You Drive Me Crazy

by Anna Premoli

  “If this is the only thing that’s bothering you, you can be sure that it will never happen again, Mark.” I say as I pick up my clothes from the floor and I go, once again, to the bathroom to get dressed. Going out onto the landing rolled up in a big towel could be the definitive coup de grâce for my fragile ego.

  On my return I notice that he has got dressed too. He is in the kitchen preparing coffee. He hands me a cup.

  “You just don’t want to make things easier for me…” he complains, leaning on the counter.

  “This is not about making things easy or difficult, believe me. If you want me to admit that things are complicated between us, well, yes, I admit it – things are incredibly complicated between us, and they don’t make much sense. So what are we going to do about it?”

  Silence, as he reflects upon possible solutions.

  “What about if we try going out with each other?” he asks out of the blue.

  “You know very well that would never work. We are not even remotely compatible. We live and we want to continue to live in two distant continents, not to mention the fact that we want very different things out of life.”

  What I’ve said takes him by surprise.

  “I never said that we should get together, I just said that we should find a way to release this tension that has built up between us. Hanging out together, maybe, without being tied to each other,” he explains.

  “You mean that we should carry on going to bed together until the flame goes out?” I say, feeling rather offended. What an absurd idea. “That’s not something that I would normally do…”

  “It would be a first for me, too,” he says. “But we are losing our minds here, and living in constant denial of this attraction between us is making us just a little bit tense. Let’s let it out, live with whatever happens and then say good-bye when the time comes, without regrets and without resentment,” he says, without relinquishing the idea.

  I don’t really know what to say. “You mean just sex, without any ties, without any romantic claims on each other?” I ask doubtfully.

  Mark comes towards me and takes the cup from my hand and says: “Yeah. Does that upset you?”

  “No, no,” I stammer. God, what a fake I am.

  He strokes my cheek. “How stupid of us to get dressed again…” he whispers. Then he takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom.

  Chapter 12

  Good Girls…

  I’m sitting in front of my computer intent on reading an email from Jane. In London everybody is very well and they’re all eagerly awaiting my return.

  Due to the providential and timely arrival of my period, my head is killing me. It’s as if there’s one of those things with screws in it that they used to use to torture people pressing on my temples. I’m not a great lover of painkillers, but today’s migraine justifies their use.

  After searching through my drawers for ages – tidiness is not one of my strong points even in the office – I emit a small cry of victory. I swallow the two tablets, but there’s only a little bit of water in my glass and so I end up coughing and spluttering and, very gracelessly, almost choking. Seung Hee’s worried look zooms in on my red face, but her expression, however, is enigmatic.

  “You okay?” I ask her, knowing full well that it should really be her asking me.

  My colleague gets up from her seat and walks over to me. “Can I ask you something personal?” she says quietly, trying not to attract the attention of others.

  “Sure, let’s grab a coffee,” I suggest. She nods and follows me to the coffee machine.

  “Thanks,” she says, taking the cup from my hand. I notice her hesitate, embarrassed at how to begin the conversation. “Well… Erm, since you’re a woman of the world, I wanted to ask you… Erm, well… At what point in a relationship is it ok to go to bed with a man?”

  She’s speaking very quietly and I have to practically guess the meaning of her words from the movement of her lips.

  I was expecting anything but this. I try to smile at her description of me as ‘a woman of the world’. I suppose she intended it to be a compliment. Or at least I hope she did.

  “Are you seeing someone?” I ask her, testing the waters. I think I know exactly who already, but it’s better if she tells me herself.

  “Well, Chul Ju and me have been seeing each other since New Year’s Eve,” she says, her face getting redder by the minute. At this rate, she’s going to turn into a tomato.

  Apparently it has been a busy start of the year for everyone. I smile, trying to put her at ease. “And in these two months you have never been to bed together?”

  She sighs and shakes her head. Right, exactly what I should have done too – no sex.

  “I see. And now you want to?” I ask gently.

  “Oh Maddison, I don’t even know what I want!” she exclaims with the kind of exasperation I’ve never seen in her before. How well I understand her! We women certainly do know how to be really bloody complicated.

  “But you like him, I mean, physically…” I urge her to continue.

  “Yes, I like him,” she admits with a guilty smile, lost in her daydreams. After a moment of silence, her eyes go back to concentrating on me.

  “Are you and Mark going out together?” she asks in a whisper. Seung Hee’s question catches me off guard: generally, I need a lot of psychological preparation to be able to digest the combination of Mark’s name and mine in the same sentence. In fact, the hot coffee ends up on one of my hands.

  “Not really. We’re not going out together,” I explain.

  “Really?” she exclaims, amazed, before hastening to add “You know I would never tell anyone…”

  “This is not about discretion. It’s that we’re not together. Really,” I say with some emphasis. I think it’s much better to deny everything, I don’t think that a sweet, innocent girl like Seung Hee could possibly understand what’s going on between Mark and me. I don’t even understand it myself and in all honesty I don’t really want to talk about it.

