Faces Behind the Makeup
We arrived at Cinderella around ten in the evening. I had expected the weekday crowd to be thin, yet nearly ten of the forty-seat halls were already filled. The media kept shouting about recession, and politicians blamed one another, but none of that seemed to apply here. When I asked Kim Minjun, who ran a water business, he said that when sales dipped they survived on price cuts and events. Just like the two-plus-one promotions in supermarkets, bars ran all sorts of discount events, and places that could put on shows drew customers with performances. As if to prove his point, dazzling dancers spun under the spotlights on stage.
Two transgender women brought the drinks and snacks we had ordered. The one called Gyuri recognized Kim Minjun and greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm. I knew well enough that if you could not remember a customer who spent money even on occasional visits, you had no business working in a bar. Using that as an excuse, Gyuri and another transgender woman named Boyoung naturally joined our table.
Boyoung, seated beside me, was a textbook case of overdone plastic surgery. Her face looked so heavily altered that it felt almost grotesque, and her voice still carried an unmistakable masculine timbre—the classic “unbalanced” look. Nine times out of ten, her next surgery would be voice feminization. While I half-listened to her chatter, my eyes kept scanning the hall. Between the lighting, the glittering dresses, and the heavy makeup, spotting Gukhwa—Lee Changguk—was far from easy. All I remembered was that he was about Changhee’s height and vaguely resembled her; with a wig and makeup on, the task became nearly impossible.
On the way here, Kim Minjun had told me a story. Some married man’s cross-dressing hobby had grown so intense that he ended up working in a transgender bar. One night his wife came in with friends as a customer. When the group sat down, she ended up only two seats away from him. He nearly fled in panic, but etiquette demanded introductions, so he had no choice but to introduce himself. The amusing part was that his wife never recognized her own husband’s face beneath the makeup. Even accounting for the alcohol and dim lighting, people might wonder how a wife could fail to recognize a face she lived with every day. That, Minjun said, was the power of makeup. Especially in places like this, where everyone emphasized their eyes and lips—the most attractive features—creating faces whose true shape was impossible to guess. Add a wig, and recognition became almost impossible even if the person sat right beside you.
That was exactly my situation now. Since I could not immediately pick out Lee Changguk’s face from a single previous glimpse, the best option was to chat with the others while quietly examining each one, or simply ask outright. Asking for Gukhwa directly would be too obvious, so I chose the first method. He occasionally met my eyes; whenever I shook my head slightly or gave a disappointed smile, he spoke loudly enough for me to hear, his arm still around Gyuri’s shoulders.
“Hey, it’s been a while since I came, and every face looks the same. Is the place going under, or are you just neglecting me because I don’t visit often?”
Knowing his habit of tipping even for a quick greeting, Gyuri apologized at once and hurried over to whisper something to a waiter. When our eyes met again, he winked at me. I winked back. That was how every transgender worker in Cinderella eventually came to sit at our table. Yet, somehow, the very person I was looking for—Gukhwa—was missing.
No matter how difficult Lee Changguk was to recognize, I was confident I would not have missed someone who carried even a hint of Changhee’s aura. I had examined faces, wigs, and voices with the utmost care; missing him would have been stranger than finding him. Assuming Mira’s information was correct, he had been working here for at most two months—long enough to have shed the “newbie” label and no longer be stuck in the kitchen. Why could I not locate him? In fact, I had already interviewed every newcomer. The only remaining possibility was that the information itself was wrong. I hoped that was the case. If the intel was mistaken and Lee Changguk was not here at all, that would be far preferable. But I knew it was unlikely. These people were professionals; they would not make such a basic error.
“Honestly, this is disappointing. I thought there’d be at least one better than Gyuri or Boyoung…”
He lit a cigarette as he spoke. Gyuri, pleased by the faint praise, smiled brightly and quickly offered him a light. Just then Boyoung exclaimed,
“Oh, right—some of the girls are off today, unni. Myung-i, Chunhee, Gukhwa, Youngji…”
The moment I heard that, my mind cleared. Of course—why had I not considered it? Workers in places like this rotated days off even on weekdays. I had completely overlooked that simple fact. What a foolish mistake.
“Ah, really? Let me think… I don’t remember Myung-i or Gukhwa. They must have started while I was away.”
“Oh my, your memory is incredible! How do you remember everyone’s names?”
Gyuri stared at him in amazement.
“My memory is better than most people’s, haha… Anyway, the interviews are over, so let’s have some fun. And Gyuri, you’re coming with me tonight. Full time. You know that, right?”
“Of course, oppa. You promised last time that you’d take me out when you came back, didn’t you? Hohoho…”
I suspected she, too, had once passed through Kim Minjun’s hands. Probably half the girls here had. That was none of my concern. I would do what I needed to do; he would do what he wanted. We agreed to meet again on Saturday evening. Originally I had planned to send him alone. He would meet Gukhwa, talk naturally, take a photo, and send it to me so I could verify the facts. But I realized that would be unnecessarily complicated. Confirming whether the information was true or not was no longer the priority; what mattered was understanding why Lee Changguk had ended up living this way. To do that, meeting him directly was the faster solution. That decision forced me to lie to Changhee again, yet she had reacted with delight, saying it was perfect. When I asked why, she only gave me a sly smile. It was not a simple smile.
Over the past twenty days, Changhee had been radiating an unmistakable energy. Seeing her like that reminded me how much a person’s expression could change when they were doing what they truly wanted. In those twenty days, Jeongsook and Sister Yeojeong had moved as planned. Two days after the move, Lucy and Penny—delivered at considerable expense—had arrived, and Changhee had begun training them. Every weekend now brought her additional pleasure. While she worked with them, I drank lightly and chatted with the two mistresses. Among other things, we discussed the hypnosis sessions they conducted every two or three days. They all said their affection and trust for one another had deepened. Knowing there were no side effects left me in good spirits as well.
“Today those two are finally starting their own training. Since it’s the first attempt, I thought it would be better if unni wasn’t around.”
“Those two” referred to Jeongsook and Sister Yeojeong. The time had come for them to be overwhelmed by Changhee’s charisma as well. I wondered what the outcome would be. Just as Changhee wanted to guide her brother Lee Changguk—Gukhwa—in a positive direction, I hoped she could steer those two in a good direction too.
At last I met Gukhwa. Honestly, I did not recognize him at first glance. If he had not carried even a trace of Changhee’s presence, I would have struggled for a long time; his transformation was that complete. If I had come without any prior information, I might have believed he was twenty-six and spent the evening touching and playing with him without ever suspecting he was Changhee’s brother. When Kim Minjun asked who had done his makeup at the salon, Gukhwa proudly declared that he had done it himself. He had every right to be proud—he was beautiful. His looks rivaled Changhee’s. If he had achieved that without any facial surgery, a little pride was understandable. What truly surprised me, however, was his full, rounded breasts. How determined must he have been to go this far with the job that he had even gotten breasts? The long dress with spaghetti straps seemed chosen precisely to show off that impressive bust. The sparkle in his eyes told me the rumors of his popularity were not exaggerated.
“Having breasts at least helps with popularity, hohoho…”
When asked whether it had been brave to get breasts so soon after starting, he answered with a laugh—the first real laugh I had heard from him. The person who had been speaking in a neutral voice suddenly burst into a masculine laugh, and for a moment I felt nauseated. I finally understood why transgender women practiced laughing and shouting loudly in karaoke rooms.