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Chapter 1: The Rule of the Idol 1 THE RULE OF THE IDOL
AS THE WIND was blowing, I pulled the collar of my coat tighter.
Dropping my eyes from the sky, I noticed a boy standing beside me on the tree-lined street that until now had been totally empty.
“Manami Hirase?”
Surprised to hear my name, my reply got caught in my throat. I tried to say, “Yes, that’s me,” but instead took a sharp breath, causing the boy to step back.
I’d never got off the train before at this station on the Toei Shinjuku Line. Exit three, as I was told. The fast-food restaurant beside the station exit was dark, maybe because there were too few customers in a business district on a Sunday. It was also the only real landmark in the area. I’d been watching cars whiz past on the main road for a while now.
Wait, when did he get here?
“Yes, that’s me...”
I’d been waiting in this spot for the past half hour. But the person I’d been on the lookout for, the person I imagined I’d be meeting today, was much older.
I looked closely at the boy. I thought for a moment that he might have brought somebody with him, but he appeared to be alone.
Was he about high-school age? He held a tattered notebook in one hand, and had the air of a cool, hip kid. His hair wasn’t dyed, and he had no piercings, but something about his face and build made him seem more refined than the boys from my own high-school days.
He was lean and tall. His navy duffel coat was lined with chic checkered material at the cuffs and hood and had leather patches on the shoulders. It looked like it could be a designer coat. He was the kind of boy I could never go up to, if we were the same age.
“Um.”
My words froze on the tip of my tongue.
“Shall we go?” he said.
I was still trying to wrap my head around the situation. As the boy started walking off, I said, “Um, are you standing in for someone? I—”
“I’m the go-between.”
He turned toward me with a slightly exasperated look.
“I’m not a stand-in. I’m the go-between. You’ll be talking to me.”
“I—I heard that you could arrange meetings.”
“I can,” the boy said as he tried to put the notebook into his shoulder bag. The bag, the coat. Everything he wore was effortless and stylish, suggesting “city boy.” Only the tatty notebook in his hand seemed out of place.
“I bring together the living and the departed,” he said in a solemn voice, enunciating his words. “I am the go-between.”
I listened in a daze to the echo of his words, canceling out the noise around us, including the cars zooming past.
HE LED ME to a large hospital about a ten-minute walk away from our meeting spot. Was it newly built? There were no visible marks on the cream-colored walls and floors; it all felt bright and airy.
But why a hospital? Was somebody staying here, and was he taking me to see them? I was full of questions that I was too scared to ask, so I kept my mouth shut.
This being a Sunday, the place was brimming with visitors. A young couple with a child, a group of chatty teens who were maybe visiting a friend. Wading through the crowd, I thought about how we must look together and felt increasingly self-conscious. A good-looking teenager who I was sure would fall in the “hot” category in the eyes of his peers, walking next to a plain woman about ten years his senior. I was still in my twenties, but to him I was probably as good as middle-aged. Mature was the word people often used to describe me, a term disguised as a compliment that only reminded me that I looked old for my age.
He led me down a hallway that smelled of medicines and sanitizer. Moving confidently, as if he owned the place, he made his way into the cafeteria. One wall had floor-to-ceiling windows, and at the far end was a door leading out to a courtyard. Through the window, I could see patients dressed in blue gowns on their outdoor strolls. Some were accompanied by visitors, others sat alone in their wheelchairs.
“Will this spot work for you?”
There was a chill in the air, but the sun kept me from feeling too cold. “Yes,” I nodded.
I took a seat on an empty bench while the boy went back into the cafeteria, returning moments later with a paper cup in each hand.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a lightly colored green tea. I turned toward the cafeteria and saw a free tea dispenser inside.
“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. A hospital courtyard and self-service tea were not what I’d pictured when I thought about a meeting with the go-between.
I was wearing a cheap tweed suit I’d bought for formal events at work. Thinking about the fancy outfit I had on under my black coat, I felt both relieved and a touch deflated. I’d fished it out from the back of the closet today, figuring it would be appropriate for any five-star restaurant setting.
“How did you hear about the go-between?”
He didn’t sit down, instead resting one foot on the low fence in front of the lawn. His eyes were boring into me, making me shrink even further. I instinctively averted my gaze and then, realizing I hadn’t looked anybody in the eye recently, felt myself flushing from the neck up.
“It was online. I met some people who introduced me to some other people, and then some others, and so on.”
My online acquaintances said I wouldn’t need to give specifics, and the boy didn’t ask any more.
I took a deep breath.
I’d jumped through hoops to get to where I was today, spending more money than I’d expected to along the way. I’d been swindled out of cash because I couldn’t tell the authentic sources from the fakes. Though the question of legitimacy still loomed, this was the first time I’d been able to get the go-between’s contact information at all. If the boy in front of me was, in fact, the real thing, I’d attribute it to luck and nothing more. Half of me had been ready to throw in the towel and the other half had thought, whatever, who cares if it’s a scam. Sandwiched in the crevices between the two urges was a part of me that wanted to believe.
“I thought you were some kind of urban legend,” I said, and he glanced over at me as he blew on his drink. Seeing that the tea was as hot for him as it was for me made him seem human. “I didn’t think I’d actually get to meet you.”
“How familiar are you with the rules?”
There was a mysterious calm to the boy’s voice, making me feel like I was the younger of the two. I felt my confidence wane again.
But I’d already come this far.
“I get the gist of them. But, um, is it true? That you can talk to people who have died?”
“I can bring them to you,” he said shortly. He sounded almost impatient. “If you’re picturing something like the mediums of Mount Osore, you’d be wrong. I don’t let dead spirits possess my body or receive messages to pass on. I set up a meeting between you and the deceased person you wish to see. I’m strictly the go-between.”
“That’s what I’ve heard. Some people say you’re a famous organization that goes way back?”
“Organization,” he mumbled to himself.
Was I totally off-base? But the boy didn’t seem put out.
“You’re not...?”
“Let’s stick to the facts. First, the go-between receives a request from a living person, someone like you. You tell me about the person in your life who has passed away. I take your request back with me and present it to the departed. I confirm whether they’re interested in seeing you as well. If they give their consent, I set up the meeting.”
“Right.”
That was the work of a go-between.
I wondered how long they’d been around. When I first heard about them, I remember thinking that they did sound a lot like the Mount Osore mediums the boy had just mentioned.
I’d heard numerous accounts of big-name politicians getting advice from notable historical figures with the help of a go-between, and celebrities having teary encounters with friends who’d died too young. Stories like those were passed from person to person like fairy tales for adults—no doubt laughed off by many. But for those in the know, the go-between was a normal presence, about as common as rumors of moguls and stars paying large amounts of money to keep a psychic or astrologer on hand.
