“The only dance I know was the dance my Party Youth group performed at the Dear Leader’s birthday festival,” she said to him.
“Whatever dance you’ve got,” he replied.
Cho started humming what sounded like a military march, then stepped around in a circle, kicking high. She moved her head and arms in rigid opposition, a stiff smile plastered to her face. Kicking her legs caused her to teeter perilously on her shoes and she nearly fell over.
“Cho,” Mr. Choy interrupted her, laughing openly at her. “That’s not what I had in mind. Remember what Il-sun did just a minute ago? That’s what I want you to do. I’ll put some music on to help you get in the mood.” He typed again into his computer, and music played from hidden speakers. “Remember to watch the monitor and follow the instructions there.”
Cho tried to emulate what Il-sun had done, but she was nervous and her movements were stiff. It did not help that she was finding it difficult to balance on her shoes—standard-issue Chosun heels never came quite so high. Mr. Choy typed something into his computer. Cho stopped dancing, squinted at the monitor so that she could read what he had written, and then she put her hands over her breasts.
Mr. Choy exploded. “No! Don’t stop dancing to read the fucking instructions! I thought you would be better at it than this.” His patience had suddenly evaporated and his smiling veneer cracked. It was as if someone had flipped a switch and changed him into another person entirely. “Also, when a client tells you to touch your fucking tits, you don’t just put your hands on them. You stroke them, like a goddamn man would. Make it sexy, for crying out loud!” He was on the verge of a dangerous meltdown, and he knew he needed to keep himself in control if he was going to get these girls to comply. He took several deep breaths, recomposing himself. He put his charm back on as if it had been a hat that had simply fallen off his head. He smiled, and said sweetly, “Can you do that for me?”
Cho stood, paralyzed, fearful of further inflaming Mr. Choy’s anger.
Mr. Choy looked from Cho to Il-sun and then to Gyong-ho. His face was glowing red. He forced two deep breaths, then said, “I have a better idea.” He drew his mobile phone from his pocket and punched a button. “Send Jasmine over here,” he commanded. He closed his phone with a snap and returned it to his pocket.
A couple of minutes later the door opened, and a statuesque woman in her midtwenties with intelligent eyes walked into the video room. She was wearing a lacy blue halter top that exposed her midriff, denim shorts that barely concealed her panty line, and red platform shoes that had spikes for heels.
“Teach these girls how to be sexy. I’m going to step out for some air,” he said to the woman. Mr. Choy left the room, his office door closing with a loud bang.
46
THE WOMAN STOOD FOR a long moment, looking from Gi to Il-sun to Cho and back again. It seemed to Gi that she was appraising them, but in a completely different way than Mr. Choy had. “Chosun?” she finally asked. They nodded at her. The woman’s face was unreadable, though some deep thought seemed to ripple there. “Let’s bring some chairs in here. This might take a while,” she sighed. It was difficult to tell if she was feeling put out or just sad. They followed her into the office, where they found some folding chairs and took them into the video room. They set them up in a loose circle and sat down.
“My name is Jasmine,” she said after a long pause.
“Jasmine?” asked Il-sun. It was unusual name.
“Most of the girls here go by English names. It’s to make it easier for our international customers.” She paused again, and then continued, “I have seen quite a few Chosun girls come through here. Do you know why you’re here?” she asked. The women did not respond. “I mean, do you know what Mr. Choy wants you to do?”
“Well, he wanted me to dance in front of the camera,” Cho replied.
“Do you know why he wants you to do that?” No one spoke, so she answered her own question. “It’s because he makes a lot of won every time you do. Did he show you the website?”
The women nodded.
“Did he show you the whole website, or just the page with the girls dancing with their clothes on?”
“Just that page,” said Cho.
“I thought so. You didn’t volunteer for this, did you? You are here illegally, and now you don’t have any choice but to do this, right?”
The women looked at each other, then Il-sun nodded.
