by Marc Levy
“Ms. Grinberg. Assistant to Mr. Barton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Grinberg,” the editor replied. “I am afraid Mr. Cristoneli neglected to notify us of your presence.”
“Mr. Barton’s office handled my trip directly,” she explained.
Paul was speechless at the ease with which she donned a new identity. The editor opened the door to the car and ushered the two of them into the backseat. Paul cast one last look back at the empty sidewalk.
The car started up and moved off in the direction of the city center.
Paul stared absently at the suburban landscape rolling past outside the window. Kyong had not come to the airport.
“There will be a small dinner party tonight,” the editor announced. “We will be joined by a few employees from the publishing house, including our marketing director, your press officer, Ms. Bak, as well as the manager of the bookshop where you will be signing books. Don’t worry, we will do our best to keep it short. After all, you must get some rest. The next few days will be hectic. This is your schedule,” he said, passing an envelope to Mia. “Ms. Grinberg, are you staying in the same hotel as Mr. Barton?”
“Absolutely,” Mia replied, looking at Paul.
Paul felt the conversation flow around him like water around a rock. Maybe Kyong’s boss’s presence had prevented her from coming.
Mia patted his knee to bring him back to earth.
“Paul,” she said, “your editor is asking if you had a smooth trip.”
“You could say that. I’m still in one piece, thank goodness!”
His editor gave him a small smile in the rearview mirror. “We have great hopes for the television show you will be appearing on tomorrow. There will also be another important event—the ambassador is organizing a reception in your honor on Monday. There will be a few journalists there, as well as some senior lecturers from the university. I will inform the embassy secretary about the presence of your colleague.”
“Please, don’t worry about that,” said Mia. “Mr. Barton can go without me.”
“Of course not. We would be delighted to have you with us. Isn’t that so, Mr. Barton?”
Paul, his face pressed to the window, did not respond. How would Kyong behave at the dinner party? Should he keep a certain restraint with her to avoid embarrassing her in front of her employer?
Mia elbowed him discreetly in the ribs.
“Sorry. Yes?” Paul asked.
Likely assuming that his author was overcome by fatigue, the editor kept silent until they reached the hotel.
The car pulled up under the awning. A young woman came out to meet them.
“Ms. Bak will help you check in and will accompany you to the restaurant where I will meet you later this evening. In the meantime, I hope you can recharge your batteries. Good-bye, and I will see you later.”
The editor got back in the car and drove off.
Ms. Bak asked Paul and Mia for their passports and invited them to follow her to the reception desk. A porter took Paul’s suitcase.
The receptionist blushed when he saw Paul.
“This is a great honor, Mr. Barton,” he whispered. “I have read all your books.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Paul replied.
“Ms. Grinberg, I cannot find your reservation,” he said apologetically. “Do you have your confirmation number?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” said Mia.
The receptionist began to search on the computer, becoming even more flustered when Ms. Bak reminded him that Mr. Barton was coming off a long trip and that they were wasting valuable time.
Recovering his presence of mind, Paul leaned over the desk.
“You know, there’s probably been a mix-up,” he said. “Don’t worry, it happens. Just give us a different room.”
“But Mr. Barton, the hotel is completely full. I could try to find accommodation at a different hotel, but with the Book Fair, I am afraid they will all be full as well.”
Mia stared into space.
“Fine, not to worry,” said Paul jovially. “Ms. Grinberg and I have been working together for years. We can easily share a room. With twin beds.”
“But there aren’t any left. We upgraded you to a suite, but it has only one bed. It is a very big bed, though—king size!”
Ms. Bak looked as if she were about to faint. Paul took her to one side.
“Have you ever flown on an airplane, Ms. Bak?”
“Never, Mr. Barton, never. Why?”
