Chapter 3

STARVING STAR BITES BIG APPLE Madison Dahl made an appearance in New York City for the premiere of “Like You Like It” looking less emaciated than usual—despite her recent break-up with pro-skater Todd Whaley. “She’s putting on a brave face,” our spy said. “But we all know stress can trigger anorexic behavior.” Here’s hoping the young starlet stays on the straight and not-too-narrow.

—Page Six The show, it turned out, was “Like You Like It,” a musical version of Shakespeare’s “As You Like It” set in a high school during the 1980’s (it’s, like, Valley girl speak, get it?). Cyndi Lauper was in it, who I’d sort of heard of, and Zendaya, who I loved. The show sounded pretty good to me, and I was dying to see Manhattan, even if it was only for a weekend. The problem was, of course, my dad.

“You keep forgetting he loves me like the daughter he never had,” Madison said.

“Gee, thanks.” It was a little strange how my father had such a soft spot for Madison. Maybe he liked her because she needed so much more help than his real daughters.

“I’ll win him over,” Madison prattled on. “So, are we good?”

“Not quite.” The image of Jeremy, arms crossed and green eyes flaring, was burned into my memory. “I want you and Jeremy to talk.”

“About what?” God, either Madison had the attention span of a gnat, or she was really good at playing the ADD card.

“I want you to apologize to him.”

“Has he apologized to you?” Madison shot back.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “More than once. And that’s not even the point.”

“But it is,” Madison whined. “He lied to you. He lied big. And you forgave him.”

“Not right away. And not until he’d proven himself.” Okay, I wasn’t exactly sure if Jeremy had ‘proven’ himself exactly, but I knew that somewhere along the way he’d won me over, and that was good enough for me. Plus, it was going to have to be good enough for Madison. “And what happened between me and Jeremy doesn’t have anything to do with you. And it so doesn’t give you an excuse to punish him and hurt me in the process.”

I swear I could almost hear the grinding sound of Madison digging in her heels. “I apologized to you, isn’t that enough?”

“No.”

“Fine. We’ll all go out to dinner or something.”

“You know, you might actually like him,” I said. “He’s really fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” Madison grumbled. “Cheaters always are.”

***

I finally got Madison off the phone once I’d pulled onto the lot (but only after she’d made me promise to stop by the set before I went home), and I was able to focus on the one bright, shining diamond in my lump-of-coal life: Jeremy.

“Hey, angel face,” he said as I walked through the door. Amazing how the sight of him still made my knees shake a little.

After I’d breathlessly filled him in on the highs and lows of my dramarama existence once he’d come into my office, I’d expected a little sympathy and a shoulder to snivel on. Instead, Jeremy started laughing, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach as if he’d just finished watching an episode of “South Park.”

“What’s so funny?” Besides the Pillsbury Doughlady, I didn’t see a whole lot of wacka-wacka in my tragic life.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jeremy said, wiping his eyes. “But sometimes I forget how young you are.”

Ouch. I felt like I’d been slapped, or worse, patted on the head and offered a lollipop. “You’re only two years older than I am. Not even,” I sneered. God, I had just turned seventeen years old. What was his problem?

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Jeremy said quickly. “It’s just that there’s so much drama in high school. There’s some in college, too, but it’s different. And now you have this babysitter…”

“Ajumma,” I corrected him. “Why are you being such a jerk?”

Jeremy, still laughing, reached for my hand. I smacked it away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know, things suck for you right now. But you’ll get through it. None of it is really that bad.”

“You try living next to some sexually-repressed spinster and see how you like it.”

“I did,” Jeremy said. “My mom. Good times. But seriously, why don’t you try being nice to the old bag? It can’t be easy for her, coming to this strange new country, especially when she hardly speaks the language.”

“I guess.” It was true, I hadn’t had much sympathy for the Pillsbury Doughlady. Not that I thought she deserved it.

Jeremy reached for my hand again, and this time I didn’t hit him. “You know what you need? A big bucket of popcorn, some milk balls, and a cheesy double feature on a Saturday afternoon,” Jeremy said. “My place.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling a little unsettled. Now that I knew Jeremy thought I was such an immature baby, I wasn’t feeling as confident about taking that next step with him. What if he made fun of me when I didn’t know what I was doing between the sheets?

“Anything you want to… see?” Jeremy said, giving me a look that made me suspect we might not make it to the second feature.

“I’ll trust your judgment,” I said, hoping I could. And not just about the movie.

***

When I knocked on the Dahl House door, I almost swallowed the gum I was chewing when a tall, gorgeous black guy in a tank top opened the door. His biceps were enormous, like he’d stuffed a pair of double C padded bras under his epidermis, and his head was perfectly bald. He was like the African-American Mr. Clean. “May I help you?” he said in a deep, English-accented voice. So, really, the African-British Mr. Clean.

“I’m Erin,” I squeaked, wondering if I’d ended up on the wrong lot somehow.

“Let her in,” Madison yelled from somewhere inside the trailer, and the muscle man politely ushered me in.

“Benny, meet Erin. And vice versa,” Madison said, not even looking up. She was standing in the middle of the Dahl House, looking down at a pile of enormous rubber bands with handles on them. “Benny is my new trainer. He’s from London.”

“Manchester, actually,” Benny explained.

“Don’t you love to hear him talk?” Madison said, looking up and beaming at me.

“New trainer? I didn’t know you had an old trainer,” I said, staring at the rubber bands myself.

Benny picked up one of the bands, clutching a plastic grip in each hand with one foot holding the middle of the band to the floor. “Before you can handle free weights, you work up to it with these,” he said to Madison before he handed her his own rubber band. “You try it.” Then Benny looked me up and down and handed me a rubber band as well. “And you, too.” He sounded like he meant business.

Benny walked over to Madison’s stereo, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and plugged it into the speaker. Really old hip hop music, like C+C Music Factory, came blaring out. It was practically older than I was, but I’ll admit, it was catchy.

But before I could tap my feet, Benny was leading Madison and me in a workout. “And count to three. One, two, three, and down,” he said, demonstrating a bicep curl for us to follow. I wouldn’t have thought a rubber band would be much of a challenge, but the more I pulled, the more it fought me.

“Feel the resistance,” Benny yelled over the music. “And keep breathing!”

For the next ten minutes, the three of us worked our quads, our lats, our glutes (don’t ask), our abs, and a whole lot of other muscles that had short, ridiculous names. Whenever I looked at Madison, her face was flushed red from the effort and her scrawny arms were shaking. But she never once complained.

“And now, it’s time for cardio,” Benny said with a grin, tossing down his rubber band.

I looked down at my outfit. I’d been willing to kick off my shoes for an impromptu work-out, but no way was I getting my good Free People sweater dress all sweaty. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get home.”

