The Hair Salon
Dazzling gold accessories glittered inside the display cases, each piece set out with a pretty, careful hand. For a neighborhood jeweler, the shop was surprisingly refined.
"...See anything you like?"
"Ah, no. I just never have much reason to come into a gold shop, so it all feels new."
"Look as long as you like. If you want to try anything on, just say so."
"Haha. Sure."
I answered out of politeness and lowered my eyes to the case again. One ring kept snagging my gaze. It was a small gold band, made so that once it was on a finger it would look as if a knot had been tied there—the same way the clover-flower rings my mother used to weave for me when I was little had looked. Diamonds set along the top scattered light in bright little sparks. Clean, brilliant, and yet somehow modest. It called Hyunji to mind, that pure-white diamond, and I found myself asking, almost under my breath.
"...How much is something like this?"
The owner, who had been taking links out of a watch band, glanced at the ring, then at me, and answered with a smile.
"That one's for a proposal. Are you picking a gift out in advance, in case someone gives you one?"
"...A proposal?"
I was sure I'd been told there was no marriage here. Thrown by the sudden word, I asked again, and the owner—apparently taking it for a different sort of confusion—smiled and nodded.
"Of course. Women who want to move in together, or who want to set aside a good day, give them to men all the time. A knot means something good no matter which side of the world you're from. Romantic, isn't it?"
"Ah. I see."
So the men here had to be handed something like this before they'd sleep with you? That seemed like a bit much. Sex was just sex. It was the most important and precious of the connections between a man and a woman, yes—but still. Then again, in this world I was the strange one.
"Would you like to try it on? What size do you wear?"
"No, that's all right. I was just thinking of a friend it would suit."
The hands that had been fussing over the watch strap went still. I scratched my cheek under the woman owner's steady look, but she only smiled, soft, and murmured.
"...She must be lucky. In nearly thirty years of handling gold, I've never once seen a man choosing a ring as a gift."
"Does it look that strange?"
"No. Enviable. Hmm—it's Tiffany, so you're looking at about eight thousand dollars. Let's see... List is eighty-five hundred. I can do seventy-six."
"...That's no joke."
"I'm afraid not. Still, it's this season's new piece, and you've got a good eye."
I knew diamond rings ran expensive, but I hadn't expected the number to clear several thousand quite so casually—even allowing for the markup of buying it in person. Ordering something like this online felt wrong, though, when it was meant as a gift. The other rings beside it were probably in the same range.
...Maybe I really should take some modeling work.
The owner's words only confirmed what I already knew. Here, I was the one who received, not the one who gave, and saying otherwise would only wear my mouth out. Even so, I wanted the form of the thing. At the very least, I wanted to put a ring on each of them—and not some careless plain band, either. Was I simply not capable enough yet? I'd have to leave it for later.
"I'll come back once I've made real money."
The owner's eyes went round. She laughed, big and easy, checked the watch strap this way and that, and held it out to me.
"I'll be waiting."
"Right. So what do I owe you?"
"It's fine."
"Sorry?"
"You caught me on a dull afternoon and gave me a story that made my whole day. Call it a bribe, so you'll be sure to come back. Don't forget the extra links."
"...Thank you."
I scratched my cheek, bowed to the smiling owner, and stepped out of the shop, tucking the little bag of spare links roughly into an inner pocket. It really wasn't much. Ten or twenty dollars, if you priced it. What I was grateful for was the feeling behind it.
Should I actually bring them here someday?
The mere fact that the thought had occurred meant the owner had already gotten what she wanted. The cold metal band sat snug against my wrist. I shook my hand out, feeling the unfamiliar weight, and walked on at an easy pace. A hair-salon sign I hadn't seen in a long while came into view, and I went inside and climbed to the second floor. The moment I opened the door, the salon's particular mix of chemicals and air freshener washed over me.
"Welco— Oh my. Welcome. It's been far too long."
The middle-aged woman at the front desk looked at me and broke into a smile. I smiled back at the director I hadn't seen in ages and stepped closer.
"It's been a while. You're as pretty as ever."
"Oh, honestly. Lee Shinwoo, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Today I just want a trim. Do you do styling, too?"
"Of course. Off somewhere important again today, I take it? Did that investment work out, back then?"
"Ah. It just sort of... ended up the way it did."
"Aigoo. What are we going to do with you."
Right. The director here still had no idea I'd ended up unemployed, and I had no particular urge to correct her. If she were the one doing my hair, I could mention it then. Whatever.
"More or less the same. I just want to put in a little effort. Something natural, though. Nothing that looks like I tried."
"All right. I'll have it done in that effortless, I-didn't-even-try way. Only I've got a booking today."
"Will I have to wait long, then?"
"Our Yang is very good. Want to leave it with her?"
"I don't mind. I'm just not exactly swimming in time."
"She can take you right away. Have a seat for a moment."
While I sat at the table I scrolled through my phone, opened the fan band, and left another comment.
Replies piled up beneath mine in a rush of laughter. I sighed and backed out of the band. Clearly not an atmosphere that was going to listen.
I hate feeling like I'm running up a debt.
If I paid them back with something, maybe the weight would ease. Do it wrong, though, and I'd only spur them on. Difficult, this. Celebrities must have had it even worse.
"Um... excuse me..."
