“Ranko, hon, c’mon. You gotta stop this.”
The redhead sighed, swirling the remaining half of her watermelon margarita in her hand and staring down into the little vortex that formed in the pinkish liquid’s surface. It looked like it was going down the drain, which seemed more than apt given the current state of Ranko Tendo's thoughts.
She'd called Yui after Natsuko’s slip of the tongue, and her sister had begrudgingly confirmed everything: the sale of the Phoenix, her sisters’ inability to find new work given that none of them save Sakura had ever had a job outside the bar their family called home, all of it. Everything their mother had been working for longer than Ayako had even been alive would be gone forever in less than twenty days. From her seat in a dark and dingy booth in the back corner of a seedy little karaoke bar in the red light district of Kuala Lumpur, Ranko could not even so much as offer her family a conciliatory hug of support, let alone actually do anything tangible to help. It was killing her.
“I'm fine, Hitomi,” Ranko grumbled. “I just wish I could go out on the road one time without my whole world falling apart back home where I can't do shit about it, is all.”
“From the sound of it,” Emi said, sliding into the booth opposite Ranko, “you couldn't do much even if you were there. The other girls aren't having any luck. Even Nabiki Tendo, Business Senshi, isn't getting anywhere. There's nothing you could do if you were there but help them pack the place up, Ranko.”
Ranko sighed down into her drink, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt tighter around her cheeks to hide her tear-streaked face. “That's not the point, Ems. You don't get it. You weren't there at the beginning and you don't know what it was like for me. I know I live with Akane, but…” She exhaled heavily, taking a long moment to regain her composure. “It feels like I'm losing my home all over again. When my whole world evaporated, that bar was my fucking fortress, and now it’s just gonna be… gone? They’re gonna demolish my whole world to put up a fuckin’ department store?!”
“At least Izumi will still feel right at home,” Emi offered, but her attempt at levity was utterly lost on her despondent friend.
“And even worse, it's not just happening to me. It’s happening to the people I love most, too. When I had nowhere to go, they rescued me, and now they need help, and…” Ranko gestured vaguely to her surroundings. “I'm five thousand kilometers away with my ass stuck to this nasty vinyl bench, watching some loser at the bar try to put a hooker on a fucking credit card. What a worthless piece of shit of a daughter and a sister I turned out to be. I owe them so much fucking more than this!” She slammed the tabletop hard with her hand, momentarily turning the eyes of a few people at the surrounding tables.
“C’mon, Ranko. Don't talk like that. You know that’s not true. What's that thing Yui says, about like, people like you and shit?” Hitomi tapped Emi’s shoulder and the blonde stepped out of the booth, permitting Hitomi to exit. The brunette walked around the sticky wooden table, sliding onto the opposite bench and draping her arm over Ranko’s shoulder with a soft shake.
The redhead sighed into her drink. She answered in a hollow voice, on rote recitation alone, without looking up at her friend. “I am wanted, I have worth and I have people who care about me?”
“Yeah! That thing! And it's true, ya know. Sure, this sucks. It bites the big one, no mistake. But I don't think there's anybody at that bar that thinks less of you because you're out here pursuing your dream and your career right now. I’d bet all the money I have on it.” Hitomi squeezed Ranko's shoulders gently.
Ranko scoffed, draining the rest of the watered-down cocktail she had been nursing into her mouth. “I've seen the way you shop, ‘Tomi. All the money you have wouldn't buy me another drink. And I really shouldn't buy one, either. Everyone in my family, including me and technically all of you guys, is gonna lose their jobs in two weeks, and we need to save our money.”
Emi nodded. “We’ll be alright - at least, those of us in the band. We should get our first tour payouts from Yokai soon. I honestly don't have any idea how much that will be, but I'm sure it’ll be enough to get by.”
“Me neither. I’m sure Nabiki does,” Ranko said. “Just sucks that we’ll have to wait three months for the next check after that. Besides, who knows how reliable Yokai’s gonna be right now? And even if it’s enough for us, a fat lot of good that does Mom and my sisters. Hell, ‘Tomi, we won't even have a place to play anymore,” Ranko bemoaned, staring at her empty glass as if willing it to be refilled by magic.
