The nervous redhead closed her eyes, resting her head against the gold-colored aluminum of the elevator’s back wall. Fuck, this is stupid.
The elevator’s only occupant looked down at her hands and the green marble floor beyond them, fidgeting with her wedding ring. Her mind raced, desperately trying to cobble together another elaborate labyrinth of lies and explanations. Another pile of excuses and half-truths designed to obscure a reality that there was nothing wrong with in the first place.
I love a woman, and she loves me, and we promised each other forever.
Maybe it won’t come up, Ranko hoped, though she knew in her heart of hearts that the likelihood of such an outcome was minimal at best. I’ll just ask Amaya for help, woman to woman. She’s always been reasonable. I’m not asking for anything they don’t owe me anyway. This should be no big deal.
So focused was she on her own thoughts that the sudden stop of the elevator and the downward force pressing her legs toward the floor startled her. She looked up as the loud ding from overhead indicated the little cubicle’s arrival in the lobby on the first floor of the Singapore Grande Plaza hotel. The expansive lobby looked almost regal in its scope, as the Grande Plaza was easily the nicest hotel Ranko and her bandmates had stayed in since leaving Japan two and a half weeks prior. Nothing like that shithole they put us in back in Malaysia, Ranko thought as her white chunky heels clacked across the reflective white marble floor.
She approached the front desk, a long cherry wood counter with a brass rail around the front of it. Disregarding the elegant surroundings and the four men spaced out behind the counter in red jackets over crisp white shirts with black bow ties, the counter almost reminded Ranko of the bar back home in the Phoenix. She shook her head, sighing. Except it’s not gonna be home anymore. She stomped her right heel once against the floor, trying to vent her frustration at the situation. I gotta stay cool. I can’t look too desperate, even if I am. Ranko swayed impatiently on her heels while the middle-aged woman in front of her got her questions answered, stepping up to the second attendant from the right once it was her turn. He could not have been more than two or three years Ranko’s senior, and he was objectively handsome.
Man, how much easier my life would be sometimes if I could just think somebody like that was cute, Ranko thought grimly. The musing reminded her of yet another thing that had been worrying her a lot of late, and it roiled her empty stomach somewhat. Can’t go down that rabbit hole right now. I’ve got my hands full as it is. Dial it in, Ran-chan.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the attendant began in English with a warm hospitality smile. “How can we help you today?”
Ranko bit her lip nervously, not with worry about the conversation she was having, but the one she was asking for directions to. “Hi. I’m looking for the Palm Conference Room, please? I have a 9:30 meeting.”
With a nod and a smile, the hotel concierge gestured to his left. “Of course! It’s just right down there, past the elevator, second door on your left. Would you like me to show you?”
The redhead shook her head, her hair tickling her back above the square neckline of her dress. “No, thank you. I got it. Thanks!”
I swear, they book these things early just to screw with me, Ranko thought as she followed the directions she’d been given. Another thing they do to throw people off, like keeping the rooms cold and making people wait. They know we were out until two in the morning at the show. She yawned widely just at the thought of how exhausted she was. Not that I’ve been able to sleep since Medan, anyway. She found the door the concierge directed her to, confirming that the frosted glass plaque mounted to the wall next to it did in fact read Palm Conference Room.
Ranko looked around the cramped, windowless hotel meeting room, her hands shaking. She spied her reflection in the glass of a small side table, regretting that she had packed none of her more professional outfits when she'd left home. Gotta do the best I can with what I got with me, she thought, smoothing her mint green lace dress and adjusting her breasts in her bra. Somehow, I don't think my outfit’s what Nabiki's gonna be pissed about when she finds out about this. Her red hair flowed mostly loose over her back, with a strand on each side brought to the middle and clipped with a large mint-colored bow on a banana clip to keep it off her shoulders.
The walls were lined with framed paintings of serene beach scenes, but as the young singer stepped into the narrow room, she felt anything but relaxed. Ranko closed the door behind herself and took the middle of three wheeled leather chairs on the left side of the long, polished cherry wood conference table. None of the other chairs were as yet occupied. There's still time to haul ass, she thought as her foot bounced anxiously on the low-pile commercial gray carpeting under the table.
It’ll be fine, she mentally assured herself, grabbing her left wrist around her ever-present silver dragon bracelet and trying in vain to hold her hand still. It’s Amaya. She’s always been reasonable. I’ll just tell her I need a little help, a little time for my sisters to figure out what to do.
Ranko launched herself out of the chair as she heard the door opening. “Hi, Amay…” Her voice trailed off when a stumpy man in his thirties, wearing a gray suit with a skinny black tie, entered the room.
Oh, fuck.
“Hello, Miss Tendo. It’s good to see you again,” the businessman said. “How’s the tour been going?”
