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.
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Additional Author's Notes at bottom of the page.
Chapter XXV: Mirror of the Vanities
"Nobody's gonna know."
"They're going to know!"
"How are they going to know, Lory?" Kuu asked. "Tell me, how are they going to know?"
"They're going to find out it's me and my reputation for gorgeousness will be ruined!"
Kuu rolled his eyes at Lory's fretting.
Lory glared at him. "You've spent too long in the States," he told the man. Lory turned in front of the floor-length mirror Ten had installed in her mobile studio, assessing the stylist's work. The sultan's outfit he was wearing had been seized and replaced with a conservative gray suit and a white dress shirt and tie. The wig Ten had chosen for him sported a conservative cut. She'd secured it onto his head and then banished every piece of jewelry from his outfit.
Ten put a hand on her hip and shook her head at him. "Mattaku, darling, you said you wanted a plain businessman."
"But all of this—it's too plain," Lory cried. "And THIS SUIT!" He ran his hands up and down and shuddered. It was distressing, truly. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a suit like this—" It wasn't the fact that he was wearing a suit. It was the fact that he was wearing a plain suit. Lory Takarada had his fair share of business and formal garb—he looked quite snazzy in corporate-wear, thank you very much. But even at his most conservative, his clothes were made of luxurious materials. Fine wool, cambric shirts, mulberry silk ties—all of it with small touches of gold and accompanied by at least one ring. The suit that Ten had procured for him was a mixed polyester blend (oh horrors!), and it was unembellished. Worst of all, it needed tailoring.
Ten sighed. "It looks fine, Lory. And you are trying to fade into the background. A perfectly tailored suit would call attention to you—"
"You're too accustomed to having your way all the time, old man," Kuu said. "Wasn't it your idea to go incognito?"
Kuu himself had been transformed—a curly, red-haired wig was in place of his normally blonde hair; prosthetics gave him a very different nose, chin, and cheekbones. Ten had rounded off his look by adding glasses and padding to his 'costume.' The overall effect gave him something of a tall, stocky figure, more like a rugby player than an action star. He'd taken a look at himself in the mirror, posed, practiced some mannerisms…and then sat back to watch Lory accustom himself to the loss of his plumage.
"I want to support you, of course," Lory responded. "You and that stubborn son of yours."
Suddenly serious, he stopped fidgeting and turned to look at Kuu. "Ren has worked hard all these years to earn his place here," he said. "Don't you do anything to endanger that."
"As if I would do that to him!"
"You came here on a whim and without warning," Lory said. "Who knows what else you might do?"
"Don't pretend you're not just as curious as I am," Kuu said. "You jumped on this idea." He pointed a finger and tapped Lory's chest with it. "You were looking for an excuse to come down to Kyoto, don't even try to deny it." Kuu huffed indignantly. "I'm happy just to see him act—just to see him with my own eyes. He's my son, Lory, and I haven't seen him smile in years. And then you send over that photo. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?" Kuu shook his head. "I know he's different—Julie and I saw it."
Lory had turned back to the mirror, pouting again. "And you may be right," he said petulantly. "But why I have to do this dressed like this—"
"Honestly, darling, you're as bad as Kuon was with all this fidgeting," Ten interjected. "You should take after Kuu's example. He took his makeover like a pro."
"Wait wait wait…as bad as Kuon?" Kuu's reaction had Ten rethinking her estimation of him being the more level headed of the two men she'd transformed this morning. She could all but see the man's ears perk up. "Was Kuon fidgeting? What do you mean? Woods-san…no, Ten-san…what do you mean?"
Outside they saw Ruto pull up in a nondescript black sedan. Ten noted his arrival. Ten set her lip in a grim, determined line as Lory grinned at Kuu. How could she tell the boy's father what she'd seen? She'd told Lory some of it, sure—there was no way she could keep having seen Kyoko-chan quiet. But she certainly wasn't going to tell Kuu about painting the love marks off of his son—or his son's girlfriend. Kuon had wiggled like a slimy eel on a cutting board. As adorable as his fidgeting had been, it wasn't her place to betray that confidence.
Ten just shook her head, and Kuu nearly groaned in frustration.
Lory grinned at the poor man. "Come on," he said. "We should get to the set. The kids have been there for two hours already."
"Try not to be too reckless, gentlemen," Ten said, waving them off.
The two men stepped out of Ten's studio and into the sedan, Lory sighing for his stretch Hummer. Sedans simply didn't have room for a minibar. How was one supposed to enjoy the commute in these circumstances?
Kuu buckled in, settled down, and refused to be placated. "Lory…what did she mean about Kuon?"
"Oh, probably the fact that your son is an idiot in love," Lory replied. He could only imagine how difficult it must have been for the boy to put himself back into the box that was Ren Tsuruga, especially after wandering around so freely in Kyoto. He grinned at Kuu, who was acting every bit the flustered father. "I guess you'll see soon enough," he said.
Kuu sat back and grunted in frustration.
=.=.=.=
On set, shooting was proceeding apace. Shingai had chosen to film a series of family scenes in order; Kyoko was increasingly finding ways to enrich her 'Choko' character in her own personal history. The continuity of the action made it easy to forget that they were filming a movie—all that time spent with Ring Doh's dysfunctional family engendered a feeling of true familiarity in the actors. This morning, Kyoko found herself face-to-face with Minami, who was playing a very angry older sister.
"Midori-onee-sama, it's not what you think," Choko said.
"Then what is it, Choko?" Her sister was furious. "All I ask is for you to get along with my husband—your brother, now, and yet you pick fights with him every time he reaches out to you."
"Ken-san is not my brother, onee-sama," she said quietly.
