Star Manager (2)
My hand shot out on reflex. Lim Seoyoung's round forehead slammed into my palm instead of the door and bounced off, and before I could catch her she went down flat on the bare floor with a smack.
Her face crumpled as if she might die of the sorrow.
I clicked my tongue to myself and held out a hand.
"Why are you abusing a perfectly good head? You trying to end up in the ER instead of the studio?"
"I'm nooot. Nnnn."
Even so, there was a recording to get through, and she hauled herself up on unsteady legs. Her mouth was clamped shut as if she were barely holding the tears in, and she sniffled through a nose gone pink.
She'd been waiting with her neck stuck out for this chance alone, but now that it was actually here the bleak thoughts seemed to have rushed in all at once—the compulsion that she absolutely had to pull it off, the dread of what would happen if she didn't, and the fear that she might disappoint the colleagues who believed in her.
"Quit digging yourself a hole and take it easy. Just because everyone around you keeps going on about the girl who holds up the household, do you actually think that's what you are? The chief, the others—nobody's going to be disappointed if you don't pull screen time. If anything, if they found out you were thinking like this, they'd lose it."
Her head looked scrambled to mush, so I kept my voice as gentle as I could.
"If you swept every variety show you walked onto, that'd make you a genius, right? Let's just say we came out this time to throw our hat in the ring on a network show. And honestly, if anyone causes a scene today, it'll be me. Not you."
Lim Seoyoung looked up at me with wet eyes.
"Oppa, how are you so fine? You're not even a celebrity. It's your first recording. Aren't you scared?"
"Do I look fine?"
"Yes. You look completely fine."
"I'm not fine. Truth is, since yesterday my brain's been running at half power. I'm starting to regret not taking a cheongsimhwan—one of those bitter little herbal pills for the nerves."
I said it on a heavy sigh, and Lim Seoyoung answered with eyes that looked ready to smile.
"Actually, I secretly took one."
"You took it alone? If you've got something good, you share."
"I thought you were totally fine!"
She smacked my forearm.
"Wait, I've got another one. I brought an extra, just in case."
And she really did pull a cheongsimhwan out of her bag. I laughed, at a loss, and she even peeled the wrapper and held it out. I didn't refuse. I chewed it properly and swallowed.
"Thanks. Let's see if the pill can get us through this."
"Um, oppa. This might be nothing, but..."
"Yeah. Say it."
"Just tell me once that today will go well. Mm—because you said things would go well, Songha's drama did well, and Taehee unnie's song did well too. I really believe in that kind of thing. I wanted to grab even the Lucky Snake's tail, so..."
"Yeah. It'll go well."
I hadn't seen the future. So there was nothing I could actually be sure of.
I said it anyway.
Lim Seoyoung broke into a wide, foolish grin, tears still dangling from her lashes.
"Hey, if you cry and then smile, you'll—"
I stopped short. Mm. Not something you say to a grown woman.
"Does it show that I was crying?"
"Yeah."
"Aaaah, what do I do? It can't show. What am I supposed to say?"
"We'll say you were practicing a talent, smashed your head into the door, fell over, and cried."
"What kind of excuse is that? It makes me look like a total idiot!"
"Since when is that news? You're the one who called yourself a complete dumbass."
I said it laughing, and Lim Seoyoung babbled something while smacking my forearm over and over. The weight probably wasn't entirely gone, but the tears had vanished, and that was enough of a relief.
Truly. Soothing someone in tears didn't seem like a skill I was ever going to get used to.
The thought had barely formed when a thin strand of hair brushed my fingertips. I jolted back to myself. Without meaning to, the old habit from the quadruplets had surfaced, and my hand was resting on top of Lim Seoyoung's head.
"Ah, sorry. I was thinking of the kids at home."
"Why? What for? Why are you sorry? It's fine."
"Women don't like having their heads patted."
"I don't. I like it."
As she said it, she dipped her head a little. Her eyes had already curved into crescents.
I set the hand I'd pulled away back down on that small head.
Whether it was the cheongsimhwan, or the animal therapy—my own heart loosened, too.
