Free Birthday by Kôji Suzuki Page B

overheard. Toyama halted halfway up the stairs and turned around.
    Toyama saw two people standing in a corner by the recessed doors leading into the seating area. A tall man and a slender woman, facing each other. Toyama peered closely at them, with the unmistakable sense that he was watching something he shouldn't. He moved into a position from which they couldn't see him and held his breath.
    The man was facing in Toyama's direction but he was half hidden by the wall, so Toyama could only see his face intermittently; the woman's back was turned to him. Toyama saw at once that the man was Shigemori, the director. And though he couldn't see her face, from her clothing and the outlines of her body Toyama knew who the woman was, as well.
    "Sadako..." Without realizing it he let slip the name of the woman he loved.
    Shigemori had his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently, and now and then he'd lean close and whisper something into her ear. He certainly didn't appear to be speaking to her as just another actress—the way he drew close to her suggested he wasn't simply giving her point-ers on her performance.
    Toyama tried—the effort was great, but necessary—
    to make sure that what he was seeing meant what he thought it did; he was seething. Shigemori was using his position as head of the troupe to hit on a young actress.
    Toyama found this unforgivable. He could understand it, and he knew that in the theater world it was even toler-ated; inexperienced he may have been, but he comprehended that much.
    The real question was how Sadako would react.
    Given her position he knew she couldn't reject Shigemori too forcefully, but he hoped she had enough skill to evade him gently, without injuring his feelings. He knew how hard it would be, but he yearned for her to show him how adroitly she could act here. If she didn't, Toyama would have a hard time trusting the words of love they'd exchanged.
    Their relationship was not a physical one, but Sadako had said, "I love you," and Toyama had never doubted it.

    Toyama had declared his feelings first. It had been the previous year, during rehearsals for the fall production. The opportunity had presented itself unexpectedly.
    The production was a musical involving several dance numbers, and the troupe had invited a pair of professional dancers, both women, to join them as guests.
    The dancers' schedules were so tight that they often had to miss rehearsal, so Sadako had been drafted as a standin. Standin was as far as it went, though: she never got to appear onstage.
    Toyama had never even imagined Sadako in a dance scene, so when he saw her dancing up close, he was amazed. From the day they'd both taken the troupe's entrance exam she'd stood out; she'd been the object of Toyama's longing attentions ever since then. Even so, he had no way of knowing that her talents included dancing. The first time he saw her move in that provocative way, it further inflamed his passion for her.
    But Sadako didn't seem confident in her dancing.
    Often he would see her hang her head in thought after carrying out some instruction of the choreographer's.
    Sadako's dancing certainly worked for Toyama, but it didn't seem to satisfy Sadako herself.
    Once, during a break, Toyama went to the bathroom.
    He ran into Sadako next to the communal sink, and he took the opportunity to praise her dancing. "You're pretty good," he said. But she seemed to think he was being sarcastic, and she fixed him with a powerful glare.

    "You don't have to use that kind of tone. I'll practice—I'll get better, and then I'll show you."
    No doubt the older actresses had been needling her about her dance skills. As a result, she was unable to hear the sincerity in his praise, and so she'd excused herself as an amateur and gotten surly about it to boot.
    She turned on her heel to leave. Toyama hurried after her. "I didn't mean it like that at all!"
    He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off, saying, "Look, even I know