DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.
Additional Author's Notes at bottom of the page.
Chapter XXI: Coup de Foudre
Shingai was crouched over a desk, staring at the script. He knew he was being irrational. He knew constructing the new movie with no lead actress was impossible, and yet that was exactly what he was contemplating.
He should have walked away from the project. He should have refused to do a sequel. He should have demanded his name be removed from all the production credits, deleted all the footage—surely there was something he could have done. He groaned. It was going to be a stain on his work forever.
Ring Doh's source material had been constructed as somewhat of a gender-swapped Hamlet adaptation—a child attempting to avenge the death of a parent. The novel itself had been lauded as a masterpiece of neo-Gothic literature told through a modern lens. The original Choko was a complex character—the youngest daughter of a prominent family, accidental witness to the murder of her abusive father. The book version had been forced to contend with the trauma of both the abuse and the murder, and readers of the book debated endlessly whether the visions Choko saw of her father were actual hauntings. The book's conclusion had been somewhat of a grisly one: Choko was to survive her brother-in-law's attempt to murder her by somehow clinging to a cliffside while he fell into the abyss.
In the first movie, Shingai had been criticized for attempting some coyness regarding the hauntings—he hadn't shown an apparition, opting, instead, for sound effects and voiceovers as Choko wandered down empty hallways. If one shot the back of an actress's head, one did not see the vapidness of her expression. He'd smiled when he read those reviews. "Coyness" was a nice way of interpreting the solution he'd found around Ruriko's impossibly bad acting. What critics had called "coyness" was, in fact, creative editing. He supposed that was the kindest way to put it. His reliance on it should have embarrassed him more. The fact that it didn't—the fact that there wouldn't have been a movie at all if he hadn't done it—told him how far his standards had fallen as a result of the project. Before starting the project at all, he'd had an 'ideal' Choko in his mind—a girl whose outward placidity hid the core of fear and anger her abusers had instilled in her, who nonetheless still had a glimmer of hope in her soul.
He could almost hear the gods laughing as he shot Ruriko in that same role.
Shingai had ended his movie with a pivotal scene—the tea ceremony confrontation between Ren's character, Hiro, and Ruriko's Choko—that would otherwise have been a point of rising tension in any normal movie. Ren had done the best he could in eliciting a response from Ruriko during that scene—but Ruriko had been wooden at best and distracted at worst. She even had the gall to blame Ren for being 'too good looking.' Shingai had attempted re-shoots of the scene for days, at one point vowing not to adjourn shooting for the day and keeping the cast or crew on hand until Ruriko got it right. But she never did, and the shoot became something of a war of attrition. Ruriko's manager and uncle had stepped in and put the production out of its misery. Shingai had been furious at the interference, but he had a movie to finish and a deadline to meet, and the extra days shooting had cost him. As a result, Shingai had changed the end sequence, much to the consternation of the viewing public. The movie hadn't been coherent at all as a result—all the audience saw was buildup—hostility between Choko and her brother-in-law primarily indicated by ominous orchestra music, and flashbacks of abuse done mostly off-screen.
He put his head in his hands.
There was no way he was going to survive without a lead actress.
Sighing, he took his phone and called Lory Takarada.
=.=.=.=
"I never should have agreed to work with her in the first place," Shingai was saying. "Worst career decision ever, Takarada-san. Nothing you say will ever make up for the fact that you talked me into hiring her."
"Ruriko-chan is a gifted young lady—"
"Between her family money and your publicity machine, anyone can be a 'gifted young lady,' Shachou. Don't give me that nonsense."
Lory sighed, and Shingai heard him over the phone. "To be fair, I had every confidence in her."
"Clearly it was misplaced."
"Between you and Ren, I figured she'd grow some professionalism, maybe learn a few things."
Shingai rolled his eyes. "Thanks. You know I really love knowing you used my project to have me babysit one of your projects."
"I had a feeling—"
"Yeah, well, you can't be right all the time, old man."
"I still think you can salvage the project. You didn't even get anywhere near the main plot in the first movie—"
"Yeah, thanks to your protege."
"It's probably best to market this as the 'real' movie and the first one as the prequel."
"There's not going to be a movie at all if you don't help me out with this casting."
Quiet on the line. Shingai heard Lory moving, and what sounded like papers shuffling on his desk. A sigh. And then an oddly sheepish tone when Lory answered. "We're a little thin on the young-woman-from-a-good-family-type right now."
"Seriously? I knew it. Why do you keep insisting on that 'love' bullshit, Lory? You're probably missing out on a ton of talent."
"On the contrary. I rather think it's why our talent is so notable…I compromised on an actress recently and she's not working out."
"Oh? That's unlike you to compromise like that."
"I was…hasty." The truth was, Lory had considered Kanae Kotonami for Choko's part the instant Shingai had called and then…dismissed her. She simply felt wrong for the role. Lory had decided to give Kotonami a chance after the debacle with the katsuramuki radish girl. The missing Kyoko. His instincts had told him Kotonami didn't have what it took to love—but he'd made a mistake once and he wanted to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. He figured he'd give Kotonami the chance that the missing Kyoko never got. But though Kotonami had looks, talent, and determination, she also had a fatal flaw: an inability to conceive of her characters beyond the four corners of a page, and a certain coldness. Lory wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't ever had a real friend in her life. "In any case, Ruriko is the only one I could have cast in Choko's role."
Shingai groaned. "OK so maybe LME is out for now. What about the other agencies?"
"Let's see…" Lory mused. "There's really not that many of them in this batch. Plenty if you're willing to age up the Choko character, or at least have an older actress play her. Erika Koenji's on Joji Morizumi's project…"
"Erika Koenji can act, but her daddy's gonna wanna own this project, and frankly, these rich people—"
"You're one of those rich people now, Shingai—"
"I'm not Koenji rich, I'm not even Huang rich—"
Lory kept talking. "…Chiori-chan might be free, but it depends on Box R's schedule…"
"Oh I didn't even know she'd started acting again…"
"I guess you could start looking at the models right now, too," he said.
"Models?"
"Mimori-chan might work. She's Akatoki, but she's got the look."
"Oh, that 'angel' from that music video? I guess she'd look the part but she looks like she can't act her way out of a paper bag."
"You're so brutal today, Shingai-kun."
