(I’d been turning this one over in my head for a while, but the much-reviled ending to 02—arghnonotSORATOofallthings!—strongly prompted me to finish this alternate-future tale. Partly inspired by the Siouxsie and the Banshees song of the same name.  Digimon belongs to Toei, who can kiss my Mimato-loving ass.  ¡VIVA LA REVOLUCIÓN!

 

A few things to bear in mind here:  this fic works under the assumption that there was no 02.  Because I killed it.  TAKE THAT, LAME ENDINGS! *gunfire*  And I’m aware that they’ve been quite Americanized, but I can blame that on being a gaijin.  As for the R-rating…well, it’s just not really aimed at the kiddies.  ^_~  Anyway, if I haven’t scared you off by now…enjoy.)

 

 

 

kiss them for me

by Hana “Your ad here” Sakubara
(also known as Vix)

 

 

 

Technically, it was Preston’s house. Preston’s grounds, Preston’s gardens, Preston’s tennis courts.  But Mimi always thought of them as hers.  It was the sort of house she’d have gotten for herself anyway, but since she lived with Preston it saved her a couple million dollars.

 

There were plenty of things in the mansion that did belong to her; the wardrobe full of designer clothes, furs, and shoes (a good deal of them had been freebies, since half the top designers jumped at the chance to have Mimi Tachikawa parade around in their creations); a king’s ransom in gold jewelry and precious stones; the den, decorated entirely in pink, the walls of which were heavy with her framed gold and platinum albums.  And the Jacuzzi.  The little heart-shaped Jacuzzi which Preston had had put in on her last birthday.  That was hers, too.

 

The fact that it wasn’t really her house, or her home, if you wanted to get bogged down in semantics, never bothered her.  She was a singer, Preston was her producer, and their arrangement was a mutually advantageous one as it allowed them to work together.  Add the fact that they were sleeping together as well, and it only made perfect sense.

 

As Mimi sunbathed by the pool in the backyard, she let her mind wander back to the day she’d first walked into his office, a scared twenty-year-old kid with a demo tape in one hand. And damn blessed to get five minutes alone with Preston Lockwood, executive and producer extraordinaire, when most of the music moguls in town had kicked her right back to the curb. 

 

Preston had seemed interested from the start, however (though Mimi had debated at the time whether he was more interested in her music or her tight blouse), and once he’d listened to the tape, he’d sat her down and looked her square in the eye. “Out of all the girls that saunter in here waving their demos under my nose, maybe three of them have got it,” he said.  “And you, Mimi…you’ve got it.  A little polishing…you’ll be a sensation,  I guarantee it.  I can feel it already.”

 

He’d been right. Careful marketing, slick production, and star quality proved to equal massive album sales, endorsements and offers by the barrelful.  Mimi had always craved fame, ever since her school days back in Odaiba; it had always been so easy to see herself onstage in front of a sea of cheering, screaming fans, crooning into a microphone and commanding everyone’s attention. 

 

Even now that it was real, it didn’t seem too alien.  The tour stops drew arena-size crowds, though she didn’t spend a lot of time on the road.  There were a lot of gigs on TV, awards shows and specials and the like.  Preston managed her career as well, and he was very discerning about what offers he accepted. “They”accepted, Mimi noted dryly.  It wasn’t as though he didn’t consult her on these career moves, but more than once he’d vetoed some of the things she’d liked to have a chance to do.  The five or six movie offers, for one.  One a big, splashy Hollywood pic with an impressive cast roster.  “It’s risky,” he said.  “If it flops, it might be harmful…”  and then it had gone on to gross $170 million domestically.  He had let her do a smaller art film, though.  It hadn’t been a huge role, but at the screening Mimi marveled inwardly at her face, staring back at her in celluloid immortality.  It thrilled her inside.  She had made it.  All the way from Odaiba…

 

Odaiba.  Japan, and her past, seemed a million light-years away.  She and her old friends had remained a close unit up through high school.  Then they’d drifted.  All of them had careers now. Last she’d heard, Joe had caved to his father’s wishes and become a doctor; Izzy was some sort of junior CEO whiz-kid for Pineapple Computers; TK and Kari were still in college, majoring in journalism and photography, respectively.  Sora’d taken over her mother’s ikebana shop, and Tai was working for the Odaiba paper, sports editor or something.  They had all remained in Japan, except her.

 

And Matt.

