If I Had Your Face(54)
There are two policemen. We have not had any warning because they walked right downstairs without waiting for the door manager to call. From upstairs we just hear a strangled yelp of “Police!” but it’s too late—they are already here and suddenly the girls are scampering into the changing rooms, terrified and breathless. Usually, they come after letting salons know days in advance and the “sweeps” are a formality—a joke more than anything. But a raid without warning—if anything serious happens, the girls take the blame. It’s never the Madam or the actual owner of the room salon, who is always some shadowy fuck who’s busy pretending like he’s high society, his wife sucking up to richer people, trying to pretend like their money isn’t dirty. It has always been that way and it will always be. Us girls, we have been trained for years: “Say that you were the one who wanted to sleep with the customer. You just wanted some money. Got it?” So the girl gets jailed and fined for prostitution, and vilified in society as someone who does this for easy money. The girls who die in the process—the ones who are beaten to death or the ones who kill themselves—they don’t even make the news.
I am the only one that lingers behind in the hallway. I want to know what the cops are saying. There is a middle-aged one, who is bored and annoyed, and a rookie, who is standing with his mouth agape. He looks like he is in middle school, this young cop.
“Listen, I don’t like having to come here either, but this is a matter of someone official reporting prostitution in this establishment, so what are we supposed to do, eh?” the older policeman is barking at Madam. He flaps sheets of paper on the front desk. “Here, it says the charge—attempted prostitution and fraud. This gentleman claims you billed him millions of won. I was sent here by my boss, who says this came from one of his boss’s bosses. I don’t even know who his bosses are. That’s how high up this is. Do you understand me?”
Madam is distraught. “This is a complete misunderstanding,” she says, her voice quivering in what she is hoping they will read as fear, but what I know is anger. She is trying to appeal to their sense of chivalry. It’s too bad that she is ugly as sin.
They must have planned it this way, because it can’t be worse timing. It is 6:30 P.M. now and the first customers will be arriving soon. If they see the police here, the entire night’s business will be lost and men might stay away for good. And I have no doubt that Madam will put this all on my tab. My debt will run to several tens of millions of won before the night is over. I feel like I am about to faint.
I can see Madam calculating all this too as her head swerves frantically in the direction of the wall clock, and then back to the policemen.
Pulling myself together, I take a breath and step forward.
“Is this a report filed by Choi Jang-chan?” I say. It’s Bruce’s real name.
“Yes,” says the older cop angrily. “Who are you?”
“I’m his girlfriend,” I say, clearing my throat nervously. “We had a fight and this is his way of getting back at me.”
They look at each other and then give me an up and down stare. There is a wary silence. “Is that true? This is just some lovers’ spat?” says the older one, finally. He has a look on his face that says, These rich men—they’re all the same. He is now incensed.
“I know his name, don’t I?” I say. “I have texts that show we are very close. I don’t know what he is saying about me to the police, but he is very angry with me right now because I went somewhere he didn’t want me to. It’s a long story that is embarrassing to tell. Look, I’ll come to the police station and give my statement, but please don’t let our personal fight interfere with business here. This is not the shop’s fault, it’s my fault.” I bow deeply to Madam. “I’m so sorry about this,” I say. “I have no words.” I bow again and cower, but inside I am feeling stronger, almost euphoric.
Madam opens and closes her mouth several times. She is deciding which course of action to take. So is the older policeman, who is surveying me with disgust. The younger one is speechless.
“Lovers’ quarrels!” says Madam finally. “Rich people these days are too much! Just because they get angry doesn’t mean they can make accusations about a business when people’s livelihoods depend on it! And what about your busy jobs too? I’m sure you have better things to do than run around after a rich man’s girlfriend simply because he knows your superiors. That’s just not right.”
Trust her to prick a man’s pride and self-righteousness for a nudge in her desired direction.
“Ridiculous,” mutters the older policeman bitterly. We are all watching him now, to see what he will say. Madam looks at the clock again, and I know she is experiencing several mini heart attacks. The manager will have to start making calls to clients with reservations soon, to tell them not to come.
“All right, you,” he says, pointing to me. “Come with us right now. Don’t think you’re going to change your clothes or anything. I’ve wasted enough time as it is coming down here.”
There is a muted collective sigh of relief from the hallway, where the girls and waiters are hiding behind partially closed doors, eavesdropping.
As I scurry toward the stairs after the police, our manager runs up, pushing his suit jacket into my arms, and I smile in gratitude toward him. In the police car, I put it on and feel the pockets, in which there is some cash and a small bag of nuts, thank goodness. It’s going to be a long night.