Midori glared at her little sister. "I know you were Father's favorite, Choko, but just because you got away with doing god-knows-what back then doesn't mean I'll let you do it now. Mother is already on her last nerves with your antics—"
"My antics? Ken-san killed fa—"
A slap echoed on the set. Choko's face whipped back with the force of it.
"CUT! CUT!" Shingai's voice cut through the set, startling the actors who were in the midst of an ensemble scene. He was off his director's chair and headed towards the girl. "Kyoko-chan, are you OK?! Are you OK?" Kyoko stood still. He glared at Minami, the actress playing Midori. "Minami-san, what is the meaning of this? You really hit her!"
"I'm sorry, Shingai-san." The girl was crying. "I got carried away—oh god, Kyoko, I'm so sorry! I never meant to—I just reacted like that, I don't know why…"
Kyoko was standing still, somewhat dazed, with the fingertips of her hand placed lightly on her cheek. "It's quite alright, Minami-san," she said. She recovered from the slap quickly, removing her hand from her face and then folding her hands formally over her kimono. Her skin was reddened where Minami's hand made contact, but she straightened her posture and again became calm and serene. The voice that came from her was polite but also distant. Her eyes looked through Minami as if the actress wasn't even there.
"KYOKO!" Ren came barrelling through the set, turning heads. Quickly he took her into his arms. "Are you OK?" he asked. He caressed her face with his own fingers, looking deep into her eyes, before sighing with relief—which, unfortunately for Minami, quickly gave way to rage. He whirled around to face her. "How can you call yourself an actress?" he lashed out at Minami. "You hurt her!"
Minami merely cried. There had been some jealousy over the way Ren was treating the new actress, but she'd never intended for that resentment to come out like this. She truly hadn't had any animosity towards Kyoko at all—she quite liked Kyoko, even. She admired the young woman's elegance and had been impressed along with the rest of the cast that had seen her audition. But the intensity of the scenes they were filming had gotten to her, and she'd reacted impulsively. She wanted to claim that it hadn't been her at all—it had been Midori. But as intense as the scene had been, Minami knew she'd crossed the line.
Shingai began to feel sorry for the sobbing actress—someone who made a living off of their looks ought never allow herself to cry so hard the snot dripped from her nose.
Ren was not placated. Everyone watching the scene wondered where the gentleman had gone as he snarled at the sniveling actress.
Well, I guess this puts an end to the speculation on-set about them, Shingai thought. He saw the onlookers gawking at the scene, watching as Ren extended a protective arm around Kyoko and moved to pull her close.
But Kyoko pushed Ren away calmly and firmly with the flat of her palm on his chest. Ren's surprise was clear for everyone to see. For a split second, his emotions were an open book, cycling through worry, shock, and sadness. "Tsuruga-san," she said, "I'm fine." She took two steps back away from him, though he clearly wanted to move closer to her. "Please do not blame Minami-san for this," she said. "We were engaging as Choko and Midori, and it is a testament to the excellence of her acting that she was able to react in that way to me."
"Kyoko—" said Ren.
"Tsuruga-san," she interrupted, "while I appreciate your friendship and your concern for me, I assure you, I am well." She smiled at everyone on the set, but particularly at Shingai. "Kantoku-san," she said, looking at Shingai, "were you happy with the level of my provocation for Minami-san? I can be more quiet or even louder, of course—"
"Kyoko," Shingai said, "let's take a break. I will review the footage and see if we can salvage some of it so you and Minami-san don't have to fight so intensely again."
The girl bowed simply in acknowledgment.
Minami, though, was puzzled. "Wait—so you're not having us re-do that scene?" Minami asked.
Shingai did not bother with answering her. Instead, he stalked off while Ren and Kyoko melted to the sides, leaving Minami hapless and embarrassed mid-set.
=.=.=.=
Kyoko moved off of the set quickly, trying to put distance between her and the rest of the cast. The Japanese house they were shooting in was a large, sprawling affair, and it was easy for her to find a nook or cranny to hide in when she wanted to be alone. There was a small, hidden courtyard garden in the eastern wing of the house—just a tiny one, with a single mossy stone representing stillness in a sea of pebbles. She headed for it now, wanting to calm her racing heart.
Acting was such a joy to her—and acting was also pain. She'd known when she accepted the role that she and Choko shared certain similarities not entirely evident to anyone else—she had thought she'd be able to keep some distance between herself and the source memories she was using in her acting. So much of Choko drew from a hidden well that Kyoko kept inside of her. Keep it quiet, keep it contained, she'd told herself when they were filming these scenes. That well was poisoned. She hadn't told anyone about those, really, not even Kuon, though he knew, in theory, a little bit of the story.
There were things in that well she wanted to keep herself from ever seeing again. Things that played over and over in her mind sometimes—memories of a woman, severe in her loveliness and brutal in her disdain. Memories of the sting of a backhanded slap, delivered to a little girl who'd gotten a single question wrong on her exam. Keeping these memories boxed kept her safe. So long as nobody pried, she could continue as if nothing had ever happened. Neither Yayoi nor Etsuro ever questioned her about the past—there was a tacit understanding not to talk about Sho, and to never, ever bring up Saena.
But for the first time in a long time, Kyoko felt her control over that well slip a little. Perhaps it had been the recent encounter with Mimori, perhaps it was Minami's slap. It was likely a combination of the two, working off of each other and building with Choko's own intensity. She wasn't quite running for the little garden—her training precluded that. Kyoko would never run in a kimono except out of dire necessity. She could move extremely quickly in one whenever the situation warranted it, though.
She got to the garden and slumped down, supporting herself on a wooden beam as she breathed. I am Kyoko Mogami, she was saying to herself. I work hard, I am safe, I have a home. When she'd first arrived back from Tokyo, she'd told herself these things over and over. But telling herself these things didn't mean that it had sunk into her bones, and there were times—times like today—where nothing felt safe, and everything felt like a toy that would be ripped away at any moment. Panic began to rise within her, and she didn't want anyone to see it. So she held on as long as she could and then left, hoping no one noticed.
