#10: Bloody Mary
“Kurosu-sama.”
A voice calling for Mikoto. A lovely sound, like a small bird singing.
That faint whisper faded away, swallowed back into the haze of half-sleep.
“Mikoto-san.”
Her name, this time. Just who could possibly be calling for her?
Nearly ten years now, living alone. No parents, no younger sister nearby, and no one she was seeing these days — she couldn’t think of a single person who’d be trying to wake her by name.
“…Mikoto.”
Gentle, sweet, a voice that felt good just to hear.
Waking up to a morning with a voice like that would be wonderful, Mikoto thought.
The instant that thought crossed her mind, she felt something against her back. Between her clothes and bare skin—
“Cold—?!”
—a cold hand, crawling across Mikoto’s back.
That icy jolt forced her heavy eyelids open, and orange light flooded in, blinding her. Squinting until her eyes adjusted, what came into view was the counter table and the bar top lined with liquor bottles. And then—
“Awake now?”
—Shandy, lit by the orange lighting, smiling down at her.
Here was that back alley in Roppongi, the authentic girls’ bar Antiqua.
Only from recognizing her own surroundings did Mikoto finally piece together the situation, pushing herself up from where she’d been slumped over the counter. Her joints ached — she’d apparently fallen asleep sitting up — and on top of that, she had, quite magnificently, a hangover.
“Good morning, Mikoto-san.”
“…Good morning. Sorry, I must have drunk myself unconscious…”
“Don’t you remember?”
Turning her aching head over the question, all she could recall was the end of the Yes and No match. A spectacular self-inflicted defeat, her carefully hidden true self dragged out into the open, and then that final torment of being able to say nothing but “yes.”
She remembered ordering a Martini, trying to burn off the face-on-fire embarrassment of it all. Past that point, nothing.
“…I don’t remember anything.”
“Oh my, so you’ve forgotten our lovely little game too? Shall I fill you in?”
Shandy’s eyes had settled into a waxing crescent. She wore a knowing, satisfied smile.
“N-no, that’s quite all right. I remember it being a wonderful night, at least.”
“Ha, yes. A wonderful night where we got to know each other very deeply indeed.”
Mustering whatever dignity she had left, Mikoto made her declaration. Pretending not to notice Shandy’s loaded, meaningful little smile, she glanced down at her wristwatch.
Six in the morning — Antiqua’s closing time.
“Ah, sorry. You’re closed already, I should head home.”
“Home, meaning your apartment?”
“I’d love to, but — realistically, a quick shower at the nearest internet café before work sounds about right.”
“I could lend you one, if you like. A shower, that is.”
“Huh?”
Beckoned by Shandy, Mikoto followed her toward the darkness near Antiqua’s entrance. What she’d assumed was simply a wall lit up under the glow of Shandy’s handheld LED light. A door.
Holding the light up directly beneath her own chin, Shandy grinned — the exact unsettling pose of a grade-schooler telling ghost stories.
“Care for a shower…?”
“…Is a ghost going to pop out or something?”
“No, nothing like that. Just having a little fun.”
The tension eased out of Mikoto’s shoulders.
“There’s a shower room in the building’s shared facilities. Feel free to use it.”
“I appreciate it, but are you sure that’s all right?”
“Of course. As long as you don’t mind sharing my shampoo. I can lend you the other amenities too — for a hundred yen.”
“That’s rather opportunistic of you…”
“Free is fine too, of course. Though in that case, I might need payment in something other than money.”
She pressed a fingertip to Mikoto’s lips and smiled. The meaning of “payment,” in other words, was—
“I’ll pay. In money.”
Mikoto didn’t hesitate for a second. If a hundred yen could buy back her peace of mind and whatever dignity she had left, paying up was the easier path by far. She’d already exposed enough of an undignified side of herself for one night.
“Oh, how disappointing.”
With a small chuckle, Shandy handed over a basket — her own personal set of toiletries.
Through the door and into the mixed-use building beyond, Mikoto found, exactly where directed, a shower room about the size of a phone booth.
She locked the door and turned the tap.
Shhh — a hot shower washed over a body still stiff and chilled from the all-nighter.
Drifting through Mikoto’s mind was the game with Shandy — specifically, the question that had driven her to drink her Yes and No in the first place.
—Aren’t you worried, maybe, that if I really knew your true feelings, I might end up disliking you for it?
Nobody wants the truth buried deep in their own heart laid bare, surely.
Which meant she could simply have answered “yes” to that question. There’d been no real need to drink the Yes and No and dodge it in the first place.
Mikoto thought it over.
