With hasty and somewhat faltering steps, Mark approached Mr. Harrison. He gave a slight nod, an exaggerated and fawning gesture of respect. His voice cracked as he addressed his supreme boss. Mark expressed how surprised and honored he was that Mr. Harrison would visit his humble abode. He apologized for not sending a formal invitation, explaining that it was a small celebration with his department team and that he hadn’t dared to bother Mr. Harrison with his valuable time. Mark continued to talk, tripping over his words. Honeyed words poured out of his mouth incessantly, as if trying to hide the panic that had seized him. He invited Mr. Harrison to come in.
Offering him the most comfortable seat on the sofa, the same one Jessica had occupied earlier. But Mr. Harrison did not immediately respond to Mark’s warm welcome. He only nodded very slowly without taking his scrutinizing gaze off him. Mr. Harrison entered slowly. His gleaming shoes made a rhythmic sound on the tiled floor. The other guests, Mark’s colleagues, automatically moved aside to let him pass. They stood rigid as statues, afraid of making the slightest mistake in front of the owner of the company, who held their destinies in his hands. Jessica, who had been sitting like a queen on the main sofa, quickly stood up, fixed her hair and clothes, and put on her sweetest smile, hoping to attract the president’s attention.
Jessica even tugged slightly at Mark’s arm, signaling him to introduce her to Mr. Harrison. But Mr. Harrison seemed not to see them. His gaze focused instead on the tacky party decorations, the dirty dishes scattered about, and the food scraps that had not yet been cleaned up. Mark felt even more bewildered by Mr. Harrison’s cold reaction. He tried to break the ice by offering him drinks and food. He shouted my name, but this time not with the harsh voice from before, but in a softly feigned tone, yet laden with pressure. He asked me to quickly bring a hot drink for Mr. Harrison. Perhaps the best tea or coffee we had.
I, who had been standing like a statue in a corner near the kitchen door, was startled. My heart was pounding. I felt very ashamed. My appearance was not at all appropriate to receive a guest like Mr. Harrison. My clothes were damp from washing dishes. My eyes were very swollen. And my face was pale and without makeup. I wanted to hide, to run to a back room and not come out until everyone had left. But in this house, Mark’s orders were law, especially in front of his boss. With heavy steps, I went to the kitchen to prepare the tea. My hands trembled as I took out the best porcelain cup we had left in the cabinet.
My mind was in chaos. Why was Mr. Harrison here? Mark said he hadn’t invited him. Was it a coincidence, or was there some urgent matter? As I poured the hot water, I could hear Mark’s voice in the living room, still trying to explain the party. Mark lied. He said the party had been organized at the request of his friends, who wanted to celebrate his success, and that he had felt bad refusing. He tried to create an image of a loyal team leader, beloved by his subordinates. I smiled bitterly upon hearing his lies. My tears fell again into the teacup. I wiped them away hastily. I must not cry in front of the distinguished guest.
