RECORDING
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Turtle and the Hare
Sawako didn't realize there was a problem until it was too late.
Friday night, when she was in high school and college, was date night. It still was, even as the sensei was but three and a half years shy of the big three-oh. Thursday, November 19th, found her getting her hair trimmed for the date she planned for the next day. As she tipped the tow-headed stylist she noticed the nameplate clipped to her shirt. Lotta was her name.
"Are you Finnish?" Sawako asked.
The stylist nodded, pocketing her five hundred yen tip.
"I have a Finnish boyfriend," the teacher said conversationally. It made her shudder, how easy it was to lie and say that Mugi was a guy. "I'm going out with him tomorrow. How do you say 'hello' in Finnish?"
"Hei." It sounded like the Japanese word for 'yes.'
With Lotta's help, Sawako learned some common expressions in Finnish. She drove back to her apartment complex, eager to sweep Mugi off her feet with some Finnish love.
Sawako was crestfallen when the Light Music Club stopped frequenting the music room out of duty to record at Mansion Yamoto. No more tea, no more hanging out, less time spent with Mugi, and it seemed the role of managing and critiquing the band had been passed to a girl nine years' Sawako's junior. However, on this balance sheet, there was one huge plus that outweighed all the minuses: she had more time after school on Friday to prepare for the date.
Mugi was not one to judge people based on appearances, but Sawako still liked to make herself look good. On the 20th, whilst the ojou was trying to get Chiharu to let her go early, the teacher stood before her closet, assessing the potential of this shirt with those pants. That skirt with those shoes. This sweater with that necklace. Anything bought at Salvation Army during her college days was not an option — besides, she kept meaning to get rid of that stuff. Value Village could not go on a date with Versace.
Rich girls don't marry poor boys, Daisy had said.
Says you, Sawako thought defensively.
Romance really was a timeless thing when you got right down to it. A timelessly young and fresh thing. Just the thought of being with Mugi — just having her nearby — made Sawako's face burn so hotly that she had to press it against the freezing window pane. The thought of sex had crossed the woman's mind, of course (and quite a bit of late), but such fantasies didn't bring that particular freshness, that feeling of discovering something inexplicably modern. A manifestation of a new phenomenon — that was the feeling Sawako came away from the window pane with.
At the shave-and-a-haircut rap on the other side of the door, Sawako abandoned everything for it — or rather, the person behind it. She took a moment to compose herself; when you're older than your girlfriend, you should act it. Once she had calmed herself down, she turned the knob and let the chipped sea-green door float open to reveal the girl she was in love with. Leaning coolly against the doorframe, Sawako greeted in a husky voice, "Hei."
Mugi brightened at the sensei's use of her mother tongue and grinned, "Hei."
The blonde girl was a knock-out — Sawako had to hand it to her. She was wearing a robin's-egg blue sweater made of cashmere that was so soft and hugged her curving form so perfectly it appeared almost liquid. A yellow whale-tale charm nestled in the dark liquid fold across her chest at the end of a thin, glittering chain.
"Missä opit puhumaan suomea?" Mugi inquired.
Sawako stared blankly. An oddly overpowering urge to touch Mugi — to feel that cashmere sliding fluidly over her warm flesh — struck her. It was this stupefying desire and her lack of comprehension of Finnish that prompted her to reply with, "H-hei."
"Is that all the Finnish you know?"
"Rakastan sinua," Sawako responded. This meant 'I love you,' though the teacher's mispronunciation and stilted Japanese accent flubbed it up quite a bit.
"Yes, that is all the Finnish you know," the ojou giggled.
When she leaned in for a kiss Sawako knew that if she touched that sweater, got a feel of Mugi's body through the lucious cashmere, she would have to sleep with her tonight. Absolutely have to. So, when the brunette tilted her head to intercept her girlfriend's full, slightly parted lips, she made it a point to gently cup Mugi's heated cheek, to gently run her hand through the shiny Scandinavian gold of her hair.
