Power & Sex, and... 20
After breakfast, I left my mother and mother-in-law chatting behind me and headed to the district office. As I opened the door, firecrackers popped with a bang. Startled, I looked ahead to see Jeong-ah standing there with candles lit on a cake, while the on-duty staff chorused in unison, “Happy birthday! Happy birthday! Happy birthday, dear Assemblyman!” clapping enthusiastically toward me. Of course, the photojournalist who had come with Reporter Jeong was snapping away just as expected.
“Doesn’t your wife ever come to the office at all?”
“Aigoo, if that girl showed up, it’d just make things awkward for everyone here.”
“Still, when you come down to Busan, bring your wife along next time.”
“Sure, I will next time.”
“Why not just tell her to come today? It’s her day off anyway.”
In the end, I couldn’t refuse the staff’s earnest pleas and called Ara to come to the office. It wasn’t a big deal anyway—Ara didn’t have any bad blood with the on-duty folks. During the election, she’d hidden our marriage and worked just like any other volunteer, sweating alongside them under their directions until right before the main vote. They were comrades and colleagues; what could possibly be uncomfortable about that? She might just feel a bit out of place now because of her changed status.
A short while later, Ara arrived at the office, and it erupted in cheers once more. Blushing a little shyly, she went around greeting each staff member with a bow, shaking their hands, and thanking them warmly. With the Women’s Committee Chair, Kim Yeosa, and Jeong-ah, she acted like sisters, calling each other “unnie” and “dongsaeng” with easy familiarity.
At Ara’s suggestion, we hurriedly gathered the volunteers from the last election for lunch together. For the men who couldn’t make it due to work, Ara and I took turns on their phones, thanking them, checking in on how they were doing, and asking for their continued support.
One by one, two by two, the volunteers trickled in through the office door until everyone who could come had arrived. Then we moved next door to the restaurant. Ara made a point of visiting each table where the female volunteers sat, showing her warmth, while I sat with the men, catching up on old times and getting to know them a little better.
“Alright, now let’s hear a song from our Assemblyman Park Maru and his wife!”
At the Office Manager’s suggestion, the staff and volunteers erupted in “Woo!” cheers and applause. Even the restaurant owner and waitstaff watched us with curious eyes. Finally, the owner wheeled over a karaoke machine to our table, and Ara and I stood in front, pondering what to sing. Her cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment.
Truth be told, there wasn’t a single song Ara and I could sing together. Our age gap meant we liked different music, and crucially, we’d never been to karaoke together even once. I was tone-deaf anyway, and I rarely sang pop songs.
After agonizing over it for a while with no common ground, we settled on the campaign’s main logo song from the election: Taekwon Boy Maruchi. As we took the lead, the staff and volunteers naturally joined in, and soon the whole restaurant filled with their chorus, recreating the heated atmosphere of the election campaign like it was yesterday.
When the song ended, the staff and volunteers, still buzzing with that vivid energy, started swapping stories from the election, raising their voices about their own experiences. In the end, we all vowed victory in the next election too before leaving the restaurant.
Most of the male volunteers parted ways there, but the female ones came back up to the office and crowded into the meeting room. The Women’s Committee Chair, Kim Yeosa, Jeong-ah, and Ara bustled about preparing refreshments to serve them before heading back in. I just stood there watching blankly.
“What conspiracy are they plotting in there?”
“Who knows? Women’s minds change a dozen times a day—how are we men supposed to figure it out?”
The staff and I were dying to know what the women were up to in the meeting room, but all we heard was laughter and chatter echoing out—no clue what was going on. I had to head to Seoul soon anyway, so we gathered to discuss how to run the district office more effectively going forward. We also planned to survey the underprivileged in the district and brainstorm ways to help them.
These local issues couldn’t be handled from Seoul, so the Office Manager would take charge. For problems I could address personally, I’d either come down as needed or request support from the relevant ministries.
Even when it was time for me to leave, the female volunteers showed no sign of emerging from the meeting room. With no choice, I took a taxi to Busan Station without even seeing Ara’s face. It felt pathetic—not just the work, but not even being able to properly say goodbye to my wife, whom I saw only once a week. Boarding the train, I called Eun-mi from the connecting corridor.
“Where are you, honey?”
“Busan Station.”
“So you’re heading up to Seoul now?”
“Yeah. Sorry. A Women’s Era reporter tailed me from the station all the way home, and she stuck around the office until just now, so I couldn’t call you.”
