“So you just walked out?”
“A tactical retreat.”
“Huh.”
Retreat, my foot.
Han Yuju glared at Cha Ilnam.
He might be a sky-high superior at work, but not right now.
He’d barged into her place while she was resting. What “boss”? Please.
Han Yuju, who had been ambushed at home by Cha Ilnam saying he had something urgent to say after coming back from the director’s office, set out a little drinking spread.
From the look on his face as he stepped in, he clearly needed a drink.
Even so, it was just a bottle of soju from the house and a bag of snacks.
He had said he’d treat them big once the script was finished, but instead he’d rushed into her home saying he had something to tell her after visiting the bureau chief.
“Maybe your senior power isn’t as strong as you thought?”
“What?!”
With Cha Ilnam barking in front of her, Han Yuju tossed back a shot of soju.
Thud.
Setting the empty glass down almost hard enough to break it, she grimaced and muttered,
“I mean, I never guessed they’d give us a Friday back-to-back slot. So what do we do now?”
“I don’t know. They don’t even know how to judge a show.”
Just as exasperated, Cha Ilnam knocked back a shot in one gulp.
“Exactly. Ha… I wrote this one, but it’s a real masterpiece.”
“That’s what I’m saying. You think I’m talking nonsense? You think I’m doing a death wish on KMB? What do they take people for, seriously.”
Trading barbs as they trashed their own company, the two sighed in unison.
They silently refilled their glasses, toyed with them, and spoke.
“Phew, what about casting?”
“Tell me about it. The two leads we barely kept on the hook said they’ll only sign after they see the slot.”
“So casting falls through, too?”
“Damn it, then we’re really screwed.”
Hearing him mutter like there was no answer, Han Yuju threw back more soju and then said with swagger,
“No, sunbae. Who exactly are you going to poke for casting? You’ve got no one. Let’s just take this time slot and find another way. We’ll become the Friday-night drama syndrome. Like, reinvent the promotion.”
At that brave suggestion only the ignorant can make, Cha Ilnam shook his head.
“You don’t get it. You think TV is a joke? You can’t ignore golden slots and ratings. Time slots are like gold spoons and dirt spoons. People start from different starting lines.”
“Then what do we do! Are you saying we should just scrap it?”
Damned if they do, damned if they don’t.
They kept knocking back soju, racking their brains for a way to break through.
There wasn’t one.
While she gloomily rummaged through the snack bag, the phone lying beside Cha Ilnam buzzed.
“Ugh, ignore… huh?”
“What is it? An unknown number?”
“…Not exactly. Ahem… hello? Uh, yes? Yes. Pardon? What?!”
He had answered without confidence, but his eyes grew wider and wider at the voice on the other end.
“I wonder if I’ll get to see blossoms this year.”
KMB’s Drama Bureau, the bureau chief’s office.
Yoo Myeongju was watering the orchids he treasured like children.
After a thorough watering, he planned to wipe the leaves with a dry cloth.
It was his one joy these days.
He hurried to finish his morning routine, when the thick office door burst open with a bang.
“What the—?”
Startled, Yoo turned to see Cha Ilnam standing there, radiating bravado.
“Good morning, Director.”
“Yeah, sure. What is it this early, barging in without knocking.”
“Director. No need for long talk. Give us the weekend night slot.”
At the demand to hand over a golden time slot right out of the blue, Yoo let out a dry laugh.
“Hey, PD Cha. You’ve finally lost it, huh?”
“Lost it? I’m perfectly fine.”
But something was odd.
There was a strange confidence on Cha’s face.
Storming in so certain first thing in the morning, too.
He wasn’t the type to ask for things with nothing in hand.
“What are you scheming?”
“No scheme. Writer Han isn’t someone to be treated like that. Our casting is stacked, too. Isn’t this the sort of ask we’re entitled to?”
“Talking nonsense from the morning. Even so, Writer Han is a newcomer. I need something before I hand over a golden slot, don’t I? What, go snag Moon Heeseong or something.”
Yoo shook his head and turned his eyes back to his orchids that were like children to him.
“Wow… Director, when you get down to it you’re no saint either. Fine. Moon Heeseong is joining our drama.”
“What?!”
Thunk. Clatter.
So shocked by Cha’s words, Yoo dropped the watering can.
The lid popped off as it hit the floor, and water streamed out.
Never mind that. Yoo stared at Cha, mouth agape, at the astounding news.
Cha gave a little shrug that said, “Well, now what.”
“The ending is really moving.”
At Moon Heeseong’s house after I was confirmed to appear in The Cactus Flower Has Bloomed.
I had brought all the scripts I got from Han Yuju and was talking things over with Moon Heeseong.
We picked out several scenes we especially liked, discussed them, and talked at length about how I might act them.
Then came tea time.
There would be hard parts since it was screen acting, but honestly I was more excited.
I launched into a little speech, comparing other scripts I’d been offered to this one and making the case for how good it was.
“…So this is a story I haven’t seen in any drama over the past few years. It will land, for sure.”
“Yeah? That much?”
“Yes. Here, read here and here.”
With hand gestures and everything, I pitched the greatness of the piece to Moon Heeseong.
Sigh. He’d cheer me on no matter what I did, but this was my first TV role.
I didn’t want it to sound like I just picked anything.
I was really glad there happened to be a script this good among the offers.
While he flipped through what I’d handed him, I pulled out a few pre-checked pages.
“Uncle, I don’t know these terms.”
“Hmm. Ah, those are camera terms, so they’ll feel unfamiliar. I could explain them, but it’ll be faster to experience it on set.”
