Finally Brown Eyes, Choi Sangwoo, turns to face me and answers my question with, “You can say I’m in town for business.”
Illegal business? My intuition lifts up an eyebrow. “Why The Trax?” I question further.
“That is a matter of personal record, Maybelline.” Just like that, he stops me in my tracks. Sangwoo narrows his eyes at me, and all of a sudden, the warnings from my co-workers about gangsters inundate my mind. I should never forget his career choice. And he called me by my complete name. Eunhye gave me up!
“I’m sorry.” I peer up at him. Crap. My big mouth always gives me away.
Sangwoo never breaks eye contact with me. A thought crosses his mind, and Sangwoo’s lips part in a seductive manner. “Are you afraid of me?” Sangwoo’s question comes with a forceful tone. He waits for my response with parted lips and smoky eyes.
“N-no.” I deny immediately as a defense mechanism. “If I am afraid of you, I wouldn’t have helped you out last night.” One point for me.
“You should be afraid of me.” There is a signature of cockiness in his voice. Two points for Brown Eyes. “Why did you help me last night?” Sangwoo is proving to be intelligent and cunning.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I reply shortly. A nerve of mine pinches. I am rising to the challenge of speaking to this intimidating man.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Sangwoo raises an eyebrow at my statement. Evidently, he doesn’t like responses that undermine his ability to comprehend. “Because someone of my means couldn’t possibly understand the world of goodness you come from?”
It is apparent and decided. We are not going to get along at the rate of this push and pull. “I didn’t mean that. I just don’t feel the need to justify and explain why I helped. I don’t usually–”
“Associate with my kind. So now that I have exhausted my quota of help from you, I need to leave,” he completes my sentence with haste. Slowly, Sangwoo’s lips part into a smile that reveal the whitest set of teeth I have ever seen. “Don’t worry May. I already have a car coming for me. I’ll be out of your life soon.”
Wait! Let me dust off my debate book! I feel the wave of guilt hover me when Sangwoo finishes his sentence. “Can I be honest?” I ask.
Sangwoo stares with amusement. I expect another snappy comment from him, but he surprises me instead. “Please do,” he says softly.
I lick my lips in anticipation as my heart rate picks up. “Have we met before? Aside from last week, have we met before somewhere?” There, I did it. I jumped off the cliff and am now dangling in the air. I wait for his answer expectantly.
As though Choi Sangwoo has been anticipating this question, this mysterious man doesn’t shed a clue that my question rattles him. “Do you feel like we’ve met before?” Sangwoo’s brown eyes ask me. He is in control, not giving anything away freely.
“Yes,” I answer shortly. My conscience stares at me with her jaw on the floor. “But I can’t remember,” I confess softly. Why don’t you tell him you have been dreaming about him for the past week too? my intuition snaps.
The seconds tick by. Our eyes lock in a stare off.
“No, May. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” Sangwoo drops our eye contact. The heavy air dispels between us.
I feel the heaviness of my heart on my feet. I glance down at my toes for a second and mentally paint them a fuchsia color. I expel silent air out of my lungs. At least I asked.
“So, this is why you helped me last night? Because you thought we’ve met before?” Sangwoo questions. He frowns slightly, possibly on the border of frustration that I am still withholding the reason. He really, truly does want to know.
“Not just because I think I know you from somewhere before,” I tell Sangwoo as sincerely as possible. I want him to know that I really do believe we have met before. But I am not going to dwell on something he so easily denies.
Choi Sangwoo’s calm and collected facial expression remains undisturbed.
“It’s because you just looked so sad. I don’t know much about why people choose to drink, other than because they’re really emotional about something or they just want to get drunk. I’ve seen plenty of sad people who get drunk beyond consciousness at The Trax. But you were just miserable. You didn’t have a cell phone or any information in your wallet. There was no one else around. I was going to call the police to help you, but I figured that wouldn’t be a good idea since . . . I just wanted to help you, that’s all.” I feel uncomfortable explaining my good deed.
