“Miss Korea Los Angeles” by Lillian Wang Selonick was awarded the third place prize in our 2021 Open Border Fiction Prize by judge T Kira Māhealani Madden.
“Poignant, charming, and heart expanding, ‘Miss Korea Los Angeles’ tells a story of family, time, and the profound longing to be known. Lillian Wang Selonick walks the tonal tightrope of tragic hilarity, asking after all we lose and keep of ourselves, and of others.” — T Kira Māhealani Madden
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Judy had once been beautiful, and she had the receipts. In 1975, she was crowned Miss Korea Los Angeles and she had kept her pageant sash and tiara all this time. She wore a glittering red dress and long white gloves over her elbows and cried when she accepted her crown. That was before Gabriel, and before Jesus Christ, and before she became a collector.
Judy’s sash was in a box in the guest room, alongside the sashes for the Misses Korea Los Angeles of 1971, 1985, 1999, 2004, 2005, and 2009. The box also contained several assorted tiaras that didn’t necessarily match the sashes but still sort of went together. The 1971 sash had belonged to her glamorous aunt, the inaugural Miss Korea Los Angeles, and the rest she had found over the years in yard sales and pawn shops across LA and Orange County as she added to her collection.
Judy ran her hands over the unraveling satin in the plastic tub, remembering all the bright lights, sequins, and short skirts. She used to have great legs. That was how she met her first husband, Gabriel’s father. He was a pageant judge, a manager of several beauty supply stores in Koreatown and South Central LA. He was handsome, though her little sister Chun-Ja liked to make fun of his beer belly. A stage full of pretty girls and he had picked her, because of her legs. Now her left calf cramped up whenever she walked for more than a few minutes. The doctor said it was a blocked artery. Judy started taking garlic extract and increased her vitamin C intake, and she thought there was some improvement.
The phone rang, and Judy hobbled out into the hall to answer it.
“Unni, it’s Connie,” her little sister said. “I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be flying into LAX at noon on Friday, and I’ll be renting a car.”
“Oh, hi, Chun-Ja. I was just thinking about you,” said Judy.
“So you don’t need to pick me up,” said Connie.
“Oh, are you sure? I can pick you up and drive you wherever. It’s no problem,” Judy said.
“No, really, it’s easier for me this way. And I got a hotel room downtown for my early meetings on Saturday and Sunday,” said Connie.
“Business on Sunday, Chun-Ja? You should rest on the Lord’s day,” Judy said.
“Which means I won’t be staying at your house, right? But let’s plan on dinner Friday and lunch Sunday, okay?” Connie said.
“Oh, okay,” said Judy. “I’ll prepare the guest room anyway, I guess.”
“No, Judy. I already paid for the hotel.”
“Oh, I see. But I’ll put new sheets.”
“That’s not—Judy. Why?”
“Oh, just in case, I guess. You never know.”
Connie sighed.
“I’m not going to stay there. I won’t. But if it gets you to clean the room out, I guess that’s fine.”
“Chun-Ja, you should stay with me. Save your money.”
“It’s not my money, it’s the company’s money. And I wish you’d call me Connie. No one else calls me Chun-Ja.”
“Oh. Well, next time, maybe.”
“We’ve talked about this, Judy. I can’t stay with you when your house is in that state.”
“But I know where everything is. My collection isn’t like the ones on the TV shows.”
“When you’re ready to clean all that junk out, I’ll come help you. But I can’t stay there. You need to respect my boundaries. How do you even live like that, with all that garbage, I just—” Connie stopped herself and took a breath. “Anyway. Dinner Friday. I’ll pick you up at home at six.”
Which meant that Judy had two days to get the guest room into better shape. She admitted that it wasn’t ideal, but she had already cleared a path from the door to the bed, and then if you went over the bed, from the bed to the closet. This was tricky work, but it had been a while since Judy rearranged everything, so she was confident that she could stack the collection in the family room efficiently enough to make room for most of the collection in the guest room. Or at least everything on the guest bed. Chun-Ja wanted to stay in a hotel, but it was important to have this room ready, just in case. You really never know.
