The Performance

The strobe lights flashed in a frantic, seizure-inducing tempo in tune with the thrumming bass, and the sea of people was a black, shapeless mass occasionally lit up to reveal elated faces.

I shouldered my way through the crowd, right at the base of the center stage. I was a bit overdressed with my suit and tie, but I hadn't initially planned on being there. We were supposed to go to the opera, my friend Zane and I. But then I passed by the concert hall for H.I.P. (a.k.a Human Instrumentality Project) and I had to get a ticket. I think Zane understood.

Blinding lights and geysers of smoke accompanied the final act of the Korean pop band as they sauntered up and down the several catwalks that jutted out from the main stage and put them right above the crazed fans. Their outfits were sparkly black bodysuits that glittered like fireworks under the stage lights and made them look like part of the special effects ensemble.

The cheering was almost as loud as the music. Almost. Men as well as women jumped up and down, waving glow sticks as H.I.P. members passed them from a stone's throw away. I bumped into a chubby guy with glasses and he gave me a strange look, probably wondering why I was so dressed up, and then returned his gaze to the women above. I flinched when he screamed his adoration upwards and nearly burst my eardrum.

The girls glittered under the lights as they sashayed through walls of smoke and a sea of colors. It was epic, with a constant bombardment of senses as they went up and down each catwalk, moving their legs in prim and calculated steps. This act was very different from their usual; it was more edgy, a little more electronic, and honestly, a bit erotic. Usually their acts were girly and colorful, but not tonight. I did not like the strange arousal I felt; it was like their act was a vindication of all the impure thoughts that my have crossed fans' heads up until now.

I mean, there weren't that many thoughts.

*****

I stood outside later, trying to get a hold of Zane. He was not picking up and it was hard to even hear his voicemail message over the roar of people outside. Even though I had made my way to the exit before the last Instrumentality Project girl was off the stage, there was still a giant crowd outside, no doubt awaiting the group's departure to their tour bus. It was parked not too far away, with an armada of black cars flanking it. Alongside the vehicle was a silver glittering poster depicting the visage of all seven girls, grinning and less sultry than what I had just seen on stage. Some of them looked almost like completely different people. Especially Catherine, one of the band's forefront members, who tonight suddenly looked like a downright dominatrix, but printed on the side of the bus appeared in her usual sweet-and-bubbly countenance. Then there were others that were recognizable on the spot, like MiHyun, who couldn't hide her thin, expressionless mouth or her elfish ears poking out of her long hair, no matter what her makeup or wardrobe was. And then there was Dae, the oldest, who usually rocked a shoulder-length haircut and had the air of a sensuous and self-assured leader-figure, always pursing her lips in a sly and knowing smile. She was my favorite.

Okay, I admit it, I have a favorite. I guess I am in deep enough to be considered a fan. As if showing up to a monumental concert in their hometown wasn't "fan" enough, even if that itself was incidental.

I think self-consciousness was actually the reason I dipped out early. I'd never be the first to publicly admit being a huge follower of H.I.P., despite their obvious male fanbase. Nevertheless, I felt embarrassed there. It's like beating off and then discovering how ridiculous you are, standing there naked with a mess in front of you and some crazy shit on your computer monitor.

Not that I've done that. In fact, I don't even like mentioning H.I.P. and masturbation in the same sentence. I don't even want to think about it. Let's pretend the two weren't just associated.

So I was standing right at the tail-end of the bus, typing a message to Zane, when the roar of the fans grew a few decibels. I looked up and saw people pour forward like a tide. And then a string of impeccably-dressed men came from the auditorium and filed towards me, motioning at the crowd and clearing a path for where the girls would no doubt come through. The men were not uniformly dressed, but most of them wore a black three-piece suit and tie, not looking too far off from the cliché men-in-black trope. There were a few in brown blazers, maybe managers or some other higher-ups. A black man, standing out from the crowd, eased down the line wearing a casual open sport coat. He hollered at a guy with a camera who was stepping into the cleared area to line up a shot.

