April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions

by Solangel, T. B.

  I can feel my heart pulsating in my veins. Is this really happening? Never in my wildest daydreams would I imagine sitting here with Sangwoo when he first walked into The Trax. Now that this is reality, I am mentally kicking myself to make sure I am fully conscious.

  “I can help you with thirty thousand dollars in exchange for your service and companionship,” Sangwoo continues on. The lost expression on my face makes it easier for him. “In other words, work for me.” He is giving me bits and pieces of the contract, gauging my reaction and responses.

  “Companionship?” I do my best to keep my facial expression neutral. I know I am failing because my cheeks are heating up and my tongue is a syllable away from stuttering. “Like a love contract?” I’ve never been asked out by a boy before, and Bryan does not count. Frankly, I don’t even know how people ask one another to date nowadays. But I do know this is definitely unorthodox. I have seen too many movies and read countless books not to see the good humor in the current situation. This is every bit of the cliché and corny notions that capture romantics’ attention while being shunned by the skeptics.

  More than anything, this seems like a joke–a plight sense of humor that is not only overused but also overdone. How can someone, of his world and caliber, want to carry out a contract with someone like me? Granted Sangwoo is not going to give thirty thousand dollars away freely, but this hardly seems rational.

  Choi Sangwoo remains deadpan and watches me carefully. The look in his eyes tells me that I am better off not mocking his words, intentions, or meaning. “Service and companionship,” he corrects me. “This is not a love contract. I don’t want to date you. This is a six-month, legal binding contract where your service and companionship is exchanged for thirty thousand dollars. Of course, you are worth more than that, but that amount seems to be our situation.”

  At his compliment, I squirm in my seat. “And what exactly entails service and companionship?” I am trying the idea out although the pieces of the information confuse to me. He doesn’t want to date me, but he wants my time and company. Potato potato.

  “Service means I may have you carry out, participate in, and conduct some work-related things for me. One day we may be in Seoul and the next day we may be in the United States. Companionship means that you may be required to accompany me to certain functions, including parties, dinners, or a movie. Technically, you will be at my disposal on the weekends for the next six months. Far from a love contract, it is more about recruiting another member to the team who is required to wear many hats. You will be working with me directly.”

  Disposal? Basically work for him and be with him. I gape at Sangwoo unnaturally. This is under some impossible constituents. There is no way this man can be in his right mind. Now that I am reassessing it, Choi Sangwoo must have some insane streak in him. After all, his profession relies on dominating and overpowering other people. Sometimes, it requires being violent and taking people by force. This man has deeper and darker secrets than I can imagine.

  Taking my silence for shock, Sangwoo presses his lips into a tight line. His eyes are now hooded and extremely guarded. “Nothing is legally penned yet, so you have every right to refuse. But I do wish for you to be aware that if you do refuse, I cannot protect you from Mayhem.”

  The blood flows twice as rough in my veins now. Suddenly Choi Sangwoo’s brown eyes are no longer sensual and endearing, but intimidating and calculating. Taking someone at face value can be consequential in the end.

  I clear my throat, feeling my equilibrium return after the influx of thoughts. “You can have anyone you want. Why me?” I am sure he knows individuals who are more qualified.

  Sangwoo rocks his head to the side as he scans me. Casually, he leans forward to pick up his glass of wine again. “You don’t know why or you don’t remember?”

  I shut down his question the best way I know how. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  He watches me carefully, waiting for me to say something more. We are deep in a game, a game of I-know-the-truth-but-I-will-deny until-you-give-in-first.

  Sangwoo’s brown eyes flare once more before he concedes to our silent stare-off. “I live my life not knowing if I am going to make it through tomorrow.” He waves a long fingered hand to his surroundings to convey the notion of relative emptiness. “I have everything I need, except one thing. I need someone I can trust. You’re young and inexperienced, but also intelligent and shrewd. I need someone like you on my team. I need someone like you by my side.”

