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 XIX: Comings and Goings
Ten was glaring at Ren.
The man in question was looking at her sheepishly after sauntering back to the boat as if he hadn't…jumped off of it nearly half an hour before. His cheeks were slowly turning pink. She had her hands on her hips right before pouncing on him. "What were you thinking, Ren? Mattaku, are you thinking? At all?"
She took a finger and poked the center of Ren's forehead with it. "I mean with this head up here."
She reached into a backpack, pulling out a black cosmetic bag. "Hold this," she said, holding the bag out for a speechless Ren to take.
"And this." Another bag made its way out.
"Woods-san, I don't want to—"
"I think I know what you're going to say, and I'm going to tell you that it's a bad idea," she interrupted. "Tilt your head to the side."
Ren tilted his head, but he didn't tilt it far enough, prompting Ten to take him by the ear to tilt it for him. That was when Yashiro saw it—a large, obnoxiously pink mark on his neck. There was no doubt it was going to turn purple tomorrow. He was sure he'd see teeth marks if he looked hard enough.
"Ow owww oww! Woods-san! I don't think—"
"I know Lory knows, but I don't think you've consulted him on this one, and because you haven't consulted him on this one, you're going to tilt your head to the side and let me put this concealer on you."
"I want people to know!"
"You're acting like a child! Think about what you told me this morning, and get a hold of yourself, Ren-chan!" Yashiro had never seen her so incensed, but Ren's shoulders finally slumped forward as he meekly complied. Yashiro had looked on, trying to keep his mouth from falling open.
=.=.=.=
One long and intensely awkward boat ride later, they were seated in the Porsche, Ren looking as dashing as ever in that left-hand driver's seat. Ten had departed in her own vehicle. "So are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I just going to have to put it together?" Yashiro asked. He settled in with the seatbelt, cursing the car's stiff suspension. He was stiff and sore from the drive down. The leather seats were luxurious, sure…unless you had to spend six hours in what basically amounted to a race car. It had been…somewhat harrowing.
"I don't know what you mean," Ren said.
"Oh? You don't know what I mean…?" Yashiro narrowed his eyes at Ren. "I'm quite sure you know what I mean, Ren."
Yashiro was silent for a few minutes, watching the actor fidget. Ren was adjusting his seat, adjusting his mirrors, fiddling with his seatbelt, turning up the air conditioning—he did everything except look Yashiro in the eye. The order to cancel all of Ren's remaining summer engagements had come directly from Lory Takarada himself—an unprecedented command. Yashiro had protested—of course he'd protested—not just because it would look incredibly odd for Ren to simply cancel everything, but because it would damage Ren's precious reputation to not show up when he'd committed to something. He'd said as much to Lory the day Ren disappeared from Tokyo.
"Yashiro-kun," Takarada-san had said, "is Ren even working on any projects of note during July and August?"
"Well…no…" Yashiro had been forced to concede.
Lory had merely nodded with the infuriating all-knowing smile he occasionally affected. Ren had a few modeling shoots, a number of talk shows and variety shows, two or three cameos. It had been busy-work to kill the time before the second Ring Doh movie. He'd called and canceled each and every job. While a few people had been disappointed, most hadn't questioned the excuse—that Tsuruga Ren had to reschedule due to other priorities. It happened so rarely they were all willing to give his charge a pass.
It had been a masterclass in managerial professionalism.
There were money considerations, of course, but Yashiro had made plenty of money from other commissions in the years he'd managed the actor. And he'd been surprised that whatever commissions he would've received from the work Ren had canceled appeared in his accounts despite Ren not being there.
No, the money wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the bizarreness, the oddness, the skull and bones secrecy that surrounded this entire business of Ren needing to 'attend to urgent matters' on such short notice, and without any further information being given to his manager. For someone used to ordering Ren's calendar, this was disconcerting in the extreme. Through the latter half of July and all of August, he'd had no idea whatsoever where his charge was. It was as if he'd dropped off the edge of the universe. There had been nothing on the rumor mills, nothing in the forums. No paparazzi photos had surfaced. He'd tried to keep it out of his mind. He'd spent the time researching additional roles for Ren, reconfiguring and rescheduling whatever appointments he could, and otherwise…thinking. Thinking, for example, about how little he knew about him.
This strange summer disappearance was just one more mystery on top of the pile of mysteries that was Ren Tsuruga. There were so many things Yashiro simply didn't know and had been too discreet to ask. Like where Ren came from, for one. What his past had been like, for another. Did he even have parents? Yashiro had long surmised that there was some untold trouble in the young man's past. Before he'd learned to hide it better, Ren would look off into the distance with a thousand-yard stare that looked too much like a man who'd seen too much violence. It made him seem considerably older than his seventeen years.
