The Fold (10 page)

Andy turned back around, his eyes wide with horror.

“The shark liver pills!”

michael’s
poisoned me!” Andy moaned, clutching the door to the bathroom as though he would die any minute.

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” Joyce said. She stared at Andy’s pants. “Well, you’ll just have to go home and change your clothes.”

Apa shook his head. “Helen is not here yet, and there is a large party coming for dinner in a half hour.”

“When is Helen getting here?” Joyce asked.

Apa looked at his watch. “Not for another hour.”

“I cannot get everything ready in time!” Mrs. Lee called out.

Apa hobbled over to Mrs. Lee. “It is all right, Mrs. Lee. I will help you.”

“No, no, Mr. Park. You should be resting your foot.”

“Someone has to take me home!” Andy wailed.

“Don’t touch anything,” Joyce ordered Andy, throwing him a couple of aprons. “Get in the bathroom and don’t come out. When Helen gets here, she can take you home.”

Andy encased himself in red and blue aprons, wearing one in the front and one in the back. As he closed the bathroom door, he yelled, “Don’t tell Juan anything about what happened!”

Joyce ran from the kitchen to the cash register counter and picked up the phone. She dialed Gina’s number, and as she waited for Gina to pick up, she spotted Sam sitting at the booth. “Sorry, Sam. We’re having a family crisis.”

Gina’s answering machine picked up.

Joyce left Gina a message. “Hey, get over to the restaurant as soon as you can. It’s an emergency.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Sam asked, walking over.

Joyce put the phone down. “Everyone in my family is either injured, sick or missing.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Sam said.

Joyce cradled her head in her hands for a minute while she tried to think of what to do. Apa was useless
in the kitchen with his sprained ankle. It would be better if he just sat at the register. Andy was out of commission. Basically, there was Joyce and Mrs. Lee. Where was Helen? Why couldn’t they call Helen to get her butt to the restaurant? She picked up the phone and dialed Helen’s cell number. It immediately dropped into her voice mail. Joyce slammed down the phone.

“You sure I can’t help?”

Joyce studied Sam. “Have you ever waited on tables before?”

“Nooooo,” Sam said, stepping backwards. “I meant helping in a little way. Give someone a ride. Maybe wash dishes. I can’t wait on tables, Joyce.”

Joyce ran out from behind the counter. “Please, Sam. Just for a little while until my sister, Helen, gets here and then you can take my brother home.”

“I can’t do it, Joyce,” Sam said, his arms crossed in front.

“Please, Sam,” Joyce begged. “Please, please, please. I’ll do anything.”

Sam stepped back. “Anything?” he asked, giving her the photographer’s squint.

“Well, not anything. There are certain clothing parameters,” Joyce said.

“Hey, whoa, wait a minute. What kind of photographer
do you think I am? Joyce, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Joyce tried not to look so worried.

“Don’t worry. I’m not working on those kinds of photos. But I would like to get some head shots.” Sam chuckled at Joyce’s horrified expression. “Pictures of your face.”

Joyce smiled. “So you’ll wait on tables?” she asked.

Sam looked away, his hands fiddling with the lens cap on his camera. Joyce made quiet mewing pleasepleasepleaseplease sounds.

Sam removed the camera strap from around his neck and set the camera on the counter. “Okay.”

By the time the dinner party started to arrive, Sam was armed with his pad, pen and red and blue Arirang apron. Apa sat at the register, his black-and-blue swollen ankle elevated on two pillows, calling out directions to Sam.

“Just write down whatever they say and we’ll figure out the rest. Also, you can ask my apa if you have any questions,” Joyce said, racing back to the kitchen.

Mrs. Lee worked the stove and grill and Joyce prepped the banchan and cut vegetables and anything else that Mrs. Lee needed for the orders.

Sam walked into the kitchen, studying what he had written down on his pad. He called out all the dishes, several of which were special orders with slight changes.

“And someone wants their order of bulgoki without any scallions,” Sam said.

“Just that one order?” Joyce asked. “The rest want the scallions?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it’s just that one order.”

“Are you okay out there?” Joyce asked, handing him a tray with banchan.

He shoved the pad into the front pocket of his apron and took the tray from Joyce.

