P.S. from Paris(60)

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.”