“No wonder you were hiding this,” Fumi said, chuckling.
Miwako grabbed the book back. “I knew this would happen.”
Fumi laughed and leaned toward Miwako. “Should I take you under my wing? It’s about time for me to have an apprentice.”
Miwako’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“You don’t want to?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “But wouldn’t that be bothersome for you?”
“I wouldn’t be offering to teach you if it were a bother,” she said, winking. “The thing is, I’m very strict. You’re going to have to work really, really hard, and I mean that.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll work hard. When can we start?”
Fumi had never seen Miwako so eager, and somehow the girl’s enthusiasm infected her. “How about now?”
Miwako followed Fumi to the partitioned office, and they settled at the table. Fumi flipped open the drawing book to a new blank page and handed Miwako a black pen.
“I want you to draw straight horizontal lines from right to left. Make sure they don’t touch each other,” she said. “Fill the entire page. Try to leave the smallest space possible between the lines.”
Miwako seemed puzzled. “I can’t draw a straight line.”
“Just try your best. It’s to train you to draw the lines you intend to. Once the entire page is full, do the same thing on the next page, but with vertical lines instead of horizontal ones.”
Miwako frowned, but she did as she was instructed. Fumi watched her struggle to keep the lines straight.
“Can I use a pencil instead?” Miwako asked.
Fumi shook her head. “I don’t want you erasing the lines. I gave you a pen for a reason. It’s good practice to sketch with a pen.”
“You really are strict, aren’t you?”
Fumi’s lips curled up. “You had fair warning.”
Miwako laughed, her face inches away from the paper. She had terrible posture. Fumi was about to lecture her about it when she noticed something. It was only a faint outline, but she saw a man standing behind Miwako.
The man looked like your typical middle-aged office worker—he was in a crisp white shirt, striped tie, dark-gray suit, and matching trousers. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses identical to Miwako’s. There were distinct similarities between his features and hers—they had a similar high nose bridge and small lips.
“Miwako,” Fumi said. “Did someone close to you die recently?”
She shook her head. “No. Why?”
“It’s just . . .” Fumi rubbed her neck. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Fumi forced a smile, but she could clearly see a man standing there, barely a couple feet behind Miwako. He didn’t seem angry. If anything, his face was gentle. He looked completely serene. Fumi wondered if she should ask Miwako again, but she didn’t want to frighten her. People never understood what she saw.
“Where did you buy your glasses?” Fumi asked Miwako.
She didn’t reply right away. After a brief silence, she finally said, “I didn’t buy them. They’re a memento from my father. He passed away a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Never mind,” Fumi said, rubbing her neck again. “I’m sorry for bringing up something so upsetting.”
“No, it’s not upsetting. I’m just curious as to why you wanted to know.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to meddle in your personal affairs.”
“I never said you were doing that that. It surprised me a little, that’s all,” Miwako said, putting down the pen. “My father was diagnosed with terminal cancer when I was ten. He was a strong man, and he did the best he could, but in the end, the illness got the best of him.”
Fumi felt a lump in her throat. She didn’t know Miwako had lost a parent too.
“My father got the glasses from my grandfather, and in turn, he left them to me. I got an eyeglass shop to change the lenses to non-prescription ones so I could use them. I like to think that wherever I go, I’ll have a piece of him with me. Sort of like a lucky charm.” Chuckling, Miwako turned to Fumi. “I know it sounds silly.”
Fumi shook her head. “It sounds nice. He must have been a good father.”
“Yes, he was,” she said. “I wish we’d had more time together, but I’ve learned to accept fate.”
Fumi paused and narrowed her eyes. She’d heard those words before. Hadn’t Miwako said them not too long ago? She felt as if they’d already had this conversation, but why was she experiencing it again? This could only be a dream. Yes, after all, Miwako Sumida was dead. Fumi sighed. How could she forget? She had gone with Ryu to Miwako’s wake.
She turned to Miwako. The girl seemed so real, so alive.
“What’s wrong, Fumi-nee?” Miwako asked. “You’re staring.”
“Ah, sorry.” All of a sudden, the cat popped into her mind. “Did you ever find Tama?”
Miwako shook her head. “I thought she was with you.”
“Oh, you’re right,” Fumi said, vaguely recalling it. How could she have forgotten that too?
“How is Ryusei? You told me he went somewhere, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” Fumi was becoming confused. “Yes, Ryu left the city, but he wouldn’t tell me where he went. He’s been gone for more than two weeks.”
Miwako stared straight ahead. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“Of course,” Fumi said. “Don’t worry about him—or about us.”
“Okay.”
“You know, Miwako, there was something I always wanted to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“It’s about your father. I didn’t want to say anything then because it’s a violation of my personal rules. The living shouldn’t meddle with the dead. But since you’re no longer around, I think I can ask you now.” Fumi paused. “You said your father died peacefully due to illness, and that you’ve come to terms with his death. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is.”