Oh, just fantastic. Just having to watch helplessly from the other side of the freaking ocean as my family fights for survival. No biggie. “Getting along. Looking forward to getting home for a little bit soon. I’ve got… a lot going on with my family right now, Mr. Kondo.”
Kichirou Kondo nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ranko. Truly.”
Yeah, I’m sure you are, asshole, she thought, glowering as she retook her seat. “Where’s Amaya?”
The chubby man closed the oak conference room door behind himself, slipping into the black leather office chair at the near head of the table. “Miss Uyehara… had a scheduling conflict. She won’t be here. You’ll be dealing with me.” He loudly flopped his brown leather briefcase on the table with a loud clap that echoed a bit in the room. The sudden sound made Ranko jump a bit in her chair.
Shit. Shit shit shit. What do I…
“So, Ranko, what did you want to talk about?”
The redhead swallowed hard. Too late to back out now. “Well, um, ya see, it’s like this…” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. Get it together, Ranko.
“As I’m sure you know,” she continued, trying her best to project an entirely false air of confidence, “the band and I haven’t gotten paid for any of the tour stuff yet, and I was hoping we could talk about that.”
Mr. Kondo nodded, unclasping the buckle of his soft-sided briefcase as he listened. “Of course. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get the revenue from the first leg of the tour on your summer payout because we were still sorting out the fallout of the show we canceled in Sydney. Now that we’ve gotten that resolved, you should see your cut of the April and August take on your October check.”
Ranko sighed at the thought. Another two months. Mom and my sisters can’t wait that long, ya jerk. “Wait a minute, how is it fair that I don’t get paid on time because you guys couldn’t get your act together?”
“An… unfortunate reality in business sometimes, Miss Tendo. Sometimes, what’s fair takes a back seat to what’s practical. You’ll get every yen of what you’re owed soon enough.” Go on, kid, the eager executive thought. You wouldn’t have called us if you weren’t desperate for some reason or another. Admit it.
“Let me ask you something,” Ranko pressed. “Most of the shows on the rest of this trip are sold out, right? And what about the December shows?”
“Just a moment,” the businessman said. “I’ve got that data here somewhere…” He flipped through a few papers he’d extracted from his satchel, stopping on a page about a third of the way through the pile. “Ah! Here we go. Looks like for August… both Singapore shows and Bangkok are sold out, and Hanoi and Phnom Penh are at about eighty percent. As for December…” He flipped to the next page. “All the major shows are full: Beijing, Shanghai, Shenzhen, Hong Kong, Taipei, Seoul, and the Christmas show in Tokyo. Sapporo’s pretty close, Xi’an, too. The Chengdu show’s not doing as well; we’re only at about sixty percent on that one. I’m honestly not sure who thought it was a good idea to book that one, out in the middle of nowhere like that.”
Funny story about that, Ranko thought. Let’s just say me and northwestern China got a little bit of personal history to talk through. She allowed herself a brief smile, remembering the shock she’d received the morning of her wedding when her father’s mean-spirited attempt to force her to retake her old masculine form had failed. I’m not going to Chengdu for money, dude. I’m going there for answers.
“Okay then, so, what I’m hearing is, you guys have made pretty much all the money you’re gonna make on ticket sales, right? I mean, there’s merch, stuff like that, but you’ve already gotten paid for all that, right?” Ranko sat up in her seat, hoping to press her advantage.
Mr. Kondo nodded. “That seems to be a fair assessment, yeah. What are you thinking?”
Just think like Nabiki, and you’ll be fine, Ranko. Business is just like martial arts. Just like dis tracks. Look for a weak spot, and when you find it, attack without mercy. “I mean, it hardly seems fair that you guys got paid for these shows months ago, and I have to wait until they’ve already happened. Shouldn’t my checks have our percentage of whatever money Yokai took in on our stuff, regardless of when the actual shows are?”
“One problem with that argument, Miss Tendo. What happens when you don’t show up to a show at the last minute, like you did in Sydney, and we have to give everyone their money back? We have to ensure you’re actually going to perform.” The middle-aged man interlaced his fingers atop his stack of papers, a confident smirk crossing his face.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The redhead’s muscles stiffened in fury. How fucking dare he… He knows what happened! Deep breath, Ranko. Deep breath. We tried the viper approach, and we haven’t gotten anywhere. Now we need the orchid.
“With respect, sir, my mother was on death’s door. I had no choice but to come home. I would think if it were one of your parents, you’d have reacted the same way. It’s not the kind of thing I would expect to come up often. Plus, Yokai’s got insurance against that stuff; Nabiki explained everything to me and to Amaya.”
Kichirou Kondo chuckled, an almost hopeful sneer crossing his face. It disquieted Ranko greatly. Oh, kid, you have no idea how happy I’d be if my old man would kick the bucket. All of this is gonna be mine the second he does. But honestly, I don’t think I have to wait that long. He’s old, he’s tired, and his time is past. All I’ve gotta do is break the wildest horse in the stable, and he’ll get out of the way. His golden girl Uyehara couldn’t do it, but once I do, he’ll have no choice but to admit I’m ready to take over.