“Can we take a break, Benny?” Madison whined. “I just want to talk to my friend for a minute.”

Benny scowled but nodded. “Ten minutes, that’s it. And you have to earn the break with fifty extra jumping jacks.”

Madison and I watched as Benny walked out of the Dahl House and shut the door. “Isn’t he hot?” Madison asked me. “He’s going to get me ripped for my hiatus movie. Caitlin says I might be able to audition for the new Michael Bay movie.”

“Didn’t he direct, like ‘Transformers’?” I wrinkled my nose.

Madison shrugged. “He does lots of action stuff. And it should be better than that dumb teen movie. Marginally.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t beg for that Ang Lee gig,” I sighed.

“Please, let’s not fight anymore,” Madison pleaded. “My stomach can’t handle it. And you should be glad I’m doing something healthy.”

“You didn’t eat much at The Ivy,” I recalled.

“I know, Mom. I didn’t want to get sidetracked thinking about calories and stuff, that’s all,” Madison said. “I ate when I got home, promise.”

I hadn’t been keeping such great tabs on Madison’s anorexia, I had to admit, so I crossed my fingers and hoped that Benny could handle the dirty work of keeping Madison healthy. “Be careful or I’ll send my ajumma over to force feed you,” I joked. “She’d love to have a project.”

Madison narrowed her eyes, thinking. “We’ve got to find a way to run her out of town, you know,” she said. “Otherwise, she’ll ruin your life.”

“If you’ve got any ideas, let me know.”

Madison smiled. “Not right now, but give me time,” she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “I will.”

***

It felt like an eternity passed before the weekend rolled around. And even though I was feeling a little tense about being alone with Jeremy, I couldn’t wait to be almost anywhere that wasn’t my house for a while. Just the grind of eating dinner with my dad and Miss Do each night was putting me completely on edge. Miss Do would only address me by my Korean name, and she’d purse her lips every time I spoke without my dad’s permission or clacked my silverware on my plate. It was like eating with a grumpy Korean Martha Stewart.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Jeremy growled as I walked into his apartment, pulling me into a kiss. “Butter or light?”

I was wondering if this was some sort of kinky come on until he shook two bags of microwave popcorn in front of my face. “Oh, light,” I said, relieved.

“Now, I looked through Netflix and Hulu, so I’m pretty sure there’s something here you’ll like,” he said, dragging me by the hand into the living room. The place was spotless. Cushions neatly arranged on the blue IKEA futon sofa, no dirty dishes in the sink, not a single book out of place on the rows and rows of shelves lining the walls. Either Jeremy had done a deep clean prior to my arrival, or he was the tidiest straight guy in the universe.

“I know you don’t like art films, so I tried to find mainstream movies I thought we both could agree on,” Jeremy said quickly. He was talking so fast I could barely understand him. “I found ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,’ ‘Alien,’ ‘L.A. Confidential,’ ‘8 Mile,’ and some other stuff, too.” He slapped himself in the forehead, wincing. “Crap. I didn’t ask you what you want to drink. What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever,” I said. He seemed nervous, which made me really nervous. Because then there was no doubt in my mind about what he was expecting from me.

“You don’t know what I have to drink, do you?” Jeremy said, wincing again. “Can you tell I don’t entertain much?”

I was about to say I was pretty sure he’d entertained Marlene, his ex-girlfriend, but I held my tongue. No reason to bring up the past when it was blonde and beautiful.

After revealing his vast beverage selection (water and Diet Coke), Jeremy finally brought me a soda, and after about fifteen minutes of hemming and hawing we decided on “Alien,” which I’d never seen. Not that I was likely to see it now, at least not all the way through.

I sat down on the sofa, watching Jeremy move around the kitchen as the bag of popcorn jittered and expanded in the microwave. He grinned at me when I finally caught his eye, then searched around for a bowl, opening cupboard after cupboard like he didn’t even know his own kitchen.

God, it was so weird sitting there. On the surface, everything was normal. I was hanging out with my boyfriend, getting ready to watch a movie. It was a recipe for the most boring afternoon you could hope for. But I felt like I was about to do something huge and irreversible and scary, like naked bungy jumping or getting a neck tattoo.

I tried to calm myself down by focusing on all the things I liked about Jeremy. His thick hair fell in a silky black curtain over his forehead, the muscles in his back rippled under his long-sleeved Henley as he flung open the cabinet doors. He was so good looking sometimes I couldn’t believe he really liked me, especially when he could have someone like Marlene.

The microwave dinged, and Jeremy pulled out the bag with his fingertips. “Hot, hot, hot!” he muttered, pouring the popcorn into the bowl. I could feel my palms sweating, and I rubbed them against my jeans. It was almost showtime. And I wasn’t thinking about the movie.

Jeremy sat down next to me on the sofa and picked up the remote. I wish I could tell you anything about ‘Alien,’ because I’ve heard it’s a good movie. But I couldn’t concentrate. All I could focus on was Jeremy’s arm around my shoulder, the warmth of his body next to mine.

And then, just as the first slimy monster exploded out of some guy’s chest, Jeremy started kissing me.

It wasn’t like the soul rocking kiss we’d had the night of the Charity Action party. It was rougher, more insistent. Hungrier. I felt his hands fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, reaching under the waistband of my jeans. He pushed me back on the futon, one hand roughly gripping my neck.

I swallowed hard as he took off his Henley and tossed it on the floor, then unbuckled his belt, ripping it through the loops of his jeans. Everything was moving so much faster than I thought it would. I’d imagined hours of making out, gentle kisses, hand holding. I’d imagined an afternoon with smooth, suave Jeremy. I tried to remind myself this wasn’t a stupid, childish fantasy, that this was real life. But I didn’t care. This wasn’t what I wanted, not at all.

“Whoa, pardner,” I said, trying to sound playful instead of unnerved. “Can we slow down a little?”

Jeremy froze, eyes wide. “God, I’m so sorry,” he said, looking relieved and mortified at the same time. “I don’t know what I was thinking. First time, you know…”

“First time?” The way he said it made me think he wasn’t talking about the first time with me. It sounded like he meant the first time with anyone, ever.

“Oh, uh, with a new person,” he stuttered, swooping in for another kiss. This time, he was gentler, but I was so distracted by my own thoughts his improved technique barely registered.

Was Jeremy a virgin? The fact that we’d never discussed it, that I’d assumed he was experienced, made me wonder about all the other things I’d taken for granted in our relationship. Just because we liked the same movies and the same music didn’t mean we really knew each other, not in the ways that counted.

Jeremy started kissing my neck. It felt good, I guess, but it was almost as if I was standing outside of myself and watching him make out with someone else. I kept looking over his shoulder, distracted by a thousand weird, random thoughts. Where’s his roommate? I wonder what it will feel like. Does he have gel in his hair? Hey, he has the Lord of the Rings box set.

