After days of heavy work and cat-walking on some stage for a campaign, I was free again- just for a couple of days, but however I was free! - And the first thing I did was…well…

            “Seul-Gi!” I barked at my terrier that was wagging his tail in refusal to his daily bath. He wanted to eat before his bath and though I’ve told him million times that it was not good for health, he thought it was the best. I pushed up the sleeves of my off white silk shirt-something old I got from French connection-and grabbed him down to the bath tub. He happened to enjoy the bath than I expected, and I cuddled him up in a soft towel. He had a nice supper of Pedigree-beef, as I watched him with my stomach screaming for food, before he dozed off on my bed. I felt relieved, as if half of my work was done. Of course it was. At least I had no designers telling me what to do and not to, and no make-up artists trying to peel my skin off with the base.

            Next, I helped myself with water and a simple salad-couldn’t risk my perfectly curved shape-and oh! I had a bath before I ate…sorry I forgot that…and shrugged myself into a dark blue slim cut (Dorothy Perkins), A pale white silk blouse (also from French connection) ,with a matching scarf (browns) A coffee colored trench coat (Burberry-spring summer campaign), and brown knee length boots (Prada). Perfect. It looked even better with my hair in a tight knot and Gucci shades and a hand bag from Marks and Spencer.  After locking up the flat, I scampered down to the lift and in seconds, I found myself driving down to French Connection. On a sunny Saturday with no work, Shopping is the best thing to do, I figured. It had been days since I realized that I was in need of a new pair of stockings and make up and some more of my basic needs, but I had no time to get myself out from all the work I had. Fearing if my phone would ring, requiring me for another photo shoot for the next spring summer campaign, I drove down the Seoul streets in my tiny green VW Beatle.

            Work of a model is never as easy as you think. It seems easy when you watch one of us walking down a stage with a mask of makeup and a dress that would take your breath away, but behind the mask, it’s a whole lot of commitment and hard work. And at times like this, once you extricate yourself from the pile of dresses to be worn for another photo shoot, you’d still be waiting for your manager to ring you up and sell you to another label before you could say cheese. All you get by doing this is a few million wons, cloths-it just worth it- publicity and a whole lot of paparazzi photographers haunting your once-beautiful-but-now-complicated life. One day, when I was only sixteen, I walked over to my mum and asked, ‘mum, when you are really giving up on me? Don’t you think I’m big enough to live on my own?’ All I got was a big fat nasty NO. The next chance I took to ask the same all over again was after my graduations, she wanted to know why I wanted to leave her. She knew why. She had been standing in my doorway as I stood in front of my mirror, checking myself out to see if I was ready for it. It’s what I’d been doing every time I had freed myself from all the school work I had then. I’d look at myself, from head to toe, and I already knew I was in good shape for what I was planning to do since I was fifteen, since the day that I went to see a photo shoot of M&S with my dad-who was a photographer and who left me and ran off to France- and I was surely not to give up. On the mirror I had seen a future model. I had a good five-feet-seven-inch height, long and dark but sophisticated hair, healthy tanned skin after weeks spent in France with my dad and his new spidery-long-legged-and-talking-with-a very-bad-English-accent French wife, and clear dark Asian eyes which my long-gone friend thought, happened to catch most of the high-school boys’ attention. I have heard my mother saying I was to do something much better than that, a doctor maybe, or a lawyer or a psychiatrist-in her case, not that I don’t love her but she just seemed to need one- or maybe a journalist, she thought it would suit me in spite of my stunning looks, but a model, she wasn’t very pleased. But my father on the other hand, was very gratified when he found me standing on his porch drooping wet, eighteen and elegant enough so that he could help me find a place in the modelling department. And he did. It was later that I realized it wasn’t as easy as it had been for me to cat-walk in front of the mirror, the only audience being the reflection who was doing exactly the same thing as I was. It just simply wore me out, once I had been sitting alone with my legs in my dad’s indoor pool, wondering if my last running-away-from-home session had worth it. At times I felt like an exhibit, working for my father’s own avail. And now, twenty and still a model, I was back in Korea, a few miles or so, away from where my mother must be living, and mourning for some free time. When I finally get some, I go shopping. At least that helps me keep my mind off for a bit. Spending was easier than earning.

