“Hmm… Not sure. Haven’t really thought about it.”
“Green jacket reminds me of Alice in Wonderland. Alice asks the Cheshire Cat which way she ought to go, to which the cat responds – ‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.’ When Alice tells him that she doesn’t much care where, he replies that, in that case, it doesn’t matter which way she goes.
“Success is a matter of perspective. To someone with a severe physical disability, performing daily acts such as walking or eating independently can be an incredible success. My point is that every day we succeed in a multitude of things, but we don’t necessarily imbue them all with meaning. Success is a personal thing – your idea of success does not necessarily correspond to someone else’s. I suggest that you try to identify what success really means to you. Not to your parents, or your teachers – to you. Only after you’ve defined that can you try to achieve it.
“Okay, who wants to go last?”
Hands go up into the air, many of them eager. But I’m looking at her. She immediately looks to the floor to prevent any possibility of being picked. I consider intentionally doing just that but decide against it.
“You,” I pick some random guy instead.
“Coming up with an idea as huge as Bubble.”
“I’ve been waiting for that one,” I grin. “But the idea came to my father years before you or I were even born – the hard part, the part that took him a decade, was convincing investors that he wasn’t delirious. Even after he managed to raise the initial capital, he actually failed again and ended up starting over. All you can see now is his success, but there was so much rejection leading up to that, you can’t imagine. Doors upon doors were slammed in his face, and every day he came home with a smile on his face, messed up my hair, and told me – ‘Today I failed. But that’s one step closer to the goal.’ His true greatness was his tenacity. I’d like to leave you with a quote attributed to Napoleon Bonaparte: The art of being sometimes audacious and sometimes very prudent is the secret of success. I’d like to wish you all a great deal of success.”
Applause follow – everyone in the lecture hall seems to be clapping. Correction – everyone but one student sitting right in front of me. I’m curious to know what she really thought of my lecture. Once I’m done here, I’ll know each and every thought and feeling that went through her mind and heart. Currently, that is my personal definition of success.
I head to the office and ask my secretary not to be interrupted over the next two hours, specifically telling her to hold my calls, no matter how urgent they might seem. I close the office door behind me and sit down on the couch, antsy and excited like a kid on Christmas morning. I wear my headset and place my finger on the biometric reader.
“Welcome back, Kim Ji-Yon,” I am greeted. “Your last visit to Bubble was today at 12:45.”
“Play latest record,” I bite out impatiently. I’m literally rubbing my hands together. I’m aching to know what she thought of me, to know everything that went on inside that beautiful head of hers.
Sweet god almighty, he is gorgeous.
And we could not be off to a better start. My day has already been made. Those six words have already guaranteed this record a place in my top five. I already regret telling my secretary to give me only two hours. I should have asked for the entire day.
Jesus, I think he’s looking at me. How the hell did I get stuck sitting here in this tiny skirt? Maybe there are more seats left in the back. Fuck, nope, all taken.
That skirt was indeed terrible for my concentration.
Didn’t know he’s this tall. The guy’s huge.
Just you wait. You have no idea.
Just looking at him is making me vibrate. And that shirt… that shirt should be illegal. I might actually be drooling.
You’ll vibrate hard enough to produce electricity when I actually touch you, I think, and make a personal note to thank Jeremy for buying me this shirt. I learned from the best – the guy knows how to get a girl to notice.
Making a Bubble record was such a good call. I am going to love watching this later.
You have no idea how happy that makes me.
Ugh, now he’s definitely looking at me, shit. Must be this stupid headset. I look like a fly on steroids.
The description is perfect, and I laugh aloud.
And there goes Ji-Hyung. Are you for real? Your idea of success would be marrying him? Girl, that’s pathetic. Hah! Come on. All men like him ever do is fuck around with the hearts of dumb women. You want a guy like that? They aren’t exactly a rare breed. Come by the bar some night, I’ll introduce you to some.”
Well. Ouch. My ego is slightly bruised by the comparison to those assholes at that dive she works at – then again, I love a challenge. She won’t think that for long. I intend to leave an extremely high bar for the guy who comes after me.
At least he’s honest about not being “husband material.” If he would’ve flirted back, I think I’d puke.
Please. If I’d flirted back, you would learn the meaning of envy.
Wait, is he quoting Alice in Wonderland? What? Are you for real? That’s—one of my favorite books. I can recite the entire thing in my sleep. I wonder if he knows the rest. Alice adds “So long as I get somewhere.” The Cheshire Cat says: “Oh, you’re sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.” Okay. So I’m starting to get why everyone’s so into this guy. He’s… kind of charming.”
What the hell’s wrong with this girl? Doesn’t she know anything? Women don’t want me because of my literary prowess, they want me because I’m gorgeous and rich. Get with the program, lady.
Everyone’s clapping and I’m just sitting here, staring. I’m literally in the first row and I must be the only one not clapping; it’s not that I don’t want to, but I can’t move, I’m frozen, he’s looking right at me, it’s making me nervous. Why’s he looking at me like that?
“End of record. Would you like to replay?”
I would’ve expected this system to have a better grasp of my habits by now.