"Keep her on the back burner if we're really desperate."
"Huh."
"Huh?"
"Kimiko Morizumi might be free."
"Joji's niece?"
"Yeah."
Shingai was silent, weighing the possibility. It was certainly possible, though he didn't know how probable things were. "Why isn't she in his project?" He didn't like where this was going. "Can she even act?" The Morizumis were a tightly-knit clan…AND they had a number of Hollywood concerns, to boot. But though he got along well with Joji Morizumi—even considered him as something of a friend— it was another thing to hire his family member on as part of the team.
"Well, you know…" Lory said.
"Great, so she can't even act," Shingai groaned.
"She has acted opposite Ren before."
"No way, really?"
"Purple Dawn."
"I'm not familiar with that one."
"It was one of Ren's earlier roles. I'd say her acting could use some maturing, but the thing to remember is that apparently she was a terror on the set."
"Ha! After Ruriko? She can't possibly be worse than Ruriko."
He heard Lory chuckle. "Famous last words, Shingai."
"It's not like I have a choice, do I?"
"I guess you don't. But you should know Ren despises her."
"Ren?" Shingai chewed on the thought for a bit. "You know, before I saw him with Ruriko last year, I would've said he was incapable of despising anyone."
Lory guffawed. "Ha! And now?"
Shingai hmmmed. Lory, hearing a shift in the conversation, felt the hairs on his nape rising. "Something's changed about him," Shingai said. "I can't put my finger on it. He's different."
"No doubt," Lory said. "I had him do some development work this summer."
The men paused. Lory, on his end, was elated at Shingai's report. Shingai, on the other hand, was dreading whatever fresh new hell would result from hiring another seventeen-year-old actress to take the part of the last one that had placed his career into what could only be called 'challenging circumstances.'
"Well." Shingai sighed. "I guess we ask Kimiko Morizumi and Mimori Nanokura down to audition, if they can."
"I'll contact their agents. I'll get them Kyoto-bound as quickly as possible. We should have an actress no later than Wednesday."
"Good. This is as much your project as it is mine," Shingai said. "Don't you forget it."
=.=.=.=.=.=
Two days later…
Ren Tsuruga had arrived on set, on-time and pressed and poised and shiny for the third day in a row—and if he was clutching another bento wrapped in an uncharacteristically cute furoshiki with bunnies on it, no one commented. He had avoided scandalizing his manager the last two mornings through sheer force of will—though that will hadn't been his. It had been Kyoko who brow-beat him into behaving, Kyoko who'd kicked him out of bed on time, Kyoko who'd kissed him goodbye behind closed doors after a night that had somehow both satisfied and had him craving more. She'd even been the one who'd painted away the gigantic purple hickey on his neck, asking him to do the same for her.
He let her bully him into behaving. It just made the idea of coming home to her and his real self more appealing. Kyoko had laid down ground rules for engaging in public. No kissing, she'd said, and no holding hands. No shameful conduct where our friends and family can see us. He'd protested, because what was so shameful about loving her? She'd merely glared and accused him of being a playboy. He pushed back hard on the hand holding, winning a small concession. But otherwise, he'd folded under her assault—not least because she was adorable, though he'd cite the fact that she was just right as the true reason for his quick capitulation. Their newly physical relationship was intoxicating, but his mind appreciated the need to keep himself under control.
They were creeping together into a new normal. In the first flush of their intimacy, their newly physical relationship had blinded him to the fact that he simply liked talking to her. Now that work was keeping him distant, he'd rediscovered how liberating it was just to talk to someone who knew all of his secrets. She knew everything—every insecurity, every sin. But every hope, too. She could destroy him with a word—he knew this, but he also knew better. He knew he was safe with her, and he hoped she knew the same of him. That, he supposed, was what trust meant. Somehow, the frenzied wonder of having found each other was forming into something which he knew would last. He felt her as a part of his life, an integral and sacred thread that he hadn't known was missing. Their forced separation had given him a new appreciation for the girl whose perspective he was quickly beginning to rely upon. She had a way of cutting through the heart of the matter, of confronting things directly in a way that nonetheless spoke of her innate optimism and tireless work ethic. Getting her the phone had been a stroke of genius. He found himself texting her things just to have her react to them.
It had been especially comforting to know he could call her whenever he wanted. He was, after all, doomed to lead some kind of double life until, somehow, Ren could become Kuon in public. Since his arrival on set on Monday, he had a sense of seeing things in a kind of double-vision—there was always, of course, the way Ren would react to something. But there was also the way Kuon would react to the same thing in a different way. Which reaction would be the truth? Which reaction was his? Were Ren and Kuon so different?
Kyoko had listened to him musing after yesterday's shoot.
"I think it's a distinction without a difference," Kyoko had said. "Even if Ren's an asshole."
"I'm glad you don't think Kuon's an asshole too," he said.
She'd smiled. "Oh, you can be," she responded. "It's just that you like me now."
He'd moved to protest, but she grinned at him. "Even if you were to persist in this idea that Ren and Kuon are two different people, if Kuon were to act in a movie, would he do so differently from Ren?" she'd asked.
She had a point. Even at his nadir, Kuon always did the best he could to act his character's part. So did Ren. In this, they were the same man. It was off-the-set that Ren and Kuon were different.
The memory of it made him smile over the cup of coffee he'd grabbed upon arrival. She kept making him take stock of the things he knew to be true. He loved her, and that was the most true thing about him, whether or not he looked like Kuon or Ren. He did not like large meals—that was true, too. He was tall, he liked watching movies with the person he loved. He valued professionalism. He valued integrity, loyalty, and competence. All these things were true. But the biggest thing he had in common with Ren Tsuruga was the fact that he loved acting. Even though the profession had all but ruined his childhood, acting was the bridge between Kuon Hizuri and Ren Tsuruga, and Kuon found the idea of that rather appealing.
He came to the set that day with good intentions. Ruriko was two days late now—he knew due to experience that this would be the day she'd likely arrive, no doubt with some pithy excuse. He would treat Ruriko with adequate courtesy, avoid her histrionics, and set out to improve her attitude and bolster whatever he could in order to support Shingai's new approach in these movies. Hadn't that been Lory's initial reason for casting her in the first place?