I looked back down at my phone to finish my message, but the people on either side of me were jostling me now. A guy to my left straight plowed into me so he could see, and I dropped my phone. The look on his face was priceless. I may have been scowling; he sure did piss me off, but he was scared right then as he looked me up and down and assessed from my suit that I must not one to be messed with. With an embarrassed tremble, he nodded to me and I picked up my phone and resumed my text message.

Another roar came. And camera flashes this time. I hit "send" and put my phone away as two of the H.I.P. members hurried down the line. I recognized Dae right away. The other one was SoYun, who had short hair like her but not nearly the same presence. They were out of their get-ups and back into street clothes, Dae wearing super-short black shorts and a frilly blouse, and SoYun wearing slacks and a similar, airy top. Even dressed down, they looked fabulous.

The crowd went nuts, as if the Pope had just appeared, and the girls walked the line. SoYun stared straight ahead and looked sort of zoned out, though there was a faint smile on her face, probably a polite, pre-programmed one. Dae, though, was wearing a legit smirk, and she scanned the crowd casually as she made for the bus, Then they both disappeared into the vehicle and the crowd died down again.

It was a couple minutes before the next group came through. This time it was three girls, dressed even more casual. The crowd didn't react any less excited, though. In fact, they were even more rambunctious now, maybe because there were three group members instead of two. The guy who had bumped into me early shuffled around me and jumped up and down to try and get a picture. I guess he got a little too close, because one of the entourage further down hollered at him with a legitimately angry face. The boy didn't seem to care, though, and stayed his ground. Another shout came, and I looked right in the man's face as he beamed his evil eyes over the boy's head straight at me.

I flinched, wondering if I was overstepping some boundary I wasn't aware of, but the boy turned around and looked at me with another fearful glance, and then shuffled to the right to distance himself from the street. The girls passed by then, and stepped up into bus without a glancing at anybody. The boy kept his distance from me after that. In fact, most of the people did. I checked my phone again, but Zane hadn't responded. The last two girls came down the sidewalk and entered the bus. Catherine, was there, strutting in a stylish leather jacket that kind of showed-up her band-mates. She was very animated, grinning and waving to the crowd. She was last on the bus, and she gave one last farewell, and she even looked at me for a second. Should you ever experience the tiny jolt of being merely acknowledged by a gorgeous celebrity in a way that might delude you to even entertain the thought of being in their company like normal people, I should warn you that it's a quick thrill with a quick downer. I had my moment of equality with the famous Catherine and then watched her depart with the sober acceptance of reality. It was time to resume normal life now.

The crowd was much less willing to accept this reality. Instead, they spun into a fury on the side of the street, as if their shouts could somehow rouse one of the band members from outside of their moving fort.

I had had all the spectacle I needed. Zane hadn't responded to my text, so I figured I'd walk through Olympic Park towards the river to blow some time. To my right, the sea of people didn't let up. I stepped onto the street and sidled in between the bus and the crowd, on my way to the west end of the park.

I stepped carefully, worried about tripping on the curb and face-planting in front of all those people. The onlookers gave me a wide berth as I passed by, however, making sure not to block my way. Even still, there was only a few feet of clearance between the bus and the crowd, and I had to shift my body sideways to make it through in some spots.

One of the guards was standing by the entrance to the bus. The doors were still open, and the man blocked anybody from seeing even the driver. As I neared him, he payed no notice to me, too focused on the people before him. There was no way around, barely inches between him and the others.

I made an attempt to shuffle in front of him, hoping he'd notice me and step back, but I was not assertive enough. I sort of bounced on my feet beside him, looking for an opening. Things were getting increasingly awkward. It sure didn't help my self-consciousness.

The man snapped a glance at me and shouted something at me in Korean. I'm partially fluent—okay, really rusty; I haven't spoken Korean in a long time—but the man spoke so fast and so... angrily, that I sort of just stood there moving my mouth, trying to form words.

He jerked his thumb behind him and I shook my head. As I tried to force my way through, he sighed, waved his meaty arm and swept me back towards the bus doors. My attempt to step back down elicited an angry shout from him and I zipped up the stairs as if a tiger had just spotted me.

