1. Jay’s Story 

 

 

       This story was something Jay shared with me a long time ago. After dinner, while we were comfortably sitting and passing a few glasses of alcohol, he casually said, “You write novels, don’t you? Maybe one day, when you have the time, you could write a novel based on my story?” I was surprised because Jay, who was usually quiet and always listened well to his friends, was now offering to share his own story. I responded with “Sure,” but to be honest, I wasn’t particularly interested in his story. I had assumed it would be a typical middle-aged man’s story — something like realizing time has passed and feeling regretful about not pursuing his dreams sooner, and finally deciding to find his life’s path late in the game. But, to my surprise, his story took a different direction. It was incredibly fascinating. Most of all, I was astonished to learn that my usually colorless friend had such depth inside him. His story had a strange resonance, and maybe because of that lingering impact, I couldn’t forget it over time. I had made a promise to write a novel based on his story but had not fulfilled it for a long time, which left me feeling indebted to him. Then, just when I was thinking about it, I received a request from a publisher to write a short story based on my friend’s story. 

I intended to faithfully reproduce Jay’s story as he had told me that day, without altering it too much. However, sometimes I emphasized the fictional aspects or exaggerated certain expressions to improve the flow of the story, and I also omitted parts I felt were unnecessary. I wanted to make that clear in advance. 

 

Jay is in his late forties. When people first meet him, they often say he has a good impression, but in fact, Jay looks quite ordinary. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about his face, so when people say he has a good impression, there isn’t much else to say. Jay knew this very well. Every time he heard such comments, he would respond with a bright smile instead of words. Jay’s greatest charm was, in fact, that smile. His lips would curl up into a “heh” shape, the skin around his eyes would gather into fine wrinkles, and the corners of his eyes would tilt downward in an innocent smile. You couldn’t help but think, “Wow, this person really has a good impression.” It was a kind of surprise to see someone with such an ordinary face wear such a beautiful smile. 

 

On Saturday morning, Jay received a report of equipment trouble at R Corporation’s semiconductor laboratory in Princeton, New Jersey. Jay was the chief engineer at a service company that repaired semiconductor manufacturing photolithography equipment known as the “Stepper.” Sam, the equipment engineer at R Corporation, urgently asked if Jay could come to Princeton that evening by flight. At that time, Jay was out for a walk with his wife in a nearby park. Jay looked at his wife’s expression and told Sam he would get ready and head over. Sam, grateful, promised to treat him to a nice dinner once he arrived. Jay thought to himself, he’s just saying empty words again, but he responded that he too was looking forward to the meal. 

That evening, around 10 p.m., Jay arrived at Newark Airport in New Jersey. The streets were already covered in darkness, and people were hurrying out of the airport, heading toward their respective homes. He took a taxi and headed toward Princeton. The cars on the highway sped by quickly, and as he watched them disappear into the darkness, an inexplicable sense of unease crept over him. 

Jay got to work early the next morning and soon figured out what the problem was. It was a software glitch caused by a new engineer who had been flustered by a small mistake and had been mindlessly pressing buttons. It wasn’t a difficult task, but it took a long time to get it back to normal. The massive exposure equipment and laser section had to be reset, and each important part of the equipment had to be initialized precisely. Once the initialization was complete, the final step was to restore the equipment to its optimal state. Jay finished the repairs late that evening. After the test run, he handed the equipment and the final report to Sam. The job was done. He was scheduled to fly back to Chicago the next morning.

 

* 

 

 Jay sat reading a book while waiting for his flight to Chicago. The boarding time was approaching when an urgent announcement came over the PA system. 

 

“The 10:05 AM Delta Airlines Boeing 737 departing from Newark, NJ is delayed due to heavy snow at Chicago O’Hare Airport. The new departure time will be 2:30 PM. We apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your patience…” 

 

The flight attendants continued to announce the delay in both English and Spanish every ten minutes. Experienced passengers, who used to delays, pulled out books from their bags, while others, hurried or unfamiliar with delays, fidgeted around the flight attendants trying to gather more information. Jay stood up, threw his bag over his shoulder, and wandered around the airport for a bit. A coffee shop caught his eye. Newark Airport in New Jersey, which accommodates an average of about seventy thousand passengers a day, was bustling with people of various races. The diverse energies they radiated made the otherwise chaotic airport feel dynamic. Jay, holding a cup of coffee, stood in a corner of the terminal, observing the hurried travelers. Then suddenly, he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in a glass window. His hair had turned white, and his forehead had grown wider… He saw the unfamiliar image of a middle-aged man. Especially the deep wrinkles around his eyes seemed to tell the full story of his past. Somehow, he looked pitiful to himself. 

— Is there really an answer to life? The shabby reflection of Jay in the window asked. Jay couldn’t answer. Then the reflection sneered and said, 

— Whether by choice or circumstance, we endlessly craft conscious goals and chase unconscious desires. Maybe the answer to life lies hidden in the gap between those two. If you could grasp that difference, perhaps you could find the answer. But I’ll tell you one thing—you’ll never find it. 

 

Conscious goals and unconscious instincts... What did that mean? Jay couldn’t grasp the difference. In the end, he concluded there was no difference at all. At that moment, the shabby Jay in the glass faded into the crowd of expressive faces, and he returned to being just an ordinary middle-aged man. The speaker, which had been urgently announcing flight delays, began playing cheerful Christmas carols. Humming along, Jay thought he probably wouldn’t be flying that day. It was a seasoned traveler’s hunch. Without hesitation, he walked to the front desk and asked the airline staff to reschedule his flight for the same time the next day.