The son of the Yokai Records CEO shrugged. “Be that as it may, those are, in fact, the terms you and your representation agreed to. I’ve got a copy of the tour contract here, if you need to reference it.” The shift in his tone of voice when he referenced Nabiki positively dripped with disgust. Big sister’s not here to protect you now, is she, girlie?
“I know what it says. I just… I was hoping we could change it. And I’m willing to make a trade for it.” Ranko fidgeted in her seat, despite her best efforts not to. “I want all the money we’re going to get for the tour, up front, right now. Every yen we’re owed on all the tickets for the whole tour you’ve sold so far, plus our cut of the merch sales through Sunday’s show in Malaysia. In return, you get to keep our cut of anything you make on merch and tickets we sell after today, for the rest of the tour.”
Gotcha, the record executive thought, a dark joy in his heart. Nobody asks for a lump sum of money unless they’re hurting right now. What was that you said in Rise, Ranko? ‘One knee on the ground?’ “That’s an awfully big thing to ask out of the blue like this, Ranko. Are you sure you’re alright?”
He spoke with concern in his voice, but Ranko easily detected its falsehood from across the table. It disgusted her. At least if he was showing no emotion, she could have chalked it up to a stoic demeanor. His obvious mockery made it abundantly clear to Ranko that he spared no thought for whatever crisis might have made her desperate enough to summon her record label’s top executives from Tokyo to Singapore on three days’ notice.
He knows that I’m in trouble, and he clearly doesn’t give a shit. And that means I’m in even bigger trouble. Fuck!
“I’m… fine. I just… got some things I wanna do, and want a little more up-front cash, that’s all.” Ranko looked down at her hands. However much everybody says I’m a good actor, when it comes to shit I really care about, I can’t fake it for shit. He’s fucking got me, and he knows it.
Mr. Kondo nodded. “Well, I’m certainly glad to hear there’s nothing to worry about. After all, you’re Yokai’s top star! I think we’ll be able to help you out, Ranko. Your request seems more than reasonable. I’ll just need to go to the hotel’s business center and type up a contract amendment real quick, and we can sign it over lunch. There’s a wonderful steakhouse on the roof of the hotel that makes these amazing little cheese tart things. My treat.”
Wait… really? That was too easy, Ranko thought skeptically. What’s the catch? “Um.. sure? Sounds good.”
“Fantastic! There’s just one more thing we’ll have to handle, and we’ll be all set,” the executive said, sitting forward in his chair and resting his forearms on the table.
Aaand, here comes the anvil, Ranko fretted. “Y… yeah?”
Mr. Kondo eagerly reached into his briefcase, pulling out an ivory packet of paper. It was only two pages, clipped together with a staple in the corner. “Here’s the thing, Ranko. I know you’ve been with Yokai for a long time now, and our relationship has been wonderful. We, of course, don’t want to do anything to disrupt that. But, well, we have a certain image we want to maintain - a brand identity, if you will, and it’s very important to our company leadership team.”
Ranko swallowed hard. “The code of conduct?”
“Yeah.” He slid the pair of papers across the glossy polished tabletop to the young singer. “Our challenge is, all of our other artists have signed, and some of them have started to express frustration with the fact that you haven’t. It’s just not fair to have rules for them, and not for you, ya know? If Yokai signs another contract with you, even something as small as an amendment like this, and we don’t have this in hand, it’s an indication that we’ve endorsed your continuing to be above the rules, and we’ll have a riot on our hands. It’s nothing personal, and I mean, it’s nothing we haven’t already asked you to do from the beginning. We’re just putting it in writing. So, as long as you’ve been a good girl, really, nothing’s changing, right? It’s just a formality.”
Don’t you fucking dare call me that, you jerk. Only Akane and Mom get to call me that. With trembling fingers, she picked up the contract and began to read down the bullet points. It hadn’t changed in any way she immediately noticed from the one she and Nabiki had crumpled up on an eastbound train months ago.
No illegal drugs. Shinji might not be too thrilled with that one, but I think I’d be okay.
No getting arrested. Biggest worry about that is Hitomi and Emi making out in public somewhere and causing a scene, or having a fight in the middle of downtown if Ryoga or somebody shows up. No worries there.
She managed a nervous chuckle at the third bullet point, which had been entirely struck out with a blue ballpoint pen. “I see you guys gave up on the no cuss words in lyrics clause, huh?”
“Yeah. We figured with you, that ship has pretty much sailed,” the businessman answered matter-of-factly.