Whatever it was, it gave his acting unexpected depth. No one could accuse Ren Tsuruga of making it on the basis of his looks, though it was that mature look which gave him the ability to book a wide range of meaty roles beyond simple teenage heartthrobs. Yashiro had done his best to market Ren accordingly. Yashiro was the kind of guy who took his role and his duties seriously—he was paid to be Ren Tsuruga's manager, so he was the best damn manager Ren Tsuruga could have. But he also liked to think of himself as Ren's friend. Possibly the only friend he had in Japan, except maybe for people like Kijima-san, who Ren shared a fairly close professional relationship with. Ren was famous for being a gentleman and for being friendly, but just because he was friendly did not mean he had friends. It helped that it fed his public image of gentlemanly reserve, but Yashiro couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have Ren maybe…confide a little in him.
Ren pushed the 'start' button and the engine roared to life. "Where is this shoot again?" he asked, fiddling with the navigation system. There was a faint flush on his cheeks again.
Yashiro sighed. "You came out of the building clutching a bento box with bunnies on the furoshiki."
"Mmm," Ren replied, ignoring him.
"You jumped out of a moving boat to run back inside the building."
"Mmm."
How infuriating, Yashiro thought. "Ren! Ten-san was painting the side of your neck!"
Ren simply grunted.
"Hmmph," Yashiro said. He crossed his arms.
The actor was driving calmly as if nothing had happened—as if he hadn't had a makeup artist camouflaging the side of his neck to hide the massive hickey he had on it just minutes ago.
"Well, I figured the day would come," Yashiro said ruefully. "You're a good-looking young man, after all. But I have to say—I never took you for someone who would have an affair with a married woman."
Ren choked and swerved and Yashiro's hand grabbed at the door handle on instinct as his eyebrows traveled up his forehead and the car tires screeched.
Ren was sputtering. "An affair with a married woman!? Yashiro-san, seriously?!"
"I couldn't help but notice that the Okami-san also had a…mark…on her neck," Yashiro added suggestively. He'd been welcomed by the ryokan's Okami-san on the boat dock, and watched as a younger nakai joined her. Both had bowed and offered him refreshment as he waited for Ren. He'd declined, but had noted the awkward concealer job on the older woman's neck. "Ren, I'm shocked at you. She seems like a very nice woman, but I saw that wedding ring on her finger and she's definitely much older than you are. I still don't know what all this was about, but Ten was right—you can't go out there with a massive kiss mark on your neck. It would ruin your reputation."
"Well, Woods-san has fixed the situation, so it's not something we really need to worry about, now is it?" Ren had that stubborn look on his face, the one that Yashiro knew he put on when he refused to budge over something.
"Fine. Don't tell me, then. Don't tell your long-suffering, ever-devoted, super-excellent, super duper manager." Yashiro was writing on a notepad with a vengeance, mimicking Ren's voice. "'I want people to know, Woods-san! I want everyone to see this massive hickey I've got on my neck! I'm going to scare the fuck out of everyone and jump off this boat—!'"
They had stopped at a stop light. Yashiro glared at Ren and then busied himself by looking at the pedestrians crossing the road, wondering what in the hell had happened to the actor while he was away. Ren, otherwise urbane and tractable, had changed. Something had clearly happened in the past few months to radically affect how Ren was acting.
Ren sighed and Yashiro looked over at him. He was blushing. A full blush, not the mere tinge of pink that had been flitting on his face off and on since he'd come back to the boat. Before his very eyes, Yashiro watched as the so-called number-one-sexiest-actor-in-Japan turned red. "It…it isn't the okami-san," he said.
Yashiro watched as the blush overtook his entire face and crept onto his neck. This was…exciting. To think that Ren Tsuruga, impervious loner, was blushing over someone—! He felt an uncharacteristic rush and jolt of amusement as a grin split his face.
"Ah. Good. Not the Okami-san," said Yashiro. He'd returned to his tiny notepad and was looking expectantly at Ren while waiting for him to say more. "Aaaaaaaannnnnd…."
"She's…" Somehow, Ren felt stuck. Somehow this had been easier with Lory, who already seemed to know quite a bit about Kyoko without Ren ever telling him anything. Lory was Lory. One came into a meeting or a conversation with Lory assuming he already knew everything. But Yashiro was looking at him like a schoolgirl about to squeal.
"Maybe start with her name?"
"Kyoko," Ren said. "Her name is Kyoko…."
