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For what felt like the umpteenth time, I glanced down at the phone in my hand, then let out a long sigh and set it down beside me. To pull my consciousness away from the phone, even just a little, I got out of bed and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window.
From Tsim Sha Tsui on the western edge of the peninsula to Kowloon Bay in the east, the view stretched out before me, unobstructed.
When people talk about the Hong Kong nightscape, the most famous view is generally the one overlooking the entire city from Victoria Peak, and the next most popular is supposedly the view of the densely packed skyscrapers on the main island from the peninsula side. That’s what my Noona and Hyung told me, but for me, the scenery before my eyes right now was more than enough.
The buildings that rose right up to the harbor’s edge and the lights illuminating the waterfront were different from the view of our port from the hill at my grandfather’s house, and different from the Seoul nightscape I used to look down on from the bench on my rooftop.
It felt like proof—proof that I had come to a very distant place that had never been in my life’s plans, that I was exposed to a very unfamiliar situation.
This room I was standing in was the same. Even after spending two nights here, it still felt strange and awkward, as if I’d been invited into someone else’s dream.
In the span of a few months, my environment had changed several times, the people I spent time with were different, and unexpected events and experiences had piled up… and now I had drifted all the way to this unfamiliar city. I couldn’t believe that this entire journey was my own past, a path I had walked. It felt as unreal as the Hong Kong nightscape I was gazing at through the thick glass.
—♬
I turned around.
Set to a ringtone unlike my usual one, the phone on the bed was flashing, punching out a monotonous tune. My heart reacted with a jolt, letting me know this was not someone else’s dream. Goosebumps spread from my back, under my arms, and down my sides, covering my whole body. The reaction of my body was perhaps the most vivid reality of all.
At least in this moment, even if it was a dream, it was my own.
“…Yes.”
[Come down. I’m in front of the main entrance.]
His voice was no different than usual.
That was all he said.
I took a deep breath and left the room.
The elegant hallway decorated with beige-toned marble, the elevator hall, the grand lobby where splendidly dressed people came and went—they all felt just as awkward. I needlessly rubbed the arm exposed below my short sleeve and quickened my pace, heading out the main entrance.
I was looking left and right for him or his car when one of the doormen approached and guided me, saying, ‘Mr. Liu is waiting.’
The car waiting at the front of the hotel entrance was different from the one I’d taken from the airport. It was much smaller, but a luxury vehicle all the same.
He was in the back seat that the doorman opened for me. From the inner seat, he gave a slight tilt of his head, a gesture for me to get in. As I awkwardly climbed into the back, the doorman closed the door, and the car, which had been waiting with its hazard lights on, began to move smoothly. Unlike the ‘Phantom’ he had driven himself last time, this car’s driver’s seat was on the right to suit Hong Kong’s roads, and an unfamiliar middle-aged man was at the wheel.
“We’ll end up drinking when we meet them anyway. This is our driver for today.”
“Oh… yes.”
Noticing my unease, he introduced the driver. I offered a short greeting in English, and the kind-faced driver glanced back and responded with a silent nod.
Yuni-noona and Juhan-hyung had gone out as soon as they got back to the hotel, saying they were going to enjoy Hong Kong’s Friday night. I had told them I’d rest a bit more at the hotel and contact them later. His plan was for me to join them after we met with Ms. Han.
“Did you eat something in your room?”
He asked with a slight chuckle, as if my timid demeanor while greeting the driver was amusing. He was fiddling with a camera of some sort. It was a small camera that fit snugly in his hand.
He had told us to use room service for anything we needed during our stay, but I wasn’t in a state to swallow anything. I didn’t even feel hungry. I fiddled with the zipper of the bag I had set down beside my thigh and shook my head.
“There’s no need to be so nervous. She’ll make you feel comfortable.”
His reassuring words were a small comfort. I nodded slowly. His gaze lingered for a long time on my hand, which was fiddling with the zipper. It was the kind of look that… as if to tell me not to be nervous, he might reach out and hold my hand tightly. It was probably just my imagination, and it didn’t happen.
After leaving the hotel entrance and passing a large shopping mall, the car was entering the Soho area via a narrow, uphill road. It was a street I had so wanted to see, but right now, it didn’t register.
“When you meet her… what do you want to do?”
“Ah…”
I turned my gaze from the window, where it had been resting meaninglessly, and looked at him. I hadn’t even considered that I was allowed to do what I wanted or say what I wanted to say. After a dazed, soft exclamation, the words that came out of my mouth were just as feeble.
“Should I have prepared something to say in advance?”
He had been watching me, his head propped on his elbow against the window. He shook his head and sat up straight.
“No, it won’t matter. Like I said, she’s someone who puts others at ease. Unlike me. Call it prejudice or what have you, but it’s true she has a personality quite rare for an artist.”
As he said this, he took a pack of cigarettes from a compartment in the armrest between us. Then, after a quick glance out the window, he put the cigarettes back and instead slung the long strap of the camera around his neck.
The car was slowing down on the bustling streets of Soho.
Soho on a Friday night, a mix of people of all races, was abuzz with music spilling out from various pubs and the laughter and shouts of people already in high spirits.