Hitomi shrugged her shoulders a bit, leaning into her friend’s body. “I bet Steam would be all about it if we wanted to do more shows there!”
Ranko groaned in exasperation. She knew her friends were trying to help, but her depression twisted their every suggestion into its most negative possible outcome. I wish Fred did appointments on the phone, she thought wistfully. Where’s Mr. Fix-It when you fucking need him? Her thoughts seemed to spiral downward more rapidly than the ice she was still swishing around in the empty glass in her hand.
“Yeah! I'm sure Yokai would just love us playing at a gay bar five nights a week! As it is, I can't get them to publish our third album because they want me to sign a promise not to love my fucking wife! Yeah, and they want it to apply to you two lovebirds, too, don't forget. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if they even tried to pull some shit on Jake and Zo.”
Ranko sighed, tapping Hitomi on the arm to indicate she wanted to be let out of the booth. “I should just go back to the hotel. I'm awful company tonight, and I'm fucking up all your fun. I'm really sorry.”
Emi gave a dismissive scoff, grabbing Ranko’s arm to prevent her from getting up. “First off, you're our friend, and we love you. If you're in the shitter, we’re in the shitter together. So, we’re not climbing out unless you make it out with us. And second of all, if you think we’re letting you walk back to the hotel alone in this part of town, you're out of your damn mind, girlfriend.”
The redhead chuckled darkly. “I can take care of myself better than you might think, Ems.” Honestly, there's a part of me that wouldn't hate an excuse to blow off a little rage on some asshole’s face tonight. “Besides,” Ranko said with a smirk. “No matter how cool he thinks he's being about it, a two-and-a-half meter bald American kinda stands out in a place like this, so I don't know who the hell Lance thinks he's fooling. Does he really think I don't see him watching us from over by the pool table? I'm not that drunk, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yet,” Hitomi offered as she flagged down the harried young server and motioned to Ranko's empty glass for another round. “He followed us over from the hotel. Don't blame the big lug for trying. He's just worried about ’cha. We all are, Ran-chan. This doom-and-gloom thing isn't you.”
Maybe not lately, Ranko mused spitefully. Not since Mom and the girls fucking fixed me. Because they didn’t let me down, like I’m doing to them right now. She looked up as the server brought her a fresh margarita, nodding her wordless thanks. Ranko had ordered the first one by pointing at a picture; the server spoke neither Japanese nor English.
“Ranko, listen,” Emi said softly. “You’re making it. Your sisters and your mom don’t hold that against you - if anything, they probably all wish they had their own things going right now to fall back on, too. Look at how supportive they’ve all been of Izumi since she started doing more fashion stuff and cutting back her hours at the Phoenix. I wasn’t there, but from what I know of Hana, I bet your mom didn’t do all that work to help you and your sisters get right because she wanted you all trapped in that bar until you’re old and gray. She wanted to get you ready to have your life, and honey, you’re living it.”
As Emi spoke, Hitomi grinned brightly and slipped out of the booth, walking over to a computer set up in a little kiosk near the stage and beginning to fiddle with it.
Ranko scoffed. “I didn’t grow up dreaming of being a singer, Ems. I grew up just hoping… I dunno. I grew up without much hope, honestly. But right now, I just wish I could make things bet…”
The remainder of Ranko’s sentence was drowned out by a singing voice blasting from the stage through the bar’s sound system. Surprisingly, the lyrics were in English, and they were sung over no music.
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“Whoa-oh-oh, uh-oh! Look out, look out!”
Ranko rolled her eyes, turning in the booth to look at Hitomi. Unlike most Japanese karaoke bars, there was a singular stage at the back of the bar, not dissimilar from that at the Phoenix. A few of the revelers, out for a drink on a Saturday night, turned to look. How many watched because of Hitomi’s singing voice, and how many because of her green microdress, Ranko was unsure. “What the hell is she doing?”
Emi beamed with her girlfriend’s unspoken suggestion. “Looks like she’s having fun.”
“Whoa-uh-oh! Uh-oh! She’s gonna make you shout!”
Emi darted up to the stage, reaching under the kiosk where Hitomi had selected the song. As Hitomi continued the leadup and the music began, she returned to Ranko’s table with two wireless microphones in her arms, stuffing one into her friend’s hand.