  “Have you been looking to recruit more people?” I question further. Is he actually hiring?

  “No,” Sangwoo answers shortly. He offers no other explanation.

  All of a sudden, I am brave and courageous. It is completely the wine’s doing. “I am sure in your world, with your accessibility to wealth, materials, and incentives you can buy trust. I’m sure you have more viable options,” I offer with conviction. I refuse to let Sangwoo’s flattery make me eat from the palms of his hands. There is more to this gang leader and I have to look through the fog.

  Sangwoo eyebrows come together. He looks offended that I am implying again. “May, I am not asking you anything beyond your service and companionship in the next six months. I want to make this clear. It is you who I want to work with, to attend functions with, and to dine with. We will not do anything physical . . . holding hands, kissing, or sex if you do not consent to it. This is not a dating contract. Let me rephrase, it is also not hiring-you-as-my-assistant contract.”

  Oh shit. That passive-aggressive streak of his is quite remarkable. His blatant mentioning of intimacy flusters me. In a twisted way, Sangwoo is confessing that he is attracted to me, but at the same time he is not.

  “Then what is it?” I ask. Sangwoo is playing mind games with me. But why? If it barks, it’s a dog. Why won’t Choi Sangwoo call it like it is? Maybe he wants to avoid the semantics and make me think there are less ropes tightening the situation.

  “It is an initiation contract,” Sangwoo replies, disarming me.

  An initiation. My thoughts travel back to what Google told me this morning about joining gangs. New members must complete an initiation ceremony, passage, or act. I remember reading the brutal beatings, self-sacrificing, and not to mention other terrifying blood-in requirements.

  “You want to initiate me into your gang?” I do my best to clarify. Girl, walk away now. You are no gangster. This is a cosmic joke. With a bullhorn in her hand, my intuition persists in her boycott of Operation Lina.

  “I want you in my gang,” Sangwoo states with confidence now that the cat is out of the bag.

  I hold my breath. My heart thuds behind my ribcage. A gang member? Me? This really is some sort of cosmic joke. Isn’t there a place out there where gang members are bred? Google found social media depictions of potential gang members in broken down neighborhoods where the potential recruits are in dire need of protection, money, belongingness, and a way out. In the documentary world, potential members dwell in the more dangerous parts of the world like South America and Africa where political heists and war are imminent. In societies that I am living in, gang members engage in extortion, drug trafficking, and a myriad of other violent measures. If there is a requirement, I am sure I do not even meet the bare minimum. How can Choi Sangwoo see me as a facet to his gang?

  Evidently, he can read the confusion.

  “As much as I refuse to allow the terminology to apply to me, I am a gang leader and my money is washed through the black market machine. I will need your consent, loyalty, and dedication to Crist before or after thirty thousand slips from my fingers.” Sangwoo studies my facial expression carefully. “I need to learn more about you. I need to know every detail of your past, your present, and your projected future. I need to know that my investment is worth it. You will not only be associated with me, but also what my gang stands for and represents. Six months will be your trial period.”

  It is all becoming clear. He said service and compa
nionship to distract me. In the end, it all boils down to me joining Sangwoo’s gang for the money. He doesn’t want to use or date me. He wants to hire someone who can be under the radar to carry out underground activities without detection. The skewed picture frame is starting to align.

  “What’s to say you won’t take advantage of me?” I challenge him. The wine’s definitely giving me the courage to ask such a bold question.

  “I don’t take advantage of anyone unless they want to be taken advantage of.” Sangwoo takes another drink of his wine. His eyebrows come up as though he is wondering why I am making hasty assumptions.

  Don’t back down, May. My cheeks flare of heat. I swallow hard. “I don’t know anything about your world. Speaking from a business standpoint, your investment in someone like me is not a very wise one. I can’t intimidate anyone. I can’t hurt anyone. I certainly can’t be a gang member.” Even saying it aloud sounds ridiculous.

