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                   35 Millimeters II: Behind the Lens
                           By Lady Aishiteru
                      Chapter 3 - A Model Citizen
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	"Hey, Minako, you have got to try this," said Rubina, my hair 
stylist.  "It's just...wild.  I had one two days ago, and I haven't 
slept since."

	"What's that, heroin?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.  Rubina 
was always latching onto the latest drug fad.  Honestly, I worry about
that kid.  

	"Nah.  This stuff's new, bona-fide," she said, grinning 
widely.  "It's called 'Ecstasy,' and it lives up to its name.  I 
could hook you up.  First hit is on me."

	"No, thanks," I said politely.  

	"Man," she said, scoffing.  "You are such a goody-two shoes, 
Minako.  Don't you have any fun?"

	"Not your kind, hon. Your kind of fun is liable to get you 
killed."

	"Aw, you're just jealous," she said.  "Quit acting like my 
mom."

	My hands clenched into tight little fists at the mention of 
motherhood.  I winced as a sharp pain manifested itself.  I turned my 
palms over and rolled my eyes.  My fake nails had drawn blood...again.
"Damn!" I thought.  "That's the third time this week!"  

	I guess it's a nervous habit I've developed during my career.
I don't really mean to do it; at least that's what I tell myself.  
Maybe it's something I do to distract me from the stress level of my 
job.  I know it's not that bad; it's like biting your nails.  Still, 
it's then that I usually ask myself why on Earth I still have this 
stupid job.  I mean, I hate being a supermodel.  I hate the attention,
the constant media bombardment.  I usually manage to avoid it by 
disguising myself, but every now and then some jerk pops out of a bush
and snaps a picture.  Actually, that happens often.  I'll have to get 
a new disguise.  Maybe a wig would help.

	So why do I keep this job?  It's to support my mother, Itami.
She should be able to care for herself at her age, but she never 
managed to get a handle on that.  She is manic-depressive and 
alcoholic.  After all these years, she never sought treatment for her 
illnesses, even after she was diagnosed.  It didn't matter how many 
times I begged her to.  I still do, but she doesn't listen.  She never
did.

	Growing up, my mom and I lived in a series of small flats in 
England.  She had this job as a magazine writer, and when she was in 
her manic phase, she was full of energy.  Mom would sit at her 
typewriter and just type for days straight.  She was like some kind of
superwoman.  She didn't eat, sleep or sit still for more than five 
seconds.  The downside was that she got angry easily, so I was very 
careful around her then.  It was then that I began to wonder if she 
was really human.

	Mom would make me these delicious lunches, and send me off to 
school.  She would get me up in the mornings and make me breakfast.  
She'd smile and listen to me tell her about my day at school, how many
boys I had to fend off, how many fights I had inadvertently started.  
In those days, she was almost like a real mother, the kind you see in 
those gardening magazines.

	Then came the bad times.  Mom would inevitably crash, and she 
couldn't be approached for weeks at a time.  She would sit on the 
couch, legs open, a bottle of whiskey pressed between.  It was then 
that I'd have to face the angry editors, and tell them Mom would have 
the articles in soon.  The money would dry up, the magazine would fire
her, and we'd have to move again.

	One month, she was fine, the next she was dead drunk and 
passed out on the floor.  From one day to the next, I never knew which
side of Mom I would see, the good one, who made oatmeal cookies and 
braided my hair, or the bad one, who cursed at the TV and lived on 
hard liquor.  Mom would get an animalistic glint in her eyes; the same
look that made my heart pound in my throat and my blood run cold.  I 
would run into my bedroom, lock the door, and just sit there, holding 
myself, sobbing brokenly.  I didn't tell anyone how scared I was for 
years.  Deep down, I was afraid that the authorities would ship her 
away to a mental institution.  I've seen how the mentally ill are 
treated in all of the movies: "The Snake Pit," "One Flew Over The 
Cuckoo's Nest."  It's like they're lab rats or something.  Maybe 
somewhere underneath all of those layers of hurt and hostility there 
was a speck of love.  Maybe that's why I put up with her.  