“Because I just did, and let me tell you: after eleven excruciating hours thirty thousand feet off the ground, with only a flimsy sheet of metal and a tiny little window between me and oblivion, it would take a hell of a lot more than this to faze me. The two of us can share the suite, just please don’t say a word about this to your boss—in fact, don’t tell anybody. All you have to do is make sure this young man forgets that Ms. Grinberg was ever here today, and it can be our little secret.”
Ms. Bak swallowed and her face seemed to recover its normal complexion.
“Two keys, please,” said Paul to the receptionist. Then, turning to Mia, he asked ironically: “Shall we head up then, Ms. Grinberg?”
Not a word was exchanged in the elevator, or in the long hallway that led to the room, and still not a peep until the porter had deposited Paul’s suitcase and taken his leave.
“I’m so sorry,” said Mia. “It never even crossed my mind . . .”
Paul lay down on the sofa, his legs dangling over the armrest.
“Okay, that’s not an option,” he sighed, standing up again.
He took a cushion, placed it on the carpet, and lay down.
“And that idea’s out too,” he said, rubbing his lower back.
He opened the wardrobe door, stood on his tiptoes, grabbed two bolster pillows, and put them down the middle of the bed.
“Right side or left?” he asked.
“There must be a B&B with a vacant room somewhere. The entire city of Seoul can’t really be booked, can it?” Mia exclaimed.
“Sure. We can just flip through the ads in Korean, should be a cinch. Look, this can work if we set a few ground rules. You can have the bathroom first in the morning, and I’ll take it first at night. Remote control is all yours, carte blanche with the TV, as long as it’s not sports. You should sleep with earplugs. I don’t think I’m a snorer, but just in case, I’d like to maintain a shred of dignity. If I happen to talk in my sleep, anything I say may not be used against me in a court of law. We stick to that, and I think we should be able to make this work. I already have enough to worry about without piling on one more complication. And by the way, what in the world possessed you to say you were my assistant? Do I look like the kind of person who has an assistant?”
“I don’t know. And just how is a person with an assistant supposed to look?”
“Let’s take a poll. I’ve never had a personal assistant. Have you? Didn’t think so. I hope you at least brought a toothbrush, because there’s no way I’m sharing mine. I’ve got toothpaste,” Paul grumbled as he paced the room, “but my toothbrush is where I draw the line.”
“Please calm down, Paul . . . I know you’re nervous. You’ll see Kyong at dinner.”
“Along with a dozen other people! This trip is off to one hell of a start. I have to call my friend ‘Ms. Grinberg’ and the woman I love ‘Ms. Kyong.’ Just . . . marvelful, as my editor would say.”
“Thank you for that,” Mia said, lying on the bed.
“For what?”
“For calling me your friend . . . It’s quite touching.”
She lay with her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling. Paul watched her.
“So I take it that means you want the left side?”
Mia climbed over the bolsters, jumped up and down several times on the right-hand side, and then went back to the other side.
“Yes. Left it is,” she concluded.
“Did you have to break the bed to decid
e?”
“No, but it was fun. So, do we draw straws for the bathroom? Afternoon toilet privileges were left undefined.”
Paul shrugged to indicate that she could use it now. While she was gone, he unpacked his suitcase and hung his clothes in the wardrobe, hiding his underwear and socks under a pile of shirts.
Mia reappeared half an hour later wearing a bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around her head.
“What were you doing, counting shower tiles?” Paul asked sarcastically.
As he climbed into his bath, Mia spoke to him from the bedroom.
“Departure from hotel at eleven a.m.; Book Fair opening ceremony at noon; signing session at one p.m.; lunch break from two fifteen to two thirty; signing session from two thirty to five; return to hotel; departure for television studios at six thirty p.m.; makeup at seven; on air at seven thirty; show ends at nine p.m.; dinner, and that’s a wrap . . . Wow. And I complain about my promotion schedules!”
“What was that?” Paul shouted.
“Like a good assistant, I was reading you tomorrow’s schedule.”
Paul came bounding out of the bathroom, swaddled in towels.
Mia burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You look like some sort of fakir.”
