As the bright lights of the stage played upon his chiseled features she snuggled comfortably into the crook of his shoulder, allowing herself to enjoy the hard won victory of her privileged position; the number one girl, chosen personally by Nishitani, now seated in the front row of the cabaret club with his arm around her; emphasising both protection and ownership. Allowing herself a sneaking glance at him in the dimness, she turned her head ever so slightly in his direction; her long blonde hair gently caressing his arm as she did so. Her cat-like green eyes studied his aquiline profile as he enjoyed the spectacle of the show; pink and purple lights dancing on his face as the barely dressed dancers shimmied across the stage in their elaborate feathered headdresses and sequinned 'costumes '. As the chorus line high kicked their way through the finale, a grimace of appreciation crossed Nishitani's face as the dancers revealed more flesh than their sequinned outfits could conceal.
Tracing his soft hand around her form and slipping the diamanté spaghetti strap of her crimson dress from her shoulder, his hand reached to find his pleasure. As suddenly as his exploration had begun, he stopped; replacing her dress strap and met her gaze, an apology residing in his dark brown eyes as a smile sheepishly crinkled the lines around them. Wordlessly she understood. Now that she was his, he treated her with respect. Many a time, as a club hostess, she had sat beside him as he mauled her, using her for his own pleasure; uncaring that the other patrons could see her nudity. He had even paid her to pleasure him. Good money. Big money. But in the end, she was a whore. To be used like a whore.
But not any more.
Now she was his.
His black shoulder length hair, parted in the middle, hung shaggily around his strong face; still strikingly handsome despite his years, despite the faint scars that bespoke his struggle to the top. He was easily over forty, having fought and killed for many years to become a lieutenant in the Yakuza, Omni Alliance; feared, hated admired. As a lieutenant in Japan's most infamous underworld crime syndicate, he was afforded the luxury and respect of royalty. He was untouchable. Outside the reach of everyone, even the law. Of everyone, except his superior. Or other Yakuza factions. But, Nishitani earned well and never failed to complete a job; erasing all traces of evidence that could implicate the Yakuza when unpleasantness could not be avoided. The constant reminder for him to be untouchable were the battle scars that lined his slim muscular body, now concealed in his signature merlot coloured suit; chosen as it represented both the blood he spilled and his favourite wine.
As the show drew to a close, the trumpets blared and the girls turned toward the audience in quick succession, creating the effect of an opening fan, the crowd stood and applauded loudly ; Nishitani joining in as he withdrew his arm from her shoulder and whistled his appreciation. The house lights turned on as the dancers exited the stage, illuminating the grandeur of the club.
No wonder they called it The Grand. It was the largest of all the cabaret clubs in Sotenbori and the most expensive; catering to only the wealthiest clientele. Decorated completely in reds and golds, it immediately had the effect of making its patrons feel pampered. The two story building was wallpapered in deep red and gold wallpaper, the faint pattern acting as a reflection to the club furnishings.
In the exclusive upstairs area, reserved for private parties, scarlet booths and curved sofas framed chrome glass tables. The same chrome and glass balcony snaked its way around the top floor, allowing unobstructed views of not just the floor show, but of both of the red carpeted double staircases that led to the second floor. Obviously it had been designed with the Yakuza in mind! No hidden attacks were possible here.
The downstairs area mirrored the upstairs, but all the red velvet sofas and chrome and glass tables were placed in groups around an ornately decorated stage that took up one entire wall of the club; the heavy scarlet velvet curtains draped loosely at its side, bound by golden tassels, that opened to reveal a polished wooden floor.
As the cheering subsided and the audience resumed their seats, the gentle murmur of conversations resumed and the gay laughter of the hostesses echoed throughout the club as they ensured that their customers had a good time ( and ordered more alcohol); Nishitani refilled their glasses from the fresh decanter, that had seemingly appeared as if by magic, on their table.
As they settled back into the velvet of the sofa, a voice from behind them inquired, " Is everything to your liking sir?"
The sound of his voice made her jump. But it couldn't be. That was so long ago. He'd moved on. They both had.
And yet she dare not look. Just in case. Just in case it was him.
She stared into her Merlot, its deep red becoming a reflection of the past. His smooth angular face, slight black stubble grazing his chin. His long dark hair tied into a neat ponytail for work. How she'd wound loose that tie and run her fingers through his thick black mane when work was done; burying her face into his silky muscular chest as his strong arms embraced her, his full mouth devouring all she had to give. Even though he'd always worn his eye patch, never had he revealed the injury of blindness the Yakuza had given him to her, they had been transported to a world beyond sight when they'd been together. She remembered his crumpled tuxedo on the bedroom floor entangled in her hostess dress, just as she'd lain entangled in his arms. Her fairness contrasting with his darkness. They'd thought it would last forever.
But no, this voice had the faint edge of fear to it. Not Majima. His voice always had the slightest hint of mirth. Not that a stranger could tell. It was only those who truly knew him that recognised that he was secretly laughing at the whole world. Even after the Yakuza had taken his eye.
Turning her head in the speaker's direction she dared to look, taking in the polished black shoes, the immaculately creased black dress pants. Same.Her gaze continued upward to the speaker's starched dress shirt and black jacket; lingering on the perfectly tied bow tie, not daring to look any further. Same.
Nishitani grunted, "If I want ya, I'll ask for ya, Errand Boy."
As 'Errand Boy' prepared to back away, she dared. Her eyes beheld a young man, about the same age he had been. Same position as club manager, same age, same uniform; but not him. A cherubic scared face greeted her, clean shaven and his hair was short, combed over to the side.
Inside she felt the familiar pang of both relief and pain; annoyance at her own foolishness growing as she chided herself for indulging in her silly school girl day dreams. Of course it wasn't him. That was years ago. You think he'd come back here for you? He'd made his choice. Hell, he didn't even look the same now.
Now he was Yakuza.
A short shaggy undercut had replaced his long mane, as if his hair had represented the past and in cutting it off he'd freed himself of all that came before. And instead of the tuxedo it was now a black and gold snakeskin jacket he wore. No shirt. His Yakuza tattoo on full display for all to see. And fear.
She wondered vaguely if 'Errand Boy' was , like Majima had been, serving a penance in being made club manager. Had he too, like Majima, been given this position as a punishment? Was he too in love with one of the club's pretty hostesses? Did they cherish dreams of a future that the Yakuza would destroy, as they destroyed everything, when they deemed the young man's punishment complete?
Fighting back tears of both disappointment and anger; at herself, at him, she drank gratefully. Grateful that she didn't have to speak. Grateful that Nishitani hadn't noticed. It would hurt him to know that she still loved Majima. And it would anger him. Majima, if he could find him, would be on the receiving end of Nishitani's jealousy. That wouldn't be pretty. And she didn't want to hurt him. After all, she did love Nishitani. He reminded her of Majima, of what he could have been. They both shared a disdain for authority and senseless rules; secretly laughing at everyone, including themselves. They were both brave, loyal and tender.
No. He must never know. Besides, it was all over now. Her future lay with Nishitani. They had the world at their feet.
