AAE -- For Better For Worse

Part 3 -- Chapter 33

by LoveCR2

edited by All-About-AAE

 

 

Sun-Mi stands outside the doorway of the church classroom, listening.

 

Inside, the blended voices of her prayer circle hum, fading into quiet, before Jang Mi-Jung's low, melodious voice rises.

 

"Father, we lift our prayers in the Name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen."

 

A dozen voices join together. "Amen."

 

 

Chair legs scrape on the vinyl tile. Conversations flare.

 

"The nerve of that woman!" Mrs. Ha's shrill soprano cuts through the rest. "Asking decent Christians to expose themselves to such filth!"

 

"I'd heard Bae Shin-Hee actually used to work as a hostess -- enticing men to buy booze and sex," another woman adds.

 

"That explains it, then," Mrs. Ha concludes. "Next she'd be recruiting our daughters as 'Holy Hookers' -- serving 'needy' men in Jesus's name!"

 

Nervous laughter ripples.

 

Sun-Mi draws in a long, deep breath, then exhales slowly -- Five -- Four -- Three -- Two -- One.

 

She steps into the classroom, framed in the open doorway. The room stiffens into silence.

 

Sun-Mi scans the tables, arranged in a U-shape. The women still sit as she left them -- Mrs. Ha and Jang Mi-Jung at the base, the others ranked roughly by age along both sides. A wooden podium stands in the open end. Her burgundy pebbled leather Fossil shoulder bag rests on the chair beside it, forgotten in her rush to follow Shin-Hee.

 

A dozen faces meet her gaze -- some smiling, others scowling.

 

"Bae Shin-Hee will not be rejoining us today," she says evenly, "Let's continue."

 

Her heels click -- loud, harsh -- as she crosses to the podium.

 

Planting her feet solidly, she clears her throat.

 

"Before we vote on the future of One Thousand Flowers of Hope, I have something more you should hear."

 

Mrs. Ha snorts. "Bae Shin-Hee has made it clear where she wants to take us -- to the gutter. What more sordidness do we have to listen to, in order to decide this?"

 

Mi-Jung raps a pen sharply on the table. "Ladies? Your thoughts?"

 

A young woman raises her hand. "I'd like to hear it."

 

Other voices mutter, "Me too."

 

Mi-Jung nods to Sun-Mi.

 

She grips the edge of the podium, lowers her gaze for a moment, then looks up again.

 

"You all know my story: my checkered career as an MBS-TV and radio announcer, my scandalous marriage and miscarriage, the disability that ended my career hopes here, and my subsequent marital and financial struggles. And how, finally -- praise the Lord -- through your prayers and love, I found my way back to God and accepted his salvation through Jesus."

 

Around the table, heads nod. Scowls soften. Eyes mist.

 

"I'm about to share something that may shock you. But I want you to hear it from me first, not as gossip."

 

She pauses, sipping slowly from her water glass.

 

"What you didn't know -- I worked at a strip club with Bae Shin-Hee, as a hostess, too."

 

Gasps break out. Mrs. Ha's face hardens.

 

"But the money wasn't enough, so I turned to exotic dancing -- I was known as 'Nicole, Seoul's Sex Siren'. And if you paid £20, I'd give you a private dance, up close and personal."

 

Some of the women, red-faced, turn away. Mrs. Ha starts to rise, but Mi-Jung catches her hand. She retakes her seat.

 

"From there it was a small step to putting my body, the gift God gave me, on display -- I became a stripper -- £60 for 15 minutes with me. £100 for a half-hour."

 

A cold silence drains the room.

 

"You... you... whore!" Mrs. Ha spits. "All this time, I felt sorry for you. Now I see -- it was God's Holy judgment for your sins!"

 

Eyes narrow. Lips curl. Hands clench into fists.

 

Sun-Mi shifts her feet. Her chin trembles. She stares down at the podium, gripping tighter, leaning into it.

 

Mi-Jung stands. "Let anyone who is without sin, cast the first stone," she states firmly, then retakes her seat.

 

Mrs. Ha turns purple, but doesn't speak. A ripple of relief sweeps around the table.

 

"Go on, Sun-Mi," Mi-Jung says softly. "I don't judge you."

 

Sun-Mi's mouth quivers. She swallows the lump in her throat, then stands straight and levels her eyes.

 

"I don't expect approval. I'm not asking for sympathy. Only understanding of what brought me, like so many others, to that place. After my husband lost his job, he was mired in depression and alcohol. I felt alone. Desperate. The menial work I could get didn't pay the bills, and we were falling deeper into debt every day. Soon, we'd have been homeless."

 

Mrs. Ha speaks up, "Poverty is no excuse."

