by Anna Premoli
Meanwhile the cashier returns his card and gives him a receipt without ceasing to smile. She looks enchanted.
Hoping to break the spell and sneak out, I pick up my bags, determined not to allow him to help me with them. He’s done enough for today.
Mark – who, to be fair, has made no sign of offering to help me carry the bags – picks up his own and follows me out.
“Tell me, were you following me?” I ask him suddenly, thinking about how unlikely his appearance was.
“God, Maddison, this is a supermarket and I was just doing the shopping! Which, thanks to helping you, I didn’t manage to finish… I heard a lady talking about a blonde girl at the checkout, and I immediately realized she must be talking about you,” he replies with a chuckle. But I don’t fall for it: it is obvious that he was following me.
“Now do you understand why I didn’t want to let you go out alone on your first day? Will you admit that I was right?”
He seems to have been born to tell people off – he should make a career out of it.
“You weren’t right, I just happened to be very unlucky. And anyway, I’d have managed even if you hadn’t turned up!” I retort. I don’t know how, but somehow I would have.
“Sure – you’d have come home empty handed and tomorrow you’d have scrounged breakfast again,” he responds, equally sharply.
“Rather than have breakfast with you twice in a row, I’d stay at home all morning nursing an empty stomach,” I answer, lifting my chin.
“Maybe, but that’s not what happened this morning…” He looks almost amused, happy to be able to find fault with me.
“Listen, this morning I didn’t even know where I was! Have a bit of pity for someone who isn’t used to jet lag. I know that to you citizens of the world it might seem strange, but some of us just aren’t used to travelling…” I mumble.
At the sight of my discontent Mark breaks out in a cheeky grin. I’m not entirely sure I want to know what’s on his mind right now, so I try to change the subject.
“Anyway, aren’t you ashamed of taking advantage of the girls you meet?” I ask him.
“What do you mean?” he asks, pretending not to understand.
“I mean, appearing, jumping the queue to help me, batting your eyelids and making the poor girl on the till fall at your feet. You did it at the airport too.”
I see him laughing. “Well you do it with men as well,” he points out.
“I absolutely do not.” I don’t need to resort to certain tricks, I have no idea what he’s trying to insinuate.
“You mean you really don’t realize that you do it? That you don’t just bat your eyelids, that you even flip your hair and cross your legs?”
I look puzzled. Unless he’s just entirely making it up, I don’t think I had ever realized, no.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” says Mark, “it’s perfectly normal to use your appearance to cut through red tape. You women have been doing it for centuries, are you saying that in the name of equality men shouldn’t?”
“Look, you can do whatever you want, just be honest about it.”
In the meantime, we’ve reached our apartments. I’m about to cross the threshold of mine when Mark stops me.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow morning at seven thirty. I prefer to get to the office early.”
Not that it surprises me. I feel like answering that I like my sleep, but I suspect that I’ve expressed the amount of opinions I’m allowed to in one day, so my only answer is a disconsolate nod.
Just to avoid being late, this morning my alarm clock started screeching at six o’clock. I had a refreshing shower, inaugurated my new ritual of having a Korean breakfast and tried somehow to sort out my hair until the sight of the not-so-great result made me decide to leave it loose. As for clothes, I chose something classic for my first day of work: a black suit with a fitted jacket and beautiful snow-white shirt, black high heels and a pair of elegant pearl earrings. Criticism-proof.
I check myself out in the mirror for the thousandth time: I look very professional, I’m almost satisfied.
In reality, I’m terrified – my hands are sweating and my stomach aches. It feels like I’m back at school. In fact now I’ll have to not only work for Mark, who won’t miss a trick, but I’ll also be responsible for managing three people. My own team.
That was a surprise that I only found out about when we boarded the plane. John had wisely avoided telling me while there was still time for me to do a runner. Mark told me about it between one bout of nausea and the next.
Any other person would be jumping for joy in my place, but not me. I don’t think I’m up to the job, I don’t feel prepared to lead a group of people. Let’s be frank, I find it pretty bloody hard even to lead myself, not to mention that I have always been part of a team and have always made sure that I didn’t stand out. Better a bit of prudent, unobtrusive mediocrity.
I’ve been like that since nursery school, and I don’t know what ended up going so wrong lately that I’ve actually been chosen to be someone else’s boss. It had always been a winning strategy. Really, how on earth can someone who has enough trouble managing their own responsibilities lead and motivate others?
Mark hasn’t hidden from me that managing a group consisting of two men and a woman might entail a few problems: although evolving, Korea can still be quite a sexist place sometimes, and the idea of a female boss might conceivably get on some people’s nerves.
In a sense, I’ve been sent here in an attempt to change the climate of not exactly sexual equality that reigns in the South Korean headquarters. It appears that some of the female staff have complained that they feel marginalized by their colleagues.
The only thing about which John might actually be right is that this type of challenge doesn’t worry me at all. I’m not some diehard feminist who needs to assert her position all the time, as I’ve seen some colleagues I’ve worked with do, but neither do I turn into a trembling wreck in front of male colleagues.
