After the audition, Junseong, Junsik-hyung and I went for grilled meat, half celebration, half after-party.
Right up to the restaurant door, they kept guessing what smell had been clinging to Kwak Yeonji.
“The more I think about it, I swear it was perfume with alcohol mixed in.”
“Now that you say it… maybe it was.”
Sizzle, sizzle.
Even the sound of prime cuts hitting the hot grill couldn’t distract them.
Junseong especially seemed not to see the meat at all.
“So strange… come to think of it, her face looked a bit flushed too.”
“Right, kind of reddish.”
I focused on the grill, trying not to listen. But Junseong stared at me.
“You know something, don’t you? Why so quiet?”
“I don’t know anything,” I said, forcing calm while clenching my thigh.
He leaned in, studying my expression.
“Liar.”
“Why would I lie?”
“It’s written all over you, man.”
“It is not.”
I popped a half-cooked piece into my mouth. Their stares made even chewing feel awkward.
“Hyung,” Junseong said, “doesn’t he look like he’s hiding something?”
Junsik-hyung eyed me and nodded. I poured them drinks, smiling.
“Hide what? Just drink. Cheers!”
Clink.
After downing his glass in one shot, Junseong fixed me with a look.
“She was drunk, right?”
“…”
“Spill it. I can read your pores. Tell us.”
His gaze said he’d already caught me. No point denying.
“Yeah… looks like she’d had a drink.”
Both of them exhaled long sighs.
“But I think it was for her voice, not the acting,” I added. “The nasal tone disappears when she drinks.”
Junseong shook his head, uninterested.
“Even if the performance was great, showing up to an audition drunk is automatic disqualification. It’s insane.”
“But purely on today’s acting she blew Lee Seobin away. We all said so,” Hyung argued.
Junseong tapped the table, unconvinced.
“You gonna make her drink every shoot to get that performance? That’s torture, no better than those old Hollywood producers who pumped Judy Garland full of pills1.”
His irritation rose as he invoked 1930s Hollywood, where Garland’s own mother and the studio stuffed her with stimulants.
“Maybe it was just this once. She can do it without alcohol.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He still hadn’t touched the meat.
“There’s no such thing as accidentally good. I’m leaning Seobin who is a safer choice. Working with a reckless actress is gambling.”
I did understand. Lee Seobin was steady, no glaring flaws. Yet Yeonji was Lee Sohee to me; losing that felt wasteful.
“I’ll take responsibility.”
“What?”
“I’ll make sure she can act like that sober.”
Junseong poured himself another shot, brain obviously whirring.
“You know I don’t say ‘I’ll take responsibility’ lightly.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m thinking…”
“Better aim for a smash hit than a lukewarm success, right?”
“Better lukewarm success than total failure. Tell investors that line and they’ll knock you out.”
He refilled, sighing. My promise was shaking him.
“Give me two weeks. I’ll transform her. If she delivers like today, the movie soars.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then we cast Lee Seobin.”
“Think Seobin will wait around? ‘If Yeonji can’t hack it, maybe you’re in.’ She’ll love that.”
A long talk and the meat was turning into charred crisps, black edges matching my mood.
“You saw her fans, right? Half that crowd was Seobin’s. And her agency’s huge. Word gets out that she’s a backup? No way.”
I pictured award-show catfights where actresses fought for the last word in a joint speech. If they’d spar publicly, backstage would be worse.
“Skip them both and you’ll lose everything,” he went on. “And overturning an open-audition result? That’ll look shady.”
“Then what if we hold one more audition with just Seobin and Yeonji?”
“What…?”
“Say we need a final tie-breaker to choose properly.”
Junseong burst out laughing.
“Betting on this madness, huh? Why are you so set on Yeonji?”
“Because in her I see Lee Sohee.”
He shook his head but finally yielded.
“Fine. Do it your way. Two weeks. Stretch it any longer and it’ll look weird.”
“Good. Bottoms up.”
We clinked glasses; Hyung joined in.
Next morning Seonghyeon Pictures notified the five candidates that the final decision would be delayed two weeks.
The most outraged: Lee Seobin.
“Are they kidding? It’s down to me and Kwak Yeonji? That talentless—!”
She hurled a snack at her manager, who forced a smile and cleaned up.
Such scenes were routine. The nation’s “angel” or “fairy” was, to her manager, pure devil: verbal abuse daily, slaps in private when annoyed.
But managers endure; if the actor tanks, they’re unemployed too.
And at least Seobin had endless jobs. It’s better to have mental agony than an empty wallet, unlike Yeonji’s shabby manager.
“Don’t worry. She’s no match—”
“Then why Kwak Yeonji!”
Seobin stormed out of the van, lit a cigarette; the manager rushed to shield her with a blanket and push her back in.
“Sorry, but could you smoke inside? Too many eyes…”
“Is that what matters now? What does this damned agency ever get right? Auditions? I should be cast, not trying out then told to wait?”
Smoke in his face, he kept the plastic grin.
“I’ll talk to the CEO—”
“Should’ve already, parasite!”
He swallowed the insult. Just yesterday she’d said no lobbying was needed; now it was all the company’s fault.
“Call him now! Fix this!”
After the delay announcement Junseong’s phone blew up with agency calls.
“Don’t just see those two, look at our kid as well.”
“What does Jeon Juhyeon lack compared to them? Let’s meet somewhere nice.”
“Son Yebin did great, you know. Full course dinner on me, just put her in the top five…”
He rejected them all, then glared at me while resting his chin on his hand.
“It hasn’t even been a day and the phone won’t stop. Maybe I should ignore unknown numbers…”
“Shows how big they expect the film to be.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just fix Yeonji first.”
With a snort he switched the phone off, then hammered at the keyboard.
Knock, knock.
“Yes?”
A staffer peeked in.
“CEO, Spring Entertainment is on the line—”
“Ignore calls from agencies or managers for now.”
“Understood.”
She left looking apologetic for nothing; Junseong bonked his forehead on the desk, sighing and still full of doubt.
I couldn’t be sure either. Maybe his safer choice was right. I stared blankly at him.
“What?” he snapped.
“Doubt not, ye of little faith.”
“Makes me doubt more. Don’t forget lunch with Dad.”
“Yeah, but what if we still don’t have an answer by then?”
He patted my shoulder.
“Relax. Dad only cares about profit. We could cast a random passerby, and he’d nod.”
“Thought he was interested?”
“Passing curiosity, I bet.”
- Garland endured excruciatingly long work hours and a studio system that turned a blind eye to, and in fact often encouraged, the use of substances such as stimulants to keep performers working and sleeping pills to ensure they would be able to rest. (Source: Biography) ↩︎
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