"Yesterday... my plans got canceled, and I went out at night to see Reed."
"...."
I pulled myself out of my thoughts and looked back at my sister. Her face was still turned toward Lake Michigan. But behind the sunglasses, I couldn’t tell what those clear black eyes were actually looking at.
"He messaged me on SNS. Said he was flying back to Paris tomorrow and asked if I wanted to grab a quick drink."
My sister tossed the rest of the popcorn into her mouth, brushed the crumbs off her hands, and checked her watch. By now he’s probably on the plane, she murmured, offhand.
"I was in a funk, so I said okay and went out, but honestly, I had a feeling it wasn’t just about a drink. We talked for a while at the party, and I already got the vibe then."
"...."
I thought I knew what she was trying to say. But instead of cutting in, I waited for the rest.
"Do you remember the organization Reed runs? The one Jane and Connor are sponsoring."
"Yes."
"He asked if I’d like to work with them."
"...."
Even though it was exactly what I expected, I was at a loss for words. The popcorn bag had gotten light as we snacked; I grabbed it so it wouldn’t blow away and swallowed dryly.
"Uh... so... what did you... say?"
"I haven’t answered yet. I asked for some time."
She turned her face toward me. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could tell her brow was furrowing.
"But I’m not the only one he made the offer to."
"...."
The organization Reed had conceived himself and personally pounded the pavement to find backers for—The Hands—was an art foundation that selected new artists whose circumstances made creation difficult, if their direction matched the organization and they showed strong potential. For a set period, it provided room and board, materials, and a workspace, and even handled management for exhibitions and sales.
According to my sister, The Hands’ headquarters was a small apartment in Paris used as both the artists’ residence and the organization’s office and gallery, and Reed wanted to recommend me as the new tenant for a studio that had just opened up.
Funded not only by Jane and Connor but also by various art lovers and companies, The Hands—unlike typical galleries or dealers—didn’t take a commission on sales. All income during one’s time in the organization went entirely to the artist. Granted, everyone there was a rookie, so the amounts weren’t large, but it went without saying that it was a huge help in establishing oneself as a painter.
Ordinary gallery commissions were thirty to fifty percent of a work’s price. Thirty percent counted as very cheap. So if the sales price didn’t include a commission, the ones who benefited weren’t just the artists. Beyond a small number of wealthy collectors, more people could have the chance to buy good work at a "reasonable price."
That was the direction The Hands pursued in art, and I couldn’t deny that I agreed with it and found it compelling.
"...What do you think?"
Tilting her upper body as if to read my face, she asked carefully.
I fiddled with my cup of coffee—its color much paler now that most of the ice had melted—and lightly wet my lower lip with my tongue. I was thirsty, and I had coffee in my hand, but I didn’t feel like drinking it.
"I’m truly happy about the offer... and grateful, but..."
I shook my head at her. She slid a bit closer to me and took off her sunglasses, holding them in her hand.
"He wants to email you an outline of the organization’s character, operating system, and facilities. There’s no harm in at least receiving it and looking it over. He hasn’t asked yet, but... can I give him your email address?"
"Even if I receive the materials... my answer won’t change."
The clear eyes that had made such a strong impression when we first met looked at me hard. The wind whipped her black bob into her face, but she didn’t care.
"Is this because of the CEO?"
"...."
"You’re... dating him, right?"
Maybe she realized how out-of-the-blue her own question was, because she gave a faint laugh before I could answer.
"I honestly never imagined I’d be asking you something like this about the CEO."
She set one foot up on the bench, propped her arm on her knee, and—explaining the reason for her laugh—put the end of her sunglasses to her lips and shook her head.
"No, that’s not the issue. The issue isn’t that the other party is you. It’s that we’ve never had any information about who the CEO dates, or whether he’s even dating. But he’s definitely not the type to play games with someone like you. You’re officially together, right?"
"...Yes."
When Juhan warned me to stop if I liked him—because I wouldn’t get what I wanted—even then I had a certain confidence about what there was between us. Back then we were still at a cautious stage that could barely hold just the two of us, so I couldn’t tell him we liked each other, that I wasn’t unilaterally pining after him.
But now... with my sister, I acknowledged that we were "definitely dating." I did hesitate a moment before answering, but not because I lacked certainty.
My sister grinned, reached out, and tapped the lens of the sunglasses I was wearing.
"These are the same ones as the CEO’s, right. So the guy buys you the same thing he has and wants to claim ownership."
She laughed, half teasing, half incredulous, then took a couple of sips of the coffee she’d set beside the popcorn.
"I figured he was especially fond of you, but he’s also the type who takes careful care of the artists in the roster, and you’re not the kind of kid anyone would dislike. I just thought, sure, you’re young and everything you do is cute, and once you became a roster artist of course he’d dote on you. At first he might act rudely like you’ll never see each other again, but as time goes on he isn’t the kind of person who pretends not to notice the good in someone."