He anticipated a later arrival for her, because when was Ruriko ever on time? The girl had always been a spoiled brat—delaying the start of each day's shooting until she felt 'just so.' He remembered last year's shoot quite well—every delay tactic she could use was used in order to maximize her own consequence on the set. And she was oddly preoccupied with keeping herself from tanning. Having grown up in a place that worshiped the sun-kissed tan, Kuon found the obsession to remain pale slightly troubling. But no matter his feelings on the subject, Kuon had had to deal with Ruriko's demands nonetheless. She'd demanded her manager carry around an utterly ridiculous umbrella to shield her skin from the sun. She'd demanded special curtains for the car she used for transport. She'd demanded certain outdoor scenes be shot indoors instead. This was on top of the usual excuses: headaches, family 'emergencies,' run-ins with particularly rabid fans, even the weather.
Well. There had to be people in the world that only existed to make his Kyoko shine brighter. Ruriko was one such person. He held on to knowing that he'd be with Kyoko again as a reward for a hard days' work, even if that hard days' work required him to hold his temper while a child ruined adult reactions.
He didn't see any of the other actors around. It was entirely probable he was the first to arrive on-set. Parts of the production crew were milling about, prepping the set and the lighting as he made his way to wardrobe.
He was taking a shortcut through the trailers when he heard Shingai's voice.
"I'm saying," the voice said, "that right now, we can front load auditions until one is clearly the victor. Between Nanokura-san and Morizumi-san, we'll at least have two people that actually want the part."
Auditions? Kuon thought. What auditions?
"Seriously," Shingai was saying, "It's incredibly childish for an actress to show up days late to shooting."
Kuon could only nod in agreement. Childish was a good way to describe it. Rude, too. Unprofessional, ill-mannered, selfish…
"Well we won't have to worry about that lateness anymore," Shingai said. "Got word last night. Her cheerleaders will be disappointed, but I don't think there's a way in hell we're going to eat the cost of this shoot and then head back over to beg her to play a role she doesn't even want."
More silence on the other side. They're replacing Ruriko, he thought to himself. Replacing her and having auditions.
"And no, I don't know who this Mimori is," Kuon heard. Shingai continued, "I saw her act during a music video….uh huh…yeah. Sho Fuwa's? Some Visual Kei guy. Yeah. She's a model, I think." A laugh. "Takarada-san mentioned her tangentially, but she'll be a liability, I think. She reacted quicker to the invitation to audition than I'd expected."
"Have you ever?" Shingai continued. "If I thought I could hire Kimiko Morizumi or this Mimori sight-unseen, I wouldn't be dragging them both down here for an audition."
Kimiko? Kuon thought, That Kimiko? Surely not. Oh god. An image of a gimlet-eyed, sharp-tongued girl emerged from his memory. Screechy voice. Smarmy. Spoiled—and he'd met spoiled, back in Hollywood. Kimiko truly and sincerely believed she was going to be the legendary actress of her generation. He dreaded the idea of working with her again after her Valentine's Day shenanigans a few years back had him asking Yashiro to somehow make arrangements to have custom shoes made. He hadn't wanted to do anything of the sort, finding the expense vaguely ridiculous when he thought he should've been able to get away with store-bought chocolates in return. But Yashiro had pointed out that Kimiko was the niece and daughter of several important industry leads—and as such, it was in Ren's interest to keep things civil. That was how he'd ended up continuing the distasteful correspondence just to turn down an invitation for the shoes' fitting. Kuon snorted. It was as if Kimiko fancied herself a Cinderella when she was the very definition of an evil stepsister.
Kuon shuddered.
"Well, fine. They'll be here soon. I'll let you know how the auditions go…"
Kuon hung around long enough to hear Shingai end his call—long enough for him to run an intercept course.
"Auditions?"
Shingai shook his head at him. "Nice to know when one's got privacy on a phone call."
Kuon had the grace to look abashed.
Shingai sighed. "It's fine, Tsuruga-san. Ruriko's out."
Kuon exhaled. Casting changes did happen, though of course in sequels they were the exception rather than the rule. "So what does that mean?"
Shingai gave him a long, appraising look. Kuon shook his head. "So. Auditions," he said.
"Yes." Shingai smiled ruefully.
"Who?"
"Kimiko Morizumi. Mimori Nanokura."
"I've worked with Morizumi-san. Never heard of Mimori Nanokura."
"Some idol or model or other. I don't think she has any real acting experience, but she looks like she could be a Choko."
"Huh. You should know…about Kimiko…if you thought Ruriko was bad…"
"Takarada-san warned me about Kimiko," the director responded. "And he warned me about you and Kimiko, specifically. But I think with the right motivation…"
"Ruriko was cute compared to Kimiko. You don't understand—"
"You know, coming from you, I'm inclined to think she must have been awful—"
"Ruriko was a brat. Kimiko is insane. I mean, I tried to forget her. I even successfully forgot her for a bit. But I was just recently reminded—"
"Insane is anyone that wants to make a living doing what we do, Tsuruga-san."
"I don't mean insane like 'haha, artists are all insane' insane. I mean insane like 'will-stalk-you-for-a-year-might-have-dead-animals-in-her-bedroom' insane."
Shingai looked at him. "That's…a bit of an unusually vivid characterization, Tsuruga-san," he laughed. For a moment, the man almost seemed American. The Tsuruga he'd known before would've said something terribly gentlemanly, perhaps something as non-committal as 'she's extremely challenging to work with.' He supposed this Tsuruga gave…slightly more colorful commentary. Out loud he said, "She's a Morizumi, though."
"And there's too much nepotism as it is." And Kuon knew that better than anyone.
"It's not like our last actress won the role on the basis of her acting ability…"
"Morizumi-san's acting is an improvement over Ruriko's, but I'm certain she's an even worse fit for the production—"
"The fact that she'll show up is an improvement over Ruriko, Tsuruga-kun. We have two options here. We can audition actresses, or we can fold up production and waste however millions of yen we've spent getting everything ready and wait for Ruriko."
"And there's truly no one else? Lory doesn't have some new project he wanted to throw at this one?"
"Do you know anyone else? Because Takarada-san certainly didn't—not in the one-day notice we had."
The voice echoed in Kuon's mind. Do you know anyone else?