Yashiro had never seen Ren Tsuruga in love, but after the car ride to the set, he counted himself lucky that he had somehow escaped being melted into a blubbering pile of moe. Who would have thought that Ren could be so cute? He'd spent the ride listening to Ren wax poetic over what sounded like the most perfect of young women. A veritable goddess. A paragon of beauty and grace, even. It was over-the-top, ridiculous, and ever-so-romantic. It gave Yashiro butterflies, and he wasn't the one in love! Still, he couldn't help but grin. Over the years, he'd watched actress after actress fall for Ren, and he'd needled the young man repeatedly, teasing him and calling him a playboy as 'another one bit the dust.' Younger, more innocent actresses would confess to him like high school girls in a manga. Older, more mature women would try to seduce him. But for all of their efforts and for all of Yashiro's teasing, the 'miracle' never happened. Ren never budged and never showed more than simple courtesy to any of them. Even his so-called fake relationship with Kana had been marked by his gentlemanly reserve. Yashiro knew why Ren never denied the relationship, though Yashiro also knew that if Kana had engineered that kiss for a less noble reason than to protect Sakura-chan, Ren would have denied their relationship in a heartbeat.
Something was going to have to change, then, if he really was in love. Something Yashiro would have to coordinate with Lory, and certainly with the young woman herself if they wanted to go public. He wanted to meet this so-called Kyoko-chan, this siren who'd somehow won Ren through his impenetrable reserve. He shook his head and smiled to himself as they walked to the set. Ren had been…exuberant…in his description. All that said, though, Yashiro had kept enough of a head on himself to notice that Ren had left out important details—like how they met, or what she did, or anything one would normally find out about one's friend's girlfriend.
All Yashiro knew was that the look Ren had on his face today would be the kind of look that would have directors scrambling over themselves to offer his charge enough leading roles for a decade.
Yashiro grinned. He couldn't wait to meet Kyoko.
=.=.=.=.=.=
The Ring Doh crew had set up shop in a house that was, for all intents and purposes, quite similar to the original set. For whatever reason, Kuon learned, the owners of the last set had wanted to do extensive renovations, necessitating a change of venue for the production of the sequel. That left the film set designers with a bit of a quandary: no one wanted to build a set on a soundstage, so new locations for filming had been scouted. In a way, he was intensely grateful that the last set's owners saw fit to demolish and renovate the traditional-style mansion where the last movie had been filmed. If it hadn't been for their lack of appreciation for that original house's lovely serenity, he wouldn't have been able to use the sequel's production as an excuse to stay in Kyoto.
It was easy to spot the movie set once they were in its vicinity. It was a large property, walled with a high wood and stone fence. Outside the fence perimeter, the crew's film trailers were set up, and he could see gaffers and technicians carrying lighting and sound equipment into and out of the trailers. He knew that one of those trailers would be reserved as his dressing room. It was one of those conceits afforded to leading actors, really, and Yashiro had always been good at negotiating those benefits into his contracts.
He parked the car, exiting it with Yashiro in-tow, his long legs extending his body into an elegant line. People were staring as he hefted his bag onto his shoulders and began heading in, a sudden lull in the crew's conversation making him suddenly self-conscious. Had the concealer worn off after all? Did he suddenly have a massive sign on his forehead labeling him as a liar and an impostor? Kyoko and the ryokan existed in an eternal sunlit place. If anything, the industry Ren Tsuruga worked in tried to build that magic through tricks and creative editing, with only marginal success. The ryokan did not have an army of gaffers taping down lighting cables, or sound people floating overhead with gigantic mic booms. It did not need them—all it needed was Kyoko, and she was magic enough. But he needed to come back to the real world, ugly and loud as it was.
"What's wrong?" Yashiro said to him out of the corner of his mouth.
"Yashiro…" he whispered, "...they're…staring…"
"Yes? They always stare," Yashiro replied. "Have you somehow just…not noticed before!?"
Yes, Kuon wanted to say, I never really did notice before. Perhaps he'd fallen into it the way he'd fallen into Ren Tsuruga's persona—like a frog that had jumped into a pot and failed to notice the water getting hotter and hotter until it eventually boiled to death. After these months of relative isolation, of privacy, of being Kuon again, jumping back into Ren Tsuruga's life was jarring. Calm down, dude, he told himself. It's not like you haven't done this a million times before. The fact was, letting go of Kuon and becoming Tsuruga again was proving more difficult than expected. It was like living in two realities, even though this was what his life had been like for the last six years.
