Ara

Sujin is hell-bent on becoming a room salon girl. She has invited Kyuri from across the hall to our tiny apartment, and the three of us are sitting on the floor in a little triangle, looking out the window over our bar-dotted street. Drunk men in suits stumble by, contemplating where to go for their next round of drinks. It is late and we are drinking soju in little paper cups.

Kyuri works at Ajax, the most expensive room salon in Nonhyeon. Men bring their clients there to discuss business in long dark rooms with marble tables. Sujin has told me how much these men pay a night to have girls like Kyuri sit next to them and pour them liquor, and it’s taken me a long time to believe her.

I’d never heard of room salons before I met Kyuri, but now that I know what to look for, I see one on every side street. From the outside, they are nearly invisible. Nondescript signs hang above darkened stairways, leading to underground worlds where men pay to act like bloated kings.

Sujin wants to be a part of it all, for the money. Right now she is asking Kyuri where she got her eyes done.

I got mine done back in Cheongju, says Sujin sorrowfully to Kyuri. What a mistake. I mean, just look at me. She opens her eyes extra wide. And it’s true, the fold on her right eyelid has been stitched just a little too high, giving her a sly, slanted look. Unfortunately, the truth is that even apart from her asymmetrical eyelids, Sujin’s face is too square for her to ever be considered pretty in the true Korean sense. Her lower jaw also protrudes too much.

Kyuri, on the other hand, is one of those electrically beautiful girls. The stitches on her double eyelids look naturally faint, while her nose is raised, her cheekbones tapered, and her entire jaw realigned and shaved into a slim v-line. Long feathery eyelashes have been planted along her tattooed eye line, and she does routine light therapy on her skin, which glistens cloudy white, like skim milk. Earlier, she was waxing on about the benefits of lotus leaf masks and ceramide supplements for budding neck lines. The only unaltered part of her is surprisingly her hair, which unfolds like a dark river down her back.

I was so stupid. I should have waited till I was older. With another envious look at Kyuri’s perfect creases, Sujin sighs and peers at her eyes again in a little hand mirror. What a waste of money, she says.

—

SUJIN AND I have been sharing an apartment for three years now. We went to middle school and high school together in Cheongju. Our high school was vocational so it was only two years long, but Sujin didn’t even finish that. She was always itching to get to Seoul, to escape the orphanage that she grew up in, and after our first year she went to try her luck at a hair academy. She was clumsy with scissors though, and ruining wigs was expensive, so she dropped out of that too, but not before she called me to come take her spot.

I am now a full-fledged stylist and a few times a week Sujin comes into the salon where I work, at 10 a.m. sharp. I wash and blow-dry her hair before she goes to work at her nail salon. A few weeks ago, she brought Kyuri in as a new client for me. It is a big deal for smaller hair shops to snag a room salon girl as a client because room salon girls get their hair and makeup done professionally every day and bring in a lot of money.

The only thing that annoys me about Kyuri is that sometimes she speaks too loudly when she is talking to me, although Sujin has told her that there is nothing wrong with my hearing. Also, I often hear her whispering about my condition at the shop, when my back is turned.

I think she means well though.

—

SUJIN IS STILL COMPLAINING about her eyelids. She has been unhappy about them almost the entire time I have known her—before and after she had them stitched. The doctor who performed the surgery was the husband of one of our teachers, who ran a small plastic surgery practice in Cheongju. About a dozen girls got their eyes done there that year because the teacher offered us a 50 percent discount. The rest of us with monolids couldn’t afford even that.

I’m so glad I don’t need any restitching done, says Kyuri. The hospital I go to is the best. It is the oldest hospital on the Beauty Belt in Apgujeong and singers and actresses like Yoon Minji are regulars.

Yoon Minji! I love her! She’s so pretty. And super nice in person, apparently. Sujin stares at Kyuri, rapt.

