Rose Petals Vol1

Chapter 2 SEVEN AND MR SHIMA

Ren peered out of the office window onto the busy street. He sighed and turned his attention towards Hiroaki .

“What time did Mr. Shima said he would be here?”

Hiroaki folded his newspaper and looked up at him. He placed it down gently on the coffee table and leaned back in his seat.

“A quarter to five.”

“Aaaah, but it’s five already.”

Akira said as he pushed a strand of blonde hair from his face. “I’m so tired. My body is aching from lack of sleep. Aaaah! Why

is he always late?”

His baby blue eyes darted across the room to stare pleadingly at Ren.

“Call him please! Please.”

He turned towards Hiroaki as the sound of his tummy began to

groaned loudly. “Grrrr Grrrr!” He held his tummy and leaned over, almost as if he was wounded by a gunshot or a stab.

“I think I’m going to die if I don’t get a bite to eat.”

Hiroaki handed him a bottle of water and again sat back in his comfortable seat. He picked back up the newspaper, skimming what he had already read.

“We already stopped at the deli on our way here.”

“Yeah, but we were rushing to get here and I grabbed a snack. Chips aren’t filling, you know.”

Akira placed the water on the table in front of him, still leaning over. “Grrr Grrrr!”

“I’m hungry, not thirsty. Aaaaah!” Just then the door swung open.

“Sorry I’m late, boys.” Mr. Shima smiled apologetically. “How was overseas? We’ll catch up later on that. Now down to business. I have got a busy schedule lined up for you guys, that would keep you in the running for best male idol group. Here, take a look at these.” He handed them each a folder.

Ren opened it and glanced at the schedule. “Opening act for... Tonight show... Morning appearance at.....”This is a busy schedule all right.” He turned and gazed back out the window. “I feel so exhausted”, thinking to himself. “I haven’t had time to visit her.... How long has it been since I’ve seen her.... a little over three months? That’s probably a little bit too long. I wonder if she asked for me...if.” His thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

“Ren, Ren? Did you hear what I said?

Mr. Shima moved towards the window. He looked down at the crowd and back at Ren. He stared at him for a brief moment before looking back at the passersby hurrying to get to their destinations. There must be thousands of people eager to get to where they were going during this rush hour. Work was now ending for most and beginning for a few. Soon the streets would be almost desolate. Only the noise coming from bars and their drunken customers.

“Were you listening?” Placing his hand on Ren’s shoulder. “This is big. This is what you guys worked so hard for. Everything is finally paying off.”

Ren shrugged and looked back out onto the Tokyo streets, staring aimlessly at the bright lights. He felt his spirit drifting away. The office was now a distance from his focus and the busy streets were in full view. He could only hear the muffled sounds of voices.

He removed a strand of red hair, as he tried to gather his thoughts, but his mind was too tired. Jet lag perhaps. The thought of his room, his bedding and his head resting soundly on his sweet pillow was all that he could dream of.

“Ren, I do believe that we will come out on top this time around. You boys will be the next big thing. Not just here in Japan, but internationally. I’m so hyped! I’m lost for words. Did you guys hear me? Is anyone listening?”

Ren turned back towards Mr. Shima. He looked at his group. “Everything sounds great. But right now we’re too tired to let it all sink in.”

“That’s okay.” Mr. Shima chuckled. “You guys worked hard. Go home and rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”

He smiled at Ren, placed his hand again on his shoulder, and then turned back to the group.

“Go ahead, you guys get plenty of rest.”

