The Stand-In(69)

“You get Fangli help. A therapist.”

His face clouds. “I’ve tried.”

“You need to try harder,” I say. “Look at her. She needs help.”

“I can’t force her.”

I stop so I can turn, take off the sunglasses, and glare at him with full force. “Weren’t you the one to tell me you were a great actor? Figure it out and convince her. Otherwise you can film this thing by yourself.”

We walk another block before Sam turns to me. “It’s a deal.”

“Good.”

We walk another block. “Sam, there’s no way I can do this.”

“We’ll run it through a few times when we get back.” He glances around, then reaches out to tug me close in a friendly hug. “There’s no one I’d trust more to do this.”

“What?” His arm feels like home.

He turns me around. “Gracie, you’ve managed to impersonate Fangli within days of studying her. You have a natural talent. I have faith in you.”

“That’s not what you said a month ago.”

Sam sighs. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, you know. An apology?”

“I apologize.”

I think about this. “More specifically I’d like you to say you were wrong to judge me like that.”

“I was absolutely wrong. I apologize.”

“Because you didn’t know me.”

“Right, but before you get too far down this path, I should point out you thought I was an arrogant asshole.”

I frown. “What’s your point?”

“Judgment goes both ways, Gracie.”

I give him a big smile. “But you see, you were wrong.”

He bows his head. “You win. Now, will you please help me?”

“I’ll try but I reiterate that I think this is a bad idea.”

“It will be fine.” He raises his eyebrow. “Plus, I can carry you.”

“Okay.”

“You know I have an Oscar.”

“I know.”

“Best Actor. First Chinese man to win one. Historic moment.”

“Sam.”

“So. I’m that good.”

I only sigh.





Twenty-Seven


Sam tells me not to go in to see Fangli and for this, at least, I agree. During my bad days, the last thing I wanted was to have someone hovering around me and I don’t want to make things worse. Instead I send her a text of heart emojis and hugs and then a video of me blowing a kiss so she knows I’m thinking about her. After I send it, the Operation Oblivion script arrives in my email.

Start at page 47, says Sam’s message.

Luckily, I’ve already read it and seen the play. I close my eyes to remember what happened in the scene. Fangli didn’t say much, but there was a lot of looking. A lot of very sensual looking that appears extraordinarily stupid when I experiment in the mirror. I grab my phone and google “acting basics.” The first hit tells me how important it is to learn my craft.

Checking the time confirms I am capital-S Screwed. I can’t learn the craft of acting to a professional level in ninety minutes.

I throw myself down on the couch and topple over so I’m lying on my side. I’m about to humiliate myself in front of an entire film crew with no hope of it being kept a secret because the point of this fucking endeavor is to capture it for public viewing on a citywide and potentially global scale.

Why is it so hard to say no to everyone except myself? No, Fangli, I’m not going to pretend to be you. No, Sam, I’m not going to try to act in your promo. No, Todd, I’m not going to let you intimidate me. Why am I so worried about what these people, all of whom are or were using me for their own ends without a care, think about me? I no longer live on the plains where ostracism from the group will cause me to starve. None of them care what I think about them.

My phone buzzes. It’s Sam. Here.

I answer the door. “Isn’t it easier to knock? Also, this is a bad idea.”

“Texting is equally easy and then you don’t need to look through the peephole. If you don’t like the plan, I’m happy to hear an idea that results in us getting this shot today with Fangli or an appropriate designate.” He points to the connecting door. “I went in to see her.”

“And?”

“After some begging and threats, neither of which felt good or comfortable to do, Fangli agreed to see someone who makes emergency house calls. She’ll be here in two hours.”

“You did the right thing.”

He closes his eyes and leans down to rest his cheek on my head as if I’m a pillow. I freeze. “I hope so.”

When he straightens up, I leap across to the sink to fill a glass of water with the eagerness of someone escaping a desert. Be normal, Gracie. I grip the glass with numb fingers, hearing Sam speak in the disembodied, unintelligible voice of a Charlie Brown adult.

“And that should be it,” concludes Sam. I haven’t heard a thing.

At least Fangli will get help, which means I can stop being worried for her and transfer my full distress back onto me.

“Sam, I can’t act.”

“You’ve been acting for over two weeks, as I pointed out before. Are you listening? You’re not even listening.”