It was the Year of the Dog and she was disappearing. All her friends were getting married without her. And her Aunt kept saying it was the most auspicious year for her to marry. She knew who she wanted, an artist like her maybe, someone she could watch movies with, discuss them over drinks or even gelato; the idea of him kept her from falling into oblivion. The mirrors she liked to look into might not reflect anything back if she didn’t find him soon.
So when she saw the Director at a film festival in Toronto, she stood beside him until he spoke to her first. They were at the opening-night party, in the VIP lounge with the endless sparkling wine. She was hawking her script and he was premiering his short film.
She’d already walked by him a few times en route to free drinks—away from the producer guy trying to befriend her—and she noticed his face immediately. A perfect oval with nicely spaced brown eyes and full pink lips; a defined, even jawline framed by smooth thick hair parted down the middle. This kind of symmetry made her smile. She needed to see things aligned. It gave her the illusion that everything was okay.
Even though the Director went on talking to his friend, he gazed at her just long enough to slow her down. “Did that guy just speak to you in Japanese?” he asked, and pointed to the producer guy.
“What is it, my hair?” she said.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everyone in Korea thinks I’m Japanese.” His voice was even enough—not too pitchy or tonal—to put her at ease.
“It’s those colors you’re wearing,” she said.
He put his hands in the pockets of the army green blazer over the bright orange shirt. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s the hair clip, right?” she said. “I know—it’s more minimal than baroque, not as shiny as the ones in Korea…or is it all these layers of brown crepe I’m wearing over the denim? I usually don’t look like a chocolate wedding cake.”
“I knew you were more Korean than Japanese once I saw you in profile,” he said in a cheery clip.
She sipped on her wine. “Why did you ask me about the Japanese then?”
“It’s called a ‘neg,’” he said. “It makes you vulnerable to my charms.”
In fact, she’d been drawn to the irreverent tone of his come-on; it was funny and brave. She wanted to know how he could act jaded and exuberant at the same time.
“Korean American, right?” he said before she could respond.
“And Canadian wannabe,” she added. “I love this city!”
“My name is O,” he said with a big smile. “And we should get married!”
“It’s about time Director O,” she said. “It’s the Year of the Dog, and all my friends are doing it.”
“Perfect,” he said. “I need to get my Canadian ass to Hollywood. And you could stay in Canada whenever you want…as my green card.” He snapped a photo of them side by side with his cell phone.
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