At exactly seven twenty-seven I knock on Mark’s door to let him know that I can be very punctual, if I want to be. The problem is that I don’t usually want to be…
He opens up instantly, ready to go. I don’t want to say that it’s annoying to find him so full of beans, but catching him unprepared just once would have given me some satisfaction. He is wearing a grey suit with a white shirt and a blue tie. He’s gone for a classic look, too.
“Good morning.”
He greets me with an emotionless voice.
“Good morning. Did you have a nice breakfast without me this morning?” I ask, trying to mask my tension at the challenge I face today with a joke.
“Excellent, thank you.”
I didn’t expect quite such conviction. What does he mean, that life would be better if I wasn’t around?
I decide to ignore it – I have to stay calm and focused. Distractions are not permitted!
We walk to the subway station, which is right next to our building. This morning the city seems much busier than yesterday: there are people running in all directions, just like in London.
Mark gets a subway map and explains how it works, how to buy a weekly ticket and where to change my money.
“The office is only two stops away, so you could easily walk it, but I’d like you to learn how to take the subway on your own. There are nine numbered lines, identified by a number and by a specific colour. Our stop is called Sin-gil, and from here you can either take the number one line – the blue one – or the number five – the purple one,” he explains, pointing to a spot on the giant map.
“Why two similar colours?” I ask worriedly. “I’m bound to get them totally mixed up.”
Mark stares at me in disbelief. “No you’re not. You can just read the numbers: line one and line five. And don’t pretend it’s difficult, London has a much more complicated system.”
Well, if someone had asked me what I expected from Asia I would have certainly answered: order a
nd calm. But it seems that calmness isn’t the order of the day in the subway stations: the people don’t just push, they push hard.
“Why are they all pushing?” I raise my voice so that Mark can hear me, before being dragged along by the human wave into the carriage.
“Oh, come on, stop complaining,” he says calmly, “They push in London too.”
Maybe, but this is a personal record for number of pushes received.
The cleanliness of the subway cars leaves me speechless. Finally, at least one point in favour of my move! I almost want to smile.
Once again, we receive a lot of curious glances on the subway. Perhaps because we look like a couple of giants?
“Tell me something,” I ask, “why are you so tall?”
“In my family we are all pretty tall,” he replies.
“So you will need to find an equally tall wife to hand down the characteristic to future generations.”
“I’d be satisfied just to find a girl that I like,” he says thoughtfully. “I’d happily overlook everything: height, race, hair colour…”
“You’re hard to please, huh?” I tease him. “Just list me the characteristics that you look for in a woman and I’ll point out all the suitable girls I come across.”
He looks at me with suspicion and distrust.
“Look, I’m great at matchmaking,” I say.
“So how come you haven’t ‘matchmade’ yourself, then?” he asks.
Straight to the point, as usual.
“What’s that got to do with it? It’s impossible to be objective when it comes to yourself!”
For a moment he seems surprised by how sensible my answer is.
“I am surprised to have to admit that you’re probably right.”
The second stop is ours, so we get off the train and soon afterwards are walking through the sunny streets.
“This is the island of Yeouido,” he tells me as we walk towards the office.
“An island?” I exclaim in amazement. Did I miss something?
“Close your mouth before the flies get in there. Yes, Maddison, it’s an island, and it is the financial heart of the city. The name means literally ‘you can do whatever you want’. Once this land was considered useless and was used for keeping sheep and geese.”
“And now you keep skyscrapers, I see,” I say, scanning the area.
“Maybe it would have been better if we’d carried on keeping…” he says – sheepishly.
“Your words, not mine,” I say, throwing up my hands.
We stop in front of a very modern, tall building and I follow Mark up the stairs and into the lobby. At reception sit four perfectly groomed Korean ladies with elegant hair and dark blue suits. As soon as they see us they prostrate themselves in half bows and greet us – or rather, as soon as they see Mark, who doesn’t even seem to notice the hungry looks they give him. The girl nearest the lift, especially, tries in vain to catch his eye. I can’t say how tall they are, since they are all sitting down, but she has a very pretty face. If I was Mark, I’d definitely think about it.
In fact, I find that most Korean girls are rather pleasant looking. They are almost all very slim, with long shiny hair, small noses and perfect cheekbones.
The elevator that we take ‘speaks’ – too bad it only speaks Korean.
“It is for the blind. It just repeats the floor number. Don’t panic,” says Mark at the sight of my bewildered expression.
Koreans must all be early risers, because despite it not yet being eight o’clock, the elevator is already full of people. Luckily nobody here pushes. The curious glances at me are, instead, a constant. The division offices of M & A are on the twentieth floor, and once out of the elevator we face a series of access turnstiles. What’s more, all the doors in here can only be opened with your badge, and there is no way to sneak in. Koreans seem to be more obsessed with security than Londoners, which is saying something. The office is in fact a large open space, with a few individual offices reserved for the division heads.
Including Mark.