Of course he did. "Shingai-san—"
But the director had looked up with a start and then stalked off. On the other side of the set, production assistant Tadako-san walked in with a look on his face that could only be described as somewhere in between terror and distaste. Kuon didn't need to see to know why: he could hear them.
"A no-name idol like you has no place in a movie," Kimiko was screeching. "I've had a lot more experience. Movies run in my blood." Kuon winced. Yes. There she was. He shuddered. He could only imagine what this production would be like with Kimiko around. They'd lose crewmembers by the dozen, especially anyone that was remotely competent. Kimiko didn't like challengers—especially people that told her no.
"Mimori-chan is as good as you are, Morizumi-san," said a second voice. "Mimori will take on any challenge!" Kuon's wince deepened into a scowl. It was…one of those voices that young women often affected. A childish almost-lisp, with a grown woman referring to herself in the third person—as if it made her cute instead of just…vaguely creepy. The second voice apparently belonged to the model-idol, a Nanokura-san whose most notable claim to fame had been a music video with Sho Fuwa. He supposed he ought to feel sorry for this Mimori-chan. Hopefully she hadn't been in a relationship with Fuwa—from what he'd gathered, the musician hadn't been fit company for anyone. And now, as he saw it, either Mimori was going to be eaten alive by Kimiko's tactics or…she'd survive as one of Kimiko's new minions. Either way, he dreaded having to watch it.
"You can try, Momo-chan," Kimiko said.
"It's Mimori-chan!"
"Whatever. Or…what was it? Pochi? Is that what your loser washed-up druggie boyfriend calls you? Pochi like a dog?" Kimiko grinned at her. "Bark bark bark. My name is Pochi and I am a doggie. Bark bark!"
Kuon watched as Kimiko taunted the other girl, feeling somewhat sympathetic. Classic Kimiko tactic, that one, Kuon thought. It was childish but effective, a constant means of undermining her opponent.
"Sho-chan is not a loser druggie! He's a genius! People just keep stealing—"
Well perhaps I shouldn't feel too sorry for her, he thought. Apparently she was dating Fuwa. A woman who didn't have the sense to avoid him, especially after all of the reports—Instantly he was appalled at his thoughts. You're better than this, he thought to himself. Annoying as she was, this Nanokura-chan was enduring a full-on Kimiko assault—and then likely would have to deal with Fuwa's abuses after she got home.
"Oh dear. You poor, deluded child," Kimiko said. "You even believe all that."
"You're the one that's deluded," Mimori responded.
"Deluded? Me? I AM a girl from a good family," Kimiko retorted. "What, exactly, are you?"
They were coming closer, and Kuon knew that he would have to deal with the onslaught soon. Count to ten, Tsuruga, he told himself—because it was certainly Ren who was going to get him through this, if he got through this at all. Count to ten and put a smile on.
"I'm prettier." Mimori preened and smirked at Kimiko, who only sputtered.
"According to who, exactly? Your loser boy—"
Kuon had to stifle a groan as he witnessed the exact moment Kimiko Morizumi spotted him. All hopes that he'd escape her attempts at forced intimacy with him were dashed as she ran to his side and grabbed an arm.
"Tsuruga-san," she said, sweetly. "It's been so long. Have you forgotten me?"
He wasn't about to let on that he remembered her, so he upped the wattage on the smile and said, "Ah—I admit you do look familiar…"
"Morizumi. Kimiko Morizumi."
"Ah yes. Morizumi-san."
"We worked in Purple Dawn," she simpered. "Remember? You liked me so much you got those custom shoes for me on White Day."
"Ah," he said. The smile on his face was beginning to feel more like a grimace. "Yes, I do recall. Though I do note that the shoes were obtained for you at your own request."
She giggled and Kuon suppressed a shudder. "But you wanted to get them for me anyway. I was the only one who got a special White Day gift!"
She pressed the arm closer to her and Kuon fought the impulse to fling her off. He schooled his face into neutrality. "I was only being a gentleman," he said truthfully.
"Oh yes, I know." The girl had the gall to flutter her eyelashes at him before winking. "Such a gentleman."
Kuon fought the urge to gag.
"Who cares if that platform-wearing jerk got you a White Day gift?" screeched Mimori. "He's a talentless hack!"
Platform wearing talentless hack? Kuon was bewildered.
"Sho-chan hates him!"
Ah. That explains it, he thought.
"You take that back, doggie," Kimiko was saying. "Tsuruga-san is hotter than your boy will ever be."
"I will not! Mimori is just telling the truth—"
"LADIES!" Shingai had appeared and Kuon nearly sighed out loud in relief. "Hair and makeup, if you please. We'll be doing the screen tests in costume."
The two women were sufficiently cowed by the director's glare to quiet down. "Certainly, Shingai-san," Kimiko said. She bowed lightly to him and flounced away to follow one of the makeup artists, and Mimori did the same.
Kuon looked at Shingai impassively. "I hope you know what you've signed up for," Kuon told him.
The man sighed. "Just do the best you can, Tsuruga. Perhaps it won't be too hard to act out your character's hostility towards either one of them, hmm?"
"I'm a professional, Director," he said. "I know who my character is, and I will act accordingly."
=.=.=.=.=
Almost an hour later, Kuon was relying on his professional reserve to endure the trial that was barreling towards him like a train without brakes. The girls were dressed in furisode kimono, long sleeves mere inches from the ground. The budget for costuming the second installment must've been larger—this time, instead of modern prints, the actresses appeared to be wearing true Taisho-era garments. Kuon had been dressed in his 'costume' for some time now—given the fact that it was just a suit, albeit in a vintage cut, it had been easy for him to don.
He watched them walk onto the set, bickering loudly. He looked over at Shingai, who was already assessing them—he knew from the last shoot that Shingai would insist on someone knowing how to walk properly in a kimono, and he could tell that neither would-be Choko had even thought about how one walked around in a kimono. The girls were taking large steps—too large, splitting the okumi and ruining the columnar line of the garment. The sight of it forcibly reminded him of Kyoko, again, walking so elegantly, so casually—and yet so quickly—while wearing kimono. Kimiko did marginally better than Mimori—only to be expected, he supposed. Kimiko came from wealth, and with wealth came a greater number of events during which one wore kimonos.