  “That is why I chose you.” Sangwoo sets his glass of wine back down on the coffee table. He intertwines his fingers together. “I will teach you. I will teach you what I want you to know. You will do what I ask without any questions or second thoughts.”

  What if it’s to kill someone? I want to ask, but from the look in Sangwoo’s eyes I already know his answer is I’m not qualified for that type of dark business yet. I will probably be doing easy errand runs, something that keeps me busy and he entertained.

  “Will I receive a list of responsibilities?” I ask with curiosity. What would the job description as a gang member look like?

  “We tend to avoid a list of responsibilities for our employees for survival reasons.” There is a hint of a smirk on his lips. Sangwoo finds my naïve questions entertaining. Alternatively, he could be laughing at the fact that I call his members’ employees.

  “So there are no traces or evidence.” The thought strikes me as terrifying. There’s no record to keep even if death occurs.

  Sangwoo nods his head vaguely. “Lina is perceptive . . . for someone like her.”

  I frown slightly. Where is he going with this?

  Sangwoo continues, “In my world, we are like phantoms, ghosts, and vampires. We don’t leave clues, hints, or trails. We obtain tangible, materialistic things through invisible means.”

  I am afraid to ask him at what emotional price does all this wealth and opulence cost?

  Sangwoo notices the thoughts brewing in my mind, but he rides on my silence. “You will reserve three days a week for me. This may include mornings, afternoons, and nights. I will let you know in advance, but for now we can designate the days of the week as Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. This will give us enough time to work and tend to our individual needs before coming together.”

  “And what would a typical day be like?” I am beyond curious now.

  “Whatever I have on schedule and whatever I am in the mood for, whatever I please.” The gang leader complex comes into full light.

  “Ah.” The word falls off my tongue as though it is too hot to handle. I look down at my fingers. My head is swimming with too many thoughts. I think back to Lina’s text message. Like an ominous thrill, Mayhem’s striking face invades my consciousness again. Mayhem probably has more binding contracts, if you want to look at the flip side. My conscience finally speaks up, but runs back into the shadows at the glare of my intuition.

  Sangwoo reaches for the drawer to the right of him. It’s a large, white dome; a baby blue antique lamp perches on top of it. The dim light underneath the lamp’s cover touches Sangwoo’s profile when he extracts a cell phone from the first drawer. It is a brand new pristine iPhone. The number five elegantly sketches on its side.

  Casually, without any emphasis, Sangwoo slides the phone on the glass coffee table. “This will make it easier for us to keep in touch.”

  I stare at the phone thinking about my old slide phone inside my tote bag. Wow. I would have to work for a solid year before I can afford this type of phone. I look up at Sangwoo with the best of my abilities not to gape at him.

  “I will take care of everything for you during the six months. If you need money, other than the thirty thousand I mean, I can assist you with your rent and bills. I also noticed that you don’t have a car, but I can provide you one. Should you need any medical, dental, or vision services I can set you up with the nation’s best. When our contract is up, you will get to keep everything that I have given you during our contract. We can re-negotiate. You have my word.” In every sense of the literal meaning, Choi Sangwoo is speaking like he is a God. A God who can move mountains, control time, and manifest materialistic objects. There is no sense of mortality in his words and offer. This kind of world only exists for immortals. Who did he have to sell his soul to?

  I swallow hard. My heart is in my ears. I don’t miss the fact that Sangwoo has omitted the mentioning of me walking away freely after six months. He only mentioned re-negotiation. My thoughts wrestle with one another if I should mention it now, even before I agree to sign any contract.

  “I can take care of you May. Everything you want, anything you need. I can have the contract drawn up by tomorrow. After you sign it, I will provide you with a briefcase for Mayhem and I will accompany you personally to hand it to him,” Sangwoo continues and freezes my thoughts.

  Oh my. My thoughts swirl on a different axis now. I am reminded of the anxiety on Lina’s face and her recent text message. Most of all, I am reminded of Mayhem’s lethal threats. If Danny can carve out Spyder’s cheek in such a quick move, what would he do to me? If I agree to this impossible contract with Choi Sangwoo, I just might be able to save everything.