I wonder why I’m so not into this.

I had thought I really wanted to be with Jeremy. And I knew he expected something to happen, something I wasn’t ready for, at least not right this minute. But he already thought I was kind of a kid, and slamming on the brakes wasn’t going to improve his opinion of me. Wait, who was I kidding? The truth was he’d probably dump me. The thought of losing him was so awful I could feel it, a stabbing, searing pain in my chest. Maybe I was being stupid about this. I could close my eyes, think happy thoughts. Be a grown-up. Get it over with.

Still, even if I’d given up on an over-the-top Hollywood fantasy unfolding with mood music and candlelight, I still didn’t want my first time to be something I slogged through like running laps in Phys Ed. I remembered how Madison had described her first experience, drunk in the back of a limo. I thought of her voice, sad and soft, her eyes focused on something she remembered and wanted to forget.

I closed my own eyes, put my hands on Jeremy’s shoulders, and pushed him away.

“I’m really sorry.” I was afraid to look at him. Was he angry? Exasperated? I couldn’t bear to find out. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Was I rushing you?” Jeremy asked, his face wrinkled with worry. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No. It’s just… can we watch the movie, maybe?” I felt tired suddenly, as if the effort of saying no was simply too great.

Jeremy leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. A kiss for grandmas and babies. I tried not to fixate on it. “Of course,” he said, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. We both looked at the screen, where a gigantic monster that resembled a walking cockroach was drooling acid from its enormous head. “Maybe we can watch something else, though.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “Alien” had seemed fun a little while ago, but now the monster looked too scary, even in broad daylight.

We channel surfed for a few minutes, but I could tell Jeremy was getting antsy, squirming on the futon and flipping through channels so quickly neither of us could tell what was on. I didn’t feel comfortable, either. There was too much unsaid between us, too much I didn’t know how to say. I wanted to say I was sorry, that I wanted to get closer to him but not right now. I wanted to find out what he was thinking.

Instead, I said, “I have a lot of stuff to get done. I should go.”

But I didn’t really want to go. I wanted him to argue with me. I wanted him to say, “Please stay with me. Let me hold you.” That was the fantasy, at least.

What I got instead was just more hard, cold reality. “Yeah,” he sighed, eyes glued to the television set. “I’m swamped, too.”

He stood up and quickly walked to the door, as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I blinked away tears while pretending to look for my purse. God, if I burst out sobbing right then all I would need to complete the picture would be a pacifier and a baby bonnet. Could I be more pathetic? “Okay, I’m good,” I said, finally pulling my bag out from behind the chair where I’d known it had been all along.

“Alright,” Jeremy said, staring at his feet. “Give me a call.”

I walked to the door, desperately racking my brain for the right thing to say. “I love you,” was too much. “Maybe next time?” was too glib. Finally, I mumbled, “Okay.” Yeah, that’s me, smooth as silk.

There was a quick peck, an awkward hug, and finally, I was in my car, driving home. Yes, home. The last place I wanted to be an hour ago.

I thought about calling Jenna, or Madison, or even going to the mall or the library to kill some time. But, as much as I didn’t want to deal with Dad or Miss Do, I really wanted to be alone in my room. It was the only place where I could think without distractions, and I had a lot to think about. What was wrong with me? Why was this so hard? Jeremy wasn’t the first guy who’s witnessed me chicken out at the last possible minute. And now I wasn’t even sure he’d be the last.

I tiptoed through the front door and snuck past the living room to my bedroom. Maybe, if I was lucky, no one would even know I was home.

I crept into my room, jamming my desk chair under the doorknob. I fell onto my mattress and grabbed a pillow, stuffing it under my chin as I peered around my room. Actually, it wasn’t even my room anymore, since Victoria was now sleeping on an inflatable mattress next to the closet to make room for the Pillsbury Doughlady, but whatever. It was all of my stuff, at least. And most of it seemed so hopelessly childish.

After my mom died, I couldn’t bring myself to throw out anything she’d given me. So I still had my old sticker collection, books like “Charlotte’s Web” and “The Chronicles of Narnia,” even some lame poster of a kid surrounded by puppies from when I was small. The thought of putting them away always felt like erasing my mom’s memory. But maybe if I did, I’d feel a little more like an adult.

I started pulling books off the shelves and gathering up knickknacks, making a pile on the middle of my bed. I don’t know how long it took, since every few minutes I’d stumble across something that reminded me of a time I’d spent with my mom or something she’d said, and I’d just stare into space, remembering. I found myself wondering what my mom would say about my life today. Would she be proud of me? Or was she turning in her grave, like my dad thought she was?

I was lost in my mental ramblings when I heard the door rattle against my desk chair. “Who in there?” Miss Do barked.

“Me,” I said, wondering if the Pillsbury Doughlady was completely stupid. Who else would be in my room?

“Laundry, put in drawers,” she answered, rattling the door again.

I reluctantly pulled away the desk chair and opened the door for her. I couldn’t really argue with clean laundry. As much as I disliked having a babysitter/spy, I had to admit that the house looked a lot better since she had arrived. The thin layer of dust that used to cover every table and windowsill was gone, the bathroom shower sparkled, and the house always smelled faintly of pine-scented cleaner. I hated to say it, but it hadn’t even been that clean when Mom was alive.

Miss Do nodded at me and walked over to my dresser, carefully putting down a pile of T-shirts. She turned to leave, then spotted my big pile of kiddy crap in the middle of the bed. “What you do?” she asked, tilting her head to the side like a little dog.

“I’m putting stuff away,” I said with a shrug.

Miss Do’s brow crinkled. “You home. Not studying with friend.”

Clearly, the woman wasn’t going to leave me alone. “We got done early.”

“And you clean?” Miss Do hadn’t been living with us for very long, but long enough to figure out that neither me nor Victoria had any interest in picking up after ourselves or scrubbing the bathroom tile for sport. I might as well have just admitted to knocking over a liquor store.

“All of this is stuff my mom gave me,” I admitted. “And I want to put it away.”

Miss Do picked up a stuffed cow my mom had given me for my birthday when I was five. “You want not think of mother?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, this is all kid stuff.” I picked up a box of Legos to make the point. “I’ve outgrown it.”

Miss Do nodded. “Yes. But not throw away. Keep.”

“It’s all going into a box,” I said, wishing Miss Do would go back to scrubbing something and leave me alone. “For safe keeping.”

“Good.” Miss Do put down the cow. “Mothers, they live here.” She pointed towards her heart. “Your mother safe here already. With God. My mother, also.”