Jasmine gazed at the floor, a significant look crossing over her face, but its meaning was indiscernable. “Look, you’re not going to be wiggling your ass in front of the camera with your clothes on. You need to know that right up front. Mr. Choy may post those cute little videos as teasers on his website, but there isn’t any money in it. He may tell you that you have the option to do whatever work you want to do, but ultimately he will make you do what he wants you to. The only reason you are here is to make money for Mr. Choy: otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered with you. It’s better that you know that now, rather than finding out when he makes you do something that you don’t want to do. My advice to you: Do whatever he tells you to. He’s dangerous when he gets angry. Trust me, whatever it is he asks of you will be a whole lot better than the consequences if you don’t. I’ve seen girls beaten. Badly. If you do what he asks, you may not like it, but at least you won’t get hurt. Do you understand?”
The women looked pale. Cho nodded.
“With that said, once you get used to this business, it really isn’t as bad as you might think. Getting used to it is the hard part. You’re going to feel dirty; and to be honest, that feeling never quite goes away. But you will get used to it.”
“Are you in debt to him too?” asked Il-sun.
“Not technically,” Jasmine sighed. “Not in the same way you are. But I’m stuck, too.”
There was something about Jasmine that Gi liked. She was intelligent and honest. What was unreadable about her before, Gi could see, was really a deep layer of compassion. She knew instinctively that she could trust her.
“How are you stuck?” asked Il-sun.
“Well, I wanted to go to university to study computers, but I didn’t have any money. I was eighteen. I met a girl who worked at one of Mr. Choy’s clubs; she was a stripper. She told me how easy it was to make money by working for Mr. Choy. She was paying her way through university at the time. Anyway, I went to the club and checked it out, and Mr. Choy hired me on the spot. The girl was right—the money was good—and I was well on my way to getting my computer degree. I nearly finished it, but then my father died unexpectedly. He had a lot of debt, and without any income, my mother was about to lose her house. She had always been a housewife and didn’t know how to make a living, so I had to help her. I had to stop school and take on more shifts at the club, but it still wasn’t enough. I knew that some of the other girls would see private clients in the back rooms for extra money, and I just sort of fell into it. I was terrified, but I didn’t really have a choice. Five years later, I’m still doing it. Now I don’t have my degree, and nothing I could do would pay enough money. On top of that, I’m a good earner for Mr. Choy, and I’m afraid that if I quit he might do something bad to me or my mother.”
Her story lingered in the air for a while before she took a deep breath, then continued. “Anyway, there are three—no, four aspects to this business that Mr. Choy might have you do. The first is live Internet chat and strip shows, where you chat with a guy and he tells you what he wants you to do. Normally you just strip and blow kisses into the camera. Usually they want you to touch your pussy, or pull on your nipples, or something like that. Then there are live strip shows at the club, which include pole dancing and lap dances. There are porn movies and magazines. If you don’t know what those are, I can show you. And then, of course, seeing private clients—whoring.”
Gyong-ho did not understand much of what Jasmine was saying, but she knew she did not like it.
“In this business, we have to pretend to be what men want women to be, not wha
t we really are,” said Jasmine. “Just look at the way I’m dressed. These shoes aren’t any good for walking, and this shirt certainly doesn’t keep me warm. But I wear them because when I do, men get turned on and can’t think straight. They open their wallets and we suck the money right out of them. For me, I would just as soon wear a rice sack—it would be warmer—but then I wouldn’t have enough money to pay for my mother’s living expenses.
“Really, it’s all about what’s between your legs. Men want to get at that more than anything. The trick is, you keep it barely out of their reach so they keep wanting it more. The longer you keep them wanting it, the more money they spend trying to get it.”
Gi understood, at least, the concept of what she was talking about. She had learned about the vacuum of wanting when she looked through the fashion magazines earlier that day. It was the lethal danger of capitalism that the Great Leader had warned about.
