Page 146 of Hello Stranger

“I managed,” Sue said.

“Witt’s just lucky to get any time with you at all,” I said.

Sue agreed.

“By the way,” she said. “My mom wants to know if we can borrow your rooftop.”

“It’s not my rooftop,” I said. “It’s her rooftop.”

“So it’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.”

“Good,” Sue said. “Because it’s all already arranged.”

ON THE FRIDAYof the Kims’ party, three astonishing things happened all at once.

One: I got a letter from the North American Portrait Society letting me know that even though my portrait had not won the competition on the night of the show, it had drawn the highest bid of the night in the auction—raising over a thousand dollars for their scholarship program.

The email listed the winning bidder as one Mr. Young Kim.

Who just happened to be out on my rooftop as I was reading the email, helping his wife arrange banquet tables for the party.

I walked out to confront him, Peanut trailing after me.

“Mr. Kim,” I called out, my voice full of both scolding and affection. “What were you thinking, bidding on my portrait?”

He and Mrs. Kim were unfolding a tablecloth together, and it fluttered in the breeze before they smoothed it down and turned to me.

They made their faces very innocent. “We like it,” Mr. Kim said.

Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Kim had each taken an auction paddle as they walked in for a premeditated plan of bidding each other up all night. But then another lady came in and started bidding them up. And then another. “It got bloodthirsty,” Mr. Kim said. “But we won in the end.”

(Later, in a fit of curiosity, I called the gallery to ask for the names of the other bidders. The receptionist looked it up disinterestedly and reported back: “Looks like it was one patron by the name of Thomas-Ramparsad, and another by the name of Ross.” Ultimately, it sold for twice as much as any other portrait in the room.)

“What were you thinking?” I demanded.

Mr. Kim shrugged. “We love it. We’re going to hang it in the lobby.”

“The lobby?” I asked. “Of this building?”

Mr. Kim nodded. “Mrs. Kim says it looks a little like Korean top star Gong Yoo.”

Didit? Huh. Man, I wished I could see this painting.

Mr. Kim shrugged. “And you know how she loves Gong Yoo.”

“But, Mr. Kim,” I said, still struggling, my head just shaking itself. “All that money…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“I’ll try really hard to get famous someday so that painting will be worth something in the end.”

Mr. Kim waved me off. “It’s already worth enough.” Then he gave me a big triumphant smile. “Besides. It was for charity.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “But the North American Portrait Society is not really a charity.”

But Mr. Kim smiled tolerantly and shook his head, like I was missing his point. “Not them,” he said. Then he pointed at me. “You.”

---