At 11:50 a.m. the next day I do my best to swing into the Irvine like I own the place. Although I know the hotel is one of the most exclusive in the city. The lobby is decorated with sleek black vases on spotless glass tables, each holding a single white poppy with a hot-pink stem. The faint, light smell of green tea and fig wafts through the space as an olfactory welcome.
As my heart thumps, I remind myself it's only a hotel. I've been to a lot of hotels, including a honeymoon suite in Niagara Falls (not on a honeymoon) that has a heart-shaped red hot tub with short, curly hairs decorating the taps. But there's no denying if I had to place the Irvine and that tourist trap on the map, they would occupy diametric spaces.
I try to look like I belong as I search for the elevators, which I can't find because the lobby has apparently been carved from a single slab of black marble traced with golden veins. I tilt down my sunglasses—I obeyed the disguise instructions, grateful because this wouldn't have occurred to me at all—and assess the situation. A woman in a black suit, so slender she's barely wider than her stilettoes, comes near me and I stop her.
"Sorry, can you tell me where the elevators are?"
She looks down her medically sculpted nose. "Do I look like the help?" Her voice is high and weedy.
Normally I'd crawl away and die after being given that look, but this time her attitude is like chewing on tinfoil. "Yes." I glance at her projecting chest as though searching for a name tag. "Aren't you Kimmy? From the front desk?" Then I sidestep her and walk away, rejoicing in my single hit at the one percent. Eat the rich.
I eventually find the elevators at the back of the lobby near the recessed concierge desk. The elevators are black marble as well, and I spend the time going up to the tenth floor wondering if some poor sap spends their time polishing every square inch of this design nightmare. The walls shine like mirrors, reflective enough that I can take off my hat and give my hair a final fix.
The elevator doors silently open onto a monochrome-gray corridor with bronze scones on the walls. My hand tightens on my purse, and I force my breath out through the lump in my chest. You don't need to take any deals. This is an informational interview only.
I check the directions painted in script on the wall and find Room 1010 ten doors down to the left. My hand hovers near the peephole: I can knock or I can run.
The choice is taken from me when the door swings open to reveal a woman I don't recognize. Her black hair is cut into a slick bob that parts precisely in the middle to frame her face and swings forward when she nods at me. "Ms. Bae?"
"Yes." I pull off my shades, and her eyes widen slightly as she gestures me in. I try to pretend this is nothing out of my ordinary, but this is no standard room. Every other place I've stayed has the closet to one side of the door, the bathroom on the other, and the bed in the room beyond placed on slightly stained industrial carpet, possibly with a faint pattern picked out in marron. Here I stand on a thick, ivory-toned Persian rug laid over dark hardwood floors in a room larger than my whole apartment. A conversation zone of deep white-leather couches surrounds a large, glossy black coffee table. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the ocean, and I can see the palm trees lining the coast. The air is slightly perfumed with cedar from a line of flickering black-jarred candles lining the side table.
I do my best to not look flustered but I know the red is creeping up my neck from nerves.
Duna stands as I enter, and I'm not surprised to see her watchdog Eunwoo there. I am surprised when my heart skips a beat he stands in a puddle of morning sun that lights him up. In all black with his hair tumbling down over his eyes, Cha Eunwoo is so hot and so cool that he should explode from the contrast.
"I can't believe you're going through with this," he tells Duna, in English so it's obvious he wants me to hear. He doesn't look at me.
Bam! There we go! He was a jerk in the car and he's a jerk now. He was obviously posing in the perfect light because he's a movie star and that's what they do. I feel him becoming less attractive in my mind. The idea slowly comes to me that this man is going to be out of my life in a minute and I don't have to like him or impress him; it's a revelation for my usual people-pleasing self.
Duna comes over, tailored gray pantsuit flowing around her, and leans in to deliver not one but three air-kisses. I stand straight, not wanting to move accidentally to the wrong side and mess up her perfectly applied red lipstick. Up close, her makeup can't cover the dark shadows under her eyes or the anxiety pinching her face. Despite the fatigue, her skin is smooth and luminous. The more I look at her, the more I can feel my every imperfection, including the freckles on my nose that never bothered me before. I'm the country mouse next to the city house.
"I'm grateful you came," she says, taking my hands and drawing me over to the couch. When I realize how pleased I am to follow her, I make sure to keep some distance between us. My internet search this morning made it clear she's been expertly trained to charm. I couldn't find a single negative article about her. She's never stepped wrong in her public or personal life, has never been a drunken mess or said an unkind word. In fact, the phrase "consummate professional" came up multiple times.