I was just about to sigh into my phone when a woman who had come up beside me hesitated and called to me. I looked up. A face I didn't know. The moment our eyes met, color rushed into her cheeks all at once, and the shy way she held out a gown actually lifted my mood a little. Something about her was familiar, though. An ordinary sort of face—but the ash-gray dye suited her very well.
"I-I'll help you into the gown..."
"Sure."
I stood and turned my back. She hesitated, then carefully slipped a sleeve over my arm, settled the gown onto me, and went on, stumbling over the words.
"I don't think I saw you last time."
"N-no... It's only been two weeks..."
"Has it. So you're the one doing me today?"
"Y-yes... I-if you're uneasy, should I ask the director...?"
"Uneasy? Not in the slightest."
"I-I'll take good care of you..."
As I worked my other arm into the remaining sleeve, our eyes met. A puppy face. A natural double lid, the outer corners drooping just slightly, the gaze so clear she looked innocent. A tidy, compact kind of cute. The gown had hidden it, but she was quite tall, and her figure had real volume to it. The apron made her chest hard to judge, though the strings cinched at her waist brought out her waist and hips. Nothing about her suggested she carried any extra weight. Then she whispered something that threw me, too.
"I-I just saw your comment on the band..."
"Ah. You joined?"
"...Yes..."
I studied her face in silence, and it only burned hotter. So that was why she'd seemed familiar. Let me think.
"Cafe latte. Hot. Large. Right? And a macaron, I think."
"...Y-you remember...?"
"You came twice?"
"Yes. Your memory is really something. There are so many unnies... I was so busy in the mornings I couldn't come often... I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what. I'm grateful you came at all. When did you dye it, though? I didn't recognize you."
"...Yesterday..."
"The blonde was pretty, too. This color is pretty as well. It suits you."
"...Thank you."
Joy filled her face until her eyes went soft and unfocused. I smiled at her, quiet, and glanced around.
"Where am I sitting?"
"Ah! Th-this way, please..."
She guided me to a chair in the center, and I sat where she indicated. In the mirror, her gaze was aimed straight at me. I answered it.
"Why on earth did you all buy something that expensive?"
"...It suits you so well. You really are wearing it..."
She was looking at my wrist and smiling as if the sight delighted her, and for a moment I had nothing to say.
"...Who bought this? Seriously, don't do things like this. I already got an earful for how much it weighed on me."
"...Hehe. Everyone chipped in a little, so please don't feel too burdened. We were going to get a Rolex, but we were afraid it would make you uncomfortable."
"...And this was you holding back?"
"It's pretty. It suits you so well. And your reaction is wonderful, too. I think we should do it again."
The laugh was a bit of an airhead's laugh, but it fit the cute impression. From the way she kept going, I was going to need some kind of drastic measure. The truth was, I liked things with care put into them more than things like this. But—
No.
If I said that out loud, handwritten letters and paper cranes—whole nests of them—might come flying in, and my head would hurt even worse. The thought of having to answer every one of them made me dizzy. Things like that are hard to throw away later. Unless you're a sociopath, how do you put something like that in the trash? Nothing to be done.
"...I'll wear it well. Thank you."
"Yes. Th-then, shall we wash your hair?"
"Sure."
I let her settle the towel and cape around my neck, moved over to the wash station, and lay back in the chair. She looked down at me, shy and smiling. I closed my eyes, and warm water and warm hands over my scalp left me pleasantly languid.
"How's the temperature?"
"Perfect."
"...Your hair is so nice."
The hands working through it were full of care, cautious enough that I could feel every bit of the attention she was paying. I'd been a little worried, but she seemed like someone who knew how to keep the job and everything else apart.
...Isn't everyone just trying to scare me?
No matter how I looked at it, there was nothing here worth being on guard against. She was broadcasting her interest without much subtlety, but if anything, that felt good. I could feel my own wariness starting to loosen without my meaning it to, and I was just steeling myself to pull it back when a touch so careful it almost tickled crossed my forehead. I opened my eyes.
"...Ah..."
The moment I did, I met the hazy gaze of a woman who had been staring at my face. She flinched and hurriedly pulled her hand away from my forehead.
"What is it?"
"...Y-your skin is so nice... Like a baby's..."
"Thanks. Yours is..."
I glanced aside, caught the name on her tag—Yang Gi-ppeum—and went on.
"Your skin's lovely too, Gi-ppeum."
"...Thank you..."
Yang Gi-ppeum's face, still quietly watching me, reddened again. Then the sense of someone nearby in the shampoo room snapped her back to herself, and she hurriedly wrapped a towel around my head.
"I-I'm sorry..."
"It's fine."
It wasn't that I didn't know what she wanted. And the place was stimulating enough for me that the impulse stirred, too. I just hadn't lost my head to that degree. There were plenty of customers, and the director was here. I couldn't start something in a place like this. Besides, I still couldn't tell whether she was someone it was all right to lay a hand on.
"...How's this?"
The cut was over in a flash. All it had needed was a little shaping. For a while I'd have to keep an eye on my hair and see how fast it grew.
"Yeah. Just right."
"Th-then I'll set it."
"Please. And don't let it show that I fussed."
"Yes."
When I met Yang Gi-ppeum's softly smiling eyes, her face flushed all over again. Her thighs were trembling, little by little, and the mirror showed all of it—so I wasn't unaware that she, too, was holding herself back quite a lot.