Chapter 14
It was a straight shot from Lemon Grove to Monroe.
Simple enough for someone with just under two weeks of driving lessons under his belt, according to Denny’s estimation.
Eunjae was entrusted with the keys and promptly panicked, but the drive was uneventful.
He forgot to be nervous behind the wheel.
The season had shifted, and signboards for oranges and pie now trumpeted Halloween festivities.
Even so, Monroe remained largely unchanged since that first date with Jiyeon, late in July when summer was still very much alive.
These were the same weathered bricks and painted benches, the same tidy squares of lawn and window boxes overflowing with flowers.
He’d greeted this morning with dread. Returning to Monroe felt less dreadful than anticipated, though.
Brighter memories flickered in his peripheral vision: blueberry muffins, crates of lemons, a yellow dress.
This was a place where they’d been happy.
Eunjae felt Jiyeon’s hand on his shoulder, just her quiet way of saying that she remembered, too.
“And the baskets?” Denny intoned from the passenger seat. “What’s the rationale there?” He pronounced the word baskets like it carried the same negative weight as credit card debt, or termites, or arsenic.
Eunjae didn’t need to check the rearview mirror to see Jiyeon’s reaction.
He could feel the force of her glare from the backseat, and she probably looked just like her brother in that moment, arms crossed and spine straight, mouth turned down in exasperation.
“What’s wrong with the cute baskets? Everyone likes them. We’ve gotten nothing but compliments.”
“We did fine without serving toast triangles in baskets.”
“It’s a nice touch.”
“It’s straight up tomfoolery.”
“Why not set ourselves apart from other local places that do breakfast and brunch? Eunjae sent me pictures from a few cafes in Seoul, they serve the food in all these fun ways—”
“Ryan put these ideas in your head? You're taking business advice from a singing waiter?”
A deadly silence. “Sorry, what did you just call him?”
“You heard what I said!” The grimace on Denny’s face could’ve been carved with a sculptor’s chisel. “That was too much of your own money to spend on nonsense. You needed that for your salon.”
“I didn’t mind spending it,” his sister replied, fuming, “and I’ve still got enough left.”
Eunjae hurried to distract them. “That sign up there. It’s where we turn, isn’t it? To get to the house?”
Gradually, the town had reverted to a patchwork of fields and citrus groves.
Homes were larger here, spaced farther apart.
Their sedate faces peeked out between fences and rows of trees.
He motioned at a historical marker well on its way to being swallowed by the surrounding greenery.
“Langley House,” Jiyeon read out loud. “Yeah, that’s it. ”
“Hang a left, Ryan. There should be a gate.”
And what a gate it was, towering over them in glorious swirls of wrought iron, flanked by palm trees and wild honeysuckle.
Eunjae gazed up at the place where they’d be living until the show wrapped in late November.
Langley House presided over a wide, sweeping drive, draped in shreds and tatters of morning mist. He counted two floors and a round tower, all roofed in rosy Spanish tile.
There was something watchful about the arched windows and doors.
The house radiated an expectant air, as if waiting to decide how it felt about them.
“Wait a second,” said Denny. “You’ll need the new code.”
“You had them change it again?”
Eunjae received a grunt in reply. Meanwhile, the cell signal must have seen drastic improvement.
Three phones went off, buzzing like hornets as an influx of messages went through at once.
Jiyeon reached for hers and grabbed the wrong device by mistake — her battered flip phone, no sim card, dead battery.
This still went with her everywhere despite the fact that her digital life had migrated to the newer phone months ago.
For a few seconds that seemed to stretch forever, Eunjae kept his foot on the brake and watched her hold that old phone in the palm of her hand, running a thumb over a scratch marring the screen.
An emotion flickered on her face, there and then swiftly gone.
She switched it for the newer model, swiping past a solid wall of notifications on the lock screen.
Eunjae wanted to say something, but in the end, he didn’t.
The gates swung inward on silent hinges.
Vans and pickup trucks jammed the driveway.
Crew members had been on site for days, gearing up for filming to begin.
The grounds thronged with people carrying crates and cables, ladders and sound booms. Eunjae steered the car down a narrower, unpaved track that branched away from the main drive.
Rounding the corner, the back of the house came into view.
The walls of this wing were sun-warmed adobe.
“Dates back to the late 1870s,” Denny informed them.
“Everything else was built later on, when the family hit it big.”
After the mini history lesson, Eunjae was directed to park under a tree. His terrifying driving instructor only made him redo the job twice. Jiyeon was the first to climb out, protesting Denny’s tyranny the whole time.
The sheer size of the property became evident. They glimpsed a tennis court and the high walls of a kitchen garden in the distance. Not far from where they stood, another building crouched beyond a tall, manicured hedge. Much smaller than Langley House, it appeared to be some sort of cottage.
“Look at the light,” Eunjae said, helping with the bags. The sun was finally coming through the fog. Transfixed, he took a few photos with his phone. “Wish I had my camera.”
“Let’s find it. You put it in the duffel bag, right?”
A deafening series of chimes struck the air, startling both of them. The doorbell. Then came footsteps and shouted greetings, the rumble of suitcase wheels on polished floors. “Helloooooo,” someone hollered. “We’re heeeerrreeee!”
It was Jesse's voice, bounding through the house as though his words had sprouted legs.
But it was someone else who came dashing down the hall ahead of him: a ball of wispy white fur, ears unfurled like the wings of a plane, sporting a collar of shiny red leather.
Jiyeon tugged on Eunjae's sleeve. “Is that… a dog?”
Denny muttered something unintelligible. A prayer? An oath? Mystified, Eunjae said, “But none of us has a dog.”
