My phone vibrates, and I take it out of my pocket and frown.
“Hi, auntie. Miss me already?” She laughs.
“I been thinking about our talk this morning, and I want you to come to dinner this weekend. I’ll have them make all your favorites.” It’s more stating facts than it is invitation.
“…Um,” I fumble for an excuse, but it isn’t quick enough. “No excuses – I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And I want you to bring her.”
“Bring who?” I fumble some more.
“Your girlfriend, of course. Mi-Ok.” I consider telling her we’ve broken up, but that would sound ridiculous – we were talking about her just a few hours ago.
“She’s busy this weekend,” I lie through my teeth.
“Come by yourself then,” she is adamant.
“I’m not sure I’ll have the time. I’ve been a bit busy lately, running this little family business down here, you know,” I attempt a small joke, though I should really know better by now.
“Too busy to see your aunt, eh? But I hear you have plenty of time for neighborhood gentrification projects.” So she already knows about the building. I wonder who her source is. My driver? My secretary? My lawyer?
“I’m sure she’s lovely,” she fishes for details.
“She’s okay,” I attempt to come off as halfhearted. If my aunt recognizes even a whiff of excitement in my voice, she’ll be on me like a bloodhound. She will not relent until she knows everything there is to know about her.
“Does she come from money?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say vaguely, choosing not to mention that she is anything but wealthy. My aunt is more than clever enough to put one and one together and would immediately link Mi-Ok to the building I’d just bought.
“What did she study?”
“She doesn’t have a degree,” I narrowly avoid lying again, on a technicality – she really doesn’t have one, yet.
My aunt lets out a low, lengthy hiss to inform me of her utter shock at my unfortunate choice of a mate.
“Are we done with the interrogation? With your approval, I’d like to get back to work. I actually am pretty busy.”
She produces a gloomy “all right” and concludes: “Take care. I love you.”
The driver drops me off at home. I’m deeply tempted by the couch and the TV, but after a quick shower I change into a pair of jeans and a black hoodie, mess up my hair into a pleasingly disheveled state, and take the Mercedes – my least extravagant car.
I scan the bar for her the second I walk inside. It’s a crowded night, but she’s nowhere to be found. Disappointing, but I’m more relieved than anything to find she doesn’t spend all her nights at this dive.
I sit at the bar and order a beer. An unusually tall waitress leans over next to me, stretching her T-shirt over her D-cups. The motion is seemingly innocuous, but I can tell from the way she’s looking at me that it was meant to draw my attention. I take a sip from my beer and look away to signal my disinterest, intending to finish my drink and leave – my wonderful bug clearly isn’t coming. But a conversation taking place somewhere behind me draws my attention.
“Any idea why Mi-Ok took the night off?” All my sensors perk up at the mention of her name.
“She going out with that guy who owns her building.”
She clearly isn’t talking about me. That leaves the smug prick I bought the building from. “She’s been playing hard to get and it finally paid off.”
What? No, that can’t be right. My knuckles whiten around my beer. It was a lucky choice – a wine glass would’ve shattered.
“No frickin’ way. You sure?” the other waitress sounds just as skeptical as I am.
“It was obvious. In the end it comes down to money. He’s not too hard on the eyes, either.” The waitress who looks like a giraffe with breast implants is pissing me off. Not too hard on the eyes? How could she fail to see what an absolute fucking baboon he is? I consider leaving her a generous tip and an emphatic recommendation to have her eyes examined.
“That makes no sense. Mi-Ok can’t stand the guy. She wouldn’t go out with him just cuz he’s loaded. She’s not like that.”
“Hah! Bitch, please.” The tall waitress laughs viciously. “He’s taking her somewhere fancy as fuck – The Griffin, I think – and trust me, they’re ending up at her place… well, technically, I guess it’s his place,” she laughs again. I hate her.
“How do you know all this?”
“He came to get a drink here earlier, told me all about it.” She wiggles her shoulders condescendingly.
At this point I’ve left some bills on the bar and I’m halfway to my car. The GPS gives me the fastest way to The Griffin and I’m regretting my choice in the Mercedes – the Lamborghini’s reinforced engine gets from zero to sixty in under three seconds. The never-ending streak of red lights also didn’t improve what was steadily becoming an exceptionally terrible evening.
I reach my destination and don’t even bother parking; I leave the car by the sidewalk, engine running. It isn’t until I’m literally standing in front of the hostess that I realize I have no plan, whatsoever – Mi-Ok had never met me. I can’t just waltz in there and pull her out in the middle of her goddamn date.
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Huh?” It’s not a question I’m used to. My secretary always takes care of reservations, and I’m usually recognized anyway, so getting a table has never been a problem – but honestly, right now the anonymity suits me just fine. At least this way no reporter will be here to document my making a fool of myself.
“No. No reservation,” I reply angrily. She forces a smile at me.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any available tables at this time.”
“Really? At this time of night? On a weekday?
She nods, and I briefly consider barging in there and dragging Mi-Ok out of there by her long hair, like a prehistoric caveman protecting his female from a killer mammoth. I’ve very recently been accused in being both a playboy and gay – might as well go for “woman beater” as well.
