Somewhere Only We Know(74)

And soon after, the reactions from fans and media had been equally affirming.

Everyone wanted my sponsorship.

Everyone wanted to book me on their shows.

Everyone wanted a tour of the “New Lucky.”

Despite the success of that performance and Joseph’s initial support, I had eventually left my label a few months after the show. There was simply no way to make my new vision of Lucky mesh with their original. My label refused to budge.

From down the hall, I could hear my mom scolding my dad for putting the tomatoes in the refrigerator again. “It’s not right to leave them out!” he protested.

“Don’t you ever watch the Cooking Channel?” my mom snapped. “None of those people refrigerate them. You think you know better?” They continued to argue, and I smiled as I closed my bedroom door to the noise.

Despite their hapless-married-couple routine, my parents had proven themselves to be extremely sharp. I had only been able to break my contract because, very early on, my parents had a lawyer comb through it and make adjustments based on American labor laws and other legalities.

I plopped down on my bed and pulled out my phone. I had a bunch of emails from Ji-Yeon. I clicked on the first one, with the subject line: This week’s recording schedule.

Cat,

As requested, here’s the schedule for this week. You’re in the studio Tuesday and Thursday with therapy on Wednesday as usual. I’ve made sure that lunches are delivered and that they are NOT salads. (But they’re not hamburgers, either!)

Also, find attached costume ideas for the next music video. The costume designer loved your idea of a jumpsuit, although of course I wish it could be shorts. (Those legs!)

See you in a couple months!

JY



I smiled. It pained Ji-Yeon to allow me to eat so many carbs and wear less-skimpy costumes. In a shocking move, she had left the label with me to become my new manager. “Who else is going to make sure you do your ten-step skin-care routine?” she had said with a sniff.

We were now with a smaller company based in LA. They repped a few K-pop bands but mostly independent artists. Like me. It was scary, but after a few months back in LA, I was finally falling into a routine and working on a new album again. It was still K-pop, but I was working closely with the songwriters, and I would be releasing it as Cat. Short for my full name, Catherine Nam.

The best part? My home base was LA with occasional long trips to Korea. And my schedule was so blessedly manageable—recording a few days a week, dinners with my family. And therapy. Regularly. Moving back home had eased a lot of my anxiety, but I still needed help, and my parents insisted on regular appointments with a therapist. So far, I liked her, though it was hard to shake off the feeling of shame at first. Cultural stigmas die hard.

I closed out of my email and glanced at the time on my homescreen. It was almost six. Time to roll.

A half-hour later, my sister dropped me off in front of a bar in Hollywood. I still couldn’t believe the state allowed her to get behind the wheel of a dangerous killing machine.

“Take the freeway back home, don’t get creative and go on Mulholland or something,” I said to her firmly as I unbuckled my seat belt.

Vivian made a fart noise. “Not that I need your permission, but I’m fine with driving on Mulholland.”

“If you want to die driving off a cliff!” I said with my body twisted around reaching for my guitar case in the back seat.

“Why would I randomly drive off a cliff?!” she screeched.

The guitar almost hit her in the head. “Oops, sorry. I don’t know, even good drivers can—”

“Oh my God, I’m so excited for this Lilith Fair phase of your life to be over!” Vivian unlocked the doors with an aggressive jab on the button.

“Maybe I’ll do this forever to torture you,” I said, pulling on my black, wide-brimmed hat.

“Go play your stupid music!”

The car left with a roar, leaving me in the wake of its exhaust. Nice. It actually made me happy to be treated like garbage by my sister again.

Hollywood was already in full swing on this warm Friday evening. Bros in dress shirts with a sheen, girls in short skirts and high heels, tourists gawking at everyone, parking dudes peddling their thirty-dollar lots, homeless people navigating around all of it deftly, a Korean-Brazilian food truck with customers lined up along the curb, hipsters walking briskly like they had somewhere to go …

It was both gross and great—the dichotomy of Hollywood. City of dreams.

I entered the bar through the back door and someone was already onstage, playing with a four-piece band. Something jazzy. The place wasn’t too full yet; it was still early for the weekend.

After grabbing a soda water from the bar, I found a seat in the very back, a dark corner lit by a single candle.

“Excuse me.”

I glanced over at a young woman who was standing in front of me, clutching a purse to her chest. “Yes?”

“Are you … Lucky?” She whispered the last part.

“Yes,” I whispered back. “But can we keep that between us? I don’t want everyone to know I’m here yet.”

She nodded vigorously. “Oh my gosh, of course!”

I was playing in small venues across LA as an experiment. It wasn’t as Lucky or even Cat. It was only me, Catherine Nam, a guitar, and my own songs.