The building looked, from the outside at least, more like a warehouse than a performance venue. Ranko wasn’t sure what she had expected exactly, but it wasn’t this. Still, maybe that’s just how they do things in show business, she thought, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She strode up the driveway to the door, her short white heels clacking on the asphalt.
As she entered through the open door, she looked for anyone that seemed available enough to offer direction. The whole building smelled of sawdust and cheap perfume. The place was a bustle of activity; there was a group of girls in harajuku outfits off to one corner rehearsing a dance, a band of guys in leather jackets tuning their instruments in another. There were constant flashes of light from cameras every few seconds. This is more like it.
“Excuse me?” She waved to get the attention of a young man in a polo shirt and khakis, speeding by holding a clipboard. “Do you know where I’m supposed to be?”
The man stopped, not lifting his eyes from his clipboard. “New girl?”
Ranko blushed and nodded with an excited smile. “First day!”
The intern pointed off to his left, where a constant flickering light flashed behind a series of green and blue screens. “Over there.” He continued walking, his patience for the conversation having long since lapsed.
Ranko smoothed her white floral dress, taking another deep breath. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. That she had earned a place here, wherever here was.
She walked nervously to the screened-off area, peering around the screens. There was a short platform off to one side, on which a blonde in a bikini shifted from one pose to the next in front of a green screen background. Several can lights pointed at her from different angles, effectively eliminating her shadow entirely. The incessant clicking of camera shutters filled the air as three photographers fired off shot after shot, and a fourth person was periodically shouting out directions to the model; turn this way, smile that way, and so on. Several other women stood around behind the cameras, some also in bikinis, others in seifuku outfits and one wearing a black catsuit.
“Alright, good job, Mika.” The director gave a little golf clap and the girl hopped down from the platform, and another, one of the girls in the seifuku, climbed up on the little platform to take her place.
While the transition between models continued, Ranko stepped forward to the director, hoping not to distract him too much from his work. “Excuse me, sir? I think I might be a little lost. I’m here to sing?”
The director nodded without looking up from the camera settings he was adjusting. “Around back there, go get changed.”
Ranko blinked. “I… ah… okay?” She walked where she was directed, and into a long hallway that had been constructed from more of the little portable screens. Both sides of the alley were lined with rack after rack of outfits ranging from swimsuits and seifuku to sports uniforms. A stern-looking woman in a black blazer and an olive-green pencil skirt walked up to her, looking over her judgmentally and tapping a pencil against the corner of her mouth.
Ranko smiled. “Hello, I’m looking for…”
The woman snatched a hanger from the rack to her right, thrusting the fluffy bundle it contained into Ranko’s arms. “Around there.”
The redhead blinked. “No, I’m sorry for the confusion, but I’m here to sing? Mr. Tashima invited me?”
The attendant nodded. “Yeah, that’s great, sugar. Go get dressed. We don’t have all day here.” She turned her body sideways, pushing past Ranko and off behind her toward the photography area, leaving Ranko alone in the row of costumes.
The songstress blinked quietly, looking around. This had not exactly been how she imagined it so far. After a moment, she found a little curtained-off area she could step into for some semblance of privacy.
Ranko hung the dress on the curtain rod so she could look at it, and it did little to calm the roiling in her stomach. It was a white harajuku-style dress with wide, pale brown stripes flowing vertically throughout, the hem of the skirt ringed with teddy bears dancing and playing. White lace protruded from the puffy, beribboned sleeves and the square-cut neckline, and a deeper brown bow punctuated the center of the chest. A matching brown sash hung loosely from the waist with plenty of extra material dangling from the back to tie a bow with.
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The little changing booth spun wildly. There was no way she could do this. She looked around her claustrophobic curtained space, hoping in vain that there would be someone standing there to negotiate with, to explain that she didn’t wear things like this, that she barely managed dresses at all, that there must be some other option. Based on the nonplussed reactions of everyone she’d spoken to thus far, she didn’t expect an awful lot of sympathy for her plight.
She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing. Maybe it won’t be that bad. You want the job, right? Every job has parts that aren’t the greatest. Maybe she could just get through this, and then they’d send her up to Mr. Tashima’s posh corner office and he’d clear all of this up. Maybe they just wanted to see if she’d be a good sport about things. Perhaps a test to try and weed out girls with diva personalities? Whatever the case, if she wanted to get into the show, this travesty was apparently the price of admission.
