Kyoru stared down at his boots. “That’s a very good music video,” he said. “Everyone thinks so, too.”
So this was all her fault? She was the only one who thought ‑‑ thought what? Instead of being happy and excited for her mom, she’d been jealous. For no reason at all, really.
“I think I should give her a call,” Mandy mumbled.
“Why don’t you go see her? She’ll be backstage at Imai’s concert the day after tomorrow.”
Mandy shook her head. “No. Maybe soon though.” With a sigh, she stood and brushed off the back of her dress. “I better get back to work. If I’m not fired already.”
The drummer smiled. “If you are I’ll put in a good word with the boss.”
* * * * *
Kim put the finishing touches on Imai’s hair and stage makeup, then pulled off the vinyl smock protecting his clothing. He stood and slipped on the short-waisted black leather jacket and flipped his hair out from under the collar. “How do I look?”
“Everyone in the audience will have wet dreams about you tonight, that’s how good you look.”
Laughing, Imai pulled Kim into a loose embrace. “Will you be having a wet dream of me tonight?”
She gave him a wicked grin and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I’m so wet for you even now, I ought to change my panties.”
He looked at his watch. “We have enough time to ‑‑”
“Anticipation makes it all the better, Imai-san,” she teased with a wink. She kissed him lightly so as not to ruin the hint of color on his lips then pulled away. “Go on, get ready. I’ll be watching from the audience. I want the full effect.”
As soon as Imai left the dressing room and went up the stairs to the stage, Kim hurried outside to meet his parents. They were waiting in a corner of the concert hall’s lobby with Mrs. Nimura, who introduced them to Kim before making a graceful but quick exit.
To describe them as imperious wouldn’t have been easy for Kim because they were far more than that. In fact they looked like they could very well be the Emperor and Empress of Japan. At least she knew that they would be able to understand her when she spoke to them. Of course, it seemed a stretch that they might like her in any way. She was definitely going to let Imai announce their engagement.
“Well,” Kim said, nervously twisting the ring on her finger. “The floor area is standing room only, but I arranged for seats in the first balcony to the right of the stage. It’s a wonderful view. You’re going to enjoy Imai’s performance; he’s been working night and day on it.”
“It will be loud?” Mr. Shimizu asked gruffly.
“It might, yes…” Kim winced. Why did she think of ‑‑ “Earplugs,” she said when Imai’s father produced a small packet from inside his suit jacket. “Earplugs will be a good idea, I think.”
She took them to the seats she’d arranged and handed them each one of the photo tour booklets she’d gotten earlier. She gave Imai’s mother one of the promotional hand fans they were selling as well. It featured a gorgeous black and white photo of Imai decked out in black leather and reclining on a white leather chaise.
“He was a beautiful baby,” Mrs. Shimizu said softly. “He even had those lovely eyes then. All the teachers used to say he’d break the girls’ hearts one day.”
Imai’s father made a hrmph sound and Kim was very glad when the houselights began to dim. There was no opening act for this first concert. Instead Imai had decided to do a “meet and greet” with his fans following the performance. Once the lights were down, a single acoustic guitar began to play, and ever so slowly, a single spotlight began to glow from behind a long, wispy white curtain, slowly silhouetting Imai as he stood before the microphone stand, his rich voice ringing out so clearly and with such passion that it made Kim shiver. Imai’s mother grinned at her, and she felt her face flush.
“He’s very good,” Mrs. Shimizu whispered.
“He’s incredible,” Kim replied, her attention riveted to the stage where the rest of the band began to join in and the tempo picked up as the curtain began to rise with agonizing slowness. The drummer banged out a quick rhythm and the curtain was jerked up as the stage lights came fully on. Imai grabbed the microphone from the stand and began to strut across the front of the stage, finishing the opening song.
The audience roared as the notes died down, then fell silent, and the second number began. This one was faster, pure rock and roll with a pounding beat, and Imai played to the crowd, swaying his hips to the beat, coming close to the front of the stage, crouching down as the fans tried to reach over the barriers to touch him.