“No way. I’m not doing this,” Ranko said, glowering at Emi. “This is dumb.”
“Maybe,” Emi said with a shrug. “But you’re gonna make me and ‘Tomi look like assholes when we’re just standing there and nobody’s spitting the fire.” She looked Ranko dead in the eyes as she leveled her microphone to her lips.
“Whoa-oh-oh, uh-oh! Beware the flow.”
Ranko sighed in resignation. “I fucking hate you, Kimoto.” The slightly inebriated redhead pushed her friend out of the way, taking a moment for her equilibrium to adjust to her body going vertical for the first time in nearly three hours.
Emi squeezed Ranko’s hand in reassurance as she looked down at the shorter girl with a confident smile. “Whoa-oh-oh! Uh-oh! Turn off the ra-a-di-o.”
Ranko raised the microphone as the music from the karaoke system began, the head of it almost disappearing into the shroud of her pastel blue hood. With one more heavy sigh, she parted her lips and let instinct take over, beginning the first verse of Demon in Your Radio as she still leaned on the divider between her booth and the one behind.
“It’s the legendary lyricist, the Phoenix rose! I’m here to shake your body from your hair down to your toes! It starts in your ears and flows down your spine, works its way into your hips until it makes you mine. Oozes down into your heart and it infects your soul, until your whole, entire body starts to lose control. ‘Cause the second you start hearing my hypnotic groove, you’ll forget how to think, and you can only…”
Ranko, Emi and Hitomi all shouted the final word at once, for want of a Shinji to add gravitas to it.
“Move!”
As they did, Emi reached up behind Ranko, snatching the hood of her sweatshirt and yanking it down to reveal her friend’s face to the crowd. Ranko turned with wide eyes to Emi, a what the hell are you doing expression in her eyes.
In the back corner of the bar, a wide grin crossed the lips of an amused American. Genius, Lance thought. He stepped forward, leaning over a round table where three young women were drinking, none of them paying attention to the trio of singers. “Adakah itu dia?!”
The women blinked in surprise: first at being accosted by a stranger, then by an American speaking Malay, and thirdly by what he had actually said. Their eyes followed Lance’s arm, and widened in shock at the sight of a bona fide Japanese pop star covering her own song in the middle of a dive bar in Kuala Lumpur. “Adakah itu dia?!”
Emi took Ranko by the hand, dragging her toward the stage to join Hitomi. As they moved, Ranko continued the first verse. Lance, meanwhile, moved through the crowd, stopping periodically whenever he saw a distracted group of people, always asking the same question. “Adakah itu dia?!” Invariably, it invited a quizzical inspection, first of Lance, and then of Ranko. Momentarily, the realization would set in, and another group of people was ensorcelled by the song, just the English lyrics they might not necessarily have understood predicted they would be.
“Don’t be shy! Everyone knows you can’t help but lose it when your system’s overridden by the sound of music. It’s not your fault; nobody can maintain their focus when they’re sucked into the Dragon-style hocus-pocus!”
Least of all, a certain young redhead who had previously been intently focusing on her own troubles. She found herself entirely unable to continue doing so as awareness of her presence spread through the narrow little watering hole. In that moment, there was only a crowd and a microphone.
“La adalah dia!” The bartender gasped, covering his mouth with both of his hands.
The energy in the bar was palpable as word spread to every booth and table, and in moments, every eye was fixated on the stage. Lance grinned from ear-to-ear, watching his young, despondent friend come alive at the sight of a welcoming crowd. All it had taken was the simplest of questions: is that her? He strode over toward the front of the stage through the deepening crowd, making a quick stop at the karaoke station.
“You can’t help but dance! There’s no time to rest! There’s a siren on the mic that’s making you possessed! There’s nowhere to hide! Nowhere to go! No escaping from the demon in your ra-a-d-io!”
Ranko expected the title of the song to lack impact without Shinji’s booming bass to back her, but she found a more than satisfactory substitute in the mountain of an American that had collected a fourth wireless microphone from the charging stand under the song selection computer.
