Skin Deep

by Sung J. Woo

  His words touched me more than I thought they would.

  “Thank you,” I told him.

  Kim returned with a black sport coat for Park and told us that the helicopter was ready. He lead us to the elevator, and the four of us rode it up.

  I’d seen enough movies to know that helicopters kicked up quite a bit of wind, but goodness, it was like being in a cyclone. It was a huge red, white, and blue thing, with “AW189” embossed on its side. The noise was deafening as we neared the spinning blades. I shielded my eyes to keep the debris away.

  I got in. The seats, arranged in an inviting circle, looked like La-Z-Boys and felt likewise. Kim strapped me in. The doors closed. The helicopter lifted away from the concrete pad atop the building, and we were up in the air, the island of Manhattan growing ever smaller. This was turning out to be a very long day, and ensconced in the luxurious softness of this utmost first class seat, I felt an overwhelming need to nap. I slept. Boy, did I sleep.

  81

  Flying into Athena on a helicopter was something that everyone should experience. Seeing Athena Falls from above, I realized I’d never seen it from the top, the foamy water falling over the edge as if to say, “I give up.” The gorges were even more gorgeous, the cavernous gap between two monolithic cliffs that became Autumn Creek written on the earth like a signature.

  We flew past the city and headed northwest, above an endless array of brown fields. Whatever crops that had grown were now wrapped into enormous cylindrical bales, stacked into triads. A few minutes later, Lake Selene came into view to the left and Llewellyn College on the right.

  We descended onto the athletic field. There were a few students running around the track, but they were quickly shooed away by Park’s guards. By the time we landed, four of his men were on the grass, surrounding the helicopter.

  Park tapped his gold Rolex. “3:04 p.m., Ms. Collins. Plenty of time for your class.”

  “I can go?” she asked.

  Park nodded.

  She unstrapped herself from the seat and jumped down from the open door like a rat let out of a trap. She looked back twice, as if afraid of being followed. Poor woman.

  “I hope we will not have to involve her going forward,” Park said.

  “Because she’s suffered enough,” I said.

  “Because I find her diffidence exhausting.”

  “Mr. Park,” Kim said, getting off his phone. “Vera Wheeler is at the Selene Police Station.”

  “Good. And where is Cleopatra?”

  Kim got back on his phone and texted, then waited for a response. “She’s on her way back to Manhattan from Krishna.”

  “And my daughter?”

  “She’s in class.”

  “I would like to see Grace first. Please make sure Wheeler stays at the police station so we do not waste time locating her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kim said.

  Park rose from his seat, so I did likewise. As we made our way out of the helicopter, he said, “Brent told me the girl who had the abortion was Penny Sykes, who was at one point living with my daughter at her dorm.”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “So my daughter is involved as well.”

  “She and a male friend engineered the pregnancy at Cleo’s request. They were childhood friends—Christopher Vachess?”

  Park shook his head. “Running a multinational conglomerate is a time-consuming affair.”

  As we left the field and entered the parking lot, a car identical to the one Kim drove Collins and me to New York City pulled up, a white Mercedes with black seats. Couldn’t be the same car since that one was sitting in the garage in New York City. Kim was once again behind the wheel.

  “Did you guys get a bulk discount from the dealership?” I asked him after getting in the back seat with Park.

  Kim ignored me. “Grace is in an English seminar taught by a Professor Lawrence Marks.”

  “I know Marks,” I said.

  “Good,” Park said. “Then you can remove her from her classroom so I can talk with her.”

  It was an overcast day at Selene, yet again. Kim drove us down the hill and made a left onto the main campus. Park took in the scenery, which had turned browner, more desolate, since I was here a few days ago. The Llewellyn clock tower rang its half-hour rueful resonation.

  “It is very quiet here,” he said.

  “Even with the addition of male students, it’s still a very small school,” I said.

  “I have not been an active participant in Grace’s upbringing. I’ve left that to my wife. Perhaps that was a mistake.”

  I recalled what Craig had told me about Park Industries, how it exerted its powerful financial muscle to get what it wanted. Park was serious man, a frightening man, but still, a man—with a wife and daughter he could not control.

  “I was adopted by an Irish father and a Swedish mother, so I had some emotional bumps and bruises growing up. It probably would’ve been even more challenging if I only had the guidance of a single parent.”

  Park nodded to himself and kept staring out the window.

  Kim pulled up at the entrance of Grover Hall. Park and I got out and climbed the twenty or so steps that led to the building’s entrance.

  “I find the architecture attractive,” Park said. “Such as that gargoyle above.”

  I hadn’t noticed it until he pointed it out, the stone statue shadowed by the tall elm that stood above it.

  “It’s a nice campus,” I said.

  At the top of the steps, he turned back. From here, under steely clouds, Lake Selene was like a sheet of gray ice, absolutely still. “Quite pleasing to the eye,” he said

  Like the class I’d attended earlier—or not attended, I did leave before it started in earnest— Professor Marks was in 107, which still resembled a large dining room. Marks sat at the head of the table nearest to the door, and there was Grace, on the opposite end of the table. When I turned to Park, I noticed he wasn’t anywhere close to me. He was on the other side of the hallway, motioning for me to get her. Was it my imagination or did he seem…nervous?

