Even if there were “a million Anna Lees,” this Anna Lee was still one of a handful of Asians on American network television, and there turned out to be great value to this. She became a local celebrity in K-town, something she had not expected. She found herself with an endless array of paid-appearance opportunities: celebrity judge for Miss Koreatown, ribbon cutting for a Korean grocery store, ads for Korean beauty products, the openings of restaurants. She became the spokeswoman for a Korean beer called JjokJjok, and her face was on a fifty-foot-wide billboard on Wilshire, with the slogan “What’s the most beautiful woman in Koreatown drinking?”
Anna, her parents, and Sam drove to Wilshire to take pictures with the billboard. Dong Hyun pulled out his bulky Minolta 35mm film camera. His eyes teared, and he patted Anna on the arm, and mumbled something about the American Dream. He had not known what the American Dream was or when he would know if he had attained it, but the American Dream might very well be his daughter on a billboard, selling JjokJjok beer to other Koreans. Who was to say it wasn’t? “Dad,” Anna said, “it’s just a billboard. It’s not a big deal.” Anna was embarrassed by the attention, embarrassed by the work she was doing. Simultaneously, she was proud that she had recently signed a lease on a town house in Studio City, which would put Sam in a superior public-school district. She was proud that her dad was proud.
“The most beautiful woman in Koreatown,” Dong Hyun said with reverence.
“It’s an ad guy, trying to sell beer,” Anna said. “I’m not the most beautiful woman in Koreatown.”
“She isn’t,” Bong Cha said. “There are many beautiful women in Koreatown.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Anna said.
“I don’t want you to get a swelled head,” Bong Cha said. “All this attention.”
“Let Sam settle it,” Dong Hyun said. “Do you think your mom’s the most beautiful woman in K-town?”
Sam looked at Anna. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Sam said. He was twelve, on the verge of being more man than boy. Every day, Sam became more of a mystery to Anna, even his smells, once so familiar, were a mystery, and there was a feeling of mourning to this. Yet, still Sam knew with certainty that his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. It was on the billboard because it was true.
Anna and Sam drove back to Studio City, and she got a bit lost in the Hollywood hills. Maybe she had extended the drive on purpose. Maybe she had wanted to get lost. It was pleasant to drive with the top down, with your son on a warm California night in June. She had recently bought the car. A silly emerald-green sports car that had been her first real splurge.
“Did you know I went to the performing arts high school?” Anna said. “It’s not that far from here.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah.”
“Maybe you’d want to go there?”
“I don’t think so, Mom. I’m not really a performer.”
“True. But the thing that’s cool about it is that kids from all over L.A. go there, so you meet everyone. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but L.A., well, it can be a bit tribal. The eastsiders stay on the Eastside, and westsiders stay on the Westside. And the east, where we stayed with Grandma and Grandpa, isn’t the east, it’s the west. Because technically, anything west of the L.A. River is the west.”
Sam and Anna shared a laugh at the expense of the people who cared whether they lived on the east or the west.
“So, when I was at performing arts school, I had a boyfriend,” Anna said.
“Only one?” Sam teased.
“This particular one was the grandson of one of the old studio heads. Family money, you know? And he lived on the west, in Pacific Palisades, which is about as west as you can get, but he was always driving over to the house to see me. And he could get across town really fast. Like, lightning fast. Like, I’d call him, and then he’d be at my house in seven minutes. And you know how long it takes to get places around here. So, I ask him, ‘Bro, how are you getting to my house so quick?’ And he gives me this crazy look, and he says he can’t tell me, ‘It’s a secret.’？” Anna, a good performer, paused for dramatic effect, and to make sure Sam was still listening.
“So, did he ever tell you?” Sam said.
“No. He was kind of a jerk, and we were always fighting, so we ended up breaking up not long after that. But last week, I told this story to Allison, the other model on PTB, and Chip overheard us, and he said, ‘He was obviously using the secret highways.’？”
“Secret highways?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I said. According to Chip, when L.A. was first being developed, the heads of the studios built secret highways. Highways that only they knew about, so they could get places fast. Chip thought my old boyfriend, who you’ll recall was the beloved grandson of a studio head, probably knew about the highways. Chip said there was one that supposedly ran from east to west, from Silver Lake to Beverly Hills, and another that ran north to south, from Studio City to Koreatown. Chip offered me ten thousand dollars if we could find them. Like I’d ever tell Chip if I found a magical secret highway.”
“We should find it,” Sam said. “That way, we can get to Grandma and Grandpa’s house fast.”
“We should!” Anna said.
“We can be methodical about it,” Sam said. “We’ll take a slightly different route back to Studio City each time we go. And I’ll draw a map, and eventually, we’ll find it. I know we will.”
They were winding up toward Mulholland, when all at once, a blur of fur darted in front of their car. Anna hit the brakes and swerved a little. The animal froze. In the headlights, Anna could see it was a medium-sized dog, or perhaps a coyote, with blondish fur. An all-American.
The animal scurried away.
“Oh my God,” Anna said. “Do you think we hit it?”
“I don’t,” Sam said. “It looked fine when it ran off. Just scared.”
“Was it a dog or a coyote?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “How can you tell the difference?”
Anna laughed. “I don’t honestly know myself. We’ll look it up in Grandpa’s encyclopedia next time we’re over there.”
“Does it matter which one it was?” Sam said.
“I guess not.” She paused. “Maybe I’d feel a bit worse if I had killed someone’s pet. A coyote belongs to no one. A coyote is wild. But it’s probably wrong to feel that way. A coyote has as much right to its life as anyone else.”
She turned off the car to steady herself. Anna and Sam were left in darkness. Anna was unfamiliar with the new car, so she could not easily locate the emergency lights. Her hands were shaking. “God, it’s dark,” Anna said.
Sam would remember the lights first. Two of them, like a pair of eyes, growing quickly wider, larger, seeking them out in the night. Sam would remember having an irrational thought: We’re fine, because the car can’t see us. We’re protected by the darkness.
Then, the high-pitched squeal of tires, the metal crumpling, the glass shattering like a scream.