by Raine Koh
“But nurse, who brought me here and why am I in such a private room?” she asked, starting to take in her surroundings. She was the only patient in the room and she was sure that this place was luxurious by hospital standards. There was a cream leather couch at the side, her own private bathroom and the bed she was currently sleeping on was bigger and softer than her own back home. The sky had turned dark and Mimi could see a pretty view of the streets below, dotted with night lights.
“Ah, Mr Sato has paid for your stay in this room. He was also the one who brought you here.”
“Mr. Sato? Who is that?”
“He said he was a friend of yours. He gave us your passport and checked you in this evening. My name is Yoko, if you need anything just press this button,” Yoko motioned towards a red button at the side of Mimi’s bed. She then bowed and left. Mimi laid down on her very soft and fluffy pillow and wondered about this certain Mr Sato. Why was he paying for her medical expenses? He had to be rather rich to pay for a personal room. And there was also that nagging thought; what was she going to do now?
Mimi winced in pain whenever she tried to move her left leg. How was she going to find that idiot Yuki now? She covered her face with her hands when she remembered that Yuki was part of some wussy boy band who didn’t even compose their own songs and wore matching performance outfits. If her leg weren’t in this state, she would have gone back to Singapore. At least now, Mimi understood why he had to leave suddenly. If Yuki, the pop star, knew that she came all the way to Tokyo, he would probably think she was some stalker.
“Does that make me a bimbo fan?” Mimi asked herself out loud.
“Excuse me?” a deep male voice asked.
Was it the doctor? She wondered as she looked towards the door. Instead, Mimi was faced with a lanky, tanned guy wearing a tailored dark blue suit. He had long straight hair up to his shoulders, and despite the fact that it was night time, he was wearing a pair of sunglasses.
Mimi tried to sit up again but the pain in her foot made her yelp.
“Hey, take it easy,” he said. Mimi looked at him curiously.
“Mr Sato?” she asked. Sato gave a quick nod but kept his sunglasses on. Mimi recognised his eyewear from the latest Spring/Summer Gucci collection. His dark suit was also from the Italian brand. He sat down on the sofa and finally took off his shades. He looked about thirty, had a sharp chin and wore dark blue contacts. He wasn’t your average pretty boy but he had a very interesting face. The trouble was, Mimi still had no idea who he was.
“I’m sorry but I had to give them your passport when I admitted you here,” he said, matter-of-factly in English, “My name’s Akira Sato. Call me Sato or Akira, but I’d prefer if you call me Mr Sato.” He leaned back on the sofa and studied her face. “So, you are Miranda Chan from Singapore? Are you a tourist? Is there anyone I can contact here in Tokyo?”
“I guess you can say I am here for a holiday. But actually, right now, I would like to return to Singapore. I think I can still travel in this state,” Mimi replied in Japanese. There was something about his mannerism that annoyed her. He seemed arrogant and full of himself.
“But you’ve only been here for a day? Were you too traumatised by the accident?” He asked in Japanese.
“No, I came here for something, but I don’t think it matters anymore,” Mimi said. Sato reached into the inner pockets of his jacket and fished out a cigarette.
“You have been dumped, haven’t you?” he asked, before placing the stick between his lips.
“What? No, I didn’t say that. And you can’t smoke in a hospital!” Mimi said, glaring at him. He ignored her and lit it anyway. She noticed his long and delicate fingers as the cigarette dangled from them.
He blew a smoke ring in defiance and said, “Look, let me tell you the truth. Maybe I’m not that well known in Singapore, but I am quite an important person here in Tokyo. If you ever let known to some tabloid reporter that I ran you down with my car, there will be trouble for both you and I. So just tell me how much...”
“So you were the one who caused this injury!” Mimi shouted, pointing at him. “If you were really so famous, I would have known who you are because I have a very good knowledge of the Japanese rock music industry. But since I don’t, stop acting like some wannabe rocker and using money to bribe me!”
Sato stubbed his cigarette on the carpet flooring and with his hands in his pant pockets, he swaggered towards her. Mimi was a little alarmed by his advance but she continued glaring at him. He stood beside her bed and said, “Come and stay with me. I have a house maid, she will be able to take care of you until you get better.”
“What?”
He let out a short laugh. “I won’t take advantage of you, if you are thinking about that. You are not my type. Just let me make amends.”
“The answer is no. I just want to go back to Singapore!”
He stretched out his hand and patted her head, “I’ll give you one night to think about it.” And acting as if he had not heard her at all, Sato turned away and walked to the door. “I just think,” he said with his back facing her, “that you shouldn’t give up so easily.” And with that, he left.
“Crazy guy!” Mimi cried and snorted in disbelief.