Shingai was staring at the screen with a grim look on his face. "Very well," he said, "You should note that an incredibly large portion of your part is the physical, non-verbal presence of Choko." The would-be actresses quieted down. "Neither one of you has convinced me at all that you want to be part of this production."
He looked at Kimiko, who flinched. "Morizumi-san."
"Hai!"
"I know your uncle, your father, your mother, and your grandparents."
"Yes, Director. It's why I feel you would best understand my interpretation of the character." Kuon had to give it to her—she was laying it on thick.
"And yet I have yet to see you act this entire time you've been on-set."
"Act?" Kimiko raised her eyebrow at him. "Director, I was unaware you had started the audition, particularly while I was next to this hyena." She gave Mimori a sideways glance.
"And do you think that you should be out-of-character while you're on-set and dressed? Morizumi-san, I don't expect you to know the script by heart, but I certainly expect you and Nanokura-san to have properly prepared interpretations of your characters. Nanokura-san?"
Mimori gave a start as he said her name.
"Let me be clear," Shingai said. "You were both called here at short notice because we were in dire need of replacing Ruriko-san, but I don't intend on casting someone who cannot do the part. Therefore I expect your best."
"Yes, Director," Mimori said. Kimiko was trying to wipe the scowl off her face.
Kuon, on the other hand, was marveling at Shingai's bluff. He knew as well as the director that someone had to be cast. He stood with his back to the wall, observing the proceedings silently.
"So tell me, either one of you," Shingai was saying. "Who is your character, and why is she here?"
"She wants to revenge herself on her brother-in-law," Kimiko said smugly.
"Why?" Shingai responded.
"Because he killed her father, and she saw it while she was sneaking out to see her lover."
"And her brother-in-law has had her lover sent away to war," Kimiko added.
"That's why she's scared and angry at her brother-in-law," Mimori quipped.
"And?"
"And now her father's ghost haunts her," Mimori-replied, "even though she secretly hates him too."
"And why does she hate her father?" Shingai continued his questioning.
"Because he would beat her," Mimori said, triumphantly.
"Well at least you both paid enough attention to get that down," Shingai said. "I will have you both perform the scenes I've asked you to prepare. I will also have you perform an improvised dialogue over chado with Tsuruga-san—you can watch a demonstration of the proper technique beforehand. Your performance of the tea ceremony will be judged by a professor of the Urasenke school. Any questions?"
=.=.=.=.=
Three hours later and Kuon's gentlemanly smile had taken up permanent residence on his face.
Mimori was in a corner crying.
Kimiko was on the phone with her father, demanding god-knows-what.
Shingai had crawled into his trailer, ostensibly to 'review his notes' about the actresses.
It hadn't been so bad to begin with. Mimori, who had gone first, was predictably amateurish in her acting, but it was clear she'd given the scenes assigned some thought. She needed some prompting with her lines—memorization not being a strong suit, apparently, but she acquitted herself better than Ruriko had.
"My father is dead!" she'd say, "And..and…Oops, Mimori is sorry!" she'd say, and then request a prompt. It made for a stilted scene—Kuon stayed in character no matter what, of course, but it was difficult given the fact that Mimori had no conception of what staying in character meant. Still, she meant well. Whatever Mimori lacked in professional polish, she attempted to make up for in earnestness.
Kimiko had seen Mimori's fumbling attempt and laid it on thick, overshooting the mark by a mile. For a young woman so expert in the art of lying and obfuscation, her acting left much to be desired. Her Choko was melodrama itself. "My father is dead!" she'd cried, and Kuon had almost stepped out of the way as she took two fists to bash them into his chest.
He managed to stay in character as he sidestepped out of the way. "What are you implying, Choko-chan?" he'd said, delivering his line. Kimiko looked startled, not expecting him to continue with the script, but just then Shingai took pity on him.
"Morizumi-san," Shingai had interrupted, "the script calls for you to deliver that line softly and sadly."
"I know, Director-san," she'd snapped. "But I like my interpretation better. I think it shows the depth of her feelings."
"Very well," Shingai said. Kuon supposed he'd let Kimiko exhibit her version of Choko during this audition. When—and he had to groan at the idea—when she was officially brought on as Choko, then the director would correct her as needed. Or so he thought. Earnest as Mimori was, Kimiko was still the more experienced actress. She was also more marketable, better known, and, frankly, simply retained the lines better.
By the time they got to the tea ceremonies, nerves were frayed. He'd endured quite a few painful read-throughs in the intervening time, but at last they were at the all-important tea ceremony scene—the one that had ended the last movie and would begin this one. Kimiko had gone first, exhibiting skills she'd somehow learned as a child, and Kuon had choked down a bowl of usucha that had far too much matcha in it—complete with lumps that fell apart in his mouth in bits that managed to be both slimy and chalky. But one of the things that made Kimiko herself was her absolute faith in her own perfection. She didn't appear to understand Choko's feelings towards her brother-in-law. She'd smiled as Kuon choked down the bowl of tea she'd made, radiating her 'hostility' towards her brother-in-law via a series of petulant comments that felt less like a young woman confronting her father's murderer and more like petty complaints by a young woman confronting a servant who had done a shoddy job cleaning.
Mimori, on the other hand, hadn't had the benefit of childhood tea ceremony lessons. She had stumbled numerous times on the ceremony itself, asking repeatedly for clarification or correction. At one point, she even managed to drop a chawan on a flagstone in the garden, breaking it. Kuon winced to see it, hoping that the chawan had not been particularly valuable, but Mimori appeared unphased. Apparently no one had ever told her that even a simple-looking bowl could be worth hundreds of thousands of yen. But she took instruction well—and as a result, the bowl of tea she'd produced was superior to Kimiko's—though the process she'd used to make it was certainly not camera-friendly.
Things had devolved when Kimiko started her mind games—and everyone witnessed a master at work. Mimori had been easy prey, and Kimiko didn't have anyone to take her full attention. Kuon had never seen someone so malleable—it was, perhaps, why she was still with Sho Fuwa even when the rest of the entertainment world had moved on. He supposed that Kimiko choosing to make fun of her name had been an easy first step. It hadn't taken Kimiko long to realize how insecure Mimori was about Sho's affection for her, and before long Kimiko had Mimori convinced that she was a 'plain ugly woman' whose only appeal to someone like Sho was her bust. Kuon hadn't liked to see the systematic breakdown of a girl whose only real fault was having more looks than brains, but he was unwilling to intervene. Interfere now, and there was the possibility it would show up in the tabloids tomorrow. And he was unwilling to let Kimiko link his name to her own…or to another actress.
