RECORDING
Chapter Twelve
Marble House
Sawako squeaked, feeling the floor start to slip out from under her. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. It was a situation like this in which she would bellow, "Whose goddamn idea was this?" However, the question more implied, "Why was this suggested?" Sawako knew who had suggested ice skating (herself) and why she chose it (to take her mind off Mugi and Tokudaiji). She hung on to the wall, content to watch the other people skate.
She heard the trademark roar of someone halting on the rockers next to her. Cautious to move her body lest she should fall, Sawako turned her head to find Mugi standing beside her. The blonde keyboardist's chest heaved with every big breath she took. Her cheeks were rosy from effort. "This takes me back," she gasped, leaning wearily against the wall. "Why aren't you out there?"
Sawako blushed and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "No reason…I'm, uh, taking a break! Like you, y'know? Heheh."
Mugi smiled. She knew Sawako couldn't actually skate. She'd brought her here to make up for the coffee. Edging closer to the sensei on her skates, Mugi asked softly, "Do you have an elastic on you?"
Sawako paused before fishing through her coat pockets. She was known to carry random miscellaneous things in her pockets. Once she had found her lucky pencil from high school which she'd lost right before her finals. Sure enough, there was a glittery blue hairtie in her left coat pocket. Sawako handed it to Mugi; a sharp intake of breath as their hands touched.
Holding the elastic in her mouth, Tsumugi gathered her jaune locks at the back of her head. She then looped the hairtie about her ponytail a couple times. It wasn't a severe ponytail; a few amber tresses framed her round face. Sawako couldn't help but notice how well the blue elastic complemented — no, beautified — her hair. As a bonus, it really brought out her cerulean eyes. Mugi noticed Sawako staring, and smiled, her hooded eyes full. She edged closer still and placed her left hand on the older woman's shoulder. Her right hand strayed up Sawako's neck, pausing on her cheek. Her eyes never once wavered or strayed from the teacher's. She possessed a new kind of confidence, a deliberateness. Sawako felt both nervous and eerily calm.
So the sensei stood still, looking into the keyboardist's eyes. She didn't kiss Sawako or anything like that. But what she did felt as shockingly intimate. The first three fingers of her right hand slid upwards to smooth a rumple of consternation in the center of Sawako's forehead.
"Watch this," Mugi whispered softly.
Sawako complied.
Mugi detached herself from the teacher and drifted backwards on the ice. Sawako's face suddenly felt cold where the blonde's warm hand had once been. She watched as Mugi impetuously dashed out to the center of the rink, her flaxen hair flashing in the light like liquid gold. The next thing that happened, Sawako couldn't rightly explain it or find the proper adjective to describe how she felt. It was so unexpected. Mugi seemed to catch the ice with the toepic on her right skate; then she lunged maybe three feet into the air and lutzed. The lutz was so quick and controlled, the landing so graceful, that Mugi almost seemed a little ethereal to Sawako. It was boggling to think that such beauty existed in this world, and that it had touched her face not moments before.
The other people in the rink stared in awe; some even clapped. Mugi teetered slightly from dizziness before making her way back to Sawako. The teacher had too much to say and couldn't say anything at the same time.
Mugi leaned against the wall. "I'm losing my touch, I guess."
"Are you nuts? That was amazing!" Sawako exploded.
The keyboardist started at the abrupt outburst. Then she smiled sheepishly and put her arm behind her head. "Thank you…I, uh, used to figure skate when I was little."
Sawako shook her head, still bewildered by the stunt which she had only seen on the Winter Olympics from the comfort of her living room TV. Actually, what Mugi just did was far better than some of the shit routines Sawako had seen during the Olympics. She remembered one flambuoyant American competitor whose routine included no lunges or lutzes or anything. He had taken bronze. If Mugi were to compete, Sawako would give her gold. She would give her platinum if that was possible.
"How…long did you skate for?" she finally asked.