	Life went on like this in cycles until I was thirteen, when 
she had lost all ability to cope with life.  Eventually, her alcohol 
failed to give comfort to her troubled mind.  It was then that my 
worst enemy became my best friend; my natural beauty.  Boys would 
fight over me constantly.  It didn't even matter if I showed any 
interest whatsoever. I couldn't help it; I was born pretty.  

	While the male population sought me after like a goddess, I 
was hated with equal fervor by the other gender.  Every time I tried 
to say hello, they would ignore me and walk away.  When they didn't 
think I could hear them, they would whisper things like "whore" and 
"slut," even though I in no way lived up to either label.  I was 
always accused of stealing someone's boyfriend, but I never went 
after anyone. To this day, I think they were jealous of all the 
attention I was getting.  I grew to hate it after awhile.  Then I just
wanted to be left alone.

	My big break didn't come until I was thirteen.  I was sitting 
on the curb one day, chewing peach-flavored bubble gum.  I remember 
the conversation like it was yesterday.

	A man in an impeccable three-piece suit approached me.  I 
wondered what he was doing in a neighborhood like mine; this 
particular flat was pretty slummy.  "Hi, I saw you while I was 
crossing the street."  He spoke in a strange, staccato accent, which I
later learned was Japanese.  

	I nodded and allowed the stranger to continue.  "I took one 
look at you and I said to myself, 'This is the one, the girl I've been
looking for.  The girl of my dreams.'"

	I raised my eyebrows at the man.  "Aren't I a little young for
you?" 

	"Oh, you misunderstand me.  I represent a famous modeling 
agency."

	"Which one?"  I was pretty skeptical at this point; anyone can
claim to be from an agency.  It had always been my dream to be a 
model.  It was like a bit of light in my world of darkness.  *I used 
to get up early on Saturdays, before Mom woke up, and sneak off to the
magazine shop.  When I was sure that nobody was looking, I'd tiptoe up
to the modeling trade rack, and grab a few magazines off the shelf.  
I'd run into a corner and devour everything I saw in them with my 
eyes.  I'd sit there for hours, my fingers running over the glossy 
pages.  I'd picture myself on the cover, smiling brightly.  Models 
always looked so happy and well off.  All they had to do was wear the 
right clothes, use the right product, and people fell in love with 
them.  They didn't have mothers who yelled at them for no reason or 
have to tiptoe over broken glass.  Their lives were so amazingly 
easy; at least that's what I thought at the time.  

	Since I spent so much time reading modeling magazines, I knew 
by heart which agencies were real, and which ones were fakes.  Often, 
a man saying he represents a modeling agency uses that as a gateway 
to sexually offensive behavior.  I'd seen it on the news, and I was 
about ten seconds from making a run for it.  I wasn't about to become 
a statistic.

	The man laughed.  "No, I represent Tokyo Inc."

	I gasped. "THE Tokyo Inc.?  Prove it."

	He pulled out his business card and smiled.  "I like your 
spunk.  You'll go far.  My name is Li Komodachi.  My number is on the 
card.  I'll be in touch."  With that, the stranger walked across the 
street and out of my line of vision.  I kept staring at the card, not 
believing that this could be true.  I actually pinched myself because 
I thought I was dreaming.  

	Still, I was desperate enough to try anything.  Mom was in the
hospital after a nearly successful suicide attempt.  I found her lying
on the floor in between two empty bottles, both resting on their 
sides.  One had contained vodka and the other a month's worth of a 
prescription sleep aid.   I knew that Tokyo Inc. was actually located 
in Tokyo, Japan, and I was getting pretty sick of life in England.  I 
came into her hospital room as soon as she was released from the 
intensive care unit and showed the business card to her.  She took the
card into her shaky hand, and then she carried on and on about how our
ship had finally come in.  I rolled my eyes; I was already too 
hardened to believe in some stupid pipe dream.	

	The next few years of my life were a whirlwind of contract 
signings, photo shoots and job offerings.  I became giddy with the 
prospect of no longer being poor.  Even though I was well on my way to
gaining professional respect, I honestly didn't give a damn what other
people thought about me anymore.  That was when I met Usagi.  