By the late afternoon, the actresses were with their respective managers, seething in one case and crying in fits and starts in the other. The understanding on-set was that Shingai would make the decision that evening. Most people assumed it would be Kimiko.
=.=.=.=.=
"Well," Kuon said. "Not sure that could've gone any worse." He'd ambled over to where Shingai was hiding, knocked amicably, and let himself in. The director was sitting at a desk, not bothering to look at the notes casting had taken during the auditions.
"Weeeeeeell," Shingai echoed. "They could've not shown up at all." He sat back in his seat, looking at the traditional garden outside the trailer window. The sun had the distinctive cast of that mid-afternoon glow, promising a warm evening.
Kuon was silent. He'd spent the last few hours watching the circus on-set—thinking, all the while, about a girl who could very easily solve all their problems in one go. He'd made up his mind to speak after thinking long and hard about the consequences of that action.
"Did you want to say something, Tsuruga-san?" the director asked. "Maybe make a final recommendation? Thoughts? I can't promise you I'll decide the way you want me to, but I'll take it into advisement."
Kuon sighed and turned towards the director. "Do you trust me?"
Something in his voice compelled Shingai to look at the actor. "Trust you? With what?"
"What if I asked you to audition a third actress today?"
"A third actress? On your recommendation?"
"My recommendation," he responded, "yes." He was looking Shingai in the eyes with an intense gaze, and something told Shingai he was serious.
"Interesting," Shingai said. He wasn't quite sure how to take Tsuruga's request. He was sick and tired of taking everyone's requests. His last leading lady had been foisted on him by fiat. He would have relished being able to pick someone for the part. Sometimes, one simply wanted to have an open call—though they truly did not have time to undergo that process for this shoot. "And who is this actress?" he asked.
"A competent one," Kuon responded. "Someone you may actually want to cast."
"Someone you're sleeping with, perhaps?"
Kuon choked on empty air. "No," he said. "No it's not like that—"
"It's quite alright, Tsuruga-san," the director said. "Though I'm surprised—"
"Judge her on her own merit," Kuon said, and the tone of his voice silenced the laugh that was about to come out of Shingai's mouth. "You saw there wasn't much of a choice out there. I happen to know someone who's immensely talented and knows the script. The original script, before you changed it for Ruriko."
"How is it that this paragon of acting knows a script that was only delivered to the cast, Tsuruga-san?"
"Trust that she was also under a non-disclosure," Kuon responded, waving his hands in what he hoped was a non-committal fashion. "But Lory had me away from Tokyo this summer and I needed to rehearse. I found it easier to rehearse with someone."
"How convenient to find someone so immensely talented, then," Shingai said. But the idea of auditioning someone Tsuruga Ren respected enough to recommend was fascinating. "I won't go easy on her. I didn't really go easy on them, even with the desperate situation we happen to be in."
"I'm not asking you to." Kuon's eyes turned cold. "In fact, make it harder on her. Put her through her paces. Demand the Choko that you want and see if she delivers. If you're not convinced, then I'll gladly act with Kimiko Morizumi."
Interesting. "Tsuruga-san," he said. "If she can manage to get to the set on time and walk in a kimono, she'll already have done better than Ruriko ever did."
"Nevertheless. Judge her by herself alone."
"I plan to. When can she get here?"
"I…well…soon. I'll ask Yashiro-san to pick her up. Hopefully within the hour." He was fairly certain she hadn't mentioned any specific tasks that required her to be at the ryokan today. "If I can convince her to come."
"If?" Shingai raised an eyebrow.
"Kyoko-chan has her own ambitions," Kuon said. "And her own life. And this audition would be a surprise to her." In his own fantasies, Kyoko would star opposite him in every romantic role he'd ever have from now on. He knew she enjoyed acting. But whether or not he'd ever convince her to try showbiz again remained to be seen.
"Kyoko-chan," Shingai echoed. He nodded his head. "I look forward to meeting her."
=.=.=.=.=.=
Kyoko was finishing a new flower arrangement in the nageire style when the phone tucked into her kimono sleeve buzzed. She still wasn't used to having one on her at all times, though she secretly adored knowing Kuon could call her at any time. It was a very real, tangible thing that made her feel he was always with her.
"Hi." She answered it in English, and felt him smile on the other end. She was smiling too.
"Are you busy?" he said.
She looked out of the tea house's window at the afternoon sun glistening on the river. "Just finishing up the chabana arrangements," she replied.
"You have to promise to say yes," she heard him say.
For a second, she was silent as she held the phone with her shoulder as she swept away the branches and leaves she'd cut while arranging the flowers. "Wha…Say yes to what?"
"I'll ask you something. But you have to promise to say yes first." She could hear the puppy-dog face from miles away.
"Kuon." She knew him well enough, now, to know that he was about to manipulate her into something she probably wouldn't want to do. It was something he'd deployed during their shopping trip. "What are you trying to get me to do?"
The nervous laugh that answered her vindicated her suspicions. "Kyoko-chan is so suspicious."
"And now you're being a bully." Her hands kept working, pulling back leaves on the arrangement
"...Says the woman who's making me take videos of empty bento boxes to prove I ate lunch…"
"Until we build healthy eating habits, I don't care how you prove you ate them."
"You're changing the topic."
"Funny, I didn't know we had a topic yet." She heard him chuckle, but then could easily see the conversation devolving out of control. "Out with it!" she said.
He gave what sounded a goan. "I love it when you're aggressive like that…"
"Don't you have better things to do on set? Other things that involve not calling just to tease me, Kuon."
"Oh but I love teasing you, Kyoko-chan…"
The tone of his voice made her face color. "Kuon!"
She heard him laugh softly on the other end. "Sorry. I can't help it sometimes."
"Mmm," she responded. "I know." She knew she'd managed to fluster him a little with that line, but…She grinned as she pointed the phone at the new arrangement she'd just completed and took a picture to text him later.
"Anyway…will you?" he repeated.