Kuon squared his shoulders. He needed to put Ren Tsuruga back on, even if he didn't want to. This was reality. The hustle and bustle and barely controlled chaos of a film set, every person having a fixed role and a purpose, all moving independently to create one film like instruments in an orchestra creating one symphony.
And right now the symphony he needed to focus on was Ring Doh's sequel.
Shingai was a particularly good 'conductor,' the most acclaimed in his generation so far, known for thoughtful, incisive, work.
Unfortunately for him, Ring Doh was universally panned for being…pretty terrible.
Kuon didn't know how the man would come back from such a disaster. Ring Doh had the compounded misfortune of being sponsored by a large investor who happened to be Ruriko's uncle and Lory as an executive producer.
It wasn't entirely Shingai's fault, Kuon supposed. If truth were to be told, he needed to take quite a bit of the blame himself. Lory had insisted Ruriko Matsunai take on the role of Choko, even when both Kuon and Shingai protested her fitness for the role. And though Lory had supposed Shingai would curb Ruriko's diva tendencies, the opposite had happened: rather than coming with a humbled 'newcomer to acting' attitude, Ruriko was a veritable terror to the cast and crew. She would throw fits at the slightest provocation, showed up to the shoot four days late, and had spent most of her time on-set ogling Ren Tsuruga and gawping at him during their shared scenes. Kuon could barely contain his irritation, hiding behind a bright, brittle smile.
The resulting movie had been painful to watch. Kuon had done his best, playing his role by rote, as had all the other cast members. But it only made the contrast to Ruriko's amateurish characterization more distinct. If part of the essence of acting was reacting to the people you act with, then the only thing Kuon could react to was absurdity. The critics had picked up on this immediately—almost from the first second Ruriko appeared on the screen. It didn't help that she delivered all of her lines in a flat monotone. She didn't even try. Kuon had tried his best not to snap at her, but, as he told Yashiro later, he wasn't in the business of babysitting. There was no saving Ruriko, Kuon thought. She never even managed to walk in a kimono properly.
It was lamentable, then, that Ring Doh was to be a duology. The original book—the source material—had been deemed too long for a single film. Consequently, the screenwriters had broken it up into two. Ruriko's character—briefly described as 'a girl from a good family'—had a significant backstory that had been saved for the second movie in the hopes that Ruriko would mature as an actress. Casting Ruriko was a prerequisite to securing the funding needed for the movies. Her role had been secured for both films, and Shingai was contractually obligated to cast Ruriko in the role of Choko or else lose his financial backing. In the end, Shingai's hands were tied. He'd needed the funds to secure the rights to the novel and to fund on-location shoots and talent like Tsuruga—but the money was a devil's bargain: he had to cast Ruriko. It was simply the way showbiz worked, sometimes. Lory hadn't insisted on Ruriko being in the film again, but given the fact that she'd been cast in the first movie, it stood to reason that she would be in the second.
He was dreading it. It was strange how he'd thought of Ruriko as a child when she was older than Kyoko. Kuon had chalked up her antics to youthful immaturity, but his summer with Kyoko had shown that it was not age that made Ruriko so difficult to work with—it was character. Unbidden, the image of Kyoko walking in her kimono came to mind. He couldn't help it. Every single one of Ruriko's mannerisms looked cheap when one compared them to Kyoko's. Even before she'd laid her hands on his script, he knew she could easily eclipse Ruriko's performance simply on the basis of her habits alone. Kuon remembered the first few days—days—of shooting the first Ring Doh film, when Shingai had made Ruriko walk into the room for what felt like a million times. She'd declared she was quitting every single one of those days, and it had only been with the long-suffering pleading of her manager that she hadn't stormed off the set.
It was true that none of the things Kyoko did instinctively as a result of her training were 'acting' in any sense of the word. In the case of Choko, though, these habits comprised a fair amount of the character's mannerisms. 'A girl brought up in a good family' was simply expected to act a certain way. Choko's posture, for one. A girl brought up in a good family would not slouch, would know that one could not, should not slouch in a kimono. And a girl brought up to wear kimono would know the little habits that went with wearing one. Taking shorter strides and angling one's feet inwards, for example, to keep the front from flapping around and splitting in an unseemly way. Smoothing the silk as one sat down in seiza so as not to wrinkle the front panel. Moving one's sleeves to keep them from dragging or getting entangled as one drew hot water from the kama and poured it into a bowl. Even if Ruriko had taken chado lessons as a child, the practice simply felt different when one did it in a kimono—particularly in a furisode as Choko was wearing during the first few scenes they'd filmed. Her inexperience simply showed, and she'd made no effort to correct herself.
