Yuji frowned with his eyebrows. “I know I don’t photograph women particularly often, and I’m not especially familiar with these kinds of collections—but when I think of idols, this isn’t at all what I’d imagine.”
“Until just a few short years ago, you would have imagined right.” Tadokoro extinguished his dwindling cigarette in an ashtray on the table and gazed into the distance.
“Wait a minute,” the cameraman said, his eyes locked on the manager. “Surely you’re not suggesting that Mima-chan is going to do a photo book like these, are you?”
Tadokoro returned the stare with some surprise. “Of course I am. Why else would I have called you here?”
Yuji slapped his hands to his cheeks and let out a deep breath. “How times change. I still think of her as a kid.”
The manager smiled the bitter smile of someone who’d just gulped down a spoonful of stomach medicine. He looked to his wristwatch and said, “She should be here soon.”
Then his expression turned serious. He leaned in toward Yuji and added, “Mima and I have already talked it over. She’s ready. But it’s like you say—she’s still a kid in a lot of ways. She’s hardly even taken any swimsuit photos, and now suddenly she’s jumping to this racy stuff. I know it’s going to be tough on her. That’s why I asked for you specifically to be the cameraman.”
Yuji understood. Tadokoro’s compassion for Mima in this cutthroat business was painfully apparent.
Yuji was a freelance photojournalist, and his subjects had never been sexual in nature. He’d only recently returned to Japan after covering guerrilla fighters in a Middle Eastern civil war. He’d resolved to take it easy in Japan for a while before another foray among the guerrillas when he received a phone call from his old acquaintance, Tadokoro.
It seemed that no matter how much the manager considered the photo album a necessary part of the job, he refused to put Mima in the hands of a photographer who viewed women as mere merchandise. Yuji had little interest in working on an idol photo book, but once he understood his old acquaintance’s feelings, a heartfelt determination welled up within him.
He had made up his mind—for Tadokoro, he would capture both sides of Kirigoe Mima—the incredibly cute and the incredibly sexy.
VI
Mima exited the taxi into total darkness. Aging streetlights stood here and there along a stone retaining wall, but most of their lightbulbs had burned out, leaving them derelict of their duty.
She leaned into the open taxi door and spoke to Rumi, still seated within. “Would you like to come up? If you’ve got something else to do, that’s all right, but I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“That would be great,” Rumi said. “I’ve got something to talk to you about, too.” Blushing a little, she stepped out from the taxi. Her pleasantly rounded eyes seemed alight with happiness.
Oh, that’s right, Mima realized, I’ve never invited her to my place before. “You like black tea—don’t you, Rumi-chan?” she asked. “I’ll put on some Earl Grey for you.”
“That sounds wonderful!” Rumi said. She wrapped herself around Mima’s arm and grinned like a spoiled child. The redness in her cheeks had spread all the way to her ears.
Isn’t that cute, Mima thought, feeling a bit like an older sister.
Stepping into the one-room apartment, Rumi exclaimed, “Your place is so clean!”
The room was, in fact, clean and tidy—not stiflingly sterile, but relaxing and inviting. In that way, the space reflected its owner’s character: strict with herself, kind to others.
Rumi sat in front of the big-screen 32-inch TV and gazed at the glass tube with admiration. “Wow, this is nice,” she said. “Really nice. I wish I had a big TV like this. Watching it must be intense.”
“Not really,” Mima replied, as she filled the electric kettle with water. “You get used to it after awhile, and it stops feeling impressive.”
“Oh!” Rumi exclaimed. “Mima-san, Mima-san!”
Rumi seemed to have discovered something. Mima knew what her assistant had found even without looking.“You like anime too—don’t you, Rumi-chan?”
“Like it? I love it.”
Rumi had found Mima’s laserdisc collection. It was quite a large collection that consisted almost entirely of anime—from Toei animated classics like Magic Boy and The Wonderful World of Puss ’n Boots to more recent movies, such as Kiki’s Delivery Service and Grave of the Fireflies. If an anime had been pressed onto one of those record-sized video discs, she probably had it.
Among their number were several foreign animated films unknown to Rumi. As an anime fan herself, the discovery made her as excited as a child.
Happy to see the enthusiasm, Mima said, “You’re welcome to come watch them whenever you’re free. You can stay up all night, if you want to.”
“R-really?” Rumi said. “I’d love to. Absolutely!”
Mima found Rumi’s bubbly enthusiasm charming. Rumi had joined Moon Kids as an aspiring idol singer. She’d pushed past her parents’ protestations and moved to Tokyo from her rural hometown, which must have required a level of determination rare among her peers. Tadokoro put together several trial projects for her, but ultimately, Rumi simply didn’t have what it took to become an idol. She was more than cute enough to make the cut, and she possessed the drive, too—but she was missing that certain spark.
When she realized she would never be an idol, Rumi kept on at Moon Kids as a member of the staff. She was a hard worker and quickly made the mental switch to her new role. Soon, the agency assigned her to be Mima’s assistant.
Rumi never said a sour or blue word about her shattered dreams, and she gave her assignment her all. Even so, Mima worried about saying or doing something that might tear open Rumi’s old wounds, and consequently, she’d kept a certain distance from her assistant. But now that Mima knew of their shared passion for anime, she suddenly felt the gap between them shrink. She thought Rumi might have felt it, too.
Mima poured some of her fine Earl Grey tea into a cup and added plenty of milk before offering the drink to Rumi. Her assistant took a sip, then happily scrunched her eyebrows into an adorable face. “Yum! It’s really good.”
As Mima watched her helper’s earnest expression, she felt keenly aware of how being an idol had changed her—into someone more focused on reading the room than conveying her true emotions—and that awareness saddened her.
Being an idol was a nerve wracking job. An idol always had to smile and pay strict attention to her behavior. The media was always hunting for a scandal, and the fans could get nasty. Spurred by those thoughts, her mind replayed the voice that tormented her over the telephone. The memory sullied an otherwise peaceful, if bittersweet moment.
Mima had only been an idol for three years, but mentally, she felt like an old woman, well over thirty. She doubted she could ever be as unguarded as Rumi again.
What would happen to me if I quit? Mima wondered.
She took a drink from her own cup of Earl Grey and kept her deep sigh bottled up inside.
Some time later, Mima held a wine glass. Her words came out just slightly slurred. “Rumi-chan, I’m going to do a photo book. You’ve heard, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Tadokoro-san told me.”
“And what did he tell you about it?”
“Well, he said you were putting out a photo book…”