 

Matt Ishida was the one she’d really lost track of.  He’d supposedly moved to New York at about 19 or 20, to pursue his own musical career, but he’d never put down roots, and God only knew where he was now.  She didn’t call home to Odaiba often, but the last time she’d spoken directly to TK (about a year ago), he’d said Matt’s correspondence was sporadic and that he was somewhere on the East Coast.  She found herself wondering what he was doing now.  He hadn’t had the same kind of success that she had, and she knew he must resent that fact…if he ever thought about her, that was.

 

Mimi stiffened.  How could he not, when she still thought about him after all this time?  After what they’d had once upon a time?  Matt had been her first love, if you could call it that.  They’d merely acknowledged each other’s existence in the early days of the Digidestined,  but as puberty struck and they’d all began coupling…she and Matt had simply gravitated to each other.  She attended his concerts and helped fend off the Jun Motomiyas who all wanted desperately to tear his shirt to bits; he tagged along on her early photo shoots and entertained her with song in between shots.  She’d once wondered, fleetingly,  if their individual narcissism had been the real reason for their attraction, but she’d shaken the thought away. It couldn’t be…there’d been so much more to it.

 

Matt had taught her how to kiss.  “The fine art of tongue-wrestling,” as he’d so elegantly referred to it, making her giggle. They’d sneak off to the orchestra pit in the school auditorium, a spot notorious for lewd antics, to brush up on those tongue-wrestling skills.  At sixteen, he’d showed her how to do a lot more than just kiss in the back of his father’s empty news van, a memorable experience heightened by the fact they were both afraid of getting caught by his dad’s camera crew.  They’d had fun together, and Mimi had thought that if it wasn’t love, it surely had to be close.

 

She’d been wrong.  If there was one thing they were better at together than making out, or making love, it was fighting.  And they’d done plenty of that, which had led to the usual false accusations, name-calling, and words said that she’d never meant to say.  Had he meant them?  She could still draw up the fierce, frightening look in his eyes; surely he meant every word.  Indeed, afterward she’d moved to America, and had never heard a word from him again.

 

“Miss Tachikawa? Phone for you; it’s Mr. Lockwood.”

 

Mimi shook herself out of her lengthy reverie.  Good Goddess, had she really been mulling over Matt this long?  She’d nearly baked herself to a crisp in the process.  Wrapping a towel around herself, she rose from the chaise and reached out for the cell phone the maid offered her on a tray.  “Hello?”

 

“Hey, babe.  What’s going on?”

 

She smiled and tucked a lock of sunstreaked brown hair behind one ear.  “Nothing much.  Sunbathing.”

 

“Don’t stay out too long,” he said almost teasingly.  “Remember, we’ve got the premiere party tonight.  What do you think: the black limo or the white one?”

 

“White.”  It’d match her fur wrap, she thought.

 

“Right.  Well, I’ll change here at the office and be back in the limo to get you about seven.  Okay?”

 

“Sure.  I’ll be ready.”

 

“Good.  Well, I’ve got at least another hour of studio work to do.  See you tonight, babe.  ‘Bye.”

 

“Bye,” Mimi said to the dial tone, hanging up and replacing the phone on the maid’s silver tray.  It was sort of funny.  She always thought that couples were supposed to say “I love you” on the phone before hanging up, but she and Preston never seemed to be able to do it.  It didn’t mean they were any less of a couple, she reminded herself hastily.  They were just…preoccupied.

 

Sighing, she headed inside to take a shower.  She knew Preston wouldn’t be pleased if she kept him waiting.

 

***

 

Matt slumped lower in his seat at the Valley Art and lit a cigarette.  There was nobody else in there, though he still risked the chance of some usher coming in on sticky-floor patrol and booting him out.  He couldn’t help himself—it’d been almost an hour since his last one.  He quickly checked the quantity of the flattened pack of Camels.  Damn.  One left.

 

He returned his attention to the screen, furtively blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.  It wasn’t a bad movie, he thought, for one of those low-budget arty-farty things.  Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t taken an offer to do some summer blockbuster—for he didn’t doubt she’d received at least one.  She had the presence; she’d always had it.

 

Damn it, he thought.  I’m not going there again.

 

The screen Mimi tossed her head as she turned back to cast her lover a final, withering look.  “I can throw you away just as easily as you did me,” came her voice from the depths of hidden speakers, moving in time with immortalized lips.

 

“Touché, Mimi,” he said aloud. 

 

That was exactly what she’d done.  Thrown not only him, but all of them, away.   Their adventures as children seemed about as real now as a fairy tale, the memories playing back like a movie.  Maybe she’d gone on to deny any of it ever happened?  Deny they had ever happened?