A few days later, Mimi was standing in front of his apartment, located in Ebisu, one of the most fashionable districts in Tokyo. She was on crutches while Sato was beside her carrying her belongings. His place was on the tenth floor and he explained to Mimi beforehand that it had two levels and a maid came by daily to clean his house and cook his meals. He opened the door and Mimi cautiously stepped inside. Sato’s place was spacious, clean and minimal. He seemed like someone who didn’t like any fuss but there was something cold about his apartment. It had white-washed walls, parquet flooring and black modern furniture. The first floor had a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. A small spiral staircase led up to the second floor which had another bedroom and study. Mimi thought it looked like the sort of picture-perfect house you’d see in a catalogue and she found it hard to believe that someone was actually living here.
“Take a seat, I’ll get you something to drink,” said Sato, after placing her stuff in the guest room on the first floor. Mimi limped over to the living room and sat down on his black velvet couch. She saw a bookshelf next to the television but in place of books, numerous music awards were showcased on the shelves. No wonder he claimed unabashedly that he was famous.
Mimi did a lot of thinking before moving in with Sato. She would never admit it, but his words, “You shouldn’t give up so easily,” somehow stuck. And since she was stuck with a sprained ankle, staying with Sato may actually be her best option. She didn’t want to spend a bomb staying at a hotel and on top of that, Shina would be too busy with work and Mimi didn’t want to bother her. At least Sato had a maid, Mimi reasoned. Although it didn’t really make sense that she was putting her trust in a stranger. After her first encounter with Sato, she called her friend for advice. Shina was pretty much in shock when she heard about Mimi’s situation.
“Wait, did you say his name was Akira Sato?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“He is rather tall, has shoulder-length hair and has a mole underneath his left eye?” Shina inquired.
“Er... I think so,” Mimi replied, not one-hundred-percent sure about the mole part. She heard a loud squeal at the other end of the line and Mimi felt a surge of panic. “Shina! You have to keep this a secret!” she pleaded.
“Don’t worry Mimi, I will. The thing is Sato is a famous music producer. He works for Niji Music.”
“Niji?” Mimi cried in disbelief, “I know them! My favourite rock bands are under that company!”
Niji Music is an independent (or “indies” as known in Japan) rock label. Don’t be fooled by the term ‘indies’, it is a serious money-making company. The most highly-acclaimed rock bands are under the label, preferring to remain independent instead of moving to a major recording label. D
espite gaining recognition and often playing to packed live houses, Niji bands prefer to remain underground because they could still keep a level of creative integrity, without letting anyone in corporate suits dictate their music career. Mimi’s favourite band, Filth, was under Niji Music.
Shina continued, “So, it might be a good idea to stay with him. He’s a public figure and he’s smart. He won’t do anything to you. I figure he is just feeling guilty about knocking you down.”
Mimi doubted that egoistic head of his would ever feel guilty. Her temples started to throb as she replied, “I see. Thanks Shina, I’ll call you again.”
And that was how Mimi found herself presently sitting on Sato’s sofa – although finding out that he was the producer of her favourite band didn’t change her opinion of him. She crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose. She felt like she was sitting on something. Mimi felt about behind her and found a pair of lacy black underwear.
“Yucks!” she cried, flinging it away from her.
“What happened?” he asked, walking towards her holding two cans of iced coffee. The black blob went flying towards him and the panties landed on Sato’s head. Mimi coughed, trying to stifle her laughter, both amused and horrified at the strange scene. He swept the underwear off his head and shrugged.
“I hope that is not yours,” she said, trying to inch away from him as he sat down next to her. Mimi’s comment was met with a stern stare. He placed one of the cans on the coffee table and opened his own.
“Is this for me? I don’t drink coffee,” she said.
Sato sniggered and said, “I think this is a good time for me to lay down some house rules.”
“House rules?”
“Firstly, this is not a supermarket. I am giving you a roof over your head for free. So whatever I give you, take it or leave it, there is no option.”
Mimi felt a sinking feeling of dread and wondered what she had gotten herself into.
“Number two, and this is more important than the first rule. From now on, you are Mimi Sato, my younger sister who has returned from her London studies. You came back because you missed your wonderful and adorable brother.”
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not. I don’t want to be in the tabloids for having some random girl in my house. Nor do I want the number of lovers I have to diminish just because I’m housing some stranger.”
As Mimi had thought, she had made a big mistake. But there was no turning back now. “Okay, I understand. I’ll leave when I can walk again.”
Sato smirked and said, “Let’s just hope your boyfriend isn’t a rock fan or he might just blow our cover.”
Yuki? That boy band member? thought Mimi to herself. “Don’t worry. He won’t,” she said, taking a sip of coffe.
*
Yuki sat alone in the waiting room of the television studio. Clad in a purple hoodie that was currently pulled over his wavy locks, he whipped out his white mobile phone and stared at its wallpaper. It showed a shot of himself and Mimi, beside each other, cheek to cheek, both smiling broadly. He wondered how it was possible for anyone to even be that happy. His finger moved over to the ‘delete’ button on his mobile phone. Suddenly, the door flung open and the rest of the Fire Boys tumbled into the room. Their entourage of stylists, make-up artists and assistants soon followed. The whole room was suddenly filled with chatter and commotion. Yuki quickly stuffed his cell phone into his bag.
