Ow, ow ow ow my toe, I might’ve broken it – can’t show him I’m in pain, he can’t notice. I’ll become the joke here if he notices.
She opens the door and tells him “Don’t ever come back here.”
On his way out the creep checks her out again, deliberately and overtly, before tossing back, “see you tomorrow.”
Chill. Don’t punch him. You need this job. This piece of garbage isn’t worth losing it.
I’m so deep inside her brain that I want to punch him too, and I find that my fist is clenched beside me. I’m so connected to her I automatically struggle to keep my anger in check.
God, this is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.
“End of record. Would you like to replay?”
“What? End what?” A deep frustration. I feel like a thriller I’ve been watching just stopped halfway through. I very much want more.
I replay the record again and again, entranced. Who is this woman? From what I can tell from the incident, a waitress at a restaurant or bar. There’s no way of knowing how she looks but, judging from the way the asshole looked at her, she isn’t unattractive.
I fully realize that this technical malfunction puts the existence of the company at risk. Bubble won’t survive if knowledge of this leaks. Like my father said – no one would record anymore if they knew it meant risking exposure of their dirtiest secrets, their very thoughts.
I’ve recently become very familiar with how to proceed in such a case. The head of cyber security had been very clear about keeping him updated in case of anything unusual, and this is, unequivocally, the motherlode of unusual.
I know I should report this immediately. I know and just the same I decide to keep it to myself, for now. I easily convince myself it’ll only be a couple of days, just until I know who in the company I can trust, and who I can’t. And the truth is that I don’t want this wonderful bug debugged by cyber security yet.
I don’t want it fixed, yet.
They say every person is a world. And I feel like a new world has been revealed to me. I feel like, finally, something interesting is about to happen to me.
Chapter Three
“Mr. CEO, forgive me, but my teams have been working all night. We have thoroughly examined all nine prototypes. I must report that no malfunction was found. Would you like us to examine the tenth prototype, the one in your possession?” He looks exhausted. I know he’s been hard at work all night. I feel guilty for sending him and his teams on what apparently was a wild-goose chase.
I pick up the tenth prototype from the table and wear it. After positioning the tiny earbuds in my ears, I place my finger on the reader and wait.
“Welcome back, Kim Ji-Yon. Your last visit to Bubble was today, at 03:36.”
Okay. I know the product manager can’t see or hear the record like I can, and still I quickly log off before the system asks me if I’d like to replay the last record. No wonder I’m also exhausted today. Apparently I only got to bed around four.
I’m beginning to put some pieces together, and some insights are emerging, I think.
For some reason, which I have yet to work out, this woman and I share a Bubble user. Yesterday, my first attempt at access with the new headset must’ve coincided with her record, so it was denied. Now I’m wondering if she can access my records, too. If we share a user, I have no reason to assume that she can’t. The very idea makes me anxious. And yet – I hadn’t made a new record in four years, and she would have had to actively search the archive to view any record made over a year ago. This was possible, but unlikely. I still consider deleting my old records, but there are moments in there that I refuse to destroy – especially among the records of my father.
I weigh the risk against the benefits and choose to take the risk. I decide that, while I will retain the old records, I should avoid recording anything new. That shouldn’t be hard. I haven’t recorded anything in years.
“I suggest you attempt to make a new record, just to make sure this unit is fully functional.”
“That won’t be necessary. The headset looks fine now – I’m sorry for troubling you.”
The product manager is visibly angry with my indecisiveness. I regret that he and his team had to burn some midnight oil, but then again, this is their job. He’d do well to curb his indignation and get out of my face.
After he leaves, I briefly feel the urge to check if she’d recorded anything new since last night, but succumbing to my new obsession would be counterproductive to my current task of going over the marketing budget before my next meeting.
“You don’t need to inform him. I can visit my son whenever I like.” The grating voice of my stepmother echoes down the hallway. I hate the fact that she dares to call me ‘son.’’ A second later she and her doctored smile barge into my office, uninvited. My secretary is standing behind her, embarrassed, and I dismiss her with a nod.
“I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want?” I glance at my wristwatch pointedly, to make sure she understands how close I am to kicking her out. She ignores it completely and takes a seat on the couch.
“I met some friends for lunch today, and they would not stop talking about your interview with Lee Sung!”
“Really?” I’m genuinely surprised. “Why? Just some random interview.”
She cracks a sly smile. “Actually, it was about how incredibly sexy my son looked.”
I can’t understand how she’s still referring to me as her ‘son.’ I must’ve asked her not to over a thousand times. I had only one mother. And because of this vile woman, it’s “had” rather than “have.”
Besides, I have no desire to be the subject of lewd conversation among my stepmother’s geriatric besties. Quite the scarring image emerges when I picture a table of silver-haired women discussing my sexiness.
“Never call me son again. Also, find other topics of conversation with your friends,” I seethe at her through tight lips.
“You’re Bubble’s CEO, you’re young, you’re rich, and you’re sexy.” She deliberately repeats the word. Mostly I enjoy it when women tell me I’m sexy but coming from this cheap woman it makes my hair stand on end.
