If I Had Your Face(53)
He looks at me in disbelief. “This is exactly what’s so terrible about it,” he says. “Are you serious? Are you insane? Someone actually has to explain this to you? I don’t even know where to begin. Do you even understand how humiliated his family would have been because of you? At the Reign Hotel? Are you kidding me?”
His raised voice draws attention and the room falls silent. The other girls quickly try to start up conversations again, but a lean man with silvery hair addresses him sharply. “What is the matter?” he says, looking displeased. “Why is the mood in the room turning this way?” He is clearly the client.
The chubby lawyer looks panicked. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says, swallowing. “Er, this girl, she was secretly trying to throw away her drink, so I was getting angry.”
I am caught off guard, but I quickly bow my head in the client’s direction. “I’m so sorry, sir,” I say. “I was drinking too quickly so I just wanted to rest a bit but I should not have.”
My stomach is clenched so hard it hurts, but I hurriedly take up my glass and gulp the whiskey down. “It seems particularly smooth tonight!” I say with a big smile. “You ordered the expensive stuff!”
The client laughs and says he likes my style. He points to my cup, and I hurry to fill it again. Taking a quick deep breath, I drink another shot. It burns down my throat. “I like good drinkers,” he booms. “I like this place. No one tries to back out of the party. I’m sure you were mistaken, Shim-byun. The girls here—their livers are made of iron.”
“Of course, sir, I love this place too!” says the lawyer hastily. “Kyuri here is one of the prettiest girls in the shop. We were just teasing each other. She has a great sense of humor.”
“Oh really?” says the client. “You’re funny too? Why don’t you come over here, then?” He pats the seat next to him and nods curtly to Miyeon, the girl sitting next to him, to switch.
“What an honor!” I say, bouncing up instantly. The room tilts sharply around me but I ignore it.
“I’m warning you, if you try to secretly throw away a drink on my watch, there will be big trouble,” he says as I perch next to him. “I’m spending good money here and I can’t stand that kind of thing.”
“Of course not, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it! And honestly, I was waiting for someone to pour me some more, but I didn’t want to make you men seem like weak drinkers next to me,” I say. I am babbling, really, and have little idea of what I am saying, but he pours me some more and we drink and then we drink and drink some more and I do not remember anything after that.
The next morning, I throw up so much in bed that Miho is wakened by the noise and runs to the convenience store to buy me some hangover powder and Pocari Sweat and has to spend the rest of the morning washing my sheets for me. I am seeing rivers of stars and cannot get up, and while Miho is hanging the sheets up to dry, I fall asleep again on the floor of my room, clutching my coverless pillow to my chest.
When I finally wake up again, it is almost dinnertime. There is clanging coming from the kitchen, and when I limp out of my room I see Sujin heating up some hangover stew on the stove.
“Miho had to leave for the studio so she called me over,” she says when she sees me. “I went to that hangover stew place you like near the puppy spa. I love that place so much—today you could see all the puppies in the hinoki baths with mini-towels wrapped around their heads like little old women!” She cracks up, stirring the bubbling stew with a plastic spoon.
When I don’t answer, she squints and points to the dining chair, and I sink into it. “How much did you drink last night?” she asks tentatively.
I can barely shrug and I gingerly lower my head into my hands.
She ladles the stew into a bowl and brings it over to me with a spoon and chopsticks and some kimchi.
I peek at her as she starts ladling some more into a bowl for herself, humming cheerfully.
I know Sujin is not an idiot. She just seems simple because she reverts so naturally to a positive state. That would be essential for surviving in my industry, though I don’t think anyone can truly come out unscathed.
One would think seeing me like this would be more than fair warning to steer clear.
But I know what she would think even if I told her what was happening—she would think it’s my fault for making terrible choices. “I told you Seul-kuk was a bad idea,” she’d say. She does not know what this work does to you—how you cannot hold on to your old perspective. You will not be able to save your money because there will never be enough of it. You will keep doing things you never expected to do. You will be affected in ways you could never imagine.
I know, because that is what has happened to me. I never would have thought I would end up like this, with no money to speak of, a body that is breaking down, and an imminent expiration date.
I start eating in silence as she joins me at the table.
* * *
—
THE POLICE COME on a Tuesday. We are getting ready for what is always our busiest evening, with reservations for every room. Until then, Madam has been happy—something close to a smile hovering on her toad-like face as she flits in and out of rooms, checking over the girls, telling them to go change their dresses if she doesn’t like the way they fit, ignoring me when she crosses my path.