Whether somebody can find their way to a go-between depends on three factors. One, that you know they exist, two, that you believe they exist, and three, luck.
“What exactly does it mean for you to ‘set up a meeting’”
He looked at me as if to say, You came to me without even knowing that?
“I mean, once somebody has died,” I said, “they no longer exist as physical bodies, obviously. And if the funeral is over, they’ve been cremated and buried.”
“They will appear looking as they did in life.”
He placed his paper cup on the bench and took out the notebook again. Lowering his gaze, he started to explain as if reading off the page.
“The spirit of the deceased is permitted to take on a physical form when in the meeting location designated by the go-between. The living person can see them, of course, and also reach out to touch them.”
“I can’t believe it,” I whispered. He shot me another look. “How is that possible?”
“Isn’t that why you came to me?” His voice grew sharper. “Why do you need to know how it works? You get to see this person. You’ll meet face-to-face and be able to talk to them directly. What more do you need?”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it. Our world connecting with... the other one.”
“You make your request and I do my part to relay it. Whether the spirit accepts is not up to me, but I will negotiate to the best of my ability.”
He continued to speak in a dry bureaucratic tone. Maybe the designer coat and young appearance were all part of a disguise. Weren’t grim reapers on TV shows and in movies often portrayed as good-looking people?
“OK,” I said.
He looked at his notebook. “So let’s get started. Please tell me the name of the person you want to see and the date they passed away.”
“Saori Mizushiro,” I said, and he looked up at me. I couldn’t make out any emotion in his eyes, but if he wasn’t actually a reaper and was a living, breathing citizen of this country like me, he had to know exactly who she was, and the circumstances surrounding her death.
“She passed away three months ago on August 5th. The cause of death was a heart attack. But she had no history of illness and appeared healthy up to the day before she died. She was found in her home by her manager, who’d gone to pick her up. That’s according to the talk shows and tabloids anyway.”
As I spoke, I wondered how many people had come to the boy with requests to see Saori. I thought of the countless tributes and feature articles with headlines like Japan Says Goodbye to a Beloved Icon that had flooded the airwaves and the internet for a month after she died.
I FIRST READ about Saori Mizushiro’s death on the front page of an online news site. It was during my lunch break at the office. I was eating my bento with my laptop open in front of me.
Work had been relentless, the stream of random tasks never-ending, and time seemed to get sucked into a vacuum. My eyes were skimming over the words onscreen without actually taking in any information. I scrolled down the list of news articles, scanning and clicking the headlines that caught my attention.
When I got to those words, I froze.
Saori Mizushiro Dies Suddenly
I couldn’t click on the link.
It was impossible to connect the popular personality known for her candid, straight-talking ways with the image of death. This had to be some kind of mistake.
A former hostess at a cabaret nightclub, Saori Mizushiro didn’t hide her past but made it her trademark, entertaining audiences and sprinkling stories with racy jokes. She spoke with a frankness that washed away any trace of vulgarity. She was known not only for her bold clothes and makeup but for her tough and sassy comebacks, and at the height of her popularity, the city was filled with young women who dressed like her.
She’d say things like, “You know me, dumb and uncultured! I have friends and allies, though, lots of people on my side.”
Famous friends were always singing her praises, saying how gracious and polite she was in person. They said she hated dishonesty. And that she was shy in real life, especially when it came to love.
She made regular appearances as a commentator on talk shows, and her unusual background only helped to boost her popularity with viewers, young and old, who affectionately called her Sao-chan. She spoke her mind and was unwavering in her views, but never said anything to hurt or offend anybody. Her sharp intuition and quick wit on quiz shows demonstrated her intelligence, regardless of her background.
And now she was gone. She was thirty-eight. Eleven years older than me. Which meant I’d been seeing her on TV since I was a teenager.
Her death had been unexpected, and so rumors swirled around the possibility of suicide or a drug-related incident. The press and viewers said “heart attack” didn’t help to clarify what had led to the condition in the first place. What dark secrets had she been hiding behind that sunny onscreen smile? The media dug up her past and aired it eagerly as if to say, Hey, who’s going to stop us?
But all those so-called truths were baseless and unwarranted. For somebody with such a colorful history, she surprisingly had zero ties to the underground world often associated with show business.
She dropped by wrap parties and cocktail events to say hello but never got drunk, and she spent most of her time off alone. She was virtuosic in her ability to liven up a conversation by expanding on somebody’s story, making others look good, teasing them affectionately, but she rarely talked about herself. She sometimes remarked on the rough day-to-day life of a cabaret hostess or creepy customers she’d encountered back then, but she never talked about her life growing up, before she started working.
Only after her death did the public learn about her parents’ divorce, her difficult upbringing, and the hardships endured in her teenage years. So devastating, people said. She was abused by her stepfather as a child and lost the hearing in her left ear. She began working as a bar hostess in order to convince her mother to leave him—she would provide financial support. Aside from her management agency and closest friends, nobody knew that she had virtually no hearing in one ear. She hid it to avoid causing problems on set. Past footage played on a loop showed her leaning to the right to hear whoever was speaking.
Making her debut appearance on a late-night TV show in her early twenties, she went on to spend seventeen years in the entertainment business. She was surrounded by friends and adored by industry veterans, but there were no whispers or reports of romantic involvements with anybody.
“Oh, I have my fun. I’m just good at hiding it!” she said.
Her long hair, bronzed skin, and sweeping lashes were slightly outdated but iconic, the standard for Harajuku-inspired gals everywhere. No matter her age, Saori was young and beautiful.
“Oh my god! I just saw on my phone that Saori Mizushiro died! Did you know?”
I sat frozen in front of my computer. It was Yugi’s group. “What?! Are you sure?” The younger staff were all talking over each other.
I glanced at the clock on the office wall. Twelve-thirty. When the girls went out to lunch at a cafe or restaurant, they usually didn’t return before twelve forty-five. They were back early today.
I felt a pang in my chest. I didn’t know if they would walk my way, but I closed the website anyway.
“Oh my god, how depressing. I can’t believe it. I loved her!”
“Right? Me too.”
I shut my bento box and stood up to go to the ladies’ room to brush my teeth. I pulled my lips closed. Making sure I didn’t accidentally meet anybody’s gaze, I thought, Me too. I pictured the perfume bottle I kept in the locked bottom drawer of my desk. It smelled like roses.
Saori Mizushiro.
I loved her too.
“SHE WAS FOUND dead around ten, the morning of August 5th, and her time of death was estimated to be around sunrise, but she was alone in the apartment after coming home at about nine the night before, which means she could have died late on August 4th. That’s what they said on TV anyway. I can’t say for sure. I’m sorry.”
