The Bubble Match

by Merav Tuson Vardy

  I would happily record this beauty in whichever style she chooses.

  Wherever I look, our new headset looks back at me. Aggressive marketing at its fiercest.

  I arrive at the Bubble Corp Tower and a gaggle of advisers, strategists and department heads swarms me on my way to the conference room, fighting over the right to give me the launch numbers. From what I’ve seen on the way, they’re going to be phenomenal.

  The head of our capital market team presents a brief situation report. Apparently Bubble is selling at a market cap of $110 billion price per share. I must admit that, after experiencing Mi-Ok heart-rending guilt over a cake that couldn’t have cost more than 11,000 won, I feel decadent and immoral for possessing enough to purchasing a small country.

  Our director of external relations then coordinates the official launch date in Japan. My flight to Tokyo is in ten days – I hope that by then I will have heard back from the PI about the location of my wonderful bug.

  My pocket vibrates and I pull out my phone, hoping for the best, and slump when it turns out to be my aunt. My mother’s sister always gives me a headache, but I have to pick up. She’s the only one who’s always been there for me, all these years since my mother passed away. I value her so much I don’t even try to correct her when she calls me “son.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re splattered all over the tabloids like some sordid libertine?”

  I’m dumbstruck by her imagery. Only she speaks to me this way.

  “I was getting my hair done this morning and every other paper had a photo of you with some other girl.”

  This is most likely true, but nonetheless uninteresting. I haven’t been too concerned with hiding my lifestyle, and the paparazzi have their job to do. I realize this is not how well-mannered Korean boys behave, but I haven’t been living in Korea for a while now, mainly in the company of Jeremy, so really it’s nothing less than a miracle that I still have any moral standards at all.

  “Find a wife already! Get married! Have beautiful children!” she screams into my ear. I pull away from the phone for fear of deafness.

  “Does your daughter have any cute friends?” I ask, just to piss her off.

  “You think I want any friends of my daughter dating a depraved womanizer like you?”

  Of course she doesn’t.

  “But I’ve got so much money,” I keep up the asshattery.

  “So use it! It’s time you’ve moved somewhere more fitting for someone of your status. It’s time for you to buy some property!” she attacks the next topic with a vengeance. I wonder how many more wait in her arsenal.

  “I happen to love my apartment.”

  “Your so-called apartment – pah! – is a deprived little rat’s nest. Isn’t it time for you to move to a lovely mansion with a pool to swim in whenever you like and a nice fleet of butlers to tend to your every need?”

  “I worry about your bizarre standards. How can you consider a two-story, eighty-square-meter penthouse on the thirty-fifth floor of a brand new high-rise, smack in the center of Gangnam District to be poor, to be deprived? Actually, my rat’s nest of a building even has a pool – it’s on the roof, they even heat it in winter – but after spending my childhood being forced into the water for six hours a day, you shouldn’t really be surprised that I prefer the building’s garbage room to the pool.”

  “Take care of yourself. I love you.”

  She always ends our talk the same way.

  I never say it back, but that’s fine; everyone knows I don’t have a heart.

  “Finally! Asia’s most eligible bachelor graces the commoners with his luminous presence!” the guys tease me when I sit down. “You’re late.”

  Managed to figure that out, myself. Eyeballing the number of empty bottles on the table, I guess they’re about three rounds in.

  “Anyone going tell my why we’re meeting in this shithole? Did they run out of bars in Seoul? Even the GPS app didn’t wanna come here,” I whine, mostly as an excuse for my tardiness.

  “So where the fuck were you?”

  “I was at the headset launch event in Japan,” I explain my absence from the last time, as well.

  “So tell us about those Japanese women, huh?” Ji-Shik, who’s been married the longest, attempts to live vicariously.

  “They all speak Japanese,” I grin. I have no intention of sharing any of my experiences with a certain geisha, with whom I spent an extremely pleasant time overseas.

  “You wanna hear something insane?” I attempt to change the subject, and to share something I actually want to – possibly the strangest thing I’ve recently encountered. Excluding my wonderful bug, of course. “During the launch, a guy came up to me – probably, and I’m not exaggerating, one of the ugliest people I’ve ever seen in my life. Imagine a chubby goblin-creature, potato for a nose.” They laugh at the description.

  “The goblin tells me he recently bought his girlfriend one of our new headset models. I of course thank him politely, and he asks to take a picture of me and her with the new headset. ‘She’s just over there,’ he tells me, and he’s pointing at this woman – and she is so, so hot. Perfect body, long flowing hair, sitting in a chair off to the side. I’m a little suspicious – you know, what’s she doing with someone like him? But he goes to get her, bends over to whisper something in her ear. I assume he’s telling her I’m up for taking the photo. When they come over, I notice something weird about her, the way she’s walking – he’s sort of half-carrying her, and I’m starting to suspect she’s hammered. When he literally hands her over, I realize. Get this. It’s a fucking inflatable doll. A goddamn life-size sex toy.”