“If that’s the case, then why does he follow you?”
Miwako’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Actually, I—” Fumi flinched when she felt something furry brush against her legs. Looking down, she saw Tama staring up at her.
“Tama!” Miwako said. “I can’t believe she’s actually here.”
“Yes. What a smart girl.”
Fumi crouched down and stroked Tama’s fur. The cat purred and curled up her tail. Before Fumi could continue her conversation with Miwako, she had woken up.
18
Sneakers,
High
Heels,
and
Milk
Pudding
It wasn’t Tama who was staring at Fumi when she awoke. It was Eiji, standing near her desk by the window.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep,” he said, “but I thought you might catch a cold with your window open. I was about to close it. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Still confused by the dream, Fumi took a few seconds to process what Eiji had said.
The pink curtains at her window flapped around wildly. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The table where Fumi had fallen asleep was full of sketches. Scattered by the wind, some of them had fallen to the floor.
“Ah, I knocked just now, but you didn’t answer, and the door wasn’t locked,” he continued.
“I don’t get sick that easily.” Fumi got up and walked past him, closing the window herself before it started to rain and her sketches got wet. “Please don’t come in here again without permission. It’s creepy.”
Eiji was quiet. Fumi realized she was being harsh, but she needed to set proper boundaries.
“I did say you could stay here for a
while, but you can’t just walk into my brother’s room or mine,” she said. “Especially mine. This is the first and last warning. If I learn that you’ve done this again, you’re out. Got it?”
“Yes, boss.”
“I’ve got to go now.” Fumi stretched. Her limbs were stiff. Looking at her watch, she realized it was ten-thirty. She was already late for work. “I don’t think my brother will return anytime soon, but if he does show up, don’t panic. Ask him to call me.”
“Where are you going at this hour?”
“To work.”
“It’s so late. What kind of work do you do?”
“None of your business,” Fumi said, pointing to the door. “Now, if you would please excuse me, I need to get changed.”
Eiji left as directed and she slammed the door. She couldn’t believe he was so nosy. Seriously, what was the only kind of work one possibly did at this time of the night?
Sighing, Fumi opened her cupboard to pick a dress. Was it shallow to admit one of the main reasons she’d chosen hostessing—apart from the easy money—was because she loved the opportunity to dress up? Her painting gigs required her to be in old T-shirts and jeans most of the time, even though she preferred to wear pretty dresses and makeup.
Of course, there also wasn’t much choice for Fumi Yanagi. It wasn’t like she could just work in a standard corporate office.
Fumi singled out a blush-colored dress and a beige coat. Laying them on her bed, she took out a pair of dainty, dangling earrings and a matching necklace. After that, she checked her nails. The polish on her left pinky was chipped. She cringed. She couldn’t afford to waste much time fixing it since she had overslept, but she reached for a bottle of polish and quickly ran the brush over the gap. No one would pay close attention to her nails in the dim lighting of the bar, but she still wanted to look as perfect as possible. She blew on the fresh polish in a bid to make it dry faster.
Her brother had been telling her to quit hostessing for some time now.
“It’s unhealthy,” Ryu said. “They make you drink too much, and the hours mess up your sleep schedule. Are you trying to die young?”
“Stop that,” she said. “I won’t die before you’re married, which won’t happen anytime soon if you keep chasing after Miwako.”
“Shut up.”
Fumi always won an argument with Ryu when she brought up Miwako. Her brother would become too flustered to retort. Sometimes she felt sorry for him. Other times she just felt like teasing him, which happened more often. He was so innocent in his awkward moments, reminding her of how he’d been as a child. Ryu had really depended on her back then.
And Miwako . . . why had she been in that dream?
Fumi had long suspected a connection between the unconscious mind and the soul, but it wasn’t like there was anyone to discuss her hypotheses with. Their father was dead now, and she’d never met anyone else with the same curse. She still had so many questions for him. But no matter how many times Fumi called for him, she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of his spirit.
Eiji turned to Fumi and whistled. “Aren’t you dressed up, Fumi-nee? You look gorgeous.”
Ignoring him, she saw Eiji was wearing his sneakers. “Are you going out too?”
“Yes, I’ll walk you to wherever you’re going.”
This surprised her, but she kept her expression in check. “You don’t need to. I go to work on my own all the time.”
“Your brother must be useless, then,” he said. “I would never let a girl walk around by herself at this hour.”
Fumi laughed. She knew she should reprimand Eiji for criticizing Ryu, but the whole attempt at chivalry was hilarious coming from a youngster who had just attempted to blackmail her. “Thanks for offering, but I’m fine, really. And didn’t you say you were tired?”
“Not anymore. I had a nap too, so I’m fully recharged.” He looked out of the window. “Guess we got lucky. Doesn’t look like it’ll rain after all.”
He seemed set on accompanying her, so she said nothing. She walked out in her silver-sequined heels, Eiji following behind. With Fumi in these shoes, he was significantly shorter than her. Her puffed-up hairdo emphasized their height difference, though he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed at ease walking next to her, unlike most men she knew.
