11
Mall
The next morning, Helen and John met Nari in the carport below their building.
Nari drove a dark-red Volvo, which her husband had insisted on buying.
Every time she placed her dishpan hands on the leather steering wheel, she calculated that the Volvo’s monthly payments would have allowed the family to have two used Corollas.
“You look nice,” Nari said.
Helen and John bowed their heads to greet Nari.
For her interview, Helen was wearing a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a straight navy skirt, and navy leather pumps with a low stacked heel.
John wore Nari’s husband’s old uniform, which had his surname, Kim, embroidered on it.
As it turned out, the men wore the same size.
Nari had offered to order John his own uniform, but he’d declined, saying his mother had been a Kim.
From the front passenger seat, Helen kept glancing over at her husband, who’d said little all morning. He didn’t seem troubled but appeared more withdrawn than usual. Neither had talked much about John starting work at Shrimp Castle.
When Helen and the children had seemed surprised by his decision, John said, “I won’t run into anyone I know.
I have to get a job. I checked the classifieds, and it would be hard to make almost $600 a week in cash right away.
If that part-time student, Alex, leaves after the summer, then I can make $900 a week.
We need to pay the green card lawyer and save for a bigger place. ”
John looked out the back-seat window, unable to recall the last time a woman had driven him anywhere. He could tell Nari was a good driver.
“Was it hard getting a license?” Helen asked Nari.
“I drove in Seoul, so I wasn’t worried about the driving, but I had no confidence about speaking to the driving test examiner in English.
My husband understands English better than me, so he was fine.
I couldn’t believe we passed on our first try.
I was so afraid. You can’t do anything without a car here.
” Nari remembered how happy and proud they had been—their first victory in the new country.
When her husband had wanted to buy an almost-new Volvo rather than a used Toyota, she hadn’t put up a fuss because he’d said, When we drive to church, we drive in something nice.
When they’d had money in Korea, Joonho would let her buy anything she wanted.
My beautiful Nari should have the nicest things money can buy.
No matter how much a face cream from Japan cost, Joonho would say, If my wife wants it, she must have it.
Both of them had grown up with so little, and during their years of plenty, Joonho wanted to give her and Yun every single thing, even if they did not need it.
Joonho didn’t want them to be the kind of rich people who, having once been poor, still felt poor inside.
“I can drive, but I still get nervous in traffic. Driving in Paramus seems much easier than here,” Helen said.
“I’m a great driver. I’ve never been the one for academics, but I have excellent hand-eye coordination. My daughter is an athlete because of me, not my husband,” Nari said with pride in her voice.
“We really appreciate you taking us,” Helen said, and when she turned around this time, her husband’s eyes were closed.
The shopping mall in Garden Grove was a massive rectangle with dozens of businesses along its four sides, as well as within the four square islets set in the black asphalt ocean of the parking lot, which opened out to the boulevards along the lengths of the mall.
The largest building, a multistory branch of a Korean bank with a hip-and-gable roof, was set in the center like a curious pagoda ornament.
Shrimp Castle was one of the seven stores in the southern subdivision of the mall, and it did brisk business because there were no other shops that sold fried foods. The mall was a kind of Korean neighborhood, filled with people who would never have crossed paths in their previous lives back home.
Nari’s store was fifteen hundred square feet separated into a dining area, a kitchen, a storage room with a little desk and file cabinet, and two restrooms. The white-tiled open kitchen, about three hundred square feet, faced out to the dining area.
There were sixteen tables that could be moved around to seat thirty-two customers.
Nari suggested that Helen have a seat at a table far from the kitchen while she waited for her interview.
Nari handed John a disposable hairnet, a new baseball cap, and a fresh white apron. From the supply closet, she pulled out her husband’s black, knee-high rubber boots for spray washing the kitchen floor each night.
“These might work, too,” she said, being mindful not to cause offense by offering something used to her daughter’s friend’s father. Nari would’ve bought him a new pair, but there hadn’t been enough time.
John thanked her. He put on the hairnet and tied the apron over his uniform as if he’d been doing this for years.
When Lenny arrived, the two men went into the kitchen, and John pulled out a small notepad to write down whatever Lenny taught him so he wouldn’t have to ask twice.