Why had someone like Shandy — self-proclaimed sadist, yet gentle underneath it, in Mikoto’s estimation — reacted the way she had?
“Not wanting her real feelings known, or actually wanting them known — or maybe she just doesn’t think she’d be disliked even if they came out. Or maybe even that reaction itself was part of the game…? Hmm…?”
Trying to unravel the mystery only left her thinking about nothing but Shandy.
But no matter how hard she turned it over, she couldn’t land on the truth.
“Feels like the mystery just got deeper…”
Leaning weakly against the wall, Mikoto let the shower run over her.
Presumably, Shandy washed off the exhaustion of the day here too, after closing. The moment that thought crossed her mind, her eyes started wandering the room on their own — unconsciously searching for some trace of her. Trying to stop the runaway glances, she closed her eyes instead, only for Shandy’s eyes, her fingertips, and the feel of her lips to surface all the more vividly.
A sudden ache stirred through her body. That feeling — one she hadn’t felt in a long while.
Something restless crawling low in her stomach, threatening to carry her reason away entirely.
“Ha, what am I even thinking about…”
Rinsing herself off with extra care, making sure nothing would give her away to Shandy, Mikoto stepped out through the steam.
＊
“You’re lovely even with wet hair, Mikoto-san.”
“Yes, dripping wet and all — as the saying goes.”
Returning a joke to the pickup line waiting for her back in the shop, Mikoto reclaimed her prized seat. A hair dryer had been thoughtfully set out on the counter.
“You practically live at Antiqua, don’t you, Shandy-san?”
“I do sleep here sometimes, yes. I’ve even got a sleeping bag on hand for it.”
The dryer’s hum drowned out the wired radio’s classical piece. A faint, orange-scented note of Shandy’s own shampoo teased at her nose.
“Feel free to use this place as a hotel yourself, if you like, Mikoto-san. Though I won’t allow any unfaithful overnight guests brought in behind my back.”
“No need to worry — I already gave you my vow to love only you, Shandy-san.”
Knowing full well the bluff had already been called, Mikoto flashed a bright grin anyway, the kind some actor in a trendy drama might strike, all cool posturing and false composure.
Watching this, Shandy pressed a hand to her mouth and laughed softly.
“Yes. Do love me well, then. Every moment you spend with me.”
Along with that amber smile, a tumbler glass appeared before Mikoto’s eyes. Despite the shop being well past closing, a vivid red cocktail was poured.
“Wait, I’ve got work soon, a cocktail this early in the morning is a bit—”
“Don’t worry. Even a hard worker like you can drink this one — a Bloody Mary, non-alcoholic style.”
“Wow…!”
Embarrassed at having reacted like a delighted child, Mikoto covered it with a small, awkward cough.
The Bloody Mary.
Named for the English queen who slaughtered Protestants — “Bloody Mary” herself — the cocktail bearing her fearsome name was, in sharp contrast, a genuinely health-conscious little number.
The basic recipe: vodka and tomato juice, with lemon or lime, Worcestershire sauce, or Tabasco mixed in to taste.
“…Wait, without the vodka, isn’t this just tomato juice?”
“Mikoto-san, can you eat celery?”
“Sure, I mean. But why celery?”
“Like this.”
Shandy speared a celery stick into the glass. Then, presumably standing in for the vodka, she poured in tonic water.
“A Bloody Mary is basically a salad you drink. Some places even serve it loaded with all sorts of vegetables besides celery — think of it like the vegetable sticks you’d get at an izakaya.”
“Sounds healthy.”
“Yes. For the shop’s sake, I do need you living a good long life, Mikoto-san.”
“Though you’re the one who’s going to ruin that health of mine, aren’t you?”
“Our shop motto is keep them alive, but only just.”
With a small, shadowed laugh, the Bloody Mary was served. Right after, Shandy set to work on something in the kitchen area beneath the counter.
“Consider that your aperitif for now. Just a moment, please.”
“Aperitif…?”
While Mikoto absently nibbled at her celery, a sandwich appeared on the counter in front of her.
“Antiqua-style Sandwiches. Please, enjoy.”
“Wow…! Is this — breakfast, I take it?”
“For you, yes. For me, it’s a midnight snack.”
Letting out a sleepy yawn, Shandy shed her white jacket. Crossing through the sacred boundary between the counter and the bar top — the bartender’s own domain — she settled into the seat right beside Mikoto.
“Antiqua’s got a food menu too, then?”
“Just staff meal, really. Made from whatever’s left over, hence ‘Antiqua-style.’”
The two of them pressed their palms together with a small “itadakimasu” and dug into the sandwiches.
Antiqua-style Sandwiches.