By contrast, Kyoko instinctively stood up straight all the time. Her practice of chado had been a necessity—part of her training to become the Okami-san. She didn't have the luxury of not being committed to the art of tea; she was simply expected to be able to host chaji and to do it in an elegant way as befitted the daughter of one of Kyoto's oldest ryokans. This lifetime of wearing and working in kimono had given her a certain comfort that simply could not be replicated by someone new to it like Ruriko.
But mastering these physical mannerisms were only the very start of building the character of Choko, and Ruriko had literally failed at the first step.
Kuon had meant what he said about 'preparing' one's character while he and Kyoko played in his room that summer. Kyoko had taken to the concept like a fish to water, and had taken great glee in figuring out what made Choko tick. It had been a joy to watch, a joy to read through the scenes with her. The contrast between her and Ruriko had been so marked. Even if he hadn't been head over heels in love with her, Kuon would still have said that Kyoko had done more in walking around a room to prepare Choko's character than Ruriko had in all of the rehearsals and scenes put together. How could Ruriko possibly portray the complexity of a young girl hiding her grief, her rage, and her vulnerability under a veneer of good breeding? She was having trouble just showing up on set!
But Kyoko wouldn't be here. Ruriko would be here in her stead. He simply couldn't wait to hear the screechy voice rising above the din of the rest of the cast. It would be Ruriko with the tantrums, Ruriko with the endless, endless, endless retakes, Ruriko who could have done an inoffensive job if she'd only stepped back to listen to Shingai's direction and put a little effort into a part Kyoko could do in her actual sleep. And the thought came to him, again, just as it had when he saw her Mio: What a waste.
If he'd learned anything during his years in Japan, it was patience. He didn't know what would be on the other side of the door. For all he knew, Ruriko could have threatened to quit five times by now, expecting to be cajoled and coddled until she got her way. He simply had to brace himself. All things could be borne, even Ruriko. With Kyoko waiting for him, how could he not succeed? Kuon took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly as Ren Tsuruga opened the door to the room where the table read was scheduled to occur.
=.=.=.=.=.=
"So she's not here yet?" Ren said. He'd walked into a fairly convivial gathering, quiet chatter ongoing as actors and crew filled the room. The fact that everyone seemed relatively calm and unstressed told him that their resident diva had yet to show her face.
"She's not here yet," Shingai responded. He was sitting off to the side in his director's chair, leaning back as the actors readied themselves.
"What a surprise." Ren took the open chair by Shingai, plopping down onto it with a huff. "How many scenes can we run through without her?"
Shingai looked over at Ren. Something was different about him—something more open. The last time he'd worked with the actor, Ren had been serious, professional, polite to a fault. Never fake, exactly. But one got the sense that he was always holding back—that is, until he was acting. That Ren would've been sitting in the chair like a gentleman with perfect posture. That Ren was a master at delivering calculated put-downs with a suave coolness—barbs that landed smoothly, sounding like compliments, but stung deeply upon further reflection. How many times had he seen Ren do this to Ruriko in the last shoot? But this Ren was leaning back, his long legs stretching outwards, and his sarcasm was very much out in the open. Shingai sighed. "Given the fact that we re-wrote the movie to minimize her involvement…maybe two-thirds of them?"
"Two-thirds?! You…re-wrote the script?" He hadn't heard anything about a new script.
"We were going to tell you eventually. But you're such a quick study we figured it wouldn't be a big deal."
"How are you…" Ren asked. Choko was Ring Doh's female lead. How would they pull it off?
"Basically, we added more dialogue to the other parts while she's not in the scene. Imply what she's done. Cover other people talking about her, instead of having her on-camera. Indirect narration, all that shit. We figured we would try integrating multiple points of view. Making her disappear entirely was impossible, but we figured we could do something in between Rashomon and Jar Jar Binks."
Ren blinked. "Is that…is that even going to work?" Ren had heard Shingai called a 'genius,' but he'd have to be one to pull this off.
"It's going to have to. It can't possibly be worse than watching her 'act.' I was going to have them take a few artsy shots of her face…you know, the kind where she's scowling out over the countryside?"
"Would've been helpful if you'd told me before I got here, though."
"No one could find you. Where were you, anyway?"
"The Boss had me doing some bizarre gig. Anyway, the fans aren't going to like it."
"Of course the fans aren't going to like it!" Shingai counted on his fingers. "One: The book people gave up after the first movie anyway. Two: the critics have already called it schlock. Three: the author's already mad. Been mad. Who's gonna care if we butcher the second installment?"
"That's fucking sad, Shingai."