“You remember?”
“Excuse me?”
“You remember what time she was discovered and her approximate time of death?”
“Uh, yes,” I replied. “I do. I read a lot of articles about it and recorded all the talk shows. They found her lying on the sofa.”
Saori Mizushiro lived alone in an apartment building with good security, but it wasn’t one of those luxury residential towers. Her life was simple and remarkably modest. She hadn’t been seeing anybody at the time.
Three months had passed since an official medical report stated her death was from natural causes, quietening down rumors of suicide or murder. Some fans wouldn’t let go of the possibility that she had taken her own life, but those who knew her said in unison, “She wasn’t an unstable person, and she would never do a thing like that.” There were no traces of drugs in her body.
Celebrity friends mourned her passing, many breaking down in front of the camera to cry out, “Why?!” Her memorial service, organized last month by close peers, was attended by prominent industry figures and a long line of fans wanting to pay their respects.
“She gave me hope,” said a grieving fan who looked like a miniature Saori in her outfit and makeup. “My parents are divorced too, and when I saw on TV that Saori had gone through the same thing but was working to make her life better, I felt seen.”
The go-between boy listened quietly. Her celebrity status didn’t seem to affect him in the least.
He must be inundated with requests from people who’d lost loved ones without being able to say goodbye, everyone desperate for one last meeting. I wondered how often he took on these cases.
He reached into his bag for another notepad. I recognized the brand as one that was sold in convenience stores—not exactly something I expected to see right now. I still couldn’t figure out whether he lived like the rest of us.
“What is your relationship to Saori Mizushiro?”
“I... I’m just a fan.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. I could almost read his thoughts. You’re not even a friend or family member? But he said nothing, maybe because this was his job, maybe because—he just had zero interest.
He jotted my name down as the client, followed by Saori Mizushiro’s name. His handwriting was neither neat nor sloppy—just your everyday teenage scrawl. He noticed me watching and drew the notepad toward him as if to hide it.
“And what is your reason for wanting to see her?”
“I want to thank her. As a fan. Thank her for what she gave me.”
“In a general sense—correct? Are you acquainted with her?”
“No, I’ve never met her.”
With every answer, I wanted to crawl further into a hole. I was just a self-serving fan. I started to think that the only reason I was able to pour everything I had into finding the go-between was because there was no guarantee that it would ever happen.
“Understood,” he said. He returned the notepad to his bag and reached for the old notebook again. “Before we make your request official, there are a few things I need to explain.”
I fidgeted nervously on the bench.
“Once I take your request, I will pass it on to Saori Mizushiro. She has the right to accept or decline. If she says no, then I’m afraid that’s the end of it.”
“OK.”
“Next, the meeting is a one-time event for both the living and the deceased. When a person dies, they can meet with one living person only.”
“What?” I heard myself say. “So if, for example, a friend or family member has already visited her...”
“Then that will be it for Saori Mizushiro. Unfortunately, you will not be able to see her.”
“Oh, OK... I get it.”
I felt my legs go weak, like the rug had been pulled out from under me.
“If the feeling is mutual and the deceased also wants to meet, we can move forward. But sometimes they will refuse, as this is their only chance of a meeting with a living person.”
He took a breath.
“Furthermore, go-betweens cannot take requests from the deceased. We can pass requests from this world to the other world, as you called it. But we’re not able to do the opposite. All the deceased can do is wait. If there is somebody they wish to see, they must wait patiently for that person to request them.”
“OK,” I answered stupidly, his voice flowing in and out of my ears. Why did I think I had a chance? Mine was probably one in a flood of requests to see Saori. And I had no intention of getting in the way of her connecting with somebody she actually wanted to be reunited with.
I came to my senses and the uneasiness re-emerged. The feeling was something close to guilt, like I’d made light of who she was, thinking I could see her just because I was a fan.
The boy flipped a page in his notebook.
“For the deceased, ideally, the person they want to see requests them as well, but if their loved one never appears, they often end up regretting having turned down an earlier request. Anyway, they have to be careful about who they choose to see. As long as you know that.”
“Of course.”
“And the same goes for you.”
He raised his gaze to meet mine.
“Me?”
“Everybody in this world has one opportunity to see someone from the other world. If you meet with Saori Mizushiro now, you will not be able to make any future requests.”
“We have one chance here, and one chance there.”
“Correct. If Saori denies your request, however, it will not be counted against you. The rule applies only when both sides agree and a meeting transpires. If not, you are free to request somebody else.”
When I die, would anybody go to the go-between asking to see me? Who was I kidding? The answer was obvious. In any case, there was nobody I wanted to see besides Saori. That was true now and probably forever.
The conditions were uncompromising but made pretty good sense.
A door that connects this world with that one. If people were allowed easy access to both worlds, they would flock to see the ones they loved. Death would cease to have meaning, which meant living would become meaningless too.
“Saori hasn’t met with anybody yet? But it’s been three months. A lot of people must have come with requests.”
“I’m not at liberty to give out information about other requests.”
Now that I knew this consultation had been in vain, I wanted to try to squeeze at least a little information out of him.
“But if you already know the outcome, why can’t you just tell me? I’ll be on my way once I know that Saori has seen her chosen person and is now resting in peace.”
Inscrutable until then, he furrowed his brow slightly. “Resting in peace?” He gave a slight nod, as if he was agreeing with himself. I might have even caught a small smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
“I’ve not said anything about attaining peace.”
“But that’s what this is, isn’t it? You meet, you find peace, you move on. For the deceased, it means they’re freed from the burdens of this world. Right?”
“I’m not sure. As I said earlier, I can’t explain the inner workings.”
“You’re a little uptight, you know that?”
After seeing that boyish smile, I felt I could speak to him in a lighter tone. But more than that, I felt as though I’d been shaken awake from a dream.
“I really can’t,” he repeated, then met my eyes again. “You’re allowed a meeting with the deceased for one night only. I will speak to her and if she says yes, I’ll specify a time and place. Meetings usually take place from about seven in the evening until the sun rises, which is around six this time of year.”
“Am I allowed to make a request, because I basically have nothing to lose at this point?”
“You are.”
I’d pretty much given up, but did the fact that he hadn’t stopped explaining mean Saori Mizushiro hadn’t seen anyone yet?
Not everybody knew about the go-between, and not everyone believed in their existence. I knew how lucky I was that a series of coincidences had led me to him, but that was because I was a nobody. For influential people in entertainment, politics, and the business world, getting in touch with the go-between was no major thing.
“So, would you like to submit an official request?”
“Yes. I would.”