Unfortunately, Mugi reached her hands — vibrating and spinning, alive, with her hot blood — to hug her girlfriend around her neck. Sawako felt the cashmere slip first past her bare forearm, then settle smoothly about her neck. What was more, she felt Mugi press herself against her; her breasts upon Sawako's felt even softer than the material of her sweater. And that was it. That settled it. If she could, the teacher would go to bed with her student and get a feel of what was underneath that cashmere.
If she could, that is. That was the problem.
Sawako kissed Mugi one more time, more deeply, her silken tongue stealing within the keyboardist's mouth. Mugi hummed, as she was wont to do when she was feeling amorous.
"So what's on the agenda for tonight?" she asked when she pulled back.
"Well..." The teacher kept her voice low and husky, hoping she didn't sound pitiful. She let her response trail out, pulling Mugi inside her apartment, thinking this would maybe get the message across. It didn't.
"Asumi-san gave you those free bowling passes, didn't she?" Mugi asked brightly, her eyes lighting up. "I've always wanted to go bowling!"
"You've never been bowling?" Sawako still had white-hot lust for the ojou shooting through her veins, but she had planned to go bowling with her. "Well, that just won't do!"
She grabbed her jacket and the bowling passes, shut off the lights, and left her apartment with Mugi. She struggled to ignore the cashmere shifting and slipping over her body.
Sawako supposed she could blame Asumi for stoking this desire within her. Her cousin had called her a week ago to ask her if she might like free passes to go to the Tori Bowl in Tokyo.
"Bowling's nice and all," Asumi had said, "but it's just not mine and Kaede's thing. So, whaddya say? Take Mugi-neesan out for a night of bowling?"
"Umm, sure," Sawako had responded. Then she made the mistake of asking, "How are things with Kaede-san, anyways?"
"Hot," was Asumi's immediate reply. "Oh so friggin hot." It was then the bartender from Nara urged her elder cousin to fuck Mugi-neesan (her words) if she hadn't already. "Pianists are so-o-o-o good in bed," she said, drawing out the word 'so' on a passionate sigh. "Have her play some Mozart on you. Or Beethoven. Für Elise particularly feels good. Hey. If her fingers could do that to those keys, imagine what they could do to you."
People are sexy when they play the piano, Sawako thought three hours later, leading Mugi back to her apartment.
"Are you sure you've never been bowling before?" she asked, incredulous, and her own ivory-tickling significant other giggled.
Mugi had wiped the floor with Sawako at Tori Bowl, beating her 300 to 229. The sensei had hardly noticed that her girlfriend was achieving the most perfect score she had ever seen in bowling. All she could focus on was how perfectly the blue cashmere hugged the curve of her breast, the smooth, bright material interrupted with heavily-shadowed folds at just the right places on the rest of her body.
How can a sweater be so damn sexy? Sawako wondered. She realized now that every step brought them closer to her apartment, and her opportunity to sleep with Mugi.
When they got to her door the teacher got a handful of that tantalizing cashmere. While enticing Mugi with several slow, intimate kisses — kisses that made the ojou's knees so weak she had to lean back against the doorframe — Sawako realized her fantasy of manually exploring her body. The glossy cashmere slid over the keyboardist's supple skin with so much fluid ease. The older woman brought her hands down to Mugi's gently sinuous waist, and she could feel her natural warmth, her hot pulse fluttering just underneath her flesh. Slowly, hesitantly, Sawako allowed one hand to submerge itself under the cashmere, and...Mugi was allowing it, too. The sensei moaned quietly as her girlfriend's skin scalded her palm.
"So what do you say, missie?" she whispered, pulling back. "Do you think you might want to stay the night?"
She continued pulling her hand across Mugi's skin, her waist, her back, her tummy; and she could see the ojou watching her lump of a hand slinking about underneath the sweater. She likes it, Sawako realized. She's going to say yes. She couldn't wait to get Mugi in bed. Suppressing moans, she leaned in to shower the blonde girl with more kisses. Her caressing hand was just over her navel, and now it began to climb upwards, its movements slow and blocky, like a turtle...