“Did I hear you say I only get fifteen minutes for lunch?”
“Welcome to the world of celebrity. The crowd at the airport was impressive, and the hotel receptionist was positively beside himself. I must say I’m quite proud of you.”
“There were more people waiting for me to get off that plane than there usually are at my book signings; those people were hired to act like fans.”
“Don’t be so modest. And go and get dressed already. A loincloth is not a good look on you.”
Paul opened the door of the wardrobe and looked at himself in the mirror.
“Are you kidding? I think it suits me just fine. Maybe I should go on TV dressed like this.” At the mere mention of TV, his voice had cracked.
Mia walked up to Paul, examined the contents of his wardrobe, and took out a pair of gray pants, a black jacket, and a white shirt.
“Here,” she said, handing them over. “These will look just fine.”
“I was thinking of something blue.”
“No, that won’t do, not in your present state. The shirt ought to be paler than your complexion; maybe after a night or two of rest, you can try the blue.”
Opening her bag, she found that the few items of clothing she had brought with her were badly wrinkled.
“Looks like I’m going to stay here and order room service,” she sighed, dropping her clothes on the floor.
“Precisely how much time do we have, Ms. Grinberg, before this dinner party commences?” Paul asked in his best pretentious voice.
“Two hours, Mr. Barton. And don’t start getting a taste for this little arrangement, or I’ll have my resignation letter in your hands so fast, it’ll make your head spin.”
“Get dressed, Ms. Grinberg. And please maintain a respectful tone with your employer.”
“Where are we going?”
“To go check out Seoul. It’s the only thing I can think of to keep us conscious until that stupid dinner party.”
They went back down to the lobby. Seeing them emerge from the elevator, Ms. Bak leapt to her feet and stood at attention.
Paul whispered to her what he had in mind. She bowed and led the way.
Mia was surprised to find herself walking down a street with no tourist attractions in sight, and her confusion increased when Ms. Bak led them into a shopping center. Paul obediently followed her inside and onto an escalator.
“May I ask what we’re doing here?” Mia said.
“No, you may not,” Paul replied.
On the third floor, Ms. Bak gestured toward a shop window. She stood at the entrance to the shop and told Paul to call her over if he needed anything. Paul ventured inside and Mia followed suit.
“It’s a nice idea to give Kyong a dress, but she probably would’ve preferred one from Paris!”
“I know. I didn’t think of it.”
“Let’s try to make up for it straightaway. Do you know her size or measurements?”
“I’d say same as yours, more or less.”
“Oh, really? I pictured her shorter, and a bit chubbier, to be honest . . .”
Mia looked around and then headed toward some shelves.
“This skirt is pretty. So are these trousers. A lovely top over here, and oh—there’s another. Three perfect sweaters, easy as cake, and voilà—a wonderful evening dress.”
“You must have been a costume designer in another life,” Paul said, amazed at the speed with which Mia had picked out the items.
“Oh, come now,” she replied, “I just have taste.”
Paul took all the clothes Mia had chosen and carried them over to one of the fitting rooms.
“Now, if you don’t mind . . . ,” he said, pulling back the curtain.
“Ah, the lengths a good assistant will go to for her boss,” Mia said, grabbing the clothes.
She went into the fitting room, closed the curtain, and reemerged a few minutes later wearing the first outfit. She twirled around like a model, a fake smile plastered on her face.
“Exquisite, perfect,” said Paul. “Let’s have a look at the next one.”
Mia tried it on reluctantly.
Paul looked on, undecided, as Mia went back into the fitting room and came out again wearing another sweater. He went to get a black dress that he liked a lot and passed it over the curtain.
“You don’t think it’s a bit tight?” Mia asked.
“Try it on. We’ll see.”
“Actually, it’s . . . beautiful. You were right,” Mia admitted, coming out of the dressing room.
“I know. See? You’re not the only one with taste.”