Simply having my name on the list of people requesting to see her felt like an honor. I’d thought of attending her memorial service, but I knew the ceremony would be televised, and the possibility of being caught on camera had kept me away. I had to work late that day anyway. There was no way I could have left the office.
“OK.”
The courtyard had cleared of patients and visitors, maybe due to the time of day. I stood up from the bench, then paused. “Why a hospital courtyard? I thought you would be taking me to see somebody.”
“Oh,” he nodded. After a moment, he said, “Cafes are expensive. And McDonald’s is too loud.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Our eyes met. He asked pointedly, “So?”
“You’re trying to cut down on expenses?”
A high schooler’s reason. He squinted at me. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. Oh, that reminds me. The money.”
I’d almost forgotten. I hadn’t asked him beforehand because I didn’t believe I’d get this far.
“How much do I owe you? If the meeting happens, but also in the event that it doesn’t.” I expected to pay some kind of consultation fee, even if things fell through.
“Oh,” he said in the same tone he’d used to talk about how expensive cafes were. I waited nervously. One source had said it would cost a few million yen, tens of millions according to others. I hoped I had enough.
“We don’t take money.”
“Huh?” My eyes widened.
“It’s free,” he said. “We’re volunteers.”
“But...”
That couldn’t be. Wait, people talk all the time about scams that start out free...
“I heard it would cost several million yen. I’m ready to pay. Just tell me how much.”
“There is no need.” He frowned, seeing that I was not backing down.
“But...”
He took the paper cup from my hand and headed toward the cafeteria where he tossed our cups into the trash can. As he turned back toward me, I caught a faint glimmer in his eyes, like he was looking at something otherworldly.
“You didn’t know how much you would be charged. It could have cost a fortune, and you made your request without checking first?”
“Yes...”
Unlike the sad, teary girls on TV who looked like miniature versions of Saori, I didn’t even know how to apply makeup properly. Nobody would think from my frumpy appearance that I admired Saori as much as I did. Fully aware that the boy thought I was a weirdo, I nodded.
THERE’S A EUPHEMISM that goes: Your soul catches a cold.
That was probably me, four years ago. When I tried to go to work one morning, I found that I couldn’t get on the train. The stairs at my usual station felt like they went on forever, and I didn’t think I’d be able to reach the top. I can’t climb all these steps. I rested my head on the railing and took slow, deep breaths, sweating from my forehead and underarms.
I can’t do this, I thought, but pushed myself anyway, trying to keep my nausea at bay as I stepped on to the train. I somehow made it to the office that day, late.
People might not get it. But when I thought about what the other staff members would think of me, what they would say when they saw my empty desk, it was easier just to crawl to my chair and sit in it. Oddly enough, once I’d made it to the office, I was able to give myself over to the stream of paperwork and miscellaneous tasks. Before I knew it the workday was over, and the clock switched to overtime. After most of my co-workers went home, I turned off all the lights on our floor except for the one above my desk, and in that darkened, hushed environment, I breathed more easily.
Work itself wasn’t bad, as long as I could go about my tasks without talking to anybody. If I didn’t have to listen to my co-workers chatting and giggling, if their howls of laughter didn’t sound like taunting to me, then I was comfortable. Alone.
“We can’t ever tell what you’re thinking, Hirase-san.”
My colleague Yugi wore the skirt of her uniform shorter than the rest of us, and if our bosses said anything to her about her nails or hair, she smooth-talked her way out of it. She and I were the only women who joined the company at that time, and in the beginning, before we knew what was what, we ate lunch together and had actually been friendly.
I’d never had a lot of friends, and I’d got used to being that way. Since I was little, I’d rather read a book than do anything that would force me out of my comfort zone. I wasn’t great in big groups, and I had few desires to own things or do things. I think I always just knew my place.
My parents worried that I would lock myself in my room someday and refuse to come out, and they too said they didn’t know what I was thinking. My father was a professor at a national university in our town, and we’d been known in the neighborhood as a family of academics, from my grandfather’s generation down. My brother, who was three years older than me, took after our father and grandfather and excelled in school. He was the type who went for leadership roles in the student council, and he could do no wrong in my parents’ eyes. He was their main concern—they didn’t really bother with me. My dad once said to me, “Girls can always just get married.” I was in high school then. “Find someone who will take you and be a good housewife.”
I left home and moved to Tokyo after high school, though it wasn’t to get married. I’d been rejected from every university on my parents’ list and had ended up enrolling in a little-known college. My parents continued to pay for my tuition, but we hardly communicated while I was studying. As soon as I graduated, I told them I no longer needed their financial support, to which my dad said, “And you think you’re going to be able to get by on your own?” He didn’t fight me on it, though, and they stopped sending me money. Which was why I couldn’t take time off work or whine about not being able to ride the train.
After I’d been working for a while, I went back to my parents’ house to learn they’d told our neighbors that I was married and now lived abroad. It was my mother’s doing. She, a housewife, had a lot of pride and needed to be able to show off her house and family. Her daughter wasn’t the brightest girl in the world, but she’d married a successful businessman and had accompanied him overseas. That was the story she made up for the neighbors.
“You have to leave before anybody sees you,” my mother said apologetically, though I couldn’t understand why she looked sorry.
When I was in high school, I ran into my brother and his girlfriend on the street once, but he’d avoided my gaze and walked past me. This was no different. “Who’s that?” his girlfriend had asked, and he’d spluttered, “My sister.” I could feel her eyes on me as she said, “No way, seriously? You look nothing alike! She seems quiet.”
Quiet. Mature.
The words people used to describe me were inaccurate. What they were really saying, I knew, was this: She doesn’t look like she has any fun in her life.
It was the same when Yugi invited me out for drinks after work.
“Hirase-san, I think it’s amazing that you read these huge books. All those words! I could never. Anyway, I was thinking, why don’t you come out with us for once? Some guys from sales asked if we wanted to go for drinks. They’re pretty cute. And I want to buy you a drink for covering my overtime for me the other day. Come on, join us!”
I’d been covering Yugi’s overtime shifts more and more these days because it was hard to say no when she asked brightly, “Please?” Her schedule was packed with “fun and exciting things,” and I looked like I had nothing better to do.
Sometimes at lunch or in a cab, she’d say in her breezy way, “Sorry, can you pay?” and when I approached her about it later, she’d squirm her way out of it with, “I don’t have any money on me right now.” Some of the more senior staff did the same thing.
“She has nothing to spend money on. Think of what we could do with all that time and money!”
I’d heard them talking about me in the office kitchen.
“What’s the point of saving money if you have nothing to spend it on? It’s so sad.”
I’d been told I wouldn’t have to worry about paying that night, that the men on the sales team would cover it.