 

Sun-Mi nods. "You're right. But money, when you don't have it, tempts. It meant a roof over our heads, food. A chance at survival..."

 

She leans forward.

 

"I see now why God took me to that valley of darkness. I needed to learn that I wasn't better than those women -- I was just like them. But I had to share in their struggles, their heartbreaks, and their joys before I could accept that truth, and find a renewed purpose as a woman and a friend."

 

"You call that purpose?" Mrs. Ha hisses. "Degrading yourself?"

 

"I'm not proud of it. I brought shame on my family and myself. But I also don't apologize. Because God used my shame to show me the depth of his forgiveness and love. Like Saint Paul wrote to Timothy: 'Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the worst.' Now I know what that means."

 

Pausing, she takes a breath.

 

"I often wondered -- what if someone had cared enough to meet me where I was, and offered hope? Now you know why I started this ministry, and why I want it to continue: to open doors, to build relationships, to share our hope."

 

Her hand moves over her heart.

 

"My desire is to follow the Lord's will. And I know your hearts seek that, too. Shin-Hee and I are just asking for a step of faith -- and your help to bring God's light into the darkness where these women make their livelihoods."

 

Sun-Mi steps to the side and bows deeply. "Thank you. I trust you'll make a wise decision."

 

She takes her seat as Mi-Jung comes to the podium.

 

"Ladies, we've already prayed for the Spirit's leading, so let's go right to a vote. We need to all be in agreement to move forward."

 

She raises her hand. "I vote yes."

 

One by one, hands lift. Only Mrs. Ha holds back.

 

"Ju Soo-Ji, your vote?" Mi-Jung asks. "It's up to you now."

 

Mrs. Ha slowly raises her hand. "We can't stand in the way of the Holy Spirit. Let's see what God will do."

 

"Then it's decided," Mi-Jung declares. "We'll meet next time at Soo-Ji's home, to bake cookies and prepare the gift bags."

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Oxford Street buzzes with after-hours traffic. Shoppers scurry along the sidewalks, umbrellas raised against a light drizzle. Commuters hasten to catch the next tube. Crowds spill from the pubs, ignoring the sprinkles. Cars, red buses, and black cabs jam the street, spewing exhaust fumes into the damp night air.

 

In the back of a cab, Shin-Hee lounges into the seat corner, legs crossed. Checking her makeup in a compact mirror, she flutters deeply-shaded eyelids ringed with thick false lashes, and purses her cherry-red lips. The spike heel of her knee-high red Sam Edelman gladiator sandal beats soft thups on the rubber floor mat, double-time to the swish of the wipers.

 

A rectangular wicker market basket, covered with white linen, balances on her bare thighs. Her Peregrain rain jacket, casually laid around her shoulders, drapes a cream white knit tube top. A small gold cross on a delicate chain rests in the deep cleft of her ample bosom. Her black leather mini skirt is belted with flashy gold links that complement her large hoop earrings.

 

She closes the compact with a sharp snap, slides it back into her maroon Coach mini shoulder bag, and runs black lacquered acrylics through her red-streaked, messy auburn pixie.

 

"How do I look?"

 

Beside her, Sun-Mi sits stiffly upright, nude Chanel pumps flat on the floor, legs pressed together. Her Burberry raincoat is buttoned to the neck. A soft gray pleated skirt covers her knees. She wraps a large canvas tote on her lap with both arms, pink polished nails digging into her palms, holding it tightly against the beach ball beneath moss-green gabardine.

 

She turns her head and cracks, "Not a day over 25."

 

They laugh.

 

A bicycle messenger zips past, clipping the fender with a metallic scrape.

 

The driver blasts the horn. "G'damn you!" He glances in the rearview mirror at the two women. "Sorry, ladies. Pardon my French."

 

Sun-Mi smiles. "God bless you, Sir."

 

As they pass Poland Street, Sun-Mi points down toward the Arirang Restaurant.

 

Switching to Korean, she says softly, "My Auntie Gwi-Sun used to own that place. The summer I came to London during Uni, I lived with her in Worcester Park and worked part-time while I studied English in Cambridge." She grins. "That's when I learned not to bus tables in three-inch heels and skinny white Levis."

 

She sighs. "1995 -- fourteen years ago. It seems like a lifetime."

 

"I was still living in Croydon then, with my parents -- right before their divorce," Shin-Hee recalls. "The next year I dropped out and moved into a flat share in the East End with some girls I knew. I was seventeen. They got me my first gig as a hostess." She frowns. "That's when I learned how to handle a man and keep his hands out of your skirt."

 

 

The driver turns off Oxford into Soho. The lanes narrow, the crowds thin. Litter skitters in the light breeze. A man slumps in the shadows against a building, cigarette glowing, relieving himself.