Kim was totally swept up in the show, and it seemed that Mrs. Shimizu was, too. She couldn’t quite tell what Imai’s father thought as he simply sat and stared with his arms folded across his chest.
The final song was the one he’d done for the video. As the song began, Imai went toward the wings and brought out the hired singer dressed in a skimpy costume much as Kim had been in the video. He’d wanted her to do it, but she’d begged off, partly because his parents were coming, but mostly because she hadn’t wanted to ruin things with a bout of stage fright. And though Kim knew the routine called for Imai to “cozy up” to the woman, she still found herself having a flash of jealousy. Really, did the girl have to enjoy it so much?
Kim squinted. Wait a minute! That wasn’t the girl who’d been at rehearsals yesterday. That looked like ‑‑ Michiko Izumi?
That was Izumi! Kim’s jaw dropped open as the woman moved into clear view while a spotlight focused on Imai.
Beside Kim, Imai’s father made a strangled noise. He muttered something in Japanese, distracting her from looking out on to the stage.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“This is ridiculous.” Mr. Shimizu glowered at the stage. His wife pressed her lips into a thin line and looked down at her hands.
Kim frowned, not understanding. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything.” Mr. Shimizu’s expression hardened.
“His music is beautiful,” Kim said. “How can you say that?”
He turned his disapproving look to Kim. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”
Someone like me? Kim decided to let it go as the crowd screamed and cheered. Imai came out to do an encore, but with Mr. Shimizu so restless Kim thought it might be best to head backstage now.
She and Imai’s parents were waiting in an open area near the dressing rooms when he bounded down the corridor looking happier than Kim had ever seen him. Reporters and industry friends crowded around him, but once he caught sight of her and his parents he broke away and came toward them.
Imai’s mother hugged and kissed him and gushed in Japanese, but broke away and returned to her husband’s side when he gruffly cleared his throat. Imai offered his father a polite bow and asked in English, “What did you think?”
Mr. Shimizu glared over at Kim then fixed his angry stare back on his only son. “You waste your life on this meaningless pursuit and disgrace the Shimizu name by parading around like some painted whore. Look at the company you keep,” he said, gesturing to those behind Imai. “You disgust me.” With that he shoved past his devastated son.
Imai’s mother touched his shoulder, then hurried after her husband.
Kim was only vaguely aware of the hushed whispers and clicking of cameras because Imai’s attention was focused on her. He said nothing but he didn’t have to. His expression was more than enough. He stalked past her to his dressing room, slamming the door shut. Kim tried to follow, but it was locked. She stood there and rested her forehead on the door as she tried not to cry.
Michiko Izumi slithered up out of nowhere, a key in her hand. “I’ll go to him,” she said, trying to nudge Kim out of the way. Kim snatched the key, then let herself into the dressing room, locking the door behind her.
Imai sat in a metal chair with his back to the lighted mirror. His elbows were on his knees, his head resting in his hands. His sweat-dampe
ned long hair hung down, obscuring his face.
“I’m so sorry,” Kim said quietly. “I didn’t’ think it would be like this. Your mother enjoyed the show so much I ‑‑” She broke off when Imai looked up, his dark eyes still full of fury. He stood and came toward her, his hands balled into fists at his side.
“What gave you the right to meddle in my life? I told you my parents didn’t approve.”
“But it’s been years since you’ve seen them. Nimura-san said ‑‑”
“Nimura-san needs to mind her own goddamned business.”
He glowered at Kim, and she twisted the ring on her finger until the skin was rubbed raw.
When he spoke again his deep voice began slowly rising in intensity as his anger swelled. “You humiliated me in front of my friends, my colleagues, and you not only ruined the best night of my career, but the entire fucking tour!”
“I’m sorry!”
Imai raised his hand to silence her. “Get out of my way. I have to meet my fans. Even though I feel like utter shit, I owe it to them.”