I stared at Miss Do. It was weird to think about her having a mom, or even being my age once. She seemed like someone who had been hatched from an egg, fully formed and middle-aged. And now she was being nice to me. It made me feel pretty awful for calling her the Pillsbury Doughlady.

“Thanks,” I muttered, looking at my box of Legos. For some reason, I wanted to cry.

Miss Do patted the pile of T-shirts on the dresser and actually smiled at me. “Weekend. Pyonhi shwida.”

I watched in amazement as Miss Do walked out the door, gently shutting it behind her. The spy whose mission in life was to make sure I was all schoolwork and no play was telling me to relax. Too bad I couldn’t take her advice. Putting all my playthings in a box and shoving it under the bed hadn’t solved my problem. Even though there wasn’t any physical evidence around, I still felt like a stupid little girl. And in my heart (where, apparently, my mom, Miss Do’s mom and God had set up camp), I suspected Jeremy was starting to see me the same way.

***

“This sucks so hard,” Madison mumbled as I climbed into the black Lincoln Towncar driving us to the airport. “You are so lucky you’re my best friend.”

Madison was pissed at me not for anything I did, but because we weren’t alone. Hot on my heels was Miss Do, wearing a weird knitted hat and carrying a big pink handbag that looked like it was made out of a vinyl car seat. I guess you could say that the good news was Madison had sweet talked my dad into letting me go to New York. The bad news was he insisted we bring Miss Do along.

“I pay for Miss Do’s ticket, give you money for her expenses,” Dad had vowed when Madison made her pitch over Wednesday night dinner. “She big help, you see. Make sure your outfit clean and pressed for premiere.”

“They have people who do that at the hotel,” Madison countered. “And I’m sure the Parker Meridien is totally booked.”

“No problem,” my dad shot back. “Miss Do sleep on roll-out bed. You all stay together. Like slumber party.”

My dad grinned at all of us, but even Miss Do looked queasy. All she had to do was glance at Madison’s face and know that Madison was going to make the trip to New York as hellish for her as possible. Well, maybe she didn’t know that exactly, but I sure did.

Inside the Towncar, Madison took one look at Miss Do and rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide her contempt. “God, doesn’t she have any better clothes, Erin?” she grumbled.

“She understands English, Madison,” I grumbled back. I wasn’t a fan of Miss Do, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t see a reason to be mean, at least not to her face.

Madison crossed her arms over her chest and sulked all the way to LAX. Since her pissy mood certainly didn’t improve after one of the security guards asked for her autograph (after he’d given her bag an extra thorough search, of course), I decided to call Jeremy after we arrived at the gate and Miss Do had waddled off in search of a bathroom.

I hadn’t really had time to say goodbye to Jeremy, and since our disastrous weekend things had been weird between us. Not break-up weird, just… awkward. Like, we were suddenly nervous around each other in a way we never had been before.

I stared at the phone. Maybe the thought of me getting on a plane and flying 3,000 miles away would make his heart grow fonder. But no such luck.

“Hey,” he said casually, as if I was one of his college buddies.

“I’m off to the airport,” I said, adding. “I won’t be back until Sunday night.”

“Have a good time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Like tell him I wanted to make things better? That I didn’t know why things were so weird?

“Okay,” I said instead, hanging up the phone.

“Who was that?” Madison asked warily.

“Jeremy.” I braced myself for the cutting remark that was sure to come.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Madison asked, looking genuinely concerned. “That’s not how boyfriends and girlfriends talk to each other.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied. “He’s just not really chatty over the phone.”

Madison smirked. “Yeah, he keeps sounding better and better, Erin.”

We hadn’t even gotten on the plane yet, but I could already tell it was going to be a long flight.

***

If you’ve never been to New York City before, prepare yourself when you go (and trust me, you should go). Simply being in Manhattan is a total adrenaline rush, even when you’re only checking it out from the cab window. In Los Angeles, you hardly ever see pedestrians unless you’re at an outdoor mall or the beach or something. But in New York, it seems like the whole city is out on the sidewalk, pushing and shoving and yelling into their phones. Everyone is moving, and the whole city feels like it’s alive, a living and breathing thing. L.A. is a sleepy suburb in comparison.

We pulled up to our hotel, and as the doorman grabbed our bags, Madison whispered in my ear. “We’re going to lose your babysitter. I have a plan.”

I looked at Miss Do, who was climbing out of the back of the taxi, clutching her ugly purse and scanning the sidewalk for would-be muggers. She looked so out of her element, almost scared, that I felt bad for her. But I was down with Madison. If there was some way to ditch the Do, I was game.

The hotel suite at the Parker Meridien (oh, I’m sorry, it’s Le Parker Meridien, oui oui!) was really cool looking, all modern furniture and slick wood walls with a big desk and a monster TV, but it wasn’t exactly big. There was a sofa, but it didn’t look that comfortable to sleep on, and I was pretty sure Madison wasn’t going to make any special effort to get Miss Do a roll-out bed whether or not they actually had them.

“New York like Seoul,” Miss Do said as we looked around the room. “People drive crazy, and everything crowded.”

“Whatever,” Madison sighed under her breath. “But this is your room, guys. I have a suite down the hall.” She waved an electronic room key at me.

“No fair!” I yelped. I was going to be stuck solo with Miss Do while Madison partied until the wee hours.

Miss Do looked at Madison a long time, completely expressionless. It was kind of spooky, like she was frozen or something. The funny thing was it completely creeped out Madison. She started pacing the room like a caged animal, looking anywhere but at the Pillsbury Doughlady.

“Maybe you want to freshen up before we eat?” Madison finally mumbled in Miss Do’s general direction.

“Good idea.” Miss Do, still clutching her goofy pink purse, wandered off to the bathroom. Madison grabbed my arm the minute the door clicked shut.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” she whispered. “We ask Clive to pretend that I have a really important meeting with a big-time producer, and we tell her she can’t come with us because it’s top secret.”

“She’ll tell my dad,” I countered. “And he’ll want to know why she couldn’t come along.” For a plan Madison had been working on all through a five-hour flight, I wasn’t impressed.

“Then I’ll ask one of the ‘Family Style’ guys to lie for me. Hell, I might even get a meeting with some Broadway producer anyway, so it wouldn’t even be a lie.”

“Yeah, but what about me?” I wasn’t surprised that Madison had left me out of her plot.

“You have to come with me to take notes.”

“That’s lame,” I groaned. “My dad isn’t completely stupid, you know.”

Madison squinted, as if she was trying to squeeze an idea out of her head by sheer force. “You have to come with me because… the producers are gross old pervs and I need your protection.”

“Then my dad really won’t want me to go to the meeting.”

“Ooh, I’ve got it!” Madison said, a little too loudly. When the bathroom door didn’t open, she continued in a softer voice. “They want you for a part, too.”

