feature film, Sugar Rock Derby was mesmerising and enrapturing movie audiences all over the world. It will be an unforgettable film that will be talked about for decades by fans.
Moreover, Sugar Rock Derby was a memorable production for its acting and production crew. Especially for the leads who played Jun and Nana. Amamiya Ren and Takamaki Ann.
Seventeen months ago.
-Movie IN-
The precision suppressor barrel locked into place on the sniper rifle. A titanium grey pupil filled the scope's fisheye lens.
Akira Kurusu's breath fumed into the cold air. He adjusted the scope's lens zoom, resting the green reticle at the front entrance of the Moscow hotel. Cross-hairs sliced across black cars parked in front of the revolving doors, flanked by ex-military bodyguards. E.T.A four minutes until the target exited the building.
The distance between the muzzle point of the suppressor and the hotel's steps was 801 metres. Akira laid prone in camouflage, a smidge on the snow-laden roof. Between Akira's vantage height and the hotel was the freezing waters of the river which streamed out to the aquatic veins connecting to the Black Sea. The icy waters were mystified by its opaque black, taunting the imagination for how deep the river could be. A plunge into the winter stream would be fatal.
A mechanical click registered behind Akira. A handgun unlocked.
Akira's finger uncurled from the trigger. He recognised the service weapon's acoustic quirk. The handgun pointed at his back was used by a certain espionage organisation. Specifically, the same employers who sent call-sign 'Joker' out on this field assignment.
"Mission's over, Joker. Stand up," spoke a woman's voice.
Orchestra music of dread began to play, brimming the moment in a tension of revelation.
Akira complied, slowly standing up.
"Hands behind your head," ordered the voice behind him.
Pianos keys dipped, adding the nuance of treachery.
This voice. . .
Akira raised his hands to his head. Recognition wavered through his eyes. Then sadness.
"All this time. . .it was you, wasn't it? At the Paris exfiltration, that bio-weapon. . .all those gendarmes were killed by you," said Akira.
". . ."
The shot rotated, panning the chilly Russian city, to the Kremlin – and into focus, a red-headed belle pointing a gun at Akira. The winds whipped at her ponytail, straying loose strands against her trembling lips.
Akira turned around, dropping his hands. The gun pointed at him held a steady aim.
"Why Violet?" asked Akira, his voice hoarse in hurt.
Violet's eyes were glassed in tears. She blinked them away, trying to hide her anguish.
"You know why," she said.
". . .You're 'Devil-One'," said Akira.
"Yes."
A basso chorus melded into the soundtrack.
Akira was ashen. The code-named mole which plagued the spy agency for years, eluding all audit attempts to find the traitor.
"Was it worth it? Selling out our country to these terrorists? Killing all those people? -" Akira's voice rose, thick with emotion, "-was it worth it, earning my trust. . .my heart, only to break it like it meant nothing?! All those nights in Bali, at the villa-"
Violet fired.
Akira stumbled back, clutching his shoulder. Red bloomed starkly against his white overcoat. Akira's jaw clenched, his face convulsing in exertion and pain. His foot scraped the roof's edge. Snow clumps tipped off and splashed into the river, forever swallowed.
"Not – another word, Akira. . .please. Please don't make this harder for me than it already is," whispered Violet.
"You cross this line, there is no redemption. Many people will die. It doesn't have to be this way," pleaded Akira.
"No. It didn't have to be. You were the one who refused to join our side when Doctor Spectre offered you a place among us," said Violet.
"I could never turn against my comrades," hissed Akira.
"Then perhaps our intimate Bali nights never mattered to you either. That makes two of us."
". . .End me then. My death will change nothing. Your side will never win," said Akira.
". . ."
Akira closed his eyes. The gun fired.
The 2.39:1 aspect ratio frame snapped back. A 25 frames-per-second moment of Akira falling off the roof. His body plunged into the river in a cannon-fire resounding splash.
Violet lowered the gun, her tears in full stream now. Sobs cracked out like a frozen lake fracturing. At her ear, the comm piece issued vague static then a cliché villainous voice asked:
"Devil-One. . .is the mission complete?"
Violet finally contained her forceful sobs. The movie's background notes changed to the licensed song from Utada Hikaru, her contralto voice singing sadness. Snow began to fall.
Violet pressed at her earpiece.
"Affirmative. Call-sign 'Joker' has been. . .eliminated."
The screen went black with the credit title:
DIRECTED BY:
AKECHI GORO
-Movie OUT-
The interviewer clapped her hands, delighted.
"The shocking ending in your debut movie had audiences all over the world gasping, Ren," said the interviewer.