 

In all honesty, Matt couldn’t remember what their breakup had been all about.  It had something to do with the girls, or one of the girls, who regularly showed up at his concerts.  Mimi accusing him, and him pointing the finger right back; she spent too much damn time with that photographer guy.  Had that really been all?  It seemed so stupid and trivial now, but they’d been pretty stupid and trivial people as teenagers. 

 

He didn’t think Mimi had grown out of it, though.  A mature person wouldn’t have the gall to desert her friends like that; to hurt them the way she had.  Sure, he’d left Japan too, but he always came back when he was called for.  When TK had graduated high school;  when Tai and Sora married…he broke off in thought abruptly, biting his lip.  That had been the real clincher.  How could she let them down like that?  That wasn’t the Mimi he’d known.  The damn Hollywood thing was getting to her. 

 

She needed to be set straight.

 

As the credits rolled, Matt stood up, ground the last of his cigarette into the concrete floor, and strode out of the tiny theater to the parking lot, where his Suzuki Bandit sat glaring brightly in the sun.  He made a rapid check of the few personal articles in his pack, noting that there was less than half a bottle of Old Granddad left—the rest had been that morning’s breakfast.  Looked like it was time to go grocery shopping, he thought grimly.

 

Matt was accustomed to his nomadic life on his bike.  He’d been forced to start after his career slipped down the sewer at age 23—the time Mimi’s had really started to gain momentum.  Problems with his band members, difficulty in getting a fair record deal, and unprofitable gigs led to him leaving that so-called city of dreams on the back of his hog without a single backward glance.  As for the constant drinking and chain-smoking…well, those were merely unfortunate side effects of being a “rock star”, ones that refused to drop. Living on the road made keeping in contact with Odaiba difficult, but every now and then he’d find refuge at some rundown motel for about a month, giving him temporary address.  He’d been holed up at one of those when he’d heard from Tai with the good news.

 

Naturally, Tai’d wanted him to be the best man, and he’d obliged.  Even though they’d been little shits to each other as kids, Tai was still his best and oldest friend.  Upon arriving back in Odaiba,  he’d learned that, sure as he’d suspected, Sora had picked Mimi as her maid of honor.  Wary of the fact that this might be some ploy by the future Mrs. Kamiya to get the two of them back together, Matt had awaited her arrival with mixed feelings.  Part of him, the part that had vowed to Mimi’s face that he never wanted to see her again, wanted just that.  The rest of him still needed her, to feel her and be near her, as he’d never quite succeeded in getting her out from under his skin.

 

When the big day had arrived, the others had trickled in to Tai and Sora’s apartment at various intervals throughout the day, Joe showing up still in his lab coat; Izzy, true to form, still dragging along his laptop, though looking almost authoritarian in his Armani suit. The group had agreed to meet there before heading on down to the actual ceremony.  Matt wandered absently throughout their house in his rented tux, examining things.  They’d had their professional wedding photo done a week earlier, and it already sat in a silver frame on the hallway table.  Taichi and Sora Kamiya, he’d mused, not at all surprising.  They’d been like a pair of shoes since they were twelve.  Still, he felt a twinge of envy toward them;  they’d had it right in front of them all along, no searching required.  It didn’t seem he’d ever be that lucky.

 

Alternately, he’d look at the clock and wonder where the hell Mimi could be.  The answer finally came at about one o’ clock, with two hours to go, in the form of a ringing phone.  TK had answered it.

 

“Yeah, we’re all here…uh-huh…oh…sure, I see.”  TK paused to exhale, as Matt listened closely.  He didn’t like the sound of that.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m sorry, too.  Uh-huh…I will.  Well…good-bye.”

 

Matt looked expectantly at his brother.  “What?  That was Mimi, right?  When’s she getting here?”

 

“She’s not,” TK said grimly, returning the phone to the receiver.

 

“What?!”  exclaimed Matt.  “Why the hell not?”

 

“She said she, uh, had some important benefit to go to tonight, that came up at the last minute.  She apologized, and…” TK trailed off as he caught Tai’s face, his eyes glued steadily to the floor.

 

“Last minute, my ass,” Matt said, his temper rising.  “If she’s still out there in California, she’s known about it for a while.  I ought to call her right back and—“

 

“Matt, don’t,” Joe said, with a restraining hand on his arm.  He gestured to Tai, whose eyes were still downcast.

 

“Somebody has to tell Sora,” he said quietly. “I’ll—”

 

“Let me do it,” Matt said, and strode to the back of the apartment, slowing down as he approached Tai and Sora’s bedroom.  Sora sat on the bed, her back to the door, already in her gown, while Kari stood behind her in her own formal yellow dress, twisting Sora’s hair into odd knots atop her head.  The two of them were laughing.  Matt braced himself, then cleared his throat.