Shingai nodded. He liked this Ren. Direct. No prevarication. No sugar-coating to make the obvious more palatable. In prior interactions, Ren always been personable, but he'd never been particularly easy to read. But today…his reactions almost seemed casual. Even a little bit American. "You know what's fucking sad? The fact that YOUR president made me cast that brat as Choko. Literally any other actress would've done better."
"You think I wanted to act with her?!"
"She kept going on and on about how you'd specially requested her in that role."
"Lory told her that. I had nothing to do with that shit."
Ha! Shingai thought. He was getting the sense that Lory manipulated everyone around him, Tsuruga included. He hadn't been the first to be embroiled in one of Lory's schemes, and he doubted he'd be the last, either. "That was obvious on the first day on set."
"Are you going to put up with this a second time, though? Cuz I gotta tell you, I really don't want to."
"Her contract's pretty ironclad. The production would pay a pretty hefty termination fee if we replaced her. Plus we'd lose the marketing funds we'd have if we fired Ruriko."
"So you're stuck."
"Yeah, unless you want to pony up that money…or unless she quits."
"She's not going to quit." Ren knew better than to believe Ruriko when she said she was going to 'quit.'
"No, she's just going to throw fits about it, drag out production, and ruin the movie. It would've probably helped if you were a little nicer to her last time."
Ren glared. "I was plenty nice to her."
"You were polite. I wouldn't say you were nice."
He bit back a response.
Shingai looked at him. "You know, you don't need to be so polite all the time."
"Hmmph," Ren said. "My mother always told me that sometimes, when you can't find anything nice to say, it's best not to say anything at all."
Shingai laughed, enjoying the expression of singular distaste marring Ren Tsuruga's perfect features.
"One thing one learns about working with foreign actors and foreign crews…" Shingai said. "Sometimes, a direct and open approach is better than all the subtle politeness we do around here. You've cultivated such a refined image, sometimes I wonder if you can even breathe when you're wearing a tie."
Ren smiled—a real one, this time, Shingai saw, not the one he gave to reporters. "I'm trying," he replied. "Old habits die hard. Lory always said I'd have to market myself a certain way to succeed, but now…" He shrugged. "...maybe it's better if I don't."
"Well," Shingai said, "showtime. Shall we?" He motioned forward as Ren stood. "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu."
"Yoroshiku onegaishimasu," Ren replied with a small bow. Whatever else happened with Ruriko's antics, at least he felt confident in having an ally in Shingai.
=.=.=.=.=.=
"She's sleepwalking again," Midori-san said.
"Sleepwalking? I don't believe that, not for a moment." Chiharu took a sip of tea.
"That she sleepwalks?"
"Oh, no. I do think she walks," Chiharu replied to her daughter. "I just don't believe she's asleep."
"They never solved the mystery behind that murder on the cape. And now there's been a second."
"Surely you don't think…"
Ren looked on as Choko's mother and sister read lines that should have been interrupted by Choko's entrance. In the prior version of the script, Ruriko was to come stumbling in through the door, her kimono muddy and drenched with stormwater, but the lines that would follow—along with the distress Choko was to show—were quite beyond Ruriko's range. He admitted that Shingai had done the re-working cleverly, letting the viewer fill in the plot for when Choko was actually seen, more ghost than female lead.
The table read went without incident. It took place in one of the house's larger rooms, the cast sitting amicably around a kitchen table. It was a small ensemble, Ring Doh being primarily a family drama set in close quarters. There were few roles outside the principals, and therefore no need to bring in a large cast. Given the fact that they'd all worked together before, there was little tension or uncertainty regarding each other. It made for a comfortable, if somewhat boring, reading. Most of the cast were veterans, though none were as famous as Ren Tsuruga and Ruriko. It took them until the early evening to do the whole run-through, with discussions on reactions, pacing, and tone. With Shingai reading Ruriko's lines in her absence, everyone felt it was a productive day on-set.
At any other point in his career, Ren would've felt a sense of accomplishment, a contentment borne out of having done his work well, and he would've called that happiness. Though he knew he'd done a good job—the best he could do, given the circumstances—what he felt was nowhere near the kind of happiness he felt around Kyoko. Ren didn't know if anyone else noticed, but his mind wandered throughout the read. He kept fiddling with his phone under the table, wanting to call and talk or text her, only to come to his senses—he was at work, and this was unacceptable behavior. Not only that, Kyoko didn't have a mobile phone.