So there I was, without any actual effort on my part, standing in the middle of super K-pop sensation H.I.P.'s tour bus. I froze at the top of the steps. The driver was a stern-looking man who looked a little perturbed at my indecisiveness, so I took a step forward to avoid getting shouted at again.

The strip of lights down the center were dimmed, and the leather seats were a dark cream color. Even the walls were flavored with warm hues. I felt more like I was in comfy bedroom than in a bus. Halfway down the aisle, there was a curtained partition, and the fabric was parted so that I could see clearly all seven of the group members reclined at ease on the sideways-facing seats.

I just stood there. I didn't want to sit. After all, I didn't belong there. I needed to get off of the bus, slink down the steps and avoid making eye contact with the entourage there. They obviously thought I was one of them. And I was obviously in danger of getting my balls ripped off and stuffed down my throat. But my feet took a few steps closer, and I know for a fact my brain was saying "what the fuck are you doing, you stupid asshole," but the fanboy in me wanted to get a closer peek at Human Instrumentality Project behind the scenes.

They were laughing at something when one of them looked up. It was Catherine. She made eye contact with me—that's twice in one night, too much for a mere mortal to bear—and assessed my character for a second while I froze like a deer in headlights, thinking "what do I do now?" Her glance was quizzical enough that she was probably beginning to wonder if something was wrong, so I continued a few steps into the bus like I knew what I was doing, picked out a seat to my left and plopped down. In the corner of my eye, I saw Catherine look back and continue her conversation with SoYun, who sat with her arms primly folded in her lap. Dae was sitting next to her, her legs crossed and a smile still on her face, and she glanced at me too. Both she and Catherine seemed way more relaxed than SoYun. The others were in varying states of either exhausted slouching or animated conversation. Especially the junior members, Goldie (who had odd, dyed-blonde hair in a short cut) and Jiyoung (who dyed her long hair a vibrant yet more natural-looking red). They were chattering non-stop despite their tired postures.

Okay, I figured. I've had my adventure. All I need to do is sit here like I'm supposed to be here. Just wait for a minute, then get up like I forgot something and—

"Hey," a voice came from behind me. It was Catherine, and she was leaning forward, addressing me directly.

"Do you speak Korean?" she asked. Her English was completely unaccented. Of course, I already knew that Catherine, as well as few others, were both fluent.

"A little," I said, showing just how little with a gesture.

"Aaah." She nodded. Behind her, another member had her eyes closed. Sang Mi, I think her name was (just kidding, of course I know all of the members by heart). She was almost always by Catherine's side and were probably good friends before the group was ever formed. Right now she seemed to be the most patient out of all of them, quietly awaiting her arrival at her next destination. A few of the others regarded me with brief glances, particularly Dae, who looked more directly at me than the others and who seemed to hide a certain level of amusement at me. Or maybe I just imagined it; she had a smug face that I always kind of found intimidating.

Three of the suited men boarded the bus and the doors hissed shut. I was definitely trapped now.

"How'd you end up with us?" Catherine asked me. I regarded her with a look of puzzlement that was completely honest.

"I don't know," I said. She was downright amused by this, and closed her eyes as she laughed and patted her hand on the backrest.

"I feel the same way sometimes," she said, recovering. "This tour's been crazy."

"I bet."

"Well you're going to keep me safe, right?" she asked next.

"What?"

"When we get off at the hotel. Are you the one escorting me in?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

She pouted playfully a little bit.

"You keep me safe," she said. "I know I can count on you."

No pressure.

The bus rumbled to life and eased into the street, leaving the wall of people like a boat drifting from a pier of well-wishers. I imagined for a second that they were in fact a goodwill party. I needed all the prayers I could get.

***

The bus ride was a short one, and I barely had time to form even the basis of a plan. We coasted through a street as we circled Olympic Park, dots of light winking in the expanse to our right and rows of front-lit buildings to our left. The glittering gold and green lights of Seoul rose to the sky in the distance, and then directly up ahead was the curved front of the hotel looming.