 

 “Nice choice, sir. You seem to have some foresight,” the staff member said, as if she too had a feeling that things would unfold that way. Jay didn’t think spending an extra day in Princeton would be too bad. People nearby, seeing him change his flight, started gathering in groups around the airline desk, sensing something was off, moving their eyes and ears like antennae. Jay called his wife and told her he’d be staying one more day in Princeton. 

 

On his way back to the hotel, Jay called Sam and asked him to book a room since his flight was delayed. He also asked if the repaired equipment was running smoothly. Sam assured him it was, told him not to worry about the room, and joked that since the delay had earned Jay an extra day, he should think about what to do with it. When Jay replied that he might just go shopping, Sam casually mentioned that Atlantic City wasn’t far and that he still owed Jay a nice dinner. Jay said he’d think about it and reminded Sam to call if there were any issues with the equipment. Back at the hotel, Jay wondered how to spend this unexpectedly free day. He turned on the TV and began undressing, humming as he did—a habit he had picked up ever since he started playing the guitar.

 In his early immigrant days, he had waited late into the night for his parents, who toiled in a laundromat. As a child, Jay huddled in a dark room listening to FM radio. One day, as the orange dusk painted the window, he heard Santana’s “Samba Pa Ti.” Though short and simple, the powerful guitar melody deeply moved him. He had learned to play the guitar by matching notes from the radio to the strings, without knowing even the basics of music theory. Later, he discovered that Carlos Santana himself couldn’t read music and relied on his ear to play. Jay began to dream of becoming a jazz guitarist. The guitar had once been his strong, steady support through his youth. But one day, he stashed it away in a basement corner and joined a semiconductor company to support his family. Many regretted his decision, but it was irreversible. 

As he hung his jacket on a hanger, a provocative commercial blared from the TV: — Test your luck today! You never know… You might just strike it big. Come to Atlantic City. 

The screen showed Atlantic City in all its dazzling glory—casino lights, music, joyful faces, and suggestive smiles from showgirls. Jay felt a strange stirring in his chest—his heart pounded and fluttered. He felt a powerful urge to be enveloped in that nightscape. He called the hotel front desk to ask how to get there. 

“There’s a shuttle departing at 4 p.m. from the hotel entrance. It’ll take you to Atlantic City. The return is at 4 a.m., so you can enjoy yourself all night. Who knows? You might just get lucky…” The hotel clerk recited the information as if by rote. 

 

* 

 

 Crossing a low hill and rounding a gentle curve, a sea of lights spread out before him. It was such a dramatic sight that Jay momentarily stood dazed. The older women on the shuttle bus murmured in awe at the dazzling lights. Jay, feeling awkward amidst their chatter, turned his head toward the window. The ocean transformed the brilliant lights from the casino towers into a delicate, shimmering carpet. The waves scattered glittering light particles, and colorful lights shimmered and danced between them. Light on the sea became particles, lines, surfaces—a grand kingdom. It was surreal and beautiful because of it. Cars on the road, like fireflies with red tails, were drawn uncontrollably into the sea of lights. The ocean, like a monstrous mouth, swallowed everything in its path. 

When the bus arrived, people quickly scattered toward the casinos. Jay stood alone on the street, unsure where to go. As darkness fell, he wandered aimlessly. A drunk man bumped into his shoulder, muttering. The last streak of twilight blended with the approaching night, casting a crimson glow. A small boat crossed the horizon, leaving ripples of broken red light. The infinite ocean, ever the same, made Jay feel unbearably small. He walked toward the shore, where casinos flanked the boardwalk, their lights luring passersby. The moon rose above the sea, casting its cold glow. 

Past Trump Casino, he came across a small carnival. At its center was a merry-go-round playing festive music. On either side were booths with shooting games—hit the target with a gun or crossbow, win a big stuffed toy. Jay was drawn in. Among the crowd, he noticed a woman standing behind the shooters—an East Asian woman with long black hair, a wide-brimmed white hat, and an elegant waist. She was both graceful and subtly seductive. Jay felt an urge to speak to her. 

“It’s not too hard to shoot. Why don’t you try? I can help,” 

Jay said in Korean, unsure why he used it, but certain she was Korean. If she wasn’t, and ignored him, at least it wouldn’t be too embarrassing. She didn’t look at him but nodded slightly with a smile. She was Korean—Jay was sure of it. Encouraged, he watched as she paid for a turn and received five pellets. Struggling to load the gun, she glanced at Jay for help. He loaded the pellets for her and briefly explained how to aim. She fired and missed badly. Embarrassed, she looked at him, then at the gun. Jay offered to shoot for her. She smiled brightly and nodded. Encouraged, he said not to expect too much, then fired. The pellet hit the bullseye. The woman bounced joyfully and leaned against him, her chest pressing softly against his back. She won a giant pig plush, even taller than she was. Jay handed it to her, and she smiled again. 

“Did you come alone? I ended up here because of a delayed flight in Princeton,”

 Jay said. The woman glanced at him and suddenly asked if he could take her to the casino. Surprised, Jay agreed, and they entered Caesars Palace Casino together. The heavy smell of cigarettes hung in the air, but she didn’t seem to mind.

 “Just give it a try. Don’t worry about the money…” Jay said. 

