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The H&W Gallery on 69th Street was only a short distance from Liu’s apartment, which faced the southeastern edge of Central Park—a five-minute drive or a ten-minute walk on a normal day. But it was a different story on the last day of the year. Not only the roads heading toward Midtown, where the Ball Drop was in full swing, but all of Manhattan’s streets were gridlocked, as if they had turned into one giant parking lot.
But Liu was in no hurry. With his arms crossed, he sank deep into his seat and gazed blankly at the excited, festive faces passing by outside the car window. Although New York’s winters were, on average, warmer than Seoul’s, the cold here strangely had a way of making one shrink more than the actual temperature suggested.
A light rain was even drizzling on the streets, but on the radio, which the driver had turned on low, a reporter was announcing in a high-pitched voice that two million people had gathered for the Ball Drop.
A migraine began to set in as he imagined the two-million-strong crowd packed into Times Square. But of course, it wasn’t the thought of the crowd that was the cause. He was fine when he was focused on work, but the stress was severe the moment he had a spare second. The headaches and insomnia had been going on for months, but the only remedies he had prescribed himself were alcohol and cigarettes.
Liu lowered the window halfway and lit a cigarette. The noise from the street grew closer. A group of five or six people, who looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, passed by, loudly blowing vuvuzelas. Liu extinguished the cigarette after only a few puffs and closed the window.
He wouldn’t have been in such a low mood if he hadn’t received a call from the hotel this afternoon.
Liu had even forgotten he had made the reservation, but the hotel had been kind enough to call and confirm with a customer who had booked a room that cost well over ten thousand dollars a night at an even higher rate than usual, and then failed to show up.
It was a room he had booked on the assumption that he would be coming to New York with Yeehyeon, so that he could watch the Ball Drop in comfort.
To reserve a room with a direct view of the New Year’s Eve Ball drop, Liu had needed to pull some strings and orchestrate a plan. But now it was an unnecessary burden, a gift with no one to receive it.
The hotel employee, who had hesitantly informed him that there would be no refund even if he didn’t check in, disappeared from the other end of the line with a cheerful New Year’s greeting only after hearing Liu’s indifferent reply. The other person may have felt relieved, but afterward, Liu found it difficult to even focus on his work.
He had fled Seoul as if to escape his memories with Yeehyeon, but even here, a place he had never been with him, he couldn’t be free from him.
The headache tightening its grip on his brain, Liu finally started drinking the whiskey prepared in the car. He managed to arrive at his apartment only after slowly finishing two glasses. Apologizing to the driver provided by H&W for not having prepared a separate gift, Liu handed him a tip to make up for it, offered a brief New Year’s greeting, and stepped out of the car. One of the doormen recognized Liu’s car and hurried over, opening an umbrella.
He felt like he could breathe a little only after he got on the elevator and was alone. Inside the respectable luxury condo on the Upper East Side, the festive atmosphere of the streets felt as distant as a festival in another world. It was a relief.
As soon as he entered the front door, he took off his coat, tossed it carelessly onto a stool in front of the kitchen counter, and opened the refrigerator to grab a beer.
Standing in front of the fridge, he drank about half of it in one go and slowly walked to the living room window. He began to drink the rest of the beer as he gazed at the skyline surrounding Central Park, which shone more brilliantly than usual.
In Seoul, the new year’s morning had already begun. Paris… Paris would be a little later, the dawn of the first day of the new year just breaking. He, Yeehyeon, might be starting his day diligently. Or perhaps he was still lying in bed, making his resolutions for the year. Imagining Yeehyeon’s eyes darting about with various thoughts in the bluish predawn light, Liu shrugged and let out a dry laugh.
He had already been in New York for about three weeks for Pettibon’s exhibition with H&W, and after taking tomorrow, New Year’s Day, off and attending the exhibition’s opening event on January 2nd, all of Liu’s mandatory engagements would be over. But he still hadn’t booked a flight back to Seoul.
It wasn’t as if he was going to see him, and whether here or in Seoul, the city was just as empty without him. He couldn’t understand why he was pointlessly delaying the reservation date.
He let out a laugh that was like a sigh at the thought that he was no longer surprised by his own incomprehensible behavior, and turned to get another bottle of beer, which was now empty.
