Songbird

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F U J I K O

THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHING AFTER EVERY show.

It’s a peaceful feeling that manages to mix in with a little bit of disgust—and there’s a good reason for it. Luckily, these gigs are twice a week, and I get to bookkeep for Nezo. So yeah, my hands are pretty tied.

The spotlight feels immensely warm on my exposed skin. Nezo thought it might be better to wear something…appeasing to the eyes, since that’s what will attract more customers. And that’s what he got at my expense. The tight, silky red dress is hugging every inch of my curves. At the end of my performance, there are a few claps here and there, along with the lewd comments from the drunken men sitting in the back.

Well, fuck you too! I want to say to them, but silence hangs on my lips. I set the silver guitar next to me before I hurry off the stage. I flash a quick smile as I wave at the handsome jazz band, who are scheduled to play right after me. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the alcohol and cigar smell because no matter how much I try to wash it off, it always finds a way to cling to my clothes. The familiarity of it somewhat reminds me of my father before he left. When I first started working here, the odor made me want to vomit.

Now, I don’t mind it that much anymore.

“You did well up there, kiddo.” A friendly bartender with a tall stature pours me a nice cold glass of water and passes it to me from across the table, along with a white envelope. I was hoping for a glass of wine, but this will suffice.

I give him my thanks and take a long drink of water, feeling the coldness run down my throat. It felt like it was on fire earlier, and had I stood up there any longer, my voice would’ve been finished or at least out of commission. Thankfully, I only have to do this twice a week before Nezu can call on me to bookkeep for him.

On top of my day job, it’s anything for me to get by for however long.

I take another long drink of my water as I look onward at the band playing on the stage while the audience dances in front of them. One day, that will be me. Standing in front of a large crowd of people, all dolled up. My voice sounding like an angel, as I’ve been told by the men in my audience (some who were married as well). You can imagine how many have given me fan mail after every show. It went from flowers to cards, and then they asked me out to dinner. I simply decline. Not because of how forward they were, but because they only had one goal.

I heave out a tired sigh as the gloomy reality sinks in for a second. Every day is the same. I wake up, go to work, sing, get paid, and go home. It’s like I’m stuck in an endless cycle. A bird trapped in a gilded cage, more like. Sometimes, I like to think that my freedom is somewhere around the corner. Hopefully, soon too.

For a brief second of quietness, the jazz band finishes their song, and the audience erupts in applause. Much louder than my performance, not that I’m jealous of them. I take another sip of my drink, not paying attention to the tall man standing beside me. The man clears his throat, causing me to slightly turn my head to him.

He has dark hair that reaches down to his neck, champagne eyes filled with specks of Jupiter simmering beneath the dim lighting. The man takes a seat next to me. I don’t really mind his presence, though. I’ve never seen this guy here before.

He’s sitting mere inches away from me at the bar table with tiredness lying on his face. The man raises a finger, signaling Nezo to pour him a glass of probably sake. I shift in my seat, furrowing my brows as I take in his appearance. When the stranger finally receives his drink, he grabs the drink by the rim, swirling the liquid around for a second, then takes a swig.

I lower my attention back to the table, hoping to not converse with this man. But it’s already too late when he meets my gaze.

“Rough day for you, too, huh?” I find myself asking him.

“Uh, yeah. Just 桃っぽい. [Peachy.]” The soft bass in his voice nearly flusters me for a second, but I have to keep my composure.

I nod at his answer. He doesn’t seem awful after exchanging only five words with me. I take one last sip of my drink for the night. The man clears his throat again. For a beat longer, I didn’t realize that his eyes were lingering on me, but somehow I managed to notice.

“You know, staring is creepy,” I take another drink without meeting his gaze.

“Was I staring at you? I thought I was looking at the prettiest girl in the bar.” The man smiles into his drink.

I scoff and lightly laugh at his comment. “魅力的. [Charming.] I don’t know if it’s that’s supposed to be an insult or a compliment. And yet, you’re still looking at me.”

“And yet, I’m still looking at you.” His eyes soften for a moment. “I’m Jomei.”

“Takahashi Fujiko,” I reply.

“So, what is a woman like you doing in this establishment?”

“Just like you, I assume. Drinking to forget after a long day of work,” I say truthfully. From where I’m sitting, there are dark circles underneath his eyes. They aren’t that dark, but it’s enough for me to see in the dim lighting. “So, what about you?”

Jomei pauses in his drinking and stares up at the ceiling, probably searching for an answer. “Yeah, same here too. Drinking the demons away.”

He looks at me with a tight smile.

“I guess we’ve all seen bad days,” I mumble.

“Yeah, and uh, I’m sorry that your day didn’t go well either.” His eyes find mine again. Something feels strange in my stomach. Maybe it’s the drinks talking. It’s like a thousand butterflies are fluttering. I can’t help but give him a quaint smile. I’ll admit, this Jomei person does have a pretty face for someone who looks like a regular here.

I rise from my seated position at the bar. “Well, I’d better get home. I work in the morning.”

Jomei stays seated, however.

“I’ll see you around, I guess?”

“I suppose,” His eyes don’t meet mine, only focused on the half-empty glass in front of him.

And as I walk out of the Blue Velvet Fox, I press my hand to my chest, begging my heart to calm down.

It’s the drink talking, I think.

I’m greeted with darkness, and only the slices of the moonlight cutting through my windows. It’s close to midnight when I get home. Apartment keys followed by my footsteps echo in my wake.

On nights like these, I know when not to drink too much so I can get home safely. I know my limits. Between the bar and my apartment, it’s only four minutes away (within walking distance, thankfully)

I toss my purse on the floor, not bothering to aim for the hook on the wall this time. I’m too tired to think about accuracy, and I kick off my shoes as well. My bare heels meet the cold floor; it’s soothing to the touch, and it’s enough to cool off my aching feet.

Talking to someone new seemed to have uplifted my spirit. Probably the first time I’ve ever talked to a guy since high school. It felt so long ago before the world was dragged into war.

Jomei Matsuo. He seemed pretty charismatic, charming, inviting, and a tad bit laid back. He could probably check all the boxes on my list of what I can see in a man. But perhaps not the type that my mother would want me to go for.

Before meeting him, today was long and restless. I couldn’t care less about undressing myself. I’ve always hoped for a better tomorrow—one where it’s less strenuous and more bearable. When I reach my bedroom, I immediately fall face-first onto the mattress, not worrying about the makeup on my face.

Tomorrow is just another day, I think as I drift off to sleep.