She bit her lip and nodded. Jay inserted a $20 bill into the slot machine. Like a snake, it swallowed the note. The maximum bet was seventy-five cents, but she stayed at twenty-five cents, never exceeding it. Her hands showed she had played before. Jay stood behind her, simply watching. Her neat, carved-doll silhouette and the scent from her dark hair lingered in the air. After thirty minutes, she got up, seemingly disappointed. 

“You did great. Next time, try blackjack or roulette—the odds are better,” Jay said. “…, I feel suffocated. I need to go outside. Thank you—it was fun.” Her tone was firm. 

“I was just about to go too. Shall we leave together?” Jay offered. She hesitated briefly. “No, I want to go alone. Thank you, sir. Enjoy your evening.” She bid farewell. Jay didn’t want her to go, but her expression left no room for argument. He stood watching her retreating figure, then hurried outside in the direction she disappeared. But she had already vanished into the crowd. He looked around and followed where he last saw her. 

 

 

* 

 

 Jay heard the sound of waves coming in from the dark seashore. His steps were drawn toward it, as if by some unseen force. The waves crashing on the dark shore sounded like the chill of the wind, and within them seemed to reside a primeval darkness he could not comprehend. But he could not see into it. He wanted to cry out toward the unseen wind and unreachable darkness. Jay kept walking along the dark beach and finally sat on a rock. He watched the white foam crash against the sand, only to be swept away and reborn again and again—like a living thing. After a while, he saw a woman walking toward him. Her face glowed beautifully in the moonlight. She gave him a slight bow and continued walking toward the darkness. Jay approached her and said, “Would you like to have dinner together?” 

The woman looked at him, and upon hearing his words, suddenly began to cry. Jay had no idea why she was crying. A woman with many tears, he thought to himself. But her sobbing didn’t stop. 

Jay handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her tears and looked at him. Somehow, she had stepped right into his heart. Soon, they were holding hands and heading toward the Italian restaurant inside Caesars Palace Hotel. Statues of Caesar and Roman senators loomed along the corridor, gazing sternly down at the casino patrons. The entire hall was decorated with polished ivory marble—it was dazzling. The woman seemed slightly overwhelmed by the atmosphere, a bit tense. 

Jay wanted to focus only on her, but he couldn’t shake off a strange uneasiness. At that moment, a familiar melody began to play. It resonated in his ears and made his heart pound violently. Jay couldn’t regain his composure. 

After a brief pause, he remembered—it was Coltrane’s For You Alone. A memory buried deep in the warehouse of his mind suddenly surged forth. In that instant, twenty years of time folded in on itself and rushed back to him. The aching sound of jazz guitar and tenor saxophone began to wrap around his chest.

 His heart beat faster and faster. He couldn’t control the thudding in his chest. He realized the music was stirring his soul. The rhythm, the feeling of a guitar he once dreamed of, all came rushing back like an unstoppable wave. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. His heart thumped like a hammer, and he felt like he would go mad unless he cried out. At that moment, the woman took his hand and said, “Calm down.” “Yes… Ah, I’m fine. I just lost myself for a second,” Jay said. 

“You don’t look calm. What overwhelmed you?” the woman asked gently. “I think… it’s the music. That guitar… it’s making my heart race. Why? This has never happened before,” he stammered. 

“Never?” she asked.

 “Well… no. I used to feel this way a lot when I was younger. But since I got a job, not once,” Jay said cautiously. 

“Did your job do that to you?” she asked. 

“No… At first I thought it was because of the job. But now I realize… it was my own heart. I closed myself off to the music. But now, I think it’s starting to open again. What do I do? I don’t know,” he said, closing his eyes. 

“Then go where your heart takes you. Step into that open place. Stop calculating,” she whispered. 

She linked arms with Jay and led him into the hall following the melody. Her chest brushed his arm. As they entered, Jay looked closely at the band playing Coltrane’s song. It was a quintet: piano, guitar, bass, drums, and trumpet. Among them, a young guitarist stood out to Jay. Wearing a black fedora and a stylish mustache, he seemed to be having a silent conversation with the bassist. The guitar asked questions; the bass answered. Jay knew that kind of dialogue—it had been a long time. 

His fingers began to itch. He clenched his fists. The performance ended, and the musicians stepped off the stage to rest. They drank beer or flirted with women. But the guitarist sat quietly, lost in thought. 

“Were you like that too?” the woman asked.

 “Yes. A guitarist must be thoughtful. If you let emotions overwhelm you, the sound won’t come out right. That’s probably why he’s sitting quietly,” Jay replied. 

He looked back at the now-empty stage. A guitar rested beside a stand next to a chair. His fingers itched again, and his heart started pounding. The woman whispered, 

“Go ahead. Try it.” 

“No… I’m not ready. It’s been over twenty years,” Jay said sadly, but he was already rising from his seat and walking toward the stage. Step by step… with each stride, the door that had been closed for two decades creaked open. One step broke down a year, another shattered two. Jay’s steps were heavy, but he climbed onstage. He picked up the guitar. The band members looked at him. The drummer stood to stop him. The seated guitarist called out, “Let him. Let’s watch. Might be fun.” 

Jay touched the strings and caressed the guitar’s body. A jolt of electricity ran up his fingers. He stopped, shocked. The sensation struck his heart and ran through his body. It was a dazed feeling—but only for a moment. Then he and the guitar became one again. He picked it up boldly, strapped it on, and held it tight against him. Brushing his hair back, he stared into the audience. 