“So if it wasn’t me last night, would you still have helped a random drunk person?” His follow up question isn’t what I am expecting. I get the feeling that Sangwoo is assessing the type of person I am.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “But I have never done it before. You’re the first one.” We just cleared the air that I am not a slut and that we don’t know each other from somewhere before. What more does he want from me?
“And I am the last one you will help,” Sangwoo commands as if he has the right to. “Don’t help others like that again. Be smart. I could have turned out to be a serial killer or a rapist.”
Hey! “That’s not a very nice way to thank someone for carrying you all the way from The Trax to her apartment. It’s also not appreciative of the person who let you sleep in her room.” I am not about to be lectured by someone who does nothing but break laws for a living. Before I can help myself, I add, “And because of the hundred dollar tip you left me last week. I felt like I owe you a favor.”
A pretentious look crosses his face. My sharp tongue surprises Sangwoo. “The tip wasn’t meant to be a favor.”
The loud voice inside me quiets down at his calm remark. “What was it then?”
Sangwoo stares at me, but chooses not to answer. He continues, “I already expressed my thankfulness for last night.”
“Feels like you’re taking it back,” I retort.
“No. I think you are misunderstanding. I’m just saying your good heart could have gotten you in trouble.”
“So, if I were to ever help anyone again, I have to make sure it’s you?”
“Yes. Only me.”
I feel an instant thrill from our double negative banter.
Sangwoo quietly observes me. I expect another barrage of comments, but he surprises me instead. “I like how straightforward you are.”
“Really?” A tinge of fascination ruminates inside of me from his compliment.
Sangwoo leans against the kitchen counter. His expression is on guard despite his disclosure. “I spend most of my time with men who refuse to apologize and clarify. It is always their way or no way. It’s actually refreshing to meet people like you and your mother. No questions. No qualms. You just help without wanting anything in return.” Sangwoo’s voice, the familiar calm and collected tenor, intensifies the praise.
“That’s how my mother and I are,” I mutter with a slight fixation of pride.
“But then again, it makes you an easy victim. People pretend to be helpless and then hurt their rescuers all the time.” Sangwoo has a special craft as a realist.
“Is that how it works in your world?” I can’t help myself with the ridicule.
Sangwoo’s eyes land squarely into the pockets of my gaze. “Very much so. It’s a cut throat industry.”
“You speak of it like you’re doing a business.” I am fascinated with his style of juxtaposition.
“It is,” Sangwoo agrees with contention. “It is a business. It has a social and hierarchical structure just like any other institution. But, what separates one person from the other is climbing technique on the food chain.”
I can feel myself drowning under the wealth of information. I am way out of my element here. So far, this is debunking all the misconceptions and stereotypes I have about the underground world. I feel a bit foolish for judging him so quickly. So gangsters wearing baggy jeans and listening to rap music are not members of his? What kind of underground world and hierarchical structure is he tal
king about?
A loud car horn breaks through the bubble Sangwoo and I have apparently created. A large part of me is not prepared for our conversation to be over so soon, but the other part knows that this encounter has to end at some point.
At the sound of the horn, Sangwoo pushes up his left shirtsleeve to reveal an expensive silver watch. Oh, I didn’t notice that last night. This man is adorned in jewelry. Expensive jewelry.
Sangwoo’s eyebrows come together in concern when he observes the time. I am not sure if his ride is on time or late, but it is apparent that our conversation is over.
“My car’s here. I have to go,” Sangwoo announces. Without waiting for a response, Sangwoo walks to the living room where his black blazer is hanging from one of the coat hooks on the wall. I don’t remember doing that for him last night.
“Ok . . . bye,” I say faintly, not sure how this farewell should go. I am certain there isn’t a correct protocol for saying goodbye to a high-up gangster.
