Somewhere Only We Know(5)
Right. You needed a stupid key card to select a floor. “Bloody hell. Can’t reach for my key card with this monstrosity I have to deliver,” I said in a practiced British accent usually sported by boarding school–bred Hong Kong kids. “Would you mind hitting the penthouse floor for me?”
The woman let out a long-suffering sigh, and I heard the swipe of her card before she pressed the button.
“Endless thanks,” I said from behind the giant flamingo lilies and pink-streaked leaves. She didn’t respond.
Cool, lady. Who cares if you might have let Korean Ted Bundy into a hotel?
The woman got off on her floor, and I let out a tortured breath. “Good night!” I said as she walked out. She still didn’t respond, and the doors closed behind her. “Good riddance.”
The elevator shot straight up to the penthouse floor.
Time to get that photo.
CHAPTER THREE
LUCKY
“Do we seriously have to watch this now?” I stared at my manager.
Joseph Yim’s gaze didn’t waver from mine. “You’re on The Later Tonight Show in three days. If there’s any room for improvement, we have to know now, don’t you think?”
His icy-blue button-up was crisp and tucked neatly into navy trousers. With his high cheekbones and steely eyes, Joseph was an imposing figure. He was only in his late twenties but was something of a wunderkind in the K-pop scene. So many number-one singles on the K-Pop Hot 100 came from his management label. People said that he had an uncanny knack for knowing who would be the next big thing. A jaeneung, a gift. And at the moment, his big hit maker was me.
If all went according to plan, in a few days I wouldn’t only be the reigning queen of K-pop. I’d be an international pop star. The Later Tonight Show was supposed to launch me into a bona fide household name in America.
America. The final frontier. Not many K-pop artists had conquered it successfully. K-pop was indisputably gaining popularity in the US, but there was yet to be a female K-pop star who was on American mainstream radio next to Beyoncé or Taylor Swift.
At this very moment, I was the star with the chops. My name didn’t disappoint—Joseph considered me his lucky charm. Not a small army of vixens who could dance in sync to lush harmonies. Or beautiful moppy-haired boys who danced with the athleticism of gymnasts while rapping.
It was me. Lucky of the one name. Lucky of the angelic voice that made Joseph’s eyes tear up when I auditioned. Lucky of the “naturally” small face and wide eyes that launched a thousand beauty products. Lucky of the blessed height that made her tower over her girl-group counterparts. Lucky of the precise and girlish dance moves that never deviated. Lucky with the flawless English.
I was lightning in a bottle, and the management label was pinning all their American mainstream hopes and dreams on me.
No pressure or anything.
A couple hours after the concert, Joseph and Ji-Yeon were still annoyingly in my hotel room, a laptop propped up on the marble coffee table between us. Joseph wanted to rewatch my performance from today, and both he and Ji-Yeon were staring at me expectantly.
I could go to bed. I’d gotten far enough in my career that I had way more freedom than in the past. But their expectant gazes further inflated the balloon of pressure inside of me.
“Sure, let’s do it,” I said with a tight smile.
With a quick tap on the space bar, Ji-Yeon started the video.
From my reclined position on the plush sofa, I watched myself hop, spin, and gyrate across the stage—my hands precise in their undulating motions around my face as I sang. My voice was tinny through the lousy laptop speakers.
We watched the entire thing from beginning to end. I could barely pay attention, blinking to stay awake. At one point, the image of myself on the screen turned into a dancing hamburger. Mm. A hamburger.
At least I’d performed perfectly. A tiny burst of confetti went off in my head. Joyless and feeble. The inability to get excited made me feel guilty, and I straightened up.
The video ended, and Joseph clapped his hands. “Good girl,” he said with a low chuckle. “This is why you’re going to make it. You’re reliable.”
Reliable! Truly, music to an artist’s ears. I coughed into my fist to squelch the bubble of laughter rising in my throat.
Joseph’s head snapped up. “I have an idea.” Oh, God, not another one. “Let’s watch your very first performance of ‘Heartbeat’ to compare with today’s.” He grinned at me. “Play them side by side. To see how far you’ve come.”
“Well, this is my idea of a smashing Friday night!” I declared. Although Joseph and Ji-Yeon were fluent in English, they didn’t quite grasp the finer points of sarcasm.
Ji-Yeon knelt down and pulled up a tablet to prop up next to the laptop, perusing through YouTube until she found it.
The video was from two years ago. My hair had been dyed a light brown and cut into a wavy bob. That bob would be copied by thousands of teenage girls shortly after this performance aired. The first three bass notes signaled the beginning of the song, and the camera panned down from the glossy waves of my hair, swaying hips, and farther down down down my legs. I was wearing flat black ankle boots back then. I liked those.
As the performance went on, I found myself leaning more forward on the sofa until I was literally on the edge of my seat. I couldn’t help but notice the wideness of my smile, the buoyancy in my steps. The sparkle in my eyes. When I glanced over at today’s performance playing simultaneously, I saw the vacant look in my eyes. Two dark pools of nothingness. I stared hard at the Lucky from two years ago.