The moment we stepped out of the waiting room, we ran straight into Kim Hyunjo and the Neptune kids. They must not have been able to wait, and had come to collect us.
Lim Seoyoung, tucked in among them, spun a brazen lie as if she'd never been flat on the floor wishing the ground would swallow her—she'd hit her head on the door, it hurt so much, and she'd cried. Nobody seemed to believe her.
"You going to be okay?" Kim Hyunjo mouthed.
I nodded without a word.
A short while later, all of us set foot on the studio set.
10:35 a.m. A spacious VIP dressing room.
PD Yoon, square-faced and stiff. And Writer Park, ten years a head writer, seasoned to the bone in network variety. The two of them flipped through the broadcast cue cards one by one, laying out the roles.
"And I hear Neptune has a member named Lim Seoyoung who's done variety a few times. So when you're tossing lines, it'd be best to center on her, so nothing goes wrong..."
"I toss it a few times and they can't catch it, I'm not talking to them."
That was one of the two MCs—Park Tae-pyung, a comedian out of IBC's open recruitment, famous for his prickly persona. Hong Seok-woo, the former announcer turned MC, had been leisurely working through an energy bar, and he answered in Park's place.
"They're rookies. You planning to stomp them dead before they even sprout?"
"I'm saying if I give them a shot and they can't do it, they can't! We've got plenty of guests. Am I supposed to stand here teaching kids who can't even grab a single line? Is this a school? If they can't manage that much, tell them to go read scripts on a culture show from now on!"
"Right, and that's exactly why every junior is scared of you."
"I look after the ones who are good!"
Writer Park, who had been listening, cut in with a laugh.
"All right, all right. We'll leave the celebrities as they are, but please look after the managers a little. Those people are civilians."
PD Yoon dipped his head and added his own plea.
"That's right. We picked and picked for broadcast, but you know how it is. Stand ordinary people in front of a camera and even the best talkers can't show what they've actually got. If you seniors don't keep them alive, our show is dead."
"You want someone kept alive, ask a doctor. Well—is there anyone decent?"
At Park Tae-pyung's retort, PD Yoon licked his lips.
"Lee Hyunjong's manager has been on a few shows, so he's got a feel for it. Jang Noksu's manager is a guy who used to want to be a comedian. And Neptune's manager has a bit of a story tied up with Lee Songha, so we're keeping an eye on him."
"Please. The celebrities are the same picture we look at every single day. If we want to beat the other networks' Lunar New Year specials, a real find has to come out of the managers."
Clicking his tongue, Park Tae-pyung flipped through the managers' profiles.
Hong Seok-woo added, smiling.
"Let's look carefully. See whether there's a gem in there or not."
10:55 a.m. Ten minutes to recording.
The set blazed under lights like midsummer sun. The MC seats sat in the center, and tiered seating spread out to either side like wings. On one side, celebrities took their places, every face dazzling; on the other, managers with introductory name tags pinned to their chests sat down one by one.
A young woman PD explained things in front of the managers, whose nerves were written all over them.
"It's not live, so please speak comfortably. You'll be wearing mics, and they'll catch everything, so no private side chatter. The writers will keep putting instructions on the sketch pads, so glance over now and then."
"Yes, understood! We'll give it everything!"
Jang Noksu's manager, Kim Dongho, said it at full volume.
"Just keep it like the pre-interview, Chief Kim."
"Don't worry. Noksu and I are walking off with the premium beef at the end."
His face was different from the other managers' from the start. The more they let their nerves show, the more at ease his expression became. Of course it did. At least in this seat, he was certain he would be the one who stood out.
Once the PD stepped down from the set, the managers fell into talk with whoever was sitting beside them. Kim Dongho, for his part, cursed the PD who had stuck him on the very edge and shot a glance at the seat next to his.
Neptune's manager. Jung Sunwoo.
Not a type Kim Dongho liked.
For one thing, the man was taller than him. For another, he looked like he had something about him. For another, he belonged to a bigger company. And sitting there with his legs crossed, waving at the Neptune kids lined up across the way, he looked unbearably at ease.