Choi Sangwoo tucks his blazer underneath his arm and then faces me. “Again, thank you for what you’ve done. I don’t get ever get to that point, but last night was the only exception. I know it wasn’t easy for you to take me back here and let me stay. But I’m really glad you did. I hope that despite what we just talked about . . . we can be friends?
Sangwoo extends a hand to me. Friendly gangster May. He’s a friendly one. My intuition folds her arms across her chest; she is letting me make the call on this one.
I am not sure if his definition of a friend is the same as mine. But, denying anyone’s good intentions, especially if there is no opportunity gained or lost from it, would be an insult to what my parents have always taught me.
“Yes, sure. Friends.” I take Sangwoo’s hand in mine.
As we touch, Sangwoo’s smile fades. His brown eyes narrow minutely and focus on my features. I feel the immediate assessment. A million of thoughts spark.
I wasn’t born exceptionally beautiful, but my father always did tell me I have very stark features. Of course, all parents think their children are beautiful. I am average in height at five-feet-four inches with long, layered black hair. My eyes, my biological mother’s gift, are round with thick lashes outlining the outer rims. My nose evens out my features, accentuating my round baby face and plump lips. When asked to describe me, most people will probably choose to say, “She’s a very quiet girl when she doesn’t have an opinion” rather than describe my physical attributes.
I wonder if Choi Sangwoo is thinking the same things when his eyes linger on my face. He ends up surprising me when he states, “You . . . you look like this girl I used to know. Much younger. Much more passive. But the same life in you.”
A chill ripples down my spine. I stare back at him, unsure of what to say. This is the second time Sangwoo’s mentioning how similar I am to the girl he once knew. However, his comment is not supposed to elicit a response from me. It is a simple observation, a quick comparison, a rhetorical statement.
“Bye May. Thank you for everything.” With those last words, Sangwoo opens the apartment door and turns away.
“You’re welcome,” I answer. Slightly mesmerized, I stand against the door and watch him.
Sangwoo walks with ease out into the bright sun, but with every step he takes, it is evident that he is a creature of the night. He moves quickly down the apartment steps to a black, unmarked car that is waiting for him. Its engine is still running; the emblem on the front of the car belongs to a foreign brand. When Sangwoo nears the rear of the car, the passenger door opens.
A man, wearing a trademark black suit, steps out with haste. He bows respectfully to Sangwoo. They exchange a few words before he steps back to let Sangwoo in the front passenger seat. He ends up in the back seat. As soon as the doors are closed, the intimidating car makes a perfect roundabout circle out of the apartment complex.
This all takes place under a minute.
Just like how he entered my life last week, Choi Sangwoo quickly vanishes with the black car as it disappears from sight. I stand there for a couple more minutes. Thoughts run through my mind, replaying our conversation repeatedly. I wanted to ask Sangwoo about his presence at The Trax last night, but I accept the fact that I will probably never see him again. He says he doesn’t know me from anywhere before. But from those brown eyes are hiding something from me. But why?
I understand I have encountered someone significant, someone belonging to a different world than mine. To have had him so close, so relatable, despite the different paths of our lives is unnerving. He wants something that normal people take for granted. Choi Sangwoo wants to be friends. More specifically, he wants to be friends with me. Did he ask for your number though? No he didn’t, so snap out of it. He was just being nice. My intuition begins the long process of picking up my daydreams off the floor.
“What a charming guy.”
“Mom!”
My hands fly to my chest in surprise. Eunhye has successfully scared me with her phantom appearance. Now, she is standing on her tiptoes trying to see over my shoulder.
“He left already?” She is completely oblivious to the fact that I am in the midst of a heart attack.
“Yes.” I step back inside the apartment and make it a point to close the door loudly behind me. “I have to get ready for work.”
“How come you’ve never told me about this Sangwoo? How long has he been working at The Trax?” Eunhye follows my heels all the way into my room. She is the motherly type on energy pills. Eunhye’s parenting skills have always been a little unorthodox. It might be because Eunhye’s line of work keeps her attentive and youthful.