We got out in front of a corner building, with a steep, uphill road between it and the building across from it. A café with a small terrace was on the first floor, and at a table on the terrace, a group of about five, a mix of Westerners and Asians, were drinking bottled beer and chatting cheerfully.
“This way.”
While I was wondering if we were really meeting Ms. Han in a place like this, he led the way toward a staircase that connected to the second floor. As if it were a familiar place, he unlocked the electronic lock on the entrance to the stairs. Like most buildings in Soho, its exterior was old and worn, but the inside was remarkably modern and minimalist.
After climbing the white stairs, which I felt hesitant to even step on, we came to a white door. The interior I entered after him was white in every direction.
It reminded me of the first time I’d stepped into the Phantom. But this was far from the kind of strictness that demanded cleanliness and purity, as if not a single speck of dirt was allowed.
A white tile floor, a white ceiling, white walls. And in the very center, a white table and chairs, resting in tranquility.
Just a few steps away, the entire street was in a frenzy, but this space seemed to be filled with the light of midday.
It reminded me of the… cozy, bright light that used to illuminate the living room of the old apartment where I lived with my mother and father. It was that kind of white.
“This place is…”
“Suki Kim’s studio.”
“……”
“Have a seat and wait a moment. She’ll be out soon.”
I had thought we would meet her at a restaurant or some other external place he had arranged; I had never imagined she would allow an outsider like me to visit her studio.
Just the awareness that I was in Ms. Han’s studio was enough to make my hair stand on end—it was that big of a deal to me—but he, having casually dropped this bombshell, disappeared calmly down a hallway in the back.
He had told me to sit, but I only set my bag on the table and stood frozen, facing the direction he had disappeared.
The sound of a door opening and closing, the footsteps of two people, the sound of a casual conversation—someone complaining lightly about something, the other making an excuse—grew closer. And then, from the end of the hallway, Ms. Han appeared with him.
“Welcome. It’s nice to meet you.”
She’s taller than I expected from her photos… Other than that stupid thought, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t believe this situation, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Ms. Han until she came right up to me and offered her hand for a handshake. Worried that I might have seemed rude, I quickly lowered my gaze and took the hand she offered.
It was a thin, gaunt, neat, and warm hand.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I heard about you from A-wei.”
Ms. Han said this, gesturing toward him standing a step behind. Then she turned her whole body to look back at him.
“Ah, do they call you Kun in Korea?”
As if it didn’t much matter what he was called, he shrugged, his hands tucked into his jeans. The two of them seemed to be on much friendlier terms than I had expected.
“In Hong Kong, we often make a nickname by taking one character from a person’s name and adding ‘Ah’ in front of it.”
Ms. Han explained, turning back to me.
An unexpected, small mystery was solved.
Most people called him ‘Kun,’ but I remembered Shu-shu calling him by a different name on the day of the VIP event. It was definitely ‘A-wei.’
If they had spent their student days together in Hong Kong, it wouldn’t be strange for her to call him by his Hong Kong-style nickname. It might not be a sign of a special relationship… like a nickname between lovers or something similar.
“The art fair is tough, isn’t it? So chaotic. You’re working hard.”
Ms. Han gently took my arm as if to encourage me. The atmosphere was so friendly, as if we had always chatted like this in this very spot. I didn’t sense any guardedness, sensitivity, or the peculiar eccentricity sometimes seen in the great masters.
“By the way, Shu-shu’s work is getting better and better, isn’t it? I saw an article here in an art magazine that covered the ‘Body to Soul’ exhibition. I enjoyed it.”
“She signed an exhibition contract with a Chicago gallery today. We’re taking all of Phantom’s Shu-shu pieces that were at the fair to Chicago. Once they’re on display in Chicago, it’s only a matter of time before they sell.”
He, who had been standing back from the conversation until then, just fiddling with the camera around his neck, spoke up as he leaned casually against the table. His tone didn’t show any signs of excitement, but he didn’t try to hide the faint smile on his lips.
Perhaps because he was in a collared t-shirt, jeans, and loafers, he looked much more casual and younger than usual today. His posture was more relaxed than when he wore a suit, and the small camera hanging around his neck, which looked like a toy compared to his build, also contributed to that impression.
“Quite the confidence you have there.”
Ms. Han shot me a playful look, as if teasing him.
“The Eastern feel is getting stronger, so they’ll probably go wild for it over there. It’ll create more buzz if we can get her to make a brief appearance at the opening. A few interviews would be even better.”
His remark was unexpected.
I knew he was a dealer who couldn’t judge artworks solely on their aesthetic value, and an owner who sometimes displayed a ruthlessly business-like disposition when it came to marketing, but for some reason, I had thought Shushu, at least, would be special to him.
Creating buzz through the artist’s attractive appearance or factors outside the work itself was merely a tactic for him to raise Shushu’s fame and the value of his work; it surely didn’t mean he treated Shushu’s work as a means rather than an end. There was no doubt that he cherished Shushu’s art. Nevertheless, his comment surprised me.
“My, my, still so aggressive with the marketing.”
Ms. Han once again widened her eyes at me as if seeking my agreement and gave a slight shake of her head. I could sense she didn’t one hundred percent approve of his methods, but she kept it to a playful expression.
His attitude and tone toward Ms. Han were somewhat stiff, but judging by the content of their conversation, they were undoubtedly quite close.
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