He was persistent with this game, for sure. She knew that he would be. She'd seen it again and again with the way he'd doggedly pursued her over the summer. Still, she was going to insist he explain whatever it was he wanted before agreeing to it. "Will I sell your underwear to the highest bidder?" Kyoko giggled. "Of course, Kuon. I promise I'll do just that."
"You wouldn't. But if you really wanted to, I suppose…"
She sighed. "While I would love being the world's leading purveyor of used Ren Tsuruga underwear, what I'm really hoping is that you'll just tell me what it is you're trying so hard to get me to do."
He sighed. "Even if it's selfish of me?"
"You know it's selfish, and yet you've been trying so hard to get me to agree to a deal that I haven't had a chance to look at yet. Entrapment is entrapment, Kuon."
"Listen—I—I know this is entirely selfish of me…but…I'd like you to come to the set."
"What!?"
"Just…hear me out…"
"Alright…I'm listening…"
If she wanted him to be direct, then he simply had to spit it out. "I'd like you to come on set and show the director your interpretation of Choko." He'd tried to keep the tone light but as soon as the words came out of his mouth he sensed a shift in her—a stiffening, almost, as if he'd touched her on a spot that had hurt her unexpectedly.
Kyoko was kneeling at the tearoom's tokonoma, adjusting the new nageire arrangement, and found that her hand had frozen in mid-air.
Kuon continued, worried. "Listen…Ruriko isn't here," Kuon said. "I just got the news this morning, but she's dropped the project. Two actresses auditioned today and…we don't really have a lot of other options. They were terrible…and I want Shingai to see a proper Choko," he told her.
"You mean like…like…audition? For the part?!" The word sent a chill down her spot, reinvigorating memories that she'd wanted to remain hidden in the background.
"Well…in a manner of speaking…yes."
"'A manner of speaking'?"
Kuon was silent for a while. "Listen—I…I know it's sudden. And unexpected, but…I truly believe you should audition…Kyoko…he'll hire one of them if you don't audition!"
Kyoko didn't quite know what to say. Kuon's words had opened up a jar of roiling conflict inside her. I have school starting next week, she thought, but didn't say out loud. I'm not an actress. This summer has been strange enough. I have a future, I've already decided... But all she said was "Me auditioning? That's absurd, Kuon."
"Why is it absurd?"
"I…" They hadn't talked about her LME audition at length—only focusing on his actions in evicting her out of the building. He'd never asked whether she'd go back, and for her part, she'd never even considered what it would be like to actually work as an actress. This summer had given her a taste of how fun the acting would be—but what he was proposing seemed impracticable, at best. Girls like her weren't actresses. She was too plain, too eccentric—
"Listen, don't dismiss it out of hand…please?"
"I'm sure the other actresses are merely settling into the part," she said. "And there's no way I could possibly take the place of a professional actress."
"You seem to have an inflated view of the 'professionalism' of some of these actresses."
"Aren't they professionals? Shouldn't they be like Ren Tsuruga?"
Kuon almost laughed out loud. "Ren Tsuruga is a paragon of strict professionalism. He's the exception, not the rule."
"They should still be trying to emulate you, though," Kyoko responded, loyally.
Kuon let out a single in-drawn breath. "Kyoko? There isn't much time. He's going to hire Kimiko Morizumi tonight if he thinks there's no one else available. The other option was Mimori Nanokura."
Despite herself, Kyoko gave a start. The names were familiar to her. Kimiko—she remembered the blog post from the night she'd done a search for Ren Tsuruga on the internet—and Ren's subsequent sketch of her character. Mimori was a girl who had been linked to Sho—one of a bevy of girls he'd been seeing while she paid his rent blindly like a slave. A tendril of uncomfortable feelings rose out of her stomach. Mimori had been the victim implicated in the scandal that truly precipitated Sho's fall from grace. He'd abused her, and abused her where the public and the press could see. The news cycle moved quickly, but for at least a week, the tabloids were breathless about Sho's mistreatment of her. Sure, there was jealousy—jealousy over Mimori's more generous physical assets and an inchoate fear that Kuon would prefer her body instead, the way Sho had, jealousy over the idea that Kimiko, already famous, would be talked about as a potential partner by his fans again, jealousy over the fact that these girls had simply belonged in Kuon's world in a way that Kyoko never had and never would. But more than that, there was pity. Kyoko wanted to meet the girl-for what, she wasn't quite sure yet.
"Ohhh ho, that bothers you, doesn't it?" Kuon asked.
"Maybe a little," Kyoko admitted. "Maybe not in the way you think, she said. But they belong in your world. I don't." And it was true. She was plain udon Kyoko, transformed into Kuon's fairy princess while they were in the magic bubble by the river. But the world of celebrities was as distant as the firmament.
Kuon grinned. "I like that you're jealous," he said, "but—"
"...That's terribly immature of you," Kyoko interjected. "And it's not just jealousy..."
"—you do belong in showbiz."
"Now you're just mocking me."
"I would never mock you. Not about this," he said. "This isn't something you would take as a joke."
"Why do you think I belong in showbiz, Kuon?" she asked. "I failed my audition, in case you forgot."
"But you can act. You're one of the most naturally gifted performers I've ever seen—"
Kyoko squawked in protest.
"—No, don't deny it," Kuon said. He hadn't wanted her to go down a spiral of self-devaluation. "I wouldn't say it if it weren't true. You need a bit of polishing, but nothing a bit of coaching wouldn't fix. And don't worry about your LME audition. Lory just has a bizarre rubric. And there isn't anyone else that can do this part like you can. Because…" Because I want to make up for throwing you out on the street that day, he thought. Because even an idiot like me can see that this is where you belong. Out loud, he said "Because you're too talented to stay hidden at the ryokan, beloved. And I have to right the wrong that happened when I threw you out of LME."
He paused for effect. "Please. For me, then, as some kind of present. It wouldn't even be hard for you—you've rehearsed the script with me a hundred times. And the other bit is a tea ceremony."
She shut her eyes and considered it. The idea of an audition made her uncomfortable, a reminder of where she had failed. And there was a silent elephant in the room. "I don't want to be considered simply because I'm sleeping with you, Kuon," she said.
He recoiled, recalling Shingai's words earlier, and was glad she couldn't see his face. "Surely you don't think so little of me that you'd think this is the reason why I'd advocate for you," he said indignantly. "I haven't told him you're my girlfriend. If anything, I told him to judge you on your merits alone."
