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Chapter Two: Tell Me Why
Miharu barged into the apartment she and Xiaoyu shared, dressed in a purple kilt-like skirt and black low cut blouse she’d worn to her date with Hwoarang. She tossed her house keys onto the counter, sighing, and dropped Hwoarang’s leather jacket (which he’d lent to her) onto the floor. She made her way to Xioa’s laughter coming from the living room where Xiaoyu was lying sprawled across the loveseat watching Mick Jagger sing Let’s Spend ‘Some Time’ Together on the Ed Sullivan Show. Occasionally, she’d burst into fits of giggles every time Jagger rolled his eyes as he sang ‘Some Time’.
Miharu, her hair disheveled and lipstick smeared, plopped down on the one-person couch and grabbed the remote; changing the channel. The movie playing was an old flick, The Philadelphia Story, not even worth watching because it was almost done. James Steward, playing Connor, had just proposed to the lovely Katherine Hepburn who was the rich, queen-like Tracy Lord. Of course she turns down his chivalrous proposal, giving her ex-husband, Dexter (Cary Grant), the chance to propose again.
Xiao started, sitting up properly and swinging her legs over onto the correct side of the couch. She gave Miharu an annoyed, questioning look while she gave her friend a once over. Absently, Miharu noted that Xiao was still dressed in a very aristocratic-like French black blouse; a gray pleated skirt, and black leotards underneath even though she hadn’t gone anywhere all day. As much as she loved her housemate, Miharu doubted Xiao was going anywhere special later tonight.
“You just turned away a history in the making,” Xiao whined, referring to the Ed Sullivan Show. “It’s not everyday Mick Jagger censors himself.”
Miharu waved it off. “I need you to cheer me up, Xiao. He ruined everything,”
Xiaoyu rolled herself off the couch and went to sit on the floor by Miharu’s feet. Miharu rested her elbows on her knees, placing her hands on either side of her face, the heels of her palms meeting under her chin. She didn’t respond even as Xiao laid her head into her lap in a comforting gesture.
“Give the guy some slack. You’ve seen the news. He spent two years in that mess over in Vietnam, you should be happy he’s outta there,” Xiao scolded, favoring Hwoarang as she usually did.
“You’re not helping!” Miharu whined in response. She placed both her hands over her face then shoved them through her hair, which needed a root touch up.
Xiao sighed and leaned against the side of the sofa, her shoulder slumped against the edge, her shirt crinkling. “He’s your boyfriend; you do something about it,”
Quicker than she started, Miharu’s pathetic, miserable weeping and sobbing came to a halt. Slowly, she lifted her face from her hands and—
“Oh, hell, what do you want from me?”
Giggling, Miharu stood up and walked the length of the room, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen before turning on her heel to look at Xiao. One arm she had wrapped around her waist with her other elbow leaning against her wrist, her hand cradling her chin in a classic thoughtful position.
“Xiaoyu, you do know that, next to me, Hwoarang likes you best, right?”
The end credits finished rolling and a commercial for ‘Beatles Hairspray’ came on. Xiao grabbed the remote off the low coffee table and switched the channel to that of American Bandstand. “Oh, yeah. Of course I know. How couldn’t I? What with the way his eyes twitch when he sees me—or how there’s always an awkward silence between us—or how about—”
“Anyway,” Miharu continued as she began to take a turn about the room. “Yes. You could distract him for me. He’s so crazy about me, he’ll never suspect a thing!”
“I get the feeling you don’t give him enough credit. He’s a lot smarter than he looks,”
Miharu shrugged, then paused, midstep, in front of the tube. The artificial light cast a healthy glow to the pale skin on her arms and legs. Xiao suddenly felt small and embarrassed; not unusual, but this time it was with her best friend. It was normally the bombshell blonde who succeeded in making Xiao feel so horrible about herself, but compared to the natural, beautiful confidence of Miharu… Xiao felt as if she’d never live up to anything.
“I have an illicit with you know who tonight, so you think it over,”
Xiao shut off the television. “I love how you’re referring to this. Fix your lipstick,”
Miharu’s hands flew to her mouth, an odd, embarrassed expression on her face. She stretched her lips and, with the tips of her fingers, evened out the smears. “Well, anyway, if you do this incy wincy favor for me, I’ll help introduce you to that Kazama guy you’ve been drooling after,”
Xiao flushed from the roots of her hair to her neck. “I have NOT been drooling after—Miharu—this isn’t a good idea!” she paused, watching as Miharu began pulling on her pastel colored jacket; a bit too thin for the cod weather outside. “Where are you going?”
Miharu lightly brushed her bangs from her brown eyes and leaned into the mirror they had by the entrance of the foyer. “I told you; my illicit,” she responded, winking at her through the mirror.
“Miharu—”
“Think it over!” she shouted before slamming the door behind her.
“WHAT’LL I DO IF HE COMES LOOKING FOR YOU!” Xiao screeched, though she doubted Miharu could hear her. She shoved her hands through her hair before throwing down the TV remote and turning on the record player. She collapsed back onto the couch, her head on one armrest and her feet on the other.
“I’ve got every reason on earth to be mad, cause I just lost he only girl I had—”
Miharu would be the death of her. She could be selfish, she could be cruel, and she could be so damn controlling. In fact, the only time she could actually relax and listen to the Beatles, Them, or Duke Ellington was when Miharu was out. When she was in… it was the Young Rascals, the Four Seasons, or the Who. Xiao couldn’t even watch television in peace.
“You’ll be thinking of me—”
Just when she thought her problems had settled for the time being, the doorbell rang.
Xiaoyu answered the door.
Damn it.
“Hey, Xiaoyu; Miharu home?”
She looked bug eyed. Her face drained of color and her eyes bloodshot. Poor, pathetic thing looked as if she’d seen a ghost. She seemed to stand out sharply in her black blouse. A blouse Hwoarang imagined Miharu would look nicer in, though it gave beatnik Xiaoyu a more elegant appearance.
“No. She—stepped out.”
A long silence ensured. Hwoarang bounced on his heels and snapped his fingers rapidly.
“Well…ahem…I just forgot my jacket and—”
“In the kitchen! She answered wildly. Hwoarang blinked and was about to ask what she was talking about when she suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. “Tea! You’re jacket’s in the living room! Stay for tea!”
He would have much rather declined; yet she seemed quite determined to have him for tea.
The last thing he needed was to be trapped alone with Xiaoyu and listening to ‘Let’s Spend the Night Together’ or ‘Little Red Rooster’. So, he instead requested Elvis. He’d prefer Heartbreak Hotel to anything.
She was so wired. She didn’t even serve tea. She gave him coffee. Then she spent the rest of the time lip flapping about ‘Bring Up Baby’, pandas, and Walt Disney’s new theme park scheduled to open later that year.
She seemed so reluctant to let him leave. She even invited him to join her at a bar to watch several performers he’d never even heard of before. The least he could do without hurting her feelings was tell her he’d think about it.
That coffee was strong. Now he felt wired. He turned a corner—then stopped dead. Frozen.
In what he felt like a dream-like state, he watched his girl—the girl he truthfully intended on marrying one day—Miharu, throw her arms about the neck of another man.
And it wasn’t just any man.
It was Baek. The man he looked to as a father.
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