phone. It’s the manager oppa. Good morning! Hope you are having a nice day so far. What are you up to? He has sent a coffee coupon and a winking bunny emoji.
I smile in spite of myself. At first, I did not even notice his niceties—so many little things he would do for me here and there. But now there is no mistaking that he likes me. It is cute and not yet annoying.
Just a makeup lesson, I text him, because even if he is nice, he is a man and he is in Madam’s pay. Besides, probably nothing will come of this anyway.
* * *
—
THE RECEPTIONIST CALLS out a name and the woman sitting on my left gathers her things and stands. As she walks into the consultation room I hear her asking about what’s on sale this month. I’ve been coming here long enough to know that the sales don’t mean much because you can haggle about anything, but that doesn’t stop me from leaning over to the brochure rack and picking up the latest flyer.
“Get Ready for Summer!” A girl in a scarlet bikini is posing by a pool and the sale prices are listed below. Only the “petite” procedures—the noninvasive ones—are featured. I’m sorely tempted by the “Strapless Package,” which includes Botox for the back of the shoulders, “fat kill” injections for the underarms, and a choice between Healite II LED therapy or cryotherapy. I tried Healite several times last summer and I liked the results. Going down the list, I am reminded I need more armpit whitening and lip edge injections because the little curls on either side of my lips have begun to droop. I blink and make myself snap out of it—today, I need to focus. From my bag, I retrieve the slim notebook that the married lady gave me from her office, and I check the talking notes that I went over with the girls last night. I have written down the list of girls I have referred here. This includes Miho and Ara because they made appointments earlier this week too so that they could come drop my name and bolster my chances. Ara in particular was very intrigued by all her options after her consultation but said she might start with something small, perhaps just a filler shot for her nose.
My phone buzzes. It’s the manager oppa again.
My friend is opening a nap café in Gangnam Station. Do you want to go check it out with me when you’re done?
A few seconds later it buzzes again.
Just realized that might sound creepy—just to say hi to my friend I mean, not to actually sleep there! And they have only twin beds, I think! No co-sleeping allowed!
I laugh because he is such an innocent still, somehow, but then I hear one of the assistants call my name. Fumbling with my phone, I stand up quickly and follow her into the consultation room—one that I have been in many times. Turning my phone to silent, I quickly send a thumbs-up emoji to the manager oppa and check my reflection on my phone camera before straightening my posture.
“Dr. Shim will be in shortly,” she says in a singsong voice and steps out, closing the door behind her.
I know I will not get this job—nothing in this life is this easy. But as long as I am trying, doesn’t that mean something? I think of the fortune-teller, and the girls and the notes from their online interview research that they pored over with me yesterday. I think of my mother, and how I would be able to have her actually see where I work, because it would be a real place, and how happy it would make her. And for some reason, the manager oppa’s face also swims into my mind before I quickly banish it. I skim my notes again and my leg shakes even harder.
A few long minutes later, I hear Dr. Shim’s voice and heavy footsteps in the hallway. The door handle turns as if in slow motion as he walks in.
Facing him, I smile as widely as my banging heart will allow.