The Fold (14 page)

“Wow,” Joyce said quietly.

Lisa studied Joyce’s face. “You don’t seem wowed.”

Joyce sighed. “Do you really think it makes that big a difference in how you look? I mean, you’re so pretty anyway, it’s not like you needed the surgery to make yourself look better.”

Lisa thought for a second. “Honestly, it’s not so
much the way you look but the way you feel.” Lisa stepped to the side and stared at herself in the mirror. “When I was in New York, I went to this really exclusive prep school. I wasn’t exactly teased, but I wasn’t getting a ton of offers for dates, either. There were plenty of Asians at my school, and the ones who were getting noticed definitely looked a certain way.”

Joyce perked up. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Lisa peeled her eyes away from her own reflection and met Joyce’s eyes. “After the surgery, I just felt more confident. My eyes looked fuller and more defined. And for the first time in my life, I could actually wear eye shadow without it looking weird! I started dressing better and talking more to people. And I finally had the confidence to start flirting with this really cute boy that I had been crushing on since ninth grade, and he asked me out. It was amazing how different I felt after the surgery.”

Joyce nodded in a trance. “All from just two creases on your eyelids.”

Lisa smiled. “Getting the fold changed my life.”

“WOW!”

Lisa flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. “You know, people have this hang-up about plastic surgery. Like it’s not natural or something. If it’s God’s
will to make you look a certain way, it’s also God’s will that he created doctors who can help you improve your looks. And ultimately, if it makes you feel better, then what’s wrong with that?”

“Yeah,” Joyce said.

“I have to get going,” Lisa said. “Are you going to volleyball practice Tuesday afternoon?”

Joyce shook her head. “I don’t play.”

“You don’t have to play. Just come watch and hang out. A bunch of us are going to be there. We can talk more then, if you have other questions. Anyway, we’ll be at the far end of the boardwalk at the beach.”

“Uhm, okay,” Joyce said.

Lisa turned to the side to leave, her buxom figure coming into profile.

“Hey, Lisa?” Joyce said.

Lisa turned back.

“Did you do a little something-something to your, you know.” Joyce waved her hands near the vicinity of her chest.

One corner of Lisa’s lips turned up mysteriously. “What do you think?”

Her high heels clicked tiny precise beats as Lisa left the bathroom.

Gina lunged out of the toilet stall and started shaking
out her legs. “Oh, man, these calf cramps are killing me. I thought she was never going to leave.”

Joyce stared at herself in the mirror. She wanted to feel different. She wanted guys to gather around her. She wanted to wear silk dresses and high heels. She wanted John Ford Kang and the confidence to go after him.

“I want to be a part of the fold,” Joyce said.

joycey-ya,”
Uhmma whispered, gently shaking Joyce’s shoulders.

Joyce barely parted her lids. Gray early morning light filtered into the room.

Uhmma shook her again. “You must get ready for Gomo.”

“Huh?” Joyce said, closing her eyes.

Uhmma shook her again. “Joyce. Wake up.”

Joyce yawned and opened her eyes. Across the room, Helen’s huddled body lay sleeping. Uhmma stood above her, making sure Joyce was really awake this time.

“You must shower and get ready. Gomo will be here in an hour. Make sure you wear clean underwear,”
Uhmma said. Her face was almost back to normal, except for a slight bulgy spot under her new eyebrows.

Joyce stretched her arms up into the air. “What time is it?”

Uhmma turned to go. “Almost seven o’clock.”

“Why is Gomo coming so early?” Joyce asked.

“The appointment is at nine o’clock. You know how Gomo hates to be late.” Uhmma pulled back the covers. “Sit up.”

Joyce swung her legs out of bed and sat up, pulling the covers over her shoulders. She slouched and yawned again. “Why do I have to shower and wear clean underwear if he’s looking at my eyes? I could sleep for another hour,” Joyce argued.

Uhmma made a clucking noise with her tongue as she left the room, letting Joyce know there was no room for protesting. Joyce pushed herself out of bed.

“Uhmma!” Joyce called out. “Can I have the day off today? The church is having this volleyball game at the beach this afternoon.”

Uhmma poked her head back in the room. “Ask your sister if she can cover for you.”

After her shower, Joyce started to feel the excitement of what was about to happen. She was on her way to getting the folds. Her entire life was about to change.
As Joyce stood in front of the closet trying to decide what to wear, Helen stirred from her sleep.