Mugi's eyes flicked away as she tried to remember. "Five years. I started when I was five, and stopped when I was ten."
"Why did you stop?"
Mugi shrugged. "I got tired of it," she stated simply.
Sawako could understand this. There were the things you enjoyed doing, and there were the things you were good at. However, it seemed like Mugi was good at damn near everything.
"Can we go?" Sawako asked suddenly.
Mugi didn't look bothered by the request. "Go where?"
"Anywhere. I need to talk to you."
The keyboardist didn't protest or call attention to how skittish Sawako plainly was. They returned the rental skates, and then the teacher led Mugi into the fresh autumn night. In forty-five minutes it would be November. Sawako kept walking and walking, faster and faster, until Mugi was jogging to keep up with her. She couldn't help it; she was a woman on the run. She was on the run from this new thing that was blossoming between them. She could no longer ignore it. Even Mugi was aware of it, as she had so daringly expressed back at the ice rink.
She's incredible, Sawako thought, and not just in that she's so unbelievably talented. The teacher was more thinking back to what Mugi had said during her "detention." Here she is, nine years younger than me, and she's able to bluntly express feelings which I never could with previous boyfriends. Sawako looked at Mugi, wondering, Has she always felt this way?
Mugi was trotting beside Sawako, her breath blasting from her mouth in feathery puffs. She didn't complain, but she was clearly tired from running. I've never known somebody who could be so brave and yet so easy-going. Why did I avoid talking to her for so long? Smiling, Sawako caught Mugi's left hand in the running backswing and held it. The blonde kept her face forward, still panting, but Sawako saw the corners of her mouth turn up. She slowed down until they were walking, much to Mugi's relief. The two of them passed some warehouses on the outskirts of the city.
Well, here it was. They had gotten coffee, ice skated, and now they were holding hands. It was, more or less, a date. Their professional relationship merely fuzzed around the edges. Should I kiss her?
Healthy relationships were about both people standing equal to each other. But Sawako was a teacher and Mugi was her student. That wasn't fair or equal. That situation is only temporary, though.
The warehouses petered away into a thin forest. Sawako felt the jerk of Mugi's hand as the blonde hesitated at its fringe. The teacher turned to look at her. Mugi's azure eyes and the hairtie sparkled in the starlight. The hesitation was brief, though, and she continued onward; she was moving faster than Sawako this time. Smiling vibrantly, she told the teacher over her shoulder, "I know this forest. There's a place we can go."
It stood to reason that Mugi knew this city in and out, back and forth. It was her hometown. Between the coffee shop and the ice rink, Sawako had seen most of the city. Everytime they passed a fancy subdivision, she wondered if this was where Mugi lived.
They were on a path, the two of them. But, Sawako realized, it was not a bike path like she had frequently rode on while growing up. It was more suited to cars than hikers and bikers. And the forest was so sparse. There were no animals, save for the occasional bird. Sawako was getting the feeling that these woods were private property…
She halted abruptly.
"What's up, Sawa-chan?" Mugi queried.
"You live here, don't you?" Sawako asked slowly. Then, more quickly: "You're taking me to your house, aren't you?"
The keyboardist smiled and squeezed the teacher's hand. "Yeah, I am." As they continued onward, Sawako beside herself with anticipation and curiosity, Mugi explained the history of her home.
"The Kotobuki mansion has been home to ten generations of my family. I don't know why it was built out in the sticks — maybe at the time the city was larger. Or this location was better for great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandpa Kotobuki Taizo's own purposes. I've heard stories about him being an agoraphobic hermit." She giggled. "Father talks about Taizo-jiisan as if he knows him." Based on the stories, Mugi could only marvel at how similar Taizo and her father seemed. "He was a philosopher. He had the signature Kotobuki above-average temperature. And the eyebrows."
"And your father's a…conglomerate owner?"