  In the last two months things have become even more complicated. Sex between us has been happening during fights or arguments, it explodes when we least expect it, helping to make our already strained relationship even more strained. If anyone ever decides to state that sex is able to resolve conflicts, I would feel compelled to bring my hopeless case before them. This is not peace making sex.

  My depressed mood makes me aware of how much I need a holiday. I must get away from this place, and especially from him. I tell my young colleague about my intention of taking some leave for a while, and it turns out she has the same idea. A few days ago I asked the human resources office for permission, bypassing Mark, but I wasn’t certain that I would end up actually taking advantage of the opportunity. Now I’m totally convinced. Thoroughly convinced.

  “That’s a good idea,” she agrees. “I’d really like to get away for a while too. Where are you thinking of going?”

  “Home, to have a rest,” I say without even thinking about it – above all, my plan is to try and recover emotionally.

  *

  We get back to find Chul Ju standing next to my desk. “The big boss has asked to see you,” he tells me with a shrug, as if to say ‘don’t shoot the messenger’.

  Before losing my courage I thank him and immediately stride off to Mark’s office. Just like going to the dentist, best to get it over as quickly as possible.

  “Close the door, please,” Mark orders me with the usual irritable tone he has had for the past few months now. And to think that there was a time when he was almost friendly towards me. I remember with nostalgia the day in which he turned himself into a tour guide for me. A long time ago – and forgotten now, apparently.

  I obey his orders and sit down without batting an eyelid. I stand by my decision to pull the plug out for a while. “Hello, Mark. Before you tell me what I’ve done wrong this time, I wanted to inform you that I’ve asked for three weeks leave and that the human resources departm
ent has granted me them.”

  He raises his face from the paper he was reading. Clearly he had summoned me here to tell me off. “What?” He exclaims, surprised.

  “From Saturday, I am on leave,” I reply, not in the least bit intimidated. “I have so many days holiday that I haven’t used that I was practically ordered to take some leave.” That more or less corresponds to the truth.

  “Without talking to me about it?” he asks, using a tone of voice that I’m unable to interpret, as yet.

  “That’s just how it happened.” Let him think what he wants.

  “Are you in a hurry to leave?” he asks, staring at me cryptically without blinking.

  “No, I’m just tired,” I mumble, not hiding a hint of exasperation at all these questions he is throwing at me. For a while he doesn’t dare say anything.

  “Going back to London?”

  I don’t owe him any explanations, but I don’t see why I should lie. “Yes, I’m going home.”

  It almost seems to me that he wants to say something, but then he decides against it. I get up, say goodbye and go back to work.

  *

  I’ve been in London six days. As I sublet my own apartment I am now staying at Jane’s, who immediately offered to put me up when I informed her of my imminent arrival. It’s a Friday night like so many others and we are preparing to go out to the pub. I should be happy – after all, I’ve dreamt so much of returning to England – but the truth is that all I do is mooch around the apartment looking totally lost.

  “You know, Maddy, you don’t look particularly excited to be back here …” my friend says, handing me a glass of white wine and pouring one for herself. Is she trying to get me to drink in order to loosen my tongue?

  “No, no, I’m really glad to see you. I’m even happy to see my bloody family, which says it all,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

  Jane collapses on the couch next to me and looks at me seriously. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers are focused on me, trying to understand what secrets I’m hiding.

  “Why don’t we talk about what’s really been going on in Seoul? I haven’t known you all these years without being able to read you like an open book and I know that there is something you’re still not telling me.”

  She swills the wine round in her glass with great mastery, waiting for my confession.

  “Did you do a sommelier course while I was gone?” I ask, trying to change the subject. But she isn’t going to be distracted and so she gives me a knowing look.

  I slump down on her midnight blue couch and close my eyes. “Oh, Jane, I really don’t want to talk about it…”

  She sighs impatiently. “You’ve been here six days! Six days! Come on, spit it out. Who is he? What’s his name?”

  She definitely wants to know. I jerk my head up sharply.

  “Is it really that obvious that this is about a man?”

  “Yes it’s really that obvious,” she says.” Who the hell would ever think of coming to London in February? Not unless they were running away from something. I’d understand it in April or in May, but now… My dear, the sales aren’t even on.”

  In the face of her bloodhound-like instinct for sniffing out the truth, all I can do is give up.

  “I’m afraid I’m in a massive mess,” I sigh.

  “So far, nothing new. Come on!” What a heartless woman.

  “I don’t think you really want to know…” I warn her, playing for time.

  “Now you’re making me worry, Maddy!” she exclaims. Her tone of voice has become more severe, a clear sign that she’s losing her patience.

  “Mark…” I murmur, but the way I said it must have been a giveaway, because she interrupts me immediately.

  “You’re sleeping with your boss?” she asks, raising her voice and opening her eyes in amazement.

  I only said his name, how can she have worked that out?

  “To what exactly do you owe these new skills of yours as a mind reader? Frankly I preferred the old you.”

  “It was obvious from the way you said his name! Very sensual and very familiar…” she explains pragmatically.

