Today – Monday – I arrived at the office early. I was anxious to know if Mark would show up. I was afraid he would still be sick, but I now know he has extraordinary recuperative abilities. Yesterday was long enough for him to recuperate and now here he is, already hard at work. And apparently he got here at dawn.
As I walk towards my desk I eye him carefully: he even looks to be in great shape. But as I get closer, I’d say he’s in a bad mood. The proof of which might be that raised eyebrow. He’s on the phone with someone and he looks quite annoyed, and I really wouldn’t like to be the person he’s on the phone with.
“Maddison!” he shouts eventually, after slamming the receiver down. “Instead of spying on me, make yourself useful!”
Ok, he seems to have totally recovered.
“I wasn’t spying on you,” I answer firmly, standing up from my chair and walking over to his door. I don’t really feel like entering the wolf’s den, but it looks like I’ll have to.
“For your information, I can see your reflection even when I’ve got my back to you, so don’t lie to me. Anyway, I’m feeling better, thanks for not asking,” he adds. And then he gives me a hateful smile.
How can you even ask him anything anyway if he doesn’t give you the chance to?
I decide not to respond to his provocation.
“What can I do for you?” I answer in an innocent tone.
“For a start, I need the balance sheets you’re working on as soon as possible and I need the forecasts for the next three years, and I need them yesterday,” he instructs me, throwing himself back into his chair.
What’s the big news? They want everything ready yesterday round here.
“Come on, get a move on!” he orders, waving his hands at me.
Why on earth did I go over to his house on Saturday and make food for him? Maybe if I hadn’t knocked on his door he wouldn’t have woken up, and he wouldn’t have taken any medicine. And maybe today he would have been forced to stay in bed… I really screwed that up!
I’m about to leave his room when he calls me back: “Maddison!”
I’m not a dog! And my expression probably shows how happy I am at being treated like one.
“Yes?” I answer, in a slightly less polite tone.
“I almost forgot – I have some good news for you.”
“Am I being transferred?” I can’t help asking and I almost smile at the idea.
“Stop daydreaming about the impossible,” he says, ignoring my question. “There’s going to be another business trip – we’re being sent to New York. We’re leaving on Wednesday. And this time we’ll have separate rooms,” he tells me seriously, trying to hide a smirk.
“And I thought you actually liked my company during the night…” I tease him. I’d like not to be excited about the destination, but I am. The only thing I can think about is that I am going to New York! The Big Apple!
Well, yes, it’s a shame I have to go with him… but who cares? I can get rid of him.
“For this week I have decided not to reply to your taunts,” he informs me. But I don’t care any more. He can say whatever he wants. The important thing is that he’s taking me to New York.
“You’re not listening to me, are you?” he asks, seeing how lost in thought I am.
“If you really want to know, no, I’m not,” I answer with satisfaction.
“Great, in that case go back to your desk. Everything needs to be ready before we leave.”
“Yes, boss, got it.”
“Are you still here?”
“I’m going, I’m going!”
I’m out of his office in a second. New York, beloved shopping capital of the world, here I come!!!
*
We’ve just landed at JFK airport in New York. I’m so excited that the second the plane landed I forgot about how terrified I had been during the journey. The turbulence wasn’t actually too bad this time around, but I wasn’t relaxed at all. My neck is stiff and quite painful in a particular point…
To be honest I’m a bit annoyed because my big boss, the bastard, flew business class, while I, the second-class-citizen employee, had an economy ticket. Of course, an uncomfortable seat was a price I was willing to pay for not having him around. His frowning face would only have made this long flight even worse.
At the check-in he mumbled something like “If you want I can give up my business class ticket and fly with you in economy,” but the only thing that would have made any sense was letting me fly in business class and him in economy. Anyway, he certainly wasn’t really thinking of doing anything like that, so I firmly refused his proposal. And what could be worse than having to spend fifteen hours so close to Mark, anyway?
He must have read my thoughts, because he didn’t insist and immediately became very silent. Is it possible that he actually got offended? I am the offended one here! What sort of man doesn’t offer the most comfortable seat to the woman? Of course he is probably the exact opposite of a gentleman and I am not really some poor, defenceless girl, but I would have still appreciated the gesture.
