Wansu appears in the doorway. “I’ll call the doctor,” she says.
“No.” I wave my hand. “I’m tired is all. I had a tiring day.”
“Oh, more work, then?” Yujun perks up.
“Yeah, something like that.” I feel bad about lying to him. I’ll explain tomorrow when Wansu isn’t here.
“Get some rest, then. Come along, Yujun.”
Wansu has to drag him out. I receive a text a minute later.
YUJUN: I’m staying here tonight. Txt me if you need anything.
I eat my soup and rice and climb into bed. I’m physically tired from the work and emotionally tired from the goblin story. If I never hear another Korean folktale again, I’ll be happy. I need to pick a new book to read to Choi Yusuk. These stories suck. I close my eyes, and the next thing I know my phone is beeping. The number is unknown but I rarely get phone calls.
“Hello?”
A thin, strained voice says, “Son-nim, perhaps you can help me today as well?”
I jump to my feet. “Yes. Tell me where I should go. To Yongsan?”
“No. I text you.”
She sends me her address. I hurry and wash up in under five minutes and head out. It’s barely four in the morning, so I end up walking quite a distance to find a cab. When I arrive at Yang’s apartment building, I’m a sweaty mess. She’s too ill to care. I make her a cup of citron honey tea from the jar of marmalade in the refrigerator and force her onto the sofa. Ten minutes later, the woman is passed out. Quietly, I finish the prep work, rolling hundreds of pork and cheese balls, cutting the vegetables, and mixing up the batter. She barely stirs as I move in and out of the apartment, carrying the food down to her truck. Yang Ilwha’s food has been a comfort to me for almost two months, so despite my lack of a license and my fear that I will screw this up, I drive the truck to Yongsan.
While I know how to do everything, I’m not as proficient as Yang Ilwha. I am going to need help. I text Jules.
ME: Please say that you’re in Seoul and not in Hong Kong or Singapore or Bali
JULES: I’m not in HK, SP, Bali
I ignore the part where she doesn’t admit to being in Seoul.
ME: Come to this address. Wear sneakers. Prepare to work
JULES: U must have the wrong number
ME: This is your KakaoTalk ID!
JULES: Fine. But you owe me.
ME: Hanwoo again?
JULES: No. One of your Chanel bags
ME: Those aren’t mine. Those are Wansu’s
JULES: She gave them to you and you haven’t even taken them out of the shopping bags. It’s a crime. You’re committing a crime
ME: What’re the charges
JULES: Too many for me to type but just know you should be locked up
ME: I don’t doubt it
I’m lifting the window away from the stainless steel counter when a taxi deposits Jules across the street.
“I’m afraid to ask what is going on here.” She sticks her hands into her back pockets and rocks back on her heels.
I grab the chalk to letter the signboard for the day and bark out orders. “There’s a prep sink to the side and some antibacterial soap. Wash up, use a good helping of sanitizer, and pull on some plastic gloves. Maybe wear one to handle the food and use the other hand to handle the money. There are a lot of cash customers, surprisingly.”
“Is this yours? Did Yujun buy this for you? Are you on some variety show with Ahn Sangki and I’m on a hidden camera?” She spins around and then starts finger combing her hair. “You could have at least given me some warning,” she hisses behind a fake smile she points in different directions where she thinks the cameras might be.
“Yang Ilhwa, the owner, is sick, and she called me for help today.”
“She called you for help?” Jules eyes me incredulously.
“It’s a long story, but basically I helped her yesterday and today she was too sick to even finish a cup of tea before she passed out. The food is prepped and it will go to waste if it’s not used, so let’s sell until I run out. We’re usually done at two. You don’t have to stick around to clean up. I can do all of that. I’ll pay you . . .” I’m not earning anything here, but if Jules wants a Chanel purse, then she should have one. “Your pick from my closet.”
“Where did you say the prep sink was?”
The great thing about Jules is that her real-life job is flight attendant so she knows how to handle customers. It’s as natural to her as breathing. She never stops smiling, no matter how much people complain, knows exactly which customer needs an extra serving for free and which needs friendly banter. Her Korean is excellent, and while she might have a slight foreign accent, every Korean who comes to the counter is completely charmed by her fluency. I swear the crowd picks up. Around noon, our supplies are dangerously low.
“I think we might have to close up soon. I’m running out of pork balls.” I swipe my sleeve across my forehead. Working all the fryers has turned me into a giant ball of grease. I don’t remember a time I’ve felt more gross. Once I get home, I plan to take an hour-long shower. Hell, I might even go to a sauna and soak in one of their special tubs.
“Hope you have enough for a group of four because there’s some businessmen headed our way. I’ll tell them that they’re getting a special and charge them more.”
“I honestly believe you could get away with that.”
“Watch and learn, baby.” Jules turns to the customers. “Annyeonghaseyo . . . ”
The last part of her hello trails off oddly.
“Jules? What are you doing?” asks a familiar voice in sharp, formal Korean.
I freeze and beside me so does Jules.
“Ch-choi Yujun,” she stammers, shoving me slightly to the side so I’m farther away from the opening and out of Yujun’s gaze, but it’s too late. He recognizes me.
“Hara?”
I pretend I don’t hear him and hide in the far back of the truck. Not only do I feel gross, but I know I look terrible with my grease-splattered apron, bread crumb– and batter-covered hands, the hairnet; the plastic face shield; the sweat.
“I’m sorry but we’re all out of everything. Closed. We’re closed.”
There’s some Korean chatter beyond the counter. Jules replies, “We don’t speak Korean. No speak Hanguk!” Under her breath she hisses, “How do you close the damn window?”