“Yuki! It has been such a long time since we last saw you!” cried a small-sized boy with shaggy light brown hair. He ran towards Yuki and hugged him tightly.
“Jiro, don’t be silly, I was only gone for a month,” said Yuki. He waved at the three other members of his group, who had just entered the room.
Naoki, a slightly muscular guy with red tousled hair quipped, “Maybe it was only a month, but Fire Boys was not complete without you.”
“Thanks Naoki. Hey, you got a minute?”
“Both of you, don’t wander too far. The filming starts in two hours!” warned their manager.
“Relax Jun, we’re just getting something from the vending machine. Do you want anything?” asked Naoki. Jun grunted in reply.
“So what caused the change of heart?” asked Yuki in a low voice as he inserted some coins in the vending machine.
“MAX wanted us.”
“The mobile phone company?”
“Yeah, they wanted us for a major advertising campaign... But Yuki, be careful. After everything that has happened, I doubt the CEO will let you off that easily. Just try to keep a low profile.”
“Thanks Naoki,” said Yuki, bending down to grab a can of orange juice from the machine.
“Has she been contacting you?” Naoki asked, observing him. Yuki shook his head.
“She was really mean and I never liked her. Yuki, make sure you choose your girlfriends carefully next time,” added Naoki.
“Yes Mr. leader-of-the-band, but there won’t be a next time for a long time. I’m really sorry for causing so much trouble for everyone.”
“Don’t worry about it. What are friends for? Let’s go back before Jun throws a fit.”
The Fire Boys were getting ready for a guest appearance on the music talk show, “Song Song Love”. Dressed in their performance outfits – shiny silver shirts and gold pants – their assistants were adding some touch ups to the members’ hair and make-up.
Yuki was having some face powder put on when he suddenly remembered something, “Oh yes, I bought souvenirs for all of you!” He reached out towards the paper bag on the dressing table and took out four small boxes. Each cardboard box had each member’s name written on the top – Naoki, Jiro, Ginta, Makoto.
“Thank you!” said Jiro as he opened his box immediately. “It’s cute!” Yuki had given him a snow globe with the Merlion inside and the words “Singapore” engraved at the base. Each of the other members got the same thing except each had a different colour. Jiro had a blue one, Naoki’s was red, Makoto had a yellow one and Ginta’s was green.
“Not fair,Yuki!” cried Ginta, “This was obviously a last minute buy from the airport.”
“But you see, I bought you guys different colours,” explained Yuki, trying to redeem himself.
“It doesn’t even snow in Singapore,” added Makoto as he gave the snow globe a violent shake. Makoto, at age 20, was the youngest of the Fire Boys. His blonde hair was currently spiked up. He had a fair complexion and loved to wear light blue contact lenses. To the Fire Boys’ fans, he was known as the “pure one” because of his baby face and beautiful voice but everyone else in Fame Factory knew about his notorious womanising ways. His main motto in love was “never get emotionally involved”.
“I know,” exclaimed Ginta, “You were too busy with Singapore girls to buy us presents!” Ginta was of Italian and Japanese descent. He had short black hair, deep-set eyes and was taller and darker than the others.
“You guys are so noisy, it was nice and quiet in Singapore,” Yuki protested.
A production assistant entered the waiting room and said, “Fire Boys, you’re on air in half an hour!”
“Okay, thank you,” said Naoki, the leader of the group.
“Well, you can’t get rid of us today, we’ve got a packed schedule,” said Makoto, checking his own reflection in the mirror.
“What! No way, what do we have?” asked Yuki. Makoto passed him a sheet of paper with the words “Today’s Schedule” at the top.
10 am – 12 pm : Single promotion on talk show “Song Song Love”
2 pm – 3 pm : “On Fire” radio show recording
5 pm – 7 pm : Interview and photo shoot with idol magazine “Shounen”
8 pm – late : Rehearsal for summer concert tour, “Burning Up”
“Oh my...” Yuki felt tired already.
Jiro placed his arm over Yuki, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay! Oh yes, Yuki, I made something for you.”
“Really?”
The shaggy brown-haired boy took o
ut a purple hand-knitted scarf and placed it on Yuki’s shoulder.
“My therapist said that knitting will help me to focus,” said Jiro, beaming at Yuki.
“Thank you, it’s really nice and soft. I love it!”
Before any performance, the five of them will huddle together backstage and put their palms on top of each other. Naoki, being the leader, will then shout, “Fire Boys, Fighto!”
Jiro, Makoto, Naoki, Ginta and Yuki were the members of the Japanese pop group, Fire Boys. This year, they were celebrating their third year as a group and were under the talent agency Fame Factory or FF for short. Fame Factory was a talent agency where boys from 12-years-old onwards were accepted and groomed to become pop idols. They were then given FF trainee status and would take up dancing, singing and acting lessons. Eventually, if they were popular enough or had favour from the upper management, they would then debut as pop idols where glitz, glamour and endless fan girls await them. At least that’s what the public is led to believe.
