Chapter Two

“Meeting the Perfect Actor”- Portfolio Two

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                “Whoa . . .”

                Rae Mi was left speechless as she stared up at the huge billboard occupying one of the tallest building’s she’d ever laid eyes on. There were others like it, all dotted around the city, advertising some sort of new perfume. But it wasn’t the sheer size of the advertisement that shocked her. No, it was the man doing the advertising. A woman clung to his side, a hand poised on his chest. She was irrelevant though, the man ignored her presence. His body was draped over a red sofa, half the buttons of his shirt messily undone. Pink lips were pressed onto a small black bottle; his eyes radiating mischief. They looked daunting, almost like they were conveying a secret message.

                “Are you a fan of that boy Rae Mi? Your jaw’s been hanging there for the past five minutes. Not very attractive for a girl who—“

                “Auntie, this is my first time seeing him. Besides, I don’t like pretty boys.”

                “Ah, you say that now, but you never know.”

                “Can we just hurry to the nearest building? It’s hot out here,” she said.

                “You’re the one who decided to wear a sweater,” Chae Rin stated bluntly.

                Kim Junsu turned away from the bright lights, coming at him. He placed his hand on the back of his head and sent a glare through the small hole between his forearm and his pectoral muscles. The photographer snapped another set of photos, nodding in approval. He waved his hand, signaling a ten minute break and left for the nearest computer to scan the pictures.

                A flurry of hands shot out toward the model, drying his damp hair. Most of it was water to give off a mysterious effect, but some of it was from the heat of the room. Summer had just begun and temperatures had soared to maximum heat levels. Junsu pulled on the collar of his shirt, fanning himself with his hands. Why did he accept this job again? He couldn’t recall if it was because the pay was better or if the photographer had promised a female model that would help him overcome his fear. Either way, he should’ve picked the swimming gear advertisements. If it would help him escape from the heat, he would’ve surely worn those tight diving suits. Too late now.

               “Hey, Trish, I’m going to run downstairs for a sec. There’s air conditioner down there right? Just call me when you need me again,” he shouted to his coordinator.

                A faint ‘yes’ made its way to his ears. Then he was gone, rushing down the stairs instead of the elevator. He breathed a sigh of relief when the coolness of the air clashed with his skin. The weather was unbearable today; he was slowly sinking into a deeper depression about his choice of advertisement. Was it too late to switch? There was a rush of warm air from his left, prodding Junsu to turn in the same direction. Maybe he was seeing things, or it must've been the heat getting to him, but he couldn't help but think he just saw his brother.

                The creases on his forehead multiplied as he bit his bottom lip in deep thought. Was he back? No . . . he couldn't be. Junsu sighed and made light steps towards the silhouette. It wouldn't hurt to look. His right hand hovered over the stranger's coat-covered shoulder but he pulled it back abruptly. The man he'd been eyeballing turned around to meet his gaze, or at least that's what he thought; he couldn't tell on account of the darkly tinted glasses he wore. Plus . . . Junsu winced; you'd think a model would have a better sense of style. That was definitely not his brother. It was just a homeless man seeking shelter from the heat.

                "I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone else," he apologized, bowing deeply.

                Snickering from the homeless man, brought him back into an upright position. He tilted his head in confusion. He didn't quite understand.

                "Don't worry about it. It seems I mistook you for someone as well."

                Junsu's head snapped back in surprise. There was no mistaking it. That voice . . .

                "Hyung . . . ?"

                 More snickering.

                "Ah, my dear brother Junsu, I'll see you again soon."

                And just like that, the man was gone, disappearing from the lobby and into the streets of Seoul. Junsu quickly followed him out the door, but that was as far as he got before he noticed a crowd of screaming adolescents huddled farther down the road the man had taken. Maybe his brother would understand . . .

               "So, where are we exactly?"

               "You'll see, just go to this room and do what they tell you, alright?"

                Sweating profusely, a girl adorned in a thick wool sweater and cotton leggings walked in from the southern entrance. Junsu pictured himself in the hideous sweater and winced. God, how was she living right now? She must've been here for the auditions on the fourth floor. Junsu cocked his head to the left. Look wise, she was perfect; except for that dingy sense of fashion. Didn't she know first impressions determined half the judges' criteria? He extended his forearm to warn her but the woman next to her caught his eye before he could touch her. The slightly older woman grinned and shook her head, shooing him away. Wasn't she supposed to be helping her?