I ruffle up my hair as we sit down. Like a fish senses a shark, I feel Eunwoo moving to the couches behind me, but I don't look. "I'm not sure this is the right time for me," I say cautiously. I should tell her flat out that I made a mistake when I texted her but it's hard when faced with Duna in person. I decided in the elevator to have a quick conversation, give a noncommittal answer, and then leave the country, which is obviously the best and most reasonable way to deal with this situation with minimal awkwardness. Maybe I should have ghosted on this entire meeting.
"Before we begin, you need to sign this." Eunwoo slides a paper in front of me.
I read it over. This nondisclosure agreement (the "Agreement") dated on this 19th day of June. . . "An NDA?"
"We need to protect ourselves."
"It's the usual process," Duna assures me. "It protects both of us."
To irritate Eunwoo, I read the Agreement with exaggerated slowness. It's a reasonable request for someone who assumes I'm untrustworthy and can be summarized as Suzy will keep her mouth shut under pain of death or at least protracted and expensive legal proceedings. I sign it and Duna does as well, with Eunwoo as the witness.
"Now we can speak freely," says Duna, looking at the signatures with satisfaction.
"Right. As I said, I'm not sure about this," I say.
"You lost your job this week," Eunwoo says, coming into my field of vision.
I don't reply and Duna speaks as if he hasn't said a word. "It's as I discussed in the car. I'm here for two months and I need a double for public appearances. You would live next door in a room that adjoins this suite."
Live here in a luxury hotel. Okay, there's that. "Who would know?"
"Only the three of us and my assistant. My manager would not approve." She smiles tightly.
"Why not?"
Behind me, Eunwoo sighs. "Because this is an outrageous idea. That's why he wouldn't approve and why Duna isn't telling him." I glance over, surprised. He doesn't sound harsh, only worn out, like a man who's done his heroic best and failed mightily.
"My manager is what you call a workaholic," Duna says, not looking at Eunwoo. "He doesn't understand exhaustion but I'm tired out."
Hvaing experienced burnout, this makes sense, although my solution was not to hire a body double. Well, it takes all kinds. An idea occurs to me. "Are you suing me to lure a stalker?"
"No."
No stalkers, that's good. "What kind of events are we talking about?" Why am I asking when I don't want to do it? It's like a job interview where you know the moment you walk in that the place isn't for you, but you feel obliged to go through the motions so as to not be rude. I don't have the courage to cut this short, not after saying I would come.
Maybe I'm a little intrigued. After all, movie stars don't approach me every day.
The assistant brings tea as Duna talks. Eunwoo lurks behind the couch, close enough for me to know he's there but not to feel actively threatened. He's silent but his disapproval is like a whisper in my ear. Even though I know it's not about me per se but rather about Duna's whole plan, it bothers me and I almost want to agree just to spite him. Take that Cha Eunwoo. being gorgeous doesn't mean you get everything you want. Welcome to life.
"I'm not sure this will work," I say finally. "We look a bit alike, but we're very different people."
She gives me a wry, weary look. "I've been misidentified often enough to know most people in North America won't see those differences."
"Photos can be seen around the world," I point out.
She shrugs. "You've already been mistaken for me in a photo without even trying."
The whole thing is fairly straightforward as she lays it out. I would spend a few days learning Duna 101 and Famous Actor Basics like grooming, smiling into cameras, and avoiding deep conversations. Then I'd go to two or three events a week. Sometimes openings or special events, sometimes simply being seen in restaurants or around the city because her management insists she build her image in North America while she's here. "Only my assistant is with me now, though," she says. "The rest of the team returned home after I was settled in so we don't have to worry about them noticing you."
She would personally take care of any event that involved people she knew well.
"What about your fans?" I ask. "Won't they be disappointed if they find out that I'm not you?"
Duna's smile looks a bit crooked. "They don't want me," she says. "They want the beautiful, perfect Lee Duna they see on their screens, and I can't match her either. Think of it like a stunt actor or a body double. Are fans less excited during an action scene when another woman jumps out of a car instead of me?"
I see her point and don't have an answer besides a slight discomfort that I repress.
"That doesn't sound like a lot," I say. "You really can't handle it?"
Eunwoo's voice crashes over my shoulder. "Do you think you'd be here if this wasn't her last resort?"
"No one asked you," I snap defensively, feeling my cheeks flush. I should have thought before I spoke.
Duna presses her hands low for us to calm down. "It's a reasonable question. I love the stage but it's draining. This way, I can do my best but keep my team and my fans happy."
