All Woman and Springtime

by Brandon Jones

  “What’s champagne?” she asked.

  “I can’t believe a beautiful woman like you has never tried champagne,” he said, producing a bottle from a small refrigerator behind his desk. “Don’t the men up North know how to treat a lady?” He untwisted the wire restraint and removed the cork from the bottle with a loud pop. “All the most sophisticated ladies drink champagne,” he said, pouring golden, bubbly liquid into two tall-stemmed glasses.

  “Thank you,” she said, receiving a glass. She was wary of Mr. Choy, but also curious. She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. The liquid was sweet as it passed over her tongue and tickled in her throat as it went down. After she swallowed, it left her mouth feeling tingly and dry. It was wonderful.

  “With your looks, you can go far in this business. I have a feeling about you, Il-sun,” said Mr. Choy

  “You do?” She took another sip of champagne.

  “Don’t let what you’ve seen here frighten you. I’m going to take care of you. Ease you into it. You only have to do what you’re comfortable with, and that’s all.”

  Il-sun nodded, in spite of her apprehension. She pushed Jasmine’s earlier warning out of her mind.

  “You’re a natural at this. I can tell,” Mr. Choy continued. “A lot of girls have the right body for it, but they don’t know how to carry themselves. But you—you have that special something. I know it can take some adjustment for a girl like you to get used to this business. But I can take you a long way. I could even make you famous.”

  “Famous?” Even in North Korea there were famous people, movie stars and music idols, who were the pinnacle of glamour and prestige.

  “You start here and get the hang of Internet dancing. Maybe we’ll have you try it once or twice at the club. If you learn fast, I can probably get you into the movies within a month or two. If you work hard and have enthusiasm, I’d say your success is assured.”

  Il-sun smiled in spite of herself. She looked away to try to hide it—she did not want him to know that his flattery was having an effect. “But I don’t want to take my clothes off in front of anybody,” she replied.

  “Why not?” he asked with exaggerated shock on his face. “You’re so beautiful, and everyone should get the chance to admire your perfect body. It would be a shame to keep it hidden. You’re a piece of beautiful art, like a sculpture, and you deserve to be appreciated. Have some more champagne.” He refilled her glass—the first one had gone down easily—and removed a hardcover book from a shelf above the desk. He handed it to her. It was a book of black-and-white art photography nudes. “Look at these pictures. They’re a celebration of the human body! A woman’s body is the most beautiful thing in the world,” he said, outlining her figure in the air with his hands. “And it should be admired. That’s what our business is: the appreciation of the female body. We celebrate it.”

  Il-sun looked away again, hoping to suppress another smile that was tugging at the corners of her lips. It only made her feel coy, which was compounded by the champagne—it was very different from whiskey. She then focused on the book in her hands. It was mostly photos of women in waterfalls, or sprawled on rocks, and she had to concede that they were beautiful.

  “Where are Gyong-ho and Cho?” she asked, attempting to conceal her being both embarrassed and flattered, and to remind herself that, even though Mr. Choy was being nice, she was still his captive.

  “Look, everyone has a different area of this business where they can excel. You have something special that we need to cultivate, and we can do that best here, at the studio. I’m grooming you for the movies. If you’re successful here, then you will be able to take care of them. Those girls don’t have the same star quality that you do, but there are other things they can do. Don’t worry about them. They will be well looked after, I promise. When I’m done with you, after you clear your debts to me, you will have money and prestige. You will have all the rich food you could ever want to eat, a car, a nice house, people to do your cooking and cleaning. They can live with you in your big, fancy house, if you want.” He then brought a chaste, avuncular tone into his voice, and said, “Now let’s get you in the studio so you can show us what you’ve got!”

  Il-sun followed Mr. Choy across the hall to a door with a sign that read, “Studio 1.” Just inside the door was an L-shaped desk where three busy men wearing headphones sat behind computers. They gave Mr. Choy a brief nod. Wires snaked from the desk to a long row of partitioned stalls, each with a camera, monitor, and lights facing into it.