Mugi nodded. "A bit rare in our family. Most people in our family either go into art or metaphysics. Kotobuki Munetaka was an astrologer who published three books on the subject. Kotobuki Takao was a painter. Kotobuki Hitoshi was a concert harpist." She blushed and brought a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. Am I boring you?"
"Not at all," Sawako assured. She brought her other hand to Mugi's hand which she was holding. It was the only thing keeping her warm in this biting night.
"I really sound like my father, talking about family and history and such," the keyboardist continued apologetically. "And his family lectures honestly bore me, so…"
"I really don't mind. Concert harpist, huh?" Grinning, Sawako brought her hand about Mugi's shoulders. "Future generations will say, 'Kotobuki Tsumugi was a famous concert pianist.'" She paused. "That name really stands out from the pack."
"Because it's the only feminine one?" Mugi grinned. "Ten generations, and I'm the only female Kotobuki to reside in this mansion." She laughed as she always did when she thought of this. "What were you like growing up, Sawa-chan?"
"Eh? Well…My family's not very exciting. We don't have history…"
"Nonsense. Every family has history of their own." Mugi valued personal family history much more than public family history. Her parents' divorce meant so much more to her than one of Kotobuki Munetaka's books.
"Well, if you're really eager to hear it…" Sawako ducked under a low-hanging branch. The woods were thinning out more and more. "I'm one of three daughters."
"Mm. Oldest?"
"Youngest, actually."
Mugi looked at Sawako in surprise. Her parents' youngest daughter was…what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? "How old are your parents?" She knew it was a rude question to ask; hypocritical, too, since her father was sixty-two.
"Fifty-nine."
The keyboardist honestly tried to mask her shock, but it was in vain. Sawako noticed her astonishment and smiled. "My mother was born in Kyoto five years after World War II. My father was born in Nara."
And you said your family had no history? Kyoto and Nara were cornerstones of Japanese culture. Tsumugi wished she had relatives from those cities.
"I spent a lot of my childhood in Kyoto, visiting my mom's folks." She laughed. "I'd go there during summers and pick up the dialect from my family and friends. And I'd go back to Sakura High School, annoy my classmates with it, and it would be gone again by October."
Mugi giggled, remembering how she could mimic the dialect as well. All she had to go on it, though, were a few movies she'd seen which were set in Kyoto.
"What about your father's family?"
"Oh my God, Mugi-chan, they were friggin' weird." Sawako shielded her eyes, as though she was dazzled by their weirdness. "His parents divorced when he was, like, fifteen. He lived with his alcoholic mother. She had all these men over, and it was just creepy for him."
Mugi wanted to ask if this woman was a geisha or something. Sawako beat her to it.
"Obaa-san wasn't a prostitute. She just...had a lot of boyfriends. She's still alive," Sawako added with a hint of amazement. "She cohabits with some demented ninety-year-old guy. My dad's looking forward to the day when he finally bites it."
The keyboardist winced. "He sounds mean."
Sawako nodded. The grass was becoming lusher - much more like grass in somebody's yard than grass in a forest.
"But..." Mugi kept her eyes down as she kicked a pebble. "I...I may not approve of that, but I think I understand." She looked back up. Her bushy eyebrows furrowed over her hooded eyes, which glinted dispassionately. "I can't say I'd be happy if either of my parents remarried."
"Why?" Sawako asked the question with open awe, as a little kid would, as though she could not comprehend why remarriage angered her father and Tsumugi so.
"If either of them remarries..." Mugi paused to stare up at the sparse branches criss-crossed in the starlit velvet black sky. "If Mother or Father remarry, then they can't get back together."
"Did you think they would?"
The keyboardist remained silent. A branch snapped underneath her foot.
"C'mon, Mugi-chan, there's a reason why your parents divorced, and that reason's not going to bring them back together."
"I know, okay?" Mugi shook her head and glared at the trees. "You're the one who doesn't know what it's like..."