When his gaze met the crowd, memories of his younger self and the emotions of that time flashed before him. Carefully, he waited for a song to come to mind. Then it came—Santana’s Samba Pa Ti. 

The memory of that powerful melody moved him, made his heart race harder. He began to play. The notes flowed naturally like water. No preparation needed. His body moved on its own, his fingers played instinctively. The music reached its peak. 

Jay forgot the woman. He forgot the touch of her chest against his arm. He forgot his job, his family. Jay thought of nothing. He just kept playing. 

The woman watched in silence as Jay played, happy. She seemed lost in thought. Then, as if making a decision, she took a business card from her wallet, wrote something on the back, and left it on the table. She looked at Jay one last time and slipped out of the hall.

 Jay didn’t notice her leave. After finishing the performance, he returned to the table. The woman was gone, only the card remained. He picked it up. On the back, a small note read: 

— Thank you. I hope you truly follow your dream. You looked wonderful playing the guitar. I’ll be going now. – Sunny 

Jay was about to go look for her, disappointed, when his phone rang. It was Sam. At first, Jay thought something was wrong with the equipment again. 

“Hey, Jay! Did you enjoy yourself? Sunny just called. She says… you’re really talented. And guess what? She said she’s not charging for tonight. How’d you do it? Tell me your secret!” Sam laughed. 

“What… what do you mean… Sunny? How do you know her?” Jay asked, surprised. “Didn’t I say I’d get you a great dinner? That wasn’t just small talk. I made it happen. Pretty date and all! Didn’t she give you a business card?” Sam chuckled. Jay flipped the card over. 

— Companion for casino visits. Limousine service. Lady of Atlantis… Ask for Sunny. Dine with a beauty, play the casino… $80/hour. 

“So… this was all arranged by you Sam… for me…” Jay suddenly burst out laughing. It all felt like a passing dream, like a lighthearted comedy. And strangely, Jay wasn’t thinking about the woman. It felt like parting from a long-ago lover

— bittersweet but complete. Now he was excited about new beginnings. 

“Sam, thank you. I found something really important,” Jay said. 

“You sound like a retired philosopher reborn in a night! Hahaha,” Sam joked. 

“Yes, exactly. I feel reborn. Ah… it feels so good. I want to treat you to a nice dinner now. You won’t be disappointed. Haha!” 

 

A shabby version of Jay asked, 

“So, now do you know the answer to life?”

 Jay didn’t reply. He just smiled. 

The shabby Jay smiled and faded away. 

Jay disappeared into the crowd at the airport. 

 

 

 

 

2. Sunny’s Story 

 

 

As dusk began to fall around the boardwalk, tour buses from New York and New Jersey started pouring into the terminal. Tourists stepped off the buses and gasped in delight at the dazzling lights streaming from the casino buildings. Cheers, the setting sun, and the glow of the lights mixed together, briefly filling the boardwalk with an energy of hope. 

That day, I was at the bus terminal with Jeannie, waiting for people arriving from Philadelphia. Earlier that morning, I had received the list of names from Vice President Chris. As always, I wrote the names boldly on a white poster board and made a welcome sign.

 – Welcome, President Bok Chul-gyu! 

“The size of the letters directly reflects the amount of welcome,” Jeannie quipped, looking at my sign. Jeannie and I had worked together before, so we knew each other well. She had a boisterous personality, and with her petite frame, prominent chest and hips, many people remembered her figure more than her face. But if you looked closely, she had large eyes, plump lips, and gave off a sensual yet cute charm.

 “In my experience… every Korean’s a president. That’s what they like to be called,” she said, pulling out a small mirror from her handbag while trimming a stray yellow nose hair with a small pair of scissors. It was the start of a holiday, so the terminal was buzzing with two or three times the usual crowd. We waved our sign toward people stepping off the buses. Ten minutes passed, and no one seemed to recognize or approach us. I began to feel uneasy, but we decided to wait a little longer. 

Soon, the stream of people thinned out, and the terminal emptied. Two people hurried off the last bus. When they saw us, they waved cheerfully and rushed over. I could tell they were the ones we were supposed to meet. A third person, speaking seriously on the phone, came off the bus last.

 “Uh… excuse me. Hi. I’m Bok Chul-gyu,”said the man who would be my partner, pointing shyly at the sign. At first glance, he seemed to be in his late forties or early fifties, but looking closer, he could have been in his early forties. With curly hair, a small frame, dark skin, and thick glasses, he looked timid. His weary expression carried that unique fatigue often seen in Koreans, which made him look like a worn-out man in his mid-fifties. I couldn’t help but wonder what his work life must be like. 

The man chatting with Jeannie on the bench seemed to be a manager in his early forties. His sharp eyes gave him a rather ill-tempered appearance. Judging by how Bok Chul-gyu addressed him formally, they didn’t seem to work in the same department. The last man off the bus was gaunt, with deep lines around his eyes that made him look rough. Oblivious to the people waiting, he remained on his call. Bok and 

I awkwardly waited on the bench for him to finish, while Jeannie sat very close to her partner, already chatting animatedly. 

When his call finally ended, the gaunt man approached with a serious expression and announced there was an issue with a contract, and they had to return to Philadelphia. I was still processing the sudden turn of events when Chris called. 

“Are the people you were supposed to meet… still with you? They say they have to go back to Philly because of work.” 