“I’m not an actress, duh.”

Madison shook her head. “Hear me out. It’s not even a lie, really. I’ve always wanted to do this, and maybe it’s the right time. Especially after that article about how we’re, like, the whitest show on television.

I didn’t like the sound of that, but my curiosity won out over my suspicion. “Alright. Talk.”

“I want the writers to create a character based on you. So, it wouldn’t really be like acting. You’d just, you know, be you.”

I almost laughed. “Who in their right mind would watch me being me? I’m not that interesting.”

Madison nudged me, grinning. “Oh, come on. Your mom died, and now you’ve got this crazy Korean babysitter. And sure, the writers would pump it up for dramatic effect, but they’d make it good, I promise. They’d really explore what it’s like to be Korean-American.”

I shook my head. Madison was acting like being Korean was some cool, exotic thing, when she didn’t have a clue. She didn’t know what it was like for me when kids would say I was a witch after seeing a bottle of kimchi or call me “chink” because they thought I was Chinese. Madison was able to drop into my life and feel daring because she ate Korean barbeque once in a while. But then she was able to go back to her white bread world. She was able to outgrow her headgear and braces, the things that made her different. I was Korean forever.

And the truth was, I didn’t want to dwell on it. And especially not on national TV.

“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. “You’re insane.”

Madison sighed heavily. “Look, we don’t have to have a meeting for real if you don’t want to. It’s just an excuse to get out of the hotel. But at least tell me you’ll think about it.”

At just that moment, Miss Do emerged from the bathroom. She hadn’t changed, or put on any make-up, or done anything that indicated she was any fresher than she had been that morning. But at least she had good timing. God knows I didn’t want to keep talking about Madison’s crazy ideas for my non-acting career.

Madison looked at Miss Do as if the woman was an unsightly boil that had appeared on her upper lip.

“We eat now?” Miss Do asked, though it sounded more like a demand.

Madison glared at her, then reached for the hotel directory. “I’m ordering a pizza,” she grumbled. “No way will we get a table at a decent restaurant when one of us is dressed in a cotton tablecloth.”

If Miss Do understood what Madison was saying, she didn’t let on. She just walked over to the sofa with her big pink handbag, sat down, and stared into space. I looked at the Pillsbury Doughlady and her worn shoes, her bad hair, her ugly knitted hat. Even though I felt kind of bad for her, I had to admit it. She was a mess. I remembered what Madison had said about creating a character just like me, ajumma and all.

Yeah, right. As if she wasn’t embarrassing enough in real life.

***

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of an iron hissing. Miss Do was standing over the hotel room’s folding ironing board in her nightgown, pressing another faded cotton housedress. It was summer clothing, and I’d noticed on the flight that her coat was paper thin (for all I knew it really was paper), too. But what could I do about it? I certainly wasn’t going to loan her mine. It wasn’t like she’d fit in it anyway.

“Good morning,” she said, never looking up from her work. “You need iron?”

I shook my head. I made a point of not wearing clothes that needed ironing, and the last thing I wanted was a crease in my jeans. “No, thanks.”

I pulled open the blinds and looked down on what I assumed to be Central Park. It was stunning. High rise buildings bordered a perfect rectangle of trees like a picture frame; the fall leaves a cacophony of red, yellow and mahogany. From the twenty-first floor, the city almost seemed small. I couldn’t wait to explore every corner of it.

I wandered down the hall in my pajamas. “Get dressed,” I barked through Madison’s door. “I don’t want to spend my first trip to New York City watching the city through my hotel window.”

Amazingly, the door popped open. Madison stood there fully dressed. “Me, neither,” she said simply.

Back in my room, Madison and I wolfed down some tepid leftover pizza from the night before while Miss Do stared at us like we were rabid hyenas. It was time to see the sights.

“Oh crap, hold on,” Madison said as I opened the door to leave. She quickly stuffed her hair under a baseball cap and put on some big, googly sunglasses. “Recognize me?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” I joked. But it turned out that, even if people did recognize Madison, hardly anyone bothered her while we were sightseeing. Maybe the paparazzi hadn’t gotten the memo she’d switched coasts for a while.

“We’re really close to the Empire State Building,” I said as we looked over the map we’d gotten at the front desk when we checked in, but Madison pouted.

“I want to go to the top of the Statue of Liberty.”

Miss Do cleared her throat. “We go both if we go present time,” she said. “Empire State close, we go, yes?”

Madison narrowed her eyes. “Whatever. But we hit the Statue of Liberty after that.”

We got to the Empire State Building just as it was opening, so the line wasn’t awful. But we had other things to worry about. Like Miss Do dying of sticker shock.

I bought our tickets and handed one to Miss Do, who looked at the price on it and scowled at me. “For elevator trip? Nomu pissayo!”

Of course, it was too expensive, but what did she care? It wasn’t coming out of her paycheck. I didn’t bother trying to be nice to Miss Do after that.

When we got to the 86th floor, Madison and I did our best to push through the crowd and see the city from every angle. Miss Do trailed us, but I noticed she tried to stay as far away from the windows as possible. When we went onto the outdoor observation deck, she didn’t follow. “I think Miss Do’s afraid of heights,” I screamed to Madison over the howling wind.

“Good!” Madison screamed back. “Let’s make her climb the Statue of Liberty and watch her cry!”

I didn’t argue.

From there we wandered through Greenwich Village, taking pictures of ourselves at the arch in Washington Square Park (you’ve seen it in movies, trust me), roamed around Bleecker Street, and stumbled across this cute clothing store called Purdy Girl on Thompson Street. “Oh my God, I love this!” Madison cooed, holding up an orange and pink print off-the-shoulder top.

I looked over my shoulder at Miss Do, who’d been quietly following us through the city like a silent but deadly fashion don’t. Inside Purdy Girl, I watched as she picked up a pair of shoes, looked at the price tag, and… well, you know that painting “The Scream”? It was kind of like that. If the Empire State Building tickets were simply frivolous to her, these shoes were a mortal sin.

“Five hundred dollar?” she whispered to me, eyes wide. “For shoes?”

Her eyes strayed to the counter where Madison was making her purchases. Miss Do’s lips pursed with what I could only assume was distaste. To Miss Do we were spoiled, rich Americans. Or at least Madison was.

Madison walked over to where Miss Do and I were standing, swinging her bag of goodies back and forth. “What’s next? Lunch? Statue of Liberty? Or more shopping?”

Miss Do suddenly dropped her silent act. “Ground Zero,” she said simply, pointing to the crumpled map in her hand.

Madison wrinkled her nose, as if the very suggestion smelled bad. “You’ve got to be kidding. That is such a drag.”