He'd turned into an idiot. Or maybe he was an addict. He'd only been away for mere hours, and yet he missed her. But coming through Lory's little experiment just drove home how right Lory had been about the entire thing. Hadn't he said so? Ren thought back to the night when Lory decided to send him on his little experiment, Lory's words echoing in his mind. "Ren Tsuruga is a paper doll," Lory had said, and Kuon had to agree. It was as if he'd been living life in a small, covered cage, not knowing what he'd missed simply because he hadn't known any better. The discovery of Kyoko had destroyed that cage, showing him that the amplitude of emotions he could feel was far greater than he'd thought possible.
Which led to the reason why Lory had sent Kuon to sequester for the summer in Kyoto: because he wanted Kuon to remember "what it was like to be happy." He had achieved the unintended side effect of falling in love while he did this, but what Lory had really wanted to fix was his acting. And in finding Kyoko, Kuon realized that he needed all of himself to expand the amplitude of emotions he could convey. This was what Lory had known all along, and this extended convalescence was just his roundabout way of getting Kuon to notice it. Because at the heart of it all, wasn't Ren built on the piece of Kuon that loved acting? It was the one thing he'd put at the center of his Tsuruga persona, the one thing that was true about Ren Tsuruga—his love of acting, the strictness and the discipline he insisted upon and instilled in other cast members.
How was he going to do it, then? Was it possible to slowly become more like Kuon even while he was working under Tsuruga's name? Was it possible, after all, to succeed without pretending to be someone else? Lots of people used stage names, but even those people rarely had to hide someone else's mannerisms as they worked. Kuon was brash, young, impulsive…American. Ren was mature, gentlemanly, elegant, reserved. Somewhere between these two halves of himself was an integration point, and increasingly, he began to feel the need to work towards it.
=.=.=.=.=.=
Kyoko was working very hard at trying to pretend everything was normal. After she managed to get her flushed face in order, she left the coatroom tidier than it had been in years and headed back to the kitchen. From there, she'd helped clean up after the lunch service, began compiling new purchase orders for low-inventory materials, and looked over the upcoming week's menu and guest lists.
All things she'd done before Kuon came into her life.
The staff merely acknowledged her presence and went on with their duties. The ryokan was, after all, well-managed, with efficient systems and management ensuring the absence of one person would nonetheless be manageable by the rest of the staff.
It was, by now, mid-afternoon.
She felt almost as if she'd just woken up from a dream, or perhaps like she'd just come back from some parallel fairy kingdom, only to find that the world she'd left behind was very much still there and still needed dishes washed and vegetables prepped. For most of the summer, Kuon had been at the center of her world—a bright presence, a strange attractor, someone she couldn't escape if she tried. He had been so bright he'd eclipsed almost everything else. She knew it wasn't wise to let a boy do this to her—she was worried that if he'd been less supportive, for example, would she have neglected her summer homework? Thanks to him, of course, she would likely pass her advanced English studies with flying colors. But had she really been so love-struck she'd ignored everything else?
The idea upset her. She'd worked so hard to forget the things Sho had done to her—she'd sworn never to be carried away by love again that she lost herself. And yet it had taken Kuon one night to overthrow all of it. She could be honest about that now. She'd fallen in love with him under the Gion Matsuri's fireworks, though it took her a little while to admit it to herself…and to him. She knew he thought of her as 'fate.' She'd wanted to disagree, to tell him he was being silly. But even though she considered her fanciful past well and truly outgrown, she couldn't claim that she disagreed with him at all. He had made her believe, and everything had changed. And yet, nothing had changed. Kuon had transformed into Ren, she was back right where she started. She wondered how many people knew about what had happened between her and Kuon. A ryokan's staff is discreet, above all else.
She was going to pretend it never happened. It was the only way to save herself the flaming embarrassment of acknowledging how she'd simply gone missing in action for the past month. "I'll take these to the Pine Room, Fujiwara-san," she said, hefting a stack of trays into her arms.
Fujiwara-san nodded at her in acknowledgement and she smiled back as she took the large stack of trays to ready the large room for a dinner banquet. She didn't quite know what to say—Yayoi had given her an order to tend to their VIP guest, after all, and initially, that's what she'd done. Granted, she'd anticipated that she'd be able to continue her other duties, but then…well, things had happened.
Get back to work, Kyoko, she told herself. You've had the entire summer to enjoy your freedom. But work only reminded her of him. It was as if he'd stamped himself all over the ryokan. In a way, he had. Hadn't he patched up that particular tile in the men's bath? Hadn't he helped her hang that noren curtain over there? And here was the floor that prompted that almost-makeout session with the mop, back when she'd been trying her hardest to resist him. Memories of him smiling that fairy-smile of his were popping up all over the place, and she half-expected him to show up with just the tool she needed, or to take half the boxes she was flattening out to the trash. Silly girl, she told herself, he's only been gone for a few hours. What happens when he goes back to Tokyo?