“…So why aren’t you seeing anyone? You know, I’m not talking to Sung Shin-Jin because of you.”
“Because of me? I don’t even know her!” I shake my head in a gesture of desperation.
“She actually had the nerve to suggest that you might… you might be the sort to prefer…” she chokes briefly before she coughs up the word, “men.”
“Prefer men?” I echo her, by now genuinely amused. This situation has officially become ridiculous, and I’m finding it difficult to stop my body from trembling slightly with stifled laughter.
“You behaved very coldly to Lee Sung, and she’s such a beauty.”
And who the fuck asked you?
“I prefer women,” I attempt to quickly conclude this absurdity.
“Good. In that case, I want you to go out with Sung Shin-Jin’s daughter. That way I can make up with her.”
The last thing I need is for her to start setting me up on blind dates. I consider letting her know that my relationships with women don’t usually amount to more than one-night stands. Maybe that’ll prevent her from setting me up with her friends’ daughters.
“My personal life is none of your business. You have your estate. If you need more money—” I intentionally leave her hanging for several seconds before wrapping up, “don’t bother coming to me.”
I’m pretty sure that sums things up for now.
After a long day of nearly consecutive presentations, I meet up with some old university friends. To my driver’s disapproval, I drive the black Maserati myself to the bar across the Han River.
“So this is what Asia’s most eligible bachelor looks like?” they make fun of me, as expected, when I arri
ve.
“Take a good look,” I flash my most charming smile and realize that women already seem to be congregating around us. The guys seem happy with this abundance, and now it’s my turn to joke at their expense – “So this is why you’re taking me out. I’m the goddamn bait, aren’t I?”
“We’re also gonna need you to pay for the drinks.”
I wouldn’t dream otherwise. I gesture to the waiter and another round of soju heads our way.
Six rounds later, I cannot believe the shit coming out of their mouths. They all sound, to some degree, miserable. The bachelors whine about never finding the one. The married ones whine about the ones they found.
“Have you run into Shin Su-Yon since you got back?” The mention of his name is enough to ruin my buzz.
Shin Su-Yon was my best friend, once. We shared a deep hatred of swimming, two boys wounded by their parents’ ambitions – his father, my stepmother. We would train together for six to eight hours every day, and were friends for every second of it, apart from when we competed. We also shared a burning urge to compete, both of us driven and ambitious. When I found him in bed with Lee Sung, I knew instantly that this wasn’t about love – if it had been, in some other universe, I might have been able to forgive him. I also knew that he didn’t actually want to hurt me. He just wanted to have something that was mine.
It was really the same tension of competition that always existed between us – though, at the time, I’d thought Lee Sung was special, and he destroyed any illusion I had in the matter. In fact, he did me a sort of extremely roundabout favor, exposing her in a literally compromising position.
I haven’t seen him since returning to Korea, nor do I want to. One too many times I’ve seen the record of his ass pumping away on the girl I was going to propose to.
“He’s married now, you know. His wife’s pregnant. Maybe you could finally put this behind you? Move on?”
I know the guys mean well. They just want us to reconcile, but we never will. Just like I’ll never forgive Lee Sung.
“You want us to call him up, get him down here? He’ll come running if we tell him you’re ready to talk.”
“Never invite him when I’m around. Or vice versa. Got it?” I hiss angrily. They look at me, embarrassed.
Ji-Shik is the first to try to change the subject, nudging me with his elbow. “Whatever, fuck that. Look, over there. See her?” I follow his gesture and quickly notice the girl he refers to. She’s gorgeous.
“My wife’s yoga instructor. Apparently she is exceedingly flexible. I mean contortionist-level flexible.” I’m intrigued and somewhat turned on by this addition. I doubt any straight man wouldn’t be.
An hour later the two of us have gone back to her place.
“Do you want me to teach you the downward-facing dog?”
I laugh despite of myself.
“It’s a yoga pose. It’s known to improve disposition,” she replies innocently.
“I’m sure it is,” I reply, and my male brain wanders to other dog-related poses, also known for their beneficial effect on one’s disposition.
“Look,” she gets up and demonstrates, getting down on all fours before tucking her head and raising her shapely ass into the air in a vague triangle shape.
“Wanna try it?”
“Not right now.” I lean back into the couch and sip my beer, enjoying her little routine.
An hour later I’m tying up the condom and tossing it into the garbage bin. After a quick shower I thank her for a lovely time. It went well – short and sweet, which is the way I prefer it. Everything is infinitely simpler when neither of the parties has any expectations. Sex without commitment it truly as good as advertised.
I feel light as I leave her apartment and for a while I just drive around aimlessly. The speakers play an old So Ji-sub song. They don’t make this kind of music anymore, and maybe that’s because there aren’t men like that anymore. I think maybe I should have also been a rapper. It’s the perfect outlet for my shit life. I’m sure I went through at least a few songs worth of bullshit. I bang my head to So Ganzi, snapping out of it only when I find myself back at the Bubble Corp Tower. I go up to my office and lie down on the couch. When I close my eyes, I can think of nothing but my wonderful bug. It’s been two days since her last record.
