by Anna Premoli
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 c
ouple 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.
&n
bsp; “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.