“Does your neck ache?” Mark asks me while we’re heading to the passport check point. At least he waited for me at the exit. So generous of him. I give him a glare that says, “What do you think?”
“Of course, spending so many hours squeezed in there like a sardine was ideal for my neck…”
But then I remember I’m in New York, so who cares about Mark and about my stiff neck. Nothing else matters at all from this moment on.
In front of us there are two lines: a huge one for all foreigners, and another, much shorter one for American citizens.
“I’m going this way,” Mark informs me, indicating the US only line. I had forgotten that this was his home.
“See you in a bit then. I’ll be a while, I’m afraid.”
“Ok, I’ll be waiting for you at the baggage claim,” he says and goes away.
As I thought, it takes me over half an hour to complete the checks. After that, I walk quickly towards the conveyor belts carrying our luggage and see Mark in the distance; he has already retrieved my bag and is now on the phone. He hasn’t noticed me and his voice is weirdly soft. He’s even laughing. He must be talking to a lady friend, I assume. Maybe he has a lot of friends on this side of the ocean. I cough, so he realizes that I’m here.
“My colleague is here, I have to go. So tomorrow for dinner? Sure,” he concludes his phone call.
I can’t help being curious. “Is your agenda already full?” I tease him.
He lifts an eyebrow and glances at me in amusement.
“All this curiosity, so typically feminine…” he says, without ending the sentence.
What does he mean? I was hoping for some juicy details! I look at him with disappointment, while he laughs at my sad expression.
“Come on, Nosey Parker, the taxis are this way.”
We patiently wait in line for our turn and finally take one of those yellow taxis I’ve seen in so many films. And of course the driver is Indian.
“So, don’t I deserve a reward for allowing you to come with me to New York?” Mark asks.
I give him a serious look.
“I didn’t think it was a gesture of generosity from you – aren’t I here to work like a slave?” I ask.
He laughs, looking out of the window. “Of course you are – but you’re still in New York, thanks to me.”
Ok, let’s not exaggerate. I give him a very eloquent glance, but by some miracle Mark appears to be in a fantastic mood and doesn’t even notice it.
We spend the rest of the journey in a relaxing silence: I’m so lost in what I’m seeing that I can only look out of the window.
After about half an hour, the taxi pulls up to the kerb, and Mark pays the driver while I look around: we’re right in the centre, a few minutes from Central Park.
“Nice!” I exclaim, observing the big city roads.
“Yes, you’re right. I loved living in New York.”
The taxi driver steps out of the car to take our bags from the boot and says goodbye to us. Wow, America. The hotel usher immediately leads us to reception. Everything is very luxurious, I observe happily. After the check-in formalities, we’re given an electronic key each. I love the fact that I can easily enter the room, without all the problems I have with the Korean locks. I’m already planning my trips to the most fashionable shopping streets, which I think are just a few minutes away from the hotel. I just need to dump my bag in my room. The excitement of being in this town means that I don’t even notice the jet lag. Mark observes me with concern while we’re in the lift.
“I hope you know that we have to go to the office now.”
“What?” I ask as if I have misheard. It can’t be true, I was sure that I had at least this half day off.
“We have a meeting in less than an hour,” he reveals.
“Really?” I ask, feeling the flame of hope slowly dying inside me.
“Really,” he confirms.
“Oh,” I mumble, not knowing what to say. How could he schedule a meeting so early? I try to hide my profound disappointment, but I’m not sure I can. I’ll have to be patient and wait for tonight. New York never sleeps, there’ll be time later.
Our rooms are adjacent, and we each enter our own. Before closing his door, Mark says, “See you in the lobby in half hour.”