I stared at Madison, incredulous. I had wanted to see where the World Trade Center used to be, too. I remember learning about the Twin Towers in school, and my mom talked to me about watching the buildings come down on TV, how afraid she’d been. The memory made her pull me into a hug, one I could still feel for its urgency and warmth if I closed my eyes.

Apparently, Madison didn’t have such vivid memories. “Look,” she continued when she saw my shocked expression. “This is supposed to be fun, not a school field trip.”

“I think we should go,” I said firmly. “You can shop in L.A. It’s all the same stuff.”

Madison pouted. “Not exactly the same.”

As Madison and I trudged towards the Financial District, I looked behind us to make sure Miss Do was keeping up. The wind was blowing hard, and I thought I should make sure her thin summer clothes hadn’t ripped right off her body.

Miss Do was still there, clutching her shoddy paper coat closed around her neck as she walked. She looked at me, then nodded slightly. An acknowledgment, I guess, for demanding we visit Ground Zero.

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded back, then quickly turned around. Every time I’d totally written off Miss Do, she had to go and do something that made me like her a little bit. God, she was annoying.

At Ground Zero, there were a lot of people waiting to get into the museum. It was eerily quiet. Some people just stood around, staring into space. A guy sat on the curb, selling photos of the towers in flames. One old woman with short gray hair held a handkerchief to her face and silently cried.

Miss Do didn’t try to read the names on the memorial. She stared at the deep, black recesses in the ground, and was dead still for a minute. Then, she lowered her head and began muttering under her breath. She was praying.

I don’t know why, but seeing her praying over Ground Zero, really floored me. I mean, if you’re American, September 11 is sort of huge, whether or not you actually knew anyone who died. It’s this big national tragedy that’s burned into everyone’s brains (at least everyone but Madison). I’m sure each country has its own horrible flashbulb moment like that, but I’d be hard pressed to name any of them. I got good grades in history, but after final exams everything pretty much leaked out of my brain.

Looking at Miss Do, I realized that I had no idea what Korea’s big tragedy might be. World War II? The Korean War? And did they even call it the Korean War over there? I knew so little about what Korea was like. But it seemed like Miss Do knew more about my country than I did about hers. Or really, I guess, ours.

Madison tugged on my sleeve. “Oh my God, this is our chance,” she hissed into my ear. “She won’t even notice if we ditch her.”

I shoved Madison’s arm away. “Stop being so mean,” I hissed back. “And show some respect. People died here.” Madison’s eyes widened, so I guess I must have looked really mad. But I was. I couldn’t explain why, but I didn’t want to, anyway. Madison, perfect white bread Madison, would never understand.

We were quiet for a little while. Eventually Madison rolled her eyes under her goofy cap and muttered, “People die everywhere, every day. But fine. If you want a babysitter, who am I to say no?”

I turned back and looked at Miss Do, who was still praying for lost souls. I wondered if maybe she was slipping in a good word for Madison and me. The weird thing is, I kind of hoped she did.

***

After the 9/11 Memorial, we made a pit stop at Designers Promise. Designers Promise is this discount designer clothing warehouse not far from where the towers stood. I could tell there was tons of great stuff, but it felt a little weird to be shopping for bargains right next to a place where so many people had died. Of course, I appeared to be the only person who felt that way. The store, which was small anyway, was overflowing with people tearing through the racks and trying on clothes in the middle of the floor. And Madison didn’t hesitate to dive right in.

“Ooh, Badgley Mischka,” Madison cooed at a sparkling dress she pulled out of a crowded rack.

I glanced at the other dresses, then spotted Miss Do out of the corner of my eye. She had on her creepy, expressionless doll face, but somehow, I still felt like I’d been caught doing something wrong. “Don’t we need to get back to the hotel soon?” I asked. “To get ready?”

Madison looked at her watch and gasped. “Oh my God! You’re so right. And we didn’t even get to the Statue of Liberty.” Madison shrugged. “Well, she’ll be there for a while, right? And this dress won’t be. I mean, at this price, I could wear it once and throw it away, you know?”

I swear I saw Miss Do’s mouth purse a little when Madison said that. I almost wanted to apologize, or at least tell Miss Do that Madison would never throw away a perfectly good dress, that she was just joking around.

I knew that foreigners sometimes hate Americans for all the good things we have. Proof of that was just across the street. I was sure Miss Do thought Madison and I had no idea how lucky we were. Part of me wanted to dismiss everything Miss Do thought and stood for as nonsense, the twisted beliefs of someone who was sort of backward, old-fashioned and judgmental.

But part of me sometimes (just sometimes, mind you) thought she might be right.

Madison stared at Miss Do for a minute, as if taking a mental picture. Then she quickly scanned the racks, found a dress, and flung it at Miss Do. “Is this your size? You need something to wear tonight.”

Miss Do shook her head. “I cannot accept.”

Madison glared at her. “You have to. And get a coat, too. Five minutes.”

Miss Do just stood there, so Madison picked out a pretty nice blue dress and a coat. “I’m guessing you’re a 14 or something,” she snapped, then ran off to get in line.

It was a nice gesture, kind of. But I already knew Madison was wasting her money.

***

Back at the hotel, we gobbled down some room service (hamburgers all around, even for Miss Do). Then Madison and I scrambled to get dressed (and avoid Miss Do’s criticizing eyes)

“Miss Do, why aren’t you changing?” Madison asked, staring at her.

“I cannot accept,” Miss Do replied.

“It’s a gift. Come on,” Madison pleaded. “Don’t you want to look nice tonight?”

Miss Do just sat quietly on the bed, ignoring us. Madison looked like she was going to strangle her, but fortunately for Miss Do’s lifespan we were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Our date!” Madison squealed, scrambling for the door.

“Aren’t you gorgeous!” Clive said, bursting into the room.

Clive planted a big, wet kiss on Madison’s cheek, then swept me into a bear hug. Behind us, Miss Do cleared her throat.

“And who is this vision of loveliness?” Clive said, stepping towards Miss Do.

I grabbed the back of Clive’s shirt and held on. “Don’t touch her, Clive,” I warned. Clive couldn’t know it was really disrespectful in Korean culture to try to shake hands with someone who’s older, but it was. And Miss Do was definitely older than Clive.

To Clive’s credit, he takes direction well. He clapped his hands together under his chin and bowed. “So very nice to meet you,” he said in a quieter voice.

Miss Do quickly nodded her head in response. “Nice to meet you,” she replied.

“So, everyone ready for the big event?” Clive grinned but gave me a “what the hell?” look when he caught my eye. I shrugged. There would be plenty of time to explain later. Right now, we had to get Madison and Clive down the red carpet.