“I think it’s going fine,” Sam said, his eyes focused on the large tray. He gripped it tightly with both hands and slowly turned around to make his way out of the kitchen. “At least I haven’t dropped anything yet,” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked out.

Juan arrived at his usual time and took his spot at the large sink.

“Andy?
¿Dónde está?
” Juan asked as Joyce ran frantically back and forth in the kitchen trying to locate all of the ingredients for some of the special dishes the party had ordered.

Joyce pointed to the bathroom and shrugged her shoulders.

“I can’t find the chili powder,” Joyce wailed to Mrs. Lee.

Mrs. Lee pointed her tongs in the air. “On the shelf above the refrigerator.”

Joyce looked up. “You would think that the most used spice in this kitchen would be more accessible.” She grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the refrigerator.

Mrs. Lee ignored her commentary, focusing on the sizzling meat on the grill.

Joyce jumped on the chair and reached up for the clear plastic bag that was just beyond her fingers. She raised herself up on tiptoes and stretched.

“Don’t fall,” Gina said.

Joyce turned around to see Gina holding the back of the chair. “Thank God you’re here,” Joyce cried.

“Yeah, well. I’m not the only one. Did you see who’s in your dinner party?”

Joyce turned back around to try for the chili powder again. “I haven’t even had a chance to breathe.” She could just barely touch the edge of the bag with her middle fingers. She nudged it closer. And closer.

“John Ford Kang.”

Just as Joyce grabbed the bag with both hands, the name cleared her ears and pierced into her consciousness.

“What!” Joyce yelled and quickly swiveled around, holding the bag of chili powder high above her head, her sweaty hands shaking in fear and excitement.

Mrs. Lee looked up from the grill. “The bag—” she called out just as Joyce lost her balance and jumped off the chair. A puff of chili powder rained down on her.

“Is open,” Mrs. Lee said.

“MY EYES!” Joyce dropped the bag on the ground and reached up to her face.

Gina rushed Joyce to the sink.

“Oh, God, it burns, it burns,” Joyce moaned and leaned over the sink. Warm water bathed her face. Joyce rubbed her eyes, but it only made the burning worse. “It’s not working!”

“Keep your eyes closed and wash your face with soap!” Gina yelled and handed Joyce a bar of soap.

Joyce washed her face and then let the cold water run over her eyes. Finally, she stepped back from the sink. Gina handed her a clean dishcloth. Joyce patted her eyes dry, making sure to keep them closed. After a minute, when the threat of the burning had receded, Joyce carefully, millimeter by millimeter, parted her lids. Tears gushed out.

“Are you okay?” Gina asked.

Joyce raised her hands to brush the tears away.

“¡Un momento!”
Juan called out to Joyce. He waved Joyce over to the sink and gestured that she should wash her hands and arms again.

Joyce nodded and Juan turned on the sprayer so that Joyce could wash off any trace of the fine chili powder.

“I didn’t know his name was going to cause such a reaction,” Gina said.

“That was so painful,” Joyce said. She reached up to her cheeks and brushed aside the tears. Her eyes kept welling up, trying to flush out whatever remnants of the chili powder were left. “
Gracias,
Juan,” Joyce said.

Juan tried to suppress his grin.
“Muy caliente,”
he said and licked his finger and touched the air hissing, pretending Joyce was on fire.

Joyce stared down at her drenched clothing. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks. And the tears would not stop. “What am I going to do? Are you sure it’s JFK out there?”

Gina nodded.

“How am I going to face him looking like this?”

“Well, at least the mascara is waterproof,” Gina said and then leaned in closer for an inspection. “Unless someone already washed it off.”

Joyce stepped back from Gina’s harsh glare. “I couldn’t take the itching anymore.”

Gina threw up her hands. “Joyce, what is the point?”

Mrs. Lee yelled, “I still need the chili powder!”

Gina walked over and picked up the bag off the floor and brought it to her mom. Joyce took the opportunity to run to the bathroom. The door was still closed. Joyce banged on it with her fist.

“Let me in, Andy.”

“No.”

“Andy, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to scream that you pooped in your pants.”

The door opened.

Joyce walked in. Andy sat back down on the toilet, still encased in the aprons.

“What happened out there?” Andy asked.