  I decide not to drag it out too long. “Ok, I’m sleeping with him. But apart from the sex, our relationship is awful. And we’re not going out together!” I hasten to add as if that would change everything.

  She pauses a moment to reflect. “You know that you are not cut out for that kind of relationship. You’re a romantic, even though you don’t want to admit it to yourself. You’re in love, otherwise you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into this relationship.”

  I don’t like what she’s saying – it is not what I wanted to hear.

  “Look, I’ve changed!”

  “Oh, have you? You who’ve had the same haircut and the same blonde highlights for the past fifteen years!? You aren’t able to change, you’re genetically programmed to always remain the same,” she says. “By the way, I’m glad to see that you managed to find a hairdresser in Korea who does a decent job!” she observes, sounding surprised, as she takes a lock of my blonde hair between her fingers.

  “Miraculous, isn’t it?” It was tough but thanks to Seung Hee I managed to overcome that hurdle as well. “Needless to say I offered myself to the hairdresser as a guinea pig…”

  “Don’t try to change the subject – just tell me why on earth you two can’t be together? Are you seeing somebody else?” she asks, resuming the offensive.

  “No, no, not at all,” I say defensively. It’s clear where this is going.

  “And is he seeing other girls?”

  “That’s not something that I have any interest in knowing,” I say, trying to sound convincing.

  “Oh stop it! If he had been going out with anybody else you would have already scratched their eyes out…” she chuckles.

  That is pretty likely, but I’d rather not admit it openly.

  “And how did you both come up with this brilliant idea of having a physical relationship without getting involved?” Jane continues.

  I can’t stand answering any more of her questions and so I shut up and fold my arms across my chest sullenly.

  “Maddy, I love you, and I don’t like the sound of this story. I’m convinced that you’re seriously interested in this man and I’d venture a hypothesis: he likes you too.”

  I hold the glass in my hand. “Jane, you are my best friend in the world and I know you want only the best for me, but please let’s not talk about it any more. In a few months I’ll be back in London on a permanent basis, Mark will remain in Seoul and each of us will resume our normal lives. I would definitely prefer not to discuss my feelings for him with you because frankly they are completely irrelevant.” And while I say these words it sinks in just how true they are: what’s the point in reflecting on something that is destined to end anyway?

  Jane hands me my coat and puts hers on. “You haven’t convinced me, but I’ll do as you ask. No more about it for tonight. If you ever need me, though, just remember that I’m here for you. And now let’s go out – we need to drown our sorrows in alcohol!”

  After about ten days of London life I convince myself that I should leave the capital to spend a bit of time in the countryside with my parents – and I hate the countryside. I always have. But since I’m not entirely certain that we will have enough quality time together, I’ve decided to make an effort, and I’ve even upped the number of days in order not to feel any additional unnecessary guilt. The guilt I already feel would be enough for about five bloody lifetimes.

  It’s been twelve days since I left Seoul. The fact that I’m counting how many minutes, hours and days have passed since my arrival doesn’t mean anything, I confidently reassure myself. I’m fine – I’m perfectly happy to be in England. I also love the fact that it has been raining since I arrived. And if I keep saying it to myself non-stop a thousand times a day, maybe I’ll end up actually believing it.

  “Maddy, dear, what are you doing there at the window?”

&nbs
p; My father comes into the living room and, in amazement, watches me staring at a puddle in the courtyard. It’s getting bigger by the minute and if it goes on like this, by this evening it’ll have become a proper pond.

  “Nothing, daddy, I’m just thinking,” I say sincerely.

  “Why don’t you go and stay with Aunt Milly for a few days? You always have fun there,” he suggests, realizing my lack of enthusiasm at having to stay here with them. I’m really grateful and I know he’s right, I should do something – it doesn’t make sense to continue moping around the house.

  My mother interrupts our conversation. “Maddy, there’s someone on the phone for you.” She comes into the room and points to the phone in the hallway. Finally, something that might distract me from my miserable mood!

  I approach the phone feeling almost frightened, and with my heart – that traitorous little organ – beating faster and faster with every step. I know that it can’t be him, and rationally I’m perfectly prepared for this disappointment – but knowing it is one thing, and stopping hoping altogether is quite another.

  And in fact, as it turns out, on the other end of the line there is John.

  “Hello Maddy, how is your holiday going?” he asks in a loud, clear voice. John would never call my parents’ house, so it must be something really important. “We tried to reach you on your mobile, but, my dear girl, you always keep the bloody thing turned off,” he scolds me, good naturedly.

  Too right I do – it’s off because I’m sick and tired of waiting for a message or a phone call that will never arrive. So at least I can avoid giving myself stomach ache every time it rings.

  “I just wanted to get away from everything and everyone for a bit,” I explain. It is company practice to keep my work phone turned on at all times, but as far as I’m concerned they can stick that: I have all the sacrosanct right in the world to switch it off, without having to feel guilty.

  “Sorry to bother you, but they need you back in Seoul a week early,” John tells me, mortified.