Sitting on the interviewee's seat was Ren Amamiya. The nineteen-year-old actor was adorned in accessory glasses, a dark turtleneck and Levi jeans; which gave him the impression of a bookish screenwriter rather than the actor who did a Calvin-Klein underwear photoshoot yesterday.
Professional lighting panels and green screens canvassed the backdrop of the cafe-themed host show. A Dragon-X S35 camera dipped, zooming a 6K focus sequence onto their aloof guest. Among the jungle vines of fibre optic cables and hanging mics, stood the silent TV station crew, monitoring the filming process for the live air interview episode.
Ren pretended that same brooding look he had when this interview started. His publicist told Ren his fangirls had mistaken his resting bitch-face syndrome to be a projection of quiet intensity which fuelled Ren's recent image as a teenage heartthrob.
"Did it now?" asked Ren.
"It's certainly piqued the question which all fans of Devil-One are asking now. Will 'Akira Kurusu' return in the sequel? Despite your character being killed off by Violet, fans are hoping for a resurrection twist. There's even an online petition which has accumulated more than ninety thousand signatures, asking for one more spy thriller showdown between Joker and Violet."
Ren shrugged noncommittally.
"Personally, I'm fine with closing off on movie one. The chance to star in Akechi-san's latest blockbuster movie was such an immense opportunity itself; to work with an auteur who has such a distinctive visual language for cinema," said Ren.
"Big change, coming from stage theatre acting to this part of showbiz, wasn't it? At such a young age too," said the interviewer.
"Definitely. There were some hiccups at the beginning. Getting myself to adjust to the camera rather than the raw human attention. The dynamics to command and charge a character on the silver screen versus the proscenium are pretty different. It was challenging but I learned a lot as an artist," said Ren.
"Did your co-star, Kasumi Yoshizawa find it just as challenging? After all, she's got that Broadway theatre background. The two of you share more than a spy thriller for a debut. Two young stars, eighteen and nineteen. Both are represented by Sojiro Sakura's Leblanc Creative, a famous name in star-town for producing some of the best actors and actresses from the last century."
"If Kasumi found it difficult, she hid it well. From where I was watching, she was a real natural in pretending the personas of 'Devil-One' and 'Violet', as you know. . .these were characters of sophisticated presentation under the direction of Akechi-san – everyone who's worked with him knows he's a perfectionist in the movie magic he creates. I'd say Kasumi exceeded his expectations, perfectly nailing both the protagonist and the villain was nothing short of laudable," said Ren.
The interviewer leaned forward, her simper almost cracking the cakey make-up she had on.
"Any comment for the rumours alleging that there was an on-set romance between you and Miss Yoshizawa?" asked the interviewer.
Ren's professional composure froze. This question was not part of the pre-arranged script Sojiro had agreed on with the TV station.
The interviewer persisted, digging for that celebrity dirt like so many of the other vultures in this industry.
"Tabloid sources say there was more than an amazing on-screen chemistry happening. In Mika Kirimura's exclusive scoop, she asserts that on the last day of Devil-One's filming, the two of you were missing, having snuck off the set together, the delay costing Atlus Productions half-a-million dollars for your steamy escapade."
Ren sat back on his seat; his eyes unreadable. Ren remembered the last day of filming well. From his peripheral vision, the rest of the crew watched intently, not interrupting the interviewer for this contract infraction.
Sojiro's not here to intervene, thought Ren.
Ren could not escape this question.
"That is an unsubstantiated rumour," said Ren.
"Oh? Do you have anything to substantiate then?" she asked (her tongue lisping out reminded Ren of a snake).
"Only Atlus's official press statement – which is the truth, really. Filming had to be delayed because Akechi-san had bad pancakes for breakfast which gave him an upset stomach for the rest of the day. As for Kasumi-" Ren paused, his eyes going distant to a memory, "-she's a good friend of mine, which is to be expected since we share the same rep. As it was announced last week at SMASH! in Australia, her next project will be voicing the lead character for Studio Ghibli's next movie. Kasumi has the full support of myself and everyone else at Leblanc Creative," said Ren.
Although Ren was cordial, he enunciated 'next project' in an undertone of warning, reminding the show hostess not to stray from why he was here.
The interviewee raised her $200 microbladed eyebrow.
He's got a spine, she thought.
Good for him. Having nerve was going to help a lot in this cynical business of vanity and stardom entertainment. The simpering returned.
"That's lovely! Isn't it wonderful when peers support each other?" the interviewer turned to the camera, winking at the audience.
Why did Sojiro send me here? Ren thought with an inward groan.
"That's lovely! Isn't it wonderful when peers support each other?"
Sojiro tutted at the wall-mounted TV. This interview was going off-script further than what was allowed. Sojiro picked up the telephone – pressing '1' for his secretary. His eyes did not leave the live-televised interview.
