Seoul Spankings (3 page)

“Then stop sulking and make a better impression. I’m hanging up now. I put thirty minutes on that card, and you’re not to use the rest unless the situation involves blood, broken limbs, or an ambulance. Good day.”

I scowled at the phone, marshaling my best arguments for the benefit of the dial tone. I wasn’t spoiled or complaining about nothing. Anyone would be upset. Hyunkyung had been unreasonable and rude. Hadn’t she?

Someone rapped on the door, failed to wait for an answer, and entered. Miss Cha. I groaned. She held up a dress on a padded pink hanger. “Ee Sajangnim will take you to dinner.”

“What? Why?” I wanted sleep more than food, but restlessness precluded both.

“I’ve made the arrangements.”

What kind of job required bringing in a foreigner from overseas, followed by wining and dining after hiring? For that matter, was I hired? Nothing made sense, and I grew suspicious. Was Han Incorporated aboveboard, or did this high living stem from something else? Had I stumbled into a drug cartel using a legitimate business for its cover? Or was it a prostitution ring, maybe, preparing to sell me into sexual slavery?

I shook my head and laughed. I’d watched too many episodes of undercover cop shows. “That’s okay.” I tried to sound nonchalant.

“You can’t go home without seeing anything of Korea,” she chided. “Our country has the longest history in the world. Five thousand years ago, the great
Tangun
descended from the gods to found Korea.”

Home. I hadn’t dared tell Great-Aunt Matilda the truth. Why see a country that didn’t want me? “No, thanks. I’m tired from the flight.”

Then Miss Cha showed me the clothes for the evening, and I gasped. She’d chosen a flirty, filmy emerald green silk dress with a scoop neck, gathered cap sleeves, and a sash that tied in the front. To go with an elaborate necklace, she had chosen Jimmy Choo stiletto sandals in gold lamé, impossibly tall and with straps that wrapped around the ankles twice. She had thought of everything, including a gold bangle for my wrist and nylons in three colors to match my skin.

I had never touched an outfit that beautiful, and I could never buy one. What a chance to dress up in such finery! Maybe Hyunkyung would be terrible company, but why not play rich lady for one evening? Was my empty, if sumptuous, room where I wanted to spend the night? I’d be Cinderella, spinning in my borrowed finery until the clock struck twelve. So what if I had to go with the wicked stepmother instead of a handsome prince?

“Thank you,” I stammered.

“Miss Lee will come up in a few minutes to prepare you. Start your shower, please.”

I gaped at Miss Cha, wondering when I had entered a fairy tale and ascended the dais of royalty. Would twelve mice-turned-into-horses pull my carriage to the ball? And when would the spell wear off?
I’m a princess
, I thought in awe. Then I laughed.
A princess lured by the evil, haughty Korean witch. Maybe she’ll eat me
.

Miss Cha gave me a glance of alarm. Maybe she feared my insanity. Maybe she should.

“Why doesn’t she like me?” It was not the question I’d meant to ask, but it would have to do. For now.

Miss Cha looked flustered. “It will be fine.” She tried to placate me, but I didn’t buy it.

“I can’t learn Korean overnight, so what does she expect from me?”

Miss Cha fussed with the label on my dress. Already I thought of it as mine, when I should have known better. “Don’t worry.”

“Please. I don’t want another disaster. What if she tears into me again?”

“Tears into?” She puzzled at the words. “Tear is for paper, yes?”

Right. English was not Miss Cha’s first language. How could I have not realized that sooner? It probably wasn’t her second, either, considering her earlier phone conversations in what sounded like Japanese.

“How many languages do you speak?”

I meant it as genuine curiosity, but her cheeks colored. “My English is not enough. I never studied abroad. I speak only a little English, Japanese, Chinese, Russian, and French.”

I gaped at her. “What about your boss?”

Miss Cha waved a hand. “More than I. She has to speak the native languages of her most important clients. We are global world now, yes?”

I’d called Hyunkyung arrogant, but had I acted any better? I’d come to a foreign country, to people who spoke my language, and I’d criticized Hyunkyung for expecting the same courtesy in her own land. This wasn’t America, after all. Maybe this was why people called us ugly Americans.

“It’s okay. Could you teach me how to say the greeting again?” Miss Cha pushed me toward the bathroom, but I held my ground. “Please.”

She set the dress, shoes, and jewelry on the bed and faced me. She exaggerated her facial movements, giving me time to see each sound one at a time. “An.”