Hey, maybe they’re gonna be reasonable after all. Her eyes fell to the next bullet point. Well, this hardly seems like the sort of thing they should get to control. I mean, it’s the last thing on Earth I wanna do anyway, but…
“Really, dude?!” Ranko held up the paper for him to see, pointing to the fourth bullet. “No getting pregnant?! How is that any of Yokai’s business?”
Mr. Kondo scoffed a bit. “It doesn’t say you can’t, just that we want you to let us know in advance if you’re thinking about doing it. Imagine if you turned up pregnant right now and surprised us with it. What would that do to the December shows? It’s purely about protecting our scheduling interests.”
I’ll tell you where you can stick your scheduling interests. You just wanna control a girl’s body, you skeezy prick. At least have the balls to admit it. Before Ranko could swallow her disgust, her eyes reached the final bullet point, and her heart sank into the thick white heels that had not stopped bouncing with anxiety for the last twenty minutes.
Performer agrees not to engage in romantic and/or sexual relationships with individuals of the same sex.
The businessman across the table from her sat up bolt-straight, carefully scrutinizing her body language as she slumped back in her chair. Wow. That’s the one she was worried about? I would have thought for sure it would have been the drugs. Well, isn’t that interesting?!
Ranko’s voice was hollow and distant when she finally found the wherewithal to speak. “I want an exemption on this whole contract for my team. All of them. Everybody in the band, Hitomi, Emi, Ariel, and everybody you guys hired for the tour. No exceptions. Period.”
Mr. Kondo grinned like the cat that ate the canary, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, of course! It wouldn’t be anywhere near as much of a scandal if your drummer or somebody got in trouble somehow, but you’re the face of the band. You understand.” I don’t give a rat’s ass what they do, or what you do, for that matter. Just that I can show Father I brought you to heel when no one else could.
The redhead nodded gratefully. At least I don’t have to sell Emi, Hitomi, Ken, and Zoe down the river. That’s gotta count for something.
Ranko bit her lip, setting the paper down on the table. If I’m holding a big white thing, it’ll be easier for him to see how bad my hands are shaking. She looked away from the paper, and from her negotiating adversary, gazing up at one of the beach scenes in the paintings lining the walls. Her mind raced back to Akane, and to their argument in a Hawaiian hotel room with a similar view. You thought you hated me before, Akane? If I do this…
All I gotta do is write my name, and Mom and my sisters will be safe. I bet I’ll be able to pay all their bills ‘til at least Christmas. Maybe even longer. Plenty of time to figure out what to do next. Her eyes fell to the tabletop, and to her left hand laying atop the paperwork. The word relationships in the fifth paragraph was mostly obscured by her third finger, bearing her custom-engraved wedding ring.
Like he said. This isn’t really changing anything. They always told me I had to play it straight. I was lying before, and it’s been stressful, but it’s working. I’m not betraying Akane. I’m not.
She tore her eyes away from her wedding ring. She couldn’t bear to look at it. It only amplified her shame. Who am I kidding? Yes I am. I write my name on that paper, and I’m legally swearing I’ll never love her. It’s a lie, but it doesn’t matter. I’m telling the whole world that I agree with the idea that it’s wrong for me to love her. But, I don’t write my name… and my whole family starves.
Ranko slammed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She prayed for just a five minute respite from the dread scene playing out in her mind, of Hana and Mei huddled together in the snow for warmth with nowhere to go. It had been on repeat in her imagination every waking moment of the last eight days. I can't let them go through what I went through. They won't survive it. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have survived it, and I was used to living rough already from Pop.
“Are you alright, Ranko? Do you have any questions?” The confident brute of a businessman snickered victoriously. “I’ll certainly understand if you need a little time to discuss the details with your sister… or with your husband.”
You’re a real son of a bitch, Kondo, putting me in this position. And you’re fucking enjoying it! Ranko glared hatefully across the table at the smug expression painted across her adversary’s face.
I will never forgive you for this, Kondo.
Her eyes darted down at the sound of metal clattering across the tabletop, as the shiny gold pen Mr. Kondo slid across the table rattled to a rest atop the dread paperwork. Even the little snow-capped mountain logo at the end of the pen’s cap seemed to mock her. It evoked imagery of the highest points in the world, even as the act it expected her to undertake made her feel at its lowest.
I’m so sorry, Akane, Ranko thought, her heart wracked with despair. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could go on that stage tonight, and every night for the rest of my life, and tell them nobody in the whole world has ever loved someone as much as I love you. It’s not fucking fair. This feels as scummy as two-timing on you would. She swallowed hard at the intrusive thought she willed herself not to fixate on.
But, they saved my life, Akane. All of them. Mom, Aya, Yui, Izzi, and Mei. I owe them everything. Without them, I’d have nothing. I’d be nothing. So, honor and gratitude demand that now, when the chips are down, I have to be willing to sell everything I have to keep them safe.
With a quaking left hand, Ranko reached down for the pen.
Including my soul.