"I can imagine what it's like," said Sawako softly. She meant to firmly grab the blonde girl's shoulder, but ended up lightly stroking it. "To really want things to change and knowing that they can't." The sensei was a bit surprised by Mugi's sudden change in humor. She was usually such a pleasant and simple-minded girl. But then, what was a girl like that to do when she was thrown into something that was neither pleasant nor simple? "...Actually, I don't think I can imagine it." Sawako really felt horrible, like she had just tried to reduce a permanent problem into something insignificant. If someone - say, Mugi's mother - had died, Mugi and her father would go through the grieving process and eventually move on. There was no moving on from a divorce. The damage stayed after the parents were done fighting...and, unfortunately, Sawako was realizing, that was Tsumugi's cross to bear.
The teacher was overwhelmed with sorrow. She just wished she knew how to commiserate with Mugi's situation. In what twisted up world does the kid have to keep peace in a household? I wonder if her parents still fight, and if she still has to keep peace? Did she ever have to side with either one of them?
"I wish it hadn't happened to you." Sawako slid her caressing hand to the back of Mugi's neck, which was as warm if not warmer than her hands.
The aurum-haired girl's expression smoothed over, her eyebrows no longer pinched and slanted. She looked at Sawako appreciatively, and brought her hand to Sawako's arm, holding her hand to her neck. 'I wish it hadn't happened to you' carried so much more meaning than the more frequently used 'I'm sorry.' Those words and that gesture bore so much meaning that she didn't know what to say to that.
"I'm alright." Mugi didn't know if it was the right thing to say, but it had the right meaning. Liking the sound of it, she said it again. "I'm alright."
"Welcome home, ojou-sama."
Mugi gently closed the immense front doors. She had been dreading this moment more than introducing Sawako and her father. People who were not related to Mr. Kotobuki's numerous affiliates tended to feel overwhelmed by the mass greeting from the butlers.
The sensei was no exception. Her surprise was so passionate that it defied words or sound. Seeing the two wide sets of staircases extending upward to an overhang on the second floor which shadowed the entrance to a larger than life coat closet, the song title "Marble House" by the Knife leapt into Sawako's head. She had always wondered if Mugi lived in a traditional mansion or a European-styled mansion. As the butlers greeted Sawako and offered to take her jacket, she noticed some of them spoke with strange, unfamiliar accents.
"Where's my father?" Mugi queried.
"He went out to the shopping center in Kobe," a portly butler responded.
Sawako almost whistled. That's really far to go just to do some shopping!
"He left somewhere around 1900 hours, so I think he'll be home soon," the butler added.
Tsumugi stepped up next to Sawako. She detested lying, but she thought it more sensible to not let people know she had been out with her teacher. "This is my...friend from French class, Hirasawa Mikoto." She knew Yui wouldn't mind if she borrowed her last name.
Sawako played along. She bounced forward and put her hand out. "Bonsoir, monsieur. Comment t'appelles tu?"
The butler, his blue eyes wide with shock, pumped Sawako's hand once. "J-je m'appelle Denis Duvont. Enchanté." He awkwardly placed his hand behind his head. "Tu parles très bien français."
Sawako shook her head. She didn't want this Denis to think she could actually speak French. "Non, non. Je parle comme-ci, comme-ça. Mais, merci beaucoup."
Mugi's thunderstruck blue eyes darted between Sawako and the butler. The teacher was speaking French as fluently and clearly as Monsieur Harusegawa, her French teacher. She could tell, though, that Sawako was just about reaching the limits of her French (which weren't enough for her to pass for a French III student). She spoke up, "Denis-san, Miko-chan and I have a big test on Monday to study for. If you'll excuse us..."
Denis, for a moment, forgot that he was no longer in Luxembourg. He nodded, muttered, "Excusez-moi," then, startled by his rudeness, exclaimed in broken Japanese, "Excuse me, ojou-sama."
"Denis-san kills me," Mugi chuckled, leading Sawako through the mansion. "If you don't mind my asking, how do you speak French so well? Did you study it in high school?"
