Filming (1)
Another one of these messages.
What was I doing? Working, that's what.
There weren't enough people left, so the work just kept overflowing. I'd be pulling overtime again tonight — that much was certain.
Nearly a month of silence, and the first thing he says is what are you doing.
I didn't even know if I'd make it home today, or if I'd get to eat dinner in any kind of peace. And this was the message I got.
The faint spark of anticipation fizzled out, leaving nothing but a tightness in my chest.
So I took it out on the baseboard right in front of me, tapping my toe against it again and again. It would probably sting a little. I didn't care. I was being petty, and I knew it.
You bastard.
You thought I'd just answer you?
I'm not answering either.
I'm not.
Once one thing started getting under my skin, everything started getting under my skin.
I had dreamed of becoming a diplomat — of being posted to an embassy in Europe, or America, or Canada...
And what was I actually doing? Processing official documents handed down from the government.
So how was I any different from a regular administrative clerk?
Why had I studied so damn hard all through school?
Ugh... this is depressing.
"What are you doing?"
"Huh? I was organizing the documents that came in..."
"Then why do you look like that?"
A woman in a razor-sharp suit, uncommon glasses, and a ponytail that suited her far too well. My thoroughly disliked boss — Team Leader Shin Nayoung.
"It's nothing."
"Don't give me that. Come on, tell me. What's going on?"
If I told her, she'd just tease me for it...
"Come ooon. Spit it out."
This was not going well....
"Ah, I see. He contacted you, didn't he?"
"What?!"
How did she know?
"Wait, really? Oh my god. What did he say?"
"Just... the same as last time. He asked what I was doing."
"And? Did you answer?"
"No. I was going to ignore it."
"Why? Who else in this office is getting messages from a man besides you, Ayoung?"
"I wouldn't know."
If this conversation went any further, something terrible was going to happen. I hurried back toward my desk, but she followed right after me.
"Ayoung. Are you seriously not going to answer him?"
"Yes. I'm not."
My phone buzzed.
"Huh? Another one. You're still going to ignore it?"
Unbelievable. Why did this bastard have to message me now.
"Shouldn't you at least check?"
"No. Don't you have work to do, Team Leader?"
"And leave something this entertaining? Fine, fine. If our Ayoung says so, I'll go. It's not like I have any authority around here."
Oh, for God's sake.
Stop it. Why was she making me look like the bad guy?
"I'll handle it myself, so please go back to your desk."
"Okay, okay."
I waited until I was sure she'd actually left, then pulled out my phone and snuck a look at the preview.
Filming?
I glanced at the clock on my monitor.
April 24th, 5:43 p.m.
So that was it.
Today was the day.
The day the policy went into effect — the one everyone around me had spent weeks teasing me for not applying to, then pointedly stopped mentioning once it actually drew close, as if they were being considerate. I had been trying so hard to ignore it.
So why did he have to be the one to message me?
And free? Please.
I had overtime tonight anyway. I couldn't go, and I had no intention of going. How many documents were stacked beside me? How many reports did I still have to file?
Besides, I still didn't know how I felt about dating, or marriage, or any of it.
When I was younger, I had believed that if I studied hard, earned well, and built a respectable social standing, I would meet a good man. Now the men were all dead, and I wasn't sure that logic held up anymore.
.....In a situation like this, the kind of marriage I used to imagine was impossible, wasn't it?
Become a diplomat. Marry a man of similar standing. Have children, return to work, and let those children experience country after country from the time they were small — a married life where I had both career and motherhood, both rabbits caught at once.
When I first passed the exam, I had thought all of it would work out.
Ah... goodbye, the married life I dreamed of. Farewell, my Minseo. Farewell, my Doyun.
The Europe I had wanted to go to was apparently drowning in protests now — refugees pouring in from Africa, an economy that had collapsed in on itself. They said even reaching the diplomats stationed there was difficult. I wondered what would become of them.
Anyway. My head was a mess.
"Ayoung. Isn't this an opportunity?"
In a way, it was. An opportunity to marry. An opportunity to date.
"I suppose so."
"So are you going?"
"No... do you have any idea how much work I have piled up?"
I had come in yesterday even though it was Sunday, and it hadn't made a dent. Not even a little.
Maybe I should just quit and go help Mom instead.
"Then would you go if you didn't have work?"
"No. I don't like younger men."
Where was I supposed to find a man of my caliber among guys younger than me?
"That does sound like you."
"And even if I went, I don't know if I could even get married the way people used to...."
Wait. Who was I talking to right now?
I turned my head. Team Leader was crouched beside me, holding my unlocked phone, reading the screen.
