Sam picks up the popcorn bowl and looks into it. Because we are having a serious conversation, I try not to notice the sharp angle of his face down from his cheekbone to his chin but man, it’s hard. “It has to be. Everything I do is criticized. What I wear. Who I date. Movie roles and how I do in them.”
Of course. “How do you cope?”
“I don’t read the reviews. Good or bad.” He passes me the bowl. “Will you let me beta test it?”
“You want to?” This gives me a huge rush that I can’t hide.
He laughs. “A chance to organize my life? You bet.” Then he turns the movie on and I sit back, almost too happy.
Nineteen
I make an effort with Fangli. I’m not comfortable talking to her about her mental health straight on, but one night when she comes over, I mention that I forgot to take my medication and let her see me swallow a pill.
“Are you sick?” she asks with concern.
I try to respond casually. “I have depression and panic. These SSRIs help calm me down because they adjust my brain chemistry.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I’ve had it a long time, but I only started dealing with it a couple of years ago,” I say. “It was hard for me to admit I needed help.” Try excruciating, but I’m trying to make it sound easier for Fangli, like this is something she can do.
She doesn’t reply for a moment, then says, “I’d like to go for a walk.”
I take the hint. “You should. Fresh air is good.”
“I don’t know the city very well. I get driven everywhere.”
“Let’s go together,” I say suddenly. “We’ll go to a shitty dive bar where no one will expect you. You can wear my clothes.”
She looks torn. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Someone might get a photo.”
I think. “What if we get ready and you take a look at yourself? We won’t go unless you’re comfortable.”
Fangli looks out at the dark night through the window. “It’ll be hard to see my face on the street,” she says as if convincing herself.
I pull a pair of jeans and a tank top out of my drawer. “Here.”
She grins and trots away with the clothes. When she comes back five minutes later, I have to laugh. She’s added a belt, tied the shirt with a small knot, and added heels. She looks fantastic.
“Close.” I fix the shirt into a messy French tuck and give her a pair of my flat sandals and a hat. “No makeup.”
“Not even lipstick?”
“Use this.” It’s a tinted lip balm.
When we stand side by side, we look almost like sisters, but there’s no way an average person will mistake the slight, ponytailed and bare-faced woman in the ball cap for a film star, at least not in Toronto. “Looks good to me,” I say.
“Let’s do it.” She has a pink flush on her cheeks. “We’ll wander around with a coffee from the Starbucks.”
“I’ll go down first and wait for you outside the lobby doors, just in case,” I say. “The lobby’s the worst part for people watching who’s coming in and out.”
Fangli nods as she takes the little cross-body bag I give her. With my short hair and minimal makeup I look like no one in particular, so I stroll through the lobby without an issue. Fangli joins me and we hit the streets.
I decide to ditch the dive bar idea and take her up Yonge Street, which is only a few minutes from the hotel. I tap in our coffee orders for the mobile pickup, and soon Fangli is living the dream of sipping a decaf Americano as she walks up a dirty sidewalk. Since it’s summer, there are people milling around, and except for a guy who walks in front of us to say, “Hubba-hubba,” Fangli is thrilled to discover no one gives a shit who she is.
“What’s it like for you back home?” I ask. “Can you walk around like this?”
She shakes her head so hard her hat falls off. “I have a driver and security.”
“Even to go to the store?”
Fangli waves her coffee at me. “I don’t go to the store. It’s not safe for me or people around me. I get mobbed.”
“But not here.”
She grins. “I’m not as popular here. It’s a pleasure.”
I try to imagine being this famous. “Do you like it?”
“It’s not a matter of like or not. It’s what it is. I need to act because I want to be remembered for something, for this life to mean something.” She shrugs. “I can do what I love and make money at it. How can I complain that I can’t go get coffee whenever I want?”