“Yes, I heard. So, what do we do now?” I asked. Chris immediately understood and replied cheerfully: 

“We already got the money, so don’t think of it as a waste. You’ll still get half of today’s fee. And the hotel’s paid for—they already covered it. If you want, go ahead and use the room. It’s at Caesars Palace. A nice ocean-view room. Might as well enjoy a break and try your luck at the casino. Who knows—you might get lucky. Heh heh heh.” 

Chris hung up, leaving me with that unpleasant laugh. Jeannie shrugged with a bewildered look after hearing my side of the conversation. Realizing things were settled, the men waved goodbye and headed toward the Atlantic City train station for the ride back to Philadelphia. Their retreating figures looked dejected, like people trudging home after a long, hard day’s work. Jeannie also left the terminal, blowing me a playful air kiss. I waved back. Peeling the sign off the board and tossing it in the trash, I paused, wondering how to spend the rest of the day. The thought of possibly running into those same Koreans on the train back to Philly, and the image of my cold, dark room there, suddenly made me long for a hot bath in the hotel. 

At the Caesars Palace front desk, I checked in and received my room key. “A very nice ocean-view room. The weather’s great today, so the sunset will be beautiful. And on days like this, something good might happen at the casino too. Haha!” said the handsome blond staffer with a hair flip and a smile as he handed me the key. 

Once in my room, I undressed and headed straight to the bathroom. As the tub filled with hot water, I brushed my teeth. I removed my makeup with cleansing oil, then slid into the tub. The water gushed powerfully from the oversized faucet. The lively rush of water sounded like wind rustling through a forest—or waves crashing from the deep sea. I lay back in the tub with my eyes closed, listening to the sound. 

“Ah…”

 A deep sigh escaped my lips. It was the kind of relief I hadn’t felt in a long time— like drifting aimlessly on a vast ocean in a little rubber tube, floating away to somewhere unknown. All my fatigue seemed to flow out of me with that one sigh, leaving me feeling oddly hollow, like a discarded shell. 

Out of the bath, I dried my hair and sat on the sofa, turning on the TV. I craved a beer. I opened the fridge—empty. I called the front desk and ordered water, beer, and some light snacks. After hanging up, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at my naked body. Overall, I was slim, but I had enough curves where they mattered. “Hmm, still presentable,” I thought vaguely. “It’d be nice to have someone to show this to.” I stood there, gazing at my reflection for a while.

 After the bath, I felt drowsy and crawled into bed, closing my eyes, hoping sleep would come—but my mind stayed wide awake. I got out of bed, pulled open the curtains, and looked out. The sunset cast a fiery glow across the sky, melting everything in its path. The ocean and the casino lights blended in a surreal harmony as night fell. I wanted to go out. I wanted to walk alone along the beach under that blazing sunset. 

I walked the long stretch of the boardwalk. The ocean burned crimson under the sunset. As I walked through the red glow, I felt like I was being pulled into it—as if I were stepping onto a path from which I could never return. The air around me seemed to swell, about to burst. 

After graduating from a provincial university and failing to find a job for several years, I was stuck working over 14 hours a day at part-time jobs. The weight of monotonous labor, a reality with no goals, and the dark heaviness of the present pressed down on both my shoulders. I was gradually sinking into the abyss. Smiles disappeared from my face, and life became so heavy I could no longer bear it alone. Sometimes, I even thought about taking my own life. At that time, I was, no matter how I looked at it, just another insignificant youth. 

That day too, I was drifting between one part-time job and another with a miserable expression. As usual, I dragged my tired body onto a bus. I was scanning for an empty seat when suddenly, a flashing advertisement caught my eye. 

— Life is too short! 

I don’t quite remember what product it was promoting—probably groceries or home appliances. But something about that slogan made me feel like the foundation of my life had just shifted. A turning point, perhaps. A message of hope for a better future broke through my bleak reality. Birds seemed to cry out from the sky, and in my mind, a chorus of “Hallelujah” rang out.

 “Life is short, beautiful lady,” said a handsome actor in the ad, smiling as if he was looking right at me. I stepped off the bus, still thinking about his smile. And I never went back to those part-time jobs. Instead, I emptied my savings and enrolled in an English conversation academy. I also started looking for affordable language schools in the U.S. 

“Sunny Jang?” 

“No, it’s Sun-hee Jang.” 

“Sunny Jang—‘Sunny’ is a great name! Is that your American name?”

 “No, it’s Korean. My name is ‘Sun-hee,’ but when pronounced strongly, it sounds like ‘Sunny.’” 

James, a tall, blue-eyed man, smiled at me with a childlike innocence. That was the first time we met. He told me he was taking a break from his MBA program at a prestigious university in Philadelphia and was traveling across Asia to broaden his horizons. He funded his travels by teaching English wherever he stayed, and he planned to live freely like that for a few more years. 

I was envious. With just English, he could go anywhere in the world without worry. On top of that, he was handsome and well-mannered—a perfect man. One day, this perfect James asked me to go see a movie. After that, we met every day. We talked in English, whispered in English, and loved in English. The night we first became intimate, he told me he wanted to take me to his home in Philadelphia. He said he wanted to live happily with me there.

 I thought the love we built—fortified in English—was like a magnificent and unshakable fortress. I often dreamed of going to that house with him. One day, he showed me a picture of it. It was a large, beautiful estate, with flowers, trees, and a golden retriever in the garden. He stood in the center, beaming with a bright smile. 