Eh, says Kyuri, annoyance flitting across her face. She’s all right. I think she was just getting some simple lasering done, because of all the freckles she is getting on her new show. The one that films out in the country with all that sun?

Oh yeah, we love that show! Sujin pokes me. Especially Ara. She’s obsessed with the kid from that boy band Crown, the one who’s the youngest in the cast. You should see her mooning around the apartment after the show ends every week.

I pretend to slap her, and shake my head.

Taein? I think he’s so cute too! Kyuri is talking loudly again, and Sujin gives her a pained look before glancing back at me.

His manager comes to Ajax sometimes with men who wear the tightest suits I’ve ever seen. They’re investors probably, because the manager is always bragging to them about how popular Taein is in China.

That’s crazy! You have to text us next time. Ara will drop everything and go running straight over to you. Sujin grins.

I frown and take out my notepad and my pen, which I prefer over typing into my phone. Writing down words by hand feels more akin to speaking.

Taein is too young to go somewhere like Ajax, I write.

Kyuri leans over to see what I’ve written. Chung Taein? He’s our age. Twenty-two, she says.

That’s what I mean, I write. And Kyuri and Sujin both laugh at me.

—

SUJIN’S PET NAME for me is ineogongju, or little mermaid. She says it’s because the little mermaid lost her voice but got it back later and lived happily ever after. I don’t tell her that that’s the American cartoon version. In the original story, she kills herself.

Sujin and I first met when we were assigned to work a sweet potato cart together our first year of middle school. That was how a lot of teenagers made money back in Cheongju in the winters—we stood on street corners in the snow and roasted sweet potatoes over coals in little tin barrels and sold them for a few thousand won each. Of course, it was only the bad kids who did this, kids who were part of the iljin—the gangs of every school—and not the nerds, who were busy studying for entrance exams and eating cute little boxed lunches that their mothers packed for them every morning. But then again, the ones at the sweet potato carts were the good bad kids. At least we were giving people something for their money. The truly bad ones just took it from them.

—

AS PERILOUS BATTLES were fought over the best corners, I was lucky to have been paired up with Sujin, who could be ruthless when necessary.

The first thing Sujin taught me was how to use my fingernails. You can blind someone, or punch a hole in their throat, if you want. But you have to keep your nails the optimal length and thickness, so that they don’t break at a critical moment. She examined mine and shook her head. Yeah, these won’t do, she said, prescribing nail-strengthening vitamins and a particular brand of thickening polish.

That was back when I still spoke, and Sujin and I would joke around or sing as we manned our cart, and call out to passersby at the top of our lungs. Sweet potatoes are good for your skin! we’d yell. "Gives you health and beauty! And they’re so delicious!"

A few times a month, Nana, the senior girl who gave us her coveted corner, would stop by to pick up her dues. She was a famous iljin member, and had conquered the entire local district in a series of legendary fights. She’d broken her pinkie finger in the last one however, and handed her territory off to us while she recovered.

Although she would slap around the other girls in the bathrooms at school, Nana liked me because I was the only girl in our school gang who didn’t have a boyfriend. You know what’s important in life, she always said to me. And you look innocent, which is great. I would say thank you and bow deeply, and then she would send me off to buy cigarettes. The man at the corner store wouldn’t sell them to her because he didn’t like her face.

—

I THINK I KNOW why Sujin is so obsessed with her looks. She grew up in the Loring Center, which everyone in Cheongju thought of as a circus. In addition to housing an orphanage, it was a home for the disabled and deformed. Sujin told me that her parents died when she was a baby, but recently it occurred to me that she must have been abandoned by a girl even younger than us. Perhaps Sujin’s mother was a room salon girl too.

I told Sujin I liked going to visit her at the Center because no one was there to hover over us. We could drink all the expired drinks donated by grocery stores, and park our sweet potato cart there with no questions asked. But secretly, it scared me sometimes to see the disabled slowly roaming the grounds, their caregivers addressing them in singsong voices.