Who is this guy, so relaxed? Team-leader class?
Kim Dongho grumbled inwardly and opened his mouth.
"Excuse me, hello. We're neighbors, so I'd appreciate some decent reactions."
Not that I'm planning to return the favor. He swallowed that part, of course.
"Ah, yes. Please look after me."
Jung Sunwoo returned the greeting. Kim Dongho's brow tightened faintly. The face wasn't quite unlikable enough to turn viewers off, but it wasn't the friendly type either. Then the voice joined in, and the scale tipped further toward likable.
"How'd you end up on this? Neptune—ah, trying to raise the rookies?"
"Yes. That's right."
"Aigoo, stuck minding rookies. That's a rough job. I got cast before the proposal was even out. I used to be an aspiring comedian, you know. Luck didn't follow, so I'm doing manager work, but the dream's still to be a broadcaster."
"Then today's recording shouldn't worry you."
"It's a show made for me."
Careful not to sound arrogant, Kim Dongho kept going.
"And I've been in this business nearly six years—what's there to be nervous about? The others look like they've put in plenty of years too. I don't know why they're all so tense. Don't you think?"
"I don't have many years in. I took a cheongsimhwan before I came."
"Oh, really? You don't look it. How long have you been at it?"
"Four months."
Kim Dongho blinked.
"No—not just the time as Neptune's manager. Total. Total."
"Yes. It's been four months since I started the job."
"...Ah."
Kim Dongho laughed at himself for having been on guard at all. This one was just a folding screen. Background, and nothing more.
Eleven o'clock. At last the cue dropped.
A hush spread flat across a studio still swarming with dozens of staff and hangers-on. The celebrities in front of me, and the managers seated around me, all changed face. The tension prickled enough to feel on the skin.
The two MCs you saw the moment you turned on a television ran the opening with practiced ease.
Fortunately, the Neptune kids didn't look all that nervous. Lim Seoyoung still had some stiffness in her shoulders, but she was in far better shape than before, and the MCs must not have thought badly of them either—their introduction ran a little longer than the other celebrities'.
The problem was this side. The managers.
A total disaster. The phrase might as well have been coined for a moment like this. Every time the MCs tried to draw someone out, several seconds of dead air followed, and more than half of them stammered or talked nonsense. The PDs were going to lose their minds in the edit.
Laughing it off only works once or twice. Park Tae-pyung wore a look like he might fling his cue cards this way at any second, and the PDs and writers were going gray in the face.
I wouldn't exactly call it a blessing, but watching the managers self-destruct one after another only steadied me. The power of a bad example, maybe. My parents and relatives would be watching this. The whole family might be gathered in front of the television. I could not let them see a sight like that.
The self-introductions seemed to pass without trouble, too. Kim Hyunjo's expression, when I stole a glance, had been a good one.
Guest introductions and a little light chatter came to an end.
Then the MCs set something like a toy on each of the managers' tables. A semicircle, just big enough to fill a hand, with shallow finger-shaped grooves carved into the top.
I felt as if I'd seen something shaped like that somewhere.
The MCs spoke, mischievous.
"All right—from this moment, managers, you plant your hands right on top of that machine!"
"Some of you will have seen it on TV. It's a portable lie detector."
A lie detector?
"From here on, only the truth comes out of a manager's mouth. But managers and celebrities are so close—or they're watching the company president's mood—that sometimes a lie slips out when they don't mean it to."
"So we prepared this prop. Lie, and the machine gives you a shock, which means you have no choice. This part matters, so I'm stressing it. No choice but to tell nothing but the truth!"
A murmur broke out on every side.
I set my hand carefully on top of the lie detector.
Maybe because I had so many things that qualified as secrets, the little machine felt like a bomb.
The truth.
What were the MCs planning to ask? The lines I'd prepared ahead of time weren't anything you could call lies. And even a lie detector probably wasn't as certain as the ones in dramas. It seemed like they were doing it for fun.
Well... nothing was going to happen, right?