I’d never drunk much alcohol before, and quickly learned that I didn’t know my tolerance level. I felt fine after my first drink, but by the time I was finishing my second, my legs could no longer hold me up. My head was pounding. I had a hard time telling which voices were real and which were in my head. I was a paranoid person who fretted non-stop about being a burden.
“Don’t people usually find out their tolerance level in college? Did she, like, never go out?”
“She’s a loner at work too, always with these insane-looking books. I’m always telling her the books are going to, like, cast a spell on her or something.”
“She’s wasting her life.”
“Are you OK?”
Yugi was peering into my face.
Something was wrong with my breathing. When I inhaled, it sounded like I was laughing. I forced a smile. “Yeah.”
My head was still pounding. I felt sick. My body felt heavy, and I imagined how good it would feel to close my eyes and let everything go.
Through my hazy vision, I saw the guys from sales farther down the street waving and calling out to Yugi. She turned to them and called back, “Be right there!” She looked at me sitting on the ground.
“We’re gonna go for another round, but are you sure you’re OK? You can hail a cab at the station, right? Sorry. I should go with them.”
“I’m fine.”
She scampered over to the men.
“Is she OK?”
“Mm, she says she can get herself home.”
With Yugi and her crew gone at last, I was so relieved I almost burst into tears. Except that I really couldn’t breathe.
What’s happening to me?
Everybody who passed me on this Friday night looked like they were having a blast. A few people noticed me on the ground, but nobody offered to help. I was glad. I didn’t want any of them to stop for me.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
Tears framed my field of vision, which irritated me because I always took such care not to make a scene. And now look at me.
A tall woman in a hat walked past. She had on a leopard-print fur coat, black leather trousers, and studded boots. The neon lights from a nearby bar shimmered off one of the studs, blurring my vision further. I could tell her legs were long and slim, even in her pants.
How is it that she and I are the same species?
I always thought that when I encountered cool and stylish people. She was probably one of them.
The woman in the boots stopped, then ran toward me. I closed my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t talk to me.
“Hey,” I heard. “You OK? You’re hyperventilating.”
I couldn’t answer her.
“Are you by yourself? Where are your friends? Have you been drinking?”
She leaned in to check my breath for alcohol, then squatted next to me. I heard some objects scatter on the ground.
“Breathe out!”
She placed her hand on one of my shoulders, then moved it down to tap my back. I opened my eyes and saw that she’d covered my mouth with a plastic bag. I wheezed into it. The bag filled with air with every breath, then deflated. It smelled like face powder. I gasped for breath and started to cough. I pulled the bag away, but immediately got an earful.
“Don’t stop! This is all I have right now. Come on, keep going.”
I also smelled roses. A sweet scent. I nodded again, this time without choking.
To say I was drunk would be an excuse and a lie. In reality, I was shaken from having finally cracked and needing somebody to help. When my breathing finally slowed, the tears came. “I hate this,” I said. “Everything’s so unfair.”
“Whoa, are you crying? Hold on!” The woman sounded put out. But she didn’t leave my side, patting my back and head a couple more times. I noticed makeup items scattered on the ground in front of me. Even I recognized the global brand labels on the mascara and foundation. The plastic bag I’d breathed into was wrinkled and wet with saliva. She picked it up. “Oh well, this is no good to me now.” She collected the items one by one and brushed off the dirt before putting them in her bag.
“Hey, so don’t just be sitting here or you’ll get snatched up by some guys, OK? The world is full of crazies who go around picking girls up off the ground.”
“That... won’t... happen... to me.”
“It’s girls like you who think it can’t happen to them that end up getting hurt. Be careful, seriously.”
She turned toward me. “But, man. Whoever you were with tonight that left you here like this? You need to cut them out of your life.”
In that moment, her eyes peeked out from under her hat. Wait. I know this woman. That beautiful face. From that glamorous world.
It was just for a second, and I could have been mistaken.
“Can you make it home? Or do you want me to go with you to find a cab? You don’t need me to call an ambulance, do you?”
“I’m... OK.”
As she stood up to leave, she looked at me and smiled. “You’re right, everything’s unfair. The world is equally unfair to everybody. Fair doesn’t exist for anyone,” she said, not waiting for my reply. “Oh, one more thing—you control the alcohol. Don’t let the alcohol control you. That’s my motto.”
I watched her disappear into the neon lights and the commotion of vendors and drunks. In the spot where she’d been sitting was the plastic bag I’d used, a yellow bag from a famous discount store.
I hadn’t been presented with any opportunities to drink alcohol since. Yugi stopped inviting me out, becoming chummy with the more senior staff members and the new hires. She stopped eating lunch with me too.
I did visit the makeup section of that discount store.
I knew there was nothing sadder than a homely girl trying to doll herself up. I was starting to regret walking into the store when I came across the perfume section. I paused. There was a special offer on foreign brands.
I picked up a purple bottle with a tag that read: Saori Mizushiro’s signature scent! I gave a little squirt of the tester bottle and the air filled with the scent of roses.
I knew I’d heard that voice somewhere, that unhurried yet self-assured drawl. I bought a bottle of the perfume and left the store.
I was able to start taking the train again, and I could make it to the office without feeling nauseous. I wouldn’t call it an improvement. Nothing had changed. I’d just grown numb to it all. In my desk was the purple perfume bottle holding a scent I knew didn’t suit me. I kept the drawer locked so nobody would find it. I’d never had a secret before, and it thrilled me a little.
I’m a big fan, I’d written in my letter. I baked cookies and mailed those too. I assumed celebrities received tons of gifts and letters and I didn’t expect mine to reach her, but that didn’t matter.
After I’d sent the homemade cookies and pound cake, I discovered a blog written by an idol that read: No food items, please! I’m super grateful for your love and support, but there’s no knowing who is sending me things, and even when your gift is shipped directly from a store, I can’t be a hundred percent sure what it contains. Bath oils and cosmetics, things that touch the skin are also a no-go. Sorry!
The blog post got a lot of backlash, but I still regretted sending those things to Saori. Home-baked goods, one-sided letters about my personal life. I didn’t know if she’d seen any of them, but they had to be a nuisance either way.
I started to leave my TV on all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of Saori Mizushiro.
When my older brother got married, I was at home watching Saori on TV. My brother, who had become an academic like my father, was getting married overseas. My mother called and said, “We’re all going, but you’re not interested, are you?” I told her I wasn’t, and that they could go without me. I sent my congrats over the phone.
The virtually non-existent little sister, as good as dead as far as they were concerned. She shouldn’t have been born into the family in the first place.
“SHE SAYS SHE’LL see you.”