  The guys let out a collective roar of laughter, slamming the table with their fists. “I start to think about what he’s been doing with the poor thing and throw it away, grossed out; it hits the floor, the guy flips out like you wouldn’t believe – such a fucking scene, I thought for sure he was gonna end me. My bodyguards were there, so it turned out fine – my lawyers stayed in Japan to handle the settlement over his pain and suffering damages. They’re still trying to figure out if it’s assault or property damage.”

  We’re all still laughing when the phone in my pocket vibrates. I glance at the screen and immediately excuse myself and head outside to talk privately.

  “It’s good news,” says the PI I hired, and my heart swells with hope. “We’ve narrowed the search down to just sixteen women named Mi-Ok who were born on October 10th and go to the Seoul National University.”

  “Sixteen women. In what world is that good news?” I snap. It’s my frustration talking, and it’s getting worse because to me this sounds a lot like he’s out of ideas.

  “I’ll make faster progress if you provide me with more info,” says the PI, desperation seeping into his voice.

  “Do you think I’m holding out on you? There is no more info,” I seethe through clenched teeth, and hang up while he’s still bumbling through his apology.

  I sulk back inside, my mood shitty. My friends aren’t the finest conversationalists in their current inebriated state, and I’m finding it hard to recall the last time I’ve seen them in any other state. These nights out are feeling more and more like a waste of time. They’re so wasted I doubt they’d notice if I left. I leave a stack of bills on the table and get up to leave. The second I rise from my chair, a man I don’t know forcefully slams against my shoulder.

  He waves an arm toward me and aggressively slurs, “Hey wash where yer goin’.” He’s obviously drunk; I decide to ignore him. I’m past my bar-fighting years, but I’m not past breaking his face if he doesn’t get out of mine. I move him aside and head for the exit, but he cuts me off and blocks my way out, feet planted wide, cocky.

  “Pologize.” He’s between me and the door and seems determined to stay there.

  My lip curls. Well, fuck me. I know that smug pose
. I quickly examine his face to confirm – he’s the asshole that was giving my wonderful bug all that shit. I scowl down at him, returning his smugness.

  He’s just some random douche.

  “I know you from s’mwhere?” his tone suggest that he does not enjoy being stared at. Interesting. Apparently only he gets to stare without permission.

  I move aside when a beautiful young woman with blazing brown eyes strides toward him, obviously pissed beyond measure.

  “What part of ‘never come back here’ was unclear to you?” she fumes, and then turns to yell toward the kitchen, “Han, bring out the garbage bags, we have a hungry customer.”

  “I love angry women. So hot,” he offers a crude retort, and she makes a furious gesture with her fist.

  “You know I own your entire building, right? Whenev’r I want, I can raise your rent – or maybe I should just throw your ass to the curb? Or maybe, you could jus’ be nicer to me. Whass it gonna be?” he slurs, smiling despicably at her. The casual threat has her staring at the floor, defeated. She moves out of his way and he passes by her on his way to a table.

  She tears off her apron and heads outside, probably to calm down. I hope she’s not a smoker – I’ve always hated cigarettes. She doesn’t notice me follow her outside, and still she hides behind one of the large dumpsters before I hear her weeping. When I lean against the dumpster, I feel it vibrates with the force of her sobs. Fine, she can smoke as far as I’m concerned, she can do whatever she wants if it’ll keep her from crying like that.

  I go back inside and find the owner.

  “This is for you,” I shove a stack of bills in his hand, thick enough to make him gasp.

  “Just make sure that drunk piece of shit sitting over there,” I point at the smug asshole, “stays away from me and my friends. And your waitress.”

  The owner quickly nods his understanding. Three minutes later, he’s shoving the shithead into a passing cab with his bare hands and shipping him right back to whatever shithole he crawled out of.

  I leave only after I’ve seen Mi-Ok go back inside, visibly calmer, and made sure the little asshole is nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Five

  That was easier than I expected. I’m a pretty goal-oriented guy, once I’m properly challenged, and so – as of this morning – the list of my assets has grown by one violently ugly building in a fairly shitty neighborhood.

  I think of my aunt, and how she’d been badgering me to but some property. Surely this is her dream come true. I snigger. It’d really be best if she never found out about this, or she might actually explode.

  I’m already mentally planning the renovation. The first step has to be painting this gray monstrosity a gleaming white. Add a front door and an intercom to protect the residents against stalkers – I’m thinking of one stalker in particular, whose self-satisfied wide-legged pose more than demands a knee kick that would raise his voice by several octaves.

  My phone rings. I glance at the screen and smile.

  “I was just thinking about you.” I wonder why my aunt is calling again.

  “I can tell you’re not at the office. Are you outside?” I momentarily consider the possibility that she’s had me followed. The woman is capable of anything.

  “Outside and busy – anything urgent?” I’m still hoping to keep this brief.

  “The strangest thing happened to me yesterday.”

  Of course, I am now about to hear what.

  “I’m all ears.” Where my aunt is concerned, the ‘strangest thing’ could easily consist of having ordered snail face-cream and receiving only two free samples rather than three.