“A few months,” I answer shortly. I keep my expressions steady, hoping to be discreet. I don’t want Eunhye to misunderstand the situation or exacerbate it.
“I trust you, honey. But next time, if any of your co-workers get too hammered to go home, just call me ok?” Eunhye asks. “I know you’re twenty-one, but there are things you still need to run by me.”
Surprised, I turn to face her. Oh no. She’s mad. “I thought you were fine with me letting him crash here last night. You said it is better than him getting in trouble on the way home.” My eyes search for forgiveness.
“Of course I have to say that,” Eunhye remarks immediately. I know she forgives me when she smiles. “It’s done. I can’t turn back time. Besides, there’s no point in lecturing you in front of him. Sweetheart, at the end of the day, you’re a girl and he’s a boy. Thankfully, nothing happened and he turned out to be a very good person.”
I bite my tongue on what I really want to reply. “I’m sorry mom. I’ll use better judgment next time,” I say instead.
My mother’s face expands into a large smile. “I wouldn’t mind if you date him. Not only is he one of those rare handsome ones, but he’s also very intelligent.”
“Hmm.” I make my way over to my closet and start rummaging through for clothes. This is my cue to get occupied; this is also the part in the conversation where I revert to my adolescent ways. Eunhye knows I don’t do the boyfriend thing because I haven’t found anyone interesting in all of my twenty-one years. All the boys my age are only interested in money, sex, and drugs–which isn’t a far cry from the rest of the male population, I have heard through the grapevine. Besides, Choi Sangwoo is way out of my league and I am too a lifetime-of-insecurities to think otherwise.
Meanwhile, Eunhye is rambling on in the background. She’s on a mission. “We had a very great conversation. I would actually approve of him if you two became an item. Don’t you think it’s about time you find yourself a boyfriend? Someone to share your life with?”
I stop looking through my closet. “Mom, he’s just a friend. Besides, I’m not interested in a relationship right now. I have other goals in my life.”
Eunhye proceeds to narrow her eyes at me. “Maybelline Lee. I was a teen once you know? Before I got this old and wise, I was your age once.”
I let out a laugh. Eunhye knows how to l
ighten up a situation. “Mom, you were a teen when bingo night meant a great date.”
“Ouch!” She playfully pinches the underside of my left arm. “That was the best thing in the world! Don’t make fun of me.”
I shake my head and continue ransacking through my closet. “Our generation is doomed, mother.”
“Does he do anything else besides The Trax?” Eunhye presses on, diverting the conversation back to Choi Sangwoo.
I pause shortly, fighting the urge to laugh. “Not that I know of.”
“That’s a shame. He could really use those brains and looks of his to go far. He’s a gem May. Mark my words. He’ll do something big with his life. This won’t be the last time you hear from him.” Leaving me to mull on that, Eunhye walks out of my room with a dreamy sigh.
I want to laugh at Eunhye’s premature prediction, but when my eyes land on the spot where Sangwoo slept last night, I spy the shiny object. I make my way over to the area without any mental registration. As soon as my hands touch the object, I realize what it is quickly. It is the same diamond-encrusted necklace with a Cross on it.
Thoughts floor my mind. Why is it here in my room? Didn’t Choi Sangwoo tuck his necklace back inside his shirt just moments ago? I saw him do it in the kitchen. I spin the necklace up to the light. It’s so beautiful. It must be a fortune. The diamonds–tiny sliver studs embedded in-between the crust of the design–glisten as the symbol of the Cross swings like a pendulum in my grip.
My cell phone rings in the corner of my room. I am still staring at the magnificent piece of jewelry when I answer it.
“Hey, you didn’t text me back last night!” Lina’s voice engulfs my ears.
Just like that, I’m thrust back into reality. Choi Sangwoo and all the mysteries that shroud him will have to wait.
April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions Page 6