Judy closed the lid of the clear plastic bin with the sashes and placed it on top of the stack of cathode ray tube televisions she had been meaning to have Charlie, Grace’s engineer boyfriend, take a look at. Judy liked Charlie; he was a handsome Filipino boy with a big family. Chun-Ja would be interested to see her sash, and their aunt’s sash, so she kept the box easily accessible.
Come to think of it, Grace hadn’t been by the house in a while. Two weeks ago, Judy sent her a text to tell her that it would have been her great-aunt’s 75th birthday that day, but she hadn’t responded to that. When she asked if Charlie could fix her televisions, Grace had responded that he wasn’t that kind of engineer. Still, maybe he knew some handy man to fix the televisions so she could sell them.
By mid-afternoon, Judy had the guest bed cleared off. There were still boxes stacked next to the head of the bed on both sides, but she thought that was better, in a way, because they were like extra bedside tables, and she wanted Chun-Ja to be comfortable. She sorted the boxes formerly on top of the bed into three categories: Keep, Maybe, and Toss. Keep and Maybe dwarfed Toss. The only box that was a definitive Toss was the bin full of free wall calendars from sushi restaurants that Judy had collected in 2004. She had thought to give them away as little gifts, or else to craft with them, but some water had gotten into the bin at some point and half of the glossy pages had rotted. Judy was not unreasonable. She knew when the collection became garbage, and she was capable of letting go.
Judy started her collection when she devoted her life to Jesus Christ. She had been going to the Korean Methodist church since she came to LA as a preteen, but she hadn’t devoted her life to Jesus until He came and took her first-born, her only son Gabriel. That was almost twenty years ago, when Gabriel got into that convertible with his no-good friends and left the convertible as an angel.
The collection had started with things that she saw at the Salvation Army and yard sales that reminded her of Gabriel. The model cars he played with when he was little—now she had hundreds. Digital calculator-watches, like the kind he had begged for because all his friends had one—Judy hadn’t bought one for him then, but she had dozens, now.
The collection progressed beyond mere reminders of Gabriel. The entire garage was filled with religious iconography, mostly Christian, but some Buddhist, Shinto, Jewish, and even some Hindu, for good measure. She had a whole shelf devoted to figurines of the last supper.
Grace, twelve years younger than Gabriel, had grown up in this expanding labyrinth of stuff. She had few, though fond, memories of her brother, who had been old enough to be kind instead of cruel to his kid sister. At every birthday, holiday, and graduation, she had received a treasured item from Judy’s collection, along with a plastic-wrapped card with the message written on a Post-It, so that the card could be re-used. When Grace left for college, she took with her one (1) of her mother’s many rice cookers and two (2) of her mother’s many suitcases, filled with the clothes Grace had bought with her own babysitting money.
In the end, Judy didn’t need to throw away too much. With some clever re-stacking, she was able to clear most of the guest room. It was a little tight in there, but definitely usable. Chun-Ja wouldn’t complain about that. She had a big, fancy house in Chicago for her husband and teenage children, but surely she remembered the one-bedroom apartments in South Central LA, where they shared a bed with Mama and had to play quietly because there were no kids allowed, and getting evicted all the time, and Mama crying—later, in private—when the landlords yelled at her like she was stupid and poor, when really she was just poor.
On Friday night, Connie picked Judy up in a rented Audi. She wore a sleek grey pantsuit with black suede pumps. Her hair was smartly curled and sprayed into place. Judy got in the car, wearing a sequined red sweatshirt and stretchy pants. Her hair was permed in a short bob, and the jet-black dye had grown out to reveal an inch of grey roots.
“Wow, Chun-Ja!” said Judy. “You look like evening news anchor!”
“Thanks, unni,” said Connie. “I just got promoted to VP of Operations, so I can’t wear sweatpants on the airplane anymore!”
She gave Judy a once-over, eyes lingering on her untouched roots.
“You look healthy,” she said. “Not too thin, like the last time I saw you. You’ve been getting enough to eat?”
“I am almost old lady now, I don’t need a lotta food,” said Judy.
“You should take more walks around the neighborhood. Work up an appetite. Grace might get married and have a baby soon. You want to keep up with your grandkids, don’t you?”
“They can run around, I can watch!”