She looked at the garden—no larger than six tatami mats, placed together, and forced herself to breathe. She closed her eyes, took one breath in, held it…and then breathed it out…and then again, held it…and then out. She felt the panic recede a little, replaced by the numbness she sought so often. Just a little longer, she told herself. Just a few more minutes of this quiet. She would be fine in a few minutes, she knew. She would say she'd left to go to the restroom, or perhaps to take a call from the ryokan.
A minute passed, and then a second. Above the garden walls the sky was the clear blue of a summer day. "Kyoko?" she heard. Kuon was behind her, standing unobtrusively in the shadows. She turned and saw him, all dark hair and melting brown eyes—but she knew it was her Kuon nonetheless, and gods she wanted him to hold her.
She turned to him; he didn't wait to enfold her in his arms. She mused that she never really did think too hard about how they fit. For a while she clung to him, breathing the scent of him in, greedily taking in the warmth of his skin as she nuzzled into the folds of his shirt. "Say the word and I'll kill her for you," he growled, but she lifted up her face to look into his eyes and he knew it hadn't been Minami at all that was bothering her.
"You shouldn't have come." She managed to croak out the words, barely holding onto her composure. "Now everyone will know. And we'd almost gotten away with it."
"Oh love," he said, holding her tighter. "So what if they know? I don't give a fuck if they know. We'll manage." He closed his eyes as he cradled her, wishing he could do something more. He would stay here for as long as it took to take away the haunted, hunted look in her eyes. "Your mother?"
Kyoko merely nodded, and the tears she'd tried to keep at bay began falling from her eyes. He kept holding her, and when her trembling stopped, he bent down to kiss the tears away. "So long as I live, I swear to god I will protect you," he said. "No one will ever hurt you again, Kyoko, I swear it—"
A small, rueful smile parted her lips. "Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee," she said.
He grinned back, returning the lines. It hadn't been so long ago that she'd told him 'I love you' for the first time, and he was coming to understand how shy those words made her. It was easier for her now—easier with practice, like he'd said, but she was still shy. Romeo and Juliet had become her cipher, her way of saying the things she wanted to say without having to produce the words which were so difficult for her. "If my heart's dear love—"
"Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say 'It lightens.'" She paused and shook her head. "Kuon, when you say those things—"
"I mean them."
"When you say them, I almost feel like I'll be punished for believing in you."
The look on her face broke his heart. "I'm not your mother, love," he said. "And I am not Sho, either."
She took her hands—such tiny hands, compared to his!—and grabbed onto the lapel of his shirt. He took the hint and kissed her softly, and she lost herself in him for the moment.
=.=.=.=
"Kuu, move out of the way!" Lory was whispering to Kuu, who was suppressing gleeful sounds from behind a shoji partition. The screen was open just enough to let the two of them see Kyoko as she came into the garden, and then a scant minute or so after that, Kuon.
And it was definitely Kuon. There was no doubt who was in the garden with her. He had Ren Tsuruga's hair and Ren Tsuruga's eyes, but Lory could tell immediately—this was not Ren Tsuruga.
"What are they doing?" Lory demanded. "Dammit, Kuu, I can't see!"
"Shhhhh…." Kuu said. "Listen."
Faintly, they heard Kyoko's voice, "Do not swear at all…"
"Is that…is that Romeo and Juliet!?" Lory asked. He was on the floor, trying to get a view from in front of Kuu's knees. "Why are they—mmmmph!"
"MMMmmmphhh!" Lory protested. Kuu had attempted to shut him up with a hand over his mouth.
"Look, Lory." Kuu moved just in time to give Lory a view of Kuon and Kyoko kissing.
The two men were silent for a time, watching as the couple kissed. Both of them felt just a tad bit embarrassed to be there, though Lory would never admit it. They were intruding on something that felt sacred, and Kuu felt himself flushing under his prosthetic face. He and Julie had been just as hopeless when they'd fallen in love—some would've said they still were. He'd watched his son go through what seemed like dozens of girls back home, and had despaired of him ever learning how to truly love anyone. The sight made him hopeful—or wistful—or was it both? But seeing the look on his son's face left him verklempt. Kuon had passed into shadow and then into manhood, and though Kuu was filled with love and pride and joy, he still wished he'd been there for his boy.
Lory was a mass of conflict. Part of Lory wanted to feel smug about his hand in the matter—proud, even, that his infallible feelings had led to such an outcome. Ahh, young love, Lory thought. What could be sweeter than that? Of course he was happy! Kuon had lived through a lot of darkness in his life—he deserved his true love, of course. The other part of him was already exploring the effects on the Japanese entertainment world should a camera ever record the expression he had on his face. He never would have guessed Kuon to be capable of such an expression—it was better than an otome game. It was real. The tenderness with which he viewed the girl was something too precious for public use, and yet—its deployment would be deadly on the Japanese market.
Kuu watched Lory grin and dragged him away from the screen by the scruff of his neck, dragging him out of the room and into the hallway.
"Wh-what are you doing?" he sputtered.
"Don't you feel bad for spying on them like that?"
Lory pouted. "You wanted to look just as much as I did."
"And then I stopped when it felt wrong." Kuu shook his head at the man. "You're thinking about monetizing this!"
"I'm not that mercenary." Lory looked affronted. "But you can't deny—he'd slay entire stadiums of women looking like that…"
"Lory, sometimes…they aren't an otome game. And this isn't a romantic comedy for LME to market."
Lory sobered and nodded. "The boy's had a tough time of it." Kuu was right—he'd been flippant in his discussions with the father, but when all was said and done, Kuon and Kyoko were the kind of pair that was rare in this world. "I'm glad he's finally found his girl."
