Power & Sex, and... 38
I pushed open the door to the coffee shop where Eun-mi and Jeong-ah were waiting, and they stood up to greet us warmly.
"Sorry. I was so out of it, I didn't even think to call."
"It's fine. I wasn't expecting you to call from a place crawling with reporters anyway. So, how'd it go with them? Smooth sailing?"
"Yeah. Honestly, Ara saved my skin. It was a nail-biter, sure, but in the end... oh, and I even picked up a grandson from a major daily paper."
"What're you talking about?"
"One of the reporters turned out to be from Ara's clan—practically her grandson in the family tree. She clocked it right away and flipped the script on him."
"Bet that threw him for a loop."
"Anyway, it lightened the mood big time. So, how'd the evening news turn out?"
"Better than you hoped, I'd say."
At Eun-mi's words, Jeong-ah fired up her laptop and played back the news broadcasts from that night. The tone was favorable to me, packed with exactly the angles I'd wanted. A weight lifted from my chest, one that had been dragging me down.
"Thing is, I probably won't make it back to Seoul at dawn tomorrow either."
"Why not? Isn't everything wrapped up?"
"Gotta see those guys in custody first. And chat with the Busanjin station chief too."
"Sounds good. So, afternoon then?"
"Yeah, think so. I rushed out today without properly greeting the district office staff on duty."
"Then that's the plan. I'll head out with Jeong-ah in the morning and wait for you at the office."
We finished our coffee and parted ways—Eun-mi and Jeong-ah off to Haeundae, where Jeong-ah lived, while we headed home. In what felt like no time at all, so much had happened to us, and we'd been run ragged. When we got home, my mother-in-law was still up waiting, so we paid our respects, washed up, and I held her close as I drifted into a deep sleep.
"Are you awake, son-in-law?"
"Yes. Where's Jeong-ah, Mother-in-law?"
"She left for work. It's almost 10 already."
"You didn't wake me?"
"Jeong-ah insisted—no waking you till you stirred, said you must be exhausted."
"Sorry. This lazy son-in-law of yours slept in."
After devouring the breakfast she'd prepared, I hopped on the subway to the office. No choice but to lean on the office manager or youth committee chair for rides today. Walking from the station, I greeted locals opening their shops, even pitched in a bit here and there, which ate up time. They knew it was all show, but they lit up anyway, insisting I grab a coffee—which meant I filled up on caffeine for breakfast, fresh off sleeping in and a late morning meal.
"Hey, bro, got a sec?"
"Assemblyman, office is this way."
"Aw, come on—even at the office, what's wrong with calling you bro? I'm not calling you 'little bro' or anything."
"Please, keep it proper in public."
"Sheesh. Who's picking a fight over a friendly 'bro'? Youth chair, you get me, right?"
When I called the manager "bro," he looked horrified. The youth chair just grinned without taking sides. These were folks who'd been with me since my days as Hwang's secretary—family, really. They'd sacrifice for me down the line, people I could trust. What was wrong with treating them like bros? Blame the manager's old-school stubbornness, that's all.
"Assemblyman Park, I'm begging you."
"Nah, just say 'let's do it.' What's with the formal 'shall we' to your little bro?"
"Seriously, Park? You know how awkward that makes me?"
"See? That's not bro behavior. Out in public, fine—but inside the office, let's loosen up. Home and here are my only sanctuaries. If even here I get the assemblyman treatment, I can't breathe."
"......"
Truth was, that assemblyman label cramped me everywhere. No space to relax, speak freely—not even at my own home, where Mom and Mother-in-law hit me with honorifics. And I was just a guy in his early thirties, for crying out loud.
"So why haven't you headed to Seoul yet, Assemblyman Park?"
"Gotta see you and the on-duty folks first. And meet the Busanjin chief before I go."
"You saw us yesterday—that enough reason to delay Seoul?"
"Bro, who means more to me than my office family? Missed last week too—gotta say proper goodbyes."
"Fine, do what you want."
"Since we're at it, how about a game today?"
"A game? An assemblyman heading to the billiards hall?"
"Lunch break's personal time. One game over lunch—who's gonna nitpick?"
"You're an assemblyman, Park."
"No session right now. Just a quick game at lunch. You've cleaned me out plenty—time for payback."
The manager couldn't beat my stubbornness and relented, joining the youth chair at the billiards hall. The on-duty staff—same old me, but now Assemblyman Park—trailed us like it was a big deal, unlike before.
"How've you been?"
"Secretary Park—no, Assemblyman—fancy seeing you here."
"Boss, what else? Billiards at a billiards joint. Four cues, please."
The owner stared, baffled, then fetched the balls. I was the worst of the three, so I broke. Midway through, the youth chair—who should've been trash-talking and distracting—was dead quiet. Had to poke him myself.
As he lined up his shot, I let out a massive fake sneeze right beside him—"Ah-choo!" His focus shattered; miscue.
"Assemblyman, really?"
"Me? Sneezes happen. Sorry it hit then—don't rub it in."
"We'll see when it's your turn."
That one prank thawed the vibe back to normal. Not just our office crew—the owner cracked a smile watching us goof off.
Exactly 30 minutes: manager first, youth chair second, me dead last. Drinks and game fees on the youth chair; I covered lunch. With the crowd, it wasn't cheap for him.
"The guy who always finishes last is the one pushing for it."
"Come down next week. Haven't touched a cue in months—that's why. Give me time to practice my poison, and you're toast, bro."
"Deal. Lunch is on you next time too."
I'd lost without a prayer, but it burned—next week it is.
"Youth chair."
"Yeah?"
"Busy this afternoon?"
"Nothing special."
"I'll cover your cab fare—give me a lift?"
"Where to?"
"Busanjin station first, then prosecutor's office, drop at Busan Station."
"Sure thing."
Afternoon transport sorted. Bus, subway, or cab would've worked, but I was drained—too lazy. Should've extended that rental car this morning.
Post-lunch, I bid farewell to the manager and staff, left the district office, and headed to Busanjin Police Station. I'd set the meet with the chief that morning, of course. He greeted me warmly on arrival, led me to his office, poured tea. This one gesture probably locked in his loyalty.
I asked him to go easy if anything like the other day cropped up again—considering my position—and left. At the prosecutor's, same deal: quick tea with the branch head, same request as to the chief, and out. No press or stations yet—timing's off. All stops hit; now Busan Station for the train.
"Assemblyman, how about swinging by to see your wife first?"
The youth chair's words jolted me. "Oh—right! Thanks, Chair." Hit me—I'd slept in, bolted without even seeing her face.
"Slept through morning, no goodbye to the missus. You'd have saved me from a pouty wife."
I did think of her, love her—but once fixated on one thing, everything else vanishes. Those youths had eaten our time, but before Seoul, I obsessed over wrapping that up... forgot her entirely.
No call—I'd surprise her. Up to the reading room. As always, dead quiet, just the hush of turning pages.