I sigh with resignation. Come on, I have to be strong, I repeat to myself. I throw my bag on the bed… And now that I notice it, it’s great! It’s a double bed, right in the middle of a big room furnished with stylish black furniture. This is the high life. Or it would be the high life, if Mark hadn’t scheduled this boring bloody meeting. I try to remind myself that I’m here to work. And I knew this was a business trip… But it’s useless, I still feel profoundly disappointed. After a quick shower I get dressed and prepare to go down to the lobby. I’m a career girl in New York, I’m wearing a fabulous black suit with a gorgeous pink shirt, I look really glamourous, and my high heels suit me perfectly. I check myself out in the mirror and think yes, I’m a successful woman. But how boring is that? It would have probably been more fun to come here as a tourist. I look at a woman coming out of her room holding a camera with envy. Argh, I forgot to bring mine! Or was that a sign from my sixth sense?
“What’s with the long face?” a familiar voice asks from behind me.
I jump with surprise.
“Mark, would you mind not creeping up on me?”
He looks at me doubtfully.
“Actually, I only spoke. I thought you were waiting for me. Or were you waiting for someone else?”
“Of course I was waiting for you!” I answer in exasperation. “Let’s go – aren’t we supposed to be in a hurry?” I ask, walking towards the exit.
“Of course we are,” he answers, following me.
Once outside, I realize the bank’s office is just a few seconds walk from the hotel. We walk fast, just like everyone else in New York. Looking at the crowded streets I shiver in excitement again.
“It’s wonderful here,” I sigh, while we’re waiting to cross the road.
“Yes, I can tell that you like it,” he confirms with a smile.
“When exactly did you live here?” I ask him.
“When I was a teenager and first started work,” he informs me.
“So why did you move away? I would never leave such a place…”
“London is a wonderful city too, even better in some respects,” he says.
“Yes, but look how much life there is here,” I answer, indicating the river of people around us.
“I don’t think we’re short on crowds in Seoul,” he laughs. “Come on, let’s get to work. Are you ready?” he asks, indicating the entrance of a very fancy building, on which I can the see the logo of the investment bank we work for.
For once, I decide to go for a joke. “I thought you’d know by now: I was born ready,” I say with conviction. Mark can’t help but burst into laughter. And I do, too.
*
It’s nine thirty in the evening. Incredible, almost unbelievable. Time is going by so slowly. I look for the thousandth time at the guy who’s been talking for far too long while projecting a series of very boring slides. Beside me is Mark, his expression completely professional. How does he manage it? I’m about to slit my wrists from the boredom. Moreover, all the shops will be closed by now.
My stomach starts to rumble. Not long ago two secretaries served us tea and biscuits, but I’m hungry! I don’t want a snack, I want a bloody hamburger! And I want it big and juicy, surrounded by thousands of French fries. At this thought, my stomach makes another noise, much louder this time. Mark turns to me and understands what I’m going through. He waits for another few minutes before interrupting the boring guy.
“Forgive me, Jeremy, but I think that’s enough for today. You know, the jet lag is literally killing me.”
The hominid in front of us nods without conviction and stops talking. Do they really think people have to justify themselves if they’re tired and hungry at ten in the evening? Do these people even have a life?
We’re out of the damn building in less than ten minutes.
The evening air is crisp, but the streets are still full of light and people.
“I presume you must be hungry.”
“I’m starving!” I say with conviction.
“And what do you fancy eating?”
“A hamburger!” I replay without even thinking.
“What about your diet?” Mark teases.
“I couldn’t care less about my diet… I’m starving myself in Seoul, I need to recover. I would never have thought it was possible, but I’m almost too skinny.”
Mark observes me from head to toe. “I wouldn’t say you’re too skinny…”
Doesn’t he know when he’s going too far? I give him an angry glare, and he understands its meaning immediately.
“Ok, let’s have a hamburger then.” He indicates the street theatrically and gives me his arm. I’m not sure what to do, but in the end I accept. I’m really tired, today has been never-ending. We arrive at the diner Mark has decided on in a few minutes, sit down at a table and order our hamburgers.
“You know, we could actually have gone somewhere a little more refined,” says Mark.
“Do you mean you wanted to have dinner at some nouvelle cuisine restaurant, where they serve microscopic portions?” I answer firmly. As far as I’m concerned, this diner is perfect.
“No, but we could have chosen something a bit more appropriate to the occasion,” he insists.
“What occasion would that be?” I ask curiously. “It’s hardly a date, is it?”
