Chapter 110.2

Chapter 110.2

[Ah, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you! After the shoot wrapped, everyone was wondering what kind of man Michelle—well, Miran’s boyfriend—might be.]

Hyunsu rummaged through his backpack and handed over a worn-out script.

[Here, take this first.]

André’s eyes dropped to the script.

[Flushing Video is a 40-minute short film we plan to submit to the Sundance Film Festival. It’s a coming-of-age story about the identity and dreams of Asian Americans. Michelle is the muse and goddess of Flushing Video! Actually, I think the scenes with Michelle are mostly edited. Would you like to take a look?]

“Hyung, are you out of your mind?”

Seunghyuk scolded him sharply in Korean, but Hyunsu shot right back.

“Come on, you should’ve been more careful with the budget. Who the hell shoots a short film on expensive 35mm film and still expects top-tier quality? What were you thinking, Mr. Fancy Director?”

“Hyung, that’s not—”

“Not what? You said your parents refused to give you another cent. You gonna sell your studio apartment next? We’re already short on funds, can’t even confirm if we can afford to shoot the Korea location scenes—and now, look, we’ve got a potential investor sitting right here! Michelle’s scenes came out great, right? If her boyfriend likes them and we pull in a fat investment, it’s a win-win for everyone, isn’t it?”

“He understands Korean,” Seunghyuk said dryly.

“…What?”

Hyunsu froze, eyes darting toward André in panic before bowing his head.

“S-sorry! That was rude of me—”

“It’s fine. How much funding do you need?”

André asked in a calm voice as he took a blank check from his wallet.

Hyunsu’s eyes widened, his face flushing red.

“Wow, your Korean’s really good.”

He nudged Seunghyuk’s arm.

“Hey, Director Nam! With another hundred grand (100,000 dollars), we could really boost the production quality, right?”

Seunghyuk let out a long, weary sigh and buried his face in his arms on the table.

“Too much?” Hyunsu laughed awkwardly. “Well, fifty thousand would be enough to put out the fire for now.”

André pulled a fountain pen from the inside pocket of his suit and filled out the amount.

“Fifty thousand dollars. I’ll decide on the rest after I’ve seen the footage.”

Hyunsu swallowed hard and carefully took the check. Then he elbowed Seunghyuk in the ribs.

“Director Nam! Didn’t you say you made a teaser for investors last week? You got it transferred to VHS yet? If not, I’ll run the telecine myself! Just hand me the dupe negative.”

“Hyung, do you even hear yourself?”

“Why not! What, you think you’re the only one working on this? We’ve been stuck on this project for six months. Let’s say we somehow finish the shoot, what about post-production? How do you plan to cover that?”

Grimacing, Seunghyuk looked away, then reluctantly got up and pulled a videotape from a box. Without even glancing at André, he held it out.

André snatched it from his hand.

“Does this include Miran’s scenes?”

Hyunsu nodded.

“Of course. She doesn’t have a ton of screen time, but she’s the film’s muse and highlight. Since it’s a teen coming-of-age film, we decided to go for a PG-13 rating, so we couldn’t use all of her footage. But what we got was incredible.”

André rose quietly from his seat.

“I’ll contact you tomorrow morning regarding the additional funding.”

Hyunsu jumped to his feet and quickly pulled a business card from his wallet, holding it out respectfully with both hands.

“We’ll be waiting!”

—

In the dark, unlit room, André sat slouched against the sofa and pressed the play button on the remote. The soft whir of the VCR filled the silence, followed by static lines flickering across the screen before the title Flushing Video appeared.

When Miran’s face came into close-up as she smiled at the male lead inside a video rental shop, André pressed stop. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to get just a little closer to her.

Frozen in place like a statue, he stared at the screen without blinking, his hand unconsciously tracing the tattoo on his ribs. Something surged up his throat; he swallowed it hard, then pressed play again.

Soon, Miran appeared again, wearing a plaid shirt and knee-high socks, glancing shyly toward the camera. She exposed one shoulder, bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, then loosened her shirt and turned away. Then, meeting the gaze of the lens like a temptress, she slowly lowered the shirt, revealing the smooth line of her back.