Sojiro was sitting in his office, a sanctorum which his interior designer told him met the standards of Feng Shui, promising it would keep Sojiro's "zen" in a karmic harmonious cycle with his bodhisattva lotus ascension. Whatever the fuck that meant. There were only two cycles Sojiro knew in his line of work. For the average person, life could be broken down into summer, autumn, winter, spring – summer, autumn, winter, spring. . .
For Sojiro, it was pre-production, production, post-production – pre-production, production, post-production.
The other cycle was the rise and fall of dreams. If there was a town that could be both glitzy and heartbreaking, it was Harleywood. An overflowing bottle full of dreams, stars and hopes that broke more people than it made. Beneath the echelon of the successful were the waifs, the disillusioned divas haunted by offers from porno productions, untalented performers that never blipped on the radar, talented performers that went unnoticed and sometimes failed harder than their talentless contemporaries. It was a bitter thing but long ago Sojiro had grudgingly accepted that this was how the business worked.
For a pocket-still moment, Sojiro looked around his office. This room had seen years' worth of negotiations with actors, actresses, producers and even the occasional distasteful business of being forced to terminate a talent's contract. On one wall were frame-gilded movie posters; critically successful movies his agency's talents had starred it. The most recent addition was Ren and Kasumi's spy-thriller, Devil-One.
"Sakura-san?" answered his secretary.
Many, many people were ruined in Harleywood. Sojiro was used to it. And yet. . .a part of him felt a paternal protectiveness for the new acquisitions, Ren and Kasumi. Kasumi looked to be sailing in steady waters, her sensibilities perfect for survival. But Ren - the young man was over-his-head and reckless like many young actors. These were the years when he would be most vulnerable.
Sojiro did not want anything damaging his young talent.
"Midori. . .could you call legal and have them string up the production behind 'Good Morning, Sunshine Tokyo'?" said Sakura.
"This is for the interview with Amamiya, right? I'm on it, sir. Was there anything specific you wanted addressed?"
"The prearranged agreement for which questions they would ask Ren. Which questions they were supposed to avoid. Their interviewer is bulldozing through our stipulations."
"I'll be sure to brief them, sir. Also, your wife called earlier, asking where you left the black card. She wants to go shopping for. . .Christian Louboutin shoes," said his secretary.
Sojiro frowned.
"Didn't she buy shoes last week? The 6-k bill I received for that transaction alone?!" said Sojiro.
"Yes, sir. Those were the Walter Steigers," she replied matter-of-factly.
". . ."
"Sir?"
"Tell her. . .erm. . .tell her I'm in a meeting with Paramount Studios and that you can't reach me for the moment!" said Sojiro.
"Will do, sir."
"Thank you."
Sojiro put the receiver down, rubbing his eyes. The bullshit never ended in this life.
"-Now onto the highlight of this interview, Ren. Your next movie, Sugar Rock Derby! Could you tell us more about it? A few hints have surfaced online, such as casting. The lead actress role is supposed to be filled by an A-list actress this time. The trades are saying it's going to be the Platinum Pearl, Ann Takamaki. I'm also hearing that Beauty Thief Studios is partnering with Shujin International Pictures for this one," said the interviewer.
Sojiro picked up the script in front of him. Typewriter typeset introduced a title: 'Sugar Rock Derby'. It was a hefty script, Sojiro thought for the eleventh time. The director would have to be meticulous in the editing room to keep the movie under three hours.
"That's right. This is a romance-drama movie about a spoilt bachelorette, Nana Mizuki; who inherits her father's shambling racing team after he died. The executive producer, Okumura Haru is courting Takamaki-senpai to play Nana – the press will likely get the official word once the contracts are finalised this week. I'm playing the lead male character; Jun Fukuyama. He's a hot-blooded racer who convinces Nana to take a gambit on an unproven rookie, replacing his retired predecessor. As it goes in the source material, this story waxes a dark motor-sport league which has killed drivers in the redline, the trials of a young woman in a male-dominated sport, secrets, vendettas and of course. . .romance," said Ren.
Sojiro's eyes flickered back up to the screen. Both he and Ren had argued a lot about the lad's second movie. Shortly before Devil-One's production wrapped up, Sojiro was already rolling different projects at Ren's way, pitches and scripts which came from impressive film-houses. At one point, Ren had been focused, already motivated to accept any of these movies.
Then suddenly – somewhere during the advanced stages of Devil-One's filming, something in the young man changed. A snap. All the prospective scripts were returned to Sojiro with a post-it note saying, 'None of these -R.A'.