“I’ll be frank with you. Everything in this business is about pleasing men. Period. It doesn’t matter what you want or what will make you feel good. On the one hand, that’s bad for us. But on the other, it’s good because it makes it easy. Once you understand men, then you can be in control of the situation. Mr. Choy will still be the boss, of course. There isn’t anything you can do about that. But what I mean is, men are not really all that complicated. They like tits, they like ass, they like pussy, and they like a pretty face.” Jasmine paused and looked at the women to make sure they were following her.
“I read an article one time,” Jasmine continued, “where scientists did an experiment with male turkeys. They discovered that male turkeys will try to mate with a stuffed, dead female turkey just as readily as they would a live one. They fight over it and do everything a turkey does to try to impress a female turkey, even though it isn’t real. When the scientists replace the stuffed turkey with a piece of wood that is roughly the same shape as a female turkey, they try to mate with that too, and fight over it. In the experiment, scientists kept reducing the wooden turkey, taking away parts of it, and still the male turkeys tried to mate with it. Finally, the fake turkey was reduced to nothing more than a piece of wood vaguely the same shape as a female turkey head, suspended on a string. The male turkeys even tried to mate with that! Men are just like turkeys—it doesn’t matter how artificial we are, they will still behave the same way.
“That’s why the Internet is so successful for us. Men will get excited and pay good money, even though they aren’t getting anything tangible for it. When you think about it, it’s pretty stupid, but they do it anyway.” She paused and looked at the Chosun women, giving them time to absorb what they had heard.
“So, what does it mean to be sexy?” Jasmine asked, rhetorically. “The problem is, everyone has different tastes when it comes to sex. For some men it’s big breasts, for others it’s long hair, for others it’s short skirts. But all these things are secondary turn-ons. I have been in this business for five years, and in that time I have been with hundreds of men. The one thing that I have found that most men find to be the biggest turn-on is when they think they’re turning you on. This isn’t because they actually care about what you’re feeling. It’s because it makes them feel more powerful, and better about themselves. It’s about their egos and not the women they are with. Here’s a secret that will help you get the hang of this business: Men are insecure. Most men come to see a girl, even on the Internet, to help them feel better about themselves. It really isn’t about getting off, like most people think. They want to think that they are making you wet between the legs, making you moan with pleasure and lose control of yourself—all because of them. They think that it proves their manhood. For some reason, men always want to know that they have been the biggest and the best, even with a prostitute.
“Now let me ask you a question: What turns you on?”
Gi was uncomfortable. Not only was she sure that it was a very personal question, she also did not fully understand what it meant.
“Do you know what turns you on?” Jasmine asked. The women remained silent. “I’ll tell you what turns me on. I like a man’s eyes. You can tell a lot about the way a man is going to treat you by looking into his eyes. I also like a smooth, low voice. When a man whispers in my ear, it sends chills down my spine. I really like it when a man reads to me; not that it has happened very often. I think intelligent, confident men are sexy. I like to think that a man can carry on a conversation with me.”
Gi was starting to understand the question better. She thought of how Il-sun walked as if the sun existed for the sole purpose of shining on her. She thought about how Il-sun’s lighthearted nature caused her to feel more at ease. She realized that these were her own turn-ons. She thought back to the night at the orphanage when being so near Il-sun caused her body to respond and she wanted to press herself into her, to merge with her. That must be “sexy,” she thought.
“Men have a hard time understanding that what turns a woman on usually has more to do with who her partner is and how he treats her than how big his cock is or what kind of a car he drives,” continued Jasmine. “That’s because men get turned on by superficial things. A man will judge a woman by the size of her breasts, so he naturally assumes that women are going to judge him by the size of his penis. He is so concerned about that, that he becomes insecure. And that’s where we profit.”
“I never thought of it that way,” said Cho. “I was a flower-selling girl back home, but I never analyzed it like that.”