One held the prosciutto usually served as a bar snack, layered with cucumber (leftover from the Moscow Mule) and sliced olives (leftover from the Martini and similar drinks).
The other held crushed nuts, another snack staple, paired with scrambled egg — likely made from the leftover yolks from the Yes and No.
Just as Shandy had said: made entirely from leftovers. Which explained the “Antiqua-style” label perfectly.
“How is it? My home cooking.”
“Delicious. You should put this on the actual menu.”
“I’ve got my hands full enough with cocktails. Besides, I’m not much good at cooking.”
Narrowing her amber eyes with a languid, sleepy look, Shandy stuck her tongue out and gave a wry laugh. The cross-section of the sandwich she was eating showed nothing but prosciutto. And her own Bloody Mary glass, Mikoto noticed, had no celery in it at all.
—Ah. I see. So that’s how it is.
Stumbling onto her weak point from the most unexpected angle, Mikoto couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter.
“Shandy-san, your weakness is vegetables, isn’t it?”
“No? I can drink vegetable juice just fine.”
Feigning nonchalance, she demonstrated by drinking her Bloody Mary. Despite claiming she could handle it, a faint crease had formed between her brows. Even vegetable juice, apparently, took real effort to force down.
“Which vegetables can’t you handle?”
“Everything except vegetable juice. I’m strictly a carnivore.”
“A truly hardcore vegetable-hater, then.”
“Ah, you just thought that was childish of me, didn’t you?”
The same woman who carried herself with such composed, adult elegance was now asking the question like an endearing little girl.
Shape-shifting, as ever. Switching tactics, changing faces, working every angle to strip away Mikoto’s reason and judgment.
“No. I thought it was cute.”
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you? I’m never making you one of these again.”
“I’m not mocking you at all. I’m happy to have learned a new side of you.”
“Mm-hm, sure, suuure.”
Seated beside her, Shandy’s eyes had settled into a waning crescent. Wearing a faintly sulky expression, she chewed silently through her vegetable-free sandwich, while Mikoto savored her own sandwich, packed full of Shandy’s leftovers.
It was her first breakfast shared with someone else in a long while.
“…This is kind of nice, isn’t it. This whole thing.”
At Mikoto’s murmured aside, Shandy looked up.
“This whole what?”
“Ah — just, eating a home-cooked breakfast side by side like this, it’s been a while. Feels almost like we’re living together.”
She felt embarrassed the instant the words left her own mouth.
Turning it into a joke, Mikoto smiled over at Shandy — only to find herself startled by what she saw.
“Shandy-san…?”
A faint flush had risen across her pale cheeks. Her amber eyes had gone wide, and she’d frozen entirely, sandwich still held in place.
Was Shandy — flustered?
“Um, is it showing on my face?”
“…No, it isn’t showing at all. Isn’t that just your imagination?”
“No, but your cheeks are turning red—”
“That’s the Bloody Mary talking.”
“That’s non-alcoholic, though—”
Cutting Mikoto off mid-sentence, Shandy snapped her expression back into its usual smile. Offering no room for argument, she smiled at Mikoto, threw back the rest of her Bloody Mary, and pulled a can of beer and a bottle of ginger ale from the fridge.
“…I’ll have a real drink. Please, take your time until you need to head to work, Mikoto-san.”
“Sure, I’ll take you up on that.”
Mikoto laughed, unable to help herself at the reaction she’d just gotten out of Shandy.
She finished eating, touched up the bare minimum of makeup in the restroom, and by the time she’d finished getting ready for work, the clock read eight in the morning.
Passing through the darkness of Antiqua’s entrance, she pushed open the heavy wooden door. Bright morning sunlight, visible from the mixed-use building’s outdoor staircase, lit up both Mikoto’s face and Shandy’s, who’d come out to see her off.
“Well, I should get going.”
“Yes, take care. I’ll be looking forward to your visit again tonight. …Ah, Mikoto-san.”
“Wha—”
Her lips were sealed. Longer than any kiss before it.
Watching Mikoto’s face, thoroughly caught off guard by the total ambush, Shandy’s cheeks eased into a soft smile.
“…Returning the favor from earlier. Have a good day at work, Mikoto-san.”
“I— I’m off, then…”
Too embarrassed to meet her eyes, Mikoto turned away and left the mixed-use building that housed Antiqua behind.
Bathed in sunlight, she drew a deep breath of morning air into her lungs. Switching gears from late-night bar patron back into office worker, and then—
“All right, let’s do this today too!”
She said it with real spirit. Despite every reason to feel exhausted, Mikoto’s body moved with an unexpected lightness.