When Ren was summoned into Sojiro's office to further elaborate his reason for the refusals, the young man simply said that "I don't want to do Oscar-bait movies," a vapid excuse which nettled Sojiro. Why would you not want to star in a movie that could easily win the Best Motion Picture Award?!
All of Sojiro's imploring was met with the same refusal and one by one, the deadlines passed, closing windows of opportunity. It was starting to look like the momentous start to Ren's acting career was about to hit the brakes, until word on the star-tiled street said that the newly formed Beauty Thief Studios had secured the movie-adaptation rights for the indie novel, Sugar Rock Derby. Negotiations for the deuteragonist role immediately began with Leblanc Creative until it all came down to Ren's volition on the matter.
To Sojiro's astonishment, Ren accepted this gig.
x
"What makes this one special over the others?" Sojiro had asked him.
"Because. . ." Ren trailed off, dangling the word on a fishing line as if hoping that Sojiro was a fish that would bite and save him the trouble of needing to explain himself.
Sojiro did not bite.
"It's a racing movie. Appeals to my inner five-year-old," said Ren, shrugging.
Sojiro had a feeling that was not a wholly honest answer.
"You do know that no five-year-old is going to watch this, right?" said Sojiro.
x
Sojiro's eyes focused back on the TV.
"The movie's also R-rated, isn't it? A bold choice for your second project," said the interviewer.
"Bold - is a delicate way of putting it," muttered Sojiro.
"From a box office standpoint, there is a smaller safety net-" Ren admitted, "-but I'm confident in the director, Kitagawa Yusuke. Under his creative kaleidoscopic vision, the movie will pull through with fans. Kitagawa-san is not as experienced as Akechi-san but Sugar Rock's director has already made splashes over at the Cannes Film Festival."
"Aha. . .what about Miss Takamaki? How do you feel about working with an older actress this time, after Devil-One? Daunted? Excited? Disappointed? Going to miss Kasumi?" asked the interviewer.
Ren ignored that last bit.
"I'm looking forward to it. I haven't met Takamaki-senpai yet but I know I'm going to be working with someone who is clearly more experienced and talented. It's an honour to share the same screen with someone whose career started when she was only ten. Plus, it's like you said, Takamaki-senpai is an A-list actress," said Ren.
"Experienced indeed. She recently turned twenty-seven, making her eight years older than you. Although. . .are you confident of whether Ann's star-power will really help Sugar Rock Derby, after what happened with her last movie? It bombed catastrophically at the box office. She's also suffered a messy and publicised break-up recently. These things would certainly put a strain on any person's poise on-set, don't you think?"
Ren smothered a frown, trying to maintain a somewhat placid vibe in this interview. This hostess kept digging her sharp nails onto touchy buttons. Ren wished he could walk out of the interview right now yet he knew that was unwise for someone of his stature.
One of the plights of being under the social-media charged showbiz spotlight was the constant scrutiny of those who could paint you as a recreational outrage punching bag in the public's eyes or treat you as a commodity for internet points. Sojiro made sure his two newest starlets went through P.R training for this. One wrong tweet, one bad photo, one moment of losing your cool – could send adverse rippling effects to your next movie's marketing campaign. Yet for the unlucky ones, even all those measures were not enough.
Makoto's pufferfish stress ball was designed in such a way, that whenever it would get squeezed, its eyes would enlarge, its lips elongating to a dramatic pucker. It would also make a pathetic squeak whenever squished.
The office assistant Nakata tore his eyes from his screen monitor. From the ajar door of Makoto's office (the doorplate read, 'Talent Agent'), a fusillade discharge of the stress ball's squeaks was issuing, followed by cursing and a mug shattering.
Alarmed, Nakata hurried to check on Makoto. He found his boss standing at her office desk, her eyes wide and mad. Makoto was looking at something on her computer monitor, which Nakata could not make out from the other side.
"Makoto? Is everything OK?" asked Nakata.
Makoto was breathing heavily. She dropped the stress ball, raising her hands to her head, 'I cannot believe this'.
"This cannot be happening," muttered Makoto.
Nakata came around to see what the fuss was all about. He half-expected to see an announcement that they were making a porno parody of Buchimaru-kun.
The assistant froze, seeing what he was looking at on the screen. A video was being played.
There was a naked couple writhing on the pool recliner. The camera shot must have been taken incognito without the subjects' permissions because at the corner edge of the video's frame, fern leaves were shying in as if the cameraman was hiding in the bushes. What was worse was that. . .
"Isn't that one of the talents our agency represents? That's Takamaki and her ex having sex. . .but how did this get filmed?! Who did this?!" asked Nakata.
The video ended with a text-typing message.
The end of Harleywood's Platinum Pearl?