I wondered for a moment what I was hearing. My mind drew a blank and I couldn’t make sense of what the person was saying.
I was on my lunch break at work. As usual, I was eating my bento alone while scrolling the internet when my phone rang.
“Saori Mizushiro says she will see you. I’d like to give you the date and time, is that OK?”
“Oh, um, yes, sorry, just a second.”
I rushed to the women’s changing room, the phone still glued to my ear. I knew my schedule was wide open, but I wanted to check my planner anyway. My heart was racing, and I felt feverish.
As I approached the changing room, the sound of laughter stopped me in my tracks, and I slid the phone off my ear. Lunch break was almost over, and I pictured a room full of women touching up their makeup.
My chest felt tight. I put the phone to my ear and whispered, “OK, please go ahead. Any day will work for me.” Nowhere in the office could I speak in private, the only available area being my tiny desk space. I wandered aimlessly with my phone to my ear, aware of people milling about nearby.
The date the boy gave me was in two weeks.
“If that doesn’t work for you, I’ll call back with a different date. In that case, it might be an additional month or so.”
“No, it works. Is there a special reason for that day?”
“It’s a full moon.”
His reply caught me off-guard, but I decided it made sense.
“The night of a full moon is when you can meet for the longest stretch of time. I will get back to you when I’ve secured the meeting.”
“Um,” I said before he could hang up.
“Yes?”
“Why... did she say yes? Does she really want to see me?”
I grew nervous thinking about what I’d got myself into, how big a deal this was turning out to be.
“She made the decision. I’ll be in touch.”
My body quivered from the feet up, as if collecting vibrations from the ground. I stood there until I heard voices come near.
“Right? I’m so with you on that.”
I slipped the phone into my uniform pocket and went into the empty changing room to retrieve my planner, this time successfully.
OUR FIRST MEETING had been in a hospital courtyard, but this time I was directed to a newly built five-star hotel in Shinagawa. I’d heard of it only because my bank sometimes gave away promotional coupons. It was a chic place with an elaborate foreign name that I could never remember.
Tonight was a full moon, just like the go-between had said. I stepped into the hotel with the moonlight on my back.
I’d been surprised to hear this would be our meeting place, but once inside, I was properly blown away. The high ceilings of the lobby and the winding staircase reminded me of a castle in a movie. Polished deep green marble floors and pillars. A vase brimming with flowers in the center of the room.
I was wearing the same tweed suit as last time. I’d considered buying something new for tonight but was so unaccustomed to going into department stores that my feet froze before I could step into one.
The boy was sitting in one of the lobby chairs, wearing the same coat he’d worn the first time. He spotted me and stood, then started toward me. I thought of calling out to him but realized I didn’t know his name.
“Shall we go?” he said as he began to lead the way.
“This hotel is incredible,” I said. “Um, are you sure I don’t have to pay anything?”
He was headed to the elevators.
“We’re volunteers.”
“Do these meetings only take place during a full moon?”
“Yes. Other nights are possible, but full moons like tonight are when meetings can go on the longest,” he explained again.
“Wow. Depends on the moon.”
“Do you need help with your bag?”
“Oh...”
I’d brought a lot with me today. I pulled my shoulder bag close to my chest.
“I’m OK. Thank you.”
He didn’t say anything more. I said, “That’s a nice coat.”
Was it from one of the high-end stores I couldn’t go into the other day? And for somebody who wanted to cut down on expenses, he didn’t seem at all intimidated in this luxurious hotel.
“It’s my Sunday best.”
Did kids say that these days? Sunday best. A beat passed before I could reply, and he resumed speaking.
“You’ll be in room 1107 on the eleventh floor. I’ll go up with you to the floor, but not into the room.”
“You won’t be joining me?”
“That’s the rule. Wouldn’t you rather be alone with her?”
I didn’t know. Maybe under normal circumstances, if I were meeting a family member, close friend, or partner, having somebody else in the room would be awkward, absolutely. But in this case...
“Here’s the key.”
He handed me a business card–sized paper folder with the hotel name printed on it.
“I’ll be in the lobby. Take your time. I don’t mind waiting until morning.”
“You’re going to be downstairs the entire time?”
“That’s my job.”
What if this was all a big scam?
The doubt I thought I’d let go of crept back into my mind. There was no guarantee that something terrible wouldn’t happen to me as soon as I entered the room. I could be sold off somewhere.
“No need to worry.”
Seeing his expression, I made up my mind. The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor.
“Saori Mizushiro is inside waiting.”
“And you’re still not going to tell me how all this is possible, right?”
“Right. I’ll be downstairs.”
I was so close, and my knees were now shaking. I reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner. The room I’d been directed to was at the end of the corridor on the hotel’s east side.
I stood outside and took a deep breath.
I knocked twice, imagining the worst-case scenario.
As if to mock my cowardliness, I heard a drawl on the other side of the door.
“Come iiiinn.”
I ENTERED THE room and froze.
The room had two beds and Saori Mizushiro was sitting on the one near the window. The curtains were open. A large full moon hung clearly in the dark night sky.
I took one look at her and thought, She looks the same.
Before I had a chance to take in my surroundings more closely, I was struck, simply, by the fact that she looked exactly the same as on TV. This was the real Saori Mizushiro.
Confronted with somebody who looked so real, so familiar, I forgot about my shyness. I felt like I was seeing a friend I’d known forever.
“So you’re Hira-chan. Don’t just stand there, take a seat!”
“Hira... chan...?”
“Your last name is Hirase, so Hira-chan. Sorry, I have a friend named Manami, and I think of her every time I say that name. Is it OK if I call you by your last name? Or would you rather I didn’t? Does hira sound like I’m calling you a low-level employee?”
“Low-level employee...”
“Why are you repeating everything I say? I’m in the mood for some deep conversation today, but are you not really the chatty type?”
The big, round eyes adorned with gold eyeshadow were a Saori trademark. She was looking at me with those eyes, and right now, I was looking back into them. I felt my shoulders loosen a little.
“Hira-chan is fine. And I am just a lowly hira-shain at the office.”
“Oh, you’re too young to have a fancy-schmancy job title anyway! Do you want something to drink? Apparently, I’m allowed to have alcohol. We can help ourselves to anything in the fridge. What do you feel like?”
She walked toward the minibar by the door and popped it open, appearing in no way to be a ghost. The boy was telling the truth when he said she would appear fully formed.
“Here,” she said, tossing me a can of beer. “Let’s make a toast. Thanks for requesting me! So good to meet you, I’m Saori!”
“Yes, I know.”
Her playful tone gave me head-to-toe goosebumps. This was probably what joy felt like. I pulled the tab open and raised my can to hers. “Cheers!”
