9
Games
Seoul
She did all the work. She’s not bad at her job,” John said, finding himself defending the young woman he was supposed to fire. Danbi Jung made him uncomfortable; however, he had to admit that she pulled off assignments that employees with her experience should not have been able to manage.
“You haven’t given her something she could not do,” Shin said, knowing it would be difficult for John to be unfair. “I saw the projects you gave her. They were doable.”
“Not by someone who’s been out of the training program for only a year. I don’t think I could have done them at her level.”
“I’m having a hard time.” Shin put down his tumbler of whiskey, and the ice cubes clinked in the amber liquid.
“I know I told you to lay off for a while, because I thought she understood the terms, but you were supposed to make her want to quit or else find cause for her to be fired—” He broke off, unable to confess to his friend that Danbi wanted him to leave his wife.
None of the women he had slept with would have dared to ask for something so unreasonable.
They were in the bar at the Chosun Hotel, and John didn’t feel like drinking anymore.
It was only nine o’clock, but for him, it was late.
If Shin weren’t his oldest friend, John would have left, without making excuses.
He was tired. Not for a moment would he have listened to this nonsense from anyone else.
Shin wanted to keep his girlfriend, family, and job.
He had no plans to break it off with Danbi, and felt that he could still control the situation: She simply had to quit or get fired.
Competent and attractive, Danbi could get another entry-level job.
That said, HRI was the most prestigious trading company in Korea, and she had wanted to work there ever since she’d heard of it.
Shin could get her another position, even a better-paying one, but any other company would be several rungs lower than where she had already climbed.
After John gave Danbi two additional assignments, both seemingly impossible, Danbi told her lover again to fire John for being an unreasonable manager.
Regardless, Shin instructed John to assign her more difficult projects to show that he did not play favorites.
But no matter the level of challenge or volume of work, somehow Danbi completed her tasks.
Her work improved at a notable rate, and she grew even more competent than the members of her training group.
It didn’t hurt that the midlevel and senior members of the team figured out that she was Shin’s mistress and understood it would be in their best interest to help her out.
Company dinners became unbearable for John. It was like being in the presence of teenagers, with their public displays of affection. Danbi made no secret of her feelings for Shin, and the middle-aged director did not mind his subordinates admiring his sexual prowess with the gorgeous young woman.
John had not told Helen about Danbi; she would hate to know that her friend Mary was being betrayed like this.
“Is it possible for you to give her up?” John asked, still hoping for reason to prevail. Mary was a good mother to their three boys, and though she had tolerated mistresses, refusing to ever consider divorce, Danbi Jung was a different sort. She was the kind of mistress who needed to become a wife.
Shin took another sip of his drink and ignored the question.
“Can you write poor reviews for her work performance? Then she can’t get promoted.
Also, give her an assignment that even the senior guys can’t do.
Something where she has to make an error.
Make her give a presentation where the others can see that she got it all wrong.
Change the data if you need to. I promise I’ll take care of it.
You won’t get in trouble. I know I’m asking you for a big favor. Please.”
“I should get home. You know me. I have to sleep early.”
Shin nodded. Danbi was waiting for him in a hotel room upstairs.
Helen had eaten alone. The apartment was empty of children.
Bo was at the hagwon studying for his Yonsei entrance exam and wouldn’t be home until late.
DH was at soccer camp in Vermont, and Mido was in Sydney.
To save money, the plan was to move to a much smaller rental as soon as the lease ended.
The private scholarship that the owner of Eagle Academy had arranged for DH took care of most of his tuition at Andover, but there had been unexpected costs like soccer camps, plane tickets, and meals and gifts when he stayed with friends, or at Mary’s during breaks when he couldn’t return to Seoul.
Helen didn’t like the idea of her son not having enough pocket money or receiving free meals from others.
DH had offered to get a part-time job, but Helen and John had forbidden it.
He was too young, they said. Whenever she could, Helen picked up extra shifts at the store to boost her sales commissions.