***

In the limo (Madison’s producer Jasper had very nicely sent one around to pick us up, even though we could have totally walked since it was less than a mile), I stared at Miss Do. She was still in her knit hat and ugly green coat, her pink purse sitting in her lap while her pretty blue dress languished on a hangar back in our room. I didn’t get why she had to be so stubborn. Especially when her outfit was such an embarrassment for the rest of us.

Madison was checking out Miss Do, too. “Look, when I do the red carpet, can you just skip the line and go inside?” she whispered to me as she slipped me the VIP tickets. “Pretend like you don’t know me.”

I nodded. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. It was one thing to try to ditch Miss Do at Ground Zero. That was just mean. But here, God forbid the old bag end up in a photo with Madison. What would the tabloids make of that? Would they assume she’s researching a role, or think she’s dragging her maid to events? Or would they cook up something more sinister and suggest Miss Do was a rehab advisor who forced Madison to eat? Sounds nuts, I know, but that’s Hollywood.

Clive looked out the window as we approached the theater. “I guess New York events are just like Los Angeles events,” he sighed. “Except the weather’s colder.”

Clive was dead on. I stared out the window at the crowd, an even mix of tourists with video cameras and paparazzi with bulky digital cameras. Considering they both wore the same tacky T-shirts and out-of-style jeans, there was only one sure fire way to tell the difference between them. The tourists looked excited. The paparazzi looked desperate.

It was all the usual glitz except this time it took place underneath one of those brightly lit Broadway theater marquees. “Like You Like It” stood out in big, neon letters. Time for another fabulous entrance.

Madison and Clive gracefully slid out of the limo, holding hands. I guess Madison had finally found it in her heart to forgive Clive for lying about being gay, but I wasn’t surprised. I honestly think it’s impossible to stay mad at Clive. To this day he’s still one of my favorite people, especially considering all the crazy stuff we’ve been through together.

I slid across the seat to hop out of the car but stopped when I noticed Miss Do sitting completely still. Her eyes were glued on the wall of people outside the car, as if they were strange and rare sea creatures or something.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

Miss Do looked at me. “What is all this?”

I saw the driver turn around to look at us, probably wondering why we were holding up the limo drop. “It’s the premiere. We’re going to see that musical I told you about.” I hoped to God there were no dirty parts in it.

Miss Do nodded, then continued staring out the window, not moving.

“We have to go,” I pleaded. “There are cars waiting.”

As if on cue, a car honked behind us. Great. But that was apparently the hint Miss Do needed because she slowly started moving towards the door, clutching her stupid purse like a teddy bear. I didn’t get it. Why was she so scared, anyway?

“This is fun, I promise,” I said, hopping out onto the sidewalk and looking back into the limo. Miss Do peered out the door like a timid turtle.

“Okay,” she said simply, and put a foot on the curb.

I knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but I offered her my hand. It’s something guys usually do, I know, but it’s sometimes hard to get out of a limo and I didn’t want Miss Do to take a header into the curb or anything.

Miss Do looked at my hand as if she was trying to figure out if it was bad form to accept the help. Then she grabbed it, holding on tight as she struggled to her feet.

Her hand was cold and dry in mine. She only held on for a second, quickly letting go to resume her death grip on that pink purse. But somehow it made me feel good, knowing that I had offered to help her in some small way, and that she had accepted.

On the sidewalk, she just stood there, looking around like a lost little kid. Tonight, it was pretty clear she wasn’t going to be the babysitter. I was.

I looked towards the red carpet, where Madison and Clive were grinning into a sea of flashbulbs. The paparazzi were screaming for them, and the noise was deafening. Madison and Clive looked like two perfect blond dolls, Barbie and Ken at a premiere or something. Madison was wearing the beaded dress from Designers Promise, the one she could throw away later tonight if she wanted to. As much as I thought I lived in her world, I didn’t, not really.

I noticed that when I emerged from the limo, the few paparazzi still standing around groaned and started looking for another car to chase. To them, I was no different than Miss Do. After all, Korean girls are never A-list stars, right?

I turned to Miss Do. “I have our tickets,” I explained, showing them to her in case she couldn’t hear me. “We’re going to walk around the red carpet, then go inside the theater and see the show. It’ll be fun. Okay?”

Miss Do nodded and we headed into the theater. For the first time that day, we walked side by side.

***

When I tell you the Gershwin Theater is huge, I mean it. Like, almost 2,000 seats huge. And we were in the front row.

Miss Do’s head kept swiveling around as she tried to watch all the people flooding into the theater. “Big place,” she said. “Bigger than National Theater in Seoul.”

I nodded, even though I had no idea whether that was true or not. Something else I didn’t know about Korea.

“Do you miss it? Korea, I mean.” I felt a little weird about talking to Miss Do. It wasn’t like I wanted to be friends with her. But it was a whole hour before the musical was supposed to start, and I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

Miss Do nodded. “Miss family. Food here not so good.”

She didn’t say anything else, so I started reading my program. I’d gotten halfway down the list of bios when Miss Do turned to me.

“Madison, she big star?” she asked. I nodded, but Miss Do didn’t seem convinced. “I not see her.”

“She’s on television,” I explained.

Miss Do nodded. “I not like American movies,” she said, apropos of nothing.

“Why not?”

I could tell Miss Do was scanning her limited vocabulary for the right words. “No manners. Women like prostitutes. Godless.”

Oh yeah, now I remembered why I didn’t want to get too chummy with Miss Do.

It seemed like forever before Madison and Clive came bounding towards their seats, their faces flushed from being fawned over by the press.

“Oh my God, that was insane!” Madison sighed as she settled into her seat. “You’d think we were in the show.”

“Everyone just wanted to get dish on the series now that Ren’s gone,” Clive added. “Which they definitely weren’t getting out of us.”

“Nice theater, huh?” Madison said, elbowing me. “You two have fun?”

Miss Do just stared at Madison. I could almost tell what she was thinking that Madison was a godless prostitute or something like that.

“It’s pretty impressive,” I said. “Thinking you may want to do Broadway someday?”

“Absolutely!” Clive shot back, while Madison vigorously shook her head “no.” Clive looked at her in horror, as if she’d admitted to eating cigarette butts or something. “What do you have against the Great White Way?” he yelped.

“Nothing,” Madison said. “I just don’t like the idea of doing the same thing over and over again. I need excitement.”

Madison wiggled her eyebrows to make absolutely sure we didn’t miss her double entendre. I’m pretty sure Miss Do shot her a dirty look, but the houselights were flickering so it was hard to tell.

***

The show was really fun, so I hardly noticed the time fly by. I was still humming one of the songs (gotta get out to the ma-a-a-aaall) as we filed out into the lobby.

Madison smiled sweetly at Miss Do. “I’m sure you’re exhausted after that. How about Erin walks you to the hotel, and we’ll meet you after the party?”

