Chapter 5
After hours, the Emerald lobby lost its aura of frenetic activity.
The lights were dimmed and the main entrance locked.
In the lower levels, some trainees might still be taking lessons, and the studios could be busy at any time of the day or night.
But in this part of the agency’s domain, business had concluded.
Eunjae trudged past the security guard on duty, keeping his head down, eyes on an email.
It was from his younger brother, Ezra, just three lines long.
The last was a question: When will you be back in LA?
He read without comprehending, feet shuffling along on autopilot.
There were a lot of questions hanging in the air.
At least he still knew the answer to that one.
The filming news had thrown a number of plans into disarray, but he could still go home.
Behind the reception desk, voices rose and fell.
Did anyone know of a good, last-minute birthday present?
Was it still raining out there? Everyday, normal concerns.
Perhaps that was why Eunjae only felt worse after overhearing the conversation.
He’d love to trade his own concerns for the everyday, normal variety.
And just to be safe, no contact until this deal goes through.
We’ll be monitoring to make sure all members comply.
You know how the fans can be. Every time he remembered that conversation with the founders, and the conversation he'd need to have with Jiyeon, Eunjae found his thoughts falling into a familiar pattern.
It wouldn't be so hard, running away from here.
To slip through the doors and blend in with the stream of commuters on the sidewalk, borne away on a tide of strangers.
He could buy a ticket online, board the plane, and leave all of this behind. But it only seemed easy on the surface.
There was no future in running away. Eunjae rounded the corner and waited for the elevator, composing and deleting entire speeches in his head. Soon, he'd have to tell Jiyeon everything. Worse, he couldn’t even tell her in person.
He was sick of being so far away.
“Excuse me,” Eunjae heard someone call out, along with the tread of stiff leather loafers on the lobby floor. The remaining receptionist on duty beckoned to him from the other side of the desk. She must be new; he didn't recognize her face.
“I'm so sorry to bother you. You’re Ari, right?
From Apollo? I know your manager said he wanted to handle these calls personally, but he didn't answer when I tried his cell.” She glanced at the phone, where a tiny red light flashed above a button labeled HOLD.
“I'd keep trying, but this lady sounds so upset.
She won't stop asking for you. What should I tell her?”
A terrible clarity took hold. Your manager said he wanted to handle these calls personally. Just yesterday, Eunjae had watched Denny dealing with this same issue. He knew now, without a doubt, that it would be the same person waiting impatiently on the line.
She won't stop asking for you.
“It's okay,” said Eunjae. “I'll talk to her. You should go.”
“Are you sure? Manager Han told us—”
“Don’t worry. Your family’s waiting, right? I overheard, sorry.”
The receptionist bowed, peppering Eunjae with further apologies as she gathered her things. He noticed all of this, and made the appropriate responses, but it was as though someone else acted in the scene while he watched from far, far away.
Eunjae brought the phone to his ear. “Mum,” he said, dully. The word felt wrong, like a note sung off-key.
She preferred acting to singing, but Leila had a lovely voice, clear and cold as a winter’s day. His mother could deliver any line with the musicality of flowing water. And when she was angry, her words took on the weight and pressure of water, as well — a freezing river, unhurried but inexorable.
“Finally,” said Leila. “I’ve gotten so tired of calling and calling and calling.
Did you know I’ve been trying since June?
As soon as I heard the news, I was on the phone.
And I can’t count how many emails I’ve sent.
I’ve even mailed letters, Ari. The slow way.
How can it be so difficult to speak to my own son? ” A hollow laugh. “It’s unbelievable.”
“If this is about Ezra, you can leave it to the school like we agreed. They know how to contact me directly.”
“Your brother? He’s fine. For now, at least. Ask me again when you’ve finished ruining your career and Blackridge sends Ezra home for good. I doubt it will take much longer. The tuition there is no joke, my love.”
“He won’t have to leave Blackridge. I wouldn’t let that happen.”
More laughter, joyless and sharp-edged. “When will you wake up?” Leila asked. “You can’t keep pretending that everything will work out. Zenith thinks you’re damaged goods. Why else would they drag their feet like this? The other boy is dating, so what? It’s you. You’re the one they don’t want.”
“That’s fine. I don’t regret what I did.”
“You don’t even understand what you did. Stop playing games and let me fix this before it’s too late. They don’t even know the whole story yet. It’ll take just one tabloid reporting that you’ve thrown it all away for some girl in California—”
A bolt of bright scarlet lanced through Eunjae’s head, tinting his vision, slashing his composure to shreds. But he never heard the rest of what Leila had to say, nor did he ever have the chance to respond. Cool fingers pried the phone from his grasp. The call came to an abrupt end.
“It’s alright,” said another voice he knew. “I’ve got him. Oh, were you about to leave for the day? Go ahead. Thanks for working so hard.”
Eunjae looked up. Red faded, reverting to the lobby’s pale neutrals and lush, saturated greens.
Clicking heels announced the receptionist’s departure, leaving him with someone unexpected: Jaehwan, cropped hair hidden under a baseball cap, his jacket speckled with raindrops.
So he hadn't imagined it. His brother was here, and not just on a screen, or as the disembodied voice of Eunjae's conscience.
The world righted itself. “Hyung? But how? I didn't think we'd see you before we left.”
“I can't stay long,” Jaehwan admitted, “but I had to be here. Won't have another chance for a while.” A smile softened the contours of his face. He slung an arm around Eunjae and guided him back to the elevator. “It's good to see you, Ari.”