  “These are the dancing studios,” Mr. Choy explained. “Customers come to our website, select a girl they want to watch dance, and then the girl dances for them live. It’s that easy. They pay by the minute, so your job is to keep them interested for as long as possible. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Think of it as going one step closer to getting your papers.”

  They went to the stall closest to the control desk, and Il-sun walked in. Mr. Choy turned on the lights, and Il-sun winced until her eyes adjusted to them.

  “Now, you remember how you danced for me earlier?” Mr. Choy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Just do that. We have a set routine here that maximizes how long the chump will stay online watching you. The trick is to draw it out as long as possible; so the rule is, you dance for two minutes without taking anything off. You can make like you’re going to, but your job is just to tease them. Remember, they’re paying by the minute. There are bells that chime every sixty seconds, to keep time for you. After two minutes, then you can start taking your clothes off, slowly. At five minutes you’re down to your bra and panties, at seven the bra comes off, and then at nine, the panties. After that, you start touching yourself. It becomes a masturbation show.”

  “What’s a masturbation show?”

  “We’ll worry about that when we get to it. For now, let’s just work on the first part. Remember, this is a celebration of your beauty, like in the book I showed you. Just so you can get used to it without any pressure, we’ll do a practice run. Ready?”

  Il-sun nodded. She was feeling self-conscious and walked around the pole timidly. She had still not mastered walking in high heels, and the champagne made her feel top-heavy.

  “Okay, here we go. This is just for practice. Going live in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .”

  50

  MR. CHOY FLAKED A couple of small crystals into a glass pipe. Just a maintenance dose, he thought. Just enough to get me through. He had almost lost his temper with the Northern girls; and losing his temper, he knew, would work against him. He struck his lighter and held the flame to the bottom of the glass. A moment later, the hiroppong began to bubble and smoke. He put his lips to the pipe—just a small kiss, he thought—and drew the smoke deeply into his lungs. Oh, how it hurt! Oh, how wonderful the hurt! He exhaled and considered reloading the pipe, but thought better of it. It was time to put the new Northerners to work.

  Mr. Choy found Mr. Lee in Studio 2 on the second floor, and together they went up to his office. Jasmine was just finishing with the Northerners. The sassy girl was accustomed to whoring and did not really need training, so he sent her to the alley shop with Jasmine. The skinny girl he sent to the club with Mr. Lee, for lack of anything better to do with her. If she did not earn her keep, he would send her out of town with Mr. Lee, and he would—

  No, it would not come to that. If he failed to turn a profit with his product, that was his own failing. The pretty one stayed. He knew just the right tactic to take with her, and he was eager to bend her to his will. This was the part he enjoyed—the seduction. He did this for every one of those giggly girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day when he was younger. Every time he brought a girl into the business, he felt vindicated.

  He sweet-talked the pretty Northerner and plied her with champagne. He could see the fear in her eyes, but also the vanity. She longed to hear words extolling her beauty and, abo
ve all, her specialness. He doled them out, with just enough restraint to be believable. He then ushered her across the hall to the Internet studios, where he coaxed her to strike a pose on the pole. “Going live in five . . . four . . . three . . .”

  Il-sun put her hand on the pole and arched her back stiffly. She knitted her brow in concentration and began to dance. It took a minute for her to start dancing away the nervousness, but it melted quickly enough. She was almost completely lost in the dance, but then she stumbled on one of her shoes.

  “Take the shoes off, for now,” Mr. Choy instructed. “You can practice dancing in them tomorrow.”

  She kicked the shoes off, which helped her balance, but then the minute timer rang. She shook with a start, hesitated, and then stopped altogether.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Mr. Choy. He felt a surge of anger rise sharply from somewhere in his bowels . . . No. Anger could come later.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never really been naked in front of a man before. I’m scared.”

