1
The Rose Salon
John had never worked with so many women before.
For most of his professional life, he’d worked with men and a few junior women.
Although Taehun Shin had preferred including attractive female office workers for drinks after work, John had largely avoided socializing with them one-on-one or in a group.
As the father of a daughter, he hoped that no one would treat her unfairly.
A man, he knew, could get the wrong idea when a woman was just being polite or kind.
His widowed mother had gone through a lot with landlords, bank officers, and shopkeepers, and John took pains to be respectful, even at the risk of being viewed as rude or cold.
The previous owner, Mrs. Kwon, had called all the workers “girls.” Sonya, however, insisted that each technician’s name tag reflect her preferred status.
Everyone was called Miss or Mrs., and the women with church titles, if they wished, were addressed as Deacon or Elder.
John preferred the formalities, wanting to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the women.
He made sure that he was never alone with anyone anywhere in the shop.
The workers found Manager John Koh, as his name tag read, competent and polite but far too quiet.
If he ever needed to talk with a worker in private, he’d schedule the conversation, always accompanied by Nari, in the employee break room, which had a mirrored two-way window as well as security cameras.
The technicians addressed him as Manager John, and those who were also members of Gospel Presbyterian called him Elder Koh.
They were curious about Helen and admired the widower’s reserve and grief.
Several workers had considered pursuing John as a prospective husband, but Nari put them off.
“You can try, but there’s no point,” she’d say.
“He’s never going to remarry.” If a technician or customer tried flirting, John would nod politely and return to his tiny business office, which could barely hold his desk, chair, and filing cabinet.
“Was she pretty?” they’d ask Nari, having met Helen’s sister Sonya, the beautiful owner of the salon, who came by the salon several times a year.
“Oh yes,” Nari stressed. “She had style, too. Deacon Cho was pretty like her sister, but they looked different. The deacon’s face was softer and more olive-toned. When she listened to you, you could tell that she was interpreting you in the best possible way.
“She wasn’t tacky. She didn’t wear much makeup or bright clothes. Didn’t talk so much, like me. Almost never watched television.”
Nari loved working at the Rose Salon. Unlike at Shrimp Castle, where she’d worn a long white apron over a brown-and-beige polyester uniform, here Nari could wear her clothes from back home, which still fit her—dresses and skirts in jewel tones—and plenty of eye makeup.
Her hands were now always perfectly manicured and painted in the latest colors.
There were women to chat with about the latest dramas or the fashionable clothes in the magazines she kept stacked next to the manicure tables.
She styled her hair up or down, depending on her mood, and she could wear her fanciest things, including any jewelry she hadn’t sold when they needed money.
At the salon, with its mirrored walls and chandeliers, it wasn’t inappropriate for Nari to wear sequined skirts or fur-trimmed sweaters.
For the first time in years, she felt almost attractive again.
After only a week at the salon, she told her daughter, “I feel like a girl.”
Nari believed that none of the women interested in the widower were on Helen’s level.
Even though Helen and Sonya came from a poor family, Nari had been struck by how neither seemed intimidated by other educated and wealthy people.
Nari didn’t know if that unwavering personal dignity came from having gone to an elite college or from what they’d been through and survived.
Surely it wasn’t just money. Nari had once had a great deal of money, and she hadn’t been astute like Helen, or steely and elegant like Sonya.
Nari had a few regrets. She had graduated from high school with decent marks and had once considered becoming a nurse, but she’d gotten pregnant and married.
Once she and her husband had money, Nari had seen no point to studying hard to become a nurse or learn English properly, which she now sorely regretted.
She missed her husband and wished she’d been better to him.
If Joonho ever returned, she vowed to be more patient.
Nari and John continued to work well together.
Nari was relieved to sell Shrimp Castle and send money to her husband.
Working at the salon was easier on her body.
Except for the nail dust and the chemical smells of the polish and remover, Nari thought being a sales manager at Rose Salon was a perfect job.
As the business manager, John minded the books, taxes, licensing requirements, lease management, waste disposal, maintenance, and inventory, and Nari took care of the appointments and workers.
Customers often mistook them for a married couple, and Nari would correct them, saying John was her brother-in-law: easier to explain than the truth.
She was married, and Joonho would always be her husband. He would return.
If her husband wanted a divorce, he would have to come back and ask for one. She’d be sad but give in. Life was too brief to hold grudges, and he had given her many good years and their daughter Yun. Nari had no interest in ever getting married again.
Each morning, John would walk the three blocks to Nari’s apartment building and meet her in front of the lobby.
They’d go to the parking lot, get into her Volvo, and drive to Rose Salon.
In the evening, unless John’s kids picked him up, which was rare because they were working or at school, she’d drive them back to her building, and he’d walk back home.
They didn’t eat dinner together. Each night he’d bow, say thank you for the ride, and wish her good night.
After she parked her car, Nari would rush to her apartment, wash off her makeup and change out of the dress-up clothes, and put on a pair of clean pajamas.
In her small kitchen, she’d make herself a bowl of popcorn and watch two rented drama videos and go to bed early.
In the morning, she’d make herself a large breakfast of rice, fried eggs, soup, and side dishes.
Her daughter Yun worried about her living alone, but Nari couldn’t imagine living with anyone else, unless Joonho decided to return.
Nari was still attractive, and at church, the other women deacons who knew about her husband leaving mentioned fixing her up with men seeking a nice, hardworking wife.
“Thank you for thinking of me, but I am still married.”
She had no wish to take care of another man.
Nari intended to age as well as possible and live quietly.
When she wrote to her three brothers that her husband Joonho was gone, none of them advised her to marry again.