	I was sitting by myself at the lunch table, a habit I had long
since become accustomed to. She came up to me and invited herself to 
sit.  I raised my eyebrows at her.  I had seen her talking to Umino, 
the biggest gossip in Juuban, and pointing at me.  I figured she 
couldn't possibly be for real.  I listened to her prattle on like she 
had known me for years, her odangos bouncing as if to punctuate each 
sentence.  Soon, Ami and Makoto joined us.  What struck me most about 
the group was that they were genuine and honest.  

	With the exception of Usagi, we were all kindred spirits for 
some reason or another.  Makoto was too tall. She stuck out like a 
sore thumb, wearing her green uniform because Juuban's were always a 
few sizes too small.  Due to her size, she got this reputation for 
being this crazed kung-fu freak.  Although she loved to work out, I 
never saw her as being vicious.  

	For Ami, her social downfall was her brains.  She would always
be at least three chapters ahead in every subject, and she would ace 
every test without even trying.  She knew the answer to every question
a teacher asked, and her nose was often lodged firmly in a book. 

	I met Rei later on, since she didn't go to the same school as 
the four of us.  Like I said earlier, I met her at the Hikawa shrine. 
Later, I learned that her father basically abandoned her after her 
mom's death and pretty much threw her into her grandpa's lap.  He was 
a strict Catholic, and he sent Rei to St. Mary's, a Catholic school 
downtown.  Although Rei is popular in that school; the St. Mary's kids
respect her, and almost worship her. But her real friends were always 
the four of us, because she felt like she could be herself in our 
presence.  Her dad's lack of parenting is probably the reason why she 
doesn't trust men.  

	While her father was merely absent, mine was like a ghost.  In
my life, "father" was only a word, an ominous label lurking in the 
darkness.  My mother never mentioned him to me once, and I don't even 
know what he looks like.  To this day, I don't know what has become of
him.

	Usagi, Makoto, Ami and Rei became the first real friends I 
have ever known.  They kept me sane, and didn't care one bit that I 
was a model.  Usagi thought it was cool; she would often bring the 
other girls to my shoots.  Makoto and Ami came with her at first, and 
were later joined by Rei.  They would sit in director chairs and watch
me at work.  They made these really funny faces, and I had to work 
hard to keep a straight expression, or I would ruin the shot.  

	If it weren't for them, I would have gone the route of every 
other model: wild parties, underage sex, massive drugs and dying face 
down in the gutter.  Sometimes on the weekends, we would all get 
dressed up in clothes I had "borrowed" from work, and then we would 
all go to model parties.  It was wild fun.  The girls would all 
pretend that they were also models and got the guys to pay for our 
food.  We'd drink diet soda and laugh until our stomachs hurt.  
Eventually, Ami would remind us of the time and we'd all go to Usagi's
house and have a sleepover.  

	I know it sounds weird, a model going to sleepovers with 
normal kids, but those were really the best times of my life.  
Thinking about it still brings a smile to my face.

	"Minako?  Did you hear me?"

	"Huh?  Oh, sorry, I must have zoned out again." I said.  "Is 
it time for the shoot already?"

	Rubina nodded and ushered me off.  I squared my shoulders and 
stepped into another day of work.

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	I was dog-tired when the day finally decided to end.  After 
adding a wig to my disguise, I made a beeline for the taxi.  I could 
hardly wait to get to the Soda Shoppe and see my friends.  I really 
missed them, even though it had only been a day since I had seen them 
last.

	"Hi, guys.  What's going on?" I asked.

	"Nothing much," replied Usagi.  "We were just sitting down to 
eat."

	"Cool," I said.

	"Minako, I have to ask.  What's with the wig?" asked Rei, 
raising her eyebrows.

	"Those damned tabloid reporters have really been getting on my 
case lately.  I figured this might throw them off...for a week or two,
anyways," I said, grinning wryly.

	"Ah.  Makes sense," said Rei.  I was about to open my mouth to
speak when she added, "Red really isn't your color, though."

