The Stand-In(13)

She gives me a wry, weary look. “I’ve been misidentified often enough to know most people in North America won’t see those differences.”

“Photos can be seen around the world,” I point out.

She shrugs. “You’ve already been mistaken for me in a photo without even trying.”

The whole thing is fairly straightforward as she lays it out. I would spend a few days learning Fangli 101 and Famous Actor Basics like grooming, smiling into cameras, and avoiding deep conversations. Then I’d go to two or three events a week. Sometimes openings or special events, sometimes simply being seen in restaurants or around the city because her management insists she build her image in North America while she’s here. “Only my assistant is with me now, though,” she says. “The rest of the team returned home after I was settled in so we don’t have to worry about them noticing you.”

She would personally take care of any event that involved people she knew well.

“What about your fans?” I ask. “Won’t they be disappointed if they find out that I’m not you?”

Fangli’s smile looks a bit crooked. “They don’t want me,” she says. “They want the beautiful, perfect Wei Fangli they see on their screens, and I can’t match her either. Think of it like a stunt actor or a body double. Are fans less excited during an action scene when another woman jumps out of a car instead of me?”

I see her point and don’t have an answer besides a slight discomfort that I repress.

“That doesn’t sound like a lot,” I say. “You really can’t handle it?”

Sam’s voice crashes over my shoulder. “Do you think you’d be here if this wasn’t her last resort?”

“No one asked you,” I snap defensively, feeling my cheeks flush. I should have thought before I spoke.

Fangli presses her hands low for us to calm down. “It’s a reasonable question. I love the stage but it’s draining. This way, I can do my best but keep my team and my fans happy.”

Sam’s phone rings, and when he leaves the room, my eyes automatically follow him. He obviously never skips leg day because his thick thighs curve out with pure muscle, a pleasant sight accentuated by the tight black jeans.

Once he’s out of the room, I think of Mom and her room at Xin Guang. I think of the way my savings are going to dwindle. Then, like a shallow bitch, I remember how much I liked the sound of the audience cheering after those university plays, of not blending in for those few moments.

“I’m so grateful you’re doing this.” Fangli’s voice is flat, and when she raises her eyes to me, they’re glinting with tears. “I’m at my wits’ end trying to please everyone.”

I’m defeated. I let her believe I’d do it and I can’t say no now. My vision tunnels slightly and I feel trapped, even with the lure of potential applause. “Okay.” I hear my mouth say the word before I know I’m saying it. But the second I do, my shoulders straighten because—be honest—I want this escape, this new experience. Otherwise, I would have tossed that card in the garbage right away.

“Yes,” I say more firmly. “I’m in.”

Mom would kill me if she knew but for once I want to take a chance on living my life in a lane that’s not the dead middle—and by living my life, I guess I mean impersonating Fangli’s.

She beams. “I know your mother is Chinese. Do you speak Mandarin? Cantonese?”

“Neither.”

Her face falls but she rallies. “We can work around it. I’ll say I want to work on my English, and I’ll only speak it here in honor of being in Canada.” She nods as if this is a fine, workable solution. I marvel at how she makes the decision without agonizing about what others would think or if it was the best course of action. “I’m very glad you decided to accept.”

We have a moment of communal silence and I almost forget she’s a famous movie star. She feels comfortable, like we might have been friends in much different circumstances. It must be that vaunted Fangli charm. Then she says, “Sam doesn’t agree with what I’m doing, but he’ll be fine.”

I shrug. Now that the decision has been made I’m better, more controlled. “I can’t imagine seeing him much.”

Fangli widens her brown eyes. “Didn’t I cover that?”

My heart sinks. “Don’t tell me.”

“Oh.” She’s silent and I realize she took me literally.

“Sorry. Tell me. Sam’s part of this?”

“He’s my usual escort. He’ll be yours.” She waves her hands. “No touching. No hugging, kissing, or holding hands. He was very firm on that.”

“He was, was he?” Although I should be pleased about the clear boundaries, I’m a little unsettled they had this talk in advance. Did they work through scenarios such as what if the body double is so uncontrollably attracted to me she tries to jump me? Does he have a script? Do I need to sign another contract?

Sam comes back in the room and I stand, not wanting to give him the advantage of height. He’s still about six inches taller than I am, but that’s better than looming over me by an extra two feet when I’m seated. He looks at the two of us. “We’re doing this?”

“Gracie has agreed.”