Hideo, the tallest member of Seven, stood in the corridor of the hotel. His long white hair falling gracefully past his shoulders. Surely he was the most handsome of all the members, with a tall stature of 185 cm and a well toned build. His hazel eyes can melt the heart of any fan and even females that weren’t hip to the music that was trending. From an early age, he was told he could be the next big super model. He had males questioning their own superiority and made them feel inferior to him. He was the face of Seven. Beautiful and divinely created. Well, at least he thought of himself as such. Like a prince, a king, or even better, a god. His skin was soft and almost translucent. It was blemish free, and it was a perfect match for his silky long hair. Even when wet, his hair would lie nicely on his head as if each strand was placed in its position. He didn’t need a comb or a brush and the use of his fingers was just as workable as any. His hair was one that you could only read about in fairy tales, like Rapunzel, Sleeping beauty, or Snow White. Beautiful flowing white locks, unlike Ren’s, whose hair was a bright red, crimson, strawberry or tomato color, depending on the season. It would change to one or the other, but most believed that it changed with his mood. It was considered devilish, which excited a lot of women like a sports car. The thought of having such a devil of a man in their bed was worth the time and effort than an all rather out shopping spree. Nevertheless, the truth was due to the changing seasons. When he first started school, he was referred to as a fruit or a vegetable, and having silver eyes seemed more like a curse from heaven above. When he got to the last year of middle school, he had grown so attractive that older women were lining up to be in his bed. Not to mention his infamous rose tattoo that every woman was dying to see. It was done by a well celebrated Chinese artist who had turned to the art of tattooing after retiring. Ren’s tattoo was his last piece of artwork. He had mixed the ink so lightly that it truly looked like an ancient Chinese watercolor painting. This he considered his best masterpiece and was happy to sign his name. The tattoo was placed on the right side of his upper back near his shoulder blade and could only be seen when his shirt was off, which was never done publicly. And if he had to, for a photo shoot, he requested that it be bandaged up, adding more mystery to this infamous work of art. Can you imagine how many of the opposite s*x wanted to sleep with someone as devious as the devil himself, but instead of a dark grotesque figure (as many Christian painters would have it) he would be handsome with a tattoo of a rose. After his work was done, the guru of painting was satisfied with his latest masterpiece and made Ren promise that only his beloved, his true love, would gaze upon this. He did not understand what this old man meant by what he had said, but still promised anyway. He kept his word, never allowing a glimpse of light in his bed when he was in the mood for pure pleasure, not even that of the moon. It was a disappointment for these women, but his toned body, red hair, silver eyes to them had made up for it all.

Nothing wouldn’t seem as bad as this, unlike the other members, whose shortcomings were like pricking your finger with a needle. Hiroaki, whose skin looked like he occasionally had sunburn or a deep tan, was always reassuring everyone he was all right and he was not in any way being affected by the sun. Any time he made an appearance on a talk show, he was constantly being asked which salon he went to or had just come back from vacationing. The obvious answer was a big flat out “No!” It didn’t help that his hair was jet black, which made the obviousness of his skin condition. He was still handsome in such an exotic way that most people didn’t or refused to believe that he was actually Japanese. He was thought to be of some Latin or Indian descent and was constantly compared to Antonio Banderas or the handsome Raja in an historical Indian drama. If he had to play any fairy tale character, it would be Aladdin, the thief, stealing the hearts of many women.

There was Akira, whose puberty would hit off and on. A few pimples here, a voice cracking there, a high and then a deep scratchy voice there. After all, he was only nineteen and not much was expected... "look" wise of him. He was still adorably cute and brought in his share of female fanatics, from middle school to college students.

And there was Yokuto, with blue hair and yellow gleaming eyes. Some say he would have almost been perfect if it wasn’t for his bad boy demeanor. He was a good height, coming in at 5 '9 and weighing in at a hundred and, oh wait, that’s a secret that need not to be told, just use your imagination. He was the 2nd vocalist of the group. His voice was raspy but strong and powerful. He sang in a soulful tone that would melt you instantly. He was the best at vibratos. It was the complete opposite of Hideo’s, who sang in an angelic-like tone. Yes, Hideo, the perfect specimen, or so he thought.

Standing next to each other, Yokuto and Hideo were as polar opposites as Iceland and Greenland or night and day. His hair was not just a simple blue but a midnight blue color with streaks of blue berry strands for highlights. He was the “rebel without a cause” and Hideo the “Prince Charming '' from every fairytale book. The only similarity was that neither of them cared what the world thought of them. None of the members of Seven did. Hideo was obviously a god-like specimen and Yokuto lived life with his only motto and battle cry, “Who cares!”

Through the years, Hideo had learned to tolerate Yokuto, believing that he was placed in this world to guide the poor soul to some kind of retribution. His constant belief that his perfection would somehow rub off on "the" others, and perhaps transfigure them into an angelic being like himself, was what he lived by, and this reason alone probably kept him in the group. He didn’t need them, they actually needed him, was his way of thinking. The tension between him and Yokuto would have caused him to leave ages ago, but there was that redemption song that he felt in his heart the others needed. And it would be through him. Yes Hideo, the definition of a true narcissistic personality was going to save them from themselves.

“What is taking these footmen so long? I’m starting to perspire from this unsettling heat.”