Nari fixed instant coffee for them and distributed the ham and egg sandwiches she’d made at home earlier in the morning. She asked John to say grace, and afterward they ate their breakfast quietly before starting work.
From industrial-size containers of tartar sauce, vinegar, and ketchup, Nari prepared individual portions in plastic containers for takeout customers. When Helen tried to help, Nari told her not this time.
“You can’t get your clothes messy, especially today,” Nari said sternly. “I already told Mrs. Chung about you, and she’s expecting a high-class salesperson almost like herself. I’m so worried that you might smell even a little like frying oil.”
Suddenly Nari got up and opened the front door to let fresh air in. From behind the cash register, she withdrew her prized bottle of Chanel No. 5, a gift from Yun last Christmas.
“Just in case. You can use this,” Nari said.
At ten minutes to ten, Nari walked Helen to the Emporium, which was only five stores down from Shrimp Castle. Helen smiled at the name: It was a world away from Crawford’s Emporium, where she’d worked in Sydney for so many years.
The lights were on, and Nari pushed the door open.
“Good morning, Elder Chung,” Nari said, bowing. “I brought you my friend, Helen Cho. She’s the wife of John Koh, who is now working at my store.”
Seated like a dowager on her low stool, Mrs. Chung gestured for them to come in, but Nari sent Helen in alone.
“I have to get back and help Mr. Koh. It’s his first day,” Nari said, then, to Helen, “Come back when you’re done. It’s just there,” she said, pointing in the direction of Shrimp Castle like a concerned mother leaving a small child at a new school.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you so much for everything,” Helen said, and watched Nari return to her store.
Mrs. Chung was decades older than Helen, but it was difficult to tell how many from her appearance. She had to be over seventy; however, in a certain light, her hair professionally colored and with her forehead and neck unlined, she could look far younger.
The Emporium’s owner wore a black bouclé jacket with gold threading that matched her skirt and a long rope of pearls with large mabe pearl and diamond earrings.
The shop was twice the size of Shrimp Castle and crammed with costly inventory.
On one wall were floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with suitcases, bags, and briefcases; on another was a stock of thick satin-covered quilts, pillows, and embroidered bedding from a famed maker in Seoul; and in the glass display cases were imported Swiss watches as well as gold and diamond jewelry.
On the sales floor were several racks of high-end suits from Italy and France for men and women.
Crystal vases and porcelain dishes from France, England, and Ireland covered every available surface.
Security cameras hung from each corner of the ceiling.
The store was neither beautiful nor elegant.
Mrs. Chung had not spent any money on the interior design; however, even Helen was impressed by the variety and quality of the imported goods from Europe, Japan, and Korea.
The stores might look dissimilar, but Mrs. Chung’s luxury merchandise could also have been found at Crawford’s Emporium.
“Would you like to be called Mrs. Cho or Mrs. Koh?” the owner asked.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Helen bowed formally.
“For here and Australia, people address me by my husband’s last name, Koh, especially at my children’s schools.
You’re also welcome to call me Hejin, or Helen.
Sometimes I think Americans are right to be simpler with first names and dispense with titles. ”
“Well, yes, but we are Koreans in America,” Mrs. Chung said. “I will call you Mrs. Koh, because we just met. Please sit.”
Mrs. Chung had been sitting on a low-backed stool behind the counter, and now she got up and wheeled the stool to face the leather armchair kept for guests.
“Thank you for speaking with me,” Helen said. She pulled out a résumé and handed it to Mrs. Chung with both hands. “The first page is in English, and the second is in Korean.”
Mrs. Chung read it carefully.
“You’ve worked in sales for a long time.”
“Yes.” Helen continued to speak in formal Korean.
“I was told you don’t have your green card. That you might be getting it soon.”
“All three of our children were born in New Jersey when my husband worked in New York. We’ve always had proper work documentation through my husband’s companies. I have a Social Security number from back then. Our son Bo will be able to sponsor us, but it will take some time.”
Mrs. Chung paused in reading to study Helen’s pleasant face.
“You went to Ewha,” Mrs. Chung said. “Yun’s mother told me. It’s my college, too.” She checked the résumé. “You majored in English.”