That kind of thing.
Jaehee’s fifth or sixth man had dropped out of a technical school where he’d been learning about fixing boilers and was now going from club to nameless club, allegedly a DJ. My eighth or ninth boyfriend had also been a “DJ” in Itaewon. There were so many DJs in Seoul that I wondered if there ought to be some regulating association that handed out licenses in order to ensure quality spins. But the one I met had a big dick, lots of tattoos, put on good music when we had sex, and was just the right amount of stupid, which allowed us to shape up into a pretty normal couple for a little bit. But two months in he said he loved me but couldn’t bring himself to love me when I was drunk (when I’d sing on the street and kiss him and curse and make a scene before inevitably collapsing into tears at the end) and therefore couldn’t see me anymore, which left me with a very rational grudge against all DJs. Jaehee, who had no inkling of my complex feelings, spoke about her new boyfriend with a face filled with joy and animation.
—His hair is so long he has it in two braids. He looks just like a doll. It’s hilarious when we have sex.
She showed me a photo in which he didn’t look at all hilarious, with his cruel gaze that made me think he’d turn into an asshole on a dime. He kept insisting Jaehee bring Jieun (aka me) to the club because he wanted to see my face, but Jaehee would always bluntly refuse.
—She’s really, really shy.
Really, really shy Jieun was actually sneaking a look as she sat down at a table next to Jaehee and her boyfriend, eavesdropping on them and discreetly glancing at the man to size him up. His manner of speech, facial expressions, everything about him gave me a bad feeling.
—Jaehee, why do you like that guy?
—I don’t know, because he treats me well?
—You’re only giving him the time of day because his dick is big, right?
Jaehee’s face looked like Moses’s gazing at the burning bush as she asked me how I knew that, and I replied out of jealous spite:
—It’s my God-given talent.
Marveling, Jaehee confessed to me that I was right, the only thing he had going for him was the size of his genitals, to which I spake unto her that he was surely of lowly consequence and that she must leave him and return to the light, whereupon she vowed to offer up any man she met thenceforth to me for inspection, grasping my hand and gazing at me like a true believer. Nodding sagely, I embraced Jaehee’s poor soul.
And, unfortunately, my God-given talent was proven once again.
I had come home from classes one day to find Jaehee’s face as white as a sheet. In her hand was a home pregnancy test. Not even putting down my bag, I looked right at the two lines on the small window. My jaw dropped.
—Jesus, can’t you limit yourself to doing one thing at a time?
—I’m fucked, aren’t I?
—What do you mean, “fucked”? Grab your bag, we’re going to the clinic.
—Sure, that’s all we need to do, but there’s a problem.
—What.
—I’m utterly broke. Penniless.
—You didn’t make this baby on your own, we’ll shake the boy down.
—That’s the real problem.
—What’s the real problem? Just spit it out.
—I don’t know which boy I’m supposed to shake down.
According to the story that followed, the idiot DJ she was head over heels with was all right at sex but had a terrible personality and was the worst ever when drunk. Worse, he was stupid enough to believe that his personality was proof of an artistic soul, which made Jaehee more determined than ever to finally dump him. She had just been introduced by a coworker at the café to an art student who was our age, and she’d found out only later on that he had long since dropped out of art school and was working as a tattoo artist. The day Jaehee went on her first blind date with him, I just happened to be spending the night elsewhere; she had no choice (?) but to bring him into our apartment and have wild sex with him. But without a condom. It’s human nature to find the first time difficult and every subsequent time easier, meaning Jaehee had unprotected sex a few times more. With both men.
—The DJ is better at sex and the tattoo guy is better looking, which gave me a lot to think about.
In this, the Great Information Age, you might imagine she would’ve processed her thoughts a lot faster, like a normal person, but Jaehee was locked in an unsolvable dilemma as she ping-ponged between the two men for three months. I said to her that if she had this dilemma twice more, she’d end up with enough children for an orphanage, a quip she ignored. She showed me a photo on her phone. The tattoo artist’s face, she said. The man she showed me had shorter hair than the DJ but was otherwise surprisingly similar, and as skinny as a dried-up anchovy you wouldn’t even try to boil for broth.
—He looks the same as the other guy. I bet you can just have the baby and claim either man is the father?
Jaehee seemed too down to even laugh at my joke. Most uncharacteristically, she began to mumble things like “I should’ve drunk less . . . I can’t even afford food . . . I can’t ask my umma for the money, what do I do?” Which was so annoying to me that I just said:
—Forget them. I’ll give you the money.
—Hey . . . That’s too much.
—I’m not just giving it to you for free. I expect it back, with interest. But get it done quickly for now, all right?
—Really? Are you serious? You’re the best. Thank you.
Jaehee changed from the jeans she was wearing to a dress with an elastic waist, and then began to put on makeup. Her lipstick was a color I hadn’t seen before, and when I asked when she’d gotten it, she popped her lips a few times at her reflection and said she’d bought it at a Hyundai department store a few days ago. Before I could stop myself, I cried:
—How could you be putting on Dior lipstick at a time like this?
As if I had the right to scold, like I’d ever done anything for her in my life. She was putting on her sneakers like slippers, not bothering to slip her heels into them. I said to the back of her head:
—You’re the one getting surgery, so why do I feel nervous?
—There’s nothing to it. Think of it as getting a pimple popped.
—Not the same thing.
I said it with a growl but felt a little relieved. All right, if she herself was fine with it, no need for me to get overdramatic. Her impervious (close to insensitive) personality that normally irritated me was a source of huge relief now.