The Stand-In(85)

Sam keeps us dry as I check my umbrella over. “Broken,” I say.

He wraps his arm around me, heavy but warm on my shoulders, and holds the umbrella over both of us. “Shall we keep walking or do you want to go?” he asks. The rain has beaded on his hat and his mask is tucked under his chin, ready to pull on if someone comes.

“Keep going.”

I move but he tugs me back. “I forgive you for laughing,” he says.

“I forgive you for not listening to me about the goose.”

“Fair enough.” He bends down and kisses me, lips cool from the damp day. The rain patters against the umbrella as my hands come up to wrap around his biceps, bringing him even closer. The kisses meld together and the sound of the lake fades and Sam is all there is around me. He’s warm in the cool day, and his hands smooth down the droplets on my hair. When he presses tiny kisses on me, he leaves a longer pause between each one, making me chase after him.

His last kiss makes me shiver and I’m not sure if it’s from the chill or his touch. In any case, he pulls back, rubbing my arms. “Let’s walk to warm up,” he says.

We turn east to the walkway that traces the edge of the lake. The rain comes in fits and starts, the same as our conversation.

“You know what’s weird?” I ask.

“That the largest living thing on earth is a fungus?”

“What? No.” I hop over a puddle. “Seriously? Not a whale or a tree?”

“The humongous fungus in Oregon.”

“That is fascinating but not what I was thinking. Why would I be thinking of that?”

He picks up a rock lying on the boardwalk and tosses it out to the lake. “I was.”

“I might delve into that later but I was wondering about why interviewers don’t ask you or Fangli about politics or human rights in China. It’s strange. It’s in the news all the time.”

“That’s not strange. Reporters are more interested in Fangli’s manicure and how I get in shape for action roles. Generally fans want us to stick to our lane and reporters give them what they want.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t need to share all my personal thoughts with the world.” He eyes me with amusement. “Do Canadian actors speak out against your own country’s abuses?”

“Not often,” I admit after I think about it.

“Did you ever think to ask why we’re responsible for answering for our government when they’re not responsible for yours?”

“A good point.”

“Obviously, there are problems with my home,” he says. “Those are issues for us to solve, the same as yours are for you to solve.”

We walk along in the misty rain for a few more minutes, thinking.

“Do you come here a lot?” he asks. “This is a calming place.”

“Not as much as I should,” I say.

“Where do you usually go? Say you have a Saturday free. Your ideal Saturday.”

I tug at a branch as I pass, letting the wet leaf drag along my palm. The entire left side of the path is treed. “It would be summer, but not too hot. I’d take a book and go to a café I like in Kensington Market. They have those Parisian-style seats on the sidewalk and I’d get a Mexican hot chocolate and sit and read and watch the people pass.”

“All day?”

“Two hours.” After that I’d need to pee, and when you’re alone, you can’t leave your bag, so I’d might as well head out. “Then I’d wander through the market and look in some stores to buy things I don’t need, like a hat.”

“Would you see a show? Go to a movie?”

“Nope. I’d go see Mom. How about you?”

“My perfect day? Sleeping. I’d sleep in and turn off my phone and then sit on the couch and do nothing. I wouldn’t leave the apartment. Get food delivered.”

“What if you had to leave the house?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“It’s on fire. You have to.”

“If my apartment is on fire, then it’s not my perfect day.”

“It’s a thought exercise, Sam.”

He gives me a shy glance out of the corner of his eye. “You won’t laugh?”

“Cross my heart.”

“It’s not very exciting.”

“My day involved reading and drinking hot chocolate,” I remind him.

“I’d go for a walk in a park. There’s one at home called Beihai Park. The amahs weren’t allowed to take me because my parents were worried about security so I’ve never been.” He rolls his shoulders. “I’d see the water lilies. I heard they’re beautiful.”

Poor Sam. His life mixes extreme privilege with such a poverty of normal experience. He doesn’t wait for me to speak but says, “Your day. You’d spend it mostly alone?”

I consider this. “I might meet a friend for a drink in the evening but yeah, I guess. Same as you.”

“I’d meet you after I sleep in,” he offers. “You could come to the park with me.”

I bop his shoulder with my head. “I’d like that.”

We head back to the ferry, doing tandem silly walks as we try to stay under the umbrella. The ferry will be a few minutes so I go into the café to grab hot chocolate as Sam stays under a tree, keeping his face down.