Kim stared mutely as he unlocked and then flung open the door, letting it bang into the wall.
Kim held in her tears until she made it out the side entrance. She fell back against the wall and let the tears flow. Imai’s angry words had hit her hard, but her tears were more for him than because of him. Why hadn’t she left well enough alone? He’d been coping for ten years without his parents’ approval ‑‑ why did she have to go and spoil that acceptance and break his heart all over again, especially tonight?
You humiliated me in front of my friends, my colleagues, and you not only ruined the best night of my career, but the entire fucking tour.
He’d worked so hard for this chance to go solo, and she’d ruined it. Oh, he’d still perform the other dozen shows and give the fans their money’s worth, but Kim knew no matter how much they enjoyed the performances the satisfaction Imai would feel wouldn’t be what it could have been.
“I only wanted you to be happy,” she whispered. “I wanted your parents to see how wonderful you really are…”
“Donovan-san?”
Kim looked up to see Michiko Izumi standing over her, a glass of wine in her hand. “What do you want?”
“I thought you could use this,” she said, holding the glass out.
Kim sniffled back her tears and wiped her eyes. “Why not?” She took the glass. “Is there a bottle where this came from?”
Michiko smiled and removed an open wine bottle from inside her leather trench coat. “There is.”
Kim drained the glass in two swallows and held it out to be refilled. “Cute costume,” she said indicating the skimpy, lace-trimmed leather bustier and skirt Michiko was still wearing beneath the coat.
Michiko lowered her gaze and gave a shy smile. “It’s always been a dream of mine to be onstage, and Imai-san was nice enough to give me that chance tonight since you refused.”
“Yeah.” Kim downed the rest of the wine and grimaced. She wondered who’d ordered this because it really wasn’t up to Imai’s…usual…standards.
She leaned against the wall again and rubbed her temple. Damn, she hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch, but the wine shouldn’t have hit her this quickly. She looked at Michiko, who was watching her intently.
“Are you ill, Donovan-san?”
Was she imagining it, or did the other woman have a triumphant gleam in her eye?
The woozy feeling got worse, and Kim’s vision began to blur. The empty wineglass fell from her hand and Michiko kicked the broken stem away. “You should go home. Let me help you.”
“I want ‑‑ I want to see Imai.” She tried to go to the door and stumbled.
Michiko blocked her path. “That’s not a wise idea. He’s very busy greeting his fans. Don’t destroy that happiness for him, too.”
Kim glared at the bitch. “You did something. Get out of my way.”
A couple of Imai’s roadies came out the side door. Kim reached out. “Help me. Please.”
They stopped and stared until Michiko said something in Japanese. They laughed then went on their way.
“No! Wait! Help!” Kim tried to go to the steps and fell again. She would have fallen down the few stairs, but Michiko seized the back of her sweater and yanked her back hard. “Donovan-san, you’re drunk. Let me take you home before you embarrass yourself and Imai-san further.”
Kim noticed two other roadies behind Michiko staring at her. “I’m…not drunk…” The world grew blurrier and darker. “Imai!”
Michiko gave the roadies a look of disgust when Kim passed out. “Stupid woman. Help me get her to my car before the press sees this. She’s made a big enough spectacle as it is.”
Chapter Twenty
“Kim got drunk and belligerent and passed out? My Kim?”
Koji Takasoto shrugged. “That’s what I heard from Harry. He said he had to help carry her to Michiko-san’s car. She was going to give Kim a lift home and put her to bed.”
“I better get home then.”
Koji put his hand on Imai’s shoulder. “What good is that gonna do? Let her sleep it off, then you two can work this out in the morning.”
Imai sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather pants. “I guess you’re right.”
Koji grinned and clapped his friend on the back. “Let’s go to the club and celebrate your kick-ass show. Then you and Kim-san can share each other’s hangover misery.”