He was my perfect prince—my blond Prince James. I often imagined us strolling through that garden with the dog. I loved him. And eventually, I became pregnant with his child. I wanted to tell him the news over a beautiful dinner at a sky lounge overlooking the Seoul skyline. I called him, but he didn’t answer. I left several voicemails. I said I missed him, that I had something important to tell him, that I loved him, and begged him to meet me at the sky lounge. I waited for him there, full of hope. But he never came. 

“Just forget it. Stuff like that happens all the time. These wanderers vanish without a trace. Did you lend him money or something? Consider it bad luck and move on.” The academy’s administrator, her front teeth protruding slightly, said coldly. She looked furious, as if she had been through something similar herself.

 I searched for him endlessly but never found a trace. After that, I went back to part-time jobs and continued studying English. I also terminated the pregnancy. Then one day, a letter arrived from a language institute in the U.S., inviting me to attend. It was a private school in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. The invitation included all the documents I needed to apply for a student visa. 

A month later, I landed at Newark Airport with my visa. I had spent all my savings on tuition and needed to earn money—urgently. But with a student visa, it was hard to find legal work. If caught by immigration, I could be deported on the spot. I had to slip further underground. 

I found jobs in Korean restaurants along 5th Street in Philadelphia’s Korean district —washing dishes or serving food—but the pay was poor. I was always on the lookout for something better. 

One day, during a break, I was flipping through job ads in the newspaper. Flies buzzed around the restaurant, and with no air conditioning, sweat trickled down my entire body. I folded the paper into a fan and happened to spot a large, three-column ad tucked away in the classifieds. It was titled “Casino Companion.” The ad was looking for a Korean-speaking woman in her early twenties. It claimed the job was simple—just accompanying guests to the casino, eating together, and having fun. It stressed that it wasn’t illegal or exploitative, and promised a high hourly rate—over $50 an hour. 

I called the number in the ad and said I was interested. They gave me an address and told me to come in for an interview. 

 

* 

 

As the evening sun slipped beyond the sea and darkness slowly enveloped the surroundings, people wandering the boardwalk began to file into the casino buildings one by one, as if drawn by some unspoken agreement. It was the hour when hope stirred again. I sat on a bench along the boardwalk, watching the fading hues of twilight descend beyond the ocean, casting a lingering afterglow. As I watched the sunset, memories surfaced—of the buses arriving from Philadelphia, of the people I met at the station, and of myself waving placards while waiting for them. 

A curse lingered in my mind like an arrow lodged in my back—the belief that I was living by diminishing myself, and that I would never escape that vicious cycle. I shook my head, trying to cast it off, when a call came from Chris. His voice was unusually cheerful. 

“Hey Sunny, I heard you checked into a hotel. Good call! You really needed a break. Sorry to call and bother you, haha…” I could almost see him scratching his head sheepishly. “Anyway, it’s just that a friend of mine is arriving in Atlantic City today. He might already be there by now. You know that last bus from Princeton, the one that gets in around six. He asked if you could try to find the guy he sent.” 

There was no chance of confusion. There was only one 6 p.m. bus from New Jersey. It departed the Walkerhill Hotel in Princeton at 4 p.m., picked up passengers there, passed through Cherry Hill—where many Koreans lived—and finally arrived in Atlantic City. I turned toward the bus stop to look for the man Chris had mentioned. The bus was slowly gliding toward the terminal, its back to the ocean. Behind it, the sunset painted the sky red, making the bus look like a chariot returning from the heavens. 

When it arrived, passengers began to disembark. I watched them from a distance. “He should be easy to spot,” Chris had said. “Short, round Korean guy with thick black glasses and a bit of a bald spot. But the important thing is—you have to act like you met by chance. He’s super uptight. If he thinks you’re from a business, he’ll just walk away. Please, be careful. This is a personal favor.” 

Chris had stressed this several times. Somehow, seeing him ask so sincerely made him seem like not such a bad person. Looking back, Chris had done a lot for me. He’d introduced me to wealthy, reputable Korean men first and always made sure I was paid fairly. He kept me away from clients with strange or dangerous demands. 

A group of chubby elderly women got off the bus, shrieking in excitement as they looked around at the bright casino lights and hurried off in a crowd. Then, the last passenger stepped off—a short man. I immediately knew he was the one. Just as Chris had described. An ordinary Korean man you could find anywhere. I sat on the bench, watching this small, shabby-looking man and suddenly thought of my father. Wasn’t he probably like this too? Worn down, exhausted, a bit fragile and pitiful—yet with a kind of quiet strength that made pity feel out of place. A typical Korean man. 

The man stood for a moment, glancing around, then as if he had made up his mind, turned in the opposite direction of the others. He walked toward the side where the ocean was more visible, the long streaks of sunset making it look like he was walking straight into the light. He stood there for a while, gazing out at the water, looking like someone with a lot on his mind. He didn’t seem to fit in with the energy of this place at all. 

Then, for reasons I couldn’t guess, he suddenly turned and walked into the Carnival arcade across from Caesar’s Palace. I followed. It was a place I often went to with clients, so I knew it well and stayed at a distance. He wandered for a while, then stopped behind someone shooting an air gun, laughing quietly as if amused. Suddenly, he turned and looked straight at me. I was startled but stayed calm, pretending to wait my turn. Unexpectedly, he walked right over and spoke to me. I hadn’t thought he’d approach me—he didn’t look the type. But to my surprise, he was quite forward. He spoke to me in Korean right away, as if he’d instinctively sensed I was Korean too. 

