The Stand-In(98)

so hot

that lucky b

just missing the lip bite

exhibit A in Samli in love

I click through a few more images. Some are of us at the Xanadu. There’s a blurry shot from the first time we went out and I slipped, with Sam’s arm around me. There I am getting out at the premiere, Sam holding his hand out to take mine. Then on the red carpet, Sam a step ahead of me and looking back with admiration as I pose with one leg displayed, my hand on my hip and my head thrown back.

In each one, he’s looking at me and only me.

I’m a very good actor.

He’s not smiling at me. He’s smiling at the woman who’s supposed to be Fangli.

This is too much to think about right now. I keep watch over Mom and work on Eppy. Mom and work are the constants in my life right now, and that’s what I’ll focus on.





Thirty-Eight


“I love this thing.” Anjali and I are out for drinks and she has Eppy open in front of her. “I use it for work and everything. All together. You need an app, though.”

“I know.” Right now it’s only available as a web version that I built myself, thanks to online tutorials.

“It keeps me so on track. Do you know how much time I’ve saved this week? Six hours. Six! I binge-watched Netflix without shame.”

I beam at her. Eppy is good. I know it. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you came up with this.” She shakes her head. “It’s the thing I didn’t know I needed but I can’t live without. What’s next?”

“I need to sell it. Promote it. Get the funding for the app.” I have a business plan and my list of people to call. Robin is right on the top but I haven’t had the courage to make the call, not after what happened with Sam. Now that I’ve put it in my Don’t Think, Do column—saved for the tasks that you’ll do anything to avoid—it’s going to happen.

“You’re the Marie Kondo of time management,” Anjali says. “I already have people at work using it.”

We get new drinks and then Anjali leans forward. “Spill.”

“What?” I empty about half my drink in a single gulp and have a coughing fit that Anjali sits through with an impassive face.

“Sam Yao.” It’s a soft name with smooth, rounded sounds but she enunciates it crisply.

“What about him?”

“That’s what I’m asking. I saw a lot of footage of you guys together. You looked great, by the way.”

“Makeup and hair.”

She snorts. “Bull. You glowed whenever you looked at him and he… Whew, girl.” She shakes her head. “That man was into you. I don’t know why you two are over just because you didn’t want to be Fangli anymore.”

I trace circles on the table with my fingertip.

“Gracie.”

“They thought I called ZZTV.” I sigh. “I thought they did anyway. That’s the main reason I left.”

“How did you get that idea?” Her eyebrows pull down to a point between her eyes.

“I listened to their conversation.” I fill her in on what I overheard and she sighs, then looks around the bar for a moment before letting her gaze rest on me.

“Did you think, possibly, an app wasn’t the most authoritative way to get a translation?”

“I do now,” I mutter. “I was wrong. Sam said so when he came to find me.”

“He did what?”

“Only to get me back to help Fangli.”

Compassion softens her face. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

We sit in silence for a moment. “Are you sure that’s why he came after you?”

“That’s what he said. So yes.”

“Or is that what you expected to hear? You never trusted his feelings.”

“I did.” Didn’t I? Or was I always nervous, as if I was getting played? That there was no reason that Sam would be interested in a nobody like me? Doubt. Always that little seed of doubt no matter what he did.

“I don’t think you did. I think you think he’s some big-ass movie star and you’re not, so why would he care about you.”

I go bright red because having these thoughts laid out is as embarrassing as being stripped in public. “What if I did?”

“God, have some pride, woman. Look at you. You’re smart and driven enough to create a new productivity plan like you run a fucking Toyota manufacturing line. You managed to trick the world in thinking you were a movie star. You’re attractive enough that it was believable.” She pauses, gripped by feminist regret. “Not that looks are important.”

“Right.”

“You doubt yourself too much, Gracie.” She reaches out across the table and grabs my hands, which startles me because she’s not a big toucher. Now she looks into my eyes. “You need to believe in yourself.”

Fangli said the same thing. Fangli, my sister. I’m bursting to tell Anjali but it seems wrong to share Fangli’s story before she knows herself. I must have started and deleted a dozen emails to Fangli, each one a master class in graceless phrasing.

“Refill, ladies?” The server comes by and the moment is broken, but I’m a little shaken. Why don’t I believe in myself? It’s why I say yes instead of no. Why I let the Todds of the world walk over me.