all-purpose Korean evasion phrase. Rattail tapped open a new packet of Marlboro Golds, and offered him one. Johnny shook his head. The longer it took to get the body, the better. All the more reason to keep stalling the Doc. And ConGlam. Pleased with the results of the meeting, he laid a fat white envelope on the bar. “I’m waiting for your call, Rattail,” he said in Korean. “Have a good night.”
“ Ye , ye .” Rattail waved him on absently, pocketing the envelope as a hostess in a white satin blouse moved over to take Johnny’s stool.
The taxi pulled up in front of the kalbi place. Sydney checked her Gotcha. Forty-five minutes late—well, so what? The cabby handed her his Pay-dock. Nearly sa man won —fuck. She didn’t have enough cash on her, and her bank account was getting dangerously low. The lipstick company paid its pittance once a month, and OhmEgo wouldn’t make its deposit for another six weeks. In the meantime, she was stuck with Johnny and his greeby part-time work. She inserted her MoPho in the Pay-dock and entered her PIN.
Fare paid, she climbed out of the cab and eyeballed the restaurant window. The place was full of Koreans sitting cross-legged around low tables. Johnny, of course, would be in the back, at a table with chairs.
“Way-tuh!” The driver was waving a white-gloved hand.
“ Sa man won —that was the fare!” she protested, but he opened his door and walked smartly round to the back of the taxi. She stood there, jostled by shoppers and soldiers, and prepared for an argument. These Korean cabbies in their blue uniforms, you’d think they were cops sometimes, the attitude they gave you.
“ Anneyo, anneyo .”
No? No? What was he on about? Shaking his head the cabbie opened the trunk and took out a small Elegance Department Store bag, primrose yellow with silk handles. Bowing, he presented it to her.
“You very beautiful!” he announced. Plucking at his own buzz cut black hair, he nodded proudly. “Sun-shi-nuh. Very pre-tty.”
She peeked into the bag. Omigod —nestled inside, amongst some dainty packages, enclosed in a peach and sky-blue box of its own, was a bottle of “Summer Passion.” “ Kamsahamnida, ajosshi! ” she gasped.
“Los-tuh an-duh foun-duh!” His weathered face radiating self-congratulation, the ajashi marched back to his taxi and drove off. Jauntily swinging the bag, she pranced into the restaurant. Yup, there he was, the only guy in the place sitting on a chair. At least he’d ordered already: a yummy kalbi meal was sizzling on the hotplate in the center of the table.
“You call this six o’clock?” Johnny demanded as she sat down. “You couldn’t even text?”
“Don’t be such a girl, Johnny,” she retorted. “Last time we went out for dinner you spent half the time on your MoPho.”
“Yeah, and last time I was late for a date you threw a shit-fit,” he snapped.
Sydney glared at him across the table and his small, pale blue eyes narrowed into mean little slits, like his mouth. How could she ever have enjoyed kissing a guy with no lips? “So we’re even, okay?” she replied, brightly.
Johnny took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She knew what he was doing: counting to ten. She’d timed him.
“Fine. We’re even,” he agreed, tightly. “I just wanted us to have a nice meal, that’s all. The clients are waiting. And now we’ll have to go home first so you can take that shrapnel out of your hair.”
How come he always knew what to say to cut her down? “Jeez, Johnny.” She heard her voice slide up the register again. “I just had my hair done by a top stylist. Can’t you even say it looks cool?”
Johnny rolled his eyes. But his voice softened. “Hey, babe, c’mon—you look great, okay? Your hair’s just too punky for the clients, you know that. Relax, eat something. Look—I ordered your favorite banchan. ”
He pushed the dish of spicy little fishes across the table and poured her some mineral water. Okay, he
“ Ye , ye .” Rattail waved him on absently, pocketing the envelope as a hostess in a white satin blouse moved over to take Johnny’s stool.
The taxi pulled up in front of the kalbi place. Sydney checked her Gotcha. Forty-five minutes late—well, so what? The cabby handed her his Pay-dock. Nearly sa man won —fuck. She didn’t have enough cash on her, and her bank account was getting dangerously low. The lipstick company paid its pittance once a month, and OhmEgo wouldn’t make its deposit for another six weeks. In the meantime, she was stuck with Johnny and his greeby part-time work. She inserted her MoPho in the Pay-dock and entered her PIN.
Fare paid, she climbed out of the cab and eyeballed the restaurant window. The place was full of Koreans sitting cross-legged around low tables. Johnny, of course, would be in the back, at a table with chairs.
“Way-tuh!” The driver was waving a white-gloved hand.
“ Sa man won —that was the fare!” she protested, but he opened his door and walked smartly round to the back of the taxi. She stood there, jostled by shoppers and soldiers, and prepared for an argument. These Korean cabbies in their blue uniforms, you’d think they were cops sometimes, the attitude they gave you.
“ Anneyo, anneyo .”
No? No? What was he on about? Shaking his head the cabbie opened the trunk and took out a small Elegance Department Store bag, primrose yellow with silk handles. Bowing, he presented it to her.
“You very beautiful!” he announced. Plucking at his own buzz cut black hair, he nodded proudly. “Sun-shi-nuh. Very pre-tty.”
She peeked into the bag. Omigod —nestled inside, amongst some dainty packages, enclosed in a peach and sky-blue box of its own, was a bottle of “Summer Passion.” “ Kamsahamnida, ajosshi! ” she gasped.
“Los-tuh an-duh foun-duh!” His weathered face radiating self-congratulation, the ajashi marched back to his taxi and drove off. Jauntily swinging the bag, she pranced into the restaurant. Yup, there he was, the only guy in the place sitting on a chair. At least he’d ordered already: a yummy kalbi meal was sizzling on the hotplate in the center of the table.
“You call this six o’clock?” Johnny demanded as she sat down. “You couldn’t even text?”
“Don’t be such a girl, Johnny,” she retorted. “Last time we went out for dinner you spent half the time on your MoPho.”
“Yeah, and last time I was late for a date you threw a shit-fit,” he snapped.
Sydney glared at him across the table and his small, pale blue eyes narrowed into mean little slits, like his mouth. How could she ever have enjoyed kissing a guy with no lips? “So we’re even, okay?” she replied, brightly.
Johnny took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She knew what he was doing: counting to ten. She’d timed him.
“Fine. We’re even,” he agreed, tightly. “I just wanted us to have a nice meal, that’s all. The clients are waiting. And now we’ll have to go home first so you can take that shrapnel out of your hair.”
How come he always knew what to say to cut her down? “Jeez, Johnny.” She heard her voice slide up the register again. “I just had my hair done by a top stylist. Can’t you even say it looks cool?”
Johnny rolled his eyes. But his voice softened. “Hey, babe, c’mon—you look great, okay? Your hair’s just too punky for the clients, you know that. Relax, eat something. Look—I ordered your favorite banchan. ”
He pushed the dish of spicy little fishes across the table and poured her some mineral water. Okay, he
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