“Mm… really?”
“Sure. Or we can try a bit right here. For unfamiliar directions, it’s easier if you act while picturing how the camera will move.”
“Yes! I want to.”
After filming my audition clip last time, he’d set up a camera in a corner of the living room.
When I came over, we’d shoot simple acting videos and connect it to the big TV to watch together and talk. It had become a habit.
Thrilled at his suggestion that we “play by filming” again, I threw both hands up.
“Then… since you brought this script, let’s do a scene from it.”
My eyes sparkled at his proposal.
With Moon Heeseong, of all people?
This was no longer play.
It was excellent practice. No, training.
“Great. Which one do you want to do?”
“Hmm, how about this scene with the supporting character.”
“Ah, Ji Hyunseong. Perfect.”
I nodded.
It was a scene I’d marked because it felt similar to a moment when he and I hang out.
“Rolling, then?”
“Yep!”
After confirming the little red light on the camera, I took a deep breath.
“Do you know how to skip stones?”
“Skipping stones?”
“Yeah. Like this…”
Uju and Ji Hyunseong at a lakeside.
Uju is the name of the kid I play.
When Hyunseong shows the motion for skipping a stone, Uju’s eyes go round.
Since a very young age, Uju hasn’t had a father. Learning this kind of play from someone is a first.
“Wow. How do you do that?”
“What, you don’t know this? You’ve wasted your life, kid.”
“Ugh. Mister.”
Grinning as he tries to tease him, Hyunseong draws Uju’s full-blown ire.
“You little squirt calls me ‘mister’ every time we meet? I told you I’m not a mister.”
“You are a mister! That’s why you don’t have any friends! You don’t have friends, do you?”
Poked in a sore spot, Hyunseong winces, then narrows his eyes and counters.
“You little punk… you done talking? I was about to teach you how to skip stones.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah. Look for a flat, small stone like this. Your hands are tiny, so you can’t throw a big one.”
“Mm, mm. Like this?”
I picked something up off the ground the way Uju would and showed it to Moon Heeseong.
“Oh, nice. Then twist your waist and flick your wrist like this.”
He took the stone from me and demonstrated.
Watching the stone skip once, twice, three times, Uju claps in delight.
“Cut!”
The scene ended.
Ji Hyunseong is actually the older brother of the man who will become Uju’s stepfather.
He has a fairly big presence in the drama, a solid supporting role.
But in this scene the two don’t know any of that. They grow close and will keep building a friendship.
Maybe because I know the ending to come, just trading lines I could feel it:
the warm, heart-soothing sensibility the piece carries.
“Whew, isn’t it really good?”
I savored Uju’s lines a few more times and asked Moon Heeseong.
He must have liked it too. He laughed big and nodded.
“You don’t even register the camera anymore, do you?”
“Yeah. I’ve gotten used to it from coming here all the time.”
“Ha, the cameras at the station are way bigger than that, though.”
There are cameras bigger than that?
Sometimes the camcorder Mom pulls out is smaller than the one at his place.
“Bigger than that?”
“Sure. Will you be okay in front of one of those?”
At his teasing question I thought for a moment, then shook my head.
“No problem. A camera will feel like a camera.”
“Very confident, huh? By the way, Siwoo.”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, staring holes through the script, he called me.
Our little take just now had nothing to nitpick.
Was it only me who thought so?
Even if someone else would be opposite me on set, getting to match with Moon Heeseong like this felt great… but something must have snagged for him.
Curious what it was, I looked up at him.
“Mm, it’s not that. It’s just… this role, Ji Hyunseong.”
“Uh-huh, yes.”
“Has it already been cast?”
“I… don’t know.”
I tilted my head at the out-of-the-blue question.
Why ask that now?
“Trading lines with you, it feels like a charming part. If no one has it yet, I might take it.”
“…Really?”
My mouth slowly fell open at his completely unexpected words.
Acting together in the same project as Moon Heeseong?
But the joy was brief.
I’d heard the slotting, or whatever it was, still hadn’t happened.
So the shoot schedule was delayed…
After hemming and hawing, I told him in a less than certain voice,
“Um, I’m not sure. PD Cha said the slot isn’t set yet. Does that mean casting isn’t finished?”
“The slot isn’t set?”
“Yes, he asked us to wait a bit longer.”
He’d finally taken an interest; now he’d be disappointed.
With a sigh of regret, I exhaled.
I didn’t know what “slotting” meant, but apparently it meant we couldn’t shoot yet.
But the corners of Moon Heeseong’s mouth slowly lifted at my words.
“So the slot isn’t fixed yet. Siwoo, can you call the PD now?”
“Huh? I think so.”
“Call him and put me on.”
Puzzled by how proactive he suddenly was, I still took out my phone.
I’d saved Cha Ilnam’s number as soon as he handed me his card, so it was easy to find.
“Hello? PD-nim!”
Caught off guard by the sudden call, Cha sounded pretty flustered.
“Uh-huh, is the slotting going well?”
“Siwoo, put me on.”
“Ah, yes. PD-nim, one moment. There’s someone who wants to speak with you.”
Saying only that to the flustered Cha Ilnam, I handed the phone to Moon Heeseong.
Taking the call, Moon Heeseong spoke calmly.
“Hello, PD. Sorry for the sudden call—actor Moon Heeseong here. It’s just… if casting isn’t finalized yet, I’d like to take the role of ‘Ji Hyunseong.’”
A scream-like answer burst from the receiver on Cha Ilnam’s end.
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