Two of them asked her to send money for their mother, who was suffering from dementia, so of course, Nari did.
Each month, Nari put aside half of whatever was left of her pay in a retirement savings account.
On Sunday afternoons, she drove to South Coast Plaza and window-shopped.
Now and then she’d try on a dress or a skirt, but thinking of her eventual retirement, she did her best to refrain from buying anything.
It amazed her how much money she’d once spent on clothing, shoes, and bags.
Having her husband leave her with a large promissory note to pay off while their daughter was in college had taught her that she should have saved more money.
She saved also for Joonho, who she believed would eventually return, if not for her, then for their daughter.
This was what happened in dramas about true love, and Nari believed that their love had been genuine from the start.
They’d had troubles, and if both of them had been more self-controlled, they’d still be together.
Her husband was not heroic, but he was a good person.
Nari thought about him often. Joonho had made mistakes.
Weak and ashamed of how life had turned out, he was trying his luck again in Brazil.
After selling the store, she’d sent him money, and on Christmas, he’d called her for the first time in years.
She’d been writing him now and then and knew from his cousin’s wife that he got the letters. He knew Yun was married.
“How is Yun?” he asked.
“She’s happy with her husband.”
“I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas,” he said quietly. “You’ve always liked Christmas more than me.”
Nari laughed. In Seoul, she’d decorated their home and all their stores and insisted on buying all their employees expensive presents.
“I better go,” Joonho said.
“Where are you working?” she asked, wanting details.
“I’m driving a truck, but I found a wholesale fabric store. That money you sent was helpful. I don’t have any debts anymore.” She heard his voice trembling. “Say hello to Yun. Thanks again. For, you know. Everything. Take care of your health.”
On the second anniversary of Helen’s death, Sonya returned to Orange County—her fourth trip to the States in the past year.
On Friday evening, when John went to an elders’ meeting, Sonya invited Nari to dinner. They went to Horatio’s Bar and Grill, a large anchor tenant of the new mall in Buena Park and within walking distance of Rose Salon.
“Business has been going well,” Sonya said. “Thank you for working so hard.”
“I like the job so much.”
“That’s a relief,” Sonya said.
“I’m surprised, but I don’t think I want to go back to Korea.”
Sonya didn’t want to go back to Seoul, either, and it was strangely consoling to hear another married woman saying the same thing she was thinking.
“My husband left me, and when that happened, I thought I’d die.”
“Oh?” Sonya said. “You seem so well. So sturdy.”
“I also thought I’d die when we lost all the stores. But I didn’t. I didn’t die when my husband left.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“He called on Christmas.”
“He’s okay?”
“I don’t know. I called his cousin’s wife a while ago. That’s how I learned that he needed money. She was complaining about how he had debts.”
“Have they been paid?”
“I think so. He doesn’t live in the boardinghouse anymore. I heard that much.”
“What?” Sonya thought of how wealthy they’d once been in Seoul.
“When he got there, he lived in a rented room with some Korean grandmother and her daughters. He doesn’t know I know.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t go there like he wanted. I guess he didn’t want to tell me.”
“You’re a good person. You’re always thinking of others. I know that.”
“Thank you, Sister. That means so much to me. I’ve looked up to you and your sister. Your world was so high-class. We couldn’t even talk to each other.”
Sonya shook her head, though she understood what Nari meant.
“I never thought you’d own a nail salon in America, and that I’d be working for you. I mean, I’m so grateful to be working for you. I mean, you’re so rich. You went to Ewha! All your friends are women who went to good colleges who are married to men from good families.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re married to an important family, you have two perfect sons who went to Korea University, and I still don’t understand why you wanted to buy this business. It doesn’t make sense. Unless you bought it for your sister.”
Sonya glanced at her untouched plate of food.
“I talk too much. I should shut up.” Nari tapped her mouth a few times with her hand.
“I haven’t told anyone, but I’d rather be here. If it weren’t for my sons—”
“Do you not like your husband?” Nari asked.
Sonya stared at the woman, surprised. Her eyes were warm and curious. It was true that she had never noticed Nari until her child, Yun, walked up to her niece Mido and introduced herself. That moment seemed like a lifetime ago.
They didn’t come from such different backgrounds, but after college and marriage, their worlds were far apart, even though they went to the same church.
Nari wouldn’t have fit in well at Sonya’s famous Bible study group.
The women would have been polite to her, but none would’ve sought her friendship.
Even Helen, her only sister, had never asked Sonya the simple question: Do you not like your husband?
Sonya took a deep breath. “I don’t like my husband. He sleeps with young women from hostess bars. They call the house. Several have even come to ask me to divorce him. But I’m not a good person, either.”
Nari shook her head in dismay. “You are such a fine Christian. You’ve been so kind and generous to your brother-in-law, all the employees, and me. What are you saying?”
“I don’t like my life in Seoul. When I’m there, I feel like I’m dying. That I am in hell. I am sinful.”
“Oh my.”
“Often I wish I were dead and had no one to take care of. That would make things simpler.”
Sonya lowered her chin. She’d never uttered such a terrible thing before but couldn’t take it back.
“But your boys—”
“I treasure my sons.”
“You’re such a good mother.”
Sonya smiled weakly. “They’d be better off without me.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I’m tired of living.”
Nari took hold of Sonya’s right hand.
“Then leave home. Leave your family. It’s better to live. If my husband felt this way and that’s why he left, and if it saved his life, then I’m glad he’s gone. I’d rather he be alive somewhere else than be gone forever.”
Sonya covered her mouth with her hands.
“It’s not too late,” Nari said. “There’s still time.”