“Do you mean that you don’t eat hamburgers when you’re on a date?” he asks.
“Of course not. I can’t let a prospective boyfriend see how much I really eat,” I answer seriously, while ferociously biting into my hamburger.
“So you usually pretend?”
“Oh, my God, Mark, all women lie! I thought you knew that already! You must have gone on some dates, haven’t you? How much do girls usually eat, when you take them out?” I try to make him think.
“Not much, come to think of it,” he observes, rubbing his chin.
“Of course not, we can’t frighten off our suitors immediately… Nice girls would rather starve, you should know that.”
He laughs, struck by my statement. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right, I know very well what women think.”
“But now you’re eating like a truck driver because…?” he says, not completing his sentence.
“Because I don’t need to lie to you. That’s the positive side of you being hateful,” I confess to him.
Mark tightens his lips with surprise. “Do you think that telling your boss you think he’s hateful to his face is diplomatic?” he asks, teasing me.
“Sure, if my goal is to be sent back to London as soon as possible.”
“Right, I remember that you didn’t want to go to Seoul. But you’re in New York now, so your relocation was not a complete waste of time, was it?”
I observe him eating his hamburger very elegantly. Mine is falling to pieces.
“Do you think you can sweeten me up by forcing me to spend two days in an office in New York?” I ask. “Will I be allowed out while I’m here?”
“Maybe tomorrow we can leave early, if you behave,” he promises in a moment of generosity.
“How early?” I ask eagerly. I’m already imagining the shop windows of Fifth Avenue.
“Well… how about six?” he proposes.
He must be joking. I face him with a fighting expression. “How about five?” I raise.
“You’re pushing your luck, but ok, let’s say at five. I will let you run off. I will have to stay, of course…”
I really don’t care and he notices the lack of empathy in my eloquent face and sighs.
“Maddison, Maddison… what should I do with you?”
“Maybe let me go shopping?” I say, with a winning smile.
Mark lifts his eyebrow in warning, but judging from the amused expression on his face, I understand that I’ve won this round. Luckily…
*
Well I have to admit that he kept his word. At exactly four minutes past five I was out of the office. The only problem is that today I’m feeling the jet lag much more than yesterday. Before leaving I was feeling so tired that for I moment I considered just going back to the hotel to sleep. But that thought passed: I’m in New York and I’m going shopping! The mere idea is enough to make me forget about sleep.
I wander around the shops tirelessly for at least three hours until I’m loaded down with little bags and am ecstatic about all the lovely things I’ve found. Looking around, I realize I’ve gone quite far downtown and I’ll have to take the subway back to the hotel. So I start patiently descending some never-ending stairs. In such a modern city I would have expected a cleaner underground. In Seoul, for example, the stations and trains are immaculate. On the contrary, everything here is pretty grimy. I try not to think about it as I seat myself on a horrible plastic bench on the train. And then I’m overcome with a profound tiredness.
God, I’d love to just go to sleep… I close my eyes for just a few seconds more, because even a few seconds are better than nothing. But those few seconds are much longer than I imagine, apparently, because when I open my eyes I realize that I missed my stop a long time ago. Oh, shit! I stumble off the train without thinking and soon I’m back in the street. The sun has set, it’s dark and the street is deserted. Where the hell am I? I start walking, looking for a junction so I can read the street name, but apparently there are no street signs here. This doesn’t look like a very glamorous area… I need to work out whether to get back on the train or somehow walk to the hotel. But first, I really need to know where I am exactly. I’ve just taken my mobile phone out of my bag to switch on the GPS when it starts ringing.
“Where the hell are you?” shouts Mark. “I’ve been trying to call you for half an hour! Where the fuck have you got to?”
I’ve never heard Mark swearing before, and now it seems he can’t stop. I hold the phone away from my ear, to avoid damaging my eardrum.
“Can you calm down?” I say, after letting him rant for a bit. “I think I fell asleep on the underground. Now I’m trying to work out where I am, and you’re not helping.”
“What? Don’t you even know where the hell you are??”
Now he almost sounds hysterical. Then he sighs and tries to get a grip. “In that case, check the name of the street on a damn corner!” he instructs me.
