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.
And in case he ended up unable to approach her without arousing suspicion, Paul had given Mia a little note that she could hand Kyong at the end of the meal.
When all the guests had taken their places around the table, Paul and Mia exchanged a look. Apparently, Kyong had not been invited.
A series of toasts in Paul’s honor launched the evening. The marketing director of the Korean publisher said he’d been thinking of publishing all of Paul’s works in a single collection intended for students. He wanted to know if Paul would agree to write a preface explaining why he had dedicated his life’s work to such a challenging cause. Paul wondered if the man was pulling his leg, but the marketing director’s English was far from perfect, and in the end he decided simply to smile. The head of publicity showed him the cover of his latest novel, pointing proudly to the band with its red-letter announcement:300,000 Copies Sold. An extraordinary figure for a foreign author, the editor added. The bookshop manager confirmed that not a day went by without him selling several copies of the book. Ms. Bak waited patiently before reeling off the list of interviews Paul would have to attend. The television news program had negotiated exclusivity until the show was broadcast, but after that there would be an interview with the daily newspaperThe Chosun Ilbo, as well asElleKorea, a one-hour live broadcast with radio service KBS, a one-on-one with a journalist fromMovie Week, and a more delicate meeting with the radical dailyHankyoreh, the only newspaper to support the government’s policy of political dialogue with North Korea. When Paul asked whyHankyorehwanted to interview him, everyone at the table laughed. Paul was not in the mood for jokes, and his dazed state contrasted with the liveliness of his companions. Mia came to his rescue, asking a whole series of questions about Seoul—the weather throughout the year, the best places to visit, and so on. She began a conversation about Korean cinema with Paul’s editor, who was impressed by her knowledge of the subject. She took advantage of this newfound bond to quietly suggest that he bring the evening to a close, as Mr. Barton was exhausted.
Back at the hotel, Paul hopped straight into bed. He adjusted the bolster that separated him from Mia and turned off his bedside lamp before she had even come out of the bathroom.
Mia got under the sheets and waited a few moments.
“Are you asleep?”
“No. I was waiting for you to ask me that question before I could fall asleep.”
“She’ll call tomorrow, I’m sure she will.”
“How can you be so sure? She hasn’t even left a message for me at the hotel.”
“She did warn you in her email that she would be very busy. Sometimes work just takes over to the point where you can’t do anything else.”
Paul propped himself up and peered over the bolster.
“Just a short message—I mean, is that too much to ask? It’s like she’s been named minister of culture. Why are you making excuses for her?”
“Because . . . it bothers me to see you unhappy,” Mia replied, sitting up in turn. “I don’t know why, that’s just the way it is.”
“There you go again, stealing my lines.”
“You know what? Why don’t you just shut up.”
In the silence that followed, their faces drew closer and closer . . . until at last they came together, in what can only be described as a moment of infinite tenderness.
“Tell me that wasn’t just a pity kiss,” Paul said.
“Have you ever been slapped just after a kiss?”
“No. At least, not yet.”
Mia pressed her lips to his and wished him good night. Then she adjusted the bolster and turned off her bedside lamp.
