The Stand-In(15)

I put on my sunglasses and leave, Mei shutting the door firmly behind me.

Down in the lobby, no one looks twice and the familiar veil of inconspicuousness falls over me. Will that change by next week? I think it will and I feel my chin rise. There’s a Gracie there who’s tired of being overlooked, even though it’s entirely of my own doing. Is that the real reason I took this job?

Disquieted, I get on the subway.

***

When I spill the story to Anjali that night, she has the anticipated response.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Gracie?”

Maybe it was a mistake to tell Anjali, but I desperately need to tell someone despite Sam’s sepulchral warnings of doom and NDA-related lawsuits, and she’s the only person I speak to on a regular basis. I tend toward acquaintances over friends, and this is not acquaintance-level information.

“I didn’t come here for the judgment.” I pour out the wine before ripping open a bag of ketchup chips. Gross combination but I need the fat-salt-alcohol juggernaut hit.

“First, I came to your place. Second, consider the judgment to be on the house.” She shakes her head so her glossy black hair, nourished by weekly coconut oil masks, sweeps through the air. Anjali using her hair for emphasis is the only time I regret cutting mine short. It used to be past my shoulders but it was never as pretty as Anjali’s.

“I’ve already agreed.” I stick my hand into the bag, and Anjali cringes and hands me a bowl.

“Stop being a pig.”

I tip a few chips into the bowl, hand it to her, and then go back to eating out of the bag before I pause. “Do you think I shouldn’t eat the chips?” I flutter my hand toward my hips.

“Does Wei Fangli look like a woman who eats a lot of chips? Drinks beer? Eats carbs?”

“No.” I chew a chip morosely, put the bag aside, and then grab it back and hold it to my chest as I brighten. “Wait. She must since she thinks we look similar.”

“Then eat the damn chips.” Anjali throws herself on the couch. “Jesus, eating chips is the least of your problems. Have you thought this through?”

“No.” I sit across from her. “Obviously not. This is a secret. They made me sign an NDA.”

“It’s good you told me because at least someone will know the truth when they kill you and pretend your body is hers so she can escape for a new life in Bali.”

“That’s the plot of a movie.” It might even be one of Fangli’s.

“If they only wanted your body, then you’d probably already be dead,” she agrees. “Honestly, though, how are you going to pull this off? You’re only half-Chinese.”

I try not to wince at the “only,” which implies that half isn’t enough. It’s not that big a deal. I’m sure Anjali didn’t mean it the way it came out, and I don’t want to put her on the spot and make her feel bad. “It’s bizarre how much alike we look,” I say.

Anjali takes out her phone and runs a quick image search. “It is,” she agrees, swiping through the photos. “What are you going to do about not speaking Chinese?”

“Fangli’s going to say she wants to work on her English, which is already perfect. Thank God she has no accent because I’d be doomed.”

“Why no accent?”

“Vocal coach. Plus Sam will be there to help me in tough spots. Mostly it’s to be seen out and about.”

“Sam?”

“Sam Yao.”

She sits bolt upright on the couch, brown eyes eating up her face. “Sam Yao. Sexiest Man? Award-winning actor? Cheekbones that massage your ovaries?”

“I know all this.” I’d better watch his movies, too. Meh. I’ll read his Wikipedia/IMDb pages and call it a day. My antipathy to Sam, ovary masseuse or not, is strong.

“I can’t believe you didn’t lead with this.” Anjali downs half the wine in her glass and coughs. “You know he’s a UN goodwill ambassador for the environment.”

“Huh.” Didn’t know that but it doesn’t change my opinion of him.

Anjali leans forward. “Is he hot in real life or weird-looking?”

“Burningly hot. A raging inferno sheathed in ice and smooth muscle.” I sigh. “With dimples that come out when he smiles.”

She tsks at me. “Seriously.”

“I’m being serious. The dimples are really deep.” She looks a bit dreamy, and I feel bad for interrupting her Sam fantasy with reality. “I don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s rude. Brisk. Doesn’t like me.” I look down in the bag of chips to poke around for the biggest one.

“He’s probably worried about this incredibly stupid idea,” says the eternal optimist. “Why did he agree to it?”

“Fangli snapped him in line.” That’s right. I’m on a first-name basis with movie stars. I force back a slightly hysterical giggle before Anjali thinks I’ve totally lost it.

Her thick and perfectly groomed black eyebrows rise. “Rumors say they’re dating.”

“Maybe but they act more like good friends.” I fish out the last good chip before I’m reduced to tilting the bag up to my mouth to drink down the crumbs.

“‘Act’ is the key word. They’re actors, so how can you tell what’s real and what isn’t? In any case, be careful. A guy like that would chew you up and spit you out as bones.”