by Tria, Jay E.
“I was actually going to ask if you’ve all been shrinking,” Shinta said, a thoughtful frown on his pale brow. “I thought it might be because you don’t sleep very much.”
Jill looked at the unmoving bodies around her now that her own surprise had faded. She turned to see Shinta’s eyes locked on her face, his lips starting a slow smile.
“How the hell did you know we were here?” she shot at him.
“Wild guess.” Shinta moved to stand beside her in one fluid step. He leaned down and gave her a lingering peck on the cheek. “That’s how you greet people here, right?”
“Huh,” Jill mumbled, lifting a hand to touch the burn he left on her skin. She turned her eyes on her bandmates, frozen where they stood, watching their short scene. “Why are you looking at him like he’s two-headed?”
“Shinta-chan!” Son jumped him, squeezing Shinta’s face between his large hands. “I’ve missed you! Have you always been this pretty?”
“Watch it, his face might be insured,” Miki said, pulling Son away from him.
Shinta laughed and shook Miki’s hand. “I thought I saw you last night. At the parking lot.”
Miki nodded, lips pursed. “Right. I would be the one chasing after the lime green Beetle.”
“You were at the gig?” Nino attached himself to Shinta’s free side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Why didn’t you come in? Jill, why didn’t he come in?”
“He came after our set,” Jill said to the floor.
“It’s my fault. I stole her away.” Shinta gave them a wide grin.
“Ahhhh…” Nino and Son chorused.
Shinta politely observed the second-long silence that followed. “Leader Kim,” he then said, turning to Kim with a low bow.
Kim was watching him. He was the one who stood paralyzed the longest at Shinta’s sudden appearance. His face broke into a friendly smirk. “It is you, idol.”
“And you,” Shinta returned. “Mr. Brooding.”
Nino and Son started bouts of loud snickering as Kim took Shinta’s hand for a brief shake.
“I know you’re all now going to get even drunker although it’s eleven in the morning,” Mars said as he went around their cluster, patting Shinta’s shoulder. “But as much as I want to join you, I still have a day job.”
“You have other bands you have to pressure into depression.” Nino gave him a salute. “Go forth and do your good work.”
“Drive them into a life of acceptable success and relative self-sustainability,” Son put in.
“Yes, yes. Living the dream life. Just don’t forget Optimus Bar and the album launch party tonight.” Mars ticked two things off in his organizer.
“The roadie will be in touch.” Kim nodded.
Shinta was watching the scene curiously. “Are you not changing into a smart phone, Mr. Mars?” he said plainly. Jill was the first one to snort out laughter. “Surely business is doing well.”
Mars stuffed his hands inside his pants pocket, which the five of them recognized as his defensive pose.
“CDs and DVDs have already lost to file downloading and MP3 players. I’m not giving up the pen and paper to another battery-operated toy.”
Shinta’s brow was furrowed. He and Mars stood oblivious to the shaking laughter around them as Jill, Kim, Son, Miki and Nino tuned in to the conversation like leeches on a fat thigh.
“How about an iPhone?” Shinta suggested. “That’s hardly a toy. It’s designer technology.”
It looked like the cogs were moving furiously for a serious albeit still polite comeback inside Mars’ head. Jill was sure they all could hear the spinning.
“I think we’re good for today, Shinta.” Jill took his arm, pulling him forward to the elevator.
“Wait, I want to hear Mars’ comeback on that one!” Son quipped.
Miki took Shinta’s shoulder, helping Jill haul him along. “Enough wrinkles drawn on his aging forehead for today, my friend.”
Kim was the first to reach the elevator, Nino soon behind him.
“Scram you indolent children,” Mars growled, waving his notebook like a weapon.
They dispersed, Shinta still confused as to why he was being towed away.
August 18, Friday, three years ago
Kim led the last song with a metal riff, quickly inter-playing with the strums of Nino’s bass. They knew nobody here knew them. Hardly anyone would have understood a word of the last three songs. Jill started belting out the lyrics, and for this last one, they were in Filipino. She turned to Kim and they beamed at each other. It doesn’t matter that they were soaked in the one o’clock sun, sweat making their shirts cling like second skin. It was their first music festival, and it was a spectacular day.