That was exactly right. He might not be the most courteous person, but he also didn’t indulge in setting expectations for people and then getting disappointed. He recognized strengths clearly, acknowledged them, and he was someone who sensitively looked after the needs of those around him.
It was hard to see him providing the officetel for my sister and Juhan, arranging English tutoring, and making business trips comfortable as mere consideration from a boss.
He was just the first person of that type I had ever met; looking back now, he wasn’t a cold-blood who wouldn’t bat an eye at someone in the throes of hyperventilation. Even if it hadn’t been me, he was the kind of person who would have given basic first aid and laid them somewhere comfortable to rest. He wasn’t, of course, the kind of person who would caress anyone and get them off to calm them down and put them to sleep.
After my sister and I traded a faint smile, I stirred the ice in my cup with the straw and thought of this morning.
Because he was scheduled to attend Chloe Kent’s lunch gathering with Shushu, my sister and I had promised to sightsee together on our last day in Chicago, and I’d gotten up first and started getting ready to go out.
So as not to wake him, I showered in the master bath and finished up quietly, then, finding it fascinating to see him asleep, I sat by him and looked down for a moment. Just as I was about to get off the bed, he caught my wrist.
"So you’re just going to look, not even give me a kiss, and leave?"
He said that, but he was so tired he could barely open his eyes. It made sense—he’d been short on sleep since Seoul, and the fatigue had piled up. I turned back, hugged him, and pecked his cheek and lips.
I asked if he’d taken his meds; after I heard yes, he let go of my wrist and buried himself in the pillow again. As I was about to leave the room, he apologized once more, saying he was sorry he couldn’t keep our promise.
But honestly, sightseeing didn’t matter. Ever since we arrived on the trip, it felt like a bunch of hard things had hit him all at once, and I was worried about that. Of course most of them had been pressing him since Seoul, and I just hadn’t known.
"Then... about why the CEO is suddenly rushing the New York branch talk like this, have you heard anything?"
Like me, my sister had been staring at Lake Michigan in silence, lost in her own thoughts, and she asked in a low voice. I shook my head.
"Even if you did know something, asking you to spill what your boyfriend told you is a bit much."
She glanced at me and smiled. Then she turned her gaze back to the lake—a breadth we couldn’t measure, which to our eyes might as well have been infinite.
"When I left home, I was completely eaten up with anger. I thought I was smart, quick, good at everything... that I could build my life however I wanted without following the course my parents set just to keep their financial support. But the reality was that I was a high-school graduate with no experience. I got in at the bottom of a gallery, got a ridiculous wage, and was basically exploited for my labor. There was a line of people willing to work for even less, so if you wanted experience, you had no choice but to endure that period. That I was smart and quick and good at everything... that didn’t matter much to those people. That’s not what’s required of the bottom rung anyway. It wasn’t just me; even people who had properly graduated from related departments started out like that in this field. ‘Gallerist’ sounds fancy, but as you know from working there yourself, most of the actual work is miscellaneous office tasks."
She gave a bitter smile and took a few sips of coffee.
"Then I met the CEO. Even if the job wasn’t so different from the previous gallery... when you meet someone who sees and acknowledges your effort to do better, the same work feels meaningful in a different way. For all my acting tough, I was still just a kid; I had to admit I could grow better with the recognition and praise of adults like [N O V E L I G H T] the CEO and the chief."
"...."
"The CEO and the chief... to me and Kwon Juhan, they’re probably like second parents."
I’d watched up close, so I fully understood what she meant, but I couldn’t bring myself to say I knew.
That day. In the elevator after the after-party, my sister told him she was sorry for confusing public and private, but she, he, and even I knew that their ties centered on Phantom weren’t clearly separated into public and private domains.
"The chief might let it slide, but if I said this to the CEO he’d be horrified—‘why am I your parent.’"
I could picture his tone and expression so clearly that I laughed along with her.
"Please keep what Reed offered me secret from the CEO and the chief for a while. I think I need time to think quietly on my own. You too, at least try talking it over with the CEO. If the two of you... are serious, even more so."
My mind wasn’t going to change. So I didn’t answer and gave a noncommittal smile.
"Are you... going to tell Juhan?"
She reached out to ruffle my hair and smiled. Her smile, too, was ambiguous.
"Let’s go. The wind’s too strong. If you catch a cold and the CEO cuts my business-trip bonus because I got you sick, what then."
She put her sunglasses back on, brushed herself off, and stood. We hadn’t even finished half the popcorn we’d wanted so badly, but on our way out of Navy Pier we tossed it in the bin without regret.
Shushu and my sister to Seoul; he and I to Boston.
The next day we left the Windy City, Chicago—the city of wind that blows everything away and mixes it all up—heading in different directions.
