You Should Act (2)
Ugh. I should have thought before I opened my mouth.
While my brain sat frozen like it had lagged, Lee Songha wiped the sweat from her face and answered.
"I can't act."
"What? Why not? What is there to be bad at?"
W&U could have pushed her harder in that direction, couldn't they?
"I can't act."
"Huh?"
"It's not that I won't. I can't."
"Why? Why can't you act?"
"If you're asking why I can't... I just can't."
"No, you're good at act—!"
I flinched halfway through the sentence. One look at Lee Songha told me she was already staring at me like I was some kind of lunatic. Get a grip. Mix up the future and the present and I was finished. In that future, people said Songha acted well, that it had been a rediscovery of Lee Songha—but that might not be true yet.
So what was what, then? What did I have to do, starting now, for that future to arrive?
Did she start acting because her path as a singer looked uncertain? No. The way she said she couldn't act made it sound like she'd already tried. Somewhere along the line she'd picked up a bad feeling about the whole thing. Her face hardened every time the word acting came up, and more than anything, the tone when she said she couldn't had been far too firm.
So had she started out terrible and then bled through practice until the skill shot up overnight? Was she the late-blooming type, some talent she'd never known she had finally coming into flower?
"Have you ever properly learned how to act? Did someone tell you you can't? Maybe you could show me just once—"
I rattled the questions off and then let the end of the sentence die. For a while now Songha had been sneaking glances at me and quietly gathering her things. The thick padded coat was already on, the bag already over her shoulder. She came up to me where I stood staring blankly and gave a short bow.
"I'm heading in. Good night."
"Huh?"
And she vanished like the wind.
...What. Did she just run away?
In the end I lay awake the whole night, turning it over until the dark went white.
Why had Lee Songha reacted so badly to being told to act? And then there was the audition tape of her I'd seen in the future. At the time I'd let it pass, but lying in bed and thinking it through, something about it wouldn't sit right. A closed audition where I didn't know the title, the director, or even the role? Did they hold auditions like that in Korea? How secret did a project have to be? And it wasn't even face-to-face—she auditioned on video?
Why?
The more I thought, the more the suspicion narrowed to a single point. A system that guarded the script like a military secret. Songha acting in a fluent mix of English and Korean. A casting director who happened to catch her playing an interpreter, put her on a list, and that was how she got the chance to audition... If that was how it went, then maybe Holly—
No. Get a grip, you maniac.
I was getting worked up and running way too far ahead. That place wasn't exactly the neighborhood next door. Even veterans who had acted in Korea for ten years, twenty years, didn't dare aim there lightly. W&U kept knocking on the door, shoving actors in without caring whether the part was a bit role or a supporting one, and the reality was still no better than pouring water into a cracked jar.
And Lee Songha?
Enough sleep-talking. I hadn't even slept. I dry-washed my face and got out of bed. The day had already started.
Maybe it was the Next K-Star effect, but today they were on a terrestrial music show. If we wanted them looking pretty on camera in full makeup, we'd be moving from before dawn again. Well. Leaving under the moon and coming home under the moon was familiar by now.
In the car on the way to pick the kids up, I finally asked Kim Hyunjo what I'd been saving.
"Chief. About Songha."
"Yeah."
"Did she ever take acting lessons?"
Kim Hyunjo knocked back a hangover drink in one shot and answered.
"Think about that face of hers. Is that a visual that loses anywhere?"
"No."
"You think we never considered putting her in acting?"
"So then..."
"Of course she took private lessons."
So she had.
"We were looking into slotting her as a supporting role on a weekend terrestrial drama, so long as she wasn't bad enough to get torn apart for it. Guess God doesn't hand one person everything. They said Songha has no talent for acting."
"Who said that?"
"Who else. The lesson teacher. She's coached a lot of our company's kids. Bora, Suran, Chaeyoung—they all learned from her. So we sent Songha too, and she said the kid's face is gorgeous, but she acts so badly even that can't cover it. After the lessons, Songha herself said she wasn't going to act."
"That's surprising. Watching the music videos, I thought she'd be good at it."
"Music videos don't have lines. I was disappointed enough that I tried to talk her into it some more, but it didn't take at all. Seems like she lost all interest in that direction."