“If you wait a second, I’ll get my exact position off my phone,” I reply. “So, let’s see… I’m between one hundred and thirty-fifth and fifth,” I tell him.
“What???”
Another enraged scream – I hope he realizes that if he carries on like this I’m going to be asking him for damages after this phone call.
“Did you hear me? I’m on one hundred and thirty-fifth, at the corner with fifth,” I repeat as though I’m talking to an idiot. My tone is flat, indifferent.
“And how the hell did you manage to end up in Harlem, Maddison?” he continues.
“I fell asleep in the metro! I think I already told you!” His tone is starting to really annoy me. “Listen, let’s try and calm down, both of us. I’ll see if I can get the metro back.”
“Don’t move from where you are! Don’t you dare move! I was already in a taxi looking for you, I’m on my way to fetch you. For Heaven’s sake, a white, blonde woman in Harlem, at night… don’t move, I’m coming.” Then he hangs up without saying anything else.
I lean against the building I was looking at not long before. Someone walks by every once in a while, but the way people glance at me is hardly reassuring. The buildings around here are much lower and very run-down, the pavement’s covered in trash and the river of people I saw in the afternoon is nowhere to be seen. I pull my black coat tighter around myself, and start feeling worried even though I don’t want to be.
Didn’t they say Harlem had been gentrified?
Luckily, after ten minutes I see a magnificent yellow taxi coming towards me, looking almost like a comet in this darkness. The car pulls over and Mark steps out, more furious than ever.
“Get in!” he shouts angrily.
I lower my eyes and get in quickly.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Mark caresses his hair, which is strangely ruffled. “Don’t you dare do anything like this to me again, do you understand?”
His voice is very harsh.
“I haven’t done anything… Not to you, I mean…” I say quietly, trying to explain my point of view.
He lifts an eyebrow in anger and I fall silent. But then I think: what the hell, I only fell asleep in the metro and got lost in a city I don’t know. I haven’t killed anyone!
“Listen carefully, Mark,” I tell him in a more confident tone, “let’s get one thing clear once and for all. You are not my father, nor my mother, nor my boyfriend…”
“God forbid!” he mumbles quickly, almost laughing in a way that’s obviously meant to sound sarcastic. But doesn’t.
“You’re only my damned boss, so let’s try and stop all this bloody drama! I fell asleep and, believe it or not, I didn’t do it simply to make you angry. I’m very grateful for your help, but I’m not going to wear sackcloth and ashes and whip myself for having done something like this.”
I stare at him challengingly – I’m pretty impressed with my little speech.
However Mark seems less impressed. I’ve always thought he doesn’t know how to accord things their proper importance.
“You’re so damn reckless, for God’s sake! And you know it! This is just the latest demonstration. It’s time for you to grow up once and for all and face up to your own damn responsibilities!”
“I’m trying to!” I shout. If he starts shouting I don’t have any problem following suit. “I’ve moved to a new country, where I don’t know anyone, where I don’t speak the language and where I can’t eat the local food… and I’ve done all this to grow up! So don’t start preaching at me, because my life is already difficult enough without you! And with you… it’s starting to be just impossible.”
For a few moments we stare at each other like a couple of boxers. But I’m exhausted, so I turn the other way so I don’t have to look at him. But then I remember something. “Oh, sugar, you had a date tonight!” I exclaim, mortified. “Now you’re going to be late because of me!”
He looks at me in surprise, most probably wondering how I know about it.
“Yes…” he admits quietly, “but I told them I’d be late.”
“I’m sorry, Mark. You shouldn’t have made your girlfriend wait!” I tell him remorsefully.
“My girlfriend?” he repeats. And then he bursts into laughter. “Hmm, my girlfriend. Yes, you might be right, I suppose she is my girlfriend.”
I look at him as though he’s delirious. Anyway, whether he’s having a moment of madness or not, his tone has softened.
“I’m sorry, Mark, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” I tell him once we have both calmed down a bit. And while I’m apologizing, I realize for the first time why he was so angry: he was genuinely worried for me.