“Most people don’t, but Mr. Choy is a smart businessman. He asked me one time, ‘What business are you in?’ I thought it was a trick question; I mean, wasn’t it obvious? I fuck men for a living, and that’s what I told him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Anyone can sell pussy. Pussy is everywhere. You’re selling self-esteem.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked him. He said, ‘When you’re with a guy, make him think he is the only guy in the whole world. Make him think he has the ability to please you unlike any man you have ever been with. It will mean so much more coming from you, having been with so many men. When he’s done, beg him to come back again so you can get more of his kind of loving. That’s how you bring the customer back. If the guy just wanted to get off, he could have jerked himself in front of the TV. A man comes to a prostitute to feel good about himself. That’s what business you’re in.’ ”
They all sat in silence for a little while, absorbing everything that was said. “Well, Mr. Choy doesn’t like his assets to sit idly,” Jasmine said. “So I assume he’s going to put you to work tonight. It’s already almost nine and business starts to pick up at around ten, so I should get into some details with you. I have to ask because you look so young, and it has been an issue with the girls from the North before: Are you virgins?”
Il-sun looked at the floor, looking embarrassed, but said nothing.
“Like I said, I have been a flower-selling girl for two years now. What do you think?” said Cho a little venomously.
Jasmine looked at Gyong-ho who, being put on the spot, could not pretend to know what was going on. “What is a virgin?” she asked weakly.
“Do you know about sex?” Jasmine asked, trying to be delicate.
Gi shook her head and looked down, embarrassment glowing red under her makeup.
“Do you know how babies are made?” Jasmine asked.
“Yes,” mumbled Il-sun with a dry throat, but Gi said nothing, shaking her head again.
Jasmine’s eyes glistened with tears, but she held them in. She didn’t speak for several moments, it appeared, to keep herself from crying.
“I didn’t know, teacup,” said Cho to Gi, consolingly. “I would have said something.”
Finally, Jasmine composed herself. “Have you menstruated?”
Gi nodded. It had happened for the first time a year earlier, when she was sixteen. She woke up one morning and there was a small dot of blood in her underwear. Il-sun had already been having her period for several years—the orphanage mistress referred to it as “the visiting
friend,” so she knew to expect it. Gi’s period had come only once since then, and again there was no more than the one dot of blood in the morning. She knew that Il-sun’s period came monthly, and that there was significantly more blood over several days. Gi suspected that there might be something wrong with her own cycle, but she was too afraid to ask anyone for help.
“Do you know what a man looks like naked?”
“Of course,” said Il-sun, a little defensively.
Gi shook her head again, and wondered if the shame would never stop.
Jasmine patiently explained the mechanics of sexual intercourse, as well as conception and birth. She also went over basic sexual anatomy, and explained sexual pleasure. For Gi it clarified a lot of things, including the book John and Daisy, Il-sun’s compulsion to see Gianni, as well as her own impulses toward Il-sun. She looked over at Il-sun, whose face was expressionless, and Gi could not tell how much of this was new information for her. Cho looked bored.
“Anyway, that’s what we do here, and what Mr. Choy is going to expect you to do. Do you understand?”
Gi nodded. She found the idea of having a man inside her revolting, and she began to tremble with fear. Would Mr. Choy really make her do that?
“Look, this isn’t how you should be learning about sex. You should learn about it with a nice young man your own age who loves you. Unfortunately that just isn’t an option. It might help you to understand how sex works if I show you a video.” Jasmine walked over to the computer and began typing. “Mr. Choy produces porn movies. Bear in mind that real sex is different from porn sex, but this will be better than trying to figure it out on your own with your first client. Also, a lot of men come to us wanting things they have seen in porn movies, so it doesn’t hurt to know what it is they are expecting.”
On the video monitor a film began to play. Cho sat with a smug expression, unimpressed. Il-sun and Gi watched, shocked and horrified.
All Woman and Springtime Page 18