I drag myself over to the desk and take out my headset. I put them on and press my finger against the reader. I’ve made too many disappointing attempts to be optimistic at this point – I have no expectations. But I’ve been tortured by the thought of her last record being an anomaly, never to repeat.
“Welcome back, Kim Ji-Yon,” I am greeted. “Your last visit to Bubble was today, at 19:47.”
I feel like screaming YES!
“Play latest record,” I ask, and my heart is pounding a million miles an hour.
“Wait – wait, don’t cut it yet. I have to record this on Bubble. I’ve never had a birthday cake and this one is amazing.”
Said cake is on the table in front of me. It looks nice; a single candle protrudes from its center. I’m not a cake fan, myself, but in her eyes it is absolutely the most beautiful cake she has ever seen, and I become infected by her joy. Pure and distilled, it fills me. God. It feels incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy. I secretly relish in her bliss, and I’m smiling.
Actually smiling.
“I can’t believe you got me a Passion Five birthday cake. It must’ve cost you guys a fortune.”
She’s stopped talking, but I can still hear her, feel what she’s thinking. Her enthusiasm is as contagious as a December flu.
I’m used to having miyeok-guk on my birthday – seaweed, not layer cake with a mountain of whipped cream and fancy icing. We could never have afforded something like this when I was a kid. God. What a waste of money. Eating this feels like a crime.
Her joy is quickly overcome by heavy guilt.
One of her friends is tapping her spoon against a soju bottle as another claps vigorously and calls, “Toast, toast!”
“To Mi-Ok finding a rich husband!”
I close my eyes and roll her name on my tongue. Mi-Ok. It means, “beautiful pearl” – I like it. And I very much like finally knowing her name.
I had a rich boyfriend and he was cheating scum. I highly doubt ever wanting to get married. Men are treacherous, untrustworthy creatures and experience taught me never to become attached, never to love. Love is a death wish.
We’re the untrustworthy ones? Heh. Like women can be trusted.
But I am pleased to hear she shares my attitude toward love and primitive matrimony rituals. I’m quite certain that young women who aren’t preoccupied with love and marriage are a rare breed. I briefly consider setting up a foundation to conserve this exceptional phenomenon. The Mi-Ok Foundation.
They clink their bottles.
Alcohol is gross. I have to choke down at least one of these – I can’t insult my friends, they went through so much trouble – but ugh, this is so disgusting.
A Korean who hates soju? She’s even rarer than I thought. One in a thousand. One in fifty thousand. Truly magnificent.
They light the candle. “Make a wish when you blow it out.”
My first ever birthday cake. First time blowing out a birthday candle. I want to make the most of my wish.
She mentally prepares a neat wish-list.
Finish school summa cum laude. I don’t really care about grades that much, but I like that she’s ambitious.
Find a good job to cover my student loans. Going to SNU might have been a bad call. The tuition is murder.
I’m overjoyed at her proximity. She could’ve been anywhere in the world, but she’s a Korean girl who goes to the Seoul National University. I can’t believe my luck.
Visit Upolu Island. Just lie there on the sand and watch the ocean. Be calm and unworried.
I’ve never heard of Upolu Island, but I intend to check if it is for sale.
Stop blaming myself. No matter how busy I was with school and with work, or that I didn’t give him enough attention. I want my heart to heal or my brain to forget he ever existed.
I want to shake her and tell her the same thing that Jeremy told me, back in Australia – the unfaithful and the betrayed are like schoolchildren with learning disorders. Those who get cheated on aren’t to blame – they just absorb information more slowly regarding their partner’s disloyalty. Those who cheat are similarly not to blame – they are simply easily bored and distracted, requiring more stimulation than their peers.
Through her I experience the pain of my own betrayal anew, and my heart is crushed, flooding me with all the emotions I fought so hard to suppress. Apparently Mi-Ok and I have more in common than a Bubble user.
She blows out the candle. I realize that I’d exhaled the air from my lungs at the same time she did.
“End of record. Would you like to replay?”
And it’s time for another sleepless night.
Chapter Four
I’m thankful that it’s my driver rather than me that’s forced to contend with the brutal morning traffic. My head is still pounding with the combined aftermath of binge drinking and lack of sleep. I can’t keep this up – I have to catch up on my sleep, but this bug is addictive, like a drug.
I’m enslaved by the desire to glance into the very soul of a girl I know nothing about. It’s like a car accident that I can’t help but slow down as I drive by.
But I know I’ll find you soon. I have to.
God, I hope you’re worth the trouble.
I look out the window at the bus next to us. A colorful panel ad covers the entire side – two rising K-pop stars are posing on it with our new headsets. The writing underneath reads: “They won’t change history, but they will look hella good.” I like this ad.
Another ad is plastered hugely on a high-rise across the intersection. The chosen face belongs to Nam-Su, leading actress and current beauty paradigm. A classic choice. She is saying, “Your old headset is history. Record the future in style.”
The Bubble Match Page 3