“It’s not that hard to shoot. Give it a try. I’ll help you.” 

I didn’t respond with words—just nodded. His face immediately brightened. A wide smile spread across his round face. He kept encouraging me to shoot, but I wasn’t really interested. I was waiting for him to do it for me. After I clumsily fired one shot, he took the gun without hesitation and hit the bullseye. A large stuffed animal was handed to me.

 I was delighted. I grabbed his arm and bounced with joy. Before I knew it, my hand had slipped into the crook of his arm. 

When I asked, “Could you take me to the casino?” he replied, “Sure, let’s go together.” 

“Do you come here often?” he asked. “I’m from Chicago, but my flight got delayed, so I ended up here. Where are you from? Oh, and what’s your name? I’m Jay.” 

 I just smiled at him lightly and said nothing. He didn’t press me. We walked into Caesar’s Palace Casino together. As always, the smell hit me first—the musty scent of mold mixed with cigarette smoke. I had never really liked gambling. When others played, I just watched. I never used the money they gave me to gamble myself.  

I could never understand what excitement or thrill people found in the clinking sounds of the spinning slot machines. After about thirty minutes, the money he had given me ran out. I felt guilty—like maybe I shouldn’t have done it. The cigarette smoke made me suddenly feel suffocated, so I told him I needed to step outside. He offered to come with me, but I declined. Being around him made me feel uncomfortable. I lightly said goodbye and walked out alone. 

 

 

 

* 

 

 

 

When I went to the address they had given me, I found it was a limousine rental company called Lady of Atlantis. It had a proper office, and the employees were all dressed in suits with bow ties, which surprised me. Their soft smiles seemed to say, We absolutely do not engage in shady or illegal business. At the office entrance, a golden banner fluttered in the wind, reading, Welcome to Lady of Atlantis. I walked across the parking lot toward the office. On both sides of the path, about five or six gleaming limousines were parked, reflecting light and brightening the surroundings. 

When I walked in and told them I was the person who had called yesterday and was here for an interview, a plump woman came over and guided me to the meeting room.

 “This is your first time doing this kind of work, right? Your name is… Sunny Jaeng?” 

“It’s Sunny Jang,” I said. “

Ah, Jang. So Jang is your last name? That’s a nice name. Sunny.” 

That was my first encounter with Chris, the vice president. The president was his older brother, Jimmy, who was currently away on a business trip, so I wouldn’t be able to meet him until another time. Chris emphasized repeatedly that though he and Jimmy were half-brothers with different mothers, they were closer than most full siblings. Chris had the classically handsome look of someone with both Asian and white ancestry, a face that seemed somehow familiar.

 And just like that, I started working as a casino escort through Lady of Atlantis, a limousine rental company. Officially, the company rented out limousines to customers and included female companions for the ride—under the pretense of them being tour guides. So before I started escorting clients to casinos, I registered as a tour guide with the city and had to take mandatory courses at a nearby community college. Unexpectedly, I became a licensed tour guide.

 Just as they had said, the casino escort work was quite easy. It didn’t require long hours of physical labor. Instead, it was more about having fun, eating good food, and keeping the client entertained. Most importantly, I didn’t have to worry about immigration raids. Even if someone were to ask for ID (which never happened), I could simply show my tour guide license. It wasn’t an illegal job, and I was paid cleanly. Most of the clients were Koreans visiting the U.S. for business or Korean gamblers. After gambling with them, drinking, or having a meal together, I would earn at least $300 a day. With my current visa, there was no other job that could pay that much. Being a casino escort had supported my early life in America. In fact, my lifestyle here was more comfortable and luxurious than it had ever been back in Korea.

 Over time, my English improved a lot. I naturally learned that someone named William might be called Will, Bill, Willy, or Billy depending on family or friends, and James might be Jim or Jimmy. 

After parting with him, I stepped outside the casino. Darkness had already settled over the boardwalk, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on. One by one, they lit up the path. I walked slowly toward the beach, thinking of Mr. Jay. He seemed like a man burdened with deep troubles—there was a wistfulness about him, a kind of quiet yearning not so much for life itself but for something long gone, something irretrievably lost. It was the same lingering sadness I used to see in my father. 

Even as a child, I understood that hollow look in my father’s eyes. His gaze wasn’t fixed on anything in particular. He wasn’t even really thinking—just breathing heavily like a whale diving into the deep, silently playing some invisible melody. He would do that for hours, holding a bottle of alcohol, crying as he drank. His eyes would fill with tears, his stare blurred by liquor. I’d heard that my father had once wanted to become a pianist. But the weight of life had led him to tools instead of a keyboard, to machinery manuals instead of sheet music. He was never meant to be a pianist. Life and hardship made him forget his lofty dreams for a while, but the strange thrill of music would still echo through the streets sometimes, and those moments brought back thoughts of the dream he had never fulfilled. 

That was the look in his eyes when he died. Even as he approached death, crying and trembling, he was playing something with his hands, as if performing. He was that kind of man. He left nothing to his children, said nothing to anyone, and simply lived out his quiet performance before fading away. I didn’t understand him—but I grew up with a sense of empathy for him. 

Jay had that same look in his eyes. 

Suddenly, a ripple stirred inside me. I wanted to know more about him. What regrets did he hold onto? 