You have thirty days to wire a sum of two million dollars to the following account.
XX-XXX-XXX
Zurich Swiss International Bank
• • •
If you don't give me what I want, I will upload this sex tape to the internet. Tell the police, try to even find out who I am, I will upload the video. I will know.
The screen went black.
The taxi drove off.
Shiho's hand visored her eyes against the four o'clock afternoon sun. The hilly suburb of Ann's neighbourhood had a good view of the 'HARLEYWOOD' white letterings in the distance. The sun's rays filtered in-between the letters, touching up the edges in a halo glow, giving the movie town's name a sunshine glamour to its glitzy reputation.
Her iPhone's GPS told her that the driver dropped her thirty metres off mark, away from Ann's address. No matter. Shiho grasped at her hard-shell suitcase and pulled, spinning the roller wheels. Pasted on the suitcase were travel stickers of 'Rio de Janeiro - Brazil', 'Queenstown – New Zealand', 'Spiti Valley – India' and 'Savusavu – Fiji'.
On the way, Shiho passed by an elderly couple who were rummaging through a residential rubbish bin's garbage.
"Did Kevin throw away another toothbrush? The last one we found from his bin fetched $300 on eBay."
"Can't see no toothbrush but – what's this? He threw away a toaster. And a video game."
"What video game?"
"Shadow of the Tomb Raider."
Shiho quickened her pace and hurried to Ann's home. She almost forgot how Harleywood had its unique brands of weirdos, especially when it came to the worship of its B and A-list celebrities.
I suppose it's to be expected. Ann has famous neighbours, thought Shiho.
Ann's home was a mansion built to the architecture of a Mediterranean style. At the door-gate, Shiho heaved her bag up the steps and pressed the buzzer. She waited. Two minutes went by.
Shiho pressed the buzzer again. At the fourth minute of waiting, Shiho dialled the telephone number. She did not have Ann's current mobile number because the complications of being a famous actress like her friend meant Ann was changing numbers on a yearly basis. While Shiho was in New Zealand, Ann had abruptly changed her mobile number after the break-up with Johnny.
The line rang without anyone answering.
"Hmm."
Shiho nudged at the door-gate. To her surprise, she found it was unlocked. The heck? What was her friend doing, neglecting the basic household stuff like this? Some bloodhound paparazzi could have wandered into Ann's property.
Shiho entered, making sure to lock it with the inside latch. At least the driveway gates were already electronically secured. Turning around, Shiho realised Ann was outside the house. Or rather, in her blue (Ahem, Blu Passione) luxury car.
The Maserati Ghibli's hood was still warm from its drive to the local Krispy Kreme drive-thru. The driver's door was open and Shiho could see Ann was still in the driver's seat. Crying by her lonesome.
Oh dear, thought Shiho. She left her suitcase.
"Ann!"
Ann was full on in the waterworks, snot running, her mascara was a mess, her face was contorted in a baby ugly crying, and her hair was still fantastic as always. Ann looked up and blinked, disbelieving through her tears and the Maserati's windshield to see her best friend, whom she had not seen in over two years.
At first, Ann was uplifted. Happy. Relieved. It was Shiho! Her friend was back!
Then the joy faded, followed by questioning. Why was Shiho away for so long? Why did she make things so hard with the long distance and only phone calls for keeping in touch?! What's more, why wasn't Shiho there for her after stupid Johnny dumped her?! After her last movie sucked! Everyone in Harleywood had been laughing behind her back!
"You!" exclaimed Ann, trying to keep the bitchiness out of her voice. Ann opened her mouth to retort something more intelligible but a hiccup came out instead.
Shiho took in the sight of her best friend. The Krispy Kreme doughnuts had spilt over in the car, greasing the leather trim seats. Ann had not even bothered changing out of her ice-cream stained sweatpants and her face was a complete mess. Shiho clucked her tongue.
"Aren't you a melted ice cream."
Ann picked up the cotton towel she had brought with her to protect the seats from doughnut grease (it instead was applied for soaking her salty tears) and hurled it at Shiho. It had been years since Shiho played volleyball but the sports reflexes kicked in almost without her thinking about it. The towel landed on the Vol de Nuit rose bush behind her.
"You're just as bad as the rest of them," hissed Ann, picking up the doughnut pack and weighing the odds of it hitting her best friend's face.
Shiho had seen the best of Ann; the infectious warmth, generosity and spontaneous sense of humour. She had also seen the worst; the bitchiness, fury, the actress's insecurities and mania. Despite all that, Shiho loved her and valued Ann as a true friend (a rarity for people in the movie industry).
Shiho raised her hands in mock surrender.