My new boss walks me over to my desk, and I realize that he’ll be able to keep a close eye on me through the windows of his cave. No distractions for me: all he’ll have to do is raise his eyes and he’ll be able to read what’s on my monitor. And I’m sure he will, often.
I must find a way to guarantee myself a bit of privacy. At the other end of Mark’s room, I’ve spotted a plant, and I think it might serve the purpose. But I’d better not do anything today – much wiser to wait for the boss to relax before you strike. Years and years of experience have made me very good at pretending to work.
“Your desk, your computer, your badge,” Mark tells me, “and soon you’ll meet your team too.”
He stops and studies me curiously. He must have realized that I’m thinking about something, but doesn’t know quite what. Good job too.
Looking up I see a girl, as petite and slim as all the others I have encountered in these two days, appear from the lift. As soon as she sees us, she approaches timidly.
“Hello, I’m Park Seung Hee,” she says with a bow. She then holds out a small bony hand which I grasp firmly. These women give new meaning to the word ‘trim’.
“Maddison Johnson, but you can call me Maddy,” I answer. “You must forgive me, but which is your given name and which is your family surname?” I ask.
“Park is the family name and Seung Hee is the given name. In Korea we always have two names, and when we introduce ourselves we always say our family name first,” she explains patiently. With me, she’ll need to be.
“Then why is Mark, just Mark?” I ask curiously.
Seung Hee smiles at me. “Actually, Mr Kim is American and therefore doesn’t have a Korean name.”
Ahhh, in the office he’s Mr Kim. He’s obviously into hierarchies!
Before long, the other members of my team appear. It is exciting to think that these people are ‘mine’.
Lee Dong Woo is a skinny guy with glasses and a serious, determined expression. He looks like a real nerd – I should keep him in mind for any complicated number crunching that comes up.
Yoo Chul Ju seems very open and cheerful, and has a big smile on his face.
Despite them being so different, I sense instantly that they all have a lot of respect for one another.
An Australian guy named Thomas Grant, who has nothing to do with the team, also turns up and introduces himself. He has a thick Australian accent, and, to judge from the first impression, seems very friendly. Finally, someone who actually seems happy to have me here.
Before long the office is full. I shake a lot more hands, almost all of which belong to a series of Koreans whose names I can’t help forgetting as soon as I’m introduced to the next one.
The head of the consulting office is a friendly American named Andrew Torton with gorgeous blonde hair and bright blue eyes, if you know what I mean, as well as a physique that hints at a past playing American football, with sculpted muscles only partly hidden by formal clothing. Andrew gives me the impression of being a happy-go-lucky type: he’s straightforward and offers to show me round if I need a hand in Seoul.
Thanking them all, I take refuge at my desk, exhausted by so many introductions. I need a coffee, but I don’t think we’ve got a coffee machine. The best I can hope for is some of that horrid green tea.
“You ok?” asks Mark, peering around the door of his office.
I jump in my chair.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I answer, not sounding too convinced. My words seem to reassure him, though, because he returns immediately to his desk and carries on reading.
Whatever the cost, I have to find a way to prevent him being able to see my desk. It’ll give me a heart attack if I don’t, not to mention that his presence will stop me from reading my horoscope, which is absolutely essential for me! It’s a sacred rite – I can’t start the working week without knowing what awaits me. And I have a sneaking suspicion that Mark is no lover of star signs…
“Mark, can I ask you something?” I say a few minutes later, appearing at his office door. I must sound incongruously friendly, because he looks at me suspiciously in silence, waiting to know what it is I want.
“Can I take that plant you’ve got in your office? The tall one with big leaves?” I ask, pointing to the large pot to his right.
“You want my ficus?” he asks in astonishment. “What for?”
I knew it – I should have waited at least a day before trying to steal his pot plant.
“To put next to my desk. You know, I need contact with something… er, green. Err, I mean, something natural,” I stammer. Why am I such a bad liar? I used to be so much better. I’m out of shape, I need to practice more.
“You didn’t have any plants on your desk in London,” he points out – so now he’s the only man with a photographic memory that I’ve ever met? How the hell did he remember that?
I smile innocently and a bit sadly. I’ve practiced this expression a thousand times in front of the mirror, I can’t fail. And in fact, it seems to work even now.
“If you insist …” he answers, doubtful but resigned. I decide to take that as a definite ‘yes’, so I dart into his room with a feline leap and drag the big ficus in front of the window so as to obstruct the view. Seung Hee watches me in shock. I bet she’s never seen anyone with such brass face before. But basically, that’s my mission: to bring a breath of fresh air to this stuffy place.
“Make sure nothing happens to that ficus! It was a gift from my grandma!” thunders Mark from inside his office as he watches me drag the big plant off without lifting a finger to help me.
Yeah, right – like I’m going to fall for the story of it being a gift from his grandmother… What a pathetic excuse.
But what if it’s true?
For a moment, I’m tempted to tell him that all the plants that have ever come into contact with me have lived short lives – very short lives. Having green fingers certainly isn’t one of my qualities. However, given his sullen expression I decide it’s probably better not to tell him that.