“On,” I parroted. On, not off. I could do this.

“Nyeong.”

Syllable two, and already I was the dunce of a class of one. “Nee-yuh.”

“Nyeong,” she said, articulating the strange collision of consonants. “Nuh-yeong.”

“Young!” I exclaimed in relief. Young, not old. “On. Young.”

Miss Cha smiled. I must have sounded like a one-year-old to her, but she praised me. “Very good. Ha.”

“On. Young. Ha.” Another easy one. Ha ha ha, ho ho ho. Santa’s coming to town.

“Say.”

“Say.” Oh, say can you see? I had this. Ha-say, like José but with a ha. “On Young Ha Say.”

“Yo.” Miss Cha waited, knowing this one was simple even for a clueless, monolingual American.

Yo-yo, a child’s toy. Or the famous cellist. I’d moved from the class dunce to its ace. No dumb American left behind. “Yo.”

“Annyeong haseyo.”

I stumbled to remember each sound in the correct order. “On-young. Ho-say-yo.” I paused. Not José Canseco, the baseball player, but Santa plus “The Star-Spangled banner.” “Ha-say. Onyoung hasay.” That wasn’t right, either. “Yo. Say-yo.” Five syllables, and I might have run a marathon.

“Perfect!” Miss Cha beamed. “Annyeong haseyo.” The words slipped from her mouth like water drops sprinkling from a fountain.

It was only a few silly words. It wouldn’t make the snooty ice princess change her mind about the newest job opening, but it was worth a start.

Besides, what would I say to Great-Aunt Matilda if I didn’t give this visit my best effort?

“On Young Ha Say Yo,” I repeated as Miss Cha excused herself and Miss Lee entered to cleanse my face, dress me, and arrange my hair and makeup. There wasn’t enough time for the hairdresser or makeup artist, she told me, so she would do the best she could.

“We can’t keep Ee Sajangnim waiting,” Miss Lee urged. “
Bahlee, bahlee
.”

When I stared at myself in the full-length mirror next to the wardrobe, I couldn’t believe the results. I touched the necklace, shook the bangle, and twirled. The dress flared out around me, a sumptuous, jewel-toned parachute drifting below my knees. I should have twirled on satin ballet shoes, rising onto my toes for an elegant arabesque. Instead, atop the glittery golden sandals I teetered on the brink between falling and flying. My toes would ache by the end of the evening, but, before that, I would dance on magical shoes transported to an ethereal land.

I lifted the tiny gold lamé clutch, just big enough to hold my lipstick, oil blotting paper, and a few tissues.

“I’m ready,” I said, and my new borrowed shoes carried me forth in a waft of rose-scented elegance.

As Miss Cha ushered the green-and-gold-clad figure out of the elevator and across the foyer, heads whipped around. Gone was the schoolgirl, and in her place floated a woman who looked her best and knew it. Whatever Miss Cha had charged to the company account, it was worth it. The curved seams of Indi Go’s bodice accentuated her body in a way her previous dress had not. Her hair, too short for ordinary femininity, lay in a shining cap. My hairdresser must have smoothed the uneven ends and applied deep conditioning. It would take time to remove Indi’s rough edges, but I had the resources.

The dress. My God, the dress. On me, the softness and bows would wash out the hard angles I had worked years to achieve. On this girl, the green flounces transformed her into a creature of mystery and delight, flutters and promises. I licked my lips, imagining the depths hidden just below the sweet, demure neckline.

What was I thinking? What was Miss Cha thinking? Did she forget Indi Go was unsuitable in every possible way? How could Miss Cha dress Indi Go like a runway model? Indi Go would board her plane tomorrow and release me from this public relations nightmare. And I thought marrying a
woman
would cause a stir. I had never considered the scandal of an American who couldn't say a single word of proper Korean.

“On Young Ha Say Yo,” she said, dipping her shoulders toward me in a passable imitation of the correct greeting. Such a simple thing, something I would have taken for granted in anyone else, had I not seen her performance earlier. Each syllable correct, if stilted. Each detail of her dress and hair was perfection. She stood awkwardly, like a runner shod in stilettos, but she did not shame me.

Beside her, Miss Cha beamed with the pride of a mother. She adjusted Indi Go’s sash and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt. Indi Go stared at me, wide-eyed and ready. I could order her as my servant, or I could invite her as my guest.

