It would be bad. I’m overthinking this the same way I did at the art gallery, seeing romantic opportunities only because I’m wishing them into being. He finishes with the wig and moves to his side of the car while I apply lipstick, blot it, and reapply it before powdering my face.
Finally, I push the hair so some stays in front of my shoulders as the rest hangs behind my back. Mei says it frames my face better. “Am I good?” I ask.
He shifts over and pulls the hair all behind my shoulders before moving to his original seat. “This is better,” he says. “I can see your face.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Since I’m trying to not have people focus on my face, don’t you think the first one is preferable?”
“I like it this way.”
Oh. Oh.
“Also,” he adds, “you owe me dinner.”
“What?”
“As I promised, no one recognized me today.” He gives a pleased nod.
“Give it twelve hours, and if it hasn’t shown up on social media, I’ll concede.”
Gregor pulls up to the hospital entrance where we’re met by a tall woman with a cell phone and a clipboard who introduces herself as Jessica. “The kids are excited to see you, Mr. Yao,” she says in a warm voice. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you doing this, especially so last minute. As requested, there are no media but we’d like to take a few photos for the kids.”
“That’s fine,” he says. Sam, for his part, is legitimately excited at the idea of meeting kids and peppers the PR woman with questions. How many kids? What ages? What should he be aware of? Is he allowed to touch them or should he only wave? He pauses at the entrance to sanitize his hands at the dispenser and I follow suit. It’s a hospital, after all, and the kids don’t need our germs.
I’ve never been in a children’s hospital before so I let the two of them go ahead of me and chat as I examine the atrium, which is painted with murals and has cartoon characters on the signs. Two people pass holding hands and a woman hugs a little baby wearing a helmet to her chest. I’m harboring a lot of emotions from earlier and look carefully at people’s faces. Some are interested in the two people in dressy clothes walking through—Jessica’s attitude screams famous people alert—but mostly the people we pass are involved in their own worlds and their own families. We take an elevator up to a windowed room packed with kids and parents as well as foosball tables and games.
“This is where the older kids can come and hang out,” says Jessica.
One of the kids has an IV pole draped with lines and lines of brightly colored beads. “Are those significant?” I ask.
“They’re called bravery beads. The kids earn them, one for every procedure or event they undergo.”
Sam and I both stop dead. “That child has many,” he says. “Hundreds.”
“They’re tough kids,” Jessica says simply. “Are you ready?”
I hold back because this is Sam’s show, and the kids are here to meet a real-live action hero, not a fake movie star. He stands outside to wait for his entrance, his entire face lit up. One of the kids has been nominated as the MC, and he makes the introduction better than any UFC promoter could; we can hear his booming voice in the hallway. By the time he’s described one of Sam’s fight scenes in comprehensive detail, complete with sound effects, the entire room is laughing and cheering.
“Please welcome Sam Yao!”
Sam leaps into the room and lands in a fighting stance, causing chaos to ensue. I can’t stop smiling and laughing, and Jessica grins from ear to ear. “They told me he wouldn’t have time to come, but I knew he would,” she confided, her dark eyes glowing.
“How did you know?”
“Laurence, the boy who did the introduction, wrote him a letter that we sent to a contact at the theater. I cried when I read it. There was no way Mr. Yao could have said no, not if he read it.” She nods into the room. “These kids miss so much of life. Come on in.”
Sam is determined to meet every person in the room, and instead of surrounding him, the crowd guides him so he can spend a private moment with all the kids. One girl, sitting in a wheelchair, covers her face with shyness and Sam kneels beside her. Whatever he whispers into her ear causes her to giggle hysterically, which makes him laugh, a big open thing that I’d never heard before.
“Are you Wei Fangli?” I look down to see a small blond boy with big glasses staring at me. I crouch down, blessing the full skirt, so we’re the same height.