Eunwoo's phone rings, and when he leaves the room, my eye automatically follow him. He obviously never skip a leg leg day because his thick thighs curve out with pure muscle, a pleasant sight accentuated by the tight black jeans.
Once he's out of the room, I think of Eomma and her room at Kim's Private Home. I think of the way my savings are going to dwindle. Then, like a shallow bitch, I remember how much I liked the sound of the audience cheering after those university plays, of not blending in for those few months.
"I'm so grateful you're doing this." Duna's voice is flat, and when she raises her eyes to me, they're glinting with tears. "I'm at my wits' end trying to please everyone."
I'm defeated. I let her believe I'd do it and I can't say no now. My vision tunnels slightly and I feel trapped, even with the lure of potential applause. "Okay." I hear my mouth say the word before I know I'm saying it. But the second I do, my shoulders straighten because—be honest—I want this escape, this new experience. Otherwise, I would have tossed that card in the garbage right away.
"Yes," I say more firmly. "I'm in."
Eomma would kill me if she knew but for once I want to take a chance on living my life in a lane that's not the dead middle—and by living my life, I guess I mean impersonating Duna's.
She beams. "I know your mother is Korean. Do you speak Korean? Hangul?"
"No, I do not."
Her face falls but she rallies. "We can work around it. I'll say I want to work on my English, and I'll only speak it here in honor of being in America." She nods as if this is a fine, workable solution. I marvel at how she makes the decision without agonizing about what others would think or if it was the best course of action. "I'm very glad you decided to accept."
We have a moment of communal silence and I almost forget she's a famous movie actress. She feels comfortable, like we might have been friends in much different circumstances. It must be that vaunted Duna's charm. Then she says, "Eunwoo doesn't agree with what I'm doing, but he'll be fine."
I shrug. Now that the decision has been made I'm better, more controlled. "I cant imagine seeing him much."
Duna's brown eyes widens. "Didn't I cover that?"
My heart sinks. "Don't tell me."
"Oh." She's silent and I realize she took me literally.
"Sorry. Tell me. Eunwoo's part of this?"
"He's my usual escort. He'll be yours." She waves her hands. "No touching. No hugging, kissing, or holding hands. He was very firm on that."
"He was, was he?" Although I should be pleased about the clear boundaries, I'm a little unsettled they had this talk in advance. Did they work through scenarios such as what if they body double is so uncontrollably attracted to me she tries to jump me? Does he have a script? Do I need to sign another contract.
Eunwoo comes back in the room and I stand, not wanting to give him the advantage of height. He's still about five inches taller than I am, but that's better than looming over me by an extra two feet when I'm seated. He looks at the two of us. "We're doing this?"
"Suzy has agreed."
Eunwoo's lips thin. "Did she?" He doesn't look at me.
"I did." I give him a big fake smile, not wanting him to know how bothered I am by his attitude. "We're a team now."
"We're not a team."
I keep the smile. "We sure are. Remember, you came to me.""
He stares me down. "Duna did."
My courage dwindles. "If this is going to work, don't you need to pretend to enjoy my company, at least?"
Eunwoo gives me a flat look before he reaches down and run his hand over his shirt, tugging the material enough to outline his chest for a brief and wondrous moment. He lowers his head and seeks my eyes with his. His lips part as if he's seen me for the first time and likes what he sees. I'm mesmerized as he walks over over under his gaze, I'm the only woman in the world. His eyes turn from my eyes to my mouth, and he bites his inner lower lip before looking into my eyes again.
I stop breathing.
Eunwoo stands close enough to lean down and whisper in my ear. "I'm a very good actor."
Then he straightens and I see the cold Eunwoo I'm already used to.
"Eunwoo," says Duna sharply. "What are you doing?"
I'm too shocked to even be embarrassed by my reaction. He's a master. "Wow," I finally say. "That was serious Academy Award material."
He doesn't smile. "I already have an Oscar, thanks."
This time, Duna stands up and physically moves between us.
But that walk over to me is a gauntlet he's thrown and I consider the challenge. I'm about to pretend to be Lee Duna, and if there's a better chance to make some changes in my life, I don't know when it will be. I can remain the go-along-to-get-along Suzy, or I can be the strong Suzy I always wished I was, the Suzy who speaks her mind instead of swallowing her words. An oversize mirror leans against the far wall and I catch sight of the woman reflected there, slumped over and dressed in gray with her arms crossed so tightly across her chest that her shirt wrinkles. I drop my arms to my sides, raised my head, and turn to smile at Eunwoo over Duna's shoulder. It's a victory when he looks away first.