"All right. Calm down. We'll get you inside. Bezzie is here to coddle and comfort you."
Ten minutes later, after a lot of cooing and borderline baby-talk, Shiho finally got Ann into the shower to wash herself off. Shiho got busy in the kitchen, wondering if Ann had eaten anything normal the whole day (or rather, has she been eating OK these past few days?) since she was in such bad shape emotionally. On the granite countertop, Shiho saw a tabloid magazine with the letters spelling out, 'BLONDE GORILLA' with a snapshot of Ann in a grey tank top, while out shopping. Her arm was raised exposing a lightly unshaved armpit.
Shiho scowled.
"These people," Shiho tutted to herself, throwing the magazine into the recycle bin.
Shiho suspiciously looked around the house (momentarily unwitting of the kitchen knife held in her hand), alert for any other happiness vampires. The poshly furnished house was quiet for a spell till the phone rang. Shiho squinted at it – suspicious then picked it up.
"Yes?" said Shiho.
"Who's this?"
"Who's asking?"
"Niijima Makoto, Talent Agent at-"
"Oh! Makoto! Ann's told me about you. Sorry, I'm Shiho her-"
"Her friend. I know, it's on our file. Look, where's Ann? I'm heading over right now with a very important person for this movie I need to sign her up for and I want to know she'll be ready. . .is Johnny there? At her home?"
Shiho frowned.
"Last I heard, that dickhead dumped Ann. Johnny is not here and going by how there are no signs of caveman inhabitation, I have a feeling he hasn't been to Ann's home in a while. Guess he moved all his stuff out."
"Hmm."
There was some background speaking. Makoto replied something indiscernible to someone at her end. She sounded tense.
Is there something I should know here? thought Shiho.
"Ann's not doing too great, by the way," Shiho added.
"Is she okay?"
"I found her crying into Egyptian cotton towels in her Maserati."
"So she'll live."
"Pretty much."
"Try to have Ann presentable in an hour. I'll be bringing Okumura Haru who wants to see in person if Ann's truly ready to commit to the Sugar Rock Derby movie. Has she read the script I gave her?"
"I. . .I don't know. Look – I just got into Harleywood today so I'm still kinda processing the tangled knots my friend's got going. I'll let her know about this Okumura, anyway."
#
Fifty-five minutes later.
At the driveway, Makoto's Lexus was parked in front of the Maserati. Haru Okumura got out from the passenger side, feeling apprehensive. She was going to meet the actress who was going to lead Beauty Thief Studio's first movie ever, with the budget set to a cool one-hundred-and-twenty million dollars. It was a big investment from the spreadsheets for capital and Haru had a lot to prove to the rest of her family; all of who were running their own successful enterprises in the vast money-making empire of the Okumura family dynasty.
Makoto must have sensed the executive producer's anxiety because she said:
"It's going to work out, Haru. Beauty Thief Studios is getting Harleywood's Platinum Pearl for its first feature. They don't call her the 'screen siren' for nothing. That's half your movie's marketing done right there."
Haru doffed her sun hat when they entered the balcony.
"That is true. . ." Haru said slowly then added, ". . .last week I spoke to the director's representative and Kitagawa made an unexpected request which we were not ready for," said Haru.
Makoto pressed the buzzer.
"A request?" said Makoto.
Haru nodded.
"It seems he wants an additional fifteen million for Sugar Rock Derby's VFX work. Three days ago when we tried to get in touch with Kitagawa to discuss this, we could not find him."
Makoto's P.R smile remained plastered on while she internally screamed behind the mask. Not only was some asshole threatening to leak the sex tape of the actress she repped but they could not locate the director of Ann's next movie?!
"Oh. How strange. I'm sure it will-" Makoto pressed at the silver canister in her handbag. Not in front of Haru, "-work out somehow. He'll be found," she said.
The door opened. Shiho shoulder-leaned against the door jamb; her arms folded.
"Oh – you look pissed," Haru remarked.
"I've been in Harleywood for three hours," Shiho explained in a deadpan.
Haru and Makoto nodded, understanding perfectly.
"Well, come on in."
X
The meeting happened impromptu in the main living room. Ann (still red-rimmed at the eyes but sober from the waterworks) was sitting on the couch, hugging her knees after throwing on together a white fleece sweater and matching sweatpants. It was informal but Haru did not seem to mind. Shiho mostly kept quiet, channel surfing the mute TV as the ladies discussed movie production stuff. The only part that seemed interesting to Shiho was when they came to Ann's pay. Haru wanted to negotiate.
"The director wants fifteen million more for VFX," repeated Ann.
Haru nodded.
"In the end, I'm still willing to make your twenty million quote. By doing that though, Kitagawa also does not get what he wants," said Haru.