“And I’m sorry I shouted at you,” he says then, “I shouldn’t have, I know. But I was just really worried.”
Yes, I realize that now, even if I didn’t before.
“Peace?” I propose, holding out my hand.
“Peace,” he agrees, grabbing it. Our hands remain clasped for a moment too long, and I lift my eyes to meet his. He’s observing me curiously, without letting me go.
“Mark? This might be a good moment to let go of my hand…” I suggest tentatively.
“Do you think so?” he asks, laughing and still holding my hand.
“Erm, yes.” He’s confusing me, and I can feel a blush slowly spreading across my face. I pull my hand away abruptly. What the hell’s got into him?
“Look, why don’t you just drop me off at the hotel and go off to your dinner?” I suggest, trying to change the subject.
“Have you had dinner yet?”
“Me? No, not yet.”
“You must be hungry then. Will you join us?” he asks as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Do you really want to take me with you on a date?” I ask, astonished. “But… what will she think?”
“Who knows…” he says enigmatically. “Come on, Maddison, say ‘yes’,” he insists. “It’ll be fun.”
Can he really be serious?
“Where?” I know I’m about to surrender.
“We’re going to a French restaurant,” he answers in a seductive voice. Bastard. My stomach rumbles.
“I might… I suppose I could come. Just for a bit.”
I’m not sure if I’m being driven by my greed or by my curiosity about his girlfriend. Although that is none of my business, of course…
Mark smiles like a predator. “Excellent answer, Ms Johnson.”
We reach the restaurant a few minutes later, and I step out of the cab still feeling dubious about the situation. The place is super-fancy, judging from its appearance.
“Come on,” Mark says. Without thinking any more, I decide to go inside and let him lead me to the table. And there, surprise, surprise… what?
“You were quick, Mark,” says an old lady sitting in front of us. She stands up and offers me her hand. “I am Margaret Kim, Mark’s grandmother – nice to meet you.”
His grandmother?? We’re having dinner with his grandmother??
“Maddison Johnson, pleasure to meet you,” I stutter in embarrassment while I take her firm, confident hand. She’s a tall woman, with white hair and wonderful blue eyes.
Wow, what a grandma! Are they all so bloody extraordinarily beautiful in his family? I immediately feel somewhat inadequate.
“I’m impressed, Mark,” his grandmother says, while we all take our seats.
My jaw is still hanging wide open in astonishment. I can’t look very elegant, I realize that.
“By what?” her grandson asks, while passing me the menu.
“I was expecting a Korean girl… You said you had to go and help out a colleague from Seoul. But Maddison’s accent sounds very English.”
She picked that up pretty fast? I hardly said anything.
“Very English,” I confirmed, surprised.
“This must be a pleasant surprise for you,” Mark adds, as he continues to study the menu.
“Very pleasant,” the old lady admits with a cheeky smile.
I have the impression I don’t fully understand what’s going on.
“Did you move to Seoul with your husband, Maddison?” the lady asks me as she takes a sip of red wine.
“No,” is all I say in reply, feeling almost afraid to elaborate.
“In that case you must have left a boyfriend back at home…”
“Erm, no.”
Is she interrogating me? I try to hide behind the menu. Everything should be written in a language I understand, here, but I’m so nervous that I can’t make head nor tail of anything.
“Marvellous!” she exclaims, satisfied. “And does your mother know?” she asks her grandson with a smile.
Mark shakes his head as though to say ‘no’.
“I was sure it would make you happy, grandma,” he admits, and laughs.
“I wonder what I have I done to deserve such an angel for a grandson!” she exclaims excitedly.
The waiter comes to take our orders and pour us some wine. Maybe I should just drink and try and forget everything. I take my glass and down half the contents.
“And do you like living in Seoul, Maddison?” Mrs Kim asks me.
“Not much. I mean, Seoul is a very beautiful modern city, but I can’t speak Korean and so I never feel completely comfortable,” I answer sincerely.
Mrs Kim looks at me sympathetically. “I understand very well what you mean,” she confides to me.
Suddenly Mark’s phone starts ringing insistently. He takes it out of his pocket and checks who’s calling. “It’s work, I have to answer,” he apologizes, as he stands up and leaves the table.