                Rae Mi fiddled with her fingers, shyly looking up from where she sat. Once she'd catch the eye of a few models in the room she'd immediately look down and bite her lip. Why didn't her aunt dress her up better? In the room, dozens of women lined up along the walls; some conversed with other models, while others looked like they were surveying the competition. What they all had in common was the fact that they were all devilishly stunning and everyone was looking at her funnily. Why wouldn't they be? It was the summer season and Rae Mi was clearly wearing fall attire. Models that passed her wondered if she was either stupid or ignorant, maybe both?

                "Will contestants 4, 18, 37, and 59 please make their way to the audition room? Will contestants 4, 18, 37, and 59 please make their way to the audition room?" repeated an automated voice.

                Number 37 was clearly printed out on the pin she wore on the hem of her sweater. Rae Mi stood up abruptly, bowing nervously to the models that had just left the room. One, had tear streaks on her cheeks and was sobbing into someone shoulder—she was the only one. 

                "Good luck, guys. Do your best," Rae Mi winced at the lack of emotion in her greeter's voice. If she didn't know any better she'd assume this person's lack of enthusiasm was because she hated her job; just like how Rae Mi hated modeling.

                "Thanks," chorused the line of models—all except Rae Mi at least.

                The audition room was stripped bare of its contents; remaining furniture included a glass coffee table surrounded by a u-shaped sofa and four chairs neatly aligned in front of them. Rae Mi gulped nervously. Geez, all of them looked like they were in a bad mood. As Rae Mi was transfixed by the sheer emptiness of the room she collided with the other model in front of her. She glared in contempt, leaving poor Rae Mi in shock. She just bumped into her, what was with these people? Rae Mi took a step back from the model, colliding with another body.

                "Ow . . ."

                "S-sorry," she whispered.

                Another step to the side and the next thing she knew, hot liquid was dripping off her chocolate sweater. Everyone in the room froze and turned their attention to the tea puddle forming on the wooden floor boards. Rae Mi's attention, however, was fixed on the man who had been carrying the cups. His navy blue hoodie changed into a darker shade in areas where the tea had gotten caught. He stared down at the mess and glared in her direction.

                "I-I'm so sorry."

                His eyes softened.

               "Um, it's fine. It's just a sweater, right?"

                Park Yoochun bent down next to her and brushed her hands away, using some paper towels instead. He inwardly grinned to himself. Maybe coming today was worth it after all. His search was finally over. The girl bit her lip, her plump pink bottom lip. She had a guilty expression displayed on her face; the emotion in her eyes said it all. Yoochun sat on the heels of his beaten black converse and looked intently at her face. Pretty . . . Her downcast eyes moved to his face once she felt his gaze on her. He confidently grinned back, snickering at the pink clouding her cheeks. Perfect . . .

                "Let's get this audition moving. We still have a few more models."

                "Right," Yoochun replied, eyes creasing underneath his sunglasses.

                He trotted to the black sofa and took a seat. Another judge gestured towards the girl with the number 4 pinned to her shirt. Yoochun wrinkled his nose at the amount of make-up on her face. Gross.

                "Hello, I'm Kim Byul," she introduced.

                "Why are you here today Byul?"

                "Because I like to model," came her immediate reply.

                "Alright, number 18, same question."

                "Kwon Hyo Min. I'm here because I can work any outfit you give me."

                "Hmm . . . okay. Number 59, your answer, please?"

                "Oh, great, intentionally skip me. See if I notice," Rae Mi bitterly grumbled.

                "—I just like being in front of a camera."

                "Right, number 37?"

                "Nam Rae Mi. I want to become a model because—oh, who am I kidding? I don't want to be a model. I'm doing this because of my crazy aunt and so that my grandma won't have to work anymore. She's been taking care of me for far too long. It's time I take care of her."

                Yoochun smiled in satisfaction and turned to see the judges' opinions, but he could already tell by the grim expressions on their faces. He leaned over to peer at their grading sheets; number 4—pass, number 18—pass, number 59—pass, number 37—fail. He rolled his eyes at the outcome, wallowing in self-pity. And here he thought he would actually be looking forward to this photo shoot.

                "Thank-you, girls, for coming today—it was a pleasure to meet all of you. We just need to see one final thing before we go. As you all know, our ice cream is extremely popular with couples and for this advertisement, our prime goal is to pair you up with our main endorser. His name is—"

                "Park Yoochun," three out of four girls blurted out.

                The unsatisfied man in the tea-stained hoodie twitched at the sound of their voices saying his name. Great. Just what he needed, certified fan girls. What he really needed was a professional. His eyes fell on Rae Mi. He glumly pouted underneath his hood at missing a chance to model with her. Damn.

               "Yes, that's his name. We need to test your compatibility with him. He's a high class model and we don't need any amateurs trying to audition for the sake of meeting him."

                That judge was clearly directing his talk to Rae Mi. Hello? Was he blind to the other three girls in the room?