"I'm not allowing a compromise on Ann's paycheque. If word gets out that she's dropped on that, the entire industry will smell weakness," Makoto said firmly.
"How much will the director get paid?" Shiho asked, curious.
"Two hundred thousand. Kitagawa purposely took a three hundred thousand cut to the pay we proposed because he wanted to have a prestigious film composer."
"Maybe there's still a compromise. My twenty million fee won't be made directly buuut-" Ann waved her hand to cut off Makoto's interjection, "-but. . .we do a trick deal. SAG minimum and box office gross points," Ann proposed.
The vibes shifted in the living room. Makoto practically felt the cold sweat soak against her Wacoal Trèfle lingerie. She definitely needed a hit now. But first-
"Are you sure, Ann?" asked Makoto.
Shiho looked in-between the three ladies.
"What's this trick deal?" asked Shiho.
"What Ann is nominating is earning her twenty-mil fee on the back-end by opening up the box office with a sure blockbuster hit. That means she will also get producer credit," explained Haru.
But your last movie was a box office failure, Shiho wanted to say but she clamped on her sentiments.
Ann looked around her. She knew what they were all thinking. Was 'Ann Takamaki' still enough of a draw to make a breakaway hit in commercial success? After what happened with the movie Sly Fall IV: Rise of Diablo? Ann took a deep breath.
"What happened with Sly Fall was not on me, you know that, Makoto," said Ann.
Makoto nodded. It was all ancient history now (sort of) but the studio executives intervened hard in the creative process of the Rise of Diablo. The final theatrical cut ended up being a botched-up job after they locked the director out of the editing room and hired a trailer company to edit the whole thing. Big fucking – stupid, mistake. Of course, the public did not know what the big bosses did to the movie because of NDAs so the fandom on the internet started to deliberate which targets to blame; the director, the marketing, the lead actress – Ann.
"You're right. The question is, does the public know it's not your fault?"
"One way to find out," said Ann.
Shiho was starting to think that maybe Ann was finally getting it together. She was worried earlier that Ann was going to be a teary mess during this visit or barely responsive (whatever the bingo is on freshly heartbroken women) but her best friend was all-in with the movie contract technicalities and P.R strategy. It reminded Shiho that for all the thousands of work-starved actors and actresses Harleywood had (the odds of making stardom were steeper than trying to win the lottery), Ann possessed the cornerstones of resilience and talent which helped her make it this far in this glitzy business.
"If you're willing then fine, we'll commit to the trick deal. Haru?"
"Fine by me. Once the contracts are dried tomorrow, filming will slate to begin late next week. We've already gotten most of the production sets ready and the race cars are good to go."
"Did you read the script I sent you?" Makoto asked Ann.
Ann rubbed the side of her arms. She had not. Sugar Rock Derby's script laid open at page 2 on her bedside table, its pages cold of human touch. This past month, Ann alternated between feelings of emptiness as she stared into wine bottles and crying herself to sleep while avoiding the outside world. Today had been a sine wave spike in socialising for her.
"Of course," Ann lied, unconcerned. Ever the convincing actress.
"Do you have any questions about it?" asked Haru.
Makoto took this chance to excuse herself to the bathroom. Shiho watched her leave, sensing that Ann's talent agent seemed pretty stressed about something.
"No questions but I guess I wanna do a chemistry screen test with my co-star. Just to check if I need to adjust anything from my end," Ann bluffed.
Truth was, Ann did not have a proper inkling on what Sugar Rock Derby's romance was supposed to be like. Or who was cast as the deuteragonist to her protagonist. She was spitballing what most major mainstream movies always had; a hetero-romance. Maybe the occasional love triangle. Shit. Was this another love triangle movie? Ann thought.
"Oh wow. You're definitely a professional, Ann. Sure, we can do a screen test next week. I think Amamiya will like the idea since acting is more about the technicality for him than glamour," said Haru.
Technicality huh. That was a translation for:
"Stage theatre performers are an interesting lot. I think this will be my first time working with one," said Ann, acing her bullshit even further.
Haru beamed.
"He is so talented. I wasn't so sure about casting a younger actor for this one but the casting director insisted on Amamiya Ren. Did you see him in Devil-One. . ."
#
Makoto locked the washroom door and hurriedly pulled out the little silver vial that looked like a lipstick tube but it was not. Makoto stopped and looked at herself in the mirror.
How did I go from magnum cum laude who had her shit together in law school, to facing the threat of a sex tape scandal for my client while see-sawing at a nervous breakdown? She asked herself silently.