“Thank you.” I leave the restaurant and wait for them outside. I’m just in time to see my Mercedes being towed away. To top it off, a drop of rain falls on my nose. God, this fucking day just gets better and better.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually gotten wet from the rain. Someone with an umbrella always seems to pop up around me at the first sign of it. I reach out to feel the raindrops, and a bill is placed in the palm of my hand. I look up into the warmest, most comforting smile I’d ever had the privilege of receiving.
I realize my hand is still held in front of me. Mi-Ok saw me reaching out and assumed I was a beggar. I close my hand around the bill and shut my eyes, too stunned to thank her any other way. For the smile, not the money.
The cocky man standing behind her seems pissed, and doesn’t appear to notice me.
“I’ll take a cab back,” she tells him, and I inhale deeply. Smart.
“I told you I’d give you a ride back.” He tried to tug on her elbow, and I squeeze my fist around the bill, unsure whether I should intervene.
“And I told you that I’d come on this date on two conditions: I pay for my own dinner, and you leave me alone when we’re done.” Thank the lord. That sounds nothing like the romantic date I was dreading. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Quick, decisive strides take her across the street. She holds out a hand and several minutes later she’s in a cab and away from him. Reassured, I call my driver to pick me up from the alley. I first direct him to Mi-Ok’s building, claiming I want to check on its progress; really, I just want to see that she made it home okay.
The lights are on in her windows. The douchebag’s car is nowhere to be seen. Finally, I relax. I look at the bill she gave me and think about her smile.
> Turns out this was a lucky night after all.
Chapter Six
I go over my fairly busy schedule for the day and encourage myself with thoughts of the approaching weekend –although hackers, unfortunately, take neither holidays nor weekends off.
My morning begins with a meeting with our marketing department. I’ve already received their impressive numbers last night, and the main objective of this meeting will be to praise them on their good work. I’ll then meet with our head of cyber security regarding Bubble’s security mechanisms. I intend to present him with a request he will not like – a comprehensive report of any and all anomalous cases he has encountered. I’m not ready to tell him about my wonderful bug yet, but I’m curious to know if he’d run into anything similar in the past.
At noon I need to be at SNU, where my father’s new scholarship fund will be presented at a ceremony, during which every one of his former colleagues will fight for the right to kiss my ass. I intend to enjoy this thoroughly. They mocked my father when he begged them for support, for their assistance in bringing his dream of Bubble to fruition. They were too conceited back then to help, and today, when they look at their university paychecks, I hope they kick themselves hard for not getting in on Bubble when they could have.
My pocket vibrates and I pull it out and stare at the screen for a while. It’s my stepmother, and I think I know exactly why she’s calling.
“Good morning to you, too,” I grumble into the phone, annoyed already. After four years of pretty consistent privacy I find her presence in my life grating.
“How could you not inform me about something like this?”
I lean back and take a deep breath, exhale it forcefully, brace myself. “Not inform you about what?”
“You’re inaugurating a scholarship fund in your father’s name at noon today and you don’t even bother letting me know? Because of you I was forced to bring in the hair and makeup girls on extremely short notice, and I haven’t even picked a dress yet, because god forbid you actually tell me what color tie you’re wearing.”
I slowly and miserably shake my head.
“It’s blue,” I reply laconically, fiddling with the tip of my necktie.
“Well then. In that case, I have the perfect dress.”
“Now the dress crisis has been averted, I need to get back to work.”
She’s momentarily silent, and I know exactly what she’s waiting for.
“Would it kill you to offer me a ride to the ceremony?”
“It might. I see no reason to check.”
“See you there.” Her voice is acerbic, and she hangs up without waiting for a reply. Well, fuck her, too.
I approach my father’s ex-colleagues. The ass-kissing is every bit as vehement as I expected. My eyes wander over the other guests, looking for Mi-Ok. I eventually find her – she is standing off to the side, talking to a tall guy, good-looking, with a meticulously trimmed goatee. He is leaning in her direction; they look friendly. I move toward them, picking up a glass of white wine from a passing tray, and eavesdrop like a teenager with a crush.
“Check out that girl’s dress,” the guy says, and Mi-Ok follows his gesture with her eyes.
“That’s a really nice dress,” she says. “But I don’t think I could spend whatever it must’ve cost on just one dress.” Of course she doesn’t. I’m now picturing her in a long strapless dress, black and shimmering. Can’t imagine why.
“Don’t you think it’s weird to show up in an overpriced designer gown when she’s only here because she asked for a handout?”
Mi-Ok shrugs in response.
“I guess everyone’s trying to look their best for Asia’s most eligible bachelor,” he adds, and I smile inwardly. That would be me.
“I love it when girls dress up and really make an effort. But honestly, I’m flattered that you didn’t bother with any of that.” Okay, the guy’s clearly an idiot. Who says that?
“I like it that you’re not trying to impress other men, because you already have me.” I notice Mi-Ok fidgeting, pulling on the hem of her skirt. The tactless bastard made her uncomfortable.
