*
Sunny stood in the halo of green light cast by an EXIT sign. She wore a sleeveless red dress and a black scarf of smart silk that adjusted itself over her blond tease-out as she turned her head this way and that. For those that had the eyes to see it, Sunny’s profile would be popping up along with her contact info and relevant testimonials. Stuff like how she still knew all the steps from all her old routines, how she still spoke perfect Korean in perfect baby talk, how she’d call you “big brother” and punch you in the arm when you teased her just the littlest bit, how her blow jobs made you see stars. Hwa knew. Sunny made her do a spell-check on the whole profile, once, back when she was still in school.
Behind her, Síofra pulled up short. “That’s your mother?”
Of course, he could see Sunny’s profile, too. Hwa felt only the tiniest tingle of embarrassment. Not because of Sunny’s job. Nothing to be ashamed of, there. She kept more money fucking than she ever had singing or dancing. But the profile itself, the old songs, the duck lips, the overwhelming pink tide of cuteness currently washing across Síofra’s vision: that was fucking embarrassing.
“That’s her.”
Síofra said nothing. He was staring at Hwa, now. Making the comparison, probably. Between her wasp-waisted mother with the delicate limbs and perfect skin and the titless wonder in the black running tights and rash guard. He couldn’t see her face, but he could see everything else: the empty space around her, the lack of outputs and lack of profile, the lack of connections and lack of status.
Sunny spoke in cheerful Korean with a radiant smile: <<Hwa-jeon! Hurry up! You’re making me late!>>
“I have to go.” Hwa passed Síofra his flask. “Thanks for the water.”
Síofra nodded. “It’s no trouble.” He sized up Sunny and looked back at Hwa. “Is she taking you to your doctor? To check you over?”
Hwa almost laughed. Strangers were adorable. “Right. Sure. My doctor.”
Hwa hurried down the hall. Sunny held her arms open again. Those arms took hold of Hwa gently, pressing her close but not too close, as though Hwa had just told her she had something contagious.
“You were so brave!” Sunny said in loud, bubbly English.
And with that Sunny ushered her down the hall. Sunny kept her smile as tight as her grip until they hit the elevator.
When the doors closed, her hand left Hwa’s elbow. Then it smacked hard into Hwa’s left ear. And then again, across her face, so hard her head clunked against the side of the elevator.
<<You half-breed half-wit. What were you thinking? Don’t even think about coming home tonight.>>
*
She could have slept on Eileen’s couch. Or maybe Mistress Séverine’s. Or even her own squat, on the condemned floor of Tower One. But there was a paying gig in her messages, off-book, and she offered the client a discount on the service if she got to crash for the night. She offered an even deeper discount if the contract offered dinner and breakfast, which he did. She just had to be gone before his parents came back from their shift.
“Wait! Stop! Is this gonna hurt?”
Hwa’s fist stopped an inch from Wade’s nose. For a moment she saw him as the kid she remembered from grade three, the one who gave her sorry eyes when the other kids made fun of her face and her name and her English. He’d been cute then, too. Over twenty-two years he’d grown into his good looks in a very pretty way: bright blue eyes, blond hair in a persistent state of bed-head, broad shoulders with solid definition, a body like an inverted triangle on two strong swimmer’s legs. He had good clear skin that tanned just right, and he got dimples when he smiled. Back when she actually went to school, almost all the other girls had crushes on him, even the girls who didn’t like the same guys that all the other girls liked.
Now he was asking her to break his nose.
“What’s the procedure?” she had asked, after he slid her a coffee.
“My abs.” He had pulled up his shirt and showed her. “See that line down the middle? That’s good, but the doc says he can get me real definition on the sides. The tendinous inscription, it’s called. And down here,” he gestured at the line where his torso ended and his thigh began, “that’s the inguinal ligament. He’s going to define that, too. Just make it pop, visually. So I can wear my jeans lower.”
Hwa had considered showing him her own stomach, which had some good cuts, but then he’d have to see the stain and nobody wanted to see the stain. Besides, she doubted he wanted to try her diet.
“Bio or nano?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Wade said. “He asked for a fat sample, ’cause it’s a custom job. That’s why it costs so much.”
“What’s the subscription fee? For the maintenance, I mean.”
He shrugged. “He says he’ll take a percentage of whatever I earn, after.”