  “I would say to take all the time you need, but seeing that Mayhem has handed you a personal timer I hope you are aware of the time crunch.” Sangwoo is taking advantage of my silence to push the envelope further. His eyes are guarded. I am making the gang lord hesitant because of my shock.

  “I need time to think,” I tell him honestly. There is a slight tremble to my voice now that I am speaking again. I am well aware I have less than a week at this point to come up with thirty thousand dollars for Mayhem. I would be a fool not to consider Sangwoo’s offer, but the decision I make not only impacts my life for the next six months but for the rest of my life. I have a hard time believing that signing my life away to a gang leader will end peacefully if Sangwoo doesn’t wish it to.

  Sangwoo’s brown eyes are careful to shield his true thoughts. His facial expression remains passive, but his body language is tense. It dawns on me that Sangwoo hopes I agree quickly so we can start the process. Sangwoo withdraws as though he doesn’t know what to do with my indecisiveness.

  “I can’t accept the phone from you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe we should wait until I decide to sign the contract.”

  “If that is what you wish.”

  My tongue’s at the very tip of my mouth. Sangwoo wants to give me things. I’m not used to these notions, especially from someone like him. His pursuits know no bounds, and his methods are unreasonable. I’m not the first person he showered materialistic things with. Does he buy people so easily?

  A knock at the front door breaks the slight tension between us. The rhythmic pounding sends waves through the vast penthouse suite. For a moment, I was lost in the sea that is Choi Sangwoo.

  Sangwoo does not break eye contact with me when he states, “Come in, Ren.”

  The door to the penthouse suite swings open.

  The first thing that stands out about Ren is the fact that he looks like the modern day Grim Reaper with his black bomber jacket, black dress shirt, and black leather pants. What makes Ren go against the grain is the fact that the entire left side of his face has dark ink running in lines, resembling intricate embroideries, displaying a distinct tattoo.

  Ren’s dark eyes bounce from his Boss to me. When he makes eye contact with me, Ren’s steps slow and he inclines his head in acknowledgement. He looks at me with a mixture of surprise, recogniti
on, and almost shock folding in layers. I mirror Ren’s movement and realize he is Menu Helper. I can hardly believe I didn’t notice Ren’s facial tattoo the first time I met him. Well, you were too busy ogling at Choi Sangwoo that Saturday night. My intuition yawns lazily.

  “The reports?” Sangwoo rises from the sofa, slightly towering over Ren. A protective and almost feral response expresses in Sangwoo’s stance, as though he’s uncomfortable with the fact that Ren’s staring at me without blinking in a frozen, almost intrusive state.

  “Ren,” Sangwoo’s call is stern and forceful. A dark look crosses his face and it is reminiscent of an owner reminding a trained wild animal of its classical conditioning.

  Ren finally turns to his Boss. The color drains from his face, a clear sign of apology. Ren becomes all thumbs and fingers as he struggles to extract a black manila folder from the right side of his bomber jacket. He bows before handing it over to Sangwoo. “Data is compiled and generated. Everything is set for the end of the week.”

  Sangwoo opens the mouth of the folder and thumbs through the documents inside. “Anything new?”

  Ren shakes his head. “Silent and passive.”

  A look passes between them based upon their cryptic exchange. Sangwoo cuts it short and states, “I will be leaving in five minutes. Get the 320i ready.”

  Ren nods his head. “Yes Boss.” He steps back from Sangwoo and turns to me again. This time Ren’s better at hiding his fascination with me. He inclines his head once more before retreating from the room.

  I look back at Sangwoo to see his intense gaze. His lips press firmly together. He is scrutinizing Ren’s fervent attention. It really wasn’t just my skewed imagination.

  “It’s getting late. I will take you home.” Contrary to his hard facial expression, Sangwoo’s brown eyes soften when he offers. He places the black manila folder on the coffee table and straightens up.