	I stuck my tongue out at her.  She always has to get the last 
word in.

	"Hey Ames!" Usagi said her seat. "How's business going?"

	"You've asked her that every day, you meatball head. She 
probably doesn't want to talk about her job!" said Rei.

	"I don't mind at all," Ami said, smiling "I love my job."

	Usagi shot Rei a smug look, and then turned again to face Ami.
"Any interesting customers?"

	"No...not really," Ami said sheepishly.  

	I knew that look.  Ami was hiding something.  Whenever Ami 
lies, she turns as red as a tomato.  If my hunch was right, which it 
usually is, and then she had met a really amazing guy. 

	"Come on, Ames. Who is he?" I asked.

	"What makes you think it's a guy?" asked Makoto. 

	"I KNOW these things, minna," I said triumphantly.

	"Oh yeah," Makoto said, rolling her eyes. "The self-proclaimed
Goddess Of Love is at it again." 

	"Well, have I ever been wrong before?" I demanded.

	At this, the other three looked down at their hands, not 
wanting to admit that I was right.  As botched as my own love life is,
I'm really good at pairing off my friends.  I had helped to set up 
Usagi and Mamoru.  I knew that their constant verbal sparring covered 
up a deep-seated affection when everyone else thought that they hated 
each other.  I knew that Makoto was secretly in love with her best 
friend, Nephrite, even though she had vehemently denied it.  I'm 
working on getting Rei hooked up with this really hot blond, Jadeite. 
She's so stubborn, though, that she doesn't even know she likes him 
yet.  I've seen how she stares at him when she thinks nobody's 
looking.  

	I'd never meddled in Ami's love life before because I didn't 
think she was interested in romance.  She had never talked about boys 
before, and whenever we had brought up the subject in the past, she 
said we should get back to studying.

	"So there," I said, arms akimbo. "Anyways, you're not fooling 
anyone. I know that look...you're hiding something." I said, shaking 
my index finger at my beet red friend.

	"Out with it, chicka," said Usagi.

	"Yeah, Tokyo wants to know," added Makoto.

	"All right, all right. He said his name was Zoisite."

	"What does he look like?" I asked.

	"Well, he is one of my clients, so I have his picture in my 
car. Want me to go get it, minna?"

	"Hai!" chorused everyone except Rei, who silently sipped her 
soda.

	When Ami returned to our table, she was still pretty flushed.
"What took you?" asked Usagi.

	"Yeah, is he a dog or something?" asked Makoto.

	Ami fiddled with a manila folder she was holding when a male 
voice said  "So these are your friends, Ami?"

	My jaw practically hit the table.  He was almost as sexy as 
Kunzite...well, if Kunzite wasn't a complete ass, anyways.  He had the
same triangular build and long, wavy blond hair that he had pulled 
into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck.  His eyes were a deep 
shade of green, like an evergreen tree.  I noticed the way he was 
looking at Ami and I mentally congratulated my friend.  

	"Quiet bunch, eh?" remarked the man.

	"Minna, this is Zoisite. He's one of my clients. Zoisite, this
is Usagi, Minako, Makoto and Rei," said Ami.  "They're not always this 
quiet," she added. 

	"I see," he said. "Mind if I join you ladies?" 

	"Not at all," I said, once I regained my powers of speech.  
Ami glared daggers in my direction, but I merely winked back. Zoisite 
pulled up a chair across from Ami, next to Rei. 

	"Hi, would you all like to order?" asked the waitress.

	Just then, Mamoru walked over to the table. "Hey ladies," he 
said.

	"Hi, Mamo-chan," said Usagi. "We were just getting ready to 
order."

	"Great!" he said, pulling up a chair besides his wife. "I'll 
have a double cheeseburger, heavy on the mushrooms, no pickles."

	"Mamo-chan, you are so predictable.  I could set my watch by 
you," said Usagi, smiling.

	Mamoru shrugged his shoulders, used to his wife's gentle 
teasing.

	"So this is the wife you've been raving about, Mamoru?"