The crowd at the hotel was nearly as big as the one we just left. As the bus stopped, the men in front got up and Catherine patted my shoulder. We were the first to depart. I made a weak act of leading the way as we stepped off the bus. A flurry of camera flashes greeted us, and I paced with Catherine and Sang Mi towards the front of the hotel, where bellboys were bouncing in my vision, holding the doors open.

The noise and the crowd didn't let up as we entered. People followed us inside, and I realized I would have to escort the girls all the way up to the room. I of course had no idea where to go, so I kept beside Catherine as she glanced and smiled at fans. We seemed to be heading towards the elevator, and I tried my best not to show my confusion. I don't think it worked. Lucky for me, Catherine pressed a button on the elevator and I stood awkwardly, pretending to be on the watch for rapists and killers while the light above the door chimed. I counted myself doubly lucky when another entourage member approached escorting SoYun and Dae.

When we reached the top, the group split off, the man led his escorts away and I was left with Catherine and Sang Mi, and with no idea where to go. Luckily for me (again, my how fate is kind), Catherine took the lead, and I followed her.

We came to a room at the end of the hall, where men inside were already waiting, Catherine entered and I followed her. Sang Mi followed in behind me and moving between the two made my heart skip.

The two men who were there exchanged Korean with Catherine while I went to the window and pretended to check for intruders behind the curtain. When I heard the door open and then shut again, I turned around and I was alone in the room with Catherine and Sang Mi. My interior monologue uttered "holy shit," and Catherine looked up as if she could hear my thoughts.

"Oh, you're still here," she said. "I think we're safe now."

"Okay, good, well I'll just..."

It took a few tries to force my feet to move and I awkwardly paced to the door as both of them watched me. I felt ridiculous. Sang Mi sank into a swivel-chair and began playing with her phone. I was nearly to the door when it flung open and almost clobbered me.

MiHyun entered, letting out a sigh and an exasperated exclamation in Korean that I did not understand. It seemed to me she was complaining about being abandoned in the trek up to the rooms, and I stood there guiltily, yet invisibly, as she didn't even look at me as she walked past and stood near Catherine. She said something else, and this Korean phrase I did recognize: "I need a shower."

The door was right there, the three band members behind me. Regretfully, I slowly made my exit.

"Hey."

Caught for sure, I thought. I turned around, and Catherine was looking at me.

"Would you get us some towels, please? They forgot to put some in here."

"Oh yes, sure. Right on it."

She smiled and seemed to not see through me at all, so I nodded and made for the door. This was my avenue for escape. I could walk right out of there and be scott free. But I thought, as I turned and approached the door, that I oughta fulfill the request anyway. Should I disappear without bringing the towels, they would remember me, perhaps begin to ponder as to who I was. It was not a clean getaway.

Really, though, my thinking was to extend my stay in the company of these famous girls.

I turned around again.

"Uh, how many towels? Seven?"

Catherine was in mid-conversation with MiHyun and looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh? No, Dae and the others have their own room. Just us three here."

"Right, right, got it."

She kept staring at me as I made my exit. My ruse was weakening.

I retraced my steps to the elevator, brushing up on my Korean as I traveled down to the lobby. All I had to do was say "towels." Easy. When I got there, the front desk lady seemed suspicious of me, and I immediately expected to be carted off in handcuffs and beaten in an interrogation room until I confessed to trying to assault the members of H.I.P. But, to my surprise, the lady handed me a towel. I muttered "three" in Korean, and she seemed irritated, but handed me two more.

In a surreal haze, I re-entered the room to see it more or less how I left it; Sang Mi was still sitting in her chair, looking at her phone, and Catherine was by the window, and she had discarded her leather jacket. MiHyun was nowhere in sight, but there was the sound of a running sink coming from the bathroom.

"Here're your towels!" I announced, pushing away the mental image of MiHyun in the other room before my mind could paint for me what state of undress she might or might not be in.

"Oh, thanks," Catherine said, and crossed the room to retrieve them from me, me who felt the urge to shrink away from her as she approached in her casual dress—tight black shirt, sans jacket, and jeans. She slung one of the towels over her shoulder and tucked the other two under her arm.