On his way to the kitchen, he stopped at the sudden sound of a bell. It was a call from the lobby. He had a few acquaintances living in New York, but none were close enough to visit without notice. Perhaps the driver had rushed to buy something as a token of thanks for the tip.
But the visitor announced over the intercom was an unexpected person.
About two or three minutes after he gave his approval to send them up, the doorbell rang.
Shushu stood in the hallway, wearing a ridiculous magician-like hat emblazoned with “HAPPY NEW YEAR” and a vuvuzela in his mouth.
“What is this?”
“They gave it to me at the hotel. I brought yours, too.”
It wasn’t a question about his attire, but Shushu answered as such, abruptly holding out a hat he had been hiding behind his back. Liu sighed, turned his back, and disappeared into the apartment first.
“I flew all the way here because I felt sorry for you, thinking you’d be welcoming the new year all alone, and that’s your reaction?”
“Why would you feel sorry for me when I’m making money?”
Liu twisted the cap off a new beer and raised an eyebrow at Shushu, who had followed him in.
“You’re still struggling with the H&W job even though you’re not opening the New York branch. To be honest… you have to see it as a loss.”
The amount he received in exchange for loaning his personal collection and his father’s collection stored in Hong Kong to H&W was by no means a small sum in itself, but since the contract had been signed on the condition of H&W’s cooperation and support in the process of opening and establishing Phantom’s New York branch, it was true that, in the end, it was not a profitable deal.
Chloe Kent had expressed her gratitude for him fulfilling the contract despite the indefinite postponement (effectively, the cancellation) of the New York branch opening, but in business, gratitude had no real value. Liu had to admit that this deal was a complete failure on his part and, as Shushu said, a loss.
“Huh? When did you buy this? Here? Or did you already own it? Did you bring it from Hong Kong?”
Shushu, who was about to sit on the sofa after passing through the kitchen, pointed at the painting on the front wall with a pleased expression. It was the Edward Hopper piece he had bought from his father for Yeehyeon. It wasn’t one of his most famous works, but its characteristics were so distinct that anyone would recognize it as a Hopper.
Liu avoided his gaze, using the excuse of drinking his beer, and vaguely evaded the question. Shushu, too, didn’t seem desperate to know the work’s provenance, as he didn’t press for an answer.
“You got a new sofa, too? And I haven’t seen that dining table before. It’s an apartment you stay in maybe once a year, but when did you… redecorate it like this… ah.”
Shushu’s voice trailed off as he realized that Liu had planned to live in this apartment with Yeehyeon.
Although not as spacious as his homes in Seoul or other cities, he had wanted to start here with Yeehyeon. He had, of course, planned to get a separate studio, but he had already finished converting one of the three bedrooms into an atelier so that Yeehyeon could pick up a brush at home anytime. Just as he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go down to the basement studio where Yeehyeon had stayed, even before coming to New York, Liu had kept that room completely sealed off.
Everything he had prepared to keep him had turned into a thorny snare, tightening around him in reverse, digging into his flesh.
After meeting Shushu’s pitying gaze for a moment, Liu forced a light tone and changed the subject.
“It must have been hard to find a hotel at a time like this. You’ve got some skills.”
“I was a New Yorker for a few years, you know. Pulled some strings. Cost a bit of money, too.”
“Want a beer?”
“Cut back on the drinking.”
“I have to if I want to get even a little sleep.”
“Get a prescription for sleeping pills instead.”
Shushu frowned as he took the beer bottle from Liu.
“You said you came because you felt sorry for me, but you came to nag.”
“You’ve been buried in work for months, not socializing with anyone at all. Are you trying to become a hermit? You still haven’t made up with Inwoo either, have you?”
“What’s the point of making up over every little thing? We’re not kids.”
Taking a seat on the two-person sofa opposite Shushu, Liu leaned his body against the armrest, bent his torso forward, and put on a playful expression.
“Zheng Shuiyan. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’ve been busy preparing for this exhibition. I went to Hong Kong three or four times in the last two months. I’m sorry if my working too hard and not making time to hang out with my friends despite my busy schedule made you worry. Huh?”
But the worried look in Shushu’s eyes didn’t fade one bit. Liu let out a sigh with his lips sealed, put down his beer bottle, and stood up from the sofa.
“Let’s go out. You came all this way because you were so unhappy that I wasn’t hanging out with you, so I should at least have a drink with you. I’m going to take a shower and change. Wait for me. It won’t take long.”
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