Joyce ignored him and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and red as though she had a bad case of hay fever. And her hair was a sopping wet mess.

Why had she washed off all that makeup? Of all the times that she needed her face on, as they said. Joyce groaned. She was starting to sound like all the other Korean women. Maybe there was something to all this
makeup, glamour stuff. It was like armor in a way. Like wearing a mask or going into character. Joyce thought about how confident she felt walking through the department store after her makeover. Maybe getting her eyes done would make her look better. It certainly couldn’t make her look worse. Was that a zit? Joyce leaned forward to examine the tiny bump on her chin. She gave it a hard squeeze, pressing her fingernails just to the outer edges of the raised dot.

“Don’t pick, Joyce.”

Joyce froze. How had she forgotten about Andy? Joyce glanced over at Andy sitting in a depressed slump. “I wasn’t picking,” she said.

Andy rolled his eyes.

Joyce turned around and opened the door.

“When is someone going to take me home?” Andy whimpered.

“That is the least of my worries, Andy.”

Gina was helping her mom when Joyce stepped out of the bathroom. Sam rushed into the kitchen with his empty tray.

“They want their order of ji-geh right now!”

Gina grabbed a ladle and reached for the large stew pot at the back of the stove.

Sam waited with his tray out. Joyce walked over to
the doorway between the kitchen and the front dining room and snuck a peek. The group of eight sat at the large table in the corner. Even with his back to her and her eyes still burning, Joyce could spot John Ford Kang from across the room. The perfect triangle of his shoulders narrowed down to his waist. The longish brown hair curling just at the edges over the collar of his T-shirt. His chiseled triceps accentuated by the tight band of fabric on his short sleeves. Joyce grabbed the edge of the door frame.

“It’s him,” Joyce said and turned around.

Gina was setting the clay bowl on the tray Sam held out. Gina looked up. “Did you doubt my powers of identification?”

Sam kept his eyes on the bowl of spicy stew, his knuckles white with the effort of holding the tray. Slowly he turned around to take the stew out to the dining room.

“Whoever he is, they’re definitely on the demanding side,” Sam said before carefully walking out with the ji-geh.

“What am I going to do?” Joyce asked, her eyes on Sam as he took slow, tiny steps toward the table.

Gina walked up behind Joyce. “Just go out there and say, Hey, you’re eating at my restaurant.”

Joyce turned to her. “Look at me! Do I look ready to face him?”

“You would if you hadn’t washed off all that makeup!”

Joyce rubbed the rest of the tears from her eyes. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway with that chili powder fiasco.”

“I guess,” Gina sighed. “Well, you can still go and introduce yourself to him and his family.”

Sam made it all the way to the table without spilling a drop. He set the stew down in front of an elderly woman who could have been John’s grandmother and then walked back to the kitchen.

“Who is that guy?” Sam asked as he entered the kitchen and set down his tray on the prep table.

“Some guy from school that has Joyce all hot and bothered,” Gina said.

Joyce began to pace and mumble, “What am I going to do? What am I going to say? I haven’t practiced for this.”

Andy poked his head out of the bathroom. “Jeez, would you stop obsessing already and go out there.”

Joyce glowered at him and pointed her finger. “Back inside, poopy pants.”

Andy stuck his tongue out before shutting the door.

“Joyce,” Gina said, “you just have to put some ice on your eyes and dry your hair and then you’ll look fine.”

Joyce reached up to her wet hair. “Really? You think so?”

Gina walked over to the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. She threw them over to Joyce and then walked over to the stove. “Look, we’ll turn the stove on high and you can kind of stand near it and I’ll wave the heat over to—”

Sam stepped forward, his hands waving back and forth. “Hold up, do I have to be the voice of reason here? What if your hair catches on fire?”

Gina turned on the burner. Mrs. Lee stood at the prep table, her back to the girls, her knife flying through the vegetables as she frantically prepared the rest of the banchan for the dinner rush that would begin in another hour.

“Come on, Joyce, this is your chance. You can finally get him to recognize you.”

Joyce stood there, holding the peas, trying to decide what to do.

“Don’t do it, Joyce,” Sam said quietly.

Joyce began gnawing at the webbing of skin between her thumb and pointer finger, trying to make a decision.