The Stand-In(14)

Sam’s lips thin. “Did she?” He doesn’t look at me.

“I did.” I give him a big fake smile, not wanting him to know how bothered I am by his attitude. “We’re a team now.”

“We’re not a team.”

I keep the smile. “We sure are. Remember, you came to me.”

He stares me down. “Fangli did.”

My courage ebbs. “If this is going to work, don’t you need to pretend to enjoy my company, at least?”

Sam gives me a flat look before he reaches down and runs his hand over his shirt, tugging the material enough to outline his chest for a brief and wondrous moment. He lowers his head and seeks my eyes with his. His lips part as if he’s seen me for the first time and likes what he sees. I’m mesmerized as he walks over because under his gaze, I’m the only woman in the world. His eyes turn from my eyes to my mouth, and he bites his inner lower lip before looking into my eyes again.

I stop breathing.

Sam stands close enough to lean down and whisper in my ear. “I’m a very good actor.”

Then he straightens and I see the cold Sam I’m already used to.

“Sam,” says Fangli sharply. “What are you doing?”

I’m too shook to even be embarrassed by my reaction. He’s a master. “Wow,” I finally say. “That was serious Academy Award material.”

He doesn’t smile. “I already have an Oscar, thanks.”

This time, Fangli stands up and physically moves between us.

But that walk over to me is a gauntlet he’s thrown and I consider the challenge. I’m about to pretend to be Wei Fangli, and if there’s a better chance to make some changes in my life, I don’t know when it will be. I can remain the go-along-to-get-along Gracie, or I can be the strong Gracie I always wished I was, the Gracie who speaks her mind instead of swallowing her words. An oversize mirror leans against the far wall and I catch sight of the woman reflected there, slumped over and dressed in gray with her arms crossed so tightly across her chest that her shirt wrinkles. I drop my arms to my sides, raise my head, and turn to smile at Sam over Fangli’s shoulder. It’s a victory when he looks away first.





Six


Fangli’s assistant, Mei, takes me aside, and by four in the afternoon, I’m exhausted, my hand cramped from writing notes on little Xanadu notepads with black Xanadu pens. Mei is an unsmiling, infinite encyclopedia of all things Fangli. I have notes on what the actor refuses to eat, what designers she wears, her favorite words and phrases. Even more mind-blowing is the knowledge that all this is necessary because there are enough people in the world who know Wei Fangli would never, ever touch an orange vegetable that to eat a carrot would make the news. I’m filled with shock at how little of Fangli’s life is private and awe that I think I can pull this off.

Eventually Mei excuses herself to take care of some business so I’m alone as I shake out my hand and watch another plane lift off from the island airport. My exhilaration of earlier has bottomed out to stunned disbelief over what I’ve gotten myself into. I look at the positives: I’m making money and it’s frankly far more interesting than lying in bed surfing job boards. If life hands you lemons and all that.

In the afternoon summer light, sailboats swoop over the lake, tipping this way and that with the wind. That’s what I thought movie-star life was: leisure, beach holidays, and shopping. I forgot the work that got them there. Mei mentioned that Fangli hasn’t been on a real vacation in four years; even when she takes breaks, she appears at events and prepares for roles. Her life sounds stifling and it’s no surprise she wants a breather.

Well, it’s what she chose, and when I turn from the window to grab an artisanal yuzu-infused sparkling water from the full-size but inconspicuous refrigerator, I decide it has its benefits.

Sipping the water straight from the can, I flip through my notes. There are pages upon pages, and even looking at them depresses me. None of my usual to-do lists are up for this level of organization, but I need one to make this happen. I get stressed without those lists, those checks. I need the perfect system to organize this.

Make your own, then. Anjali’s words dance in front of me in bright-pink neon. I put the drink down. I’ve been creating a planning-system wish list for ages, but it never once occurred to me that instead of trying to make other processes fit my life, I could make my own.

Now that the idea has been planted, I want to try it. What can go wrong, after all? I mess up a to-do list? Even I can deal with that.

“Are you ready to leave?” Mei comes into the room. “Ms. Wei will be too busy to see you again.”

“I’m ready.”

We decided I’d move over to the Xanadu the day after next. In the meantime, I have notes to go over and a long list of Fangli’s English and subtitled Chinese interviews to watch and read. Fangli in news footage. A complete biography of Fangli’s life. A full filmography.

I look at the list now and wrinkle my nose. This is a lot of content to consume, even for the most dedicated couch potato. “Do I have to know all of them?”

“I’ve starred the most important,” Mei says. “Those you must watch immediately. People quote lines from the movies at Ms. Wei.”

When I get back in two days, Mei will have a schedule for me. We’ve decided to explain my presence at the hotel by saying I’m a local makeup artist and family friend, and Fangli is doing my auntie a favor by letting me work on her to build my clientele. Until then, I’m free to go home and binge on Wei Fangli trivia, have Anjali come over (twice in a week, which is more than usual but it’s been a very strange few days), and think about how I’m going to deal with Sam.