by Anna Premoli
The word Seoul revives me in spite of myself. That’s something I’d never have expected. They need me, or he needs me?
“Why?” I ask, unable to conceal my curiosity.
“There’s a new project they need you to work on. A number of hotels on Jeju Island or something,” my ex-boss explains vaguely. It is obvious that John knows absolutely nothing about this job, so I don’t really understand why somebody from my office didn’t simply look for my number and track me down. To be honest, I don’t understand why the bloody homunculus didn’t call me and tell me himself.
“I understand,” I mutter, trying to hide my disappointment.
“Mark has complimented you on your work,” he tells me. Is he saying this because I sound depressed and he is trying to raise my morale or because there is some truth in it? In the latter case, it doesn’t really explain why Mark would tell other people but forget to tell me. Not that I’m surprised, knowing his personality as I do.
“Really?” I say. How I wish I didn’t care less about his compliments…
“Sure. But I was certain that you would do a great job over there,” insists John. In fact he was the only one who really believed in me, I have to hand it to him.
“Thank you, John.” I don’t know what else to add.
“So you’re going to go back then?” he wants to know.
“Why, can I decide not to go back?” I ask.
On our side of the world employees follow orders, they don’t negotiate, for heaven’s sake.
“What a question…” he laughs at what he pretends to think is a joke. We say goodbye a few minutes later, once we’ve sorted out the details and I lean against the door frame, trying to hide my face against it like some kind of interior-design ostrich. Thank goodness for the job, I suddenly think.
Of course if someone like me says something like that, I’m really in a mess…
*
Here I am again with my feet firmly planted on the ground at Seoul airport, precisely fifteen days after leaving the city. In all honesty I don’t know whether to be happy or not about my early return.
I hate myself because I know that I’m hoping Mark will come and pick me up. I try to spot his familiar form among the throng of people, but disappointment is just around the corner. No trace of him. Just as I imagined…
I’m trying not to feel too sorry for myself when a friendly face suddenly appears in the crowd, waving her arms manically to try and attract my attention: I’m so happy to see Seung Hee that I almost start crying.
“Maddison!”
Well at least there is one person who is actually glad to see me. “Did you have a good trip?” she asks, hugging me. Or rather, squeezing me like a vice. Amazing how such a petite little person is capable of being so bloody strong! I nod, reciprocating her warmth.
“We’ve really missed you! I have to tell you everything that has happened while you have been away!” she exclaims immediately.
“Why? What’s happened?” I ask, feeling worried. I’ve only been away two weeks, what could have happened that is so important?
“Oh, at work, nothing really – the boss is still being a pain and he’s still always in a foul mood, shouting and ranting all the time. But that’s not the important thing,” she reassures me serenely as if Mark’s bad moods were but a trifle. “The good news is that Chul Ju and I…” She stops and gives me a wink.
I understand immediately what she’s talking about. Well, good for them! At least someone seems to be seriously in love. “I’m really, really happy for you. I mean, it’s important that you’re happy,” I say quickly.
“Oh Maddison, I am so happy!” she exclaims with an expression on her face that leaves no room for doubt.
“Come on, let’s get a taxi and you can tell me everything.” Apparently that’s exactly what she’s been waiting for.
*
My tiny apartment is just the same as when I left it. Even the dust is in the same place where I left it: it hasn’t disappeared as if by magic, but then again it hasn’t got any worse either. Funny how small certainties manage to make you feel at home.
I arrived three hours ago and I’ve been walking back and forth across the room, wondering whether it is appropriate or not for me to go over and say ‘hello’ to Mark. A part of me is dying to see him, but the rational side – the one that I should listen to – whispers to me not to. He never got in touch while I was away: no phone call, no message, not even a bloody email. He didn’t even come to the airport. And since actions – and especially the lack of them – speak louder than words, I have to face up to the fact that he just doesn’t care about me. I absolutely have to stop daydreaming and accept the situation for what it is: painful, but clear. Sex happens, but it doesn’t mean much. It was absurd of me to think that there was anything else going on.
I lie on the tiny couch trying to hear some noise from the landing. No, there’s no sign of life.
I’m really disappointed – with myself above all, and with this bloody situation too, and in a burst of temper I throw one of my shoes petulantly at the ceiling.
Which, obviously, falls right back down and smashes into my nose.
I let out a groan of pain. Okay, not quite a groan – more like a scream.
Great – I’m officially round the bend. I’ve somehow managed to practically kick myself in the face, and my nose is streaming blood. I get up to go to the bathroom, trying not to let any blood drip on the floor when I hear someone knocking insistently at my door. Forgetting my nose for a second I run to open it and there in front of me is Mark, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a blue shirt – a very casual look for someone like him. I’d call it almost unkempt. This can’t be happening…
“My god, what the hell happened to you?” he asks, pointing to my bloody nose. I put my hand up to my face and see that I’m still bleeding. For a second I feel uncomfortable: I would rather that he saw me in better shape. Much better shape. I would have been happier if I had been in one piece and not looking like something out of Friday the 13th.