When John came home, Helen was standing by the kitchen counter, picking through dried black beans in a large stainless steel bowl.
“Did you have dinner?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing around the empty living room where the children used to do their homework. “It’s quiet without the kids.”
Helen placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Are you okay? Did you drink? Do you want water?”
“I didn’t drink much. Just sleepy.” He smiled to reassure her and went to his room for the night.
Helen soaked the black beans and finished prepping side dishes.
She wished she could phone DH. He had left a message on the answering machine to say hello.
“Everything is good here. I miss you, Mommy, and I bet you want to see me,” he’d said, laughing.
In less than a minute, he had gotten off the expensive overseas call.
She wanted to hear more from her second child—the one who was always cheerful and made her feel calm—but there was no way to reach him except a call to the camp offices for an emergency, and this wasn’t that.
DH had been right, she did want to see him.
She loved her children equally, but it was DH who paid attention to her moods and knew how to make her smile.
If he hadn’t been doing so well at Andover, then he would have returned to Seoul, but his academic reports were far superior to his reports from Seoul and Sydney.
The practices at the soccer camp were difficult, he’d said, but even there, DH was flourishing.
It was seven in the morning in Burlington, and DH had already showered and dressed. Chilly, he pulled on a UVM sweatshirt.
His eyes half-open, Peter Son remained in bed, still groggy with sleep.
“Dude, you want breakfast? I’m starving. I’m going to have five eggs with bacon and cheese. Chef Brenda said I can have as many eggs as I want in my omelet.” DH grinned like he’d won a prize.
“You’re her favorite. I get it,” Peter groaned, throwing the covers over his head.
“Who doesn’t love Chef Brenda? She’s the greatest.” DH got on well with the summer college kitchen staff, but especially with the seventy-two-year-old white-haired head cook, who wore a black hairnet and a spotless white uniform and laughed at DH’s knock-knock jokes. She always gave him extra bacon.
Peter closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly DH learned people’s names at camp and found something to like in everyone; he was the same at Andover.
Peter was known as DH’s friend, not the other way around, and he was relieved to have an ally who was kind of like an ambassador.
“Hey, get up, sleepyhead.” DH stood over him and smiled. “Good morning.”
“Yes,” Peter said, and sat up. “Why are we doing this again?” He picked up his guitar by his bed and started to play “Should I Stay or Should I Go.”
“You should go, go, go,” DH said. “We are doing this again so we don’t get our asses kicked this season. Also, you gotta look sharp today. Remember? The college coaches are coming by again to scout this afternoon.”
“Right, right.” Peter headed to the showers. “Go. Go. Go.”
At morning practice, as Peter sprinted to the goal line during a drill, the head coach blew his whistle and called him off the field. His mother was here.
At the office, Peter found her chatting and laughing with Larry, the physical trainer.
Renee Cha was wearing a sleeveless white linen sundress, with a navy silk cardigan slung loosely over her pale shoulders.
In the summers, she always wore white linen, and if she needed a sweater or jacket, they were only in khaki or navy.
In fall and winter, she wore tailored suits made from fine flannel or tweeds in gray, navy, or camel.
She wore pale blue or tea green for spring. She never wore diamonds.
Peter’s mother, a striking and confident woman, looked like no other mother.
She was divorced from Peter’s father, Byron Son, who had remarried when Peter was in primary school and lived in Hong Kong with his new family.
Renee had no interest in marrying again.
Like her oldest brother and cousins, Renee was a director for her grandfather’s family company, which manufactured tires and other automobile parts.
Peter greeted his mother with a long hug. He was relieved to see her. Peter was wearing his blue Andover jersey, which should have been washed, but as usual, he was behind on laundry.
“Oh, my goodness. Excuse me.” Renee turned apologetically to Larry. “My beautiful child smells awful.”
“All the boys stink,” Larry said, winking at Peter. “Have a good visit. Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Son.” The trainer left them alone in the waiting area of the office. The camp secretary continued to deal with the bills and didn’t pay them any mind.