Jill let Julia drop from her bright yellow strap, dangling from her neck, breaking the chord as Nino pounded an extended beat on his drums. She pulled up her shirt, exposing her midriff to the harsh Tokyo sun, and hit the chorus with Kim.
The crowd jumped as one, a massive many-limbed unit pounding on the ground and screaming. On their last chorus, the Japanese crowd was yelling the words back at them, garbled and strange in their excited tongues.
Son had lost his shirt two songs ago, twirling like a top he will soon lose balance. Beside Jill, Miki was laughing, the sound magnified by the microphone when his shoulder crashed into hers.
And then it was over. They were herded to a large tent behind the stage, the speakers blaring out the next unknown band currently performing.
“We did it,” Son said, sweaty and shirtless.
“Our first music festival.” Nino turned to them, his wide silly grin mirrored by each face.
Just last week Trainman performed three school night gigs at two small neighborhood bars, cheered by friends and a few converts. When they fly back home they would return to that routine and they would be happy, but an experience like this was a good one-off high.
“Our first music festival in Japan,” Miki specified.
“The land of manga and hentai,” Son said.
The boys broke out in laughter. Jill rolled her eyes at the testosterone humor. Two years of being around these boys, and she still wasn’t used to it.
There were plenty of plastic chairs around them, some occupied by the other acts, other bands. But Trainman was too strung up to sit. The people around them were all talking in Japanese, with a few fair heads floating over the mass, their fellow foreign acts.
Kim pulled Jill close, wet lips brushing her ear. “We did it.”
She smiled, pulling his head down and giving his grinning mouth a kiss. “We did.”
“Living the dream.” Kim’s thumb strayed on her cheek when they broke apart, dark eyes glinting.
“While cutting class,” Jill said.
Kim shrugged. “Like I said, living the dream.”
Jill laughed and snaked her arms around his waist, completing their circle. She would worry about her overdue 2000-word non-fiction story and that looming Economics exam when they got home.
“Professor Mori deserves more than a thank you note and a 100-yen gift,” she mused.
There was talk around university that Professor Mori, the tiny Japanese lady who taught Creative Writing had an actor for a son, but Jill thought that was urban legend. When the professor told them she might be able to get them a slot in a Tokyo music festival thanks to said son, Jill thought she was a mean prankster.
“This couldn’t have happened without her,” Kim agreed. “We could kidnap the Chiba mascot for her.”
“Chiba-kun!” Jill clapped a hand to his chest.
“Excuse me.”
Jill and Kim jerked their heads, surprised to hear English words floating from the loud babble of Nihongo. Beside them, Nino, Son and Miki had turned at the sound too. A tall Japanese boy was standing just outside their cluster, his gaze flitting from one face to the next. His eyes landed on Jill.
She felt her mouth pop into an O, her arms falling away from Kim’s waist, limp at her sides. He was
beautiful, standing there as if shining in his own spotlight.
The beautiful boy smiled. “I’m Shinta Mori.” He bowed to them.
Nino and Miki exchanged looks. Son was already bent low on a return bow. He had been practicing for something like this.
“Mori?” Kim repeated.
Shinta straightened up and approached, joining their tight circle. He towered over them, tall as they all were. Nino shot him a sideways look, grunted and straightened his back.
“You know my mother. She says she’s your professor,” Shinta said.
Jill’s eyes lit up. “You’re her son. The actor.”
“Yes.” He grinned at her again. It was an open-hearted smile that her lips returned on quick impulse. Jill felt Kim crush her abruptly clammy fingers.
“Thank you for getting us this slot.” Miki extended a hand to him. “It’s amazing.”
Shinta took Miki’s hand in both of his for an energetic shake. “Ah it’s not me. I just have a few friends here, and my father helped. He knew some people.”
Son jumped him for a hug. “Thanks, man. This is the best day of my life.”