            It took me a while to park my car…okay...to find a better place to park my car, next to a very urban looking vehicle to show off my real social status. I got off the car and paced down the car park in my usual walk, enjoying the sound of heels hitting the floor. The stalls of the mall, for a Saturday it were less crowded, probably because of the rising cost of living by any rate. The sight inside was breathtaking as usual, the golden lights shining over the brightly colored dresses, and people running around through the racks of cloths you could hardly imagine to buy if you were not possessed with a decent job and a full-time salary. The best part was getting recognized by the people around me. I was a runway fashion show model for crying out loud. Plus it had been only weeks since the new Vogue magazine came out with my face all over the place; of course they were to recognize me. And they did. It felt better when getting known among the people, of all, the excessively rich ones, and for a twenty years old model, a life-time opportunity could be waiting somewhere in the crowd. That was the best part of being a model so far. I walked down to the women’s department with a smile plastered over my face. With the corner of my eye, I caught the people watching me, I was basically a celebrity. While my attention was not on where I was going but on who were watching me, I accidently ran into someone, and I was simply startled. Celebs are not normally run into are they? And there I was, wide eyed with astonishment, and my voice singing “Oh la-la!” It was a young lady, probably few years older than me, wearing an attractive ruffled top, matched with a slim cut and pumps.(Top: Harvey Nichols, Slim cuts: Next, Pumps: French connection, I figured. I modelled the shoes once) She smiled at me and I had to smile back. Shoot! Not up to my social status. I quickly hid the stupid smile of betrayal. “Miss. Kim…Oh how glad I am to meet you!” She sounded excited, but the problem was, was I excited? No, I was rather disturbed. This time I forced out a smile. Once, some random person had quoted that a smile was the key for anything or...Maybe he didn’t. I quickly hid my smile and frowned. “Saw you on a magazine few days ago…you showed up on Teen vogue right?” I nodded, trying to find a way to get rid of her. “Ah…well I must say…you have such an impressive personality Miss. Kim...”  Seeing an attractive skirt hanging down from somewhere of a rack, I quickly paced over to it…and the lady followed. I pretended to admire the silky material of the skirt and pulled off my Gucci shades quickly before anyone could notice that I was wearing them inside. The lady stood straight right next to me. I flinched. “Nice skirt isn’t it? You probably should by it…suits your height…” First I thought she was a sales woman. I mean, its possible right? And then again, no…they don’t normally wear expensive Harvey Nichols ruffle tops and once-I-modelled pumps. Or maybe she was from the press, I looked at her searching for a clipboard or a notepad, but no, zero-zip-zilch, no press…but paparazzi don’t generally come to you and steal a photo of you right in your eye sight either… so she definitely was a schizophrenic fan, who goes around bugging all the models that shows up at the mall. I ignored her and made my way through to the place where they have stockings. I quickly fumbled my fingers into my handbag and found the list on which I had written every detail about my clothing inquiries. ‘Black long stockings’-yes-‘Skin colored knee length’-checked-‘black lace stockings for the dinner at the Terrazzo’-

            “Oh yes…stockings, I love the lace one you’ve picked…” I jumped startled. This time she stood too close to me, I quickly moved away. This one surely was a psycho. I turned back to the list, no more stockings, I needed camisoles. I went to the nearby saleswoman and asked her to find me two camisoles, one pink and the other black, and waited, staring down at the list. Next up was jewelry, and off to make-up. “These are free size Miss. Kim, you need to try them on?” asked the sales woman handing me the clothes. I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to have the weird lady following me down to the fit-on room. “No thank you….I’m sure these will suite me...”

