One unexpected night
with six strangers

by Becky 베키

I’ve lived my life rather spontaneously up until I met Cedric.

He’s definitely provided me with a sense of stability that I was somewhat lacking prior to his influence, and though I agree now that it’s nice knowing what to expect ahead - as much as you can - I sometimes miss my free and open way of living. When nobody is waiting for you at home, you can go out and spend the evening hours however you like.

For me, that meant everything; going out clubbing in 홍대, jumping from one group of friends to another when we randomly ran into each other on the street and only saying goodbye after we’d danced ourselves into exhaustion. Or walking around 신촌 alone and playing in the 무인 오락실, the many neon signs and street lights keeping you wide awake past midnight. When you live spontaneously, you must be willing to step outside of your typical experiences. It goes hand in hand with a little bit of risk, but it can make some very memorable moments. 

I was working at The Agency* the day I met The French Photographer. I won’t tell you his name - he was apparently pretty famous and had come to Korea to shoot some magazine covers with our models. We passed each other in the hallway, our glances meeting each other with mutual curiosity, since foreigners rarely came to The Agency and he apparently could tell I was not fully Korean. 

“Hello,” he said, with accented English, “are you a model, too?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I also work here.” 

“Ah,” he said, his eyebrows raising, “I see. I am here to work with your models. Maybe we can work together, too.”

“Oh,” I said, partly flattered and partly alarmed, “well, you’d have to talk to my agent about that.” The Agency was extremely strict in how we got our work and would not have been pleased to know I was talking with one of their photographers so casually. 

What happened next sounds a little questionable, but like I said above, living spontaneously involves some risk. The French Photographer gave me his card and said he was going to dinner with some friends that night and would love for me to join. 

“They are interesting people,” he said, “you will like them.”

With that self-assured comment, he said goodbye, giving me a sly glance over his shoulder as he left. Whether I was truly that gorgeous or he was simply French, I don’t know, but I was intrigued by our interaction and I figured going to dinner with a group would be safe enough.

The naver map he sent me through kakaotalk later that evening led me up a winding road to a restaurant on top of a hill. I can’t remember now where it was, but it was one of those small neighborhoods where the wealthy have their quiet nights out. Stopping just before the entrance, I gazed up at the restaurant and made a silent prayer for The French Photographer to pay for my meal.

The host, dressed trimly in all black, recognized the name I offered and led me to a private room on the second floor. As he slid the door open, the occupants all turned and looked at me. There were five people in total - four Korean men, the French Photographer, and a Korean woman with short hair. She was extremely striking, with dark hair and an intense gaze.

The French Photographer stood up, smiling, his hands extended to me. We kissed each other in the French-style of greeting, then he introduced me to his friends, holding my hand. 

“This is one of the lovely models from The Agency,” he said, leading me to a seat beside him. The others all nodded their heads politely; I was easily the youngest one there. 

“식사 하셨나요? Have you eaten?” One of the men inquired. He had round glasses that suited him very well. He was a good-looking Korean man in his 40s, dressed in a well-tailored jacket and wearing a black beanie. He looked every bit an intellectual hippie. 

“No, not yet,” I said. 

“Eat, eat,” The French Photographer said, “and drink, drink.” He winked as he handed me a new wine glass, which one of the other men promptly filled.

I learned quickly that they were all old friends, except for the woman who was mysterious and wordless throughout the dinner. The man in the beanie turned out to be a successful interior designer and traveled frequently to Paris for work. He told me to call him Lucien*, dropping the Korean honorifics as everyone at the table spoke in English. Besides Lucien, there was a middle-aged Korean-American man, John,* who ran a successful consulting business, and Jae Young,* who had a bar in Itaewon; though this seemed to be just a hobby.

The four men talked back and forth about the event in London where they had met Tilda Swinton, or the wonderful jazz bar in Ibiza, as they generously shared an expensive bottle of red wine amongst the six of us. 

I listened, interested but very much out of my depth. I was a mere model and slave to an entertainment agency, living in a tiny rooftop room and offering English tutoring sessions early in the mornings to make just enough to get by, but here I was drinking wine with five wealthy men and one enigmatic woman. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person at the table wondering how on earth I had got there. 

But the trick to living these spontaneous moments is to never second-guess yourself. In such circumstances, a young woman has only a few things on her side to impress such world-wise and successful men; wit, beauty and boldness. Of those three things, I was confident in two.

“You don’t look like a model,” Jae Young said bluntly, “you have too much character in your face.” 

“That’s rude,” John said, giving me an apologetic grimace, “Becky is very pretty.”

Jae Young shook his head. “She is not pretty,” he said, looking at me directly in the eyes, “She has 개성.” 

개성 있는 사람 means somebody who has something that is special.

At the time, I was offended by Jae Young’s straightforward appraisal of my looks - I was at one of the top modeling agencies in Korea and determined to be a model. I wanted so badly to be as beautiful as the other girls - but now I look back to what he said with appreciation.

“Well,” I said, coyly, “drink a little more and I’m sure I’ll get better looking.” 