Shinta looked at Jill with panicked eyes as Son clung to him. Jill mouthed, ‘otaku,’ and Shinta nodded, patting Son’s back awkwardly.
“There, there.” Kim pulled Son away, putting the fan boy behind him and Miki. “Really, thank you so much. This is more than what we imagined. Let us buy you a beer at least,” he said to Shinta.
Jill thought Shinta’s eyes lingered on Kim’s hand clutching her waist. She blinked and he was smiling again.
“I hope you don’t mind warm beer on plastic cups.” Shinta led them out the tent. “But they go great with takoyaki and hot dogs.”
“These are yours, I presume,” Miki said, nodding to the line of girls huddled at the tent entrance. They shrieked as their group passed but kept their distance, gazing avidly at the back of Shinta’s head.
“Ah no, I think they like you.” Shinta put an arm around Miki’s shoulder. “Will you give me an autograph?”
He turned to Jill, and this time she smiled at him first. Alarmed at herself, she trotted a few paces forward, gripping Kim’s fingers and pulling him along. She will have words with Professor Mori when they got back. Her son should come with a warning.
April 21, Tuesday, night
Lunch was a pleasant catching up affair. Afterwards, they dispersed to have a good few hours of personal space. Son so emphatically explained the need for this to Shinta to ensure harmony in a young band, though they all knew he was just going to pass out inside his car.
“Somebody has to call him to wake him up,” Kim said as they watched Son lumber away, stretching his skinny arms into a wide yawn and ruffling his curly hair. “Remember that last time we had to do a set without a bassist?”
“At least he remembers to keep a gap in the car window, right?” Shinta looked around at them. “Right?”
Shinta tagged along with Jill and Miki to the mall to window-shop for high top sneakers, CDs, and aviator sunglasses. They ended up at a bookstore, where Jill discreetly finished a book as Shinta drank two tall glasses of almond latte beside her, Miki lost within the History shelves.
Miki called to wake Son up with an hour to spare, and everyone met up at Optimus Bar, as promised. After their set, they had time for a quick dinner of beef kebab and unlimited butter rice.
“We finally saw your latest movie.” Nino nodded to Shinta.
“Son saw it without the subtitles. He’s that big of a fan,” Miki said.
Son shrugged, his lips in a wide leer. “It wasn’t the kind of movie that needs words.”
“Actions do speak louder,” Nino agreed, slurping his yogurt drink. “And there was quite a lot of action there.”
“You have grown up quite nicely, my friend.” Son gave Shinta’s shoulder a massive pat. “Good job.”
Shinta gave Son a return clap on the back, grinning. He turned to Jill, nudging her arm on the table.
“Don’t bother asking her.” Miki headed him off. “She hasn’t seen it.”
“Oh she refuses to see it,” Shinta said with a calm smile. “She doesn’t like my romantic movies. She only watches when my movies have guns and explosions. Or where I die. So I have to tell her the ending first.”
Nino scoffed, shooting Jill with a stray rice grain. “This from a girl who sat through Love, Actually twice on her own.”
“Two full boxes of tissue go in,” Miki narrated. “None come out.”
Jill tossed a dirty tissue ball at Nino, slapping Miki’s arm too. “That was a very good movie.”
“You are such a sap,” Son scoffed as Nino and Miki laughed.
“I’m a romantic.” Jill’s eyes flicked towards Kim. She couldn’t help it. She quickly returned to toying with her hummus.
“Kim likes the scene inside the car,” Nino went on.
“It was very Titanic.” Kim fixed Shinta a serious look and a thumbs up.
“How did you manage to maneuver inside a tiny car when you’re that long?” Nino’s gaze measured Shinta’s long lean arms. They were folded neatly in front of his clean plate, but his pointed elbows invaded Jill and Son’s table space.
“That was very difficult to do.” Shinta’s brow furrowed at the memory. “The actress I had the scene with wasn’t a tiny lady either, long, big-boned woman. So when I bend over, I had to—”
“What did we say about too much information?” Jill cried, shooting him a sharp look.