After one more change of clothes, Paul found the perfect outfit. While Mia got dressed, he went to the counter to pay, then rejoined Ms. Bak at the entrance to the shop. Mia came out of the fitting room and watched them from a distance.
“My God, who does he think he is? A few fans waiting for him at the airport, and it’s gone straight to his head. You want to play superstar, my friend? I’ll give you a run for your money,” she muttered as she walked up to them.
“Back to the hotel?” he asked.
“A little ‘thank you’ wouldn’t hurt.”
“Thank you,” said Paul, stepping onto the escalator.
“Are you hoping to charm your translator with two dresses?” Mia asked.
“Not to mention a skirt, three sweaters, two pairs of pants, and two tops.”
“A miniature Eiffel Tower would have done the trick. At least that would have shown you didn’t forget about it until the last minute.”
They went back to their hotel room without exchanging another word. Paul lay down on the right side of the bed, hands behind his head.
“With your shoes on? Really!” Mia cried.
“They’re not even touching the duvet itself.”
“Take them off.”
“What time are they coming to get us?”
“Want to know? You can get up and check your junket schedule.”
“That’s a funny term. What am I, a movie star?”
“Can a lowly waitress not employ such an advanced term?”
“Whoa! Calm down. I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous, not you.”
“Me, me, me—that’s all you’ve talked about since we got here! Go and be nervous by yourself. And you can accompany yourself to that dinner party too, while you’re at it. I haven’t got a single thing to wear, so I’ll have to decline.”
“Actually, I’d say you’ve got a hell of a selection. I bought those clothes for you. Did you really think I was hoping to seduce Kyong by showering her with gifts? That would just be . . . vulgar. Does that sound anything like me?”
No. It sounds like David . . . “Well, that’s ve
ry kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly accept. There’s no reason for me to—”
“Yes, there is, and you just admitted it yourself. You’re not going to wear the same clothes this whole trip, are you?”
“I’ll go and buy some tomorrow.”
“Mia, come on. Wasn’t buying the plane ticket crazy enough? I mean, look, you held my hand on the plane—my very clammy hand—and bailed me out on the car ride by reining in my chatterbox editor. If it weren’t for you, I’d be a total wreck right now, in the fetal position in a dreary suite in a dreary hotel in a foreign city on the other side of the world. There are no strings attached—hang those up on your side of the closet, pick something out to wear, but maybe keep the black dress for the embassy.”
“I’ll have to insist on paying you back. These must have cost a fortune.”
“It wasn’t me, it was Cristoneli—I squeezed an astronomical advance out of him before agreeing to take this trip.”
Mia took one of the bags into the bathroom. “I’ll let you put the rest away. Seems I have to get ready.”
When she came out, a half hour later, Paul thought she looked even more beautiful than she had back at the store, and still with barely any makeup on.
“So?” she asked.
Stunning.
“Not bad. It suits you.”
What do you mean, “not bad”? “You don’t think the skirt is too short?”
That skirt is making my head spin! “Nope. Just right.”
Do you know how many men would throw their grandma under a bus to spend just one minute alone with me in a hotel suite? And all you’ve got is “not bad”? “But the top . . . Is the cleavage too much?”
Half an inch more and you’ll cause an all-out riot . . . “I hadn’t really noticed. Seriously, I think that outfit is just fine.”
Ha! Wait till you see the look on your translator’s face when she gets an eyeful of me, then we’ll see who’s “not bad”! “If you say so, then I believe you.”
“What is up with you?”
“Did you say something?”
“Nope! Nothing at all.”
Paul gave her a thumbs-up and went to the bathroom to get ready.
As he entered the restaurant, Paul felt his pulse quicken. Before they had left the hotel, Mia had given him some advice on how to behave in this kind of situation. Don’t do anything that might embarrass Kyong in front of her employers, let her make the first move, and wait cautiously for the right time to express your feelings. If you’re seated next to each other and brushing your hand against hers would be too obvious, a gentle knee-to-knee contact should be enough to reassure her.