Her brown eyes wide, Sawako shook her head in bewilderment. "Ohh, no. I studied English in high school and in college." She stated that Sawa-chan Fun Fact in lightly accented English. Then, switching back to Japanese: "I've never spoken French in my life. I just opened my mouth and that all came out."
"Denis-san is a native speaker!" Mugi cried, incredulous. "And you had him convinced!"
"I think I spoke about as well as a student would," Sawako said dryly. She turned her face forward to find they were now in an immense round room with dark red walls, wood paneling, chairs and sofas and loveseats. She laughed when she saw the grand piano in the closest corner; Mugi was getting the two of them back to basics.
Sawako sat next to the blonde girl on the bench. She allowed herself a better look around the room. There was so much to take in. It was roughly the size of her childhood home's living room, kitchen, dining room, and family room put together. After living in her shabby apartment for eight months, this one room in this younger girl's mansionesque home made Sawako feel a little agoraphobic herself. She could hardly blame any Kotobuki for feeling a little scared of the immensity of this place.
The room had a very posed, unused look about it. Or the butlers just did a superb job keeping it clean. It reminded Sawako of those old American movies with the cocktail party scenes and everyone dancing the Charleston. She felt a little Gatsby to Mugi's Daisy. The famous line from Fitzgerald's most popular book crept into her: Rich girls don't marry poor boys.
Well...I'm not poor, but...She shook her head. Now was not the time to think about money. An unprofessional relationship didn't need money to be really great. That was what everybody said, right? The best things in life are free?
Mugi experimentally tapped middle C, but something wasn't right. Something was missing. The piano wasn't out of tune (much). The sheet music was there. Dr. Beat was there. She raised her hand to sweep her bangs out of her eyes, as she habitually did before playing. Her hand halted on her forehead once she realized that there were no bangs to push away. That was what was missing. She quickly pulled out the blue hairtie, shaking out the bind it had put in her amber locks, and held it out to Sawako. "Here's your hairtie. I meant to give it back earlier."
"Keep it. I don't put my hair back much, and it looks better on you anyway."
"Oh, I doubt that. Here. Thanks for letting me borrow it."
Sawako shook her head, doing the no-deal hand wave. "I don't look good in blue, much as I'd like to. You look stunning with that elastic."
"You do so look good in blue," Mugi insisted. To the sensei's alarm, she took a brune tress and held the ponytail holder up to it. The keyboardist gently pulled her fingers through the strands. Sawako's hair was perfectly straight, thick, and silken. "See? Look at the contrast that creates. It makes your hair look great."
"Really? W-well, if you think so..." Sawako's hand trembled as she accepted the elastic. She noticed a long, curly golden strand still attached to it. She had never felt so mystified before, much less from a student of hers. Weren't the roles supposed to be switched? Yamanaka Sawako, hot for student, she thought with amusement. But was she hot for Mugi in that way? Was Mugi mystified, too?
"What's going on, Mugi-chan?" she blurted.
"What do you mean?" the blonde ojou inquired, playing the opening bars of 'Moonlight Sonata.'
"I mean, you've kind of been on this downer lately." Using the word 'downer' in tandem with the melancholic harmony of 'Moonlight Sonata' was wholly appropriate. "We haven't spoken much lately, I know, but you weren't...being yourself."
Mugi ended 'Moonlight Sonata' on a somber note, and switched to playing 'Badinerie.' She played it with varying tempos and dynamics: parts she knew well she played fast and loud, and parts she wasn't so confident in she played slow and soft. She kept the song moving, regardless of mistakes, until the excess of bum notes frustrated her too much. She lightly rapped her left hand against the keys with a dissonant DENG! Sighing, she told Sawako, "I have a solo contest coming up."
The unharmonious chord faded up into the high ceiling, like an afterthought to Mugi's restrained anger. Even an analogous set of notes were perfect for the mood.