So this is where you’ve been, I thought.
“Um—”
“Hm?”
“Are you really dead?”
Saori mimed spraying a mouthful of beer. She scrunched up her face and howled, “Out of nowhere!” She sat cross-legged on the bed. “You know, that’s the rumor. It’s all kinda blurry for me too, but that seems to be the story. I do remember my chest feeling super tight and me thinking I should lie down, and I plopped on to the couch like I always do. I understand now that I died, I guess, but all I can say is that I woke up like this.”
“What have you been doing since you died?”
“Nothing really. It hasn’t felt like any time has passed. I was lying down in my room having trouble breathing and the next thing you know, it’s today. I can’t explain it, but it feels like I’ve been asleep, I don’t know, somewhere cold.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, then gave a small laugh.
“I was shocked when the boy told me I’ve been dead for what, four months?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a huge deal? I mean, it’d be so depressing if nobody cared. But then again, I guess you can’t blame them. Everybody’s so busy.”
“Michika, the model, was bawling. There was a memorial service, and the eulogy was given by...”
I looked in my bag on the floor. “I brought some things to show you.”
A scrapbook filled with magazine and newspaper cuttings, a portable DVD player along with discs containing the TV specials I’d recorded. I’d tried to compile a collection of tributes from people Saori had been acquainted with.
Saori stared blankly at the items I’d laid out. She picked up the scrapbook and flipped it open.
“Whoa, geez. Hira-chan, you’re, like, hyper-organized. This must have been so much work to put together. Wow, look at this. You’re right, Michika’s a mess. Doesn’t she look so good in that black dress, though?”
“It wasn’t a lot of work really, because I was already watching the shows and had the magazines and everything. I just—I just feel so bad.”
“For what?”
She was gazing at the cuttings but didn’t seem too interested. I gave my own hand a squeeze.
“That I took the one opportunity you have. All these people who gave comments and interviews can’t see you anymore, and here I am.” I was worried I was making a huge mistake. “Um, did the go-between boy explain everything to you? That you only have one chance to meet with somebody from the living world?”
“I know, I know. He gave me the rundown, but we’re talking about the go-between system, right? I knew about that when I was alive.”
Of course, I thought. Urban legends thrived in places like the entertainment industry. Naturally, she would have heard about it.
“I’ve been in showbiz forever, you know. So I heard rumors all the time, even though I didn’t know if it was real. Someone even gave me the contact info once. Oh, just so you know, most of my friends and acquaintances in these articles here have heard of the go-between too. But wow, who would have thought I’d be using this service after I died?”
“Did you ever make a request... when you were alive?”
“Nah, no way. Never. My mom and dad are both lost causes. Mom’s dead, but I never thought to go see her.”
I didn’t know how to respond. Saori couldn’t hear in her left ear because she’d been beaten by her mother’s second husband. I remembered that and almost looked at her ear. Like when I used to see her on TV, she acted so naturally that it was easy to forget.
“Yup.” She took a gulp of her beer.
“You knew about the go-between, but you said yes to seeing me. Why?”
“I think you’ve got it all wrong, Hira-chan.”
“What?”
“You think people were waiting in line to see me. Right? Wrong!” A wistful smile crossed her face then. It didn’t suit her. “You’re the only one crazy enough to request me.”
“No way!”
“Sorry you got your hopes up, but I just wasn’t a hot ticket item. You had a certain hundred percent success rate.”
“Maybe they just haven’t made it yet. Maybe if I’d waited a little longer, everybody would—”
“No, they wouldn’t. It’s been four months, right?”
She didn’t appear hurt. She was merely stating the facts.
“If they had any intention of seeing me, they would have come a long time ago. I don’t know about you, but the go-between was pretty famous in our circles. Everybody knew how to get in touch with one. Everybody knew, yet nobody did.”
“But—”
If only I could see her again. Talk to her again. It was all too sudden.
Who had said that? Everybody who’d known Saori had said something to that effect. I heard it over and over. I pictured the individual faces of everybody who’d spoken about Saori Mizushiro like she was their best friend, and I felt my heart go cold.
“Don’t look so sad. That’s life. I’m not surprised.” Saori sipped her beer. “Think about it. You only have one chance. Of course you’re going to save it. For your parents or kids, your partner. Nobody knows when someone’s gonna die. You gotta save your trump card, not use it up on me.”
“But—”
“If you ask me, you’re the rare one.”
She lifted the corners of her lips into a smile. “Let me tell you something.” Her alluring expression could have been photographed and turned into a poster right then and there. “People are designed to feel grief only over the death of someone they truly love. Everybody loved her has a nice ring to it, but that’s all it is. Sadness is a show, it’s entertainment. It was an honor to be able to provide excitement at the end of my life. I’m not being sarcastic. I’m touched. But I also know everyone’s going to forget about me and move on with their lives. This isn’t me being humble. I’m just speaking the truth. A truth everybody in showbiz knows and understands.”
The magazine cuttings I’d brought with me lay before her. Included in many of them were those exact words: Everybody loved her.
“You must have had someone in your life who is truly broken-hearted right now.”
“I wish. But I guess not, huh. There was one guy I hoped felt that way about me, but nope. Sad thing is, he knew about the go-between too. Ugh, I can’t think about it. If only he’d never heard of the go-between. Then I wouldn’t have to be so anxious.”
I couldn’t believe it. A huge star like her.
“But everybody was really, like, truly grieving. They might not have made a request, but I’m sure they all want to see you.”
Then again, I wasn’t someone who was accustomed to seeing beneath the surface of things.
Saori glanced at the articles and discs. “Look how many there are. Not too shabby, eh? The talk shows must have jumped all over the news. I mean, it’s a dramatic story. The unexpected death of a woman at the height of her career.”
That person and that person must be basking in it.
“I’m super good at making people look and feel important, you know? I needed to keep getting work, so I had to promote myself non-stop. When someone said they liked a certain food, I made a note of it and had it delivered to their dressing room, or I’d write letters with compliments on someone’s performance and send it to them, you know, little things like that. Pretty soon I became known as this sweet, angelic girl. If anything, I was just doing things out of habit, so I actually don’t remember each individual thing. But it was worth it, huh? For all this? Thanks. Mission accomplished.”
She trailed off into a whisper, and then gave a light chuckle.
“SO BACK TO your story, why’d you want to see me anyway? I don’t know how this whole thing actually works, but wasn’t it hard finding your way to the go-between? It must have cost you too.”
“It doesn’t. I was scared that it would, but that’s what he said.”
“Wow.”
“Saving money is like a hobby for me and there’s nothing I want to spend it on, so I was ready to pay whatever it cost, as long as I had enough.”