Unlike Ann who had to work her way into the industry as an outsider from Tokyo, Makoto was second-generation Harleywood as her parents were a producer/cinematographer. That meant she did not need to hustle hard to get to where she was, did not need to intern in some jerk's office, did not need to push mail-carts or (the stories continued to be true) suck some executive's cock or clit for a gig. Her position had pretty much been handed to her thanks to her family's connections. The successful career of Ann Takamaki was pretty much built by her sister and was 'gifted' to Makoto to manage three years ago, to boost her portfolio.
Now after one box office flop under Makoto's watch, Ann's career was at the risk of being blown up by this blackmailer. If she did nothing to stop this.
Sniff. Sniff. The white lines disappeared.
Makoto closed her eyes, holding herself still for a moment. A minty chill shot down her spine as her heartbeat accelerated, rewiring her dopamine cycles. Makoto slowly opened her eyes, knowing everything will be brighter. If romance's cuddling and sex's euphoria could be distilled into one ingredient, it was now marinating through her altered bloodstream.
Makoto exhaled a steady breath. She looked at the tiny silver flask with dilated pupils. The last time she took this was during peak stress before the bar exam. She replaced the flask in her handbag, a solid plan and indomitable confidence forming in her mind. Searching through her contacts, Makoto dialled a number. A 'bad boy' type she knew from her high school years.
AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' was playing in the bar. Ryuji leaned down to line the cue stick on the snooker table, his grown-out hair falling on one side of his face. The other side of his face was lit orange by the neon lights at the bar.
Through the beer buzz and music, Ryuji barely registered his phone vibrating against his butt cheek in his jean's pocket. Ryuji straightened up and saw the contact he saved as, 'Little sis of the smokin' babe that took my virginity in the seventh grade' was calling.
Sounds important.
"Hel-" Ryuji burped, "-hello?!"
"Sakamoto. I need your help."
"Ma'am, are you sure someone like you is calling the right number-"
"I don't need to dispose a dead body. At least, not yet. . .I think."
"You think?"
"I need two things. Finding a missing person; his name is Yusuke Kitagawa. The second thing is more sensitive. Can we meet?"
After Makoto and Haru left, the best friends took a reprieve from Ann's stuff to catch on to everything Shiho had been up to the past two years. Shiho told Ann about the people she met, the places and experiences she got to have, some of which impressed even Ann who had done her own share of travelling for international filming. The sun surrendered its arc in the sky and the ladies retired to upstairs. Ann was in the upstairs living room, watching some TV and Shiho was just coming back from brushing her teeth when she noticed Ann was sitting unnaturally still on the couch, rather than the more relaxed position she left her in.
Shiho called out, "You good?"
Ann did not respond. When Shiho came around to the living room, she realised what was showing on TV was what arrested Ann's attention. It was a segment about Johnny Jackson starring in the next big superhero movie that was coming out. The reporter was interviewing Johnny who looked to be very much in shape for filling out a cape suit at thirty-five. Compliments and raves were being thrown. Basically, the ex was now more hot and successful than ever, post-breakup. The finest 'Fuck you'.
Crap.
Shiho slowly rotated to Ann. Tears were running down her cheeks.
"He's engaged now, you know? Barely four months and he's getting hitched for the first time. Even though we were together for four years," whispered Ann.
"Oh Ann."
Shiho wrapped her arms around Ann who cried quietly. Shiho knew this was more complicated than just a heartbreak. There had been so much more at stake.
"I'm sorry, Shiho. This is all Johnny's fault, it's just-" Ann choked with a fresh sprig of tears taking hold, "-it's just. . .we were supposed to get married, Shiho. I really wanted to marry him. I thought marriage was what I deserved, my happy ending in the white dress and-" Ann choked, "-and. . ."
"I know. . .I know," murmured Shiho, feeling a trickling sense of helplessness for Ann. Out the window was a blurry glow of the HARLEYWOOD letters from the autumn condensation. The hill the letters sat on was a bright shamrock green, wet to its texture. Moisture glossed the glass with pretty dreams and Ann's tears.
Written for secretfanficlover as her reward fic for participating in a Twitter event at my prompt. The initial idea was that these stories would be one-shot for said participants but after some introspection about my ShuAnn Week entries, I came to the realisation that sometimes my worldbuilding style can stress the limitations of a one chapter one-shot, even if I pushed as high as 9,000+ words. The nature of Sugar Rock Derby's story is such that I decided to make it a multi-chapter rather than intentionally compromising secret's prompt. Same goes for the other reward fic I'm doing, Protocol Princess. It's three down, published. Two more to go.
This story was once complete but now it's not (sad story) since I had to start over. At this stage, I'm expecting Sugar Rock Derby to wrap up in three chapters as opposed to the original 15k+14k duo-chapter fic.