“What are you doing up so early?” Helen yawned.

Joyce pulled out a short red jersey tank dress. “Gomo is taking me for my initial consultation with Dr. Reiner.”

Helen sat up in bed. “You’re seriously thinking of going through with the surgery?”

Joyce put the dress back in. Too short. As much as she had loved it when she bought it, she could never stop thinking about how her legs looked whenever she wore it, which was only once after Andy teased her relentlessly about the fat pockets above her knees.

“Joyce!”

“What?” Joyce said, scanning the closet again. She flipped through all her outfits.

“Why are you going to defile your face like that?”

“What are you talking about, Helen?” Joyce said, feeling frustrated with her inability to choose an outfit. Joyce turned around and walked to her dresser, ready to pull out her default jeans and T-shirt.

Helen got out of bed. “It’s ridiculous that you are conforming to these Western standards of beauty. Our eyes are supposed to be like this,” she said and pointed to her creaseless upper lids.

Joyce pulled out her jeans. “That’s easy for you to say, Helen, because your eyes are huge, and you don’t have a problem with them, but you can’t just go around shooting your psychobabble mouth off about Western beauty. It’s not like I hate my Asian eyes, I just want them to be fuller. More defined.”

“Joyce, this isn’t like getting fake eyelashes or stick-on nails or something. This is permanent. Do you know what the risks are for this procedure? Have you even taken the time to research what it’s all about?”

“Yes, Helen. As a matter of fact, I have taken the time to research the surgery.” Joyce pulled on her T-shirt. “So why don’t you worry about dating Mr. Moon instead of what I’m going to look like.”

Helen slumped back onto her bed.

“Are you going to be around this morning?” Joyce asked.

“Yeah, why?” Helen was staring dejectedly out the window.

“I’m going to need the car.”

“Well, I have this meeting.”

“You always have a meeting. I just want to use the car once this summer.”

Uhmma called from the living room, “Joyce, Gomo is here!”

Joyce quickly grabbed a pair of socks on her way out.

“We can talk about it when you get back,” Helen said and got back into bed.

Gomo drove so slowly down the freeway, even the cars in the far right lane were passing her by. Joyce tried not to feel embarrassed by all the honking. Joyce shifted in her seat and a loud groaning noise not unlike the sound of a fart escaped from the plastic-covered seats. In fact, the entire car, from the seats to the doors to even the gear shift column, was encased in a protective vinyl covering. Two small wooden Korean masks hung off a tasseled rope from the rearview mirror. In the backseat, Gomo’s small electronic dog lay slumbering.

When Gomo had first gotten the “pet” from Japan, she carried it with her everywhere, bragging that this pet didn’t shed or eat disgusting dog food. After the first one got stolen in a mugging, which Gomo insisted had been instigated by her amazing pet, Gomo got another one but kept it hidden away.

“These crazy L.A. drivers,” Gomo muttered under her breath as another car passed them, honking loudly.

Joyce thought, So this is why it’s going to take an
hour to get downtown. Gomo glanced over at Joyce slouching low in her seat.

“Sit up straight,” Gomo ordered.

Joyce sat up.

“Dr. Rie-ne-or is a very busy man. Do not trouble him with too many questions.”

Joyce stared out her window. “Yes, Gomo.” She thought for a moment about asking Gomo if this was the same doctor who had messed up her nose, but the possibility of opening that can of worms in a slow-moving, closed car was unbearable. Instead she asked, “Will the surgery hurt?”

“Of course,” Gomo snapped.

Joyce slumped back into her seat.

Gomo softened her tone. “Do not worry. Dr. Rie-ne-or is the best. Not like those other Korean doctors who were not educated here in the United States. They only know the old procedures. Dr. Rie-ne-or is very smart and he always uses the best equipment.” After a moment she added, “He was the one who saved my nose.”

Joyce sat up and tried to sneak a peek a Gomo. Her vulture neck was stretched out as far as it would go as she craned her head to see over the dashboard. Her roman profile nose was hardly scarred, even though it had been worked on extensively. Gomo still bragged
that her nose was the exact replica of a famous French actress. Maybe Gomo was right. If he could make Michael happy, he had to be good.

“Mi-, I mean, Gomo. Did Dr. Reiner suggest what you should do with your face, or did you go to him because you knew what you wanted to change about yourself?”

Gomo did not answer. Joyce started to get nervous, wondering if she had somehow offended Michael. “What I mean is, does Dr. Reiner do whatever he wants to do, like an artist or something?”