The French Photographer burst into laughter. “She is too clever for us old men,” he said.  

The short-haired woman peered at me over her wine glass and asked, “are you an actress?” Her voice was husky. She had a masculine air but was distinctly sensual in her mannerisms; something about her was incredibly attractive. 

“No,” I said honestly, “but I want to be one day.” 

She seemed pleased by my response. “Have you taken lessons?” 

“I used to do theater in America,” I said, “but nothing in Korea, yet.” 

She nodded, looking at me with curiosity but said nothing more. 

We finished a leisurely dinner of pasta, clams, all kinds of tiny appetizers and roasted mushrooms - all which Lucien paid for, thank goodness - threw back the last drops of our wine and left the restaurant, stepping into the summer night. 

“Come to our apartment and have some drinks,” Lucien offered, “it’s just up the hill.” 

I made a split second decision to go with the group. It had been an interesting night so far and the conversation was sparkling. It was refreshing to talk with people who had traveled so widely and done so much, and even more so to be welcomed in the conversation. Cheerfully, the six of us walked farther up the hill to Lucien and his wife’s house. I still didn’t know her name. 

Seoul apartments tend to have a similar appearance. They vary in size and amenities depending on how much money you have but in general keep fairly close in style, regardless of where you are in the city. 

Unless you build your own house, which is what Lucien had done. As an interior designer with European training and experience, Lucien had created a beautiful and unique home. Of all my time in Korea and the many homes I’ve been to, I’ve yet to see a place come close to Lucien’s charming home. It had many rooms, high ceilings, a second floor that opened out into the living room, a beautifully decorated kitchen complete with their own bar and wooden floors. It was like stepping into a miniature European cottage with a distinctly modern Korean flair.

We all crowded inside, exchanged shoes for house slippers, and retreated to the second floor, where there were sofas and large cushions on the floor, perfect for sitting in a circle and chatting all night long. Which is what we did. Lucien’s wife said good night first, telling me to come visit anytime.

Lucien said, “that’s a special invitation, coming from her.” 

She smiled, cat-like, and vanished down the hall. 

I don’t know how long I stayed. Lucien, The French Photographer, John, Jae Young and I talked about everything, the hours slipping by us without notice. We discussed philosophy, art, the importance of beauty (“women should be beautiful!” The French Photographer said, “it is why I work! It is why I live!”), how architecture changes the way we feel, (“This is why I wanted to build my own house,” Lucien said, “I can’t stand small, crowded, Korean lifestyle.”) and what is meaningful in life as you get older (“You don’t want to regret your life,” John told me, soberly, “I worked my whole youth away but now I truly want to live”). It was a free-flowing discussion amongst five minds, one of us from a very different time of life. Yet they listened carefully when I spoke and answered my questions without any condescension. 

When The French Photographer fell asleep in his seat, I decided I should go. 

“Sleep here,” Lucien offered, “it’s late and there’s an extra guest room.”

“Thank you, but I’ll just take a taxi home,” I said. 

“It was very nice to meet you,” John said sincerely, standing up with me and shaking my hand in a distinctly American business-man way. 

I slipped out of the house, my head spinning with wine and thoughts. As I walked down the hill to clear my mind and catch a taxi, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I had spent over ten hours with five strangers and talked about absolutely everything. It had been a unique moment of connection and honesty, something that cannot be planned but must unfold naturally - and only happens if you’re willing to go along with it. 

As for Lucien’s mysterious wife? 

A few months after this impromptu night, I went to a movie with a friend. He had won tickets to see a movie at a theater that was newly opened. 

We randomly picked one of the three movies offered and settled into the cushy loveseat, sharing popcorn between us. 

When an unexpectedly familiar face appeared on the screen, I nearly screamed. My friend jumped, popcorn scattering all over our laps. 

“깜짝이야! 뭐야!?” he hissed.

“That’s that woman! That’s her!” I said breathlessly, clutching my friend’s sleeve and pointing at the screen. 

He shook his head, annoyed, and put a finger to his lips. I watched the film in complete amazement and admiration for the woman’s wonderful performance (she went on to be highly praised for the role.)

I had never told my friend about that night, but after the film when I said that I had been to the actress’ house and had dinner with her just a few months ago, he laughed at me. 

“There’s no way,” he said, “she’s super famous.” 

All I have as proof for that remarkable night are my memories. I never took any photos and never met Lucien, John or the French Photographer again. I only ever saw the woman in films. I did visit Jae Young’s bar in Itaewon a few times; he always welcomed me with free drinks and a special seat at the balcony. 

“Are you still modeling?” he’d ask, and whenever I replied with yes, he’d shake his head, disapprovingly. “You’re an actress,” he insisted, “I promise you.” 

The bar eventually closed, like so many do in Itaewon, and Jae Young moved on to whatever other rich man hobby he had. I never kept in touch with any of the six I had met that night. But maybe one day, if I do ever become a famous actress, they’ll see me on a movie screen and say, “it’s that girl! It’s her!”

No doubt, Jae Young will be very proud of me. 

*all names have been changed