Her hands shaking, she reached for the hanger.
A few moments later, she pulled back the curtain and stepped out into the alleyway of costumes, taking a timid step forward. Seeing no one there to guide her, she began the slow trudge through the racks back toward the photography station. When she reached the end of the clothing racks, she peeked around them nervously to see if anyone was looking. As before, two girls were off to the side waiting their turn, both in matching seifuku. The girl in the catsuit was currently being photographed, twisting this way and that as commanded by the orders barked by the slender man standing between the cameras.
At that moment, Ranko wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t rather be naked than wearing the outfit the costumer had chosen for her. She half-expected that to be next, all things considered. Biting her lower lip, she crept forward, taking her place next to the other girls that were awaiting their turn. One of them turned to her with a disarming wave. “Hey, new kid!”
Ranko dug deep in her emotional reserves, trying to summon up a smile. “Good morning. My name’s Ranko.” The brunette nodded. “Heya. I’m Naoki, and this is Sachiko.” The tall green-haired woman to Naoki’s right gave an enthusiastic wave.
Ranko blushed. “I’m a singer. I’m here to sing. I really wasn’t expecting…” She motioned to the cameras and the general surroundings. Maybe if the models knew she wasn’t in her element, that she didn’t sign up for her current predicament, perhaps it would somehow be slightly less humiliating.
Sachiko nodded. “Right on. I play bass guitar. Naoki, you’re an actor, right?” A nod came in reply.
With a slow nod, Ranko tried desperately to summon another smile. “Wow, that’s great!” So, they really did put everyone through this. Still, it was almost her turn, so it would be over soon.
“Next!” came the call from the director, and Sachiko strode to the little podium. The director looked over to the waiting area, waving Naoki over. “Give me both of them.” Naoki blushed and gave Ranko a little wave and a giggle, joining Sachiko on the platform.
Ranko stood alone as she watched. The director rattled off direction after direction to the girls. Smile at each other. Hit a beach ball back and forth. Hold hands. He asked Sachiko to give Naoki a hug from behind, both of them smiling for the array of cameras. The constant snapping of the camera shutters sounded less glamorous now, and more like a firing squad.
“Next!”
Ranko swallowed hard, and stepped forward.
“What’s your name, kid?”
She blushed. “Ranko Tendo, sir.” At least in that, she had some measure of confidence. She had an ID card and everything, even if it was in her purse back in the little changing cubicle with her other clothes, and most of her pride.
“Great. Hop up there for me, honey. Give us a little wave.”
Ranko complied, forcing herself to smile. She knew if she didn’t, they’d just make her do it again and prolong her agony.
“Awesome. Now, look right here and blow us a kiss, okay?”
Her stomach turned, but she shook the thought out of her head. He wasn’t asking her to kiss him, it was just the camera. Just for show. It was just supposed to be cute. She’d done no less on stage, right? She kissed her trembling hand, holding it palm-up in front of her face and blowing across it toward the second camera.
“Great. Good girl.” An intern darted into the scene from the right, stuffing a large teddy bear with a yellow ribbon tied around its neck into her hands. She blinked, looking the toy over. What fresh hell is this? The director chimed up again. “Okay, let’s sit down on the floor and play with your bear.”
At least the act of crumpling to the ground she found to be easy. She smoothed the humiliating skirt out around her knees, taking the bear by its arms. Thank the gods Akane couldn’t see this. She slowly walked the bear around the border of her skirt.
“Don’t forget to smile, honey.”
Just a few more minutes, and this nightmare would be over. She put on a brave face, taking one of the bear’s paws and making it wave to the camera. She wished it had fingers so she could make it flick off the architect of the farce she was participating in.
The director smiled coldly. “Fantastic. Great job. Next!”
Ranko stood, leaving the bear face-down on the platform and scurrying off toward the changing cubicle. As she did, she saw the girl who had been wearing the catsuit emerge from the hallway, now dressed as a baseball player. She didn’t stop to talk. She had to get out of this monstrosity of a dress as quickly as possible.
She stepped into the cubicle, drawing the curtain closed. She unzipped the dress, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled pile, and turned to reach for her own outfit. When she did, she found it wasn’t there; in its place hung what looked like a high school cheerleading uniform.