“Bo-Ra … Bo-Ra? … Ya! Choi Bo-Ra!”

            The girl in the designer blue jeans turned her head a few inches toward her cousin, but didn’t respond. Her eyes remained glued to the stage.

            “Come on – don’t make me yell to get your attention. Look at me. What do you think of my dress? It’s a pre-release from Chanel’s fall collection.” Ye-Rim adjusted the neckline and wiggled her shoulders to perfect the display of cleavage. “Tae-Won loves red.”

            Ye-Rim snuck a sly glance at the young man sitting at her other side.  His purple, silk button-down was open at the neck, low enough to hint at the promise of a carefully sculpted chest.   Ye-Rim sat a little straighter in her seat to see if she could get a better downward view.

Tae-Won threw his head back to laugh with a friend across the table who had told a lame story made funnier after a few drinks, and then out his bottle in salute.  Ye-Rim swallowed as she watched the muscles in his neck tense and contract.  The soft, spiky ends of his jet-black hair brushed deliciously against the smooth skin just under his diamond-studded ear lobe.  She ran her tongue along her upper lip, suddenly feeling brave. Tonight was the night.  Tae-Won was going to be hers.

“The dress is nice,” Bo-Ra responded coldly.  “But what did you eat for lunch?  You look puffy.”

“What?” Ye-Rim whipped her head back to face her cousin.  A horrified flush raced up her neck to her cheeks.  “I didn’t even eat lunch!”

“Who is that?” Bo-Ra nodded towards the stage, unconcerned with the distress she’d just caused.

“Who?  Oh, you mean Seo Hyun-Woo? Oh my God, Bo-Ra, he’s staring right at you. You’re so lucky! All the girls would just die for his attention. ”

“No. The one singing.”

“What? Oh you mean Seung-Bae?  Isn’t his voice just gorgeous? He’s even better tonight than usual.  Don’t bother though, he’s totally conceited. He always ignores the girls who try to talk to him.  Not me of course,” she amended quickly.  “But, I am beginning to wonder if he’s not gay.” Ye-Rim sighed. “His father is Attorney Kim. You know, the one who works for your dad.”

“What?” Bo-Ra’s eyes narrowed. “That’s Kim Seung-Bae?”

“What … do you know him? Ohmagod! Do you like him?” Ye-Rim gawked in disbelief. “I thought you said you’d never date a Korean?”

Bo-Ra ignored the question and rose from her seat. “I have to go. Call me later.”

“What? But you just got back into town! Aren’t you going to spend time with me?”

But Bo-Ra was already gone.

.  .  .  .  .  .

By the time they began their second set, the air in the club was close and steamy. Bodies crowded the main room in tight circles around tables cluttered with half empty bottles and sticky, overused shot glasses. A line of sweat rolled from Seung-Bae’s forehead and down his neck, but he hardly noticed.  His eyes were shut against the glare of the oscillating stage lights and his jittery nerves. He’d lost himself in the euphoric rush of the music, and it was because of this that he didn’t see them enter the club.

When he finally braved a look out into the audience, he stumbled over the lyric his mouth had been in the midst of forming. 

A familiar red-head stood out like a pale flame in the dim, writhing expanse of the crowd. 

Alarm suddenly gripped him.  If asked, he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain why, but he did not want her here, surrounded by this sea of strangers.  He searched the room for Eun-Mi, and finally found the teenager bobbing near the right side of the stage, giddily cheering at Min-Jae as he flailed over his drum kit. 

Seung-Bae glanced at Hyun-Woo, uncertain of what to do, but his friend’s attention was focused on a pretty Korean girl who was stalking through the crowd towards the exit.

As for her, his red-haired impossibility, she glided through the maze of tables, slowly making her way closer to the stage.  Her head was cocked to one side, and her lips were slightly parted, as if fascinated by what she saw before her. 

The pink, cotton sweats he’d bought her in Sokcho had been exchanged for a sleeveless black dress that left the majority of her long legs exposed.  In the candlelight, her hair appeared auburn against her white skin.  She looked elegant and absolutely stunning.  The heads that turned in curiosity and admiration as she walked by agreed with him. 

But she slipped past them unfazed, her attention was completely captured.  Her eyes were locked onto him, and the realization that she liked his singing filled him with a fierce pride. A cocky smile unfurled over his face.