Kuu grunted in agreement, ambling towards the set and to the bento boxes they were sure to be giving out for lunch.
"But you can't deny, Kuu." Lory was grinning again. "If he ever shows that face to a camera the world's going to end."
Kuu shook his head and moved on.
=.=.=.=
Kyoko was sitting under a tree, which in itself was not unusual. What was unusual was the fact that she was sitting underneath the tree alone. Kuon was filming one of his scenes with the rest of the family and Yashiro had been inexplicably sent on an errand by a mysterious phone call from LME, leaving her…somewhat stranded. She was too shy to approach a new group, and they were too shy to approach her, particularly after the events of that morning. She would have been happy to eat lunch with the rest of the principals, but they were all filming as well.
The cast and crew had…quieted suspiciously when she and Kuon returned on-set. She wasn't surprised, really. Kuon's outburst had been so unlike the 'normal' Ren Tsuruga, who would never have confronted another actress in that fashion. The Ren Tsuruga everyone knew would have been gentlemanly towards her—not the possessive, dangerous man they'd seen wrap around Kyoko protectively. She hoped she hadn't blushed and given herself away further. She and Kuon had hoped to consult on next steps with Yashiro, but with him missing, they had no intel on the side conversations people were having about themselves. It was an unsettling feeling. For the first time since shooting started, she found that she did, in fact, care about what people thought.
All that notwithstanding, she was still eating lunch under the tree, alone.
It was an oddly familiar circumstance. Even if this was the first time she'd been alone eating lunch on-set, she often ate lunch alone at school. The circumstances merely highlighted the fact that she was an outsider. Thoughts that had haunted her before she'd taken the part haunted her again—she didn't have the noise and the bustle of the set to distract her. Kuon, Yayoi, even Etsuro and Yashiro—all of them had been so encouraging to her. And yet…she couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't belong here. That she was just a fluke. That she'd been cast as the actress of last resort. She'd been chosen because she could wear a kimono and behave herself like a professional. What if they think I only got the part because Kuon and I are dating? She sighed and ate the cherry tomato she'd included in each bento. She froze. What if…I really did get the part because Kuon and I are dating? She knew that Shingai and Kuon both swore it hadn't been a factor, but what if they were simply sparing her feelings? Wasn't a role this big incredibly unusual for an actress's debut? Once she completed it, who knew if she'd ever be cast again? Choko was an easy role for her to slip into. They had so much in common, after all.
Her mood progressively darkened as she ate her umeboshi. Saena would never condone what she was doing now. Not in a million years. That slap from Minami might as well have been a slap from her mother—it stung just as badly and reminded her of the lessons she'd learned so well at Saena's knees and tried so hard to forget. She was Kyoko, unwanted and unloved, only ever worthy of trying to be someone her mother found valuable. There were set expectations—run a prestigious business, become a doctor, an engineer, a lawyer. Saena valued the accomplishments of the mind. She had no room for the niceties of the arts—things, she said, that were made of dreams and ether. Her mother had a mind made of right angles and straight edges and black and white and no shadows in between. And her mother would not have understood the joy Kyoko had found in acting—or the joy she'd found with Kuon.
Not only had Kyoko not been studying for her University exams, she'd been wiling away the hours wantonly at play with Kuon—and whether that meant their…physical activities or play-acting in a movie with him, it would all be the same to her mother. It would've disappointed Saena to no end to know that her daughter had removed school from the top of her priorities in favor of this acting thing. And even though Saena had abandoned her—had literally given her up to be adopted by someone else, Kyoko had to admit that she was still haunted by the disapproving glare that Saena would give her right before pain rained down from the skies. Saena may have left her entirely in the care of the Fuwas, but the lessons she taught Kyoko still remained. How could Kyoko forget?
Yes, perhaps it had been wrong to get carried away with this acting—she had better start spending more time with her university exam prep materials, if she wanted any kind of reasonably respectable future. She needed to remember who she was—or at least make a decision one way or the other. She would do her best here, of course, but she would do well to remember that her future was likely not in acting but in business management. Because how many would-be actresses actually succeeded in their careers? She knew first-hand how difficult it was to be accepted by an agency—whereas management of the ryokan was a sure thing. If she believed in a future with Kuon, too, and by now she thought she did, would he really want an actress as a wife?
Kyoko sighed. Juggling exam prep with school and the remaining shooting schedule would be difficult, of course, but she was certain it was possible. And after shooting was finished, Kuon would go back to Tokyo, and then she could focus on her upcoming exams. The thought filled her with a sharp melancholy—
Mraaaaaaaawrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Is that…a growling stomach?! Kyoko looked around, searching for the source of the sound. She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't realized she'd been sitting next to a tall-looking American man, also, apparently, quite alone. He looked distinctly uncomfortable at the fact that she'd noticed him, and she was about to greet him when again, his stomach saw fit to announce that it was hungry.
Mraaaaaaaaawr, it growled again.
She noted the empty bento box by the stranger's knee. Perhaps Americans simply require larger portions? she thought. That sometimes happened at the ryokan—they'd get requests for double portions from time to time. Kuon was apparently the exception—but then again, he'd been Japanese for six years and was something of a freak of nature. The stranger looked friendly enough, though he also looked as if he were trying to assiduously avoid her gaze. Kyoko didn't recall ever having seen him on-set before.
Mraaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwr. A third time. He must be terribly hungry, then. She happened to know that there were usually no extra bento boxes left over from catering at the end of the lunch hour, so he couldn't get seconds there.
She cleared her throat. She didn't know if it would be unpardonably rude of her to offer, but Yashiro-san wasn't here to eat it and she knew both she and Kuon would be full from their own boxes.