With a heart lighter than before, I turned toward the limousine waiting outside. It was an extravagance for the congested Seoul traffic, but a comfort I had come to view as a necessity. I held out my hand and offered it to my would-be bride.

“Come,” I said.

And she did.

***

“Yesului jondange kachura.”

I tried to make sense of the unfamiliar words, but a sleek, uniformed chauffeur held open the door of an immaculate black car, glossy as a grand piano. After Hyunkyung entered, I slid into the smooth seat like Cinderella into her pumpkin coach. Was it a day ago I’d drowned my sorrows in homemade chocolate chip cookies? Was it a week ago Great-Aunt Matilda summoned me to her home? I’d gone armed with every answer to every possible accusation she could throw at me. I couldn’t help it if Greg needed the apartment. Yes, she’d told me so. Yes, I realized the baby’s due date in two months meant Greg had been cheating on me for as long as we’d lived together. No, I didn’t know what he was thinking.

Stop it!
Greg had no right to this evening. I’d given him too many years he didn’t deserve. I peered out the window, watching the crowded, tiny streets whiz by. A sea of black-haired heads made me dizzy, and the buildings stretched halfway to the sky. When I’d protested Great-Aunt Matilda’s choice of Korea, I hadn’t expected such a modern country. I had seen a rerun or two of
Mash
and learned about the Korean War in junior high history class, but that was it. I’d had to look it up on a map. The tiny peninsula jutting into the ocean was not much bigger than my home state of Iowa. I couldn’t imagine an entire country as small as one-fiftieth of mine. I’d thought I would see people wearing pointed straw hats and dragging rickshaws through mud streets, perhaps filled with the starving, big-bellied children I saw on television fundraising campaigns.

I’d grumbled to myself, asking why Great-Aunt Matilda couldn’t distribute her largesse in a more appealing manner. It was my first chance to travel abroad, and instead of France, she had to pick a country I knew nothing about. What language did people speak in Korea, anyway? My two years of high school French would have let me order a
croissant
or
croque-monsieur, s’il vous plait
and some
café au lait
to drink. I could capture
joie de vivre
eating bonbons while overlooking the Seine River. Instead, I had to come to a land that, according to online travelers’ sites, had achieved fame for spicy spoiled cabbage. I’d almost lost my lunch thinking about it.

The car came to a stop, and the chauffeur popped out to my side and opened the door. Awed, I took in the enormous sign saying
Seoul Arts Center
and the various billboards. I hesitated on the sidewalk, unsure where to go, but the chauffeur bowed to me and re-entered the car. Hyunkyung emerged next, stately and without hesitation. She sent an assistant ahead and spoke to me, for the first time as if I were a companion instead of a puppy who had piddled on her best rug.

“Miss Cha will place our orders. We are later than expected.” She paused, her gaze traveling up and down my body.

I tingled all over, unsure of her meaning. Her words should have expressed displeasure at failing her schedule, but instead, the appreciative nod seemed to say the delay had been worth it. My cheeks grew warm, and I felt naked despite the dress more modest than anything I had worn in years. Instead of Little Orphan Annie, I was Grace Farrell in her floating yellow creation. And yet…and yet this strange, haughty woman seemed to undress me with her eyes. I backed away, flattered and unnerved at the same time. Greg had never looked at me that way, not even in the beginning.

“We will not dine at the Shilla Hotel. Instead, we will eat here. Follow me, please.”

She swept across the crosswalk, and the crowd parted to let her pass. I could almost see the red carpet spread underneath her feet. I tottered forward, gazing at the gray-blue mist over the mountains rising from the back of the center. A sparkling glass wall met the ground, while a much-older set of yellowing stone walls rose from behind. One large banner depicted unfamiliar letters across the background of a black-haired woman gripped by an anguished man.

To our right, a green bus trundled to a stop next to a large sign. A swarm of waiting people clustered toward the opening door, just as Hyunkyung’s assistants had clustered around her. I pictured this country full of black-haired fish swimming toward flakes of food sprinkled on top of their water. Wallets waved, purses swung, and fists brandished what looked like credit cards. People occupied every seat on the bus, as well as the aisles, but they kept piling inside. By the time the bus groaned to a start minutes later, every single one of the would-be passengers was tucked inside. One girl even stood on the step she would use to get off the bus. I looked back at our limousine driving toward the parking garage, and I understood the perks of traveling with a wealthy woman.