  “Remember I told you about that new yoga class they opened in my country club?” Honestly, there’s always some new class in that club of hers, and it’s hard to keep track. At least it keeps her busy. I shudder to think what would happen if she were even more bored.

  “Okay. Have you mastered the splits yet?” I’m quite pleased with myself – she, however, is not.

  “The yoga instructor came to me after class and told me, in front of all my friends, that she might be joining our family soon.”

  I remain silent.

  “Would you like to tell me why that vulgar young woman would say such a thing to me?”

  “I’m sure you’ve figured it out,” I sigh. “To put your mind at ease – the woman you met will certainty not be joining the family.” I neglect to mention that neither will anyone else.

  “My friends think you might’ve gotten her pregnant.”

  “I think you should maybe get some new friends.” My jaw clenches uncontrollably at the prospect of pregnancy. But that would be impossible. My dick always wears a raincoat before it gets wet – I’m very particular about it.

  “I want you to meet the daughter of a friend of mine. A very good girl.” I don’t date good girls. Only ones that’re good in bed.

  “No need, auntie. I’m already seeing someone,” I lie, trying to get her off my back.

  “Oh, are you. What’s her name, then?” As always, she knows I’m full of shit.

  “It’s Mi-Ok,” I provide the name smoothly, without thinking. “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I add in an attempt to placate her.

  “Well, take care,” she says. “I love you.”

  I hang up and bring my full attention back to Mi-Ok, who is just leaving her building and running to catch the Line 2 subway. I check my watch and calculate she should just make it to her first class of the day. This is a particularly good thing because, if I remember correctly, her Intro to Mobile Systems professor is quite the hardass. I can’t believe it’s been six years since I attended that same class. Time flies. I’m holding her class schedule – it looks insanely busy, especially for a fourth-year. She keeps surprising me. Studying Software engineering at the Seoul National University is certainly not the standard choice for a girl from the slums who works evenings at the local bar.

  After she leaves, I take a tour of my new property. Everywhere I look is depressingly gray, and I ask my secretary to schedule an urgent meeting with a landscape architect I know. I’m sure she can design some nice little garden to replace all this bare concrete.

  I look at the cracked mailboxes. I realize that this is not, in the strictest sense, legal – but I see the Seoul University envelope peaking from one of the rusty mailboxes and assume it must be hers. The shittiness of this neighborhood is reason enough to assume an extremely low probability of two SNU students in the same building. I take a quick look around to make sure no one is watching and quickly pull out the envelope. I note to myself that I can now officially list “stalker” among my pastimes.

  The construction foreman approaches and I promise to generously reward him and his crew for both the quality and speed of their work. I see his eyes grow wide when the bank alerts him of the advance I’d just deposited in his account, and know we understand each other.

  Back in the office, the head of cyber security gives a presentation on the latest attempts to hack Bubble. The data is concerning, with over fifty attempts just over the past week – a steep rise in the level of risk. The head of security reviews the threats, prime among them are the North Koreans, terrorist organizations, organized crime and also competitors.

  When the lights turn back on I realize that every pair of eyes in the room is pointed at me. I assume that at some point one of these attempts will succeed but try to project confidence when I say, “I know our security systems to be among the finest in the world. Your efforts to promote the safety of Bubble’s virtual environment are invaluable – I trust you will continue the good work.”

  Later, in my office, I try to come up with a strategy to improve our security systems. The idea that’s been kicking around in my head has to do with encryption. During my time in the military I developed several encryption algorithms, and I think I might have come up with an i
nteresting new direction.

  I suddenly recall the SNU envelope, which I’d somehow completely forgotten about. I pull it out of my inner coat pocket and open it.

  “We regret to inform you… have not currently been found eligible for a scholarship…” I crumple the offending paper into a little ball and toss it into the trashcan. I have an opportunity to do something for her. To pay her back in some small way for the joy I’ve found in her deepest and most private thoughts. Not that I’d received her permission, or even asked for it. In fact, this thing that I’m doing is not a felony only by virtue of never having been considered possible. Or maybe it is a felony? It should be. It doesn’t matter, anyway. No one will ever know.

  I call an old acquaintance of my father’s, back from his teaching days at the SNU, and tell him that I’d like to set up a scholarship fund in my father’s memory. I ask that the scholarship be granted to every student whose request for a scholarship has been rejected this year. I ask him to make sure that the scholarship recipients thank me personally. I don’t really want them to – I’m just pleased I have an excuse to meet Mi-Ok again.

  I imagine her smile when she finds out about the scholarship and it makes me want to do more smile-inducing things for her. It marginally alleviates my guilt for exploiting her for my personal enjoyment. But the sense of godhood, and the ease at which I’d just changed all these lives, is much more distinct.

  On the way home I ask my driver to stop by my newly-acquired gem. The building is already wrapped in scaffolding, and the concrete lot in front of the entrance is broken up into large chunks. It looks like crap – the tenants would be well within their rights to curse my name on an hourly basis.

  I ask my secretary to send all the tenants an official apology for the noise and waive their rent for the month as compensation. I hope that’ll be enough to placate everyone.