The stranger looked up. Kyoko was startled, seeing him. There was something odd about his face, she thought, something…somewhat disproportionate, as if random parts of it had been placed arbitrarily on his head. His gray eyes were friendly, though, and she hazarded a conversation. "Hello," she said in English. "It's a wonderful day, isn't it?" She kicked herself at the inanity of her conversation. It was a wonderful day—a gorgeous late-summer Sunday, blue skies with just the odd fluffy cloud from time to time. But what was she supposed to say? I can't very well say 'Hello, sir, I can't help but notice that you're hungry, would you perhaps want this spare bento?' she thought.
"Hello," he replied. He seemed surprised and somewhat embarrassed that she had addressed him. "And yes, it's a gorgeous day," he added shyly. It was almost an afterthought.
"Ano…" she hesitated.
"Oh, where are my manners?" he continued. "I am Ku-Adam…uh Smith…son."
"Mr. Kuadam Smithson?" she repeated. "I am pleased to meet you, sir." She bowed politely. "I am Kyoko Mogami," she said.
"Ah…it's just Adam Smithson." The man out a hand up to the nape of his neck, embarrassed. Way to go, Hizuri, he thought. Now she thinks you're weird. "And I am glad to meet—"
Mraaaaaawrrr went the traitorous stomach, and both of them looked at his growling belly. "My apologies," he said, "please excuse me."
"Oh—no—please, have you eaten?" she asked. Both of them looked at the other awkwardly.
Kuu had been trying to muster up the courage to talk to Kyoko, particularly once he spotted her eating alone. She sat with her back ramrod straight, elegant even though she was merely eating lunch—and he couldn't help but observe the melancholy look on her face. He cursed the fact that his son wasn't there to keep her company, though his absence certainly made her more accessible. He'd snuck onto the benches surrounding the tree in hopes of casually striking up a conversation. It seemed that now was as good a time as any. It hadn't been planned, hadn't been discussed. The strategy he and Lory had decided on was one of stealth and secrecy. He'd come to the set wanting to be unobtrusive, a fly on the wall. But the opportunity had presented itself, and he couldn't let it pass by. Someone who Kuon loved enough to blow his cover for—someone he'd smile like that for—someone who was no less than his one true love? What kind of father would he be if he let her eat lunch alone like that?
Kuu had some time on his hands. Lory had gone to talk to Shingai, ostensibly to discuss Kuon's evolution in acting. Kuu had been left to his own devices on-set. Once he managed to sit down unnoticed under Kyoko's tree, he'd been trying to figure out how best to start a conversation with her. Kuu was not normally a shy man—and yet he found himself somewhat shy around the woman he was increasingly thinking of as his daughter-in-law. The situation felt complicated—what was he to do? He couldn't very well introduce himself as her future father-in-law, could he? He didn't want to pretend he was someone else—what if she recognized him in the future, prosthetics notwithstanding? He was thinking of various scenarios when Kyoko opened the lid to her bento and the smell of home-made food wafted out. His traitorous stomach began protesting in hunger, and he was willing to bet money that she'd noticed.
"I…" he trailed off. He wanted more food. One bento was a snack, at best. "Am somewhat in need of a snack, yes," he said.
"If…"
He leaned forward, waiting to hear what she had to say.
"Please don't think I'm rude," she said, "but I do happen to have a spare bento, if you're at all interested. The person it was meant for had to be away for lunch today, and I'm afraid it might go to waste if it isn't eaten."
Kuu hesitated. It would not do to scare the girl with his eating habits—she was probably used to Kuon's bird-like appetite. He was quite hungry, and her own lunch had looked so appetizing—
"It's…just something I made," the girl said. "It isn't catered or anything, but I can assure you, I'm fully trained in food safety, and this has been prepared in an extremely clean kitchen—!"
"Oh, I have no doubt of that.." Kuu interrupted. He was controlling himself admirably, really.
"Oh! How rude of me," Kyoko said. "I should tell you what I put in it—in case you have allergies or dietary restrictions. It…it isn't a very fancy bento, I'm afraid. Just some karaage—that's fried chicken, in English," she said, "with tamagoyaki, a croquette, rice and pickles and a bit of macaroni salad."
"That sounds delicious, Mogami-san," he said. "If you are certain you can spare the bento, I'd be happy to eat it."
The truth was that he couldn't wait to get his hands on it. First, he was starving. A Kuu Hizuri after the kind of bento they were calling 'lunch' on-set was a very hungry Kuu indeed. Any additional food would have been welcome. Had Kyoko not come along, he would've been considering building a fire to grill the koi that were floating around the garden's ponds. Second, this was Kyoko-chan's bento. A bento made by the hands his son loved—the same bento he apparently ate without complaint. Kuu, of all people, knew just how difficult it was to get Kuon to eat. Of course, it was entirely possible that he ate it because he loved her—Kuu ate Juli's cooking for the same reason, after all.
Kuu dismissed the thought entirely. He had no doubt that Kuon would eat Kyoko's cooking even if it were terrible—but Kyoko was well-trained in a top-notch kitchen. That much he knew from Lory.
"If you don't mind, then," Kyoko said. She was offering him the bento in an adorable furoshiki cloth with bunnies on it, helpfully proffering a set of chopsticks, as well. "I hope you find it acceptable."
Kuu took the bento, trying not to look too eager. Gingerly, he set the little package between them, untying the furoshiki and opening the lid. The smell was wonderful—the smell of food that had been lovingly and expertly prepared. The contents were typical, certainly, but he could see that the execution was top-notch. The food was arranged just-so, picture perfect in the way bentos sold by department stores often were. It certainly did not look like the work of an amateur home cook.
A shy voice interrupted his thoughts. "Does it…does it look ok, Smithson-san?" Kyoko asked.
But Kuu had already stuffed a piece of karaage in his mouth. He nodded yes frantically as his eyes closed in bliss.
