“Why can’t they use a clip like everyone else?”
He makes a face. “They want it live. It’s part of a segment they do that has good social media reach. We’re committed. There’s not a lot of dialogue and you’re quick enough to get it.”
He might think I’m quick but I’m slow right now. “Are you saying you want me to pretend I’m Fangli to promote her own play?” This is too much. This is more chutzpah, cojones, and big bitch energy than I can conceive of, let alone muster.
“Yes.”
“There’s no way.”
“You can do it. I’ve been watching you with people at the events.”
“Sam, it’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Fangli needs time.” He hesitates. “Please. I need your help.”
That activates my inner people pleaser, a practiced muscle that can flex stronger and faster than my fledgling vow to be better. God fucking damn it. My plans to give up my contract disintegrate but I grasp onto something I can do that might mitigate some of my dismay at being a lying liar who lies. This is it, I promise myself. Once this is over, I’ll tell them I need to break the contract.
“On one condition.”
“What?” Even in his desperation, he’s cautious.
“You get Fangli help. A therapist.”
His face clouds. “I’ve tried.”
“You need to try harder,” I say. “Look at her. She needs help.”
“I can’t force her.”
I stop so I can turn, take off the sunglasses, and glare at him with full force. “Weren’t you the one to tell me you were a great actor? Figure it out and convince her. Otherwise you can film this thing by yourself.”
We walk another block before Sam turns to me. “It’s a deal.”
“Good.”
We walk another block. “Sam, there’s no way I can do this.”
“We’ll run it through a few times when we get back.” He glances around, then reaches out to tug me close in a friendly hug. “There’s no one I’d trust more to do this.”
“What?” His arm feels like home.
He turns me around. “Gracie, you’ve managed to impersonate Fangli within days of studying her. You have a natural talent. I have faith in you.”
“That’s not what you said a month ago.”
Sam sighs. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, you know. An apology?”
“I apologize.”
I think about this. “More specifically I’d like you to say you were wrong to judge me like that.”
“I was absolutely wrong. I apologize.”
“Because you didn’t know me.”
“Right, but before you get too far down this path, I should point out you thought I was an arrogant asshole.”
I frown. “What’s your point?”
“Judgment goes both ways, Gracie.”
I give him a big smile. “But you see, you were wrong.”
He bows his head. “You win. Now, will you please help me?”
“I’ll try but I reiterate that I think this is a bad idea.”
“It will be fine.” He raises his eyebrow. “Plus, I can carry you.”
“Okay.”
“You know I have an Oscar.”
“I know.”
“Best Actor. First Chinese man to win one. Historic moment.”
“Sam.”
“So. I’m that good.”
I only sigh.
Twenty-Seven
Sam tells me not to go in to see Fangli and for this, at least, I agree. During my bad days, the last thing I wanted was to have someone hovering around me and I don’t want to make things worse. Instead I send her a text of heart emojis and hugs and then a video of me blowing a kiss so she knows I’m thinking about her. After I send it, the Operation Oblivion script arrives in my email.
Start at page 47, says Sam’s message.
Luckily, I’ve already read it and seen the play. I close my eyes to remember what happened in the scene. Fangli didn’t say much, but there was a lot of looking. A lot of very sensual looking that appears extraordinarily stupid when I experiment in the mirror. I grab my phone and google “acting basics.” The first hit tells me how important it is to learn my craft.
Checking the time confirms I am capital-S Screwed. I can’t learn the craft of acting to a professional level in ninety minutes.
I throw myself down on the couch and topple over so I’m lying on my side. I’m about to humiliate myself in front of an entire film crew with no hope of it being kept a secret because the point of this fucking endeavor is to capture it for public viewing on a citywide and potentially global scale.