Connie drove to a Korean-owned sushi restaurant where Judy was a regular for their lunch specials. She had suggested a Michelin-starred omakase sushi bar in Silver Lake, but Judy waved her off, insisting it was too expensive and that this local restaurant was just as good. Early on a Friday night, it was already full of young Asian American students, eating big, colorful rolls and drinking sake, beer, and bubble tea. They could hear karaoke filter in from a back room.
“Jeez, this place is really hopping,” said Connie. “I’m glad I called in a reservation.”
“Ack, no need!” said Judy. “They know me here. But I never came here for dinner before. It look like different restaurant from lunchtime.”
The hostess, a mid-twenties Korean woman with a round, honest face, approached them.
“Connie Kim, table for two,” said Connie. The hostess checked out her stylish suit and expensive shoes, then looked at Judy with a shock of recognition.
“Neh, halmony! You’re here for dinner today! Is this your…sister? Here, I’ll put you at a table in a quiet corner,” said the hostess.
“Kamsahamnida,” said Judy.
“You’re a real VIP here,” said Connie, once they were seated.
“I told you, they know me. She is daughter of owner. Nice girl.”
“But she called you halmony. You’re not a grandma yet! If you don’t want them to call you halmony, you should dye your hair more often.”
Judy shrugged. “It’s too much trouble. And smell is so bad!” She squinted at Connie’s lush, mahogany-brown curls. “What brand you use? From Korean market?”
“No… my stylist does a custom blend for me. I don’t know anything about it, I just let her do her thing.”
They ordered and listened to the sounds of the restaurant: women laughing, phones pinging, plastic chopsticks tapping, drinks tinkling, k-pop pulsing. From the back, they could hear faint traces of someone belting out “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” Connie smiled, enjoying the unpretentious cacophony.
“We should order drink to toast your promotion,” said Judy.
“Sure, why not?” said Connie. “What do they have here?”
They settled on Yakult soju, a spirit that Judy insisted was both popular and healthy, due to the probiotics in the yogurt mixer.
“This is delicious,” said Connie, as Judy poured her another glass. “Usually, I think soju tastes like gasoline.”
“Good for digestion,” Judy said. She smiled.
It was a busy night in the restaurant, so they waited a long time for their order. The sisters snacked on gyoza and edamame and kept ordering soju. By the time their sushi came, Connie was flushed and her tongue started to feel thick.
“Unni, you’re a bad influence! You’re making me tipsy. I have work in the morning!”
Judy giggled. “We have to celebrate your success!”
“You know I can’t drink like you. What did you used to drink? Cognac? So much cognac. You used to drink Mr. Hyun under the table.”
“That’s right. It’s the gift I inherit from Appa, God rest his soul. Appa was famous in his village for drinking, drinking, drinking but never get drunk. He won train ticket to Seoul in drinking contest. He would not meet Mama in Seoul except for the drinking!”
“Oh, I remember that story. I think it’s epic. A-pick. Apocryphal.”
When Connie tilted to the bathroom, Judy consulted with the hostess. She pressed her credit card into her hand and made her swear on her family’s life to charge her card, not her sister’s.
Connie fell back into her chair and yawned.
“Unni. I can’t drive. I’m tipsy and jetlagged. I’ll call a cab. I’ll come pick the rental up tomorrow.”
“Ack, such a waste of money, taxi. I will drive,” said Judy.
“You drank as much as me. More!”
“Remember Appa secret power? I have.”
“Okay, okay, you can drive me to my hotel and then drive home. I’ll pick up the car tomorrow. I’ll text you the address. Where’s our waitress? I need to get the check.”
“Already pay.”
“What? Dammit, unni, I mean, I just told you I got a promotion and a raise, the least you can do is let me pay for one goddamn meal. Why are you so stubborn?”
“Chun-Ja, I am big sister, I am unni. It is my job. But you should not take Lord’s name in vain.”
“Sorry. I mean, thank you.”
“Okay, we go now.”
Connie handed Judy the keys and settled into the passenger seat as Judy diligently adjusted the seat height, mirrors, and studied the dashboard. Connie closed her eyes.
“Chun-Ja, what is address for hotel?” said Judy. Connie snored lightly in reply.
Judy smiled and turned in the direction of home. Now she could show Chun-Ja her Miss Korea Los Angeles sashes. She was glad she had prepared the guest room. You really never know.