“He’s always working,” Mrs Kim complains. “Such a handsome young man, and all he does is work. I don’t understand it. Of course, since he lives in the office and never goes out, maybe he’ll eventually meet someone at work…” she says, winking at me hopefully.
I have a feeling the conversation is taking a turn for the worse.
“Mrs Kim, Mark is my boss…” I inform her, immediately on the defensive.
“So what?” she asks, as if she doesn’t understand what I mean. What does she mean, ‘so what?’?
“I mean I’m not the kind of person who would flirt with her boss…” I’m forced to admit.
“I wasn’t talking about flirting, I was talking about a relationship!” she exclaims, with conviction.
When the hell is Mark going to come back?
“My grandson is a handsome fellow, don’t you think?” she insists, in the face of my silence.
“I suppose so, if you like the type.” I don’t really know what to say. I don’t want to offend her, but I can’t just indulge her either.
“And do you like the type?” she continues, her blue eyes glittering with amusement.
Luckily for me, I don’t have time to answer, because I hear a voice replying from behind me.
“I very much doubt that I’m Maddison’s type, grandma. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“Oh don’t be silly. Of course she likes you. All women like you!” she exclaims again. “Isn’t it true, Maddison?”
What the hell am I supposed to say? Should I admit or deny it? The truth is that I’m quite confused about it myself: Mark is absolutely not my type, but… well, he is very charismatic. Maybe his grandmother is right: all women might really like him. But it’s better not to inflate Mr I-know-everything-and-I-bewitch-everyone’s ego too much.
“I prefer blond men with blue eyes,” I say, hoping to bring the discussion back to a normal topic.
“I thought so too, before I met his grandfather. But, as you can see, tastes change and evolve…” she adds, sounding not at all discouraged.
“Grandma, am I really such a desperate case? Do you really have to try and set me up at all costs?” Mark asks with a laugh. Well I’m happy to see someone is having fun.
“You’re not desperate at all, but you are damn stubborn. And you get that from me,” she replies abruptly.
“In that case, it must be a good trait to have…” points out Mark.
“You don’t get off the hook that easily, my dear. You know very well you can’t turn my head with a compliment. So what’s wrong with this girl, then?” she asks him.
Yes, what’s wrong with me? We both stare at him with menacing expressions.
“We don’t have time to list all her defects,” he answers.
“Ha-ha!” exclaims Mrs Kim, triumphantly. “I knew it! I knew it!” she keeps repeating.
I have no idea what is going on, but Mark obviously does because his cheeks turn a weird shade of red. I think he made a mistake, giving her that answer. I’m not sure what the mistake was, but I’m positive there was a mistake.
“Is this your way of thanking me for bringing Maddison to dinner with us tonight?” he asks her, after knocking back a generous quantity of wine. I notice he’s following my strategy: get drunk enough not to care.
“Very well, if you’d rather then we won’t talk about it any more,” she concedes, winking at him. “Anyway, for your information, I absolutely approve of Maddison.”
“Why?” I ask, as though having just woken up after a long sleep.
Mark gives me a piercing look.
“Because my mother wouldn’t like you, and my grandma here would find that very amusing. Am I right?”
The old lady neither confirms nor denies his accusation. Very wise. Then she leans close to me and whispers in my ear, “They say he’s a very good kisser, my dear – you should give him a whirl.”
I pick up my glass again and take another drink.
“Why wouldn’t your mother like me, Mark?” I ask a few seconds later, trying to ignore what his grandmother has just said to me. I know it isn’t an appropriate question, but I just couldn’t resist. I would do anything to avoid thinking about the kisses.
“Because she would only approve of a Korean girl, and you’re about the farthest…” Mark’s grandmother hurriedly explains, before Mark can get a word out. “I never understood why your father married her,” she adds abruptly.
“Grandma…” Mark scolds her severely.
“I know, I know… she’s your mother. But really… getting married to a Korean girl… I thought I had raised him differently,” she insists.
“You married a Korean man,” points out Mark.