The chicken had been marinated, he was sure, for at least an entire day before it was fried twice to ensure a crunch. Mirin, soy sauce, ginger, garlic—it was all there, perfectly balanced and wrapped in a coating of potato starch. The tamagoyaki was perfect, too—exactly perfect—savory, with a touch of dashi and green onion. The accompanying pickles looked home-made. "Did you cook this?" he asked. He knew the answer already.
"Yes," she replied. "I am sure it is not as good as the professionally made bentos they offer here, but I hope it is acceptable?"
"It's oishii!" In truth, it was much better than the earlier bento he'd had. It felt bigger, too. Kuu was desperately trying to eat it slowly, but the bento was disappearing quickly right before his eyes. His daughter-in-law could cook. Not that Juli couldn't, of course, except even he had to admit that Juli's cuisine was…an acquired taste. Kyoko, however, apparently knew how to marinate and season a karaage properly. "Perfect balance on the marinade for that karaage, young lady," he said. "And just the right amount of katakuriko to keep it crunchy…"
"Ah! Mr. Smithson, do you cook too?" Kyoko was always fond of talking to other cooks, particularly foreign ones. They often introduced her to new ideas and techniques. It expanded her repertoire.
"Occasionally, yes," the man said. A big bite of rice followed his pronouncement, and for a little while the two sat silently as he ate Yashiro's lunch.
"Sugoi, Mr. Smithson." Kyoko was looking at the man inhaling the bento. "You must've been really hungry—"
"Yes!" The man was eating the pickles now, enjoying the sour counterpoint to the richness of the fried chicken.
After Kuon's relative reticence with food, seeing someone eat her cooking with such gusto was satisfying.
"Is that…a touch of mustard in the macaroni salad?" he asked.
Kyoko flushed. It was so rare that someone noticed the small variations in her recipes that she 'tried out' from time to time. Kuon was simply not food-centric, and though he always told her what she cooked was delicious, he never noticed the little experiments she tried out on her recipes. Yashiro's appetite was healthier than Kuon's, but his palate was similarly undeveloped. "Yes!" she answered. "I felt it added a tang to the salad, which—"
"Would've been too bland otherwise," Kuu finished for her. "An excellent modification. I'll have to ask you for your recipe—my wife will love it."
Kyoko beamed at him, her customary Okami-san-face forgotten. Today was apparently the day she wore her true self on her face, what with the momentary slip this morning and then again now. She didn't mind. Food was the one topic everyone in the world had in common, wasn't it? Everyone had to eat at some point. "Thank you, Mr. Smithson. I'm so glad you like the salad! Kuo—my friends usually don't notice when I change something, so it's always good to hear what people think when I do."
"Are you an aspiring chef, Mogami-san?" The man had finished the bento in record time. Kyoko looked at the container only to find that not even a single grain of rice remained. She'd never seen a bento box consumed so neatly and completely.
"Oh—oh, no, I'm not planning on anything like that," she said.
"Of course!" Kuu exclaimed. "I was thinking with my stomach and not my head. We've been watching you all morning." He shook his head, pretending to have just recognized her—nevermind the fact that he and Lory had been tailing their charges all morning. "You're an actress!" She looked up at him, surprised. "The actress. Shingai's Choko. We heard so much about you and the effect you'd had on the production. My partner and I had to see for ourselves."
A pit of dread began to form in her stomach. What did he mean, they'd been watching her all morning? What did he mean, 'they had to see for themselves'? The first Ring Doh had been so awful that the announcement of the sequel had gone relatively unnoticed except for a few 'literary' corners of the internet howling for Shingai's blood before he mangled the source material any further. Kyoko knew—she just knew—that Kuu was going to ask her about acting. He'd expect her to be like Kimiko or Mimori, having had prior showbiz experience before taking on this role.
He went in a different direction.
"Your parents must be so proud," he said. Kyoko blanched. Discussing her non-existent acting experience would have been preferable to that discussion. She'd worked so hard for so long just to hear those words from Saena. Before today's events, she'd all but convinced herself that it didn't matter to her anymore. But somehow events seemed to be conspiring to make her remember, and it was hard to keep up appearances with a total stranger, okami-san training or not.
Kuu bit back his words as soon as he saw the expression on her face. It was an odd, pained look—the kind of face one made when one had eaten something extremely bitter. Kuu, looking at her, instantly felt the air shift and darken. "My parents?" she echoed dumbly.
"Of course," he added, trying to salvage the situation. He thought back to his own feelings about his own son. "Your father, I'm sure—"
"I don't have a father," she interrupted. There was a twisted smile on her face. Kuu felt as if the statement had cost her dearly, unusual as it seemed for her to interrupt.
"Your mother, then—" he added.
"Perhaps," she responded. "I wouldn't know."
The tenseness in her shoulders silenced Kuu for a while. Hadn't Lory said the girl was the heir to the ryokan they'd stayed at all those years ago? Surely her parents would have supported the training and the education that was evident in her bearing and in her work product. What did the girl mean, 'she had no father'?
He didn't want to pry any further—it felt too much like poking at an open wound. But even if she hadn't been his son's beloved, the hurt evident on her face made Kuu feel protective. A girl like this—so earnest, so talented, so polite, so obviously hard-working—should have parents who were proud of her. He knew Juli would feel the same, and for a split second he lost himself in a vision of his son and this young woman arriving at their home in California, only to be welcomed home with open arms by parents who had a surfeit of love pent up by years of silence.
In the meantime, they were still strangers to each other, and Kuu had clearly stepped onto a landmine. He wanted to do away with the tension between them. This was unbearable. They'd started off so well, and he'd gone and ruined the moment. She clearly hadn't wanted to discuss acting, and so he'd changed the topic. But it had been trading one fraught discussion for another. Even now, the girl was still pale.