Chapter Eight
I take off the headset, rub my eyes, and massage the bridge of my nose. I have no idea how many times I’ve watched this record, but it has become clear by now that it’s a full-blown addiction. At least now I know Mi-Ok is into me, so I get to be disproportionately turned on by thoughts of her having sex dreams about me.
My reflection stares back from the glass wall in front of me. The headset had dug two angry red marks into the sides of my nose. Another indication that I’ve spent too long with that record.
It’s dark out. The office seems deserted apart from security personnel. Furthermore, I’m starving. I check my watch and discover that’s to be expected – it’s been hours since I holed up in my office. My secretary did an excellent job keeping my afternoon undisturbed. I should give her a bonus.
I bring my phone back to life and in several seconds it spurts out a sequence of incoming message beeps.
“Daaaamn, that photo! You absolute heartthrob, you!”
I read it again. It’s from Ji-Shik. I have no idea what this is about. He is evidently very drunk again.
I text back “What r u talking about?”
I’m then deeply trouble to discover that most of my incoming messages consist of suspiciously similar themes. I’m beginning to worry that one of the women I’d been with had given the press some nude of me. That yoga instructor seemed a bit loopy – I wouldn’t necessarily put it past her, especially after what she’d told my aunt.
Ji-Shik sends me the photo. I am instantly relieved to see that some paparazzi had snapped a shot of me lifting my shirt this morning to wipe my face. Thank christ it’s just some of my abs printed all over the tabloids rather than my wiener. Do people seriously have nothing better to do? And I liked running outside, too. Now that they know I run in the mornings I’ll nev
er get any quiet. I’ll have to buy a treadmill for the office.
The final text is from Jeremy.
“Can I crash on yur couch?”
I quickly text back “anytime” but just before sending add “just remember no smoking or women at my place.” He won’t be happy about it, but if he wants my couch, he’ll have to follow my rules. No woman sets foot in my apartment. No exceptions.
“I’m outside. When u coming home?”
Who else would have the nerve to check if he can crash while he’s literally on my doorstep? I text him that I’m on my way and receive an immediate reply: “Good, I wanna go dancing and drinking and meet hot Korean women.”
Jeremy, Jeremy… some people never change.
I arrive at my building. Jeremy’s standing outside the lobby, smoking. The Australian look suits him – he’s blond, tan, fit. No wonder the guy is admired by men and ogled by women everywhere he goes.
He spots me and puts out the cigarette on the sole of his dusty Outback boots.
“How was Australia?” I inquire.
“Dry as dust,” he smiles, and it’s clear he isn’t referring to the continent’s meager precipitation.
“Don’t tell me you’ve lost that world-famous charm?” I tease.
“Don’t worry, it’s still here,” he lewdly pats his package. “I’m just kinda over Australian girls. But when we go out tonight, I intend to break my fast with a gorgeous Korean.”
We go to the Octagon – a nice club which never seems to go out of style and is conveniently located near a hotel. I get Jeremy a room at the Hilltop since, as I’ve expressly explained, he won’t be bringing any girls back to my place – be they supermodels, famous actresses, or even identical twins. No women in my apartment, ever.
“The girl at three o’clock,” he says, and I look. My eyes widen in shock when I see Mi-Ok swaying awkwardly to the EDM, following some beat other than the one actually playing. What the hell’s she doing here?
“You can have anyone you want in here. The girl at three o’clock is off limits.” I give a very clear warning.
“Off limits? Don’t tell me that the second you were out of my care you went and fell for someone.” He narrows his eyes and closely examines my reaction.
“Don’t worry. That part of my brain has been dead awhile. I don’t even know the girl,” I shrug, and Jeremy squints at me suspiciously.
“If you don’t know her then I’m sorry, my friend, but free market rules apply. I’m going to try my luck with her, and—you know how lucky I am with women.” He’s not being cocky – it’s absolutely true. In all the time I’ve known him, no woman he wanted has ever said no to him.
He stands up and fixes his shirt. I look at him menacingly and hiss, “Don’t you dare.”
“I’ll be your test pilot. If the plane survives, feel free to have a go once I’ve landed it.”
I grab his upper arm. “I said no,” I raise my voice, and suddenly she is standing right beside me.
“Mr. Kim Ji-Yon?”
Jeremy barked a short laugh. “Don’t know her, huh?”
“I apologize for the interruption, I just wanted to thank you for the scholarship you’ve awarded me.”
“You’re funding her?” Jeremy whispers in my ear, and I kick him in the shin.
“I was just getting up to ask you to dance,” Jeremy taunts me.
She looks at him, alarmed, and then at me.
“I’m not here by myself, Mr. Kim Ji-Yon,” she promptly shoots us both down. Jeremy seems horrified by her casual refusal, and I’m just dazed by the fact she’s here with someone. Probably that boyfriend of hers. I scan around for that goatee but surprisingly can’t find him, considering how tall he is. Mi-Ok tilts her head in the direction of another girl, apparently a friend of hers.
“So get her. There’s two of you, two of us.” I want to strangle Jeremy and his double-date bullshit.
“Maybe some other time. I have a seminar paper due in a few days and I haven’t finished working on it yet. She gives a perfunctory nod and flees, pulling her friend along with her.
