“Claudie can’t make it, so it will be easy,” she coaches me. “She’s the only one who has met me in person. You’ll go with Sam and watch a mini-fashion show and that’s it.”
I stand in a robe inside the closet as Fangli hovers beside me. Obviously I have to wear Chanel, but I don’t know which of the outfits I have are Chanel. I think they’re known for little boxy suit things with rough knobbly fabric. Pearls? I have distinct memory of seeing models wearing lots of pearls.
Fangli reaches around me to pluck out a little pair of shorts with a matching tube top and a sleeveless blazer. I wrinkle my nose. “I only shaved my legs to the knees.”
She sighs but exchanges the shorts for a long, flowy skirt. “This will do.”
“What do I need to talk about?”
“How much you enjoy working with Claudie is good, but ask them questions. People love to talk about themselves. This is a special VIP pop-up, so it will be a mix of people, not only fashion. They usually ask their local premium-client list.”
I pull on the wig and swipe on a final touch of lipstick before kissing a tissue to blot it. Fangli blows her nose and pops a lozenge in her mouth. She reeks of eucalyptus and lemon. “You saw your mother today, didn’t you?” she asks.
“This morning. She’s the same.” I sigh and Fangli’s hand squeezes my shoulder.
“You never told me how she came to Canada,” she says.
“She never talks about the past,” I say. “All she would ever say is that she wanted a fresh start.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“You have no idea. I used to ask my dad but he only said it was her story to tell and now I might never hear it. I have family there I’ll never know.”
“Does it bother you?”
“In the abstract, sometimes, but what would we have in common? They’d be related but strangers.”
“That’s sad. Perhaps she felt safer keeping silent.”
I stop, pressed powder compact in my hand. Safe? I never even considered the idea that Mom would be running from something or someone. I always assumed that she only wanted a new start in Canada for a job or money. She had a whole life in China, over twenty years, and I know nothing about it. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel more regret over not asking Mom more about her life, but I guess, like all children, I thought that her life only began after my arrival.
Fangli sniffles into a tissue. “I imagine if she was married to a man like my father, she’d want to make sure he couldn’t find her again.”
“A man like your father?”
Fangli sees from my face that I’m imagining the worst, and she holds up her hands as if to stop me. “No, no. He’s a good man and tries but he’s in love with his work and with rules.”
That actually seems like a man Mom would appreciate, although Brad Reed was more of a free spirit.
Fangli continues. “It’s having a clean break and all that. I often wish I could take a similar action.”
“You can’t?”
“I love him and although we have different philosophies, he’s my father.” She shrugs. “He’s difficult, but how can I cut him out of my life when he’s my only family?”
There’s no answer to that. Fangli hands me an adorable purse and approves when I sling it over a single shoulder rather than as a cross-body.
Then Sam and I are in the car headed to the event space. It’s on the top floor of an office building in the East End but I gasp out loud when I see the view. The entire city lays itself out in front of us, the lake to the south, the skyscrapers to the west, and residences and trees to the north and east.
“Ms. Wei, what a pleasure.” A tall woman approaches us. “Mr. Yao.”
She’s smiling and I have no idea who she is, so I murmur a suitable greeting and follow her into the main room. A long walkway splits the space in two, and there are rows of chairs lining the sides. Black-clad servers walk around with food and wine, and I decline both when they come in my direction. I can’t eat and be Fangli and save my lipstick all at once.
The woman points out our seats and leaves. A nasal voice comes from behind me. “I’m only here because of Angelica,” a woman says. “The Chinese have absolutely wrecked Chanel with their fakes everywhere. Really it’s quite terrible, but you know Angelica. Once she finds a style, she never changes.”
A booming voice cuts her off.
“Too many Chinese, that’s the problem. Driving all the prices up. Real estate’s the worst. Never know what they’re thinking. There’s too many of them, all look the same. We’re going to be overwhelmed. It’s a numbers game.”