----------------------------------------
“Good night, Lance!” Hitomi giggled drunkenly as she waved to their friend and de facto bodyguard, stumbling into her hotel room and leaning on Emi for support.
Ranko waved as Hitomi slumped onto an ottoman near the front door to begin unstrapping her heels. “Night, you two! And hey… thanks for tonight. Really.”
“Don’t mention it, Ran-chan. That’s what friends are for. G’night, hon,” Emi replied with a wave, having already unzipped the back of her dress as Lance pulled the door closed respectfully.
The redhead turned her back to the door, stepping forward to her own room across the hall. It took her a few tries to fit her key into the lock, as she herself was more than a little inebriated, but Lance steadied her until she got the door open.
“Good night, Ranko,” Lance said gently, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders.
Ranko purred at the feel of a hug, resting her temple on his chest for just a moment as she was embraced. “G’night, Lance. Thanks for coming with us tonight.”
Lance nodded, squeezing her tighter against his ribs. “Anytime, Ran-chan. Rest well. You gotta have your game face on tomorrow. Stadium Merdeka waits for no one.”
“Mm-hmm.” As she was released from the hug, Ranko walked into her darkened hotel room, leaning on the wall a bit to help retain her balance. Lance gently pulled her door closed behind her, leaving Ranko alone to fumble for the switch at the neck of the lamp on the bedside table. Her fingers eventually found it, and she plopped heavily onto the bed, wincing a bit. Awww, man! More scratchy sheets. I gotta start bringing my own set on tour. Stupid fucking Cat’s Tongue.
She glanced at the phone on her nightstand, and then the clock radio next to it. Can’t call Akane. They’re an hour behind us, so she’ll still be at the bar. Sighing, she rubbed her temples, all of her worries and regrets about her family’s predicament flooding back into her mind at the thought of the Phoenix.
What are we gonna do?!
She curled up on the bed, curling her knees around Starlight as she sniffled a little at the haunting memory of nights spent sleeping in train stations or parks without nothing but her growling stomach for company. It’s all gonna be gone. And if the girls don’t find new jobs soon… I can’t let that happen to them. Not for one second. I refuse. There’s gotta be a way to fix this.
Ranko played with Starlight’s pink mane idly in her fingers as she racked her brain. If Nabiki can’t figure out the contract stuff, nobody can. Sakura’s working on finding a new place, but they don’t have the money.
I could do another fundraiser show, like I did the first Christmas party, Ranko thought. But it wouldn’t raise anywhere near enough to get a new place. I’d need a way bigger venue, and there’s no way I can get one in three days when I get home. I doubt I could even get one in time if I went to the airport right now. Fuck! I need more time!
She rolled over on the bed, reaching for her nightstand again, and taking the small framed photo she carried with her on tour in her hand. It featured all of her sisters, Hana and Akane, all hugging Ranko in front of the temporary stage they’d constructed outside the Phoenix for the performance celebrating the release of Phoenix Rising.
I love that bar. I love every fucking millimeter of it. It’s my home. But it’s not home because of the wood and concrete. It’s home because of them. Maybe I can’t save the bar, but I have to at least save them. They’d probably be okay if they just had a few more months. Some way to survive until we figure out what to do. If I could, I’d give them every single yen from this tour to keep them going until they get back on their feet. But I won’t even freakin’ get it until it’s too late. I wish I could just fast-forward the checks, someh…
Ranko sat up bolt-straight in her bed, barely catching Starlight before the stuffed unicorn could fall off the mattress to the rough berber carpeting. She rocketed to her feet, taking one step and toppling over onto her right knee and hip. Whoa. I had one too many margaritas, Ranko thought with a blush as she crawled the last meter to the chair where her purse lay. And after that, I had some more margaritas. Fuckin’ Hitomi drinks like a fish.
She pulled her bag open, fumbling in the dim until she found a small black address book. Rolling to her backside, she climbed back to her feet, walking more carefully to her nightstand and snatching up the telephone receiver. It took her a few moments to flip through the book until she found the number she sought, but she eventually did and began to dial it.
“Please leave a message after the tone,” the receiver squawked in Japanese, followed by a cheerful electronic beep.
“Hey, Amaya? It’s Ranko. I’m ready to talk. Can you come out here?”