crossed the room.
She unfolded a metal chair and sat down on it.
Toyama maintained his silence. Finally Sadako spoke, pretending to have noticed just now. "Hey, what are you so mad about?"
Of course she knew why he was angry: she had to know. It annoyed him that she was pretending not to, and he snapped.
"What the hell was that back there?"
Sadako raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that." She pursed her lips and laughed mischievously.
"Did you know I was watching when you did that to Mr. Shigemori?" They always called him Mister Shigemori, so Toyama called him that now, out of habit, but it didn't match his mood, so he made a show of muttering, "Shigemori, that bastard."
"Are you jealous?"
She was sitting on the edge of her seat, and now she put both hands on the chair and made a little move as if to get up.
"Jealous? I'm concerned for you, baby."
It was a lie, and a transparent one at that. He wasn't concerned for anyone but himself. All his rage sprang from a heart tortured by jealousy.
"Toyama, maybe you'd better not call me 'baby'."
Her tone was not harsh, but it was firm. Toyama was somewhat taken aback by this display of will on her part, and he had to bite his lip to keep from saying, "I'm sorry."
"No matter how much you cozy up to Shigemori, I just don't think it's going to help you in the future. If you have a dream you've got to reach out and take it on your own."
Reach out and. take it... What a cliché—Toyama was disgusted with himself for uttering something straight out of a teen soap opera.
"A dream? Toyama, do you know what my dream is?"
"To become a great actress, right?"
Sadako brought a hand to one cheek and gave a hard-to-define smile.
"How many people do you think would come see me if I made it as a stage actress?"
"You don't have to stick to the stage. There's TV, movies."
"What about that, that red light—see it?"
Sadako pointed to the cassette deck that was erasing Okubo's impressions. A tiny lamp glowed red, signifying that it was recording.
"The cassette deck?"
"It's so much smaller than a reel-to-reel. Looks really easy to record on, too."
"Yes, it is pretty convenient."
"I wonder if images will be like that, too. If we'll ever be able to record images, not just on film like in a movie theater, but on something small like a cassette tape."
What she was saying didn't sound all that far-fetched—no doubt that day was fast approaching.
"I'm sure we will, sooner or later. Maybe someday we'll be able to sit at home and watch one of your movies on TV."
"But that's a long way off, isn't it?" She sounded depressed about it.
"It's not impossible, though. You could do it."
"But it would be too late."
"What do you mean?"
"By that time, I'd be an old woman."
She had a point. Even assuming Sadako kept steadily maturing as an actress, by the time a cassette-like image-storage system came into widespread use, she'd no longer be considered young.
"Don't be in such a rush."
"I don't want to get old. I want to stay young forever. Wouldn't that be great?"
Nobody fears aging like an aspiring young actress, reflected Toyama. Sadako was evidently no exception.
"I wouldn't mind growing old with you."
It was almost a proposal, despite the casual way he said it. And he meant it. Aging held no horrors for him, as long as he and Sadako could live together. And when he finally died of old age, he could do it with a smile on his face provided she was there beside him. For an instant Toyama imagined dying in Sadako's arms. She was gazing into his eyes while the world receded spinning into the distance. He was old...but for some reason Sadako was still her present age. In his head the image was startlingly clear.
The muscles around Sadako's mouth relaxed as she realized that Toyama really did want to be with her. She knit her brow and said, a little defensively, "You're under the impression that I like Mr. Shigemori, aren't you?
You've got the wrong idea."
"Well, I don't want to think that. But
She unfolded a metal chair and sat down on it.
Toyama maintained his silence. Finally Sadako spoke, pretending to have noticed just now. "Hey, what are you so mad about?"
Of course she knew why he was angry: she had to know. It annoyed him that she was pretending not to, and he snapped.
"What the hell was that back there?"
Sadako raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that." She pursed her lips and laughed mischievously.
"Did you know I was watching when you did that to Mr. Shigemori?" They always called him Mister Shigemori, so Toyama called him that now, out of habit, but it didn't match his mood, so he made a show of muttering, "Shigemori, that bastard."
"Are you jealous?"
She was sitting on the edge of her seat, and now she put both hands on the chair and made a little move as if to get up.
"Jealous? I'm concerned for you, baby."
It was a lie, and a transparent one at that. He wasn't concerned for anyone but himself. All his rage sprang from a heart tortured by jealousy.
"Toyama, maybe you'd better not call me 'baby'."
Her tone was not harsh, but it was firm. Toyama was somewhat taken aback by this display of will on her part, and he had to bite his lip to keep from saying, "I'm sorry."
"No matter how much you cozy up to Shigemori, I just don't think it's going to help you in the future. If you have a dream you've got to reach out and take it on your own."
Reach out and. take it... What a cliché—Toyama was disgusted with himself for uttering something straight out of a teen soap opera.
"A dream? Toyama, do you know what my dream is?"
"To become a great actress, right?"
Sadako brought a hand to one cheek and gave a hard-to-define smile.
"How many people do you think would come see me if I made it as a stage actress?"
"You don't have to stick to the stage. There's TV, movies."
"What about that, that red light—see it?"
Sadako pointed to the cassette deck that was erasing Okubo's impressions. A tiny lamp glowed red, signifying that it was recording.
"The cassette deck?"
"It's so much smaller than a reel-to-reel. Looks really easy to record on, too."
"Yes, it is pretty convenient."
"I wonder if images will be like that, too. If we'll ever be able to record images, not just on film like in a movie theater, but on something small like a cassette tape."
What she was saying didn't sound all that far-fetched—no doubt that day was fast approaching.
"I'm sure we will, sooner or later. Maybe someday we'll be able to sit at home and watch one of your movies on TV."
"But that's a long way off, isn't it?" She sounded depressed about it.
"It's not impossible, though. You could do it."
"But it would be too late."
"What do you mean?"
"By that time, I'd be an old woman."
She had a point. Even assuming Sadako kept steadily maturing as an actress, by the time a cassette-like image-storage system came into widespread use, she'd no longer be considered young.
"Don't be in such a rush."
"I don't want to get old. I want to stay young forever. Wouldn't that be great?"
Nobody fears aging like an aspiring young actress, reflected Toyama. Sadako was evidently no exception.
"I wouldn't mind growing old with you."
It was almost a proposal, despite the casual way he said it. And he meant it. Aging held no horrors for him, as long as he and Sadako could live together. And when he finally died of old age, he could do it with a smile on his face provided she was there beside him. For an instant Toyama imagined dying in Sadako's arms. She was gazing into his eyes while the world receded spinning into the distance. He was old...but for some reason Sadako was still her present age. In his head the image was startlingly clear.
The muscles around Sadako's mouth relaxed as she realized that Toyama really did want to be with her. She knit her brow and said, a little defensively, "You're under the impression that I like Mr. Shigemori, aren't you?
You've got the wrong idea."
"Well, I don't want to think that. But
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