—

I HATE TO TELL you this, but Taein has also had major work done at my hospital. The clinic manager told me. Kyuri looks at me slyly and shrugs when I glare at her. "I mean, they have the best surgical staff in the world. It would be stupid not to get your face fixed there if you want to be a star." She stands up slowly and stretches like a cat.

Sujin and I are watching her and we start yawning too, although secretly I resent her dig at Taein’s face. I really don’t think he’s had anything done other than veneers. He doesn’t even have double eyelids.

Wait, you’re not talking about Cinderella Clinic, are you? Sujin’s eyes narrow to slits.

Kyuri says yes.

I heard all the doctors there graduated top of their class at Seoul National! exclaims Sujin.

Yeah, they have a wall covered with doctors’ photos and every single bio includes Seoul National. The magazines call it the Pretty Factory.

Isn’t their head doctor really famous? Dr. Shin or something?

Dr. Shim Hyuk Sang, says Kyuri. "The waiting list to see him is months long. He really understands beauty trends before they even happen, and what girls want to look like. That’s so important, you know?"

That’s him! I read all about him on BeautyHacker. They did a huge feature on him last week.

He is a lovely man. And skilled, obviously.

Kyuri waves her hand over her face and winks. She sways a little too, and it’s only when I get a good look at her that I realize she is completely drunk.

Is he really your doctor? Sujin leans forward. I know where this is going.

Yes. I got one of my friends to introduce me without paying the premium he usually charges. She’s had her hairline and her calves done there.

That’s wonderful! Sujin bounces up. "Can you refer me? I really need to fix my jaw and that article said that jaw surgery is his specialty." Only I know that she has been plotting how to ask Kyuri this for weeks and weeks—in fact, probably since they first met. Sujin has often told me that Kyuri’s jawline is the prettiest she has ever seen.

Kyuri looks at Sujin for a long moment. The silence is awkward and she motions for more soju. I pour her another cup and mix in some cold, sweet Yakult for her. She makes a face at me for diluting it.

"Look, I am not saying I regret having jaw surgery. It was the turning point of my life. And I’m not saying that it won’t change your life—in fact, it definitely will. But I still can’t say I recommend it. Also, Dr. Shim’s really busy and that hospital is really expensive. Really expensive, even without the premium. He only takes cash. They say they take cards, but they bait you with such a big discount if you pay cash that you can’t possibly not pay cash. It’s just too expensive, unless you’re an actress who has signed with a major agency, and then he’ll sponsor you. Kyuri downs the rest of the soju and blinks her feathery lashes. Otherwise, you’re going to have to borrow money from somewhere else. And then you have to pay off the interest forever."

Well it’s going to be the biggest investment of my life, and I’ve been saving for a while now. Sujin tosses her head and shoots a quick look at me as she says this. I’ve been doing her hair for free so that she could save up for her new surgery. It’s the least I can do.

I don’t know how much you have saved, but you’ll be surprised at the final bill. It never ends up being that one surgery you went in to get, says Kyuri. Later, Sujin and I will discuss potential reasons for why Kyuri does not seem to want Sujin to get this surgery—does she feel uncomfortable asking Dr. Shim for a favor? Or does she think Sujin might end up looking too much like her? Why wouldn’t she want Sujin’s life to change?

Kyuri sighs and adds she wishes she could save more money. Sujin has told me that it’s hard for room salon girls to save up because they are constantly getting into debt and blowing off steam from work by going to ho-bars and spending money on room boys. I could pay for two surgeries with what most room salon girls spend on alcohol in one night, Sujin said to me once. "You don’t understand the scale of the money they make and throw away every week. I have to get there. I just have to." She says she’ll keep saving until she can stop worrying about how to get through another day, another month.

And whenever she says these things, I nod and smile so that she knows I believe her.

—

SOMETIMES, WHEN PEOPLE ASK me how it happened, I tell them that it was because of a boy. He broke my heart and I lost my voice. Romantic, don’t you think?