"It's on Friday, the same day as the concert," the younger girl continued gloomily, "and this piece is way too hard."
"Why did you enter yourself in a solo contest on the same day as the concert?"
"I didn't. My father did. He picked the music, too." Mugi lightly tapped the first chord of 'Badinerie.' "He hates mainstream music, so there's no way he'd pardon the contest for the concert." She cracked her knuckles and looked at Sawako. "What about you? You're not being yourself either."
The sensei exhaled, knowing it was true. Her promotion to Fine Arts Department Chair had given her a wealth of responsibility, but there was more to her recent change in behavior than that. It was, of course, the kiss. At the time last week during Mugi's fated detention, a kiss on the cheek seemed like a comforting, affectionate gesture. But if Sawako couldn't bring herself to say anything after that, the kiss could have more or less meant nothing. But Sawako knew that kiss wasn't just for comfort. Holding a hand or giving a hug registered comfort. A kiss registered something totally different.
"Ts-Tsumugi..."
"Hm?" Mugi took her hands away from the piano and turned on the bench, straddling it, so she could face Sawako. Whenever anyone who wasn't her mother or father called her Tsumugi she knew they were talking about serious business.
The older woman turned the azurous hairtie over in her hands. Then she pulled the flavicomous hair from it and played with it, watching as though hypnotized as the hair curled and straightened. "We need to talk about that kiss..."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mugi blush. The ojou's cerulean eyes swam with an emotion Sawako couldn't presently identify. It may have been affection. It may have been worry.
"We both know that that was the gigantic elephant in the room that we needed to talk about," the teacher said flatly.
Mugi wordlessly nodded they had needed to talk about that elephant, but finding the words was difficult. Acknowledging the kiss would throw its significance to the acknowledger into question: 'Why did that kiss mean so much to you anyway?' But, Mugi realized, through the painful silence both of them stubbornly held for the past week, they communicated a mutual message that the kiss meant a lot to both of them.
"We...both know what it meant," the ojou murmured.
Sawako smiled slightly. It was a weak smile, but not a fake one. She was plainly freaked out. "We know what it could mean if it gets out."
Mugi gulped. Her head was beginning to ache with all the sleep-depriving fear she had had of that hypothetical situation. Her father had come close to finding out, but then decided that he just didn't care. Denis was fooled for the moment. How long could that last, though?
"But you know what, Mugi-chan?" The teacher scooted along the bench, closer to the keyboardist. She had her face turned toward her, her brown eyes betraying a hesitation contrary to her actions. "I don't care what happens if they find out."
The blonde girl blinked in surprise. Like with the detention last week, she could describe this situation as 'intimate.' The fact that Sawako was practically whispering lent an even deeper sense of closeness to the private scene. Once again, the gap between them was narrowing. The sensei was leaning closer still, and her right hand reached up to tenderly cup Mugi's cheek. Behind her glasses, Sawako's tawny eyes swam passionately.
"You make me feel happier than anyone else has ever made me feel. And I would be an idiot to give up that happiness."
She's going to kiss me again! Mugi realized. Sawako's face was so close now that the ojou could feel and smell her minty breath. Mugi dimly wondered if this was a little too straight-forward, but...What is there to say that we don't know already? I'm just glad that I can make Sawa-chan so happy. The keyboardist, sporting an excoriating beamer, turned her face slightly, showing Sawako the same side of it that she'd kissed a week ago.
Sawako had other ideas. Without pausing, she tilted her head in accordance with Mugi's. The gap vanished as their mouths came together. Sawako caught Mugi's lips in a slow, deep kiss. Startled, the keyboardist turned her face forward, and the sensei kissed her again. Tsumugi's shock melted away into a warm, demonstrative yearning. She fervently needed to show that yearning to Sawako, the beautiful, funny teacher whom she had adored since she was a first year. Her mouth loosened up and she leaned in, kissing Sawako back. She hummed tenderly and brought her gentle hands up to the brunette's shoulders. Sawako hugged the younger girls waist, caressing the small of her back, and pulled her into herself, Mugi's body settling into all of the teacher's parts and places. This was as close as they got, merging as one, no longer just teacher and student, ojou and commoner. They were now the perfect Sawa and Mugi.
