“What are you going to do?”
He looks thoughtful. “Hire some goons to break his legs?”
I hesitate, unsure if he’s kidding.
He lifts the brim of his hat to look me better in the eyes. “I’m going to talk to my lawyer, Gracie. No kneecaps will be broken.”
“Good.”
“Unless the lawyer recommends it, and then what can I do?”
I nod seriously. “It’s a law if a lawyer says it.”
There it is. The end of Todd in my life, not with a bang but with a lawyer’s dry language.
Very satisfying.
Sam’s phone rings. He looks at it, silences it, and then eats the rest of his croissant.
“Your mom?” He only gets that tight look around his mouth when it’s Lu Lili.
“She’s stepped up her campaign.” He glances at the phone, then flips it over so the screen is covered.
“How so?”
He sighs. “She called Denis.”
“The director for your next movie?” After this, Sam is due to start filming on a corporate spy action movie that I haven’t been thinking about because it reminds me how finite our time together is.
“He told me yesterday. She didn’t threaten him—Lili doesn’t do anything so crass—but she said she wanted his advice on how to get me to see reason.”
“Wow.”
“I know,” he says. I look left and right to confirm we’re the only ones on the boardwalk, then pull him in to lean against me. The faint thump of his heart sounds against my arm and I trace little circles on his shoulder, feeling the muscles slowly relax. I have a moment of unreality, that I’m sitting here with Sam Yao, but he’s only Sam, a guy I like who happens to be talking about problems with his iconic mother and his new action movie—normal person stuff. “Luckily Denis took it well.”
“Is she trying to sabotage you?” What kind of a mother does this?
“She would say she’s looking out for my future.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” His shrug shifts against me. “What can I do? It’s impossible to make her see reason.”
“That’s a bit defeatist.”
“You don’t know my mother,” he says darkly. The phone vibrates between us and we ignore it.
“Aren’t you the one who told me there are enough people in the world ready to pull me down and that I didn’t need to join them? Same goes for you.”
“Hardly the same thing.” He stands, then turns away, tugging his hat down to hide his face as a pod of runners approaches en masse. “Can we walk for a bit?”
We go west to the Music Garden and wander the paths through the landscaped plants. The sun is already hot but the garden retains some of the coolness from the night.
“What will you do when Fangli goes back home?” he asks as he balances on the edge of a grass-covered step. I reach out to grab him as he tilts back, but he only winks at me.
“Find a job, I guess.” I’m not enthusiastic.
“Not Eppy?”
A warm flush comes over me; he believes in it enough to think I can make it a business. “I’ll have to do that on the side. Need to pay the bills.”
He hands me a card. “Robin Banerjee.”
I gaze at it. “What?”
“Didn’t get a chance to talk to him the other night, so I asked around. Apparently he’s a nice guy.” He nods at the card. “That’s his personal cell.”
“You did this for me?” I take the card. There it is, black font on matte card stock. Robin Banerjee’s cell number. At the Chanel party, I’d been torn between wanting Sam to intercede and needing to do it myself. That’s faded. Help isn’t anything to be ashamed of and it doesn’t take away from my independence.
“I want one thing in return.”
“What?”
“You let me use Eppy right away. With Deng gone, I’m desperate to keep my life in order.”
I take my phone out and send him the hidden URL right then and there. Then I pause. “You got me this number and you have no idea if Eppy works or not.”
“I believe in you,” he says. “You haven’t failed at anything I’ve seen you try yet.”
When was the last time someone had this blind faith in me, even more than I have in myself? Combined with what Fangli said the other night, it makes my vision go a little blurry. “Thank you.”
“Except for faking laryngitis at the art gallery,” he adds. “That was bad.”