“Exactly, and it was a scandal back in the day. Your father, on the contrary, made a very boring choice,” she comments sorrowfully. “That’s why I sincerely hope you’ll made a scandalous choice like I did.”
“And I deluded myself into thinking you cared about my wellbeing. You’re only interested in a bit of scandal…”
His grandmother laughs insolently. “You’ll see how much fun it is to be at a centre of a scandal.”
“Mark? In a scandal?” I ask, trying to participate in the conversation.
Mark gives me a smug look.
“Don’t you think I’m scandalous?” he asks me with a predatory expression.
“Hmm, no, not really… I don’t think so,” I answer. But if he continues looking at me that way I might change my mind. I nervously open the menu again, but it’s in French and I don’t understand any of it. So that’s why it looked like Arabic before! I slam it shut, angry at always being made to feel so uncomfortable in any restaurant I happen to go into, anywhere in the world.
Mark is observing me from the corner of his eye – I hope he realizes what the problem is.
“Ladies, would you allow me to order for you?” he asks solemnly.
His grandmother looks at him curiously.
“If you insist…”
“I insist,” he says firmly. And then he smiles at me and for a second I feel almost lost.
Luckily the rest of the dinner goes by smoothly, with no other diplomatic incidents. Unbelievable, if you think of how the evening had begun.
Mark and I decide to walk back to the hotel: after all, the evening is so nice that it would be a shame to waste such an opportunity to stroll around New York at night. Tomorrow we’ll have to head back to Seoul: our time in this city is almost over, and I want to enjoy every single moment.
My boss offered to help me to carry the bags I have from my shopping expedition. He only let me carry the lighter ones.
“I’m sorry, I thought she would be more discreet,” Mark apologizes.
“No problem, I actually thought the evening was quite amusing,” I reassure him. And I find out that I really do think so, to my own surprise.
“Well, yes, I guess it might have been ‘amusing’ if you’re not the one at the centre of it,” he comments.
“I was totally at the centre of it!” I point out. “You have no idea what she suggested I do…” I say without thinking. I swear I didn’t mean to talk about that, but I must have drunk too much wine to be able to keep my mouth shut.
Mark snorts weirdly. “You don’t even have to tell me. I know her, I imagine she told you that I’m great in bed and you should give me a try,” he speculates with a laugh.
I look at him in embarrassment. So she could actually have said something even worse…
“She certainly did not suggest anything like that!” I exclaim outraged. “She only mentioned a kiss…” I admit lowering my voice.
“Ah, so she controlled herself this time, then! She must be improving…” he chuckles.
“Anyway, are you?”
“What?” he asks surprised and becoming serious again for a moment.
I really don’t know how I could have asked him such a thing. He stops to look at me, then bursts into laughter.
“Are you seriously asking me if I’m good in bed?” he repeats in shock, crying with laughter.
I can’t say he’s wrong for pointing out that.
“I was just making conversation…” I answer, trying to defend myself.
“What kind of conversation would that be? You want to have a chat about my sex life? Why don’t you tell me something about yours, if you’re so eager for conversation?” he teases me.
Why is he taking it so seriously? He could have just made a joke about it. “You don’t need to get mad. Who cares if you’re not a good lover… I mean, there are other qualities…”
Mark stands in front of me. “First of all, it’s none of your business. Second: let’s make one thing clear: I am very good at everything, including kissing and making love,” he states arrogantly.
“You can’t be objective,” I point out.
“I am always objective,” he dares to insist.
“Nobody is objective when it’s about themselves!” I exclaim, exasperated by his attitude.
I hope he doesn’t think he’s any different from all us other human beings. Although, after getting to know him, it occurs to me that he actually might.
“But I am objective,” he replies. “Shall I give you a demonstration?” he asks, as if it was a normal thing.
I go bright red. Oh boy, thinking about it, I think I would really like to have one. But I push the thought aside immediately.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I manage to answer, giving him a very stern look. I pray in silence that he doesn’t sense my indecision.
“You don’t know what you’re missing…”
“Oh, well, I’ll just have to suffer on in ignorance,” I answer.
Thank God we’ve reached the hotel. Another five minutes and I would have ended up changing my mind.