            Next, I found myself staring at a pair of turquoise earrings, stuck in two minds, buy it, or not. The best answer was ‘yes’, but something kept on saying ‘no’. But what could a pair of earrings possibly do to me? I asked the salesman to show it to me. I was admiring the aspect of the jade green stones when suddenly the psycho lady reappeared right beside me. “Hmm…turquoise earrings…trendy aren’t it?” I pretended to not to hear her. “I saw some other turquoise earrings…” she leaned closer so that the sales man couldn’t hear her, I stood still, interested of what she was saying. “They are better than these so put it down and get something else…I’ll take you to where I saw the better ones”. By the heat of the moment, I was abruptly persuaded. I quickly dropped the earrings onto the cabinet. The sales man looked at me, fairly surprised. “Uh...I’ll try something else”. He nodded and turned back to the one he was talking to. I slid across the cabinet and went to check out the bangles. They were hanged on horizontal poles, one after the other according to their colors. I fumbled through them to find the perfect one which matched the dress I was hoping to wear for the dinner at Terrazzo with Lee Sung Yeol. With a thud, something fell onto the floor. A bangle. As I bent down to take it, my handbag fell down off my arm, the stuff inside came out. I had forgotten to zip it the last time when I opened it to pull out the list. But before I could reach out to gather them up, a long slightly brown hand reached for it, I straightened up, afraid to lose my dignity by dropping off my hand bag at some big clothing store. The psycho lady handed me the bag and hanged the bangle which fell off the pole. “Thanks” I muttered and turned back to the multi colored jewelry. Finally, after spending ages to find the perfect one, I ended up with a turquoise bangle which as I assumed, matched the earnings I was hoping to buy.

            The lady followed me down to the makeup department, and helped me choose the right lipstick. I was surprised that I found her helpful, but still something told me she meant trouble. And I was glad that the sales woman didn’t try to peel off my skin, trying on the base I picked, and I assumed the eye shadow perfectly matched the color of my skin. I picked an eye liner without any choice, and the mascara-well they were all almost the same-plus the lip liner, which the lady thought nicely goes with the lipstick she picked. I was choosing nail polish when suddenly the lady stood up staring at her watch. (Christine Dior) “God its one o’clock already! I got to go...Don’t want to be late, my husband’s waiting…” she flashed a smile and stood straight to check out her appearance on the mirror. I put down the collection of colors of the nail polish and turned to her.

 “What about the earrings?” I asked her in a low voice, afraid the sales women would hear me. She stared at me, surprised.

 “Oh…well…you’d find…a good one…I’m afraid I have no time…” She dropped her hands, and grabbed her handbag. (M&S) I watched her leave miserably. I had been tricked. How badly have I been convinced to trust a woman who came suddenly out of the blue? Now she had left, and I was to buy what I’ve got and run off back to the apartment. I’m a model like I said hundred times to myself. Do models usually get tricked? Or don’t the others get caught in the charms? Did I just get caught in a charm? I had been doing this for two years, and I had never been so foolish to let her trick me. Why had she come after me anyway? Was it over my carrier’s expense? Well that is predictable. Anyone would die to be known closely by a celebrity. Maybe she wanted to help me, and maybe her husband was a very hot tempered man who expected her to be there-wherever she went to-at time, and so, she quickly ran off, feeling guilty that she had to. And I felt better thinking that I had saved her life.

            Few minutes later, after I’ve purchased the makeup, (mostly L’Oreal) I stood in line at the cashier with my visa card stuck between my fingers. The clothes I had chosen were frankly good enough, and was to last for a few months, and the frilly evening dress I saw hanging on a rack was inevitable that I bought it too, with a matching purse. Then the bangle, but I decide to not to buy any earrings, not worth it, but a little pendant which caught my eye. The cost of all seemed only a little for my visa to handle, but I was sure my mother’s eyes would pop out if she saw the bill. I paid with a smile and with the carrier bags hanging in my hands, I reached for the exit. I was in the glass doorway when suddenly…a loud beep sounded from the tall panels on either sides of me. I stood still, flabbergasted. How possibly could it happen? I was sure I paid for every piece. Every cell in my body started to burn, and even in the cold atmosphere of the French connection, I started to sweat badly. I was caught for steeling, but yet unaware of what I stole. Is it possible? Maybe the stupid machine is going crazy, shouting it’s silly beeps when someone pass by with carrier bags, or maybe the cashier has done some mistake and stuffed in something that I didn’t buy, but I had no time to check, the store owner must have heard the ugly beep and now must be hurrying on his way. My heart was beating fast in my throat. But of course I had nothing to fear. I was one of their best customers, and they had hired me to model their new arrivals a hundred times, plus I haven’t stolen anything have I? It’s possibly the stupid machine or the lady at the cashier who has done a terrible mistake. The manager must take his actions over those two, not the completely innocent me, yes, I was absolutely innocent, and I had no intention to steal. I earn millions doing a single campaign, and I do enough campaigns a year and with the money I get, I could buy granola bars for the whole population of all the third world countries, and if so, Why would I ever steel? And the next problem was would they believe me? Would they buy it only when they realize the stupid machine was crazy, or it was the cashier not me? And until then, they’d keep in jail, and that would be basically, both physical and mental harassing. And of all the things, the end of my carrier.  In spite of the heat of the moment, I was about to faint any moment. For all this years, I had kept a perfectly sophisticated reputation, and approximately, the stupid beeping machine was ruining it. Then my whole modelling carrier will be over, gone with the wind, no more runways, no more Teen Vogue photo shoots, and no more Prada shoes. What I would finally have will be stacks of Korea observer’ and all sorts of Ilbos with my face printed on for something that I didn’t even do. What could I tell my father? All he had done for me will be worthless. This is the sort of situations that you realize how much you regret your birth, and then you die. That was what was happening to me. I was going to die. Losing my carrier was approximately death, and I’d be feeling it in few more minutes.