Imai grumbled, not particularly in the mood to celebrate. Guilt from the way he’d snapped at Kim tugged at his heart while the shame of his father’s words left a sick feeling in his stomach. Shit. He’d heard it all before, so why did he still care? His father’s opinion would never change, and Imai had accepted that a long time ago.
“Let’s go, Imai-kun.” Koji clapped a hand on Imai’s shoulder. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
“I sure as fuck could use a few drinks.” Imai sighed and followed his friend to the car waiting for them outside the venue.
The party was going full blast before Imai and Koji even got there. Hundreds of the industry’s top producers, executives, and even performers gathered at a hot nightclub right in the middle of Shibuya’s bustling entertainment district. His band mates were there, congratulating him and sharing in the moment. But Imai’s heart wasn’t in it.
No longer on pain meds for his leg, Imai took advantage of the moment and started working on that “hangover misery” he could share with Kim later. A hell of a lot more than a few drinks later, he gave up on the party and sneaked out to take a cab home.
The driver of a sporty white Honda honked the horn, then pulled in front of the taxi as Imai was about to get in. It was Michiko Izumi. Imai waved the cab off, then unsteadily made his way to her car. She got out and placed her arm around his waist to steady him.
“How’s Kim?”
Michiko frowned. “She’s a mean drunk, Imai-san. The things that woman called the both of us when I drove her home…” Her words drifted off into a sigh.
“Koji said she passed out.”
“Mostly she was groggy and verbally abusive.”
Imai frowned. “I need to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Imai-san. Why not wait ‘til morning when your head is clearer?”
He nodded and gave her waist a little squeeze. “Give me a lift home?”
“You don’t even have to ask.” Michiko gave him a smile and helped him into the front passenger seat. As she leaned over to fasten his seat belt, her lips seemed to brush against his ear. “Anything for you, Imai-san.”
Imai rubbed the sides of his head, thinking he must have imagined it. He was plastered enough, and between the highs and lows of the evening, feeling damn shitty. “Thanks,” he said and leaned his head against the headrest, closing his eyes.
Michiko closed his door and slipped into the driver’s seat. Imai felt and heard the car engine rev, and they drove away from the club. �
�Everyone’s told you this, I’m sure.” Michiko glanced at him as she stopped at a light. “But the concert truly was wonderful.”
He sighed. “The drinks afterwards were better.” Imai closed his eyes again, the road nothing more than a dizzying blur of lights against the black, trying to block out the memories of what had happened backstage. “I’m just tired, sorry.”
“I understand,” Michiko said. The car slowed to a stop and she walked around to open his door. They were halfway up the steps to the apartment building when it hit Imai that this wasn’t his house. He hesitated, and Michiko tightened her hand around his waist.
“My place was so much closer, and I have a guest room,” she said. “I thought a shorter drive would be better for you, Imai-san.”
“No. I want to go home.” He started to turn, but Michiko was right there blocking his way.
She studied him a moment, then averted her gaze. “I didn’t want to tell you, Imai-san. I hoped she might settle down by morning, but Donovan-san woke before we reached your house and she wasn’t only verbally abusive to me she was destructive. She took her anger at you out on the guesthouse. I think it would be best for you to stay away tonight.”
“I can’t believe it. That’s not like her.”
Michiko sighed loudly. “Imai-san, you are too good. Some people hide their true selves, especially to someone like you. I’m afraid the alcohol loosened her control and brought her true nature out.”
Imai shook his head, making the world spin around him in the process. He put a steadying hand against the side of the building. “She’s angry and hurt,” he said quietly.
“Angry and hurtful.” Michiko frowned and looked down at her shoes. “You thought you knew her so well, but she’s no different from many of the other women you’ve known…don’t they all end up being insincere and opportunistic?”
Imai slumped against the wall. “I don’t know. I can’t believe she’s like that; she’s different. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known.”
Michiko touched his shoulder. “Imai-san. Please come upstairs and get some rest. You’ll be better able to sort things out in the morning. You’ve had too much to drink to think clearly.”
Under a Silver Moon Page 17