  “Is that really true?” he asked, his voice suddenly thick with sarcasm. He doubted that she had never been naked in front of a man—Gianni tended to sample his own merchandise—and he wanted to get past this hurdle as quickly as possible. He forced a smile, and said, “You’re doing fine.”

  Il-sun looked at the floor, her face turning bright red, but she did not respond.

  Mr. Choy took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s watch what you did so far. I was recording you so that you can see what you look like.” He nodded at one of the technicians at the desk, and Il-sun watched herself on the screen.

  “Well, what do you think?” Mr. Choy asked her.

  “I was a little bit stiff. I can see how nervous I was. I also had a funny look on my face. Can I try it again?”

  Mr. Choy gloated inside. He was right to play to her vanity. “As many times as you like. We have all night.”

  Il-sun began again; this time she was more self-possessed. Her nervousness evaporated quickly and she seemed to lose herself in the dance. She even threw in some flirtatious glances at the camera. When the bell rang, she stopped.

  “Can I watch it again? I want to see if it was better that time.”

  Mr. Choy felt his anger rising again—it was so much harder to stave it off when he was high. He hated it when people did not do what he wanted them to. He clenched his fists at his sides and bent his lips into a smile. “Of course,” he said.

  She watched the monitor with her head cocked to the side, evaluating her performance.

  “Are you satisfied?” asked Mr. Choy.

  “I can do better,” she responded.

  “Alright. Let’s go all the way through this time, okay?”

  Il-sun did her dance again, and Mr. Choy had to admire how quickly she was improving. The bell rang again, and then she looked into the camera, bringing her hand to the strap of her dress. Her timing was perfect. She moved the strap off her shoulder in a sultry way, but then stopped again.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Just take off your goddamned clothes!” Mr. Choy shouted, his violent frustration breaking through. “This isn’t a fucking ballet, it’s porn!” He then grabbed the rack of lights and, with a growl, threw them to the floor. Lightbulbs exploded, sending a shower of glass into the studio. Mr. Choy began to huff away, but then turned around and pointed a finger at Il-sun. “You have to pay for that!” Then he turned and walked out.

  All activity in the studio ceased, and Il-sun stood there, shocked. The click of typing on keys, which had been constant white noise in the background, stopped, the men at the desk distracted by the outburst. A woman peeked around the corner from the stall next to Il-sun’s. As soon as the shock wore off, Il-sun began to weep.

  One of the technicians eventually appeared with a broom and a dustpan and cleaned up the glass. He then righted the rack of lights and replaced all the bulbs. Nobody looked at or spoke to Il-sun. After fifteen minutes Mr. Choy reappeared. There was no trace of his outburst left on his face, and he was smiling. He spoke in a quiet, measured voice.

  “Shall we try that again? We’re going live this time, so I want you to go all the way through it.”

  Il-sun was afraid of setting him off again, so she took up her position at the pole, tears still streaming down her cheeks. The voice of a technician came over a speaker, saying, “Going live in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”

  She danced without much heart, but she did not stop. When the bell rang, she slipped a strap off one shoulder, and then the other. She reached behind and pulled the zipper of the dress down her back. She peeled the front of the dress slowly off her breasts, exposing a lacy white bra underneath. It was a perfect contrast of innocence and sophistication, the white bra under the black dress. She danced around the pole, and eventually slid the dress off her hips and down her legs. The beautician had chosen her underwear well, Mr. Choy noticed. They were the perfect cut to show off Il-sun’s seductive form. She continued to cry, but she did not stop the dance. Mr. Choy felt himself getting hard. He liked it when a girl cried. He would enjoy watching this again and again.

  The bell rang again, and Il-sun glanced up at Mr. Choy. Fear flashed in her eyes before she looked away and undid the clasp of her bra. She placed her arms in front of her chest, holding her bra in place, and turned her back to the camera. Her bare back was a flawless landscape to Mr. Choy. She let go with her arms and the bra fell to the floor. Looking down, she turned slowly toward the camera, her arms folded just under her breasts, her nipples pointing at a slight angle upward. Mr. Choy was transfixed as he watched the light shift across her breasts and glint off her tears as she turned. She stood, full frontal, and lifted her eyes to the camera without lifting her chin. Tears fell from her cheeks onto her breasts, mascara running in two rivulets down the sides of her face.

