Ranko’s eyes snapped up when the door to the little stage alcove swung open with a crash and Katsuo blustered in. She’d changed into her skimpy white and green dance uniform and was sitting on the edge of their sorry excuse for a stage alongside Emi.
The choreographer looked her over. “What’s with your hair?”
Ranko fingered the braid over her shoulder. “Nothing, why?”
He sighed. “I thought I told you to start wearing it in two pigtails.”
She nodded. “You suggested that, but it gets uncomfortable all day sometimes.” Emi cringed; she’d been on the receiving end of these kinds of conversations enough times to know where it was about to go.
“I don’t make suggestions, Ranko. If I tell you something needs to be done, it needs to be done! Am I understood?”
Ranko sighed. She wanted nothing in the world more than to sock this guy in his nose, but all she could think of was that letter from the library with the results of her placement exam. No matter how degrading this got, she had to see it through. There was no other choice. She nodded in resignation.
“Well? Go fix it!” Ranko stood and started to walk past him, but he reached out and grabbed her left forearm as she passed. “What’s that on your arm?”
Ranko winced. “I’m sorry, Katsuo. I cut myself last night, and…”
He sighed. “Not that. I know what a bandage is; I’m not an idiot.” I mean that.” He motioned to the ever-present silver dragon coiled around her wrist, hiding the scar from her encounter with Mousse almost a year ago.
“It’s… a family thing.”
The large man nodded, speaking mockingly. “Aww. That’s sweet. I hate it. Lose it.” Ranko glared at him. This was a bridge too far. That little band around her arm represented the closest thing to healing she would ever have from that day.
“No.”
He looked down into her face with a shocked expression. “Excuse me?”
She shook her head, pulling her arm free from his grasp. “I said no.”
His voice took on an angrier color than his usual berating drone. “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear, girl. If you want to be a part of this industry, you’re going to have people telling you what to wear, what to say, and when to smile. I’d advise you to get used to it. If you can’t, then we’re wasting each other’s time. So, I’ll make this nice and simple for you. Lose the bracelet, fix your hair, and bring your little ass back out here with a smile on your face, or get the hell out of my studio. If you don’t want to do what you’re told, there’s a thousand girls out there just like you who will gladly take your place. Do we have an understanding?”
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She swallowed hard. She had promised herself that she would stick with it. That she wouldn’t give up on the dream, no matter what. The scores from the placement exam had only made it more imperative. Her only options were to bend, or to break.
She nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Ranko returned from the bathroom a few moments later, her hair reconfigured per the tyrannical choreographer’s demands. She tugged at the gauze around her wrist, trying in vain to get it to cover the angry, raised ridge across her wrist. Hitomi had finally shown up, and was being berated for her tardiness. Emi said nothing, but gave Ranko’s right hand a supportive little squeeze as she took her place on the pallet.
Some four hours of repeating the same dance steps later, Katsuo called for an early end to the session. Based on Hitomi’s level of frustration, Ranko was a little concerned she might end up stabbing the choreographer, so she decided to put some distance between them and use her extra time to explore the complex a bit more before changing for the trip home.
She navigated the plywood hallway, waving to Crash as he and his bandmates rehearsed, and headed for the main entrance where she’d come in on the first day. As she approached the doorway, she noticed Takao flipping through some paperwork on a clipboard.
“Mr. Tashima? Do you have a minute?”
The executive turned and flashed her a smile. “Oh, hey, Ranko. What’s up?”
“Well…” She fidgeted with her hands. “I was wondering if there are going to be any opportunities soon to… ya know, maybe sing a little?”
He nodded. “I’m sure Katsuo will have you girls practicing harmonies in no time.”
Ranko forced a smile. “That’s great, but I meant… ya know, more like I do at the Phoenix.”
Takao nodded. “Solo stuff? Yeah, I get it. That’s a tougher one. We do a lot of work here with groups. You should get there with enough time.”
He looked her over almost hungrily, her pigtails bouncing on her shoulders as she looked down at her hands. “I’ll tell you what.” He pulled a white business card out of his pocket, flipping it over and writing on the back of it with an expensive-looking pen. He shook it in the air for a moment, trying to accelerate the ink drying. “This is a process. There’s a lot to learn to make it in the big leagues.”
He offered her the card. “If you want to try and jump to the front of the line, it takes connections and experience, both of which I can help you with. Why don’t you come by my apartment tonight, and we’ll see if I can’t give you some… private lessons?”
She was already holding the card when he finished speaking, or she would not have taken it. She could have sworn the warehouse had just started spinning. Did he just… no, he couldn’t have. There was no way he meant… that he expects me to…
She looked up into his face for some sort of reassurance that it was just her state of self-consciousness playing tricks on her, and in the reflection of his mirrored sunglasses, she saw herself – the way his agency had dressed her, the way they’d encouraged her to behave. She saw every degrading photograph she posed for on her first day as if they were seared into his retinas for long-term storage.
Of course that was what he meant.
She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to run. Right now, though, she needed to do none of those things.
“I, ummm… I appreciate the offer, Mr. Tashima. But… I have to work tonight.” She had never been so glad to have a shift as a waitress in her life, and she’d been broke and homeless three months ago.
He nodded, making a disappointed little tsk with his tongue. “Well, maybe another night then.”
A woman in a bright yellow dress wobbled out of the hallway on a precariously tall pair of matching heels. “Takao, you’ve got a call.”
He nodded. “Be right there!”
Turning to Ranko, he gave a little shrug and a devious smile. “I gotta run. Look forward to seeing you, though!”