                "This young fellow over here," someone shoved Yoochun to his feet, earning them a glare, "will pose with you for the camera. Let's see the chemistry, neh?"

                "No offense but, wouldn't it be easier if you just let us model with Yoochun?"

                "Why? Not confident you'll make the final cut to meet him?" said Rae Mi, her true personality shining past her nervousness. This was her first audition after all. It was normal to feel cautious.

                "W-what did you say to me?"

                Yoochun wrung his arm around Rae Mi's neck, grinning at her retaliation.

                "Hyung, I think I'm beginning to really like this girl."

                 Rae Mi was mesmerized by the camera lights flashing away at the girl taking snapshots with tea-stained-hoodie-man. None of the girls bothered to step closer to him then an arms-length. Wusses, she thought, crossing her arms.

                “Number 37, we’re waiting on you. It’s your turn.”

                She nodded, to assure herself and stepped towards the neon green backdrop and exaggerated lighting. It was unusually . . . calming in a sense. She didn’t know why but it somehow reminded her of her mother. Well, no duh. Her mother was probably use to this type of atmosphere; she did pose for pictures too. Heck, she was in worse situations. If she recalled correctly, there was a picture of her mom’s cover shot on Cosmopolitan hanging in the lobby of her aunt’s company. She modeled with her father after they got married . . . .

                “Right, so how do you want to do this tea-stained-hoodie-man,” the words casually slipped from . “Whoops.”

                “No worries, it’s sort of true. I think my arms are all sticky from keeping this thing on. Can you help me take it off?”

                For some reason, Rae Mi didn’t trust him. There was this glint in his eyes she couldn’t put her finger on. It was . . . teasing almost. But she reached for the sweater’s sleeve anyway, tugging away at the hem in an attempt to free him. After a few seconds she heaved a sigh of defeat. This wasn’t working. Her eyes traveled back to his face when she noticed why. The hood was twisted backwards covering his face entirely and instead, showing the back of his ebony moderately curly hair.

                 “Um . . . I don’t think this is working out. Do you mind just grabbing the bottom and pulling it over my head? I’d do it myself but I think I’m stuck.”

                Rae Mi rose an eyebrow. Liar. The fool was simply raising his hands in the air as if he was about to go down the slope of a rollercoaster. She shook her head and complied anyway, not fully grasping what he wanted out of this whole dilemma. When she managed to tug the sweater halfway over his head, he slung his arms (still entangled in the sleeves of the hoodie might I add) up and over Rae Mi’s head of hair, giving the impression he was drawing her towards him. His lips curled into a smirk as his finally discarded sweater served as a means of blocking their faces from the camera. From the other side, it probably looked like they were a couple . . . kissing from the people view.

                “I think that’s sufficient. You’re all dismissed.”

                Rae Mi blinked in confusion. But she hadn’t even taken any pictures yet.

                “Hyung, did you get those last couple of shots? Not bad,” tea-stained— err. Who was this guy anyway? And why was he acting all chummy with the photographer.

                 “It’s different from your usual cutesy romantic stuff for sure. Still romantic in a way but it’s more . . . refined? Not bad at all, Yoochun.”

                “The results are up, everyone!”

                “Who’s the main model?”

                “Um . . . number 25?”

                Rae Mi slumped in her seat. Her aunt would be pissed. She failed her first audition.

                “But . . . hyung! You said those last pictures looked different! Why didn’t number—“

                “She changed your image too much, Yoochun. That’s why. We’re not looking for that.”

                “What’s wrong with changing my image? I can portray any part you throw at me!”

                “It’s just not right for what we’re endorsing.”

                “It’s perfect! Why won’t you let her model with me? This could jumpstart her career and help mine; you know how much I want a change in image!”

                The source of yelling and complaints emerged from the audition room in the form of some balding old man and Park Yoochun. Girls waiting in the lounge squealed and ran towards him, enveloping him in a thick crowd of fan girls. They brushed up against him, excitedly speaking in blurs and grabbing any opportunity to touch him. He looked uncomfortable as his manger walked off nonchalantly, leaving him with his fans.

                “Oppa, you’re changing your image?”

                “You don’t have to! We love you as the romantic prince!”

                The expression on Yoochun’s face was undeniable to Rae Mi. It was happy and yet why did she think his somber smile felt forced and hurt. She stood alone by the exit as more people came to flock around the famous model. For a split second their eyes met and that’s when Rae Mi knew he was hiding, protecting his feelings because his fans knew him as no one else except a cute, romantic guy. If he changed who’s to say their feelings wouldn’t change either? Yoochun smiled faintly in her direction before looking down to answer someone’s question. Rae Mi took that as her cue to leave.