The Interview

When Liz looked through the peephole, she was surprised to see a stylish young woman in a business suit intently staring back.

“Can I help you?”

The woman, who wore oversized sunglasses despite the especially smoggy day, spoke impeccable English.

“The Dean of your school told me where to find you. I represent Zhang Fuhua, CEO and President of XuTech. He would like to invite you and your husband to dine and discuss a lucrative business opportunity.”

“Oh. Doing what?”

“Teaching English, of course.”

“Right. I see. When?”

“The car is waiting outside.”

Liz opened the door while looking over at Tim who had heard the entire exchange. When they signed the contract to teach for a year at the small suburban college, they had made a pact that no matter what offer or invitation, they would always say “yes”. Tim gave a small shrug.

During the elevator ride, they learned that Suki was Mr. Zhang’s assistant and that he was thinking of buying a holiday home in New Orleans and wanted to improve his English.

“Why New Orleans?”

“His ancestors emigrated there upon the completion of slavery.”

Outside a casually dressed driver leaned on a black Mercedes smoking. He opened the door and with a jaunty handshake, shooed them into the plush leather backseat.

As they left the concrete anonymity of the suburb and headed towards the city’s center, Tim leaned forward, elbows on knees eager to pump Suki for information.

“So what does Mr. Zhang’s company do?”

“Actually, Mr. Zhang owns many businesses. The largest and most profitable manufactures solar panels.”

“He’s an environmentalist? That’s great!”

“Something like that.” Suki ended the conversation by speaking rapid Chinese into her phone.

Tim sank back and looked out the window, watching as sterile tower blocks gave way to the crumbling hutongs which faded into the smog as they neared the financial district.

The driver deposited them in front of a multi-storey hotel with black glass windows, a fountain, and silver Chinese characters above a revolving door.

The contrast between the urban noise and the hushed tomb of the lobby was startling. As Suki led the way, Liz followed behind with exaggerated steps to make her feet sink deeper into the plush, merlot-coloured carpet. Tim’s finger traced the intricate raised design on the dark wallpaper. When Suki turned at the elevator and caught a glimpse of her two charges, a look of mild disgust scrunched her porcelain features.

On the 8^th floor, Suki sat them down in a dark lounge and within moments, three tall glasses appeared.

“Long Island Ice Tea is popular in your country, correct?”

Liz laughed.

“If you are in college and want to get drunk, yes.”

“It is the signature drink of Mr. Zhang’s hotel. You see, “long” in Chinese means “dragon,” so it is quite a clever play on words.”

Liz, feeling the effects of having made someone “lose face”, lost hers in the glass as she took a big gulp. Tim made cross eyes at her as he sucked on his straw. When Liz and Tim emptied their glasses, Suki rose and began walking towards a set of double doors.

They emerged into a cloud of smoke and laughter from men competing for the affection of one man. The room was the typical “banquet room” with a large round table and glass lazy Susan, but instead of the usual gold-tinted paint and Mona Lisa reproductions, everything was white save the deep red carpet.

The best dressed of the men stood and shook their hands and spoke to them in Chinese.

“He says, ‘Welcome. Nice to meet you.’”

“Hello. Nice to meet you too. Where are you from?”

Instead of answering or looking to his translator/assistant, Mr. Zhang looked at his friends who all laughed and returned his “thumbs up” sign. He sat down and Tim and Liz awkwardly followed suit.

Tim tried Chinese, “Nǐ shì nǎguórén?” which made the men laugh louder.

“Mr. Zhang insists you try the house bai jiu. He would like to see what you are capable of consuming.”

A shadow appeared to fill tiny glass jugs of with clear liquor and tinier glasses for each drinker. Several toasts were made to Mr. Zhang, and for each, everyone stood and emptied their glass. Tim and Liz could feel the warmth rising and spreading and barely noticed the shadow who kept refilling their jugs. After six toasts, Suki instructed Tim to make a toast. Tim smiled widely began his speech which usually left his audience in awe and full of questions.

“We’ve travelled to 30 countries, taught in nine, survived earthquakes in two. We’ve taught judges, millionaires, poor children, and zookeepers. We’ve taught people with zero English and made them ready for Harvard. We can teach anyone at any level and we would be honoured to be your lao shi.”

Suki spoke a few words to Mr. Zhang who politely nodded, which prompted the other men to quietly clap.

A waitress came and brought everyone plastic bibs and gloves and the air suddenly became festive. Large platters of steaming lobsters and bowls of sauces were placed in the middle and the jovial unintelligible chatter became snapping and slurping.

Next began what seemed to Liz to be a verbal ballet in which Mr. Zhang turned to Suki who looked up and turned to them, her words twirling in the air. Liz spun to catch the words, and weave them with Tim’s, who volleyed the reply to Mr. Zhang who waved them on to Suki. Meanwhile, the shadow danced between them pouring and then gliding away.

Liz could only recall bits of the answers she gave the next day and none of the questions.

“Kanye West? No.”

“No, no house, car, or stocks.”

“No, my father doesn’t own a business.”

“No, you’re thinking of Idaho.”

“No, I can’t Salsa.”

When she turned to Tim, she choked on her own breath.

“So, did we get the job?”

“Don’t you remember? He said we were too boring.”