 

They turned around.  “Oh, Matt,” Sora said, smiling, “I heard the phone ring.  Was that Mimi?”

 

He drew a deep breath.  “Yes.  Er, Sora, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but…Mimi’s not coming.  At all.”

 

Sora’s happy expression quickly crumbled.  Kari looked at Matt with some degree of alarm.  “But—why—is everything all right?  I mean, she’s okay, isn’t she?”

 

“Apparently she had some benefit to go to tonight that took priority over her best friends’ wedding,” Matt said, trying but failing to keep the harsh edge out of his voice, for Sora’s sake.  Sora examined the bedspread for a long moment, then looked up, her face still laced with deep disappointment.  “Well,” she managed slowly, with a rueful smile, “Mimi’s got her reasons…she has a busy life.  It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not okay.” Matt’s voice began to rise.  It was suddenly all too much. “That’s no excuse for letting her friends down on the most important day of their—”

 

“Matt, really, it’s okay,” Sora said forcefully, and he stopped, though the angry glint in his eyes remained.  “Um, Kari, would you mind—”

 

“No, of course not!” Kari gave her a quick hug. “Her dress is in the closet, right?  I’ll go change.”

 

So they’d proceeded with the newly-altered wedding plans, but all through the ceremony his mind kept wandering to Mimi, and he had to struggle to keep the anger from showing on his face.  He’d always heard fame had the power to change people, but still…

 

Matt seethed at the memory as he swung his leg over his bike and tore off down the street.  The mid-April sun pounded mercilessly down on his beat-up black leather jacket.  He was presently in Arizona; he’d never been there before and didn’t think he’d be making too many return visits, especially not if every spring was this bad.  It was the peak of the afternoon, and he decided he might as well make his smokes-and-liquor run early, so he could set about finding a place to crash for the night.

 

He did have a long road ahead of him tomorrow, after all.

 

***

 

Mimi sighed and kicked off her pink Dr. Scholls, propping her legs up on the armrest of the huge chair she’d draped herself across.  She felt dead tired, though she hadn’t done anything particularly strenuous.  Last night’s premiere party, a gala put on by the record company for another one of Preston’s prodigies, had been an endless stream of schmoozing and flashbulbs and wading through plush carpet in spike heels, from the second she’d stepped out of the limo.  Not that Mimi could really complain.  She still enjoyed the attention-getting aspect of it, but some of the hobnobbing bored her to tears.  She often had to stand around, smiling or nodding and looking interested at Preston’s side while some old coot of an executive engaged him in incessant conversation.  If she tried to slip away for a canapé or more champagne, he’d give her the evil eye and hold her arm tighter.  That annoyed her, though she never brought it up afterward.

 

Then, she’d spent that entire morning having it out with the songwriters Preston had hired to work on her next album.  The first time around, she’d been so stunned by her good luck in getting a record deal, that she hadn’t objected to the fact that every track had been written by someone else.  But this time, she wanted to try her own hand at songwriting—an idea that the hired writers, and Preston, hadn’t been too thrilled about.

 

“Why, you don’t think I can do it?” she’d asked. 

 

“Of course not,” Preston had said placatingly.  “It’s just that…we have certain standards to live up to now.  And these songwriters are the best in the business…”  He’d gone on, and in spite of Mimi’s indignance, her protests had faltered anyway.  Preston always had this conciliatory way of keeping her quiet, in line.  No, that wasn’t it, she thought, frowning.  It was…controlling her? Was that what it was?

 

Of course it wasn’t.  What a silly thing to think, Mimi chided herself. 

 

She checked her Rolex.  Almost six o’clock.  Before she’d left the studios,  Preston had reminded her to “be ready” by seven; except this time they were having dinner at home (a fairly rare occurrence).  It was their last night together before Preston jetted off to New York the next morning, to look into signing some new singing group whose mean age was half of Mimi’s.  He’d be gone for four days, and he’d insisted that he wanted them to have a “special” evening before he left.  Mimi didn’t see what the big deal was, as he’d been gone longer than that before, but she wasn’t about to object to his wishes.  So she dragged herself upstairs, through the shower, into a pink silk dress that she knew he was fond of, and back downstairs again, to wait expectantly in the parlor for him to get home.

 

Exquisite smells were drifting out from the kitchen when Preston finally arrived.  He smiled at Mimi as she rose from the ornate parlor settee to greet him.  “You look gorgeous, babe. As usual.”

 

Mimi smiled.  “So, what is it about tonight that you had me get all dolled up for, anyway?”