"Well, if you were my kid," he said, "I'd be proud."
She looked at him, her face shuttered again. "I'm glad you thought it was tasty," she said, "but I assure you, the bento was nothing special. I just followed the recipe."
He wanted to disagree with her, tell her that no, in fact, the bento was special, that he was ever so glad his son was finally eating properly, that she was, in fact, worthy of praise. But his courage failed him. A new topic, then, yes—this would be the tactic, he decided, to get her to smile again. "Well, I wasn't just talking about the bento, Mogami-san," he said. "You're doing remarkable work. Hard to believe you're still a newcomer. I hope to see so much more of you after filming is finished." He set the empty bento down on the bench.
"Th-thank you," Kyoko replied. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the stranger's enthusiasm.
"My business associate and I came to preview Shingai's latest work. We think it may have potential overseas."
"Overseas?" Kyoko echoed. The shift in conversation was an improvement over a discussion about her parents—at least the stranger had gotten the hint and stopped asking her about her mother and father.
Kuu jumped on the interest Kyoko was showing. "Oh yes," he said. "Perhaps not a wide release, but we believe this film may have significant appeal to arthouse audiences—it's not a blockbuster, certainly, but a nice limited release? It'll be a success…"
"Do you truly think so?" she asked. "I know Tsuruga-san will be a success!"
Kuu barely restrained himself from going into rhapsodies about his son. "Oh, Ren Tsuruga, you mean?" he asked. "Yes, he really should be better known in the West! He's quite outside the usual mode for Japanese actors."
Kyoko could only nod enthusiastically in agreement. "He's extremely professional," she said, "and I've learned so much about acting from him." She was restraining herself, too. The last thing she wanted to do was to look like a lovesick cow in front of this foreigner.
"Are you a fan of his, too?" Kuu asked. He couldn't help the smile on his face. "They say all his co-stars fall in love with him, you know."
Kyoko couldn't help the blush that came onto her face. "Oh, Tsuruga-san is very much a gentleman," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I've heard that about his co-stars as well."
The fact that she'd evaded his question wasn't lost on Kuu, and he kept himself from smirking. "The two of you have amazing chemistry on-set," he said. "Very few people have that, you know."
"Oh—perhaps it's…it's—" she was stuttering. She didn't want to be stuttering.
"Simply a natural consequence of two extraordinary talents resonating with each other."
She stared at him. "Oh—I…I truly do enjoy acting," she said. "But I hardly think I'm on the same plane as Tsuruga-san." She was thinking back to him as Macbeth, striding into his room on a rainy day. "Tsuruga-san was born to be an actor," she finished.
"As were you," Kuu added. "You're a natural on your own, too. I'm sure the film will be a success. It'll establish you as a new talent, I'm sure. Have you thought about your future career? What kind of actress you'd like to be?"
The smile Kyoko had on her face vanished in an instant.
Kuu groaned inwardly. Somehow, he kept upsetting her. While he hadn't expected to meet with her under these circumstances, he felt far more awkward than he usually did. Strangers normally recognized him—he hadn't had to try to be likable in years. In a way it was nice to meet someone with absolutely no preconceptions about him—not to mention the advantage of being able to see their personality unclouded by the effect fame tended to have on people. For a while he was sure he was succeeding in winning her over—hadn't they begun to build a connection of sorts over cooking? But then he kept saying the wrong thing.
Kyoko was watching him, pensive. "I'm…I'm not sure I'll be an actress, Smithson-san," she responded. "I was very honored and surprised when Shingai-san asked me to play Choko's part, you see. And Choko and I are very much alike in so many ways—it hasn't been hard for me to develop her character."
Kuu was flabbergasted. "Not…be an actress?" he echoed. "But why? You're so obviously talented it seems a disservice to the world—"
"I merely have good actors to respond to," she said, "and emotions to draw from."
"And just the fact that you understand that this is the source of your acting tells me you understand more than any number of actors I've worked with," Kuu responded. "So…why wouldn't you be an actress? Don't you enjoy it?"
She looked down at her hands, which were folded formally on her lap. "I have enjoyed it. I do enjoy it. But…is that enough?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Acting—" Kyoko looked down. "You asked about my mother earlier," she said. "My mother would disapprove, though she's washed her hands of me. And my guardians—I don't want to desert my guardians and the trust they've placed in me just to follow something I may never succeed at."
"What makes you think you wouldn't succeed? To me it seems as if the stars have aligned to drag you into showbiz." Kuu chuckled. If only she knew how excited Lory had been when he'd called him. "You're debuting in a film by a notable director, and in a major role. Shingai sings your praises to anyone that comes within a ten foot radius of him. I'm here to assure you it will be seen abroad."
"Yes, but—"
"But it's not a traditional career?" Kuu smiled at her with some fondness. He'd known plenty of actors who'd persisted despite their family members' reluctance in supporting such an unorthodox career. He and Juli had been different with Kuon, of course—they'd both been established actors, and Juli was a scion of a bona fide Hollywood dynasty.
"My mother would have said that I was setting myself up for a period of starvation," Kyoko said. "And she looks down on actors and artists. She never saw the value in anything that wasn't a purely intellectual endeavor. She'd say it was worthless." She paused. "And besides, I feel as if I'm cheating on my real life by dabbling in this fairy tale. Sometimes I think that any second now, I'll wake up and all of this will be a dream."
"I'm afraid it's quite real," Kuu said. "Is it the perception that artists and actors are poor that bothers your mother?"
"I think it's the principle of the thing more than the money," Kyoko responded. "She doesn't value entertainment. She would never watch TV…"
"Well, it's true that acting can be notoriously uneven with wages. But of course, it's entirely possible to make a lot of money." Kuu chuckled. "I should know. When I started out in this business, they had me washing floors and carrying bags for free as something like an intern. I had to fight to get a part."