I contemplated typing it up and having a little printout ready instead of writing something out every time. Then I realized it would be too reminiscent of beggars on subway cars.

Once in a while, I lie and write that I was born this way. But if I get a new customer that I like, I tell them the truth.

It was the price of surviving, I write. Things are a little different outside of Seoul.

Actually, it would have made more sense if I had become deaf. Most of the blows landed on my ears. Although my eardrums were ruptured at the time, they have gained almost full recovery and I can hear fine. Sometimes I wonder if I can hear better than before. The wind, for instance. I don’t remember it having so many shades of sound.

—

ON MONDAY, Kyuri comes into the salon a little late. She looks tired but waves at me from the makeup chair as I prepare my corner for her blowout. The girl who works at the chair next to mine uses far too much hairspray and I’ve written her many notes asking her to please cut down on the products because the cloying smell and fog from the spray make my head ache, but she just blinks at me placidly and does not change her ways.

After I wash Kyuri’s hair, I bring her iced yuja tea. She sinks into the chair.

The usual please, Ara. She peers at herself in the mirror as she takes a sip. Oh my God, look at my dark circles. I’m a monster today. I drank too much last night.

I take out the straightener and show it to her, my eyebrows raised.

No, just waves, please. She absently combs her fingers through her hair. I guess I haven’t told you, but it’s actually a rule at Ajax. They can’t have too many girls in the room with the same hairstyle, so we get assigned a look for the season. I’m lucky because I got the waves. That’s what men like, you know.

Smiling and nodding at her in the mirror, I put away the straightener and take out the curling tongs instead.

"I make it a point to ask every man—just because I want to know for sure. And they all say that they like long, wavy hair. I really think it’s because of Cho Sehee from that movie My Dove. She was so beautiful in it, you know? And her hair is completely natural, did you know that? She hasn’t dyed it or permed it in ten years because of her contract with Shampureen."

Kyuri prattles on with her eyes closed while I gather her hair in small strips and pin them to her head. I start curling the sections on the left side first, inside out.

The older girls have to try so hard with their hairstyles. It’s really tragic, getting old. I look at our madam and she is just the ugliest creature I have ever seen. I think I would kill myself if I looked that ugly. But you know what? I think we must be the only room salon with an ugly madam. It really makes Ajax stand out. And I think it makes us girls look prettier too, because she is so horrifying.

She shudders.

Sometimes I just can’t stop thinking about how ugly she is. I mean, why doesn’t she just get surgery? Why? I really don’t understand ugly people. Especially if they have money. Are they stupid? She studies herself in the mirror, tilting her head to the side until I right it again. Are they perverted?

—

AT HOME, the only time I ever hang out with Sujin is on Sundays, which are my only days off. During the weekdays, I go to work at 10:30 a.m. and come home exhausted at 11 p.m. So on Sundays, we lounge around the apartment and eat banana chips and ramen and watch TV on the computer. Sujin’s favorite program is this variety show called Extreme to Extreme, where they feature several severely deformed (or sometimes just really ugly) people every week and have the public phone in their votes on who should win free plastic surgery from the best doctors in the country. She loves watching the final makeover, when the chosen step out from behind a curtain while their families—who have not seen them in months while they recover from surgery—scream and cry and fall to their knees when they see how unrecognizably beautiful the winner has become. It is very dramatic. The MCs cry a lot.

Usually she watches it over and over but today she is too excited to stay still.

Kyuri was actually so nice about it when she finally came around. She said that she would talk to the place where she sells her bags, and they would be willing to lend me money for the surgery. She says that’s actually their main line of business—lending money to room salon girls! And then when I am better and everything is fixed, I can find work through her.

Sujin trembles with excitement as I pat her arm. I can’t wait, she says. I am only going to eat ramen until I pay back that loan so fast that there won’t be time for any interest to grow.