            “Miss. Kim?” I yelped at the voice. A sales man, and some more behind me, their grim faces reminded me of a tribe of angry wolves, and apparently, I was their pray. I was trembling as the salesman approached. “May we check your bags?” I stared at his gloomy round face, and with trembling hands, I gave him the carrier bags and my hand bag. Another sales person ushered me down the corridor towards, as I assumed, the manager’s office. Yes, this was it; my carrier has come to an end.

 As I stood trembling head to toe at the manager’s office- I was not exactly in his office, it was big as a house, and I was in the lobby-the sales man who took my bags pulled out all the purchases I got. The camisoles, the ruffled evening dress and the matching purse, the stockings, and the jewelry…my heart beat slowed on its pace. Yes…it had been a silly, silly mistake, I’m innocent…too bad it took time….

But not too long…

The salesman emptied my handbag onto the floor without any mercy; I closed my eyes in spite of the clattering sound. My hand phone, makeup, my petite journal, my purse and my cards… “Miss. Kim” I fluttered my eyes open, hoping to hear that I was innocent and that they were very sorry to embarrass me in front of all the people, but instead…

“What is this…may I know how this got into your handbag?”

My jaw dropped slack.

Dangling with a grim glow in his hand was the pair of turquoise earrings which the lady told me to not to buy. The sneaky creep had put the earrings into my bag when I dropped my bag. I should have done it myself, and now, so much for my never-coming-back dignity. I felt my face burn as he drove me to the manager’s office.

“I did not steal it! It was this lady who put that into my hand bag!” I pleaded. A smile crept along the salesman’s face. “Explain that to the manager Miss. Kim…”

And I did, and it was worthless.

My life will soon be gone, for good.

 

                                                                                                                           ********

            “So, how is it going?” It took me a while to come back to earth and back to where I was sitting at the Terrazzo. “Oh…fine Sung Yeol…how about you?” I was still shaking by the memories of yesterday’s situation. I got away, fortunately, with a fine of some thousand wons-I decided not to keep that in mind-and with my face on papers and tabloid magazines; ‘Super-model caught stealing’ so much for my carrier. My dad called last night and informed me that he would help me out of this mess I was in, he had talked to the manager and fortunately, he hadn’t decided to not to hire me in the future, plus that the stupid cameras of the FC’s jewelry department had been under repair, so there had been no way to prove my story. And I was here, still feeling sick, facing the only son of Lee Sung Gi, the chairman of the Lee & Lee group who runs Dorothy Perkins Korean branch. “I’m alright…” He hesitated before he went for the kill; “Were you-were you accused of stealing Taeyeon?” My eyes shot up to his face, I was sure my face had turned into an interesting shade of crimson. “It wasn’t me…It was a lady I met…” I didn’t get to finish my sentence; he cut off me with his own.

“The minute I heard the news, I knew there was something very wrong about it” I was glad that he was still smiling.

“I was such a fool to trust her”

Sung Yeol laughed. “Of course you’re not, anyone can be tricked, but for someone like you, you must be a bit careful”

I eyed him uncertainly to search if there was hate or misbelieve in his eyes. But all he had in his eyes was trust.

“Do you believe me Sung Yeol?”

He smiled; I felt blood running through my veins in its normal pace.

“Yes Taeyeon-ah…I do…always did and I always will…” I smiled back, for now; I had someone to trust me and to trust back. Maybe My life was not in the depths after all…Maybe my life is still not ruined…Maybe I still had hope…For now…