Hot excitement bubbled up in the younger girl, lending urgency to her kisses. This moment defied all of her wildest dreams and fantasies. How long had she wanted to kiss SAwako like this (never mind the novice experience)! Their deepest and most basic needs had taken them this far; Tsumugi was wondering if they could go a bit farther...
She was now kissing Sawako so intensely and with such a yen that she was actually pushing the sensei's glasses askew on her warm, flushed face. Mugi raised a burning thigh so she could sit upon Sawako's lap. The teacher's hands faltered; she moaned involuntarily.
Mugi tore herself away from Sawako when she heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. Her rear end hit the piano keys with another dischordant peal. She knew if a butler bothered to come by any room that she was in, then most likely he had business with her. Sawako understood this as well. Whilst the blonde sat back on the bench at an innocent distance from her, the teacher readjusted her glasses and clothes. Mugi began playing 'Badinerie' at a frantic, clumsy tempo. The cherry-wood doors made no sound when Denis entered.
"Ojou-sama, Kotobuki-dono has just arrived home."
"Okay, thank you, Denis-san." It cracked Mugi up how the butlers called her father 'Kotobuki-dono' when they were talking to her. She smiled at Sawako. "Want to meet my father?"
Still dazed by their heated actions not mere moments before, Sawako nodded slightly.
Mr. Kotobuki's beryl-colored eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at Tsumugi, his only daughter. She approached him with some bespectacled individual whom he presumed to be a friend of hers. He was eager to see his daughter, for he had a feeling that what he'd bought in Kobe could pull her out of her blues.
"Hi, Father," Mugi greeted brightly. "How was Kobe?"
"Excellent as usual," he nodded. He wore a cobalt blue suit with an accent of red silk peeping from the breast pocket. "I had dinner at this glorious restaurant, Tsumugi. Louie's, it was called. Their service was capital and the baklava was to die for."
The hint of Greek combined with the upsnap of his Scandinavian accent made Mugi wince. She wondered what Sawako thought of her father.
"Uh, Father, this is my friend from French class." She also wondered how long this lie could go on before it blew up.
"Hirasawa Makoto." Sawako stepped forward with her right hand extended.
The old man barely grasped it, much less shake it. "Kotobuki Holt."
Holt. There was an unusual name reserved for European military generals during the World Wars. Sawako was beginning to question whether her new cute girlfriend was Japanese or European.
"This restaurant is the best, Tsumugi," Holt continued, waving his hand expressively. "I ought to bring you there sometime."
Mugi nodded. "Sure. Maybe sometime."
Her father grinned. "I got something for you."
The keyboardist almost groaned. The last time Holt went out and bought something for her, he came back with that brass dog that now watched over people in the bathroom. Holt knew two things about Mugi: that she could play piano, and that she liked dogs. Most of her birthday, Christmas, and Easter presents revolved around those two Mugi Fun Facts. And they were all pretty useless.
Presently, Tsumugi covered her mouth to surpress that groan. She was worried that Sawako would think of her as an ungrateful daughter and a brat. Sometimes Mugi thought she was, but she wasn't ready for Sawako to see that side of her. For the moment Good Mugi prevailed whilst Bad Mugi sulked in the shadows.
Holt had disappeared for a moment. When he came back, he bore a gigantic rectangular box. It compassed the general shape of an 88-key keyboard, but with Holt you never knew. He was known to give her mock-up presents for Christmas when she was tiny. She recalled a year when she opened an enormous package that only had a gift card to Best Buy in it. This keyboard-shaped box could probably be holding a new pair of gloves or something.
Or could it? Mugi tilted her head and caught the Yamaha logo on the side of the box.