Mugi, with a squeak, abruptly broke the embrace there. She did not tear herself from Sawako's arms, but the manner with which she dislodged herself was rough nonetheless. The teacher's hand was suddenly out in the cold, groping thin air.
"I think I might not," she replied in a gust of breath. Her face was bright red. "I have to get up early tomorrow."
In high school Sawako would have glumly gone along with this, resigning herself to her hand for the night. Three and a half years shy of the big three-oh, she called a time-out before Mugi could squeak out of there.
"Tomorrow's Saturday."
"I know," the ojou nodded. "But Chiharu wants us all at the mansion as early as possible. She's hoping we can finish Curry Nochi Rice tomorrow." She then came in for one final kiss goodbye, suffusing the teacher in her Kotatsumugi warmth one last time, and withdrew, whispering apologies.
That would be the start of one of the most daunting and frustrating relationship strifes Sawako had ever faced.
She had dated a guy with OCD in college once. When people think OCD, they think compulsive hand-washing and perhaps rigid cleanliness. This man was clean, but scruffy, with longish hair that fell in clumps around his eyes and shoulders. His habits and routines were odd, even annoying at times. He and Sawako argued like cats and dogs about his firm disinclination to get in a car — hell, whenever he saw an El Camino he had to wash his hands, had to scrub that unlucky El Camino off. He either excluded Sawako from his routines or tried to force them on her, and she couldn't decide which was worse. One of his routines was to count the nuts and bolts he had in separate jars, and when Sawako once accidentally interrupted his counting, his angry explosion over it bordered on violent. They had gone out for a year, which was amazing. All of her friends, all of her close relatives, they couldn't understand how Sawako and this headcase lasted so long. What was their secret?
They were having sex. That was their secret.
And frankly, the sex was incredible. Sawako was drunk on all the great, addictive sex she was having with this lunatic.
Romance was timeless, yes. It was the touch of a match to the kindling of a relationship. It could keep you up at night and guide you through the hardest of hardships and maybe even move mountains. But in all honesty, once you reach a certain age — once you become an adult — if there's no sex, the romance flame quickly dies, leaving the relationship as nothing but a pile of dead ashes.
Afraid of this happening, Sawako thought she could at least ask Mugi why she was so adverse to sleeping with her. There had only been one relationship in the past where someone refused her propositionings the way Mugi did — that guy had turned out to be gay. The possibility of Tsumugi being straight was out of Sawako's conscious as soon as it got in. Her, straight? No way. If Mugi-chan's straight, then Michael Jackson's still alive and moon-walking somewhere.
Next Friday, which was November 27th, they went out to Kuma's Corner. The restaurant recommendation came from Norimi, who was, like the Finnish hair stylist, in the dark about who her old metalhead buddy was really dating. So it hardly came as any surprise to Sawako when she and Mugi entered the smoke-clogged restaurant with Van Halen's 'Runnin With The Devil' blasting from the speakers. Their host greeted them — she was a small woman, all pierced and tatted up, with her black hair in a little puptail — and led them to a booth near the back.
This is her recommendation, alright, Sawako thought, her brown eyes drifting to take in the place. It was sparsely lighted, like a bar, and indeed there was one on the left side of the tiny restaurant. Going farther up the aisle took you to their outdoor seats, but no one in their right mind wanted to eat outside in November — especially today, the day of 2009's first snow. Surprisingly, the customers who frequented Kuma's were completely ordinary people — hipsters, middle-aged guys, etcetera.
'Runnin With The Devil' gave way to 'Androgynous' by the Replacements just as Sawako turned her head and croaked in horror.
"You noticed it, too, Sawa-chan?" Mugi inquired, blushing.