	He nodded and slid his arm around Usagi possessively. "Yes."

	"You know him?" asked Usagi.

	"We work together," said Zoisite. "I'm on the same team as 
Kunzite, Jadeite and Nephrite."

	"Otherwise known as the Four Generals," elaborated Mamoru, the
proud, successful CEO of Chiba Electronics Inc. "They're all my vice 
presidents." 

	"Better watch out, Mamoru, or we'll pull a coup d' etat," said
Zoisite, laughing.

	Mamoru rolled his eyes.  "But I thought you were involved in 
electronics? Why do you have four generals?" asked Ami.

	"We're not really generals, Ami. It's a nickname, because 
we've been known to attack the competition. We're in charge of 
different departments. Nephrite is in charge of sales, I head 
marketing, Kunzite is our Human Resource director, and Jadeite covers 
customer relations."

	"I see," Ami said, smiling.  I wasn't so thrilled, though.  My
initial reason for rejecting Kunzite that I thought he was a male 
model, was false.  I felt somewhat foolish, but I still pitied Mamoru 
for having to work with the jerk.  I seriously questioned Mamoru's 
logic in hiring such an antisocial idiot for human resources.

	I wished that Kunzite had his co-worker's winning personality.
He was witty, charming and eloquent.  Even Rei liked him.  I noticed 
that he kept stealing covert glances at Ami.  She was lucky to have 
such a cool guy.  I wondered if she was aware of it yet.

	"Well, I'm stuffed," said Zoisite, stretching his arms over 
his head. He took out his credit card and Mamoru shook his head. 

	"It's on me, Zoi."

	"I should have known," he said, laughing. "Gee, Mamoru, if you
keep up this wild spending, you might go broke."

	"Yeah, in 345 years," said Mamoru.

	We all split up and I began to head to my car. "He's hot, 
Ami-chan," I whispered, winking at her.

	Ami said nothing in response, just smiled that smile of hers 
that spoke volumes. "After you," Zoisite said, holding open the 
restaurant door for her.

	"Thanks," she said.  Although she had tried to be curt, I 
noticed warmth in her voice.  I watched Zoisite follow Ami to her car.

	I stepped into my own car and let out a loud sigh.  At least 
I had Artemis to come home to.  That made me feel better, and I smiled
the whole drive home.

	I walked into my apartment and checked my answering machine.  
I wasn't surprised that there were a lot of messages, which were 
mostly from work.  Every now and then, a rabid fan trickled through, 
but I generally screen them out with caller ID.  At the end of the 
messages, I shocked to hear a familiar voice.

	"Hey, it's me, Kunzite.  I was wondering if I could see you 
again soon.  Call me back when you get the chance."

	I rolled my eyes at his egotistical nonsense and walked 
towards the bathroom.  No sooner did I step into the bathtub than I 
heard the phone ringing.  "Damn!" I said.  "Never fails."

	I picked up the phone and let out an irritated "Hello?"

	"Hey there."

	I groaned.  "Kunzite," I returned.

	"So, did you get my message?"

	"Yeah.  How on earth did you get my phone number?" I demanded 
angrily.  I was seriously considering changing it at that point.

	"Mamoru gave it to me at work.  Did I mention I worked with 
him?  He seemed to know you pretty well."

	I smacked my head.  What else did Mamoru tell him?  I prayed 
to God that he didn't know where I lived.  "Yeah, I know you work for 
him.  So what do you want?"

	"I was thinking that we had gotten off to a bad start.  Can I 
take you out to dinner sometime?" he asked.

	"I'd rather kiss a porcupine," I returned, slamming the phone 
down on its hook.  The phone rang again, but I didn't answer it.  I 
knew it was Kunzite.  I yanked the phone off the hook, and then rubbed
my hands together fiendishly.  "That ought to do it," I thought.  I 
fed Artemis, who had missed me immensely, then finished my bath and 
went to bed.  

	"Man, this guy was persistent." I murmured to myself before 
falling into a deep sleep.  I had yet to find out how right I was.


* This idea came from Redhawke, a friend of mine.