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I breathe in deep while taking a good, long look around my bedroom. I can’t help but notice how confined and stuffy it feels. Not that our home is by any means small. The old stone Victorian which houses our family and my dad’s music studio is actually quite considerable in size. But after seeing for myself how posh and glamorous the Siren Sound studio offices are, this house feels like a tomb at the bottom of the ocean.
Suddenly, I’m struck with a sharp pang of guilt as I’m reminded of my mom. The hot, salty sting of tears is in my eyes. It’s just so unfair. It’s unfair that my mom isn’t here anymore, that she wasn’t here to help Honey and me through the whole mess with our swim coach, and that she isn’t here to help me with this now. And it’sreallyunfair that now I have to feel guilty for wanting more for myself, for having dreams and ambitions. And it’s all because she decided that partying and drugs were more important than her own family. The sharp pang is now an intense throbbing. I let out a sob as I sink down to sit on the edge of my queen-size canopy bed. My tears leave darkened little spots on my pale pink comforter, turning them to a champagne color.
Who am I kidding? I’m not really angry at Mom. How could I be? She was always so good to us. Even right before she died, when she was sick all the time, she always made time for Honey and me and never lost her patience or got snippy with us. If she was ever high around us or experiencing any sort of withdrawal symptoms, then she must have been as great an actress as she was a singer because she never once took it out on us. Granted, I was only eleven years old when she died. What does a kid that age know about drug addicts and how they behave, right? But when most people think of a drug addict, they think of someone who steals, yells, breaks promises, and disappears for days at a time. She never did any of those things, at least not that I can remember.
My thoughts drift, and I remember the party we had here years ago to celebrate the release of Mom's first single. She drank a little too much champagne and couldn’t stop giggling whenever someone tried to have a conversation with her. The next day both she and Dad explained to Honey and me what a hangover was. I smile a little at the memory. That was the only time I can remember her ever drinking or being drunk. I would imagine that if her drug habit was as bad as I've been told, she inevitably would have been high around Honey and me at some point. She did seem sick, but she never acted anything like she did at the party or the next day when she was hungover. Honey and I were being such pests that day, belting out the words to Mom’s new song, dancing around her and Dad’s room while she lay in bed with an ice pack on her forehead. She knew that we were just so proud and excited for her, but she could only take so much.
“Girls, please! Enough!” she finally snapped, seemingly on the verge of tears. I remember how quiet it got as I stood there frozen, wondering if we had done something to hurt her.
“Come on, Mari,” Honey said as she pulled me out of the room by my arm. Later that evening, when Mom was feeling better, she and Dad sat Honey and me down and explained why she had lost her patience with us. Mom was practically sobbing when she told us it wasn’t our fault and that she was just feeling sick from having had too much to drink the night before. She must have apologized ten times before Honey finally told her to relax.
“Jeeze, Louise! It’s ok, Mom! I mean, it’s not like you’ve never gotten mad at us before, right? Mari and I will survive, I promise,” Honey teased. She was a pro at disarming Mom with her humor.
No, I’m not mad at Mom. But this would all be much easier if I was. I feel my phone begin to vibrate in my jean shorts. I stand and wipe my eyes as best I can before reaching into my pocket to retrieve it. My brow furrows when I see ‘Private Number’ on the screen. I don’t normally take calls from numbers I don’t recognize or don't have stored in my contacts, but something in my gut tells me I should answer. After all, it could be Sonomi or someone else from Siren Sound. My finger is tapping the big, green ‘Answer Call’ button before I even know what I’m doing.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hello, is this Miss Marika Yumiko?” a gruff male voice with a Russian accent asks.
“Yes, this is Marika speaking,” I answer far too cheerfully.
“Excellent! It is a pleasure to speak with you, Miss Yumiko. I hope I have not disturbed you. Do you have moment to speak?” he asks politely.
“Oh! Um, yes, of course – I mean!" I stumble hopelessly over my words, my mind racing, wondering who this man could be. "I'm sorry, but may I ask who's calling?"
“Of course, of course! No apology is needed. You see, Miss Yumiko, my name is Artyom. I work for the gentleman you met earlier today in Miss Sagawa’s office, Yosef. Or, Blondie, he is also known. I also know your father and uncle, but this conversation only concerns Yosef. He asked me to reach out to you and ask if you would be so kind as to consider meeting with him to discuss a few details regarding your recent meeting with Miss Sagawa,” the man rambles on.
He may as well have stopped talking right after he said those names. Josef, Blondie. Of course, this man has dealings with my family too. But what could Blondie possibly want with me? Sonomi’s assistant made it clear that he was to have no contact with me for the duration of my contract. What if meeting with him renders the contract void?
“Miss Yumiko? Are you still there?”
“Uh, yes. Sorry. I mean, no. I mean!” I let out an exasperated sigh. I must sound like such a mess.
I can hear the man snicker under his breath.
“I’m sorry, but I don't know if that's such a good idea. Not that I don’t want to!” I say, sounding overly cheerful again.
“So, you want to meet? Let’s set this up,” he says.
“I’m just not so sure that…" I trail off, unable to come up with an excuse. “I’m sorry, but no, for now.”
“Miss Yumiko, if I may be so bold, I insist that you reconsider. You are young, talented,andbeautiful. And as an experienced talent agent, I must advise you to keep your options open. You do have your entire career ahead of you, after all. Besides, nobody ever needs to know anything about this meeting. I give you my word," The man persists.
He does have a point about keeping my options open. Sonomi may have been my only shot at landing a contract, but now that it's all in writing, anyone could potentially buy it. That is, anyone that Sonomi is willing to sell it to. Could it be that Josef is interested in buying my contract? Why else would he want to meet with me so badly? My face grows hot.
"I just don't know," I sigh. "I apologize, Mr. Artyom, but I'm going to need a day or two to think about it. Now, I'm not saying no! But I'm not in a position where I can commit to this meeting just now."
"Of course, Miss Yumiko, I completely understand your hesitation. And again, no apologies are necessary. I thank you for taking the time to think it over. You are obviously very intelligent as well as beautiful and talented. With a combination like that, you are sure to go far in this business. I am sending you a text with my contact information as well as Yosef’s information. It has been a pleasure, Miss Yumiko. I will be in touch." He hangs up.
What the hell am I going to do?!
Am I actually considering risking everything to meet with Josef? We’re complete strangers. Though you’d never know it from the butterflies I have fluttering around in my stomach right now.Jeez, Mari, snap out of it!I tell myself. I have too many things to worry about to be wasting time fantasizing about some random guy I hardly even know. I save ‘Blondie’s’ number in my contacts and slide my phone back into my pocket. I take in another big deep breath and slowly scan my room. I can think about Blondie later. Right now, I need to begin the painstaking process of deciding what comes with me and what stays.
I spend the next thirty or so minutes rummaging through my closet, wondering if maybe I should treat myself to a whole new wardrobe. I’m interrupted when I hear Honey call out to me.
“Hey! Dad’s home, and he’s got dinner,” she says as she leans casually against the doorframe. Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “What are you doing?”
“Huh? Oh! Nothing! I was just thinking of cleaning out my closet. Maybe donate some stuff to the poor or something. You know?” I say awkwardly.