While I was on the plane I had fantasized about our reunion as though it were a scene from a film: I would look beautiful, with perfect make-up and fresh blonde highlights in my hair. It was obvious that it was total fantasy – you can count the number of days in a year my highlights could be called ‘fresh’ on the fingers on one hand. Fortunately this new fashion for not hiding your regrowth has saved me from a lot of embarrassment.
Of course, there’s still room for a bit of middle ground between something out of a chick flick and this bloody mess…
“I heard a bang and then a bloodcurdling scream. What have you been doing, apart from trying to kill yourself?” he asks, getting more and more agitated by the minute and pointing at my nostrils. His eyes are like two black, ominous puddles.
I hurt myself and he gets angry? What? Is he serious? He steps inside without being invited, and drags me with him. I try to break free from his grip, but it is a lost cause. Only after making me stretch out on the couch does he decide to let go of my arm. He goes to the sink and makes me a makeshift bandage, wetting it slightly. Just as if this were his place. Oh sure, please, just make yourself right at home here.
“Try to keep your head back,” he orders in his peremptory voice. He’s standing near the couch, still staring at me. I try to play for time by slowly wiping my face and nose, waiting patiently for the blood to stop flowing. I know that I haven’t uttered a word since he arrived but in all honesty I don’t know what to say to him. Better to skip over how I hurt myself, otherwise I’ll only get one of his endless lectures. I’m also confused: it is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him for over two weeks and I realize that I don’t feel at all indifferent to his presence. From the corner of my eye I watch him pacing nervously around the room, but as I’m lying on the couch I can’t see him very well. I try to get up, but the bleeding starts up again with a vengeance. Perhaps I really had better just stay lying down…
Seconds late
r I hear him sit down on a chair in front of the couch.
“Have you had a good holiday?” he asks me, as though it were normal for us to make small talk. Too bad I can’t see his expression.
“I had a short holiday, thanks to you,” I reply as I try to see if my nose is still bleeding. I sigh, realizing that I still can’t get up.
“It wasn’t my decision to bring you back,” he says immediately. Well if he thinks I’m going to fall for that old chestnut, he can blooming well think again.
“Of course, because you no longer decide what goes on in this office… give me a break,” I mutter resentfully. Fed up of not being able to see him, I sit up and a big drop of my ruby red blood drips onto my light grey trousers. Damn it, I’m about to lose my temper.
“Lie down!” orders Mark. It is not clear which one of us is in the worst mood. Impatiently, I put my head back down.
“Stubborn as a mule, as stubborn as a damn mule,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
I wanted to see him so much, but now that he’s here I can’t wait for him to leave. He gives off such negative energy that I just cannot stand being around him. You can never just talk to Mark – it’s always a continuous rant, one fight after another. The evidence is right there, staring me in the face: I can’t go on like this.
“Since you’re here, I might as well tell you that while I’ve been away on holiday I’ve thought a lot about this… this thing…” I hope that the word is delicate enough. “And I’ve decided that it stops here. No more weakness,” I tell him, firmly.
I can’t see very well, but I could almost swear that a grimace appears on his face.
“The holiday was inspiring, I see. Did you meet someone?”
His tone is offensive. What the hell is he trying to insinuate?
“What does that have to do with it?” I ask angrily. I didn’t meet anybody, except for my own shadow, but I wouldn’t admit that to him even if my life depended on it.
“Of course – some charming English gent with icy blue eyes for our princess who wants the perfect life. Has he got a decent bank account too?” Marks asks, seemingly ever more determined to hurt me.
I am appalled: I never thought things would get so low. I grab the other shoe which is on the floor beside the couch and lob it at him violently, but by some miracle he manages to dodge it.
“Out!” I shout. I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.
He gets up almost too calmly, a perfect frosty little prince, turns on his heels and walks away.
I’ll be damned if I’ll waste even a second thinking about him from now on.
*
My return to work occurs without any major difficulties, mainly because we have to roll up our sleeves and work hard. The new job concerning the hotel chain is rather complex and requires my total dedication. For the record, Mark and I do not exchange a single word except for strictly business reasons and even then we tend to send the briefest possible emails most of the time. Funny how two meagre little phrases can hide so many meanings if you read between the lines.
Obviously, my three musketeers realized pretty quickly that the relationship between their team leader and their supreme leader is not ideal and do their best to pretend nothing has happened. Even Seung Hee, who must be in possession of inside information, prefers not to investigate further, opting for a quiet life. And I don’t suppose I can blame her, really.
It has an effect on the office atmosphere, I can’t deny it. In part I feel guilty, but I’m realistic enough to realize that I can’t do anything about it. I’m not the one responsible for our situation. Or at least, not entirely.
The imperious ringing of my phone awakens me from a moment of abnormally deep concentration.
“Hello?” I answer, distracted at the sight of a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello, Maddison! So you’re back!”
A shrill voice at the other end of the phone greets me. One thing Tae Min does seem to have in common with his mean sibling is the belief that you don’t have to say who you are when you phone someone. I’m starting to wonder if it is some kind of genetic defect that the Kims have handed down from generation to generation.