"Team Leader?"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing?"
"Sending a reply."
"You can't just look at that. I told you I'm not going."
"Ayoung."
What was this. Why did she have to get serious at the exact moment I was supposed to be angry at her — the exact moment it would make my resolve waver.
"Yes?"
"Did you know? Women like us — women who dream of becoming high-ranking officials — we were never that popular on the dating market."
"We weren't?"
Female diplomats weren't popular?
"Of course not. You and I both clawed our way here, didn't we? So you already know. Most men don't even register."
That... was true, wasn't it?
After everything it had taken to get here.
"When I was right where you are now, I thought, I've come this far. Men who check every box — height, education, salary, age, assets, family background — they'll be lining up for me, right? But they weren't. The better the man we wanted, the less he cared that a woman had made something of herself."
It had been a shock.
Why?
With conditions like these?
Why didn't they care?
Why?
"I found that out too late. I was trying to take it all the way to marriage with the boyfriend I had at the time... and then the world turned into this."
"I'll take care of the work."
"But if it works out, don't you dare pretend you don't know me."
"So go. The rest of the team is thinking the same thing."
So that was what she had been through...
I couldn't say a word.
Maybe it was because I had just seen the weak side of a superior who was always so composed, so full of confidence. The look in her eyes, the expression on her face — she meant every word.
And just like that, I was all but shoved out of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building.
Half the world had vanished, but the roads were still jammed. I stared at the traffic and thought about a great many things.
Should I go?
Looking at the link he had sent afterward, the hotel would take a little over an hour to reach.
Should I take a car?
And what did he mean, a guest?
If I went now, he would be there with five other women. So why had he asked me to come?
Was I just a guest, and I had gotten my hopes up over nothing?
At least I had changed clothes, so I didn't look entirely disastrous — but the exhaustion was written all over my face. What if I showed up and just ended up being compared to the other women?
I didn't know.
I still didn't have an answer in my head for what Team Leader had said, either.
The only thing I could say for certain was that it felt good to be out of that suffocating office, breathing air that was thick with exhaust and fine dust and still, somehow, fresher than what I'd left behind.
"Ugh... what am I supposed to do..."
Maybe I should just think of it as clocking out on time for once — almost the first time — and going to a hotel to sleep.
He was the one who invited me. He'd cover the room, right?
A diplomat's salary had become a pittance; treating myself to a hotel stay on my own was no longer realistic. Maybe I could just think of it that way and go.
With that half-formed thought and that half-formed feeling, I started walking toward the subway.
So what's it going to be? Is she coming or not?
"What's she saying? Is she coming?"
"No idea. Looks like we'll have to wait a bit. She hasn't answered."
"Ohh... did she dump you?"
"Maybe."
"What's that supposed to mean. I think she's playing hard to get."
With me?
"We're not that close."
"That's what my gut's telling me. Anyway, what kind of woman is she?"
That's what you're curious about?
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't know... she could end up being my rival. And even if she isn't, she might be filming with us tonight, right?"
"She's just a civil servant from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs who was assigned to me."
"But you're in contact with her privately?"
"It just kind of happened."
"What? Why didn't you tell me? Something happened, didn't it? I knew it."
We just kissed. That's all it was.
"Hellooo! I'm Bae Suji, the writer!"
The appointed time had arrived, and someone came through the door that had been closed until now — looking like an entirely different person. The dark tones, the comfortable clothes you could move in, the practical ponytail meant for work: all of it was gone. Her hair had been done, and she was dressed in something bright and host-like. She didn't even look like the same woman.
"Hehe. I look pretty different, right?"
"Wow, you look gorgeous. Where'd you get your hair done?"
"What can I say? A girl has connections at the network!"
"Honestly, Seonghun asked me to come in as Hyein's replacement, but the people upstairs weren't thrilled about that. So we settled on a variety talk-show format with me as the host, and here I am."
So that's why she showed up dressed like this...
"We'll be doing other things too, of course!"
Ah... right. I see.
"By the way, where's Olivia? I was told she was here with you."
"He sent her away himself."
"What? Why?"
"He said there were circumstances. He called someone else instead, but we don't know if she'll actually come — and even if she does, she'll probably be late."
Explaining the situation to a writer who had just been recast as a host was more of a pain than it should have been. Fortunately, word came that a stand-in was on the way, and we barely managed to get permission.
Sorry about that, writer.
We were putting on microphones, getting ready to shoot, when the door opened and Park Yujin walked in with a dark look on her face.
"The filming. I'll participate too."
I heard she was sick. Is she all right?