“I told you, there’s nothing romantic about those kinds of scenes. For one thing there were about ten people in the room watching us strip down. I was naked as a baby.” Shinta roped one long arm around the back of her metal chair, leaning toward her as he explained. “Well, apart from that sock they make me wear down there—”
“Euuggghhhhhhhhhh,” was the collective response around the crowded table. Jill hit Shinta’s shoulder hard with the laminated menu.
Shinta opened his mouth for a comeback but the sharp ping of his phone distracted him. He took one look and slid his phone back in front of his plate, the large lighted screen clearly showing a picture of Jill’s face.
Miki and Nino froze first.
Kim’s hard gaze was locked on the phone display in front of him. “Where did you get that picture?”
The cold silence descended fast on the table.
“Hmm?” Shinta took his phone and held it up. It was a picture of Jill laughing, wearing a shirt that read Women Are Martians from Venus that was at least two sizes too big. Jill recognized the picture too late. “I like it. It’s a cool shirt.”
Kim diverted his stony glare to Jill. It wasn’t fair. The few times he looked at her since their breakup, and he had to look at her like that.
“I think it’s called a cock sock, right Shinta?” Miki asked in a loud voice, glaring at Nino across from Kim.
“Yeah I read about that somewhere. And for ladies, pasties?” Son added quickly.
“Yes, but do you really need one?” Nino put in, leaning forward. “I mean, doesn’t it mess with how realistic the scene turns out?”
Miki, Son, and Nino’s brave attempts at a diversion died a quick death as Kim stood up, toppling his chair over. His hand jerked, as if itching to grab the offensive phone Shinta was dangling in front of him. His next thought might have been to throw it against a wall.
Kim spun and walked off without another word.
Shinta’s eyes followed Kim’s back as he disappeared out the restaurant. He placed his phone back at the center of the table. Jill’s photo on the screen laughed at them.
“I think you guys are mistaking my movie with something from a different, er, genre.” Shinta looked around the table, grinning.
April 22, Wednesday, midnight
“So that was awful.”
Shinta stood leaning on the passenger door of Jill’s hunchback car, glaring at the back of her head as she climbed the hood. Her sneakers left dust prints on the shiny lime green paint.
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It was a few minutes past midnight. After dinner, Trainman went to their last gig of the night, a launch party for the album of a band that Mars also managed. After their last song, Kim stormed out of the bar. Jill left when she was sure Kim’s battered sedan was gone, Shinta on her tail.
Jill drove in silence. Only Matthew Bellamy was allowed to make a sound inside the car. After twenty minutes and a half of Black Holes and Revelations, they ended up in front of the Mori house.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” Shinta pressed.
“Tell you what?”
Shinta jumped on the hood, shoving Jill so she would make space for him beside her. “Thank God for social media, then.”
The tips of Jill’s ears burned. She remembered clicking save on a change in relationship status, staring at the page with a hazy gaze and dry eyes as it refreshed. She saw the announcement flash on the news feed and panicked, deleting the account. It cannot have been five minutes. How could Shinta have caught that?
“You send me links of cats playing with babies but you don’t tell me you broke up with your long-term boyfriend? How dare you, woman?”
Jill gnawed at her lower lip. She was going to delete all her social media accounts as soon as she got a moment away from this boy. They were purveyors of too much information.
But Shinta had a point. They volleyed messages back and forth over time difference and space on a daily basis. He would send pictures of how actresses look pre-make up and coffee. She would send videos of a gig-goer vomiting on Miki’s shirt before trying to French him.
They had a what-are-you-having-for-breakfast, call-me-if-you-can, spare-me-no-details, long-distance kind of friendship.
“Weren’t we both happier looking at the gamboling kitties?”
“For shame woman, for shame.”
Jill hung her head. “Pardon, my lord. Pardon.”
“Pardon granted, with condition.”
Jill sighed, burying her head between her knees. “You only get the short version. It gets tiring to talk about it after a while.”