We pass a drugstore and Fangli pauses to look at a sign promoting a sale on Trident. “Do you need some gum?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I haven’t chewed gum in years. My manager forbade it. It looks inelegant.”
Imagine being forbidden a stick of Juicy Fruit. “Tonight’s for you,” I say. “Go nuts.”
We duck in. I leave Fangli deliberating over the candy display—how are there so many gum flavors in the world?—and look around. It’s a big store, with a high-end cosmetics counter. I have all I need back at the hotel, but my eyes linger on the lipsticks. The last one I bought was the unflattering neutral I got for Garnet Brothers.
“Can I help you with something?” A sales associate comes over with a practiced smile.
“No, thanks. I’m only browsing.”
“Of course. I’m right here if you need me.”
She heads over to organize a shelf of concealers. In front of me are a shiny line of Diors in little black and silver cases. They look sleek and chic, and in the last row, on the far left, is a deep oxblood shade. It’s darker and edgier than the brighter reds I used to wear and I now wear as Fangli, but I can’t take my eyes off it.
“Excuse me.” The woman turns back around at my call. “Sorry, can I get that lipstick?”
“Sure.” She opens a wide drawer and grabs it. “I’ll cash you out.”
After I suffer a momentary heart attack because since when has lipstick cost fifty bucks, I join Fangli at the front of the store where it looks like she’s buying one of every gum on display. Not quite under-the-radar behavior but she’s so happy I don’t mention it.
My new purchase is tucked safely in my purse, a secret that gives me as much joy as Fangli seems to be getting from the gum. It’s such a small thing, that little tube in my purse, but it’s so big at the same time. It’s mine.
Fangli finishes scanning her items at the self-checkout. When we leave, she swings her bag like a kid with a new toy.
“Want some?” she asks, digging into the bag.
I hold up my coffee. “Later.”
A roar comes from the crowd ahead; there’s a concert at Yonge-Dundas Square. “Want to check it out?” I ask. It sounds fun.
Fangli’s face is longing but hesitant. “Will it be safe?”
“Sure. We’ll stay on the edge so we don’t get squished in the crowd.”
This eases her concern. The music isn’t crazy loud, and on the edges, people are dancing and smoking. Fangli stares around with wide eyes. Most of the people are in their twenties and they cover all styles. “Everyone is different,” she marvels. “The crowd is so small.”
I try to see it from her perspective. “How many people live in Beijing?” I ask.
“Over twenty million.”
About ten times the size of Toronto. I can’t even comprehend how big that is. There’s a churro truck nearby, so I grab a couple. We get covered in sugar, lick dulce de leche off our fingers, and shout out the chorus to the song, or at least what we think are the words. It’s fun until I pull out my phone to check the time and see a row of increasingly frantic texts from Sam.
Where are you?
Are you with Fangli?
Then variations on this for the last hour. He must have come by right after we left. The final message sounds like he’s about to call the police so I shoot him a quick reply.
We’re on a walk. All good.
The set ends and people cheer. Fangli turns to me with shining eyes, hardly looking a day over twenty. “That was amazing.”
Yonge Street’s now packed with the dispersing crowd, some yelling out the lyrics in a call-and-response that echoes up the street, so I lead her over to Dundas Street and then down through Nathan Phillips Square, where we walk up the winding concrete path to the green roof. It’s locked so we can’t go in, but we stand on the city hall balcony and hang our hands over the edge, the concrete rough under our arms. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be around people enjoying their lives,” she says.
“What about when you go home?”
She snorts. “My father’s life is his work. I might as well be at my own place.”
“Surely you have friends.” Actors are people, for crying out loud.
“All actors or in the industry.” She runs her hands over her arms. “We can’t escape each other. All of my friends I made in school… I fell out of touch with them.”
“What about Chen, the guy you had a crush on?”