The Stand-In(72)

“I think they bought it. You two are almost twins.” He cracks open one eye. “It’s unbelievable but a good deal of it is how well you can channel her. I can hardly believe you’re not a professional actor.”

Never has “acceptable” been something to celebrate. I did it. There go all of Mom’s injunctions to stay under the radar and not be noticed. I blew them out of the water. And I liked it.

“How’s Fangli?”

“The psychiatrist came by.” He hesitates. “Fangli agreed to the medications but they’ll take a while to work. She’s started therapy with her and gave her meditation exercises. Fangli says she wants to work tomorrow. She has an understudy if she can’t, so that will give her more time if she needs it.”

“Did you tell her what happened today?”

“She says thank you.” Sam leans forward. “She’s up to talking, if you want to see her?”

“Thanks.”

“Did I hear you mention a drink?” Sam asks.

“Or more than one. I’m open to suggestions.”

“We’re supposed to eat at Honsen’s tonight.”

I don’t know that place. “Is it fancy?”

“Probably.”

“Will people recognize you and think I’m Fangli?”

“Probably.”

“Will I need to dress up?”

“Probably.”

“Will people be watching us?”

“Why are you asking when you know the answer?”

I can’t deal with that. I need comfort. “How about I buy you that dinner I owe you? At a place I choose.”

“Fine.” His quick acquiescence tells me he’s not into being on display tonight either. A relief since I don’t have the energy to deal with his caution about been seen with me in public.

“I’m going to talk to Fangli and then we’ll go. You get ready and look like a regular person.”

He doesn’t even argue but gets up and leaves. He must be exhausted to not give me a hard time on principle.

I scrub my face, put on my new Revelation lipstick and throw on a black tank dress and sneakers. Summer hit with a vengeance today and the deep humidity makes it too hot for jeans.

Then I tap on the connecting door to Fangli’s room. Mei opens it and looks me over.

“I’m about to go out with Sam but I wanted to talk to Fangli. Can I?”

Her cheeks hollow and I think she’s chewing them. She’s so protective of Fangli. I wonder if she’s about to refuse when Fangli’s voice drifts out. “Gracie?”

Mei steps aside.

I walk through the suite to Fangli’s room. It’s a larger mirror-image of mine, and Fangli sits curled up on a couch by the window. She’s in silken lounge pajamas, bare feet poking out from a cashmere blanket draped over her bent knees. Steam from the cup of tea in her hand drifts up to veil her features.

“Hey,” I say.

She doesn’t smile but the tightness around her mouth relaxes. “How was the filming?”

“Sam was happy with it.”

Fangli rests her head on her hand, exhaustion in every line of her body. I take the tea from her and place it on the table, then hesitate. I don’t know what to say but I can’t stand here listening to the silence build.

“Can I hug you?” I say. I’m not a hugger and always tried to dodge them by standing far enough away to make it inconvenient for someone to grab me. But Fangli looks weary beyond belief and in need of comfort.

She doesn’t answer for a minute, then dips her head down in a nod. I sit on the couch beside her and place a tentative arm around her narrow shoulders. We stay like that for a minute until Fangli sighs, a deep and ragged sound.

“I’m tired,” she says in a low voice. “I want to be better. Why can’t I get better?”

I commit to the embrace, pulling her up and over so I can get both arms around her. “It takes time,” I say.

“That’s what the therapist said. I don’t have time. I need to be fixed now. Now.” Her voice rises.

“I know.” I wanted the same thing. She curls against me, not crying but breathing with shallow pants. “You should sleep,” I tell her.

“Don’t want to.”

Don’t want to go to bed, don’t want to wake up. Don’t want to do anything. Been there. “I’ll wait with you until you do. Come on.”

I urge her to her feet and she walks over to the bed, where she lets me pull the covers over her. I settle down beside her. “Want me to tell you a story?”

Fangli gives a watery laugh. “Like a kid?”

“There’s a reason bedtime stories work,” I say. “You want to hear it or not? It’s one my mom told me.”

She sniffles. “Yes.”

“It’s called the balloon hotel. You know when a kid lets a balloon go and freaks out? This is where the balloons all go when they escape into the sky.”

I draw the story out, speaking slow and soft until Fangli’s eyes flutter shut. Soon she’s asleep. I stop the story and wait for a moment, feeling my courage ebb away at the thought of telling Fangli I’m done. I can’t leave her like this. How can I turn my back on her because I feel bad that some people think I’m her? Fangli is flesh and blood. The others are abstract. They’re people but Fangli is a person.