The others wanted to stop by the corner store to grab something for Akira, fearing that he would faint or, as he put it, die of starvation. He had refused to go along with them because of the 72 degree weather. His skin was just too delicate and soft to deal with the sun’s treason and he wanted no part in such treachery. Truth be told, he had also forgotten his trusty umbrella and insisted on telling the others he was the face of the group and he didn’t want anyone mistaking him for Hiroaki. With that said, he rushed into the hotel and ran up those ten flights of stairs, panting all the way up to their floor.

The tenth floor was completely designated for the boys. No one was allowed on that floor except for room service. To allow anyone else to gain entrance, they would have to wait near the exit corridor and contact one of them in order to enter. In secrecy, of course. Mr. Shima had the button removed from the elevator. It was still able to be pressed, but no one thought about doing so, because the button was just not there. He was bent on making sure that no female would distract them. Being seen with a woman alone was big publicity and to have them leaving your hotel at all kinds of hours was even worse. At first, he had security posted everywhere, but they too became a nuisance. There were some leaking photos of the group, while others were trying to get their daughters a date.

The rooms on floor ten were as follows: 10A began with Hiroaki’s room, followed by 10B, which was Yokuto’s. 10C, belonging to Ren. 10D, was vacant and completely locked, as were also 10M and 10N. 10E & 10F were converted into a huge kitchen with an

open floor plan to the living room. 10G became the living room. 10H an exercise room attached with mirrors for rehearsal. 10I was a small library and office area. 10J Akira’s room. And last but not least, 10K and L were both converted for Hideo’s needs. Only floor ten actually used this method of room dictation. The other floors were labeled differently, like a hotel should be, and it was modernism at its finest.

10I was far from being a quiet library. It was not quite any longer since Yokuto had moved his punching bag, boxing gloves and some other unnecessary equipment, insisting that the appearance of books helped him to concentrate more on his training. Hiroaki was the only one it had a profound effect on, since the library was his sanctuary. A good literature book was his meditation, along with the best of the classics. Reading and writing have become more complex. It was hard for him to block out the awful noise the bag made and Yokuto’s heavy breathing, as he bustled about swinging in the empty air.

“Just pretend I’m not here.”

That, of course, was easier said than done. Hiroaki even daunted on a pair of earphones and tried to continue his reading. He was constantly being interrupted by Yokuto’s air swings or the jabs he would stop to take at him. Sending poor Hiroaki gasping for air.

There was also a very small room 10O. It had a small twin bed and a nightstand. It was supposed to be somewhat of a guest room. It never went through the full construction process, as did the other rooms. Mr. Shima saw no point in its completion, since the boys' only companions were each other. If it was fully completed, they would be tempted to inhabit the space with women and probably plenty of them. Of course, an unfinished room can’t stop them from engaging the opposite s*x. When and if they wanted to, they found ways around his strict regime.

Mr. Shima, himself, was a remarkable specimen. He was the so- called CEO of Star Entertainment. His two personal secretaries referred to him as daddy-o, which made the boys cringe. It was as if he was stuck in his late twenties or early thirties. His build was just as peculiar as his personality. He was tall and slender with fairly short arms that could barely reach his sides. Using this to his advantage, he would ask his secretaries to reach something that he considered too high for his arms and marvel at their figure in doing so as they climbed ladders or tiptoed just to remove what he wanted.

All the boys thought of it as being funny, except for Ren, who would on occasion roll his eyes in disgust, sigh heavily or completely remove himself from the room.

“Man, when I get to be midway in this life,” Yokuto said, “I want to still be a ladies man like him.”

Hideo begged to defer, stating that ladies didn’t like Yokuto, except for the creepy grungy, “look I cut myself for you”, or “am I high on something”, type fans, and he himself (Hideo) didn’t want to think that far ahead. Dreading how he would look fifty years from now was too devastating to think about.

“Oh, why must beauty fade? Take a beautiful rose, for instance. Why must such loveliness wither away and die?”

When he was reminded of Mr. Shima’s lifestyle, he would spend the whole day in his room sobbing, and repenting as much as he could for any wrongdoing. If he could get in, "good", with God, then maybe perhaps his beauty would be extended past the midlife crisis years.

Mr. Shima wore small frame glasses that were barely suitable for his head or his eyes. He usually kept them off, fearing that it made him uncool. His eyes, being extremely small to the point of a dot or a grain of sand, were noticeable or unnoticeable, whichever way you looked at them. Some of the boys refer to it as a speckle of dust or a misplaced grain. It was as though the good Lord didn’t want to be bothered with making him a set of eyes and instead, took the small grain of dust he created humanity from, placing it in its position and then voila. “You’ve got eyes!”

