AT 10 P.M., the last customers leave and the stylists are not far behind, having already touched up their hair and makeup in a flurry of anticipation of Friday night revelry. “Thanks, Miss Ara!” some of them call as they hurry out, and the girls stay only the shortest amount of required time before they leave too. They don’t say anything to me as they go, just bow halfheartedly and mumble unintelligible sounds. They can’t get out of the salon fast enough. “See you tomorrow, Cherry!” they yell, but Cherry is wiping the closet doors so she doesn’t hear them. She started cleaning crazily about half an hour ago—she must have plans tonight.
I make sure the floors are mopped and the mirrors and counters spotless before getting my coat and keys. Cherry comes running with rags in hand as I start turning off the lights in the back.
“I’m done with the bathrooms and the rec rooms and the closets,” she says, panting. “Do you need to check them?”
I shake my head and gesture for her to get her things and stand by the front door, waiting until she comes out to turn off the last light and lock the double door carefully.
“Well, that was pretty fast,” Cherry says cheerfully, all smiles now, and she turns toward the stairs. That is when I reach out and yank her by her ponytail so hard that she falls on her back.
“What the fuck?” she screams in shock, and she is still screaming when I kick her hard in the stomach. Earlier, I’d changed into my boots with metal tips. As she writhes on the ground, I reach again and pull her up by her ponytail and then drag her over to the bathroom in the hallway. She is heavier than she looks, but no matter. Flipping the toilet seat up, I smash her face into the bowl. I’m happy to see that it’s quite dirty. She is thrashing ferociously now, but she’s still in pain from the fall and the kick so she’s no match for me. She chokes bubbles into the toilet water and seems to swallow a good amount before I’m satisfied. My friends and I, we used to pull this toilet bowl trick a lot when I was in middle school.
I give her ponytail a final yank and shove her to the floor of the bathroom. Hunching over her, I fish her phone out of her pocket, then throw it into the toilet, the water splattering on her hair. Then I take off her shoes and leave with them, slamming the door shut behind me. After I’ve walked a few blocks, I fling them into an alley, one after the other, as far as I can throw.
* * *
—
BACK AT HOME, Sujin is waiting for me with my favorite green tea cake from the bakery near her work. She’s still wearing a dark brown scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face, even when I protest that she should take it off when she’s home with me, but she has vowed to live behind a mask until all her swelling goes down.
“Sweetie, I’m so sorry about Taein,” she says, her voice muffled through the scarf as she gives me a big hug and steps back to survey my face.
“Wait, why do you look so excited?” she says suspiciously, and I shrug, opening the kitchen drawer for two forks. I will my body to stop trembling.
“I was going to save this as a birthday present, but I figured you need some cheering up so…” She opens her bag and takes out a small white envelope. Inside, there is a ticket to the final Seoul show of the Crown World Tour.
“I got it through one of my customers who works for that ticketing company! It was apparently so hard to get, but she’s been a regular of mine for years and she only charged me a ten percent premium, which was really nice of her. Although, with this scandal, do you think people are going to start refunding tickets?” Sujin chatters on as she opens the refrigerator, taking out two beers.