He shifted his focus; instead of singing for the crowd, he began to sing for her.  The audience seemed to feel the sudden change and, like a switch had been flipped, the charge in the room heightened.

She came to a stop in front of the stage, her body swaying with the rhythm of the music.  widened in wonder as her eyes zeroed in on the movement of his lips; she blinked slowly several times, and then her lids narrowed, like a cat basking in the sunlight. 

From a table near the stage, a man in a purple silk button-down shirt stood and took her elbow. He was offering her a seat. Without acknowledging the man’s presence, she allowed herself to be pulled down into the chair next to him.  On the other side of the man, a girl in a red dress glared at them in fury.

But his red-head’s eyes never left Seung-Bae’s face.

Seung-Bae leaned into the microphone and crooned to her.

At the table, the handsome player poured a glass of wine and set it in front of her. 

Seung-Bae squinted; his anxiety swelled as he tried to make out exactly what the guy’s intentions were. 

She ignored the glass, and instead, began rocking in her seat as though hypnotized.  The player leaned in, sweeping her hair off her shoulder to whisper in her ear, and then draped his arm across the back of her chair.

Jealously began to burn in the pit of Seung-Bae’s stomach.  His eyes widened, and his teeth clenched.  He stopped singing while, behind him, Hawk’s fingers danced in an intricate frenzy across the length of his keyboard for his solo sequence.

Seung-Bae pulled in a deep breath threw his nostrils. He’d found her; she belonged to him.  The thought was feverous with obsession, but he didn’t care.

The guy leaned in a second time, the bridge of his nose brushing the delicate line of her jaw. When the man’s lips curled upward into a lascivious grin, Seung-Bae snapped.  Ripping the guitar strap over his head, he let the instrument crash to the floor in a blast of discordant sound. He stormed off the stage. 

The crowd let out a collective gasp then fell silent.

Seung-Bae grabbed her wrist and, pulling her up out of the chair, dragged her across the room and out of the club.

Behind them, still on stage, Seung-Bae’s friends stared, dumbfounded, but continued to play.

.  .  .  .  .  .

Yong-Dae Lee stuck one finger into the knot of his tie and worked it loose.  It had been a long, frustrating day, and he was past ready for a drink.

He’d just entered the club when his cell phone chirped. It was his wife.

“Can you stop before you come home and pick up some diapers from the market?” she pleaded. Their second child had been born two months earlier, and his wife had her hands full.

“Of course, honey. I won’t stay here too long. I just have to put in a quick appearance for the employees. Is there anything else you need?” He smiled at the frazzled tone in her voice as she added a few more things to his list.

He was halfway down the dim hallway that led to the Ruby Rabbit Club’s main floor when a young couple rushing out collided with him.  The woman, a tall, willowy foreigner with pale skin and long slender limbs, slammed into his chest.  His face was suddenly buried in the fragrance of her hair.

Stunned, he watched as the young man pulled her away and bowed a quick apology. The couple rushed out the door.

Yong-Dae Lee stood motionless, staring after them for several minutes before his wife’s distant shouting broke through his bewilderment. He looked down at his hands. In one, he held his noisy cell phone. In the other, three long strands of bright, red hair were caught between his fingers.

“So sorry, honey,” his voice cracked. “I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

He disconnected and slipped the cell into his pocket. Then he lifted the red strands to his face and inhaled.

.  .  .  .  .  .

“That idiot! What the hell is he thinking?”

Eun-Mi bit at her fingernails. She’d never seen Hawk so angry. He stormed back and forth across the stage, packing up gear and tossing it into a haphazard pile.

“Aishh, calm down, hyeong,” Min-Jae pleaded, grabbing his arm.  “The guy from CHS Entertainment didn’t show up anyways.  It’s not that big of a deal. We’ll get it next time.”

“I can’t believe he just took off like that,” Hawk fumed. Pulling away, he slammed the lid of Seung-Bae’s guitar case shut and flipped the lock into place.  “Dammit!”  He yanked his hand back away from the metal clasp that had pinched his finger.

“Come on,” Min-Jae soothed.  “Let’s just go get a drink.”

“You go on,” Hawk waved him away.  “I’m not in the mood. I want to be entirely lucid when I rearrange Kim Seung-Bae’s face.”

