The Stand-In(50)

My phone lights up with a message and again my heart bangs because it’s from Sam.

I’m in the hall.

At least he didn’t simply stroll in like usual. I need to get that key, though. I do an emotional check and am happy to note my heart rate has subsided and I don’t have any quivers or interferingly strong feelings. I have accepted that this is a job. Good for me, very reasonable.

This lasts as long as it takes me to open the door and see Sam channeling casual dojo, with loose pants and slides matched with an oversize T-shirt. His outfit could cost anywhere from $100 to $10,000 and I wouldn’t be surprised. I step aside and he comes in.

“I thought you were busy today.”

“We’re going for a walk,” he says.

“No, we’re not,” I say. “Fangli is out at an appointment and I can’t be seen with you at the same time.” Even if I go with him without my Fangli disguise, I resemble her too much to not cause questions if caught by a photographer.

“Right.” He goes to the window and stares out. “I want to see the city. My skin itches to get out of here.”

Sam has changed toward me since our talk about Fangli, and it’s a relief to be able to let down my guard around him. “We have a film premiere tonight.” I already had to practice going from standing to sitting in the dress, which is a stunner.

He makes a rude gesture. “Being stuck in a theater.”

“Aren’t you busy?” I repeat the question since he hasn’t answered.

“Finished early.” He doesn’t turn around but rolls his neck as if trying to get rid of a kink.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

I walk over to join him at the window. He smells good, that same chipped-stone fragrance. It’s a cool, overcast day and the wind has whipped up small white-tipped waves on the surface of the lake. I open the sliding balcony door to let the breeze drift in and Sam closes his eyes.

His restlessness affects me as well. “What do you usually do to relax?”

“Work out. Watch YouTube. Play Candy Crush.”

“What level?”

He glances at his phone. “Three hundred and eighty.”

“I’m four ninety-two.”

This makes him frown competitively. I get an idea. “What if we go to the arcade near the aquarium? You wear a hat and something less”—I wave my hand around—“fashionable.” That might do the trick. No one will wonder who I am if they don’t identify Sam.

He looks down at his outfit. “This is what I usually wear at home.”

Other guys would wander around in boxers and a dirty undershirt. “You look like you walked out of a Vogue ad for casual wear. Average Toronto dudes don’t wear flowy pants.”

“Oh.” He brightens. “Got it.”

He disappears to his own suite as I run a hand through my hair. I look fine as me; no one will look twice.

Do I want them to look? I pull out the Dior. It’s called Revelation and I wonder how I can get a job naming these things.

The first swipe goes on smooth like honey. Mei insists that I use a lip liner when I do the Fangli face, but this is for me and I don’t mind the edges blurring. The color is as rich as I hoped and gives my entire face a more angular cast. I like it.

I like it a lot.

Sam reappears and does a double take. “That’s a new look.”

“I know.” I don’t ask what he thinks because I didn’t wear it for him. Instead I check him over. This time he’s got on tight black jeans, a ball cap, sunglasses, and a black medical face mask. I close my eyes. “Lose the mask or the sunglasses. And can I get my key back?”

“I usually wear them when I’m out,” he says.

“One is fine. Both with the hat scream Look at me, I’m famous.”

“Fine.” He whips off the shades. “Happy?”

I’m giving a master class in looking like a regular person. “Do you really never go unwatched?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It’s safer to assume I am so I can be on guard.”

There’s no answer I can give to this, so I grab my purse and we head out. He automatically moves to where the cars are so I take his arm and adjust course. “We’re walking.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I drop his arm immediately because the feel of his muscled solidness is akin to touching a hot stove. “Keep looking straight ahead. Act like there’s nothing to notice about you. You’re a regular guy going outside, that’s it. You drive a five-year-old Honda Civic and wonder if you have enough money for a down payment on a studio condo.”

His body language gets more casual as he listens. “Got it.”

It’s a weekday and we’re close enough to the Financial District that it swarms with office workers grabbing food or going about their day. No one takes a photo or asks for an autograph because most of them are on their phones or busy talking to each other, and Sam cheers up as he sees that no one recognizes us as Fangli and Sam. We’re only two more faceless people in a faceless crowd.

“The CN Tower is so tall.” He looks up as we pass.

“Do you want to go up?” I haven’t been since an elementary-school class trip.

“Can we?” His smile is wistful. “There was a photo of it in a book when I was a kid. I thought if I went up that high, I would be able to see the whole world.” He cranes his head back and I copy him. The spiky concrete structure looms over us, dwarfing everything around it.