Fair enough. Yesterday she'd bolted the moment I brought up acting. And yet the Lee Songha of the future had definitely been acting—and well. So something was going to happen that would change her mind?
Either way, I'd dig into it later. First, finish what was right in front of me.
We picked the kids up at the dorm, stopped by the salon, then drove a long while and pulled up at the broadcast station in Yeouido. Call time was still later than Knet's, so outside had been bright for a good while.
"Oh? It's Neptune."
"Who?"
"Neptune. They were on Next K-Star with my bias."
All the entertainment coverage had done its work; more people recognized them than last time. More people taking photos, too. Nobody was stopping them for autographs yet, but I was hoping that once they took a music-show win, that would start happening as well.
After greeting other groups' fans for a while, we went inside. The music-show waiting rooms were about the same size as Knet's, and about the same in that all you could do in one was wait.
I'd learned from last time and come prepared. A power bank charged to the brim, and a charger on top of that in case it still wasn't enough. A sleep mask, too. The first day, nerves and excitement had kept me from sleeping a wink, but a few days into being a manager I'd become a master of the catnap. Now, wherever I was, if I decided to sleep, I slept. Call it evolving to survive.
When the senior singers had all arrived and it was time to make the rounds, Lim Seoyoung caught Lee Songha by the scruff of the neck and launched, yet again, into the lecture she'd already given at the salon. And again. And again.
"Lee Songha. Just because you landed a regular variety show, don't go getting a stiff neck, all right? People start talking behind your back fast. You know that?"
"I know."
"When you just stand there you look sullen, so be aware of it and smile. Got it?"
"I know... nagging all day..."
Songha ducked her head and muttered, and Seoyoung's eyes went thin.
"Right now we all go around together, but if Next K-Star does well you'll get solo schedules too. You think I'm comfortable sending you off alone? Act like this around other people and they'll say a kid your age has no manners, scold you every single day, and you'll cry..."
I could have recited that repertoire myself by now.
Songha seemed to have given up on escaping and was listening with a blank face. Lee Taehee and LJ had put a healthy distance between themselves the moment the lecture started. Seoyoung's nagging, which had been running like background music, only stopped once we stepped into another singer's waiting room.
We went around the rooms in turn to say hello, and smiled through the rookie singers and managers who came to greet us. One regular variety slot under their belts, and the kids had a little more ease when they dealt with rookie girl groups. It made me oddly proud.
It was a schedule I'd already lived through once, so the hours slipped past as quietly as water. Kim Hyunjo, who had been watching me and the traitor with close attention, looked pleased and said that from next time he could just show his face late.
I rested straight through until lunch, then headed out after noon to buy snacks. The traitor had driven again today, so the snack run was mine. I already had the kids' preferences memorized, picked everything in a flash, and was just coming back into the station when—
What was that?
At the corner into the waiting-room hallway, Lim Seoyoung, Lee Songha, and three members of Sugar Cat were gathered together. After a few uneasy run-ins, the sight of Sugar Cat's members standing with our kids put me on edge. Someday it was going to blow.
As I got closer, the voices reached me.
"The center's basically Songha, right?"
"Songha's share is a little higher, but there are four of us, so it's pretty much even."
"Honestly, of everyone in Neptune you're the best dancer, and Taehee-unnie's the best singer. Everybody knows LJ's rap is good. If Songha wants to stand center over you unnies, she's going to have to work a lot harder. She's the hole in the team. What happens if people curse her out for getting center just because of her face?"
She was mocking Songha, wasn't she—worst singer, worst dancer, worst rapper of the members, standing center on looks alone.
I broke into something close to a run. I'd thought today would end the way last time had, with a fake little greeting and a parting, but with no eyes on them and no cameras, there were bones in the words. Not even hidden. Bones sticking out sharp. Better to look busy and pull the kids out of there.
I was almost on them when Seoyoung smiled and said,
"Don't worry. She practices like crazy. We're the ones scared she'll catch up to us in no time."
"Wow. Your members are seriously nice. We felt kind of weird about it back then."
"Huh?"
"When you were our center, we felt kind of weird."