Page 27 of When Worlds Collide
He pulled me into the clothing store, and I continued to be surprised as we walked right up to the counter at the far end of the store, where a dark-haired woman sat behind a glass counter, casually thumbing through a newspaper. As we approached, she looked up with a polite expression. That is, untilshe focused on Jihoon. Her expression shifted from indifference to shock, then settled on something akin to delight.
“Baek Jihoon-ah,” the older woman cried out, clasped her hands in excitement and rushed around the counter, startling me.
“Misun-nim,” Jihoon surprised me further by reaching for the older woman and wrapping his free arm around her shoulder. He said something to her I didn’t understand, to which the woman tsked him and waved her hand but she looked pleased.
“Misun-nim,” he said, “this is the girl I told you about.” His switch to English took a moment to coalesce in my brain. I looked between Jihoon and the woman apprehensively, not understanding.
“Yah, this is the girl?” The woman switched to English just as easily whilst unsubtly looking me over. “You brought her to me first?” The woman peered up at Jihoon in a way that made me wonder if she was a relative. When Jihoon nodded, she made an approving humming noise.
“Jihoon-ah, she’s so pretty. Why is she with you?”
Jihoon clutched his chest and recoiled like she’d hit him. “Ahjumma, you’re too cruel.”
“Hmph. If you didn’t strut around like such a plumping peacock, I wouldn’t need to prick your inflated ego.” The woman jabbed a well-manicured nail into his chest, and he hunched over slightly.
“Aigoo, ahjumma,” he whined.
I looked on in bemusement, until the woman turned back to me. Her features softened, and if I had to guess, I would have pegged her at somewhere in her forties. She was very elegantly dressed, her makeup flawless. I felt positively scruffy in comparison.
“You are Kaiya, yes?” The woman reached for my hands and, unthinking, I pulled my hand out of Jihoon’s and placed both of them in her outstretched ones. Hers were warm and soft as they gently wrapped around mine. She smelt like warm tea and neroli; soft and elegant.
“Ah,” Jihoon said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kaiya, this is Misun. She was our head of wardrobe. She was with us since we were trainees, but she retired last year.” He looked at the older lady – Misun – with a gentle look on his face that warmed me to her immediately. I turned back to her speculatively. She didn’t look old enough to retire.
Before I could think further on that, Misun released my hands and took a step back. She looked me up and down in a way that on other people might have been judgmental, but from her was more like professional curiosity.
“Joon, what are we doing?” I held still, compelled by Misun’s scrutiny, looking at Jihoon out of the corner of my eye. He moved to stand beside me and raised my hand to his lips. He looked up at me through his eyelashes as he bent over my hand in a move that would have movie-goers collectively sighing.
“I looked up your ‘Pretty Woman’, and guess what I discovered?”
“The seedy underbelly of LA?”
Jihoon chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to my hand that sent shivers up my arm.
I was beginning to get the idea though. This rather well-appointed clothes shop, a kindly professional dresser. Pretty Woman indeed.
“Jihoon…” I started, a warning in my tone.
“Ah, ah, ah.” He waggled a finger at me.
If anyone else on God’s green Earth did that to me, they were liable to be barraged with witty, cutting remarks. But I was so soft for this man. So, instead, I sighed and endured it.
“Jihoon-ah,” Misun finally proclaimed, bringing my attention back to the petite, fashionably-dressed lady. “She’s pretty. You have taste, after all.”
I had to quickly cover my mouth as I failed to stifle a surprised laugh.
“Ahjumma, please,” Jihoon groaned.
Misun waved away his complaint, eyes twinkling.
“Okay, okay. You,” she pointed at Jihoon, “go lock the door. You,” she pointed at me. “Come with me.”
Not long later and I’d been thoroughly measured from head to toe and gently corralled into a changing room behind a curtain. I’d tried on a variety of things and been made to parade up and down to get a feel of how a certain outfit style worked on me. Nearly everything had been discarded until Misun had declared she now had a feel for my style. The things that were put through the changing curtain were now more casual, less elegant. More urban, less guppy.
One of the outfits I’d come out to show off – a pair of high-waisted, black trousers and a cropped top – was incomplete, according to Jihoon, and he’d rifled through a nearby rack of jackets, before pulling one out and handing it to me. While I’d dutifully pulled it on, Misun had put her hands on her hips, looking me over critically.
“Look at him, like a rookie stylist. Yah, you want my job?”
I’d been laughing too much to make much sense of his protests.