Afterward, he would struggle to sort out which new arrival slammed into him first. Was it the puppy, flying down the hallway in a fluffy blur?
Or was it Jesse, squealing in excitement, a beret balanced on his bright, blond head?
Either way, it reminded him of being at the beach, bowled over by a rogue wave.
They had no time to recover. This was a rogue wave made of brothers in flashing sunglasses and ripped jeans, designer coats and Italian leather boots.
Namgyu smothered both of them in a bone-crushing hug.
Nicky strolled in behind him, walking backwards for some reason, followed by Kazu with a Vuitton bag meant to carry at least two large toddlers securely through TSA. He also had Max in a headlock.
“Those girls will have a full album before we do,” Kei complained, his words reverberating in the house’s cavernous foyer.
A frowning Jungwoo rolled his suitcase over the threshold. “We’ve got plenty of songs.”
“Would you fucking drop it already, Keiichi? We’re producing two tracks for them, not twenty.”
“Sit down,” Denny commanded, cutting the reunion short. He pointed at the puppy. “And you don’t have the security clearance required for this meeting. Out.”
Jiyeon held tight to the wriggling bundle in her arms. “I don’t think she’ll give away any state secrets, Den.”
“Irrelevant. It’s a historic property, yeah? No pets allowed.”
“But she’s so cute! Don't you think she's the cutest, Captain?”
Their manager would not be swayed. “All contraband pets will be addressed at a later time.”
“Contraband!” Jesse cried out, clapping his hands. “Connie! That’s what her name should be!”
“Hey, now. We agreed on her name. It’s Uyu.”
Jiyeon blinked at Nicky. “Milk? That’s what you guys named her?”
“What? When did we give the dog a name?”
“Worst! Zuzu is the worst!”
Lip curling, Kei said, “That’s not my dog. Leave me out of it.”
Denny went into a spate of thunderous throat-clearing.
Spying some production assistants through a window, Eunjae took the puppy from Jiyeon, crossed to the door, and poked his head through.
It was easy enough to secure a temporary dog-sitter, and without having to offer Namgyu’s suggested salary of a big hug and one million dollars that he didn’t have.
He returned just in time to learn that the day’s agenda had been revised to include actual filming.
“They want footage of all members arriving together, including Ryan, so you're getting back in the car with your suitcases. I’m heading down to the diner with noona. Won’t be back ‘til later tonight. Keep the shenanigans to a minimum,” he warned, with an extra glare for Nicky.
“You’re with Eric for the rest of the day. ”
“Oooh, Eric!”
“Boss, who’s Eric?”
The doorbell went off again. “That’s Eric,” Denny replied. “Punctual, at least. I’ll give him that. Moriyama, there’s a box on the coffee table. Make yourself useful.”
Kei hopped up, pleased to have been assigned a task.
He distributed a stack of training manuals thick enough to be textbooks, each one stamped with a name, the Prism logo, and the company’s motto: EVERY ANGLE IN THE BEST LIGHT.
Eunjae caught Jiyeon staring at her copy.
She glanced his way and mouthed the word, “Wow.”
But then she was gone, off to the diner with Denny. He heard Eric talking to her at the door just before he came in. Something about a separate meeting to discuss the rebrand. What rebrand?
He’d have to ask her later. If his brothers were a wave crashing to shore, Eric was a meteor reducing the house to a blackened crater.
“Apollo,” he exclaimed, as though addressing thousands in an arena instead of eight exhausted idols squashed together on a couch.
“What an honor. I’m Eric, your dedicated storytelling specialist from Prism Strategic Management.
How wonderful to meet in person. So much better than a Zoom call. Don’t you agree?”
Namgyu’s grin went a bit lopsided. “He’s Eric from the computer?” he whispered in Eunjae’s ear. “I thought he looked totally different then.”
Eunjae nodded. He’d been thinking the same.
Eric had a friendly face, pleasant and unremarkable, like someone you’d find in a stock photo.
Glasses perched on his nose, thick lenses in tortoiseshell frames.
But the Prism rep they’d seen on screen had never worn glasses, and although that guy’s name was also Eric, he’d been older.
The hair was different. This Eric’s hair was darker, smoothed back with copious amounts of gel.
Or was it just Eunjae’s imagination? There had been so many virtual meetings with Prism.
It was all blurring together in his memory.
Eric continued gushing about how thrilled he was to work with them.
He did this in a seamless mix of English and Korean, passing out business cards and revealing the Apollo concert tee under his blazer.
“Huge Apollo fan here! You have no idea! Now, Prism values the production team’s creative integrity, so I won't be on set every day. I’m always here for you guys, though.
My whole job is to make sure Apollo gets through this without any issues, media-related or otherwise.
Feel free to give me a call, message me on the Prism app, or text my direct number any time you need me. ”
Kazu scratched his head. “Yikes. There’s an app, too?”
“Um, but is it just you?” Jesse ventured. “Is there another Eric?”
“Oh, definitely. We’ve got a whole team out here for Apollo!”
“And you’re all… named Eric…?”
“Yes,” came the cheerful response. “That way, we foster an ongoing, unbroken circle of trust, even if it’s not a team member you recognize. Prism policy. The name’s actually an acronym.”
Nicky balanced the training manual on his lap, eyes shining in a way that would’ve had Jaehwan calling for a straitjacket. “So every letter stands for something, then? I need to know, Eric. I’m here to learn.”
“Of course! E-R-I-C: evaluate, reposition, influence, control. Isn’t that awesome?”
“Awesome,” muttered Max.
“Control,” echoed Eunjae.
Their new publicist nodded with such enthusiasm that it made him look like a bobblehead toy. His smile rivaled the noonday sun. “Absolutely. So! Are you ready to get started?”