She felt like she was allowing him to convince her, but if she was honest with herself, she wanted to audition. She felt a Choko inside herself, the way she'd felt a Lady Macbeth, the way she'd felt a Juliet. And he was right—it wouldn't take her much to let the character out.
Hesitantly, she said, "I…would have to figure out how to get to your set."
Kuon let out a whoop. "I'm so glad you're coming."
"I didn't say I was coming, I just asked how I'd get there. And I do have to change—I'm in kimono—"
"Actually," Kuon interrupted, "stay in kimono," he said. "Come to the set as Choko—don't stop acting, not even for a second as soon as you arrive."
"Will you tell me where the shoot is?" she asked. "I can probably use a bike if it's close enough to the boathouse."
"A bike!? Unacceptable," Kuon told her. "Yashiro will pick you up."
"Oh I couldn't possibly—"
"Too bad, he's already on his way—" Kuon had been texting him with instructions as they spoke.
"How…how could he be on his way!? I haven't even said yes!"
"But maybe if he were there you wouldn't be able to say no?" he said hopefully.
"Even if I said 'yes,' and even if I somehow did the impossible and did well enough for your Director-san to hire me," she said, blushing, "I have school starting in a week, Kuon."
"So? Productions have to work with odd actor schedules all the time. You'll see. They'll schedule your shots after school. Knowing you, you'll do most things in one take."
"You're presuming an awful lot. The school allows me to work at the ryokan but they don't particularly like it when students work jobs outside. And it's not like I can hide the fact that I was in a movie once it's released, Kuon."
"You're a third year, you're at the top of your class, Yayoi-san and Etsuro-san will speak on your behalf. The movie won't be released until spring next year, and you'll be long gone from high school by then." Deep down, he was hoping she'd be in Tokyo with him.
"You have an answer for everything," she told him.
"There is an answer for everything. 'Where there's a will, there's a way,'" he said in English. "Come as you are. Yashiro has my car."
"Alright."
"Kyoko?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you," he said.
"I—you too—" she said, shyly.
The line went dead, as if she was too embarrassed to stay. Kuon grinned ruefully to no one, and sat back to await her arrival.
=.=.=.=.=.=
The sun was low on the horizon and it was the golden hour.
Shingai became aware of a sudden lull in conversation as he noticed Tsuruga stopping in mid-speech. There was a collective pause, an intake of breath, a shared sense of surprise—and then he looked up from the blocking diagram he'd been considering and saw her.
There could be no mistaking Ren Tsuruga's Kyoko.
She was a slender girl, already dressed in a kimono, following Yashiro-san placidly across the garden as the manager charted a course over the bridge and past the large house to speak to him. She walked past the wires, the lights, the reflectors—all of the trappings of a movie set, ignoring them as if they were merely a part of the scenery. The girl was of middling height, with long black hair pinned back, but she was gliding across the garden in her kimono as if she had been born in one. She had even, regular features—a sweetheart-round face, almost like a pixie, and an expression of well-bred gentility as she approached.
All of a sudden, Shingai knew what Cinderella's prince must've felt like as he watched that fair maiden descend the steps to the ballroom. I have found her, he thought, and then chastised himself for thinking it before he'd even heard a single word come out of this girl's mouth. But all of a sudden he couldn't even imagine anyone else playing Choko. The idea of Kimiko Morizumi playing the role when this girl existed was just obscene. This girl's presence had stopped the entire crew in their tracks; he could see that they were all staring as she walked past them. Even Kimiko and Mimori had frozen as Cinderella's stepsisters must have, sitting in their respective chairs and pausing their squabbling as the girl glided past. They were glaring daggers at her, but this Kyoko-girl never even noticed.
Yashiro stepped to the side as she continued her approach, finally stopping when she reached him. She turned towards them both—Kuon, still in costume, back to the wall, Shingai, eyes wide, looking at her as if she were somehow unreal. She was illuminated in the setting sun. Tabi-covered feet in zori aligned inwards as she greeted them. Golden eyes—eyes filled with the expression he'd merely dreamed of, eyes with that expression of fear and anger barely restrained under a veneer of placidity—looked into his. "Hajimemashite," she said, and a perfect bow followed, back perfectly straight, hands perfectly positioned just so. The girl had staged a brilliant attack, and she'd done it with a single word.
Kuon watched Shingai's mouth drop as Kyoko raised her head and her amber eyes met the director's. He didn't know whether Kyoko had heard Shingai's sharp intake of breath, but Kuon had—and he knew that whatever else Kyoko would do during her audition, her entrance alone had won her the part. It was a bolt of lightning, a flash of light from a cloudless sky. Watching Shingai, he realized that he'd have to watch other men fall in love with her over and over again throughout her life. Shingai would just be the first, would likely even claim credit for discovering her.
For the first time since Lory had placed him in exile, Kuon felt his heart race at the prospect of acting.
Now, it was just a matter of making it official.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please let me know how you felt about this chapter. I'm still kinda struggling with the transition but I am hoping this was not disjointed.
Some notes:
1. Coup de foudre - A French expression meaning 'a thunderbolt': an astonishing event (usually love at first sight)
2. Ring Doh: I've literally been trying to come up with a subplot for Ring Doh since last August, when I first started drafting DoK. I am aware the gothic family drama bears some of the same vibe from Dark Moon, but…eh. Female protagonist. No love story. Grisly gothiness. More later?
3. Momo-chan: Both 'Pochi' and 'Momo' are popular dog names in Japan.
4. Furisode - A type of kimono worn by young women (only), characterized by extremely long sleeves. Kyoko and Ruriko both wear furisode during the Ring Doh arc in both the anime and the manga.
5. Taisho - The Taisho era in Japan lasted from 1912 to 1926, and was marked by distinct visual characteristics in kimono design. A lot of that is out-of-scope for fic, but suffice it to say that more formal kimono often featured a mirrored pattern along the bottom hem and base colors were brighter. Ya'll can google if you want more info.
6. Usucha - 'Thin' tea. Formal tea ceremonies can serve more than one kind of tea using matcha powder. Usucha is what people tend to think of as 'matcha' here. If you don't adequately whisk your tea, you can get lumps.