Unfortunately, Sawako had. The wall closest to them was a mural-collage of possibly every naked-chick motorcycle ad in history. The teacher had never seen so much skin in a public setting. Part of her wanted to admonish the owner of this place — they admitted people of all ages, for Christ's sake. Yet another part of her pointed out, You're only uptight about this because you want to sleep with Mugi-chan. Thank God she wasn't wearing that sweater that would put Jane Mansfield to shame.
Sawako noticed that most of the naked women, if not all of them, had blonde hair. What was it with people and blonde girls? What about blonde girls got guys so hard? Looking back at Mugi, though, prompted the sensei to ask herself, What about your blonde girl gets you so wet? Without thinking, she slipped her right foot out of its flat and slid it up Mugi's pant leg, caressing.
"In all seriousness, though," said the keyboardist, glancing again at the mural, "this is simply shameful. What must their mothers think of them?"
"Hold that thought," Sawako replied whimsically. "I see an ad right here —" she pointed "— of a naked lady on a bike and her naked mother in the sidecar."
She had half a mind to excuse herself to go to the bathroom just to yell at Norimi over the phone. Sawako would never bring a date here, male or female, to a bar with bare pairs of breasts all over the walls. This had nothing to do with her need to do the deed with Mugi (there was just simply no class in bringing a date here), though Sawako had to wonder. Between Asumi talking about all the gun-busting sex she was having and Norimi recommending a tit-tacular restaurant for date night, the woman couldn't help but wonder if there was some synergy going on. If everyone close to her was teaming up to get her laid.
Am I getting annoying? she wondered. That can happen when you haven't gotten any in a long time.
Despite the gratingly loud heavy metal, the throat-stinging smoke, and the T and A slapped all over the walls, the food was great. Extraordinary, even. Now Sawako could see why Norimi recommended this place. The gut busting Kuma Burger was a blessing from Clogged-Artery Heaven, with crisp onion straws and a runny-yolk fried egg on top. The other burgers, Sawako noticed with some amusement, were named after heavy metal bands. Mugi ordered the Black Sabbath burger.
If indeed Norimi's mission had been to get Sawako laid, she was unsuccessful. With her stomach full of Kuma Burger and her heart full of fire, the sensei had once again, at her apartment door, attempted to coax Mugi into her bedroom. She had her younger, but no less beloved, girlfriend leaning against the doorframe once more, delirious with all the exquisite kisses they were sharing. She allowed Sawako to settle her hips in between her legs; there were even times when the older woman could have sworn she felt Mugi's hips jerking up in response to her grinding. The ojou was letting her go far, though not as far as Sawako wanted; she drew the line when the teacher's hand came up to cup her velvety-soft breast through her (wool) sweater.
Humming, Mugi pulled herself out of Sawako's embrace. "Maybe I should get going," she murmured, yawning. "I'm tired..."
What was wrong here? This frustrating thought whirled through Sawako's brain like an angry hornet. This frustration almost blew her aching eyes right out of their sockets. Is it her? Is it me? Does she find me repulsive? That last thought hurt her like an adder sinking its venomous teeth into her heart, and suddenly she had bitterness running through her veins. In a brusque voice, she said shortly, "Well, have a good night's sleep, then," and disappeared inside her apartment, shutting the door forcefully.
She leaned against the wall of her dark entryway, trying to steady her hitching breaths. The throbbing in her eyes contended with the throbbing in her thighs — was it possible to be miserable and horny at the same time? She hated feeling mad at Mugi, her anger turning the sweet blonde girl into some kind of monster. But the keyboardist had rejected her — rejected her love. Sawako was not looking to deflower or humiliate Mugi. She wanted to make love to her. She wanted to hold her during that vulnerable moment in lovemaking where that slumbering volcano within you erupts, hold her and tell her that very vulnerable thing as those waves ebbed away, leaving the ojou glowing and exhilarated. I love you.
Why didn't she want that?
Sawako was both relieved and angry when she heard rapping on her door. Of course. Mugi's intuition was scarily accurate, and if she suspected the brunette was upset, she would try to console her. Sighing, she opened her door.