She gasped. "A new keyboard...?"
"Uh-huh." Holt's smile was so huge, his voice so eager, that it nearly broke Mugi's heart to think, I don't want a new keyboard, though! "It's a MOTIF Synthesizer...Probably synthesizers aren't your thing, but this'll broaden your horizons a bit! It has a USB port so you can record what you're playing, though I dunno if you're the recording type. Four hundred and fifty-six different sounds. Incredible, ne?"
The more he talked and went on, the more horrified Sawako became. Does he know anything about his daughter? Sawako had only known Mugi for three years, but she knew that the blonde played a synthesizer with a band that could record an album if they wanted to. It was difficult to imagine that Holt had raised Mugi and chilling to realize that he had. The teacher imagined him with his head in the clouds whilst baby Mugi crawled about and teethed on the marble overhang.
"It is incredible," Mugi said faintly. What choice did she have? Bad Mugi couldn't show herself yet. The ojou extended her arms and accepted the keyboard. "Thank you, Father."
"You're welcome," he said cheerily. "I knew you'd love it."
Can't you see that she plainly doesn't? Sawako wanted to ask. This was not Mugi's genuinely happy face that she was giving her father, the sensei could tell.
Holt brushed past Mugi. "Well, do what you want with that, Tsumugi. Right now I need a big old drink. Sebastian-san!" he called. "Make me a Tom Collins!"
Mugi sheepishly looked at Sawako, her blue eyes wide. The brunette made a revolving motion next to her head and mouthed, 'Is he crazy?' Mugi sighed and jerked her head towards the front entrance.
Once they were outside Mugi gingerly propped the Yamaha against the wall. Yawning, she stretched her cramped arms. It had been such a long night. She couldn't wait to go to bed.
Sawako stared at the keyboard and rubbed her chin. "Nice gift. I wish my parents would've bought me my guitar."
"I don't want to keep it," the blonde sighed, leaning against the wall. She stifled another yawn. "Nothing could replace my Korg."
"That makes sense," Sawako nodded.
They were quiet for a moment. The teacher absently gazed at the stars. One could get a gorgeous view of the heavens from the front of the Kotobuki mansion. Aquarius glinted brightly, depicting a man carrying a bucket of water that was to represent deeper ideologies and humanitarian concepts. Sawako looked for Cancer, Mugi's sun sign, the crab representing a hard outer shell concealing a sensitive inner body, but it was too far away from Aquarius to be seen. Sawako gave up on star gazing. She opened her mouth to ask something, but saw Tsumugi had fallen asleep on her feet, leaning against the side of the mansion.
Sawako giggled, watching Mugi's head nod, her eyes flicker under the lids. She quietly approached the blonde and lightly kissed her forehead. Mugi jerked awake, nearly falling over. "Gomenasai!" she exclaimed groggily, rubbing her eyes. "I'm just kinda sleepy..."
"I understand. It's late." The teacher pulled Mugi into her arms and held her, the younger girl's flaxen-haired head pillowed upon her breasts. "I should get going so you can get some sleep."
Mugi moaned a little. She wasn't ready for them to part. She could feel the vibrations as Sawako laughed quietly.
"We'll see each other on Monday, don't worry." She paused. "Just one thing before I go. Are you from Europe?"
"Hmm, no," Mugi sighed drowsily. "I'm not from there. But my heritages are Finnish and Swiss. My mom's name is Veronique Hohnstedt, believe it or not."
Sawako believed it. She had always thought Mugi had a very un-Japanese appearance. "Well, Mugi-chan," she whispered at last, "I'll see you later..." When she got no response, she lightly patted Mugi's shoulder. The blonde ojou raised her head sleepily, murmuring, "Sorry, Sawa-chan."
" 'S okay," the teacher grinned. She gently tipped Mugi's chin up and kissed her deeply. "À lundi, Mugi-chan."
"À lundi."