"You're an actor too, Smithson-san?" Kyoko asked.
"I am. I've been acting since my teenage years," he said. "My wife is also an actress, and so is my son. Though I'm here in a business capacity. Now that I'm older, I want to do more."
"An entire family," Kyoko breathed. Like Kuon's, she thought, all supporting each other as they rose upwards. For a second she wondered what it would be like to have not just Kuon supporting her and cheering her onwards as they filmed, but a father and a mother too. Yayoi-san had been wonderful, but she didn't know what acting was like. Kyoko treasured her support, but acknowledged that she could not be a mentor in this brave new path she was considering.
"Yes. At least four generations, at least on my wife's side," he said. "Do you think we'd have dedicated our lives to this if it was worthless?" He had to convince her, somehow, that acting was worth pursuing—that it was a legitimate and valuable undertaking. "Perhaps you wouldn't be a doctor or a lawyer, but someday, I promise you, there's going to be a person with tears in their eyes telling you how much something you did meant to them."
Kyoko was silent. "I could only hope," she said. "Ku-Tsuruga-san and I worked on a lot of Shakespeare over the summer, for my classes. I could see how it would be meaningful to someone."
"Shakespeare?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
Kyoko told him about the Shakespeare, the acting exercises, the hours in Kuon's room and by their rock going over roles, and emotions, and characters, and blocking—about how she'd been Tybalt, and then Romeo, and then finally, Juliet. She told him about working through Mio, the way her rage seemed to just well up just enough and just when it was most useful to the rest of the cast and crew. In the retelling, she found herself gaining distance and clarity from the miasma of feelings brought on by that morning's events.
Yes, it was true—acting was a risk. Soon enough, the choice would have to be made, and made for good. She'd reluctantly participated in Kuon's games, had reluctantly taken part in the audition, and had reluctantly accepted Choko when it was offered to her. And now, it seemed, the next question was whether or not she was truly going to pursue this as a career when every careful instinct she'd developed was telling her it was the riskier path.
"I'm impressed," Kuu said, after she'd finished telling him. "You covered so much in such a short time. I had no idea Tsuruga-san had such a formalized understanding of the craft."
She looked at him, indignant. "Why wouldn't he?" she asked. "He's Japan's leading actor, after all—" She might roast Kuon when they were in private, but her loyalty rose up to defend him as she heard the doubt in the older man's voice.
"It's just that he's so young, that's all I meant. Sometimes it takes a little bit more experience in order to teach someone."
"Tsuruga-san's been acting since he was a child, too," Kyoko said, somewhat defensively. "And his family acts, too."
"You know about his family?" Kuu asked, surprised. "I actually hadn't heard that Tsuruga-san's family also acts."
Kyoko blushed. She probably shouldn't have told him that—what if he asked more questions about Kuon's background? "I don't really know much," she said, backtracking. "Only that he's been acting a long time."
Kuu could see he'd managed to make her uncomfortable again. This time, he was relatively certain that it was because she'd let slip that bit about Kuon's background. The irony was that he was Kuon's father and privy to the secret—and truly, she hadn't really let anything slip. Their conversation had meandered here and there, certainly, but one thing was clear: he wanted this young lady to be part of his family. From everything Lory had told him, he'd been fairly certain that she was the real thing all along—not some gold-digger or hanger-on that only wanted to be with his son for fame. He'd seen that with his own eyes all throughout the day. But their conversation had charmed him—he could easily see why his boy loved her.
He wanted to offer her more comfort than a mere stranger could give her, wanted to be family and give support the way only a family could.
Why wait, then? Why not show her who he was now? He could easily sneak off-set and into Ruto's waiting car underneath a cap and dark sunglasses, couldn't he?
He was going to tell her who he was.
"Mogami-san," he said. Continuing in Japanese, he said "I have to tell you something."
Kyoko looked up, a question forming in her eyes. She had assumed that 'Mr. Smithson' was a foreigner, someone who could not understand Japanese. But now he spoke Japanese like a native, and it was clear he had something to confess.
"I—"
But he was interrupted. Before he could say any more, he paused, mid-sentence, as a tall, striking figure came up behind Kyoko.
"Mogami-san," the figure said, and Kyoko startled and turned towards him.
Kuu gulped. Kuon's hand had placed itself protectively around her shoulder, and the boy was glaring at him.
"You must be Ren Tsuruga," Kuu choked out in English. He forced himself to look calm and professional, standing and then offering the actor his hand to shake.
But Kuon was just staring at him. Kuu's hand was ignored in mid-air.
And before he could say anything else, Kuon's hand grasped at Mr. Smithson's nose and pulled it off his face.
Kyoko gasped.
Kuu cursed.
And Kuon said, "Dad."
=.=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: Hi everyone. I'm sorry this update has taken so long. I think it may be the longest I've ever gone without updating anything. It's been a little bit of a crazy month. I broke up with The Boy(friend) of nine years and had him move out of the house, took a vacation which turned out to be not really a vacation at all (because I worked all throughout and ended up sleeping less than when I'm not actually on vacation…), and then really had a very insane work schedule even after coming back. So I hope this chapter is somewhat coherent. I'll say that the first 5k words of it were written significantly earlier than the last bits. I got pulled away in between, so there may be a disconnect. Please let me know what you think.
I haven't been able to respond to a lot of your reviews, either, for the same reason that I haven't been able to write! But please rest assured that I do read them all, and I do want to thank all of you that wrote to me. I also want you to know that they really did help when I was feeling somewhat low about…everything.
I hope to get the next chapter sooner than I did this one. Please bear with me, though! I'll be taking a trip soon and a portion of it is research for DoK's ending and epilogue scene.