Mr. Shima seemed to be stuck between different, if I may say so, contrasting eras. Close to the forties and ending with the seventies, barely touching the eighties. None complements the other. He kept his hair slicked back with an ‘S’ curl in the front, thinking it would make him look hip to the younger generation. The only comment he got, especially from kids, was that he looked like an out of work, broke, superhero.

He had his own personal stylist, flown in from France, Caviar Devou. He would dye his hair as close to the brown color of his youth. Akira felt that he could have done a way better job than this so-called professional hairdresser. He always seemed to make Mr. Shima’s hair color, a turd color instead. Nevertheless, he was content with it. When his turd color was starting to show its true signs of aging and was due for a touch up, he would spend hours plucking at a gray strand or having both his secretaries searching his head for any., until he could get a hold of Devou. He was very thankful that he still had a head full of hair, unlike some of his colleagues.

Just as baffling as Mr. Shima’s build was for any scientist, and was also his way of dressing. He always wore a leather jacket, (in any color, with or without fringes or studs), button down, polos, screen tees,

tailored pants, scarves (winter and spring) loafers, sneakers, boots and, on occasion, a fanny pack. He would take note of how Yokuto and Hideo dressed, with the seasons' hottest trends, and run home quickly to plan his outfit for the week. Mixing both a bad boy style and a chic style would give him the edge he needed to be admired by countless women. It would have played off nicely, but this was Mr. Shima, who always looked horrendous. Let us not forget his fusing of different eras, but in the most dreadful way. He later calmed down when Ren pulled him aside to let him know how ridiculous he looked and to stop before someone gets hurt. Yokuto took it as a compliment, but Hideo was disgusted that his chic style could be compared to Yokuto and match up as well. He was even more disgusted at Mr. Shima’s attempt to fuse anything, period.

Mr. Shima threw huge parties for the boys, allowing them to mingle with other high society groups. He would brag to anyone who would listen, how the boys were like sons to him. This was only to save face, for he was known to be the greediest man alive.He invited all the hip and young celebrities, along with a crowd of A-listers and a few Bs. This was most likely done to scope out all those young and attractive silhouettes that he so admired. A woman his age would be a ghastly thought. Everyone attended except for Ren, (unless he was dragged out kicking and screaming by the others.) He felt Mr. Shima should act his age and act more like a family man, or at least try to know what it means.

Family man....Oh yes he was. Or should I say used to be. Still, God had seen it fit to bless him with a family, maybe hoping that one Shima would be saved, but he was just as bad as being a family man or even worse, a good husband. He was only good at being bad. What Shima’s wasn’t . Out of all his brothers, believe it or not, he was the "good" son. Their reputation had reached far beyond the means of an ordinary household. And their names were to be feared throughout Japan, beyond the city of Tokyo into the

small villages almost reaching Korea.

Still, he sometimes would travel to the river bank and sit alone to remember all the mistakes he had made, wishing he could do it all over again. He would remind his family that he had neglected and treated harshly. His sons and his lovely wife. The death of his beautiful wife... His two sons....that brown-haired boy that he once was close to.... is now long gone....and the other lost him forever through hatred. There was no way of reconciling them, for the hate went to the deepest core of any human heart.

It wasn’t a one-sided hate, but both parties had mutual agreement. He was the cause of the death of his younger son and that is unforgivable. If anyone had heard the truth, they would have known better, that no one was truly to blame, unless you pulled the trigger yourself. If you considered it well enough to give even a day's thought, the fingers would have all pointed to the infamous Shima’s. Of course, none of them had the courage or the decency to admit any wrongdoing, including Mr. Shima for any lack of family obligation. And so all the circumstances were pointed at the eldest son.

Even before then, he hated him from the moment of his birth. He was not the reflection of the Shimas, who were a very prideful clan, but a splitting image of the woman that gave birth to him and her family. The infant was born sickly and to him that was no result of a Shima, for they were naturally strong from the first moment of life, during conception.

He couldn’t fathom that he had any role to play in his own family demise and so looked for someone else to blame. He was a

true representation of his family’s name and honor, no matter how despicable they may seem to others. Everyone kept their thoughts and feelings about the Shima’s to themselves in fear that they or their family members, friends or loved ones may go missing or be found dead somewhere in some remote location. The only one who dared to test the Shima’s was Ren, who hated them all.