 

Silence settles between Sun-Mi and Shin-Hee as they roll past adult movie theatres, strip clubs, and sex shops. Women in micro-miniskirts and sky-high stilettos linger in the recessed doorways of walk-up flats and massage parlours. Overhead, neon flashes: GIRLS -- GIRLS -- GIRLS.

 

The taxi slows to a stop mid-block.

 

The driver raises an eyebrow. "The Sophisticate? You're sure?"

 

"Yes," Shin-Hee answers firmly.

 

They step out. The engine revs, then fades as the cab motors off.

 

Across the street, the club door bursts open. Pounding bass spills into the night. The bouncer's eyes lock on Shin-Hee. He leers, gaze sliding from the taut stretch of her top to her abbreviated hem, and beckons.

 

"Hey, honey. Don't I know you?"

 

Shin-Hee slips her arm through Sun-Mi's, urging her on. "The House Mum said to come to the back entrance. It's just around the corner, in the alley."

 

The rank odor of vomit and rotting garbage meets them as they step into the constricted space between crumbling brick walls. Their heel taps echo on broken pavement.

 

Blue-white light from a mercury vapor lamp flickers, throwing pitch-black shadows. They pick their way past soggy pizza boxes and broken bottles.

 

One of the boxes moves.

 

Sun-Mi squeals, jumping back as a rat ambles out from under the box, vanishing into the darkness. Shin-Hee clutches Sun-Mi's arm tighter.

 

A few steps later they reach the club door. They pause before pressing the bell.

 

"Nervous?" Sun-Mi asks.

 

Shin-Hee nods.

 

"Me, too. But our prayers have gone before us."

 

They hold hands, bow their heads. Shin-Hee prays, "Lord, give us Your love and Your healing words for these women. Amen."

 

The House Mum greets them, wary but polite, her thick Eastern European accent cutting through the din. "You’re here for the girls, right? Dressing room’s through there."

 

They move down a narrow fluorescent-lit corridor reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Rock music hammers through the walls. A dancer appears, gives them a cursory glance, then struts off on nine-inch platform stilettos, sequins flashing.

 

Sun-Mi's pulse quickens as her senses absorb the once-familiar sensations. The rhythm seeps into her body, stirring sensual memories she thought long buried. Instinctively, her body begins to move to the beat, hips subtly swaying with each step.

 

Inside the dressing room, mirrors glow under harsh bulbs. Perfume and powder hang thick in the air. Garish costumes crowd sagging racks.

 

Half a dozen dancers fill the room. Some sit at the mirrors, combing wigs, painting lips. Others tug at straps, adjust costumes, readying for their call. Two hostesses in their matching uniforms stand apart, chatting.

 

Conversation falters as the visitors enter.

 

Shin-Hee and Sun-Mi stand together in the awkward silence, waiting.

 

Sun-Mi glances at a mirror. -- Nicole gazes back, an alluring smile curving her candy-red, glazed lips. Long, thick lashes flicker, sending a beguiling wink.

 

She catches her breath, frozen. The tote starts to slip from her fingers. Then she blinks. The image dissolves, and she is staring into her own startled reflection.

 

A dancer looks up, brow pencil poised. Her eyes widen, then narrow. "Nicole? Cielo? Is it really you? I thought you'd moved on."

 

Shin-Hee steps forward. "We did, Ericka. Now we're back. Not to work, but to bring you One Thousand Flowers of Hope."

 

"I've seen the flyers. But I didn't know it was you." Ericka's gaze drops to the swell of Sun-Mi's belly. "How far along?"

 

"Almost eight."

 

"Looks like something's changed since we last talked."

 

Sun-Mi smiles. "A lot's changed. I'd be happy to tell you about it."

 

She sets her tote on a table, opening it. "We've spoken with some of you before, on the street." She lifts a silver mesh bag tied with a pink ribbon. These are from the women of our group. For you. Please, take one."

 

Shin-Hee places her basket near the tote and removes the cloth. "Home-baked cookies. Help yourself."

 

Ericka studies them, then rises. She reaches for a cookie, unwrapping it slowly.

 

"Church women, touting Jesus with cheap charity and stale sweets -- Soho's seen everything now," she sneers.

 

She bites, chews. Then looks up, her eyes softening.

 

Shin-Hee grins. "Not bad, eh? These were baked today. Some of our 'church women' know their way around a bakery."

 

Ericka twists her mouth. "I've had better. Still, I'll give you credit, for trying."

 

 

One of the hostesses moves forward. She picks up a gift bag, turning it in her hand like a jewel. "Why come here at all? You don't have to do anything for us."

 

Sun-Mi answers, her voice warm and steady. "Yes, we do. Because you matter -- to us, and to God."