“That girl really is a breath of fresh air. I like the whole ‘frightened rabbit’ vibe. Puts me in a hunting mood,” Jeremy isn’t letting up.
“Listen to me. I love you like a brother, but if you make a serious move on that girl, you’re done.”
“What the hell, man? You’re ten seconds from lifting your leg and pissing on her like a dog marking territory.” He’s fucking with me. I’m about to piss on him.
“Will you at least tell me what it is that makes her so special?”
“Everything. Just stay away from her. She’s mine.”
“Jesus. Calm down, will ya? Plenty of other women here to end my celibacy.”
Chapter Nine
“Kim Ji-Yon, what are you doing at my building?” she nods to me, her face a miserable mixture of confusion, shock and embarrassment.
She hastily brushes her hair with her fingers to cover for the fact that’s she’d clearly not washed it yesterday, and self-consciously lowers her gaze, looking at her toenails and their peeling pink nail polish poking out of her black rubber flip-flops. I’m fairly certain she now regrets leaving the house like this.
“I was just going to the store across the street for some black bean noodles,” she blurts, attempting to provide an excuse for her less-than-flawless appearance. She combs her fingers through her hair again and – despite the distinctly unattractive odor of cigarette smoke that reaches my nose, and the frayed t-shirt that makes me understand just what her boyfriend was talking about, and her messy hair and her godawful pink nail polish – she is without a doubt the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.
“I just bought this building. I had no idea you were from around here,” I lie through my teeth.
“Albert Einstein once purportedly said that coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.” I wonder if she’s trying to imply that she doesn’t believe in coincidence. “Anyway,” she adds, “thank you, very much.”
“What’re you thanking me for?”
“The rent. You forewent the rent last month. I can’t tell you how much that helped, and you’re also renovating – thank you so much for everything.” She lowers her head again.
She’s so innocent and unpretentious. She’s so beautiful.
“Have you finished that seminar paper yet?” I inquire, praying that she hadn’t.
“It’s my Defensive System Programming seminar. Not yet, and it’s due tomorrow.” She sounds anxious.
“That’s actually my area of expertise. If you’d like help, I’d be happy to provide some,” I toss my offer into the air, hoping beyond hope that she’ll take it.
“But it’s the weekend. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
“I stand behind my offer. Believe me, I wouldn’t suggest it unless I meant it.”
Please say yes.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, embarrassed, before the widest and most grateful smile I’ve ever witnessed slowly spreads across her face.
“Your apartment must be spotless – I hope you won’t be too appalled by the state of mine,” she warns me before I enter.
For a moment I just stand at her doorstep, horrified. That warning was nowhere near what this apartment merits. This place is as foul as a Ganges side street. Her notion of personal hygiene is, frankly, troubling.
Still wearing my shoes, I wonder if she really expects me to walk around here in socks. She, meanwhile, takes off her flip-flops and slips into a pair of fuzzy rabbit slippers. I now have no choice but to remove my shiny black shoes as well, remaining in white socks. Well, formerly white. They’ll be going straight to the trash after this.
I’ve never seen a human exist in such filth. She quickly collects some discarded clothes from the var
ious corners where they dwelled and disappears them to somewhere. I glance at the kitchen and barely manage to take in the amount of dirty dishes in her sink.
“Are you breeding biological warfare in your kitchen sink?” I try to joke. “Someone should probably alert the Center for Disease control.”
She smiled apologetically in response. Honestly, I don’t think I would survive a single day in this nastiness.
“So where should we sit?” I ask and realize how limited the options are. She doesn’t seem to own a couch.
“The bedroom,” she replies with genuine innocence. I smile at that, and she notices and instantly revises: “The… other room. My computer’s there.”
The so-called “other room” is tiny. There is no bed. I am appalled to notice an old and fairly disgusting mattress leaning against one wall. On the wooden table standing next to it is a high-end laptop, a true workhorse which manages to impress even me.
“I’m still paying for it,” she says self-consciously, as if she owes me an account of her expenses. “Please sit; I’ll bring another chair.”
“So, let’s see what we’ve got.” I say once we’re settled, and mentally switch over to work mode. I review her code and am immediately impressed by the quality of her work. Her programing is dynamic, the code itself changing as it runs.
“The theoretical analysis needs a bit of fleshing out, but your practical application is brilliant.” She blushes at the absolutely deserved compliment. I suggest some clever little tricks that can thwart malicious code and refer her to some journal articles to help fill out the theoretical part. It helps that I took this class six years ago and know what the professor will be looking for.
“…And make sure you somehow refer to self-replicating code.”
She nods and sets to work. I get out of her hair and meanwhile wander around her tiny apartment. I notice thin wires stretching between two opposing walls, and wonder what they’re for.
“What are these?” I touch one of the wires and she turns around, gets up and goes to her dresser. She struggles momentarily with her drawer, and when it finally comes unstuck it is accompanied by a colorful flock of bras and panties that go flying. I look away so as not to embarrass her, but she is already drawing a large stack of old printed photographs from the bottom of the dresser.
The Bubble Match Page 6