“To see me?”
“Yes.”
It hurt when people said I didn’t know how to have fun, or the money I’d saved was wasted on me, but they were right in that I didn’t have anything to spend it on. I couldn’t picture myself ever having a family or a fulfilling career. I had no idea where I was headed, and that terrified me.
I decided to come out and say it.
“It was about four years ago. You helped me. I’d had too much to drink in Shinjuku one night, and I was sitting on the ground, hyperventilating.”
She tilted her head. “Four years ago?”
“You were wearing a hat. And a leopard-print coat.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember.” Saori shook her head. “Like I said, I forget the things I do for people. Good or bad.”
“I was so grateful. Here I am, this nobody with this nothing life, and then having somebody like you stop and consider me for a second. It might have meant nothing to you, but I wanted to thank you. That’s why I requested this meeting.”
“Oh, well, OK, but you know, it probably wasn’t me. Are you sure you have the right person?” Saori asked in her drawl. “Hey. Did you send me cookies a few times?”
I sat up straight and widened my eyes.
Saori laughed. “I knew it.”
“Yes, that was me.”
I turned beet red. The cookies were a mistake I’d made before I knew sending homemade treats was a faux pas.
“You also sent over a pound cake, an embroidered handkerchief, a small pouch, a scarf, and letters.”
“Yes.”
“The cookies and cake were good.”
“You ate them?!”
I stood up, not knowing what else to do. The beer in my hand, which I’d hardly touched, nearly spilled from the can.
“Yup,” Saori nodded. “I remember. They had pieces of plum and chocolate chips in them. I was like, oh wow, sweet and sour, good combo. The pouch was super cute. It had leopard-print embroidery on it. Did you make it yourself?”
“Yes, with a sewing machine. It was really amateurish. But...”
That was a lie. I was proud of my handiwork. Sewing was the only way I knew how to keep busy.
“I heard celebrities never touch the food fans send them because they don’t know what’s inside. Homemade goods are out of the question, and even if it’s something shipped directly from a store, they won’t go near it. I heard they don’t even use bath oils because they’re scared of what’s in them.”
“Hm. I guess. Sensitive folks are super sensitive. But I eat everything people send me, including homemade onigiri. I don’t want it to go to waste, and I’ve never got sick from it. I wasn’t raised all prim and proper like that. Anyway, I have a terrible memory and can never remember things I do for people, but I do remember the things people have done for me.”
An A-plus answer. And a sharp reminder that I was dealing with a star.
“When your request came in, I heard your name and thought, hey, that’s the girl who sent me all those gifts.”
“I couldn’t have been the only one.”
“Uh, duh. Who do you think I am? I’m Saori Mizushiro! I get truckloads of presents!”
“But you read my letters...”
“Yeah.” She blinked slowly. She set her beer can on the bedside table and her expression turned serious. “Hey. You’re thinking of dying, aren’t you?”
I said nothing.
Once today’s meeting was over, I didn’t care what happened to me. I’d written in a letter to Saori before she passed away: I want to die.
My boring, pointless life.
Seeing you on TV every day helps me to go on, I wrote. It’s all I have to look forward to.
“I’m not so full of myself that I think because I died, you’ll blindly follow. But I’m here to fulfill an obligation.”
“Obligation?”
“Don’t think about coming over here yet. It’s super dark.”
And then she broke out in a grin.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you tonight.”
“Saori.”
“Yeah?”
“I wish you were still alive.”
My voice rasped, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying. Obligation? Saori Mizushiro had zero obligation toward some self-absorbed fan she’d never really met before. And yet, here she was.
With an mischievous twinkle in her eye, she said, “Are people saying I killed myself?”
When I nodded silently, she mumbled, “Figures. Like I’d ever do that. I was having a ball living my life, doing whatever I wanted. Of course I wanted to go on living! Those tabloids are so tasteless, I swear. Blabbing about my past...”
“A few people said your life would make a good biography. That it would give hope to kids in similar situations.”
“I guess, but all families are messy. That’s a given. And seriously, if there was a whole entire book about my past, that’d be the end of me making jokes and laughing about it, inviting people to laugh along. Would you have wanted that?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“Thanks for saying you liked watching me on TV. I’m touched.”
She turned her reddened eyes toward the window facing the eastern sky. “Man. When the sun comes up, it’s goodbye to this place forever.”
“I’m so sorry!”
“Huh?”
“That I’m the last person you get to—”
“Is apologizing like a habit of yours or something?” Saori looked bored. “You might think it’s easier just to apologize, but I would stop doing that if I were you. So many things in the world don’t get resolved with an apology. Stop being naive. It brings people down when someone around them is always like, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I sat up straight, and the harsh look on Saori’s face disappeared.
“Thanks,” she said. “For this final send-off. Now that the go-between ritual is done, I feel ready to move on. The last person I see in life being a fan... I’m the very definition of an idol, don’t you think?”
She added under her breath, “Not that I’m really an idol. I’m just your everyday unsexy comic relief.” She laughed.
Was it really Saori Mizushiro who’d helped me on the street that day? As we got ready to say goodbye, I asked, “Do you have a motto? Something you live by?”
“Hmm. Sure, I have lots. Today’s vibe is ‘Live your best life.’ Go girl, think positive!”
“What about, ‘You control the alcohol. Don’t let it control you’”
“Yeah, I can get behind that.”
“You gave me a good talking-to that night. Said the world was equally unfair for everybody.”
Had the world been unfair to her too? I hoped at least some things in her life had been fair, or it would be too unfair.
“I did, huh?” She gazed out of the window. The sky was starting to turn golden. I was glad it was winter. Later sunrises. We sat side-by-side and watched the sun come up.
When I turned to her next, she was gone.
I picked up her can, which was nearly empty. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I couldn’t bring myself to set it down.
As I left the empty room, I gave a deep, grateful bow.
I rode the elevator down to the lobby and found the go-between waiting on a sofa. There was no way he’d stayed up all night. But he looked the same as yesterday, without a hint of fatigue.
“The key?”
I handed him the key card.
Even though I didn’t really need an answer and knew he wouldn’t give me one, I asked one last time, “So how does it all work?”
“Did she seem like an impersonator to you?”
“No. It was really her.”
“I’m glad.”
As I turned to leave, he spoke up as if he’d just remembered something.
“Oh, one thing. I’m supposed to ask you for your feedback. Is there anything you can share?”
“Feedback...”
“Yes.”
I shifted my gaze and saw a few early-checkout guests leave the hotel.
“Idols... are truly... something.”
She’d vanished like a light, and I wanted to believe she was now in a brighter place. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.
Which was why I had to go on believing.