“Where are we going?” Eiji asked.
“Shinjuku,” Fumi said. “Ever been there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I bet you’ve never been to the part I’m going to.”
He chuckled. “Really? You seem sure about that.”
She waited for him to say something more, but he had gone quiet. Fumi eventually asked, “You’re not going to guess what I do for a living?”
Eiji shrugged. “You said it was none of my business.”
“True, but you’re going to find out anyway if you keep following me.”
“Do you want me to stop here?”
She couldn’t answer. It was nice to have someone to chat with on the way to the train station, but she didn’t want him to find out she was a hostess.
“It’s fine,” Eiji said. “I’ll walk you to the station and head back.”
Fumi nodded. It was uncommon for someone as young as him to be so sensitive and understanding. Somehow, she felt comfortable around Eiji. But if he continued to stay at her place, sooner or later, he would learn about her job, maybe even her curse. What would he think of her then? Would he react with sympathy or disgust?
“You’re always overthinking something, aren’t you?” Eiji asked.
She clicked her tongue. “You’re imagining that.”
“Your face tells me everything. You’re so easy to read, do you know that?” he said. “If you have something to say, I’ll listen.”
Fumi shook her head. “Like I said, it’s all in your mind.”
Eiji shrugged and continued to walk. “Just now, were you having a bad dream? When you fell asleep at the table, you kept on mumbling something, and you were sweating.”
“Was I?”
“Yeah.”
She paused. “I did have a dream.”
“Was it bad?”
“Not really,” she said, “just strange.”
“Most dreams are strange, aren’t they? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe next time.” She turned to face him. “The train station is just around the corner. Thanks for walking me here.”
“Ah, right.” He waved at her. “Take care, Fumi-nee, and don’t drink too much.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had he just said that? She had been naïve earlier. Anyone could guess what kind of job she would be doing late at night, especially all dressed up like this. Waving back at Eiji, Fumi Yanagi forced herself to smile.
Despite rushing all the way to the bar, Fumi reached her workplace over an hour late. Mama-san glared at her when she entered.
“It’s unlike you to be late, Fumi-chan,” she said in a flat tone. Normally Mama-san shouted at the girls when they were late, but Fumi was her favorite. She had the biggest number of regular customers among the girls, and most of the time, she brought the highest revenue too.
“I’m sorry,” Fumi said, catching her breath. “Did I miss anything?”
“Mr. Takahashi is looking for you. Don’t make him wait any longer.”
Fumi nodded and excused herself to the dressing room. After putting down her belongings and touching up her makeup, she went to the bar.
She opened the door and stood in the corner for a couple of seconds, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust to the dim lighting. Mr. Takahashi sat on the scarlet circular sofa next to Sanae, one of the newer hostesses.
“Good evening,” she greeted him. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“Ah, Miss Fumi.” The scrawny middle-aged man threw her a gleeful smile. “It’s rare for
you to be late, isn’t it?”
“Yes, there was something I needed to take care of at home,” she said, discreetly gesturing for Sanae to leave them alone.
“I hope nothing bad happened,” the older man said.
“Oh, no, don’t worry about that.” She laughed, wiping the condensation off Mr. Takahashi’s glass and topping it up with watered-down whiskey. “A stray cat followed me home and refused to leave. I had no choice but to let him stay.”
“He must be charmed by your beauty,” he said.
Fumi smiled. “You always say the nicest things, Mr. Takahashi. May I join you for a drink?”
“Of course. You never need to ask, Miss Fumi. You’re too polite.”
She mustered another smile.
In her line of business, smiling was essential. If you had nothing to say, smile. If people said something nice, smile. For most things, you just had to smile, but all the smiling wore her down. Wasn’t there anything beyond smiling and looking pretty?
Mr. Takahashi began to tell Fumi about his day at work. He was an auditor at a large, publicly listed firm. He worked long hours and was the second longest-serving employee in his department, but he harbored a certain bitterness. He had been waiting for his promotion for years, but it wasn’t about to happen unless the chief auditor retired, and the old man was a stubborn workaholic.
“The chief left the office so late again,” Mr. Takahashi lamented. “I’m tired of waiting for him day after day.”
Fumi nodded sympathetically. “That must have been unpleasant.”
“I told my wife I’d take her out for dinner. Tonight is our thirty-fourth wedding anniversary. I hate to break my promise, but sometimes these things are beyond my control.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll understand. After all, you work for the sake of your family.”
He took a sip of his drink. “I’m not sure about that, Miss Fumi. She must be mad at me right now.”
Fumi wanted to tell Mr. Takahashi his wife would be less upset if he were at home apologizing to her instead of out drinking with a bar hostess. Of course, she shouldn’t tell him that. She was paid to listen and appear to empathize with him, but for once, she couldn’t let go of the niggling feeling in her chest.
The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida Page 17