She looks giddy. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go to sleep at night and wake up rich every day? But I won’t spend it. Oh no. I will stay poor at heart. And that is what will keep me rich.

What will you buy me? I write. She laughs and pats my head.

For ineogongju, she says, her heart’s desire. She walks over to the mirror and touches her chin with her fingertips. Just make sure you know what it is by then.

—

ON THE DAY of Sujin’s surgeries, Kyuri comes to the salon early so that she can take Sujin in to the hospital and talk to Dr. Shim before he operates. I am going to leave work at 5 p.m. today to be there when Sujin wakes up from the anesthesia.

Thank you for introducing her to such a magician, I write. She is going to be beautiful.

Kyuri’s face goes blank, but soon she smiles and says she likes the idea that she helped add more beauty to the world. Isn’t it so generous of him to fit her in like that for just a tiny premium? He’s usually so busy that you can’t schedule a surgery for months. I nod. At the consultation, Dr. Shim told Sujin that restitching her eyes will not be a problem, and she needs to get both double jaw surgery and square jaw surgery, desperately. He’ll cut both the upper and lower jaws and relocate them, then shave down both sides so that she will no longer have such a masculine-looking jawline. He also recommended cheekbone reduction and some light chin liposuction. The surgeries will take a total of five to six hours and she will stay in the hospital for four days.

He was less forthcoming about how long it will take for her to look completely natural again. Probably more than six months was the most specific answer anyone gave us. Everyone’s recovery time varies wildly, they said. But a girl at the salon whose cousin got it done told me it took over a year for her to look normal. Her cousin still couldn’t feel her chin and had a hard time chewing, she said, but she had gotten a job in sales at a top-tier conglomerate.

When I finish curling Kyuri’s hair, I fluff the curls and then squeeze some of my most expensive shine serum into my hands. I rub them together and comb them lightly through her hair. It smells lovely, like peppermint and roses.

When I tap her on the shoulder to let her know I’m done, Kyuri sits up straight. Her lashes flutter as she gazes at herself with her mirror expression, sucking in her cheeks. She looks breathtaking, with her cascade of waves and carefully made-up face. Next to her, I look even more faded, with my ordinary face and my ordinary hair, which Manager Kwon is constantly harping at me to style more dramatically.

Thank you, Ara, she says, her face breaking into a slow, appreciative smile. She catches my eye in the mirror. I love it. What a goddess! We laugh together, but my laugh is soundless.

—

IN THE HOSPITAL, all I can do is hold Sujin’s hand while she weeps silently, just her eyelashes and nose and lips visible in her bandaged head.

—

WHEN I GET home that night, I find a sheet of paper on the table. It is her will. We had read many news stories about patients who died from flecks of jaw bone getting lodged in arteries, causing them to choke to death on blood filling up in their throats while they slept. I made her stop after the first few articles, but secretly, I read them all.

—

I LEAVE EVERYTHING I own to my roommate, Park Ara, it says.

—

IN THE ORIGINAL STORY, the little mermaid endures unspeakable pain to gain her human legs. The Sea Witch warns her that her new feet will feel as if she is walking on whetted blades, but she will be able to dance like no human has ever danced before. And so she drinks the witch’s potion, which slices through her body like a sword.

What I want to say, though, is that she danced divinely with her beautiful legs, even through the pain of a thousand knives. She was able to walk and run and stay close to her beloved prince, and even when things didn’t work out with him, that wasn’t the point.

And in the end, after she said goodbye to her prince and flung herself into the sea, expecting to disintegrate into sea foam, she was carried away by the children of light and air.

—

ISN’T THAT a beautiful story?

Kyuri

Around 10 p.m., a girl who was not one of us entered our room at the room salon. She was small and expensively dressed, in a flowing bird-patterned silk dress and high heels edged with mink. I’d seen that exact dress in the latest issue of Women’s Love and Luxury and it had been the