“No helping it then. Anyway, I’ll be up in Seoul within the week too.”
“Yeah. Guess we’ll see each other there. Love you~”
“Love you too~ Mwah~”
With a “mwah,” she blew a kiss into the phone. Imagining her expression, I smiled contentedly, returned to my seat, leaned back, and closed my eyes.
I slept for a good while before a vibration buzzed in my inner pocket. I rushed to the connecting corridor, pulled out my phone, and answered to hear Ara’s voice, thick with tears.
“Hing~ I couldn’t even see you off, honey.”
“I slipped out quietly so I wouldn’t disturb. Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. But we decided to start a group.”
“What kind of group?”
“The volunteers will chip in monthly dues and take turns looking after kids from grandparent-led households or broken families—grandpas and grandmas too.”
“That’s not easy. If people drop out midway, it could backfire and get us hate.”
“If folks bail, the Women’s Committee Chair, Kim Yeosa, Jeong-ah, and I can keep it going—just the four of us.”
“But don’t take the lead too much, Ara. People might hold back if you do.”
“Yeah, Kim Yeosa’s agreed to be the group secretary.”
They must have discussed it in the meeting room. On second thought, it was perfect timing. I’d just asked the staff to survey the underprivileged and find ways to help—where manpower was needed, this new group could lead, with the staff assisting.
“How was your trip, sir?”
“Fine. Nothing special?”
“And how’d the interview with Reporter Jeong from Women’s Era go?”
“Aigoo, that one’s something else. She didn’t just barge into our house—she went to my parents’ place too. Did you know about it, Chief Kim?”
“Yes, sorry. She asked for natural shots without staging, and since there was nothing that could bite us, I promised not to tell you.”
“I see. Well, my wife was pretty flustered—she even tracked her down at work.”
“That intense? She’s got a rep as a lone wolf among magazine reporters.”
“Anyway, we got through it unscathed. Just hope she writes a good piece.”
After greetings with the aides, I went to my office and texted Do Cheol-rak on his new phone. Moments later, an unfamiliar number called.
“Did you make it to Seoul, hyungnim?”
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“Investigation’s mostly wrapped. Have that computer guy you mentioned join us tonight.”
“Got it. I’ll tell him to contact this number.”
After hanging up with Cheol-rak, I called Dong-hyeon and gave him the number, asking him to link up. With Cheol-rak’s instincts, if he’d set today as D-day, it was time to move. Now it was just a matter of waiting for his recruited thugs and Dong-hyeon’s performance.
“Assemblyman, it’s Park Seong-hwan.”
“Yes, Assemblyman? What brings you at this hour?”
“Busy tonight?”
“No special plans.”
After wrapping with Dong-hyeon and catching my breath, Park Seong-hwan called. He wanted to meet, and with my evening free, we set dinner.
Knock knock.
Kim Sil-jang opened the door.
“Come in.”
“Assemblyman, a party staffer’s here to see you.”
I stepped out to find the director of the Digital Media Department, under which my Electronic Party Committee fell—with me as chair.
“Director, come on in.”
“Hello, Assemblyman. Hope you’ve been well.”
“What brings you all the way here?”
I knew exactly why the Media Director had come. After that party board greeting fiasco pissed off the party elders, the party secretary-general must have pressured him—the department head—to kneecap the Electronic Party Committee by cutting our already scant staff of three.
“Sorry about this, but central party circumstances aren’t ideal, so we need to reassign one staffer from the Electronic Party Committee to another department. I’m here to ask your understanding.”
My guess was spot on. Without a word, I just stared at him with a faint smile. To climb to central party exec, you had to be slyer than a fox—no point fighting; silence would pressure him more effectively.
As I kept staring wordlessly, the director, unable to bear the quiet any longer, finally spoke.
“Assemblyman, you’ve got to give me some kind of answer.”
“Director, even if I say no, you’ll do it anyway, right? The secretary-general must have ordered it, sending you here.”
“……”
“I’ll say just one thing: I oppose it. We’re barely holding on with three now. But if the secretary-general insists despite that, go ahead. Then I’ll go public saying our party’s run by whoever’s got the muscle, doing whatever they please. The Electronic Party Committee isn’t about headcount anyway. Hardware like site maintenance? The secretary-general handles that. I just listen to members’ voices and relay them—the party board on the homepage is all that matters. If you kill that too, I’ll make a separate Electronic Party Committee site. Pass that to the secretary-general for me.”
“Come on, Assemblyman, you can’t just—”
“That’s it. See yourself out.”
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