  I knocked and then entered.

  “Well, well, well,” Marks said. “Are you making your triumphant return to my classroom, Detective?”

  “Not so much,” I said. “I need to borrow Grace for a minute.” Grace wasn’t fond of seeing me, but tough tarts. I whispered into her ear. “Your father is here.”

  Grace, her hair tied in a tight bun, initially looked at me with suspicion, but that gave way to a smile that echoed her father’s words in my brain: youth is an automatic kind of beauty, an effortless beauty. Unadulterated joy bloomed across her face.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “See for yourself,” I said.

  As soon as I opened the door to the hallway, she threw her arms out and ran toward him.

  “Daddy!” she squealed.

  “Hello, my precious gongju,” he said. Korean for princess. From where I was standing, I had a good view of Park’s face as his daughter sank herself into him, and the softening of his expression, of his whole body, really. It explained a lot. I wondered if his reaction to his wife would be any different.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually here! You missed Parents’ Weekend last month…you said you’d be there…”

  “I was in Shanghai, unfortunately.”

  “You’re busy, I know.”

  “Going forward, I promise to be present for you.”

  “You mean it? Really?”

  “I give you my word,” he said.

  “Why is she here?” Grace asked, throwing me the evil eye.

  “Ms. O’Brien is here to perform her duties. She told me about…”

  He looked at me, paused, then focused back on his daughter.

  “…actually, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “I wish she’d go away,” Grace said.

  “Today will be the last day
you will see her,” Park said.

  “Goodie. Will you stay for dinner?”

  Park cupped her face with his hands and kissed her forehead.

  “Of course.”

  After another hug, Grace ducked back into her classroom. Park straightened his shirt and retraced his steps back to the entrance of Grover Hall.

  “You look like you want to say something to me, Ms. O’Brien.”

  “Do I?”

  “I am aware you do not have children of your own. If you did, you might understand.”

  “I may not have kids, but I was a kid once. And if my parents had not called me out on my screw-ups, then I would’ve become a different person.”

  “She is my only child,” Park said. “And this discussion is over.”

  We descended the stairs outside in silence. Brent Kim was waiting for us. He opened the door for Park then entered the driver’s seat.

  “Whatever happened to ladies first?” I said.

  “Would you rather walk to the police station?” Kim asked.

  I ran around the car and got in.

  82

  The three cruisers in front of the Selene Police Station were all blocked in by a trio of double-parked white Mercedes sedans. A fourth car, a black BMW, was not. I recognized this one: it was Vera Wheeler’s.

  As we made our way to the entrance, Kim barked into his phone in short, clipped sentences. The glass door swung open and was held there by one of his guards. The precinct was like every other two-bit small-town station I’d been in, a reception desk in front, two large desks in the middle, beige filing cabinets against the far wall, and an office with a window in the back. It could’ve been a bank.

  All four chairs were presently occupied, three of them by Selene officers, one of them by Wheeler, who was her usual coiffed self in a white silk blouse and snug white skirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, giving her that Sharon Stone Basic Instinct vibe. Hovering over them were four of Park’s men. The cops did not look happy. The only logical explanation was that they were all being held there by the guards, as per Park’s instructions to make sure Wheeler didn’t leave. I guess for some reason, the command was extended to the police force as well.

  “Brent, what is this? You’re holding me, and this entire police station, hostage?” Wheeler asked. Then she saw me and her exasperation turned to disgust. “Oh my god, will you please get a fucking life and leave me alone?” Her attention then went to Park, and I could see she was struggling to place him. And when she did, her entire demeanor changed. It was kind of comical, seeing her run the gamut of her emotions in such a short amount of time. Her voice turned silky smooth. “Mr. Won Ho Park?”

  “That is correct.”

  She rose and offered her hand. He shook it.

  “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m not sure how much Cleo has told you about myself and Llewellyn…”

  “Not much at all,” Park said, “and that is my preference.”

  Wheeler was trying to figure out just why Park was here. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. That might have been the smartest move she’d made all day.

  The front door opened again and in came my old friend, Officer David Girard.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  “We’re here to escort Ms. Vera Wheeler back to campus,” Brent Kim said. “My apologies. It seems like my men may have gone beyond their call of duty.”

  The veins in Girard’s neck stood out like cables. “You guys think you run this town, but we are the law. You understand? We’re the U.S. fucking government.”

  “Your officers were not…”

  In the time that it took for Girard’s right hand to slide to his holster, which was maybe half a second, Kim picked up the stapler and flung it from where he was standing. The stapler smacked right into Girard’s hand. And before he could scream out in pain, Kim had blazed past me and had Girard in an arm lock that looked like the one he’d used on Beaker back at Llewellyn’s gymnasium during the basketball game. The stapler throw, the dash, the arm lock —one action flowed into one another, as if they were part of some violent modern dance.

