“Your face is so cute! I loved you in Sin Eater.”
I stare at her, racking my brain for Fangli’s movies. I know that’s not on the list but it’s familiar. Comprehension hits Sam and me at the same moment.
Ellen Gao is the only Chinese actor in Sin Eater. She thinks I’m another person.
Deciding discretion is the better part of valor, I pose and smile as expected. She disappears almost as quickly as she appeared and Sam reaches for my arm. His smile fades and he glances around and makes a hand signal. In seconds, there’s a man in a black suit and earpiece beside him. Sam has a hushed conversation and the man nods once, looks at my arm, and leaves.
“She thought I was Ellen Gao,” I say, almost laughing. It’s not a funny laugh. I’m a little breathless and my adrenaline is up.
“That shouldn’t have happened. She snuck in and security will get her out.” Sam gestures to my arm, and I raise it to see the livid marks from her fingers. He strokes the skin gently, his expression hard. “Does that hurt? Do you want to leave?”
“No.” I steady my voice. “You said fifteen minutes at the party?”
“Only if you’re up to it.”
“I’m up to it.” I said I’d take this job seriously and I’m going to. This time, I lead Sam.
***
“I didn’t get a chance to eat,” I tell Fangli when I arrive back. She came over to my suite after I had peeled off my layers, and now my body flaps around like a crab that’s rid itself of a too-small shell.
She shoves over a container of celery that she’s been nibbling on and a tub of hummus that she hasn’t touched. “Here.”
I scoop a huge glob and stuff it into my mouth. “How was your day?” Please let her not mention how I nearly trashed her reputation by dropping a towel and making it look like she was going to give Sam head in the hallway. Sam has assured me it was taken care of without Fangli even knowing, which gives me some confidence in the ability of their people to deal with the tabloids if news of what I’m doing for Fangli ever gets out—but I hate thinking about what might have happened.
She makes a face and drinks her seltzer. “My father called.”
The light in the suite is dim and in the background, some music I don’t recognize is playing on her phone. It makes me think of nostalgia. “Sounds like it wasn’t a great conversation.”
“He disapproves of me working out of the country,” she says. “He thinks I should stay in China.”
“Parents.”
“I know. I always wish I had a sibling to take off some of the pressure. I wanted a sister. My stepmother was not amenable.”
“I wanted a sister, too.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asks. “For us, it was the one-child policy. I was born after it started.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I never asked my mother. I suppose I always assumed she thought I was enough.”
Fangli leans over and touches my hand. “You were. I would have loved to have known my mother.”
We sit quietly for a moment. Then she speaks again. “Would you like to come to the show tomorrow?” she asks. “It may be an experience for you to see what it’s like.”
I nearly jump out of my chair. “One hundred percent. Am I going as a regular guest or your makeup artist?”
“Guest.” She tilts her head as she assesses me. “Mei will get you a ticket and we’ll go separately so we’re not seen together but it should work.”
“I haven’t seen a play in ages,” I say.
Fangli pulls the celery toward her. “Your dossier said you acted in school.”
“I did and I went to shows all the time.” I trace my finger around the table. “When Mom started getting sicker, it got harder for me to go out.”
“Physically leave the house, or find the energy to do it?”
“Energy. I had to decide on the show, get the tickets… I was so overwhelmed that it was too much.” I shake my head. “That sounds dumb when I say it out loud, that it was too hard for me to buy a ticket off a website.”
But Fangli is beside me, nodding. “It happens to me,” she says. “There’s too much choice, and since all of them have merit, it’s exhausting to choose. At least I have Mei to help me whittle them down.”
“Outsourcing decisions.” I take back the celery from her and start eating. “I like it.”
“Most of my days are managed for me,” she says. “I’m told where to go and someone else gets me there. I wonder if it’s made it hard for me to think for myself.”