Min-Jaw threw his hands into the air and stepped off the stage.

Eun-Mi stabbed the toe of her shoe into the floor and watched Min-Jae make his way to the bar where Hyun-Woo sat halfheartedly fending off a group of eager girls. She wanted to follow Min-Jae, to make sure those girls didn’t try and flirt with him too, but now that the fun had ended so badly, the faint lighting and drunken noise of the club frightened her.

“Oppa,” her voice came out smaller than she’d intended. She cleared . “Can I ride home with you guys?”

Hawk stopped his flurry of packing and glared back at her.  “This is all your fault, you know that, right?  Why did you bring her here anyways?”

Eun-Mi shrugged her shoulders up near her ears.  “She wanted to see him. She was upset.”

Hawk shook his head. “Really? You’re sure that’s the only reason?” His voice grew louder, and she cringed. “Just take the bus home, that’s how you got here, right?”

Eun-Mi didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it. She began to cry.

After a minute, she felt a hand touch the top of her head.

“Come on, genius.” Hawk tousled her bangs. His voice had softened. “Grab a case and help me get this stuff into the van.” 

.  .  .  .  .  .

Min-Jae rubbed his hands together and his lips like a greedy kid who’d just been gifted free reign at a candy store – an eye candy store. He sauntered up to the bar where Hyun-Woo sat surrounded by a group of fawning girls.  His friend was perched on the edge of a barstool with one hand resting playfully on the shoulder of a tiny beauty in pleated, white shorts, but Hyun-Woo didn’t look interested. Instead, he glanced around the club as if he were looking for someone and took occasional sips from his beer bottle.

Hyun-Woo was the epitome of distracted coolness – and Min-Jae was his acolyte.

Min-Jae had learned all the moves he knew from watching Hyun-Woo in action. And tonight, he was confident that the knowledge he’d gleaned along with his own sprinkling of inspired prowess, and a little luck, were bound to at least get him a date. 

With the smoothness of self-conviction, he slid up to the target he’d identified as his most promising bet, a luscious girl in a tight, neon-blue mini who stood on the outskirts of Hyun-Woo’s fan club.

“Did you enjoy the music tonight?” he growled into her ear.

She gave him a disdainful once over before turning her attention back to Hyun-Woo’s modelesque sulk. Min-Jae blinked and reformulated his strategy.

“You know, I’m the drummer,” he confided, snaking one arm around her waist. “If you’re lucky, I might let you buy me a drink.”

            “Park Min-Jae!” a familiar voice thundered behind him.

“Omo,” Min-Jae pivoted in alarm.  “Abeoji?  What are you doing here?”

The crowd at the bar turned with him.

His father’s face transformed before Min-Jae’s eyes, deepening from a rosy-pink blush to an angry violet as rage tightened the Pastor’s normally composed features.

“What?” His father stammered. “You told me Seung-Bae had called and you boys were performing after all! Why wouldn’t I be here? I came to make sure he was alright! I even brought Pastor Kyoto to see you perform!”

Pastor Kyoto gave Min-Jae a friendly wave and then politely turned his gaze upward to examine some interesting watermark on the club’s ceiling.

“Why is your arm around that girl’s waist?” His father bellowed.  “And what did you just say to her? That is NOT how I raised you to act!”  Pastor Park stabbed his finger towards the floor in an effort to reinforce his point.

Min-Jae snatched his arm back as if it were on fire.  The girl in the blue mini let out a disbelieving puff of air. She rolled her eyes and tossed her long, brown hair over one shoulder. The crowd at the bar sniggered.

“Forgive me Abeoji,” Min-Jae gave his father a quick bow and, pleadingly, rubbed his hands together.  “I have to go help pack up the gear,” he grinned, pointing over his shoulder and backing away.

“Park Min-Jae!” his father barked after him.  “Just wait until you get home!”

Min-Jae broke into a mad sprint. He leapt onto the stage and disappeared down a back hallway.

Pastor Park turned to his old friend with a frustrated sigh.  “You know,” he confessed, “I’m not sure if I’m more upset over the fact that he was treating that girl so disrespectfully or the fact that he actually seemed to think that pick-up line would work.”

Pastor Kyoto chuckled. “If I remember correctly, some of your old lines were much worse.”