The Stand-In(76)

“War?” I ask one night in disbelief as Fangli checks over the deck to see how he messed up yet again. “You even lose at War?”

“I had bad cards,” he sulks.

“Five times in a row?”

It’s this side of Sam that has me stuck. He’s unguarded and that makes him more real and unbearably attractive. He doesn’t change from when he speaks to me or Fangli and me together. I know it’s genuine but it’s as friends. Sometimes the two of them lapse into Mandarin but my app has only gotten me to eating in a restaurant (Wo yao chao fan, I can now order fried rice) so there’s a lot I miss. Occasionally he shoots me a look from the corner of his eye paired with a sly smile, and my heart stops. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s not a professional flirt but he’s aware of his visual power and I think it’s become second nature.

Messes me up every time, though. Every time. What also ruins me is that he wants updates about Eppy. That he takes it so seriously thrills me.

“Tell me the changes you made on it,” he says as we attend another soiree. Toronto’s big film festival is coming in September, and since Fangli’s management wants her to be seen and Sam has a movie premiering at it, we’re on a bit of a circuit.

I hold my gradually warming glass of white wine that I’m forbidden to drink as we stand at a table in the corner taking a quick break from schmoozing. “It’s going well,” I say.

“When do I get to try it?”

“Later.” Why am I dreaming about Vanity Fair and morning shows but I immediately say no to Sam trying it out? The whole point is to have people use it.

“You’re going to need testers, and you already promised me I could beta test,” he says reasonably. “It has to scale and I gave you a bunch of ideas.”

“Why do you want to try it?”

He grins. “You make it sound exciting, like it’s going to turn my life around. I could use that.”

“You. Sam Yao, movie star.”

His smile doesn’t drop. “Who only has limited time in a day and on this world to get things done.”

“You can try it once I write up how-to instructions,” I say. He’s right, I do need to test it.

By the time our next big engagement comes around, I’m more confident, which is good because it’s for Chanel and is an all-eyes-on-me situation. Fangli was going to do it but begged off last minute. She’s come down with a cold and truly does look like hell.

“Claudie can’t make it, so it will be easy,” she coaches me. “She’s the only one who has met me in person. You’ll go with Sam and watch a mini-fashion show and that’s it.”

I stand in a robe inside the closet as Fangli hovers beside me. Obviously I have to wear Chanel, but I don’t know which of the outfits I have are Chanel. I think they’re known for little boxy suit things with rough knobbly fabric. Pearls? I have distinct memory of seeing models wearing lots of pearls.

Fangli reaches around me to pluck out a little pair of shorts with a matching tube top and a sleeveless blazer. I wrinkle my nose. “I only shaved my legs to the knees.”

She sighs but exchanges the shorts for a long, flowy skirt. “This will do.”

“What do I need to talk about?”

“How much you enjoy working with Claudie is good, but ask them questions. People love to talk about themselves. This is a special VIP pop-up, so it will be a mix of people, not only fashion. They usually ask their local premium-client list.”

I pull on the wig and swipe on a final touch of lipstick before kissing a tissue to blot it. Fangli blows her nose and pops a lozenge in her mouth. She reeks of eucalyptus and lemon. “You saw your mother today, didn’t you?” she asks.

“This morning. She’s the same.” I sigh and Fangli’s hand squeezes my shoulder.

“You never told me how she came to Canada,” she says.

“She never talks about the past,” I say. “All she would ever say is that she wanted a fresh start.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“You have no idea. I used to ask my dad but he only said it was her story to tell and now I might never hear it. I have family there I’ll never know.”

“Does it bother you?”

“In the abstract, sometimes, but what would we have in common? They’d be related but strangers.”

“That’s sad. Perhaps she felt safer keeping silent.”

I stop, pressed powder compact in my hand. Safe? I never even considered the idea that Mom would be running from something or someone. I always assumed that she only wanted a new start in Canada for a job or money. She had a whole life in China, over twenty years, and I know nothing about it. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel more regret over not asking Mom more about her life, but I guess, like all children, I thought that her life only began after my arrival.

Fangli sniffles into a tissue. “I imagine if she was married to a man like my father, she’d want to make sure he couldn’t find her again.”

“A man like your father?”

Fangli sees from my face that I’m imagining the worst, and she holds up her hands as if to stop me. “No, no. He’s a good man and tries but he’s in love with his work and with rules.”

That actually seems like a man Mom would appreciate, although Brad Reed was more of a free spirit.