He wasn't going to come up behind her like a shadow, or grab anything off the top shelf for her.
He couldn't come, because he wasn't here.
And she missed him terribly.
=.=.=.=
Yashiro stood on the little boat with Ren in the late summer gloaming, enjoying the views as the boat left its landing by the Togetsu-kyo Bridge. It was a wonderful, slow ride, even though this time of year was certainly too late for the spring blossoms and too early for the fall's leaves.
Ren had come through his meetup with the cast and crew with little incident—if it had been before this summer, Yashiro would have simply dismissed it as yet another normal day in the life of Ren Tsuruga. But it wasn't a normal day. Perhaps Shingai had noticed too—he'd looked at Ren with a bit of curiosity as soon as the actor had come on set. Ren was standing completely still but Yashiro sensed he was pacing on the inside, rather like a tiger in a cage too small waiting for the doors to open before springing forward. He'd left the set as quickly as possible but had surprised Yashiro with a quick trip to a phone retailer—the manager had been tasked with buying the 'latest model of whatever' and having it set up with service as quickly as possible. The ask had been accompanied by what Yashiro could only call 'puppy dog eyes'—except this was Ren Tsuruga, and his puppy dog eyes were devastating. Yashiro could only thank his lucky stars that he was not a person susceptible to Ren Tsuruga's wiles.
He looked over at the actor who was standing at the prow of the boat, watching as the building drew nearer and nearer—watching with an intensity that reminded Yashiro of a hawk watching a target.. Ren was lost in an entirely different world. Yashiro knew he was hazarding a conversation at his own peril.
"Ren, you're being ridiculous," he'd said. "It's only been an afternoon."
"It feels like forever," the actor responded.
"It hasn't been. It's been a few hours. Seriously—please refrain from jumping out of the moving boat? Maybe wait for us to come to a full and complete stop?"
Ren merely grunted in response, but his eyes lit as they pulled up to the ryokan.
Even Yashiro drew in a breath when he saw it again.
The ryokan at mid-day was a lovely building in a lovely setting, placed as it was in the middle of a deep, green river gorge. But it came alive at night, with all of its lanterns and windows lit, it was positively dream-like, floating as it was above the river water. Looking at it this way, Yashiro could see how Ren could come here and never want to leave, how it could be mistaken for a castle in another world.
There was a single figure in kimono when they came to a stop, and Yashiro was surprised to note that it was the girl he'd thought was a nakai earlier that day. This time, the Okami-san was not to be found, though the girl bowed a perfect bow as they alighted onto the ground again. This is Kyoko-chan? he thought, bewildered. Granted, he hadn't had a good look at the girl, but somehow he always thought Ren would go for someone…perhaps more showy? A femme fatale of sorts, perhaps even an American or foreigner. A meek girl in a kimono surprised him.
Yashiro watched as Ren leapt forward and then hesitate just a few feet away from her, almost as if he was too shy to approach. Soon enough, the girl rose from her bow, only to blush as she realized how close Ren actually was to her. Her face, which had been impassive, drew Yashiro's gaze as a tangible spark flew between them. Yashiro saw both of them freeze, watched as they stood there helplessly gazing into each other's eyes. He was certain he could almost hear their hearts racing.
"Tadaima, Kyoko-chan," Ren said softly. Yashiro wanted to avert his eyes—it had been a simple greeting, but Ren had conveyed volumes in a single word. Yashiro knew Ren didn't need to say anything at all. A single word had done it for him—had done it so thoroughly even Yashiro knew that what Ren had really said was something more like "I love you, I've missed you, and I've come home to you."
The girl flushed but returned Ren's gaze, and Yashiro was certain she hadn't even seen him, even though he was standing right there next to Ren. Golden eyes, Yashiro thought, what lovely gold eyes.
"Okaeri," she whispered.
And then it was Yashiro's turn to blush, because all of a sudden Ren had the girl in his arms, kissing her as if his life depended on it.
Yashiro sighed. His managerial duties were going to have to evolve, indeed.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: First of all, thank you for reading! And apologies for the delay on this chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about it, myself, and probably started and re-started it at least three times. Hopefully it's not boring. It's a bit of a transition, between story arcs and settings, so I found myself struggling with it a little, even though it's somewhat necessary to move things forward. Let me know what you think-reviews really help with the motivation bit. I'm still kinda getting over the stomach bug I got, so I'm still feeling hella tired, but at least this chapter is out and I can go and plot the next one.