You seem so helpless in the face of your own success,Mia thought.And so utterly sincere when you say you don’t want fame. And yet you had to meet me, of all people . . . Makes me wonder if two people like us could ever really be compatible . . .
Little by little, the bookshop emptied out. The last reader took yet another selfie with Paul, who smiled his last smile of the day. He heard his bones creak as he stood up slowly from his chair.
“It’s the price of fame,” the bookshop manager said when he came over to thank Paul.
Mia was waiting for him near the exit with Ms. Bak.
“Who exactly was this Ms. Jung you mentioned earlier?” Paul asked.
“Eun-Jeong,” the bookseller corrected him. “I told you: she translates your books. Your success is partly thanks to her, you know. I’ve never met her, but I can tell you she certainly has a remarkable way with words.”
“Kyong. My translator’s name is Kyong!” Paul protested. “I think I would know that.”
“Her name must have been spelled wrong in English—our language is full of subtle nuances—but I can assure you that her name is Eun-Jeong. It is written on the cover of all your books. In Korean, of course. I’m sorry she couldn’t be here today. She would have been so proud.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“A bad case of flu, I think. But it’s time to go now: your day is far from over, and your editor will be cross with me if I keep you any longer.”
A limousine took them back to the hotel. Ms. Bak was sitting in the front passenger seat. Paul didn’t say a word, and Mia began to worry.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered to him.
Paul pressed a button and the glass partition that separated them from the chauffeur and Ms. Bak slid up.
“Huh. Look at that! Maybe I could get used to this . . .”
“Paul!”
“She’s sick. Bad case of the flu, apparently.”
“Well, that’s good news. Not for her, obviously, but at least it could explain the absence and lack of contact. Now, just think, how long does a bad case of flu last? A week? More? When did she fall ill?”
“How should I know?”
“I thought you might have asked. You must have inquired about her, if you learned she was ill.”
“No. Not at all. It was the bookshop guy who told me. She was supposed to be there today.”
“And what else did he tell you?”
“Nothing—he probably didn’t know more than that.”
“So let’s be optimistic and hope she gets back on her feet in a few days . . .Back on her big, ugly feet . . . Horrid and huge, in fact . . .”
“You’re muttering.”
“I never mutter. Muttering is completely foreign to me.”
Mia turned to the window and stared out at the landscape passing by.
“Forget Kyong, at least for tonight . . .Or go ahead and forget her, full stop!What you need to do is focus on your very first television appearance.”
“I don’t want to do it. I’m sick of all this. I just want to go back to the hotel, order room service, and go to bed.”
Tell me about it . . .“Paul, don’t be childish. This is your career we’re talking about. Pull yourself together and act professional. The show must go on.”
“You’re supposed to be playing assistant, not taskmaster.”