"What's going on up there?" Mugi queried gently, tapping Sawako's forehead.
The teacher stared at her student for a moment, and all her lust drained out of her. Now she just felt tired. That Kuma Burger was weighing down her eyelids, making them droop. Still, she posited that question that had been dogging her for the past week.
"Why won't you sleep with me?"
Mugi's head sank a little, a gesture that said she had suspected this was the problem.
"Is it because it's your first time?"
God, first times never went well. Particularly Sawako's. She had traded in her V-card at the irresolute age of nineteen; it had been with a guy she had been seeing for a month. Jackrabbit sex. That was the only way Sawako could describe that experience. The guy, who would forever be known as the jackrabbit, gave the sexual term 'pounding' a whole new meaning. It was like masturbating with a girl: rough. He didn't know what he was doing, and she didn't say a word. Sawako actually threw her neck out.
If she could make love to Mugi, she would make sure the ojou had a far better first time than she had.
First time jitters would have been a more acceptable excuse compared to the one Mugi actually gave her.
"I don't want to go too fast."
"You don't want to go too fast," Sawako echoed stupidly.
The keyboardist nodded, looking up. "I know we've known each other awhile now, but I don't think we should do such things when we've only been dating a month. It just seems like a bad idea," she shrugged.
The sensei stared at her, unsure of what to say. The response It's not necessarily a bad idea sounded dumb.
Mugi shuffled a foot and played with a flaxen ringlet of hair. "Mother and Father went too fast, if you know what I mean. They got married because they went too fast." She stopped shuffling and laid a hand across her collarbone. "I'm a product of their fast-moving relationship."
Sawako suddenly remembered the Studio 5 chat they had with that woman in Hair and smiled in spite of herself. So Mr. Playboy knocked up Miss Swiss, eh? She still found it amusingly hard to believe that Holt was capable of such virility.
"We won't end up like your parents."
We could. That was the thought that haunted Mugi nowadays. Maybe there was a Kotobuki curse. Doomed are those with the molten Kotobuki blood in their hearts to matrimonies fraught with strife. If there was any way to break this curse, Mugi would do it.
Hesitantly, she said, "I do want to, Sawa-chan."
Sawako smiled and touched her wrist. "Then come on."
Mugi looked down at the slight, feminine hand, the thumb and first two fingers gently encircling her wrist. She shifted her hand so she could squeeze Sawako's, burning the sensei in her fiery hand's embrace. She shook her head, lifted the hand so she could touch the back of it to her lips, just like the lady she was raised to be.
"Not tonight. I don't think we should have to rush things. We're having fun, aren't we?"
Sawako tilted her head in agreement.
"I should go now. I really am tired." She released her girlfriend's hand and covered her yawning mouth. The first yawn had seemed kind of fake, but this one was real. "Thanks for a great time, Sawa-chan." She leaned in to kiss her goodbye, and when she pulled back she chirped, "And hey: the next time we see each other outside of school we'll be going to Switzerland!"
"I'm looking forward to it," the teacher smiled. After a pensive pause she queried, "Does Veronique-san know about you and me?"
"Not yet." Seeing the uneasy look on her girlfriend's face, Mugi assured, "It's okay, Sawa-chan. The Swiss are wonderfully lax when it comes to matters of love. And I have a feeling you and my mother are going to get along extremely well. She's a laugh a minute."
Sawako smiled again, this time more warmly. Here she was, about to meet her girlfriend's mom — and a vacation to Switzerland, to boot. Sawako would make love to Mugi by laughing with her flippant mother before she would get to make a franker, more physical sort of love to the ojou.
It was then Sawako had this thought: Every decision you make, great or small, shapes your future. And things do work out. Maybe the two of them wouldn't make love tonight, but they would, just as long as they had love to make. This love Sawako had for the girl flouncing down to the end of the hall and hanging a right toward the elevator was neither romantic nor sexual. It was only love in its own right.