  The bell rang. Il-sun put her thumbs into the waistline of her panties, and she slid them down her long legs. Mr. Choy was salivating and nearly drooled. He had not seen anything this erotic for a long time. She stepped out of her panties and stood there, motionless for a whole minute, holding her legs together. Her pubic hair was scant but dark. Her belly was flat. Her breasts were firm handfuls. She was innocence and temptation all wrapped up into one, and Mr. Choy knew that he had struck gold.

  A buzzer went off, breaking the spell. The customer had gone offline.

  Mr. Choy and Il-sun stood facing each other for a long moment. The look in her eyes was both fear and hatred. He had not expected to see the defiance that was pushing through her humiliation. He liked that. He clapped slowly.

  “Very good. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said in a syrupy sweet voice. “Now clean up your face. Another customer is waiting.”

  51

  IL-SUN AWOKE TO A loud banging on the door, then the squeaking of hinges. She could tell by the daylight filtering in through the single, spotty window in their small apartment that it was late morning. A man came into the apartment and shouted, “It’s time to get up. The boss wants you to clean the studios.” Il-sun arose groggily, returning from her dreams only to find herself still a captive in South Korea. The orphanage mistress had been helping her fold the laundry. She had been dreaming of home.

  “He never said anything about cleaning,” Cho said saucily, sitting up and rubbing sleep from her eyes. Cho had slept on the futon that had been delivered in their absence the night before and now dominated their living room. Il-sun and Gi shared the small European-style bed.

  “He did just now, so get up!”

  “We need to eat something” Cho said, cutting him an icy look. The man was in his midthirties, with a thick neck and a crew cut. He looked like the kind of man who was just smart enough to follow orders. He reminded Il-sun of a dog who had been kicked often—he looked both afraid and mean.

  “I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get ready,” he barked, and stepped out of the apartment.

  Gi got out of bed and went to the sink to spit. Il-sun
had noticed her getting up throughout the night to do that, but was afraid to inquire about it. Her own night had been bad enough, and she could not bear to hear what Gi had gone through. She had a feeling that whatever it was, it must have been even worse than having to strip off her clothes. Now, in the dirty light of their only window, she could see the faraway look in Gi’s eyes. There would be no talking to Gi about anything for several hours.

  The women got dressed in their old clothes, and then Cho served up the remainder of the restaurant food. Il-sun and Cho sat in silence while picking at cold noodles. Gi did not touch the food, and stood at the sink, her back to the others, unmoving except to occasionally clear her throat and cough. Cho seemed foul tempered, but more from lack of sleep than anything else. She had a look on her face that forbade conversation. Il-sun wanted to talk about her embarrassment and fear from the night before—she needed comfort and reassurance—but her companions were in no shape to commiserate. That would have to come later.

  The man came back and ordered the women to come with him. Reluctantly, Il-sun and Cho stood up and began to follow, but Gi made no movement. Il-sun walked over to her and touched her hand to her shoulder.

  “Gi . . .”

  “I’ll be okay,” Gi whispered.

  Il-sun was surprised that Gi was able to respond at all. Gi turned, and Il-sun put her arms around her. Gi softened under the touch. Il-sun held her close, as much to receive comfort as to give it.

  “We don’t have all day!” the man shouted back to them, breaking the embrace.

  THE THICK-NECKED BOUNCER led the women downstairs to the alley shop, where a young woman was wiping down one of the picture windows.

  “The alley looks worse in the daylight,” Cho remarked.

  “You’ve been here?” asked Il-sun.

  “I worked here last night.”

  “I have more cleaners for you,” the man said to the woman who was cleaning the glass. Without another word, he left them.