“Yes, I’ve been back a week now,” I tell him. But I suspect that he knows my movements perfectly well.
“Did you have a good holiday?” he asks, seemingly showing genuine interest, as though all this were completely normal. What is this, the third degree? It seems that he has decided to ask me the mundane questions that his brother isn’t able to – or at least, isn’t able to ask in an acceptable tone of voice. But it any case, I’m starting to wonder about the real reason for his call.
“Yes, lovely thank you. What can I do for you?” I say, cutting to the chase. I don’t want to sound too dismissive, but I’m not really in the mood for chatting to a member of Mark’s family as though nothing had happened.
“This weekend there is a gala reception to raise funds for orphanages. Will you be joining us?” he asks casually, as though somehow not noticing my diffident tone.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be able to come, unfortunately,” I say without even thinking.
“Come on, don’t force me to have to beg you. It’s for a good cause…” he says, theatrically.
“Really, I can’t,” I say firmly. “It is completely out of the question that I would agree to go to an event of my own free will when I know that Mark is going to be there too.”
There, I’ve chosen to be honest. It’s a big change for me, I know, but I’m trying my best.
I hear a chuckle from the other end of the line. “Look, I know you’ve had a fight. My brother has been impossible for quite some time now, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. But that doesn’t matter now. You know better than me that he is leaving for Jeju Island for work. I assure you, he will not be at the reception. Our grandmother has specifically asked me to try and convince you to come. Come on, it’ll be fun…”
I am tempted: Mark’s grandmother is one of the few people I actually can define as being good fun, not to mention the fact that spending a nice evening in pleasant company might stop, once and for all, this self-pity of mine. It’s been so long since I had a good laugh. The temptation to forget the past few difficult weeks is pretty strong. I sigh in defeat.
“All right, I could come… But as long as you promise me that Mark isn’t going to be there!”
“Great – put on a long evening dress, don’t forget!” he instructs me, before giving me the address and the time. I put down my phone with the nagging feeling that I’ve been ensnared in some kind of trap. That damn family!
*
Given the social event, I’ve decided to treat myself to a little bit of luxury and have gone and bought a really beautiful, classy outfit. I’m not bothered about making a good impression or impressing anyone, but I still want to look good… For my own satisfaction.
My choice is a dark green dress, very low-cut, which falls in soft ruffles to the ground. I know that in Korea low-cut necklines are frowned on a bit, but I’m a little bit pissed off with the world at the moment, so to hell with the local customs. I just want to concentrate on what makes me feel good for once, and this dress does the job perfectly. Once again, it’s thanks entirely to Seung Hee that I managed to find it. She should have made a career for herself in the fashion world rather than in corporate banking. I’m sure she would have enjoyed it more.
I gather my hair up in an elegant chignon, pulling out a few wavy strands for effect. Overall I’m really pleased with the way I look.
Tae Min insisted on coming to pick me up but I was adamant – I don’t need a knight in shining armour tonight. I don’t need anyone. For the record, I’ve decided that the only person I need in this life is me. Men? A total waste of time. I hail a taxi in front of the apartment building and in a few minutes I arrive at the hotel where the reception is being held. I can’t claim to have learned to speak Korean – that would really be exaggerati
ng – but I’m beginning to understand a few sentences and I can say the few basic words that are necessary to get by on a daily basis. I have more chance of making myself understood in Korean than I have in French, at least. As usual, my arrival triggers a lot of attention, and all heads turn in my direction. I still haven’t really got used to the fact that I stick out so much, and the fact that blonde hair, even if it’s dyed, is really an oddity here. Being a westerner in Korea actually feels a lot like how I imagine being a celebrity must: people stare at you, or follow you – sometimes I’ve even been photographed while walking down the street. At first it felt like a bit of fun, but after months and months of insistent staring, I am getting a bit sick of being considered a circus attraction.
Tae Min, who is standing near the entrance of the hall, notices me almost immediately.
“Hello Maddison, you look absolutely beautiful tonight!” he compliments me, kissing me on both cheeks. He’s wearing a dark suit with a white shirt. No tie, however. I think it’s his youthful way of trying to be stylish.
“Thanks, you look good too,” I say sincerely. These damn Kim genes manage to produce such amazing looking human beings that it makes you want to be sick!
Conscious of his charm, he smiles and looks very satisfied with himself. At least Mark has always had the decency not to spread his feathers like a peacock.
“Have you seen all the damn mummies that are here?”
He points to the crowd, whose average age must, in fact, be pretty high.
“Thank goodness we are here to bring a breath of youth to the situation!”
He offers his arm to me in a rather elegant fashion and leads me over to the buffet. But tonight I’m nervous and my stomach is in knots, so eating is not one of my priorities – it doesn’t happen often, but it does happen – so I only accept a glass of champagne from a waiter in uniform, trying to remind myself that I mustn’t drink too much, especially on an empty stomach. At the other end of the room I spy Tae Min’s parents and his grandmother without much effort. In for a penny, in for a pound, I tell myself as I let him lead me in their direction.