All I want for Christmas is Yoon

I take the green packet of wipes from her and wipe off the travel grime and remnants of make-up. I place the used wipe into the airsick bag and use a hydrating spray. Men aren’t exempt from the impossibly high standards of beauty. If I want to keep my contract with the skincare line, I can’t look ragged. I glance over to see Jiwoo’s transformation. She’s gone from looking run down to resembling a living porcelain doll. Fluttering her false lashes, she smiles coyly.

“Ahh. You’re ready.” Cho nods her approval.

Cho slips from her seat beside Jiwoo and comes over to me. She tilts my head roughly to the left. “Make sure you’re drinking enough water. Close your eyes.” Her cold fingers dab heavily under my eyes. I flinch as she does a quick cover job. “Purse your lips. That’s it.” The nude gloss rolls on smoothly, and she pats my shoulders. “Now, you are ready to be seen.”

Smoke and mirrors.

Finally, we line up to exit the plane. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, feeling like a zombie with my heavy limbs and lids.

“Remember, there may be fans who’ve waited to see you. We want to give them the best impression we can, so remember to smile and spread happiness.”

Fans. Everything we do is for them, and still, they love us with a stifling intensity. I fix a believable smile onto my face as I blink to bring back moisture to my eyes. It’s a little past five in the morning. The sun is starting to peak up on the horizon as we exit. Already, heat rises up from the concrete—sweat beads on the back of my neck and on my forehead. I take in the barren area, unimpressed. I thought I would see rolling green hills. Everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas, but the airport itself isn’t huge. A security team of eight guards clad in all black greets us.

“We have over fifty fans who’ve camped out overnight to see them. It’s more than the airport anticipated. We’ve done our best to create a clear path from here to the white van waiting to take you to your hotel. We held you back on the plane to allow time to load your suitcases.”

My heart pounds as we walk through the darkened space. I can hear the low murmur of voices already. Sweat coats the palms of my hands, and the muscles in my back tighten. My breath quickens as I remember the mauling that happened to me in the mall during my time in the K-Pop Band Super X.

The minute we pass the escalator that overlooks the floor below, high-pitched screaming begins. Cameras click, bright lights flash. I smile harder to mask my discomfort as we’re ushered into an elevator. The girls swarm around the yellow barrier railing like a group of fish. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. Ding. The metal door opens. The security guards bark orders as they push forward ahead of us.

I wave, keeping my cool, the way I’ve been taught. The bodies surge forward, and the barriers become obsolete as they are climbed over and pushed aside. I go with the flow as we’re moved from left to right. A hand grabs my shirt. I push forward, and it gives, ripping. I duck down to avoid the reaching hands. A small hand slips between the guards’ bodies and grasps my hair. I bite the inside of my cheek ’til I bleed as she escapes with a DNA-laden prize.

“Run,” the guards yell.

Rushing forward to the van waiting with open doors, I throw my body across the bench as Jiwoo follows behind me, and the managers pile on next. The tires squeal as we pull away from the curb. I rest my head against the cool glass of the window, grateful to be out. My shoulders slump as the fatigue washes over me. The wheels on the road rock me to sleep. All too soon, my manager is shaking me away.

“Wake up, look alive. Even here, you might encounter fans,” Sang murmurs.

I shove down my negative emotions and follow my manager into the hotel. A few fans are seated around the front entrance with their mothers.

“Do you have time to sign an autograph, please? My daughters and I have been waiting here since yesterday,” the woman, who I assume is their mother, asks politely.

“Of course, we love our fans,” Sang replies.

Jinwoo and I bow and smile. “Thank you for welcoming us to Austin,” I say. The two girls, who can’t be more than fifteen, giggle and hold out their Secret Heiress posters. They’re wearing hand-decorated shirts with our faces on them. This is the type of interaction I prefer.

“You’re welcome. We love you, Yoon.” They move to Jinwoo. “You’re so pretty.”

“It would seem to me that you honor me with your words.” She bows, and they gush. She has a sweet spirit. It’s been a pleasure working with her on this series. I’m glad it was renewed for a second season. K-Dramas have been gaining success here in America, but not on this level. We’re paving the way for others. I’m proud of that. When one of us wins, we all win.

I DRINK MY WATER AND nod at the young girl nervously speaking into the microphone.

“My name is Snow Kim, and I’m eighteen years old. I want to compete because I love K-Drama, and I want to grow up to be an actress.” She’s adorable with large, brown eyes and sleek, black hair cut in bangs across her forehead and hanging around her shoulders. Her crooked smile is charming, and I can feel her excitement from here.

“My family and I watch to help me maintain my fluency in Korean. My parents moved here from Seoul when I was young, and I try my best to stay bilingual.”

“You’re doing an excellent job,” Jiwoo praises her. The translator repeats everything in English for the audience.

“Gam sa ham ni da.” Snow grins.

“What would you consider your talent to be?” the host asks.

“Singing.” Her tone is good, and she has the right attitude for the variety show style contest. She finishes her song, bows, and exits the stage.

“Number seventy-four.”

A slender woman with glowing brown skin walks forward in a white polka dot dress and steps onto the stage. She bows. I exchange surprised looks with Jiwoo. None of the other native Texans have adhered to our customs.

“Hello. My name is Hartley Warren, and I’m twenty-six, and I’m here for my sister. We lost our mother to cancer two days before her sixteenth birthday this year, and she’s grieved hard ever since.”