It was the opening week of The Story of ChunHyang. Jade played the heroine, a seventeenth-century courtesan who falls in love with a local magistrate’s son. After much suffering, they end up getting married despite the difference of their class. Seemingly all Seoul was talking about the play, and the newspapers lavished praises on her performance. The first time she saw her photograph next to a review, she nearly screamed out loud in joy; she’d never dreamed of such success—perhaps for Lotus, but never for herself. Every night, her dressing room was filled with fresh flowers that held hidden messages from her admirers. Jade noticed that there was a little folded note tucked in the bouquet of red roses. Still holding the single flower to her nose with her left hand, she pulled out the note with her right and began rapidly reading it.
“To the greatest actress in Seoul, next to whom these roses would blush even more crimson . . . For you are more beautiful than any flower . . . Oh, it’s from Mr. Yoo. How dreadful and funny!” Jade giggled to herself, recalling the steel factory owner with his windowpane suits and round eyeglasses. His hair was always pomaded and slicked back, still showing the ridges of the comb, and both his breath and teeth bore the unpleasant tang of tobacco. He had been sending her gifts for months, like painted French porcelain dolls, a box of chocolate truffles, and a very pretty bejeweled gold comb. Because he was so rich, Jade had assumed that the gemstones on the comb were real. But Dani, who only kept and wore the finest jewels, needed only a glance to know that they were paste. “This is just colored glass,” she had said crisply, not noticing Jade’s embarrassment and strangely hurt feelings. Afterward, Jade returned each of Mr. Yoo’s gifts and never answered any of his letters.
“Married and thirty years older than I am, of course!” she muttered to herself, mindlessly folding the note and tossing it aside. Next to the roses there was another, much smaller bouquet of purple and white cosmoses.
“No note. I wonder—” Jade thought, smiling happily into the blossoms. None of her older admirers of Mr. Yoo’s ilk would have sent something without a name. She felt she could guess who it had to be, this shy young man who adored her from afar. As she fell into a daydream, the door creaked open and a man entered. He was wearing a khaki officer’s uniform.
“You look quite nice tonight,” Colonel Ito said, smiling as though Jade should feel grateful for such a compliment. “No, why are you putting on your clothes? I like you better without them.” He laughed as Jade wound her skirt back over her chest with a haughty glare.
“You’re welcome to come see my performance in the theater, but I beg you not to visit me anywhere else, especially not in my dressing room. I’ve already told you many times,” Jade replied in Japanese, putting her arms through the sleeves of her blouse and tying the ribbons.
“On the contrary, I don’t plan on ever seeing the play. It would bore me, and I can see you so much better here,” he said, loosening the top button of his uniform with his right hand. He crossed the small dressing room in just two strides and sat down on the settee, spreading his thighs comfortably open. Jade rose at the same moment, but Ito caught her arm and forcibly pulled her around so that she was standing in front of him.
“And I can touch you here,” he said under his breath, taking off her blouse and pulling down on her skirt, revealing her ivory-colored breasts. The floral and pungent smell of female skin filled his nose, and he longed to bury himself in it. He spread a tan palm on each breast and squeezed, moving his hands in a circular stroke and feeling himself get hard. Just as his lips fell hungrily on her bare skin, Jade tore herself away with animal strength.
An indulgent smile flashed again on Ito’s selfish face. “I do love the fight that you Joseon girls have . . . It is much more fun.” He wrapped his left arm around her waist and locked her in. His right hand reached underneath her skirt, traveled up between her thighs, and pressed urgently on the warm and dewy triangular mound, covered only by the muslin underwear.
“Don’t touch me!” Jade screamed and swung her arm, slapping him in the face with a loud smack. He hardly seemed to notice, only tightening his grip on her. She beat his back frantically with her hands, and finally bit him on the muscled top of his right shoulder.
“You bitch!” he shouted as he let go of her. She spun away to the opposite end of the dressing room, clasping her hands over her undone skirt. She looked frightened at what she’d done.
“I could have you arrested for this,” Ito began, leaning back on the settee and breathing roughly. “But I won’t, as long as you spend a night with me. You might even enjoy yourself.”