  “Ms. Wheeler,” Park said. Her attention was on Girard, who was grunting under Kim’s grip. “Ms. Wheeler,” Park said again.

  Wheeler, like everyone else, had been frozen by the furious action. “I’m sorry. Yes?”

  Park handed her the sheaf of financial papers I’d brought for him to see. “Your college is experiencing cash flow issues.”

  She only had to look at the first few pages to know what it was. Despite the redness creeping into her cheeks, she put on her best smile. “Where did you get this?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Wheeler considered her response. “I suppose not.”

  Kim handcuffed Officer Girard and left him on the floor.

  “This is not the way I’d envisioned this meeting,” Wheeler said. She stood up straighter, drew in a substantial breath, and expelled it with vigor. “But it is what it is. When the world gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Mr. Park. May I please have your attention?”

  Park leaned against a desk and crossed his arms. “In this analogy, I am the lemon?”

  “I like your sense of humor.”

  “And I like your sense of flattery.”

  She was a stunning woman when she wanted to be. When she exuded confidence like she did now behind that playful smirk, she was that eighteen-year-old blonde runway model again.

  “Your men here, when they were preventing me from leaving the station, they told me their boss was visiting the college. I didn’t understand what they’d meant, but I do now. You were visiting Grace.”

  “I spoke with her, yes.”

  “And I hope you got a chance to see the campus.”

  “From the top step of Grover Hall, I found the view visually arresting.”

  Wheeler placed a hand against her heart. “That is one of my favorite spots. As lovely as that view is, you should see the one on the north side of the building. It faces the quad and in springtime, the magnolias are in bloom and they are a sight to behold.”

  “You paint a lovely picture,” Park said.

  “Your wife is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Last year Architectural Digest featured your Manhattan penthouse. I’ve read about your art collection—that Chuck Close you own is a real find, the only one from his early period that features a model who could be an actual model.”

  “Not many people recognize that about Jane II,” Park said.

  “I do. Because like you, I’m a believer of beauty, as a commodity, as a currency. The work we’re doing in Travers Hall is just the beginning. I want to empower Llewellyn women through beauty, and the only way to achieve that is to transform the subjective aesthetic into an objective science. I know you understand, Mr. Park. The last thing I wanted was to share my ideas to you in a police station. I’ve been working on a multimedia presentation for over a year, one that I hope you will still let me show you.”

  Everything clicked, and it pissed me off.

  “So instead of helping Penny,” I said, “you took advantage of a terrible situation—Grace’s desperate desire to appease her mother—so you could lure Cleo Park. But she wasn’t your endgame because you needed more than a couple million to save your sad little beauty school. Only her husband could supply you with a bigger hoard of cash.”

  “Call it whatever you want,” Wheeler said. “But for me, it’s a cause. It’s bigger than me, it’s bigger than all of us. We’re talking about a revolution, a paradigm shift in the way we consider the true value of beauty. You see that, don’t you, Mr. Park?”

  Park betrayed no emotion. But behind those dark eyes was the cold analyst, taking her words apart, weighing them on the scale of his mind.

  The door to the station opened once again, and a tall man with short gray hair who looked like he was born wearing a uniform entered. Barrel-chested and military,
I’d seen this guy before but couldn’t remember his name.

  “Chief,” Officer Girard said. “You wouldn’t believe what’s been going…”

  “Shut it,” he said. Sumner, that was it, Selene’s chief of police. He walked up to Park and shook his hand.

  “Mr. Park,” he said. “Commissioner Quirk called me directly, and he doesn’t do that often. I’m Everett Sumner.”

  Sumner told all of his officers to take a walk except for Girard.

  “Is it true a Llewellyn student is missing?” Sumner asked Girard. “Penelope Sykes?”

  Girard looked to Wheeler, who rolled her eyes.

  “She’s fine,” Wheeler said. “Causing way too many problems, not to mention that she was a danger to her own well-being.”

  “That’s called kidnapping,” Sumner said. “A felony.”

  “Not if it’s what she wanted. Not if she signed all the proper, legal waivers to secure personal privacy as an eighteen-year-old adult.”

  “So she wouldn’t cause any more ruckus to interrupt the Cleo Park dog-and-pony show you were putting on,” I said. “You know she’s got Graves’ Disease? That her medication has run out, and without it, she could die?”

  From the look on her face, it was obvious this was news to Wheeler, but she wasn’t about to be denied now. She stood up straighter and said, “Penny’s fine. Nobody’s reported that she’s ill.”

  “You actually call yourself an educator,” I said. “You’re sick in the head. Where the hell are you keeping Penny?”

  “Well?” Wheeler said to Park. “Do I have your interest, Mr. Park?”

  Park walked right up to her. In her heels, Wheeler stood a good foot taller, but it was she who seemed tiny next to Park.

  “It feels as if you are using a human being as a bargaining chip.”

  And here it was Wheeler who surprised me.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Park smiled, then laughed.

  “You are an interesting woman, Ms. Wheeler,” Park said.

  “Will you help my school?”

  Either Wheeler was a few beers short of a six-pack or she had balls of steel. Maybe they were one and the same.