 

“I just thought it’d be a nice change of pace for us to stay at home,” Preston said somewhat evasively.  “Figured we could use a break after last night…oh, looks like dinner’s ready.”

 

They seated themselves at either end of the dining room table as the servants entered, bearing trays.  Preston steered the conversation throughout the meal, keeping it mostly away from Mimi’s work and more on lighter subjects.  Part of Mimi still wanted to press the songwriting matter, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to win that argument…she sighed inwardly.  Why can’t I win?

 

Afterward, they went into the den, accompanied by the maid with Perrier-Jouet on ice, who quickly exited.  As Preston poured glasses, Mimi wandered around, looking at the framed albums on the walls.  She ran her finger lightly over the glass covering her first gold single.  Unbelievable, really.  I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted…ever dreamed about as a little girl…

 

Right?

 

Preston walked up behind her, slipping a champagne flute into her hand.  “I knew it,” he said in a low voice, looking over her shoulder at the record.  “That the world would fall for you as hard as I did.”

 

Mimi looked back at him, flushing.  “Preston…”

 

“Don’t you remember what today is, Mimi? The anniversary of the day you first walked into my office, looking completely terrified…”

 

“I was terrified,” she laughed.

 

“…the day I knew I had a star on my hands,” Preston finished, clinking his glass against hers.  They sipped briefly, then set their glasses down.  Preston looked straight into Mimi’s eyes.

 

“But…I’d like the chance to make this a different kind of anniversary.”

 

Mimi drew in her breath sharply, unable to think at all as Preston drew a box from his jacket pocket.  Inside was a ring sporting the biggest hunk of ice she’d ever seen in her life.

 

“Marry me?” he inquired softly.

 

In the following moment of eternity, it seemed as though all of Mimi’s internal organs froze; her brain, her heart, her stomach completely iced over and refused to work properly.  Marry him?  Why had this never occurred to her before?

 

She opened her mouth, wanting to say a million things to Preston’s beseeching face, but the only thing that could come out was:

 

“Yes.”

 

***

 

Not two days later, Mimi was out by the pool again, though not sunbathing this time.  Instead, she sat at the covered patio table, alternately watching the early afternoon sunlight bounce off the pool and her ring.

 

That ring.  The longer she looked at it, the more it seemed to be mocking her, shooting its conspicuous beams of rainbow light directly into her eyes.  This is what you wanted, Mimi, isn’t it?  This is what you’ve always dreamed about…

 

That was true, she supposed.  More than once, she’d dreamed of how it would be to accept a marriage proposal accompanied by a huge diamond.  She’d just never imagined it would be from Preston.  Now that she looked back on it, it seemed inevitable.  They were living together…working together…sleeping together…

 

So why was it such a big shock?

 

Mimi shook her head.  She was acting like this was a bad thing.  Preston was handsome, successful, and exceedingly wealthy; she should be thanking her lucky stars she’d netted such a man.  She knew her parents would be happy when they found out, and…

 

Yeah, you could have done a lot worse, Mimi, came the mocking voice again, from the depths of her brain.  You could have married Matt.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Mimi said aloud, then looked around to see if anyone had heard, which of course they hadn’t.  All the servants were inside. 

 

Yesterday morning, after a night of dazed lovemaking which Mimi scarcely remembered at all, Preston had headed off to LAX in the limo, though not before a quick call to the publicist to inform him of the engagement.  (And after he’d bade Mimi farewell, of course.)  That very evening, it had made the entertainment news.  “…And in music news, pop princess Mimi Tachikawa is tying the knot.  The twenty-four-year-old diva recently became engaged to her manager/producer, Preston Lockwood…we wish them all the best…”

 

Yeah, right, Mimi had thought crossly before shutting the TV off, slightly surprised at her own vehemence.

 

Now she was drifting in a catatonic state, unable to think straight, asking herself questions she couldn’t answer.  She tucked her knees under her chin and pulled her lightweight cardigan closer around her as a chilly breeze blew past.  You’re so ungrateful, she scolded herself.  Be happy…

 

The arcadia door slid open at that moment, interrupting Mimi’s private thoughts.  It was Gia, the maid.  “Miss Tachikawa, there’s—“

 

“If it’s Preston on the phone, tell him I’m busy,” Mimi said dully, suddenly not feeling at all like talking to him.

 

“It’s not that, Miss Tachikawa…there’s someone coming up the drive.”

 

***

 

Part 2 will be up in a day or two…I still have POOFreading and writing to do.  Reviews are always helpful. :) If I ripped anyone off, it was purely coincidental.  Should you find inconsistencies or hanging plot-chads, blame them on my feeble sleep-deprived brain.