Miss Do, not having been born yesterday, wasn’t buying it. “I’m okay,” she said firmly.

Madison kept smiling, but I could see the muscles in her jaw clench.

We walked the two blocks to Roseland (which looked like an old disco on the outside but was really cool on the inside because they decorated it like a mall) for the after party. There was a crowd was standing outside, but as soon as a tiny woman holding a clipboard saw Madison and Clive, everyone parted like the Red Sea. “Right this way, Ms. Dahl,” the woman with the clipboard said, ushering all of us in. I noticed her give Miss Do a funny look. “Is this all of you?” she asked Madison, casting a suspicious glance at our unshakable babysitter.

“Unfortunately,” Madison said with a hard smile.

The minute we got inside, Madison found the darkest corner, grabbed a spare chair, and gestured for Miss Do to sit down. “Clive and I have to work the room, but Erin can stay with you,” she said curtly. “We’ll be back.”

“Maybe we’ll bring the party to you,” Clive said hopefully. I’d filled him in on the ajumma situation during intermission. But, for whatever reason, I think he actually kind of liked Miss Do, so he didn’t have a lot of sympathy for Madison’s attempts to discard the old bag like a moldy sandwich.

“I don’t think so,” Madison shot back, and the next thing I knew she had dragged Clive with her into the crowd and both of them had disappeared.

I didn’t like the dark corner we were in, and as I watched people walk by with glasses of champagne, I realized I was thirsty. “Do you want something to drink? I’ll go up to the bar and bring you back something,” I said.

“I come with,” Miss Do said, getting to her feet.

“No, no,” I said. “You want to save your chair.” The place was already packed, and once we gave up that seat there was no getting it back.

“I stand, okay,” Miss Do replied.

“Never mind,” I sighed, leaning against the wall. Better to go thirsty than drag my babysitter around for everyone to see. I wondered if I should just go back to the hotel with Miss Do. After all, Clive probably wasn’t going to be bringing the party to us no matter how hard he tried, and I didn’t see any familiar faces in the crowd. Going to parties with Madison could be fun, but only if you were in Madison’s orbit. With Miss Do as my trusty sidekick, I felt like an outsider.

When people looked at us, they quickly turned away, as if they were embarrassed for us. I took a step away from Miss Do, but I’m sure it didn’t make any difference. I was Korean, she was Korean, so we had to be together, right? The worst part was, I bet most of them thought I was there with my mom. Like my mom would have been caught dead wearing a housedress in public.

I was just about to suggest to Miss Do we call it a night when Madison emerged from the crowd dragging along an older guy in a suit. “Erin, this is Jasper!” she said breathlessly, as if Jasper was my long-lost friend instead of a complete stranger.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking hands with Jasper. Jasper had a nice smile, even if he wasn’t particularly cute. He had dark hair and big, funky glasses. He kind of reminded me of Elvis Costello.

“I told him all about you!” Madison yelled over the party noise. “He’s one of the producers of ‘Family Style,’”

I looked at Jasper, only to realize he was staring down at Miss Do. “I’m Jasper,” he said, holding out his hand to her. Bad move.

Miss Do stared at his hand as if it was stinky, then nodded slightly. “Hello,” was all she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Jasper. God, I wanted to crawl under the table. “The social graces are a little different in Korea.”

Jasper nodded as if getting shined on by a glorified housekeeper was perfectly okay. “I’m sure they are,” he said with a smile.

He turned and looked at me. “So, maybe you can come in and meet with me. Bring… what’s her name?”

“Miss Do,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach. I had to bring my babysitter to an audition?

“Miss Do, then. Nice to meet you both,” Jasper said, slipping back into the crowd.

Madison grinned at me. “I totally sold him on a Korean character, and he loved the ajumma thing,” Madison whispered in my ear. “Like, I brought him over because he didn’t believe me when I told him your babysitter had been trailing us all over town in a glorified nightgown. He laughed so hard his martini shot out his nose, no joke!”

I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or embarrassed. It was one thing for me to make fun of Miss Do, but for some complete stranger who didn’t even have to live with her to treat her like a punchline was different, don’t ask me why.

“Look, I’m tired,” I said. “I think I’m going to take Miss Do back to the hotel and crash.”

Madison made a pouty face, but she didn’t argue. I think losing me in order to get Miss Do out of her party was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make. “Don’t wait up for me, girly,” she said, giving me a wink.

Miss Do and I walked back to the hotel in silence. I watched as she tilted her head into the wind, her thin coat making a flapping noise as it was pulled back and forth. She must have been cold. I decided that when we got back to Los Angeles, I would ask my dad to take the woman to the mall. Maybe she’d accept clothes if he bought them for her. She didn’t need designer duds to clean the house, but at the very least we could get her a friggin’ sweater or something.

Back at the hotel, Miss Do retired to the bathroom and emerged in a nightgown that looked a lot like the dress she’d worn the other day. I thought about turning on the TV, but I figured almost anything on during prime time would offend Miss Do. That pretty much left staring at the wall or, egads, actual conversation.

Miss Do sat down on her sofa and pulled the blanket over her legs. I wondered if the stiff sofa at Le Parker Meridien was softer than what she used to sleep on in Korea.

“Did you like the musical?” I asked. It seemed like a safe question, since I’d looked over at her a few times during the show and seen her smiling and bobbing her head.

Miss Do nodded. “Do not understand all things,” she said. “I like very much.”

“I’m glad,” I said, and meant it. Weirdly, I was kind of happy to find out I had something in common with my babysitter.

“Thank you for tickets,” Miss Do said. “And see New York.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to see more,” I replied, meaning it. I could have skipped the shopping altogether, especially since the only thing I found that I could afford was a leather belt. And even that tiny purchase seemed wasteful considering Miss Do didn’t even have a winter coat (or at least not one she was willing to wear).

“Maybe other time?” Miss Do said, smiling at me.

I smiled back. I still didn’t like the idea of an ajumma, especially not one who spied on my every move and thought American movies were tantamount to porn flicks. But as much as I resented the Pillsbury Doughlady, and as many times as I’d been embarrassed by her, the truth was she and I had the same face. A Korean face. And even though I thought Madison and I were practically the same person, she and I definitely didn’t have that.

Okay, maybe I was just jet lagged, but that night I started thinking that maybe Miss Do wasn’t all evil. So, you can understand why I might have had some mixed feelings when Madison woke me up at three in the morning as she crawled into bed.

“Have I got news for you,” she whispered in my ear, her breath reeking of alcohol in the dark. “I met this lawyer and I told him about your babysitter. And he said he’d put the wheels in motion to get her kicked out of the United States. For free.” Madison pulled the covers up and sighed. “Your days of being spied on may be over sooner than you think.”