Gomo squinted as the freeway turned toward the east and the early morning sun rose directly in front of them. “I know what you and Andy call me,” she said quietly.

Joyce wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly. “What did you say, Gomo?” she asked. Joyce wished she could turn on the radio, but Gomo hated to be distracted when she was driving.

“Michael. Like the strange black singer who is not black anymore. He looks like a monster now.”

Joyce began to panic. Uhmma was going to kill her. This was terrible. Joyce tried to do damage control.

“No, Gomo. Andy just likes to joke around,” Joyce said.

“You think I’m a monster?”

Joyce stared quietly at her hands folded in her lap. Oh, no. Maybe this had been Gomo’s plan all along. She was going to take Joyce in, and Dr. Reiner was going to make her look like a monster as payback for all the teasing that Joyce and Andy did behind Gomo’s back. Or at least they had thought it was behind her back.

“I hear you and Andy whispering all the time. Michael this. Michael that. I did not understand until I saw a news show about the singer.”

Joyce slouched back, the plastic-covered seat moaning as miserably as Joyce felt. She covered her red face with her hands, unable to face Gomo.

Gomo put on her blinker, and the rhythmic clicking sound filled the silent car. Joyce peeked to see that the exit was still a mile away. The blinker tapped out the empty minutes as Joyce thought about what to say.

“It was just a joke,” Joyce said weakly and lowered her hands.

“I am not a joke, Joyce.”

Joyce nodded, her head bowed in shame and embarrassment.

Gomo sat up straight. “Before I came to the United States with your first uncle Joseph, I was the most beautiful girl in my village. Every day someone would
comment about my face. And when your uncle Joseph first saw me, he rewarded our entire family with food from the army just so he could meet me.” Gomo glanced quickly over to Joyce to make sure she was paying attention. “Do you know what a great gift that was during a time of war? He fed our whole family for one year.”

“Wow,” Joyce said. “I didn’t know that, Gomo.”

Gomo slowly braked and turned the car onto the exit ramp. “Joseph only wanted to talk to me every time he had a break. We fell in love.”

Joyce nodded. She knew that part of the history.

Gomo stopped at a red light. She turned sideways and looked directly into Joyce’s eyes. “When Joseph finally brought me to the United States, do you know what his family said to me?”

Joyce raised her hand to her face and gnawed at the webbing between her thumb and index finger. Gomo reached over and slapped Joyce’s hand away from her face.

“They told him how ugly I was. How could he fall in love with some slanted-eye gook? They would not even talk to me.”

Joyce stiffened with anger. It was one thing for Joyce and Andy to tease their aunt, but the thought
of someone else insulting Gomo was enough to make Joyce yell, “Assholes! Why didn’t you just leave them, Gomo?”

Gomo turned back to the light. “How can a wife leave her husband? Joseph loved me. It was only his family that did not accept who I was,” she said with resignation.

“So you changed how you looked so that you could fit in?”

Gomo pushed slowly on the accelerator when the light turned green. “I did not do it for them. I did it for myself. Here, in the United States, everyone wants to look more American. Even the Americans want to look more American. Why do you think there are so many women who diet, change their hair color and make their noses smaller and their chests bigger?”

Gomo flipped on her blinker and slowly took a right turn. A dark brown medical building loomed ahead of them. Gomo lifted up her bony hand and pointed. “In America, everyone is always chasing their dream. I only wanted what I had lost when I moved to this country. I only wanted to be beautiful again.”

Gomo parked in the underground parking lot. Before getting out the car, Gomo turned around to coo at Kiki and then threw a towel over her pet. Joyce tried not to meet Gomo’s
eyes directly now that she knew Gomo’s story. All those times that she and Andy laughed and imitated Gomo. Her guilt-ridden conscience silenced all the questions that rose up inside her as they rode the elevator to Dr. Reiner’s office.

The nurse quickly checked them in and gave Joyce a questionnaire to fill out. Gomo and Joyce took a seat in the black leather chairs that surrounded a large antique coffee table. Subdued lighting and art on the walls made the space feel like someone’s living room rather than a doctor’s office. Joyce carefully went through the checklist of diseases that she or a family member might have had or did have. In a section that asked if she had any known allergies, Joyce carefully wrote down that her mother had an allergy to tattoo ink. Gomo thumbed through a magazine while Joyce finished filling out the sheet.