“You’re a natural beauty. Dress, no dress, even in those ratty T-shirts you sleep in. So don’t worry about it.” How the hell does he know what she sleeps in? I shift my weight uneasily from side to side. This guy isn’t some friend from school, he’s her boyfriend.
At the podium, I try to focus on my speech. I talk about my father, how special he was, how much I appreciated him and his work. I talk about his brilliance and the difficulties he overcame on the uphill path to realize his vision. I make sure to look deep into the eyes of every unsupportive colleague. I didn’t plan it this way – originally, I just looked for a creative way to give Mi-Ok her scholarship – but it has since become clear to me that this fund is the best possible way to honor his memory and his achievements.
Someone whispers in my ear, asking me to stay at the podium. The scholarship recipients come up to the stage one by one. They approach me, each bowing in gratitude.
Mi-Ok is standing in front of me now, and my heart skips a beat. She is painfully beautiful. Our eyes meet just as she dips in for a bow and she smiles at me again, a radiantly, heartwarming smile; and when she bows, I find myself working ridiculously hard to look anywhere but at her neckline. I recall her boyfriend’s earlier comment. Ratty T-shirts? Hell, no. When we’re in bed together, it’s silk or nothing. Personally, I prefer the latter.
Mi-Ok leaves the stage and returns to her boyfriend. His arm possessively wraps around her waist, but she gently removes it. I breathe deeply and remind myself that she isn’t his property – a boyfriend should present no difficulty to my plans. With business and women, I’m used to getting what I want. I’m not the one who should be worried.
He should.
When I step off the stage, Mi-Ok and her boyfriend have already gone. On my way to the car, the dean of the software engineering department catches up and stops me.
“I was deeply moved by your speech. Your father was a rare man. A true genius. A singular talent, I would say – but having had the pleasure to teach you, I know the apple did not fall far from the tree.”
The very comparison to my father is enough to make my feel inadequate.
“And thank you, once more, for your generous donation,” he adds.
“The young are the future,” I reply with the appropriate cliché.
“We’d be honored if you could come give a lecture sometime. Just hearing someone like you could be extremely inspirational.” I consider it for a moment, then nod.
“Call my secretary. She’ll set it up,” I tell him, and hand him my card before getting into the car.
Chapter Seven
I go out for a jog around the block to clear my mind but fail to think of anything but her.
I wipe the sweat from my face with my tank top. This morning I’m giving her class a lecture about entrepreneurship. I intend to impress her. When I think about her tonight, I want it to be mutual.
I choose a dark blue suit and a white, fitted button-down shirt which accentuates my well-defined abs. I pick a necktie and immediately toss it aside. This time, no ties.
My eyes find her in the middle of the front row, right in front of the podium. The lecture I’ve prepared seems far too long now, while her skirt seems far too short – a lethal combination for my concentration, most of which I’d already lost up the pleats of her skirt.
As I link my mic to the speakers, more than half the class wears Bubble headsets. I notice that many of them are wearing our newest models. Nice. Good. Success.
Mi-Ok rummages through her bag and pulls out a handkerchief and a headset so ancient; I think it came out when I was serving in the military. I know how scarcely she uses them, so I’m not only flattered, but genuinely moved. Not to mention, excited about the fascinating new record I�
��m about to be getting. I can’t wait to watch it.
She carefully cleans the lenses of her headset and wears it. The alien-like nerdiness of this thing is truly astounding. I wonder if her boyfriend ever got see her wearing this monstrosity. It would definitely be enough to bring their relationship to an end.
She cranes her head back and seems to be looking for something, maybe a different seat. To her disappointment and my great relief, all the seats are already taken. The lecture hall is packed with students – most of them female students, it seems – even finding room on the stairs and the railings. Apparently this is a popular topic.
I write the word “success” on the whiteboard and turn back toward the crowd.
“Can anyone tell me what this word means? To you, that is.”
A student in the third row smiles flirtatiously at me. I address her. “Yes, go ahead.”
“Finding a husband like you, I guess,” she giggles. Everyone laughs but me. I might be allergic to women who want to marry me.
“I suppose that might conform to your parents’ notion of success. But you might discover that I’m not exactly what you’d call ‘husband material.’”
From the corner of my eye I see Mi-Ok shifting uncomfortably in her seat and try to find another volunteer. This time I pick an eager-looking guy from a middle row.
“Graduating with honors and getting a job at a good company. I’d consider that success,” he says.
“Here’s the thing about grades and success: I find that, in many cases, they are inversely proportional. Contrary to what you may have been told, your high grades in school will not necessarily help you succeed, even as entrepreneurs – let alone in life. In fact, my personal experience shows that it is those who are better at handling failure who end up succeeding later in life. You won’t believe how many ‘no’s’ you’re going to hear before someone gives you that ‘yes.’’ The hard part is maintaining the determination you set out with.”
I address a student sitting silently on the periphery of the lecture hall. “Green jacket in the back row – if you’re awake, I’d appreciate your thoughts on the matter.”
The Bubble Match Page 5