As I turned to head back to the casino, I saw him walking along the beach, glancing around as if searching for someone. Had he followed me, or just come out for some air? I followed him, and when he reached a spot where I thought he might pause, I waited. When he saw me, he smiled brightly and asked if I wanted to have dinner with him. We went back inside the casino building. 

I had never once met the president. I had dropped by the office several times, but he was never there—only Chris, lazing around. I wasn’t deliberately trying to meet him, but I began to wonder if maybe he was avoiding me. But of course, the president had no reason to meet me, let alone avoid me. 

According to Chris, his brother Jimmy oversaw the limousine rental part of the business, while Chris managed the female tour guides who accompanied clients to the casino. Jimmy had dropped out of graduate school to take over the family business. Chris, on the other hand, worked part-time as an engineer at a semiconductor company in Princeton, New Jersey. He said he kept both jobs—not because he needed to, but as a safety net.

 Though I didn’t understand what semiconductor engineers actually did, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around how someone in that profession could also manage women in this kind of business. Still, Chris seemed to enjoy both roles. He liked being around women, though not in a sexual way. He just enjoyed chatting and being surrounded by them. 

One day, Chris said to me: 

“The first time I saw you, my heart raced. But don’t get the wrong idea—it’s not because I’m into you like that. You’re not my type. It’s just that you look a lot like my mom… the one who died in an accident a long time ago. You probably noticed I’m mixed, right? That’s why I can speak Korean pretty well.” 

He often said that although many women coming from Korea these days were beautiful, few had any distinctive charm—many were forgettable. He always spoke Korean with me and never crossed any boundaries. He tried to treat me like a friend. Chris always paid the girls in cash after a casino escort job. He said it was to show appreciation, but I knew it was also a way to avoid taxes. Either way, it made a good impression on the workers. Knowing I was Korean, he always treated me kindly. So when he asked for this particular favor, I felt obligated to do my best. 

We were headed to an Italian restaurant on the second floor of Caesars Palace. Somewhere nearby, loud music blared—jazz, with pounding drums and guitars. I grimaced at the noise and looked at Mr. Jay. He, too, seemed unsettled. I took his hand—it was damp with sweat—and told him to relax, that everything would be fine. He nodded but still looked uneasy, his eyes unfocused. When I asked again what was wrong, he said it was the music. 

I pulled him toward the source of the sound. 

The jazz club was just past the restaurant, tucked around the corner. From outside, it looked tiny, like a small café, but inside, the stage was surprisingly large. A five-piece band played in the center, surrounded by round tables. Though the room was thick with smoke and the air was heavy, it had the sticky, nostalgic vibe unique to jazz clubs. Even I felt like I could go for a glass of whiskey.

 Jay stared at the band like he was hypnotized. It was as if I wasn’t even there. When the band finished their set and returned to their seats, Jay’s eyes remained fixed on a small guitar. Then, his fingers began to move. It looked like the kind of warm-up a guitarist does before playing. 

I urged him to go on stage and try playing. He hesitated, saying he wasn’t ready, but slowly began walking toward the stage. When he finally stood before the crowd, there was a slight stir, but no one stopped him. It was as if they were all eager fans awaiting the return of a long-lost legend. 

He picked up the guitar, slung it over his shoulder, swept his hair back, put on sunglasses, and began to play. His hands trembled at first, his face tense, but soon he melted into the music. His expression relaxed—he looked genuinely happy. He was completely absorbed, lost in his performance. 

Watching him, I thought: If my father had had a chance like this, he wouldn’t have died with so much regret. As Jay’s music reached its climax, I felt it was time to reveal who I was and leave. He hadn’t even noticed me anymore. I figured he wouldn’t see me go. 

I left my business card on the table and walked out of the club. I called Chris to say I was heading back to the hotel and wouldn’t be taking any payment. 

He replied: 

“There’s a limousine waiting for you outside the casino. You know which one, right? The company limo. Just take it and enjoy the ride. Oh, and there’s someone who really wants to meet you. He says he’s an old friend…” 

The limo took me to a wealthy suburb on the outskirts of Philadelphia, far from my apartment. I planned to call a cab once things were over. Despite the late hour, the streets were brightly lit. On a gentle hill, elaborate mansions lined the street, each glowing with Christmas lights. In front of each mansion, Santa, reindeer, rabbits, and polar bears frolicked in fake snow. I had never seen such a grand, leisurely Christmas scene. 

At the front door, Chris waited with a large dog. As I arrived, he opened the door and greeted me warmly. The dog, a golden retriever, wagged its tail and approached me shyly. When I petted its head, it leaned into my touch like it had been waiting for it. It felt like we’d known each other a long time. 

Chris led me into the house. It was already late, and the soft glow of streetlamps only let me see the silhouette of the grand mansion—it felt like entering a palace. 

At the end of a long, dark tunnel of a walkway, a warm light shone, and in that light stood a man holding flowers, smiling at me. A tall, blonde man in a suit. He looked familiar, though I couldn’t quite place him—until I got closer. It was James. 

He handed me the flowers and said, “Sunny, it’s been a long time.” 

“……” 

I couldn’t say anything. I never expected to see him again—especially like this. But my feelings weren’t joy; they were discomfort, and a deep, unknowable anger. I threw the flowers to the floor and turned to leave.

 “Sunny, wait. Just give me a chance to explain,” James—no, Jimmy—called after me. But I didn’t look back. 

 

This novel was inspired by a newspaper advertisement in the Philadelphia area for casino escort services. All characters in the story are fictional.