The stand in, p.28
The Stand-In, page 28
“Would she have calmed down if you tried a bit harder to talk to her?” He runs his hand through his hair in what I now know is his habit whenever he feels uncomfortable. It falls back over his eyes. “Without making her believe her dead brother was talking to her? Without making me do that? It was wrong.”
“So?” I turn on him. “Maybe I’d take a bit of wrong to give her some peace.”
“She said she admired your integrity,” he snaps back. “Do you think she wants truth or peace?”
“I think you don’t know her, so you can keep your speeches to yourself.”
“You could be right. I don’t know her but I know you.”
“You don’t know me,” I say. “We’ve known each other a month. You don’t know a fucking thing about me and I don’t know anything about you, okay?”
Even as I say the words, I want to grab them back. Sam’s face goes hard. “Is that what you think?”
“Forget it,” I mutter.
“How am I supposed to forget it?”
“I didn’t mean it.” Now that the flush of my anger is gone, I’m mortified. I was in the wrong to ask Sam. The nasty motivation that made me push him would be as obvious to even the worst Psych 101 student as it was to Sam. I wanted him to show me he cared by making him do what I wanted. I feel nauseous that I stooped so low. This is not cool. Not remotely cool.
Mom stirs and I glance over at her. “We can talk about this later. Are you staying?”
“I think I should leave.” He hesitates, then looks over my shoulder. Someone’s coming down the hall. Sam tilts his head down and jams on his hat, then leaves without saying another word.
“Gracie?” The brief rest has brought Mom some clarity. I walk over. Damn, I should have taken the photo album away while she was sleeping.
I’m so upset with what’s happened that my hands shake when I reach out to close the photo book. Mom’s hand lands with surprising strength on mine. “Tell Xiao He I kept my promise,” she says in English, looking at me. “I kept the past in the past and lived my future.”
“I will.” I soothe her with gentle pets on her hands. I don’t know who she thinks I am. “It’s time to relax now.”
It takes me about an hour to relax her enough to get the album away. I hold it in my hands, wondering if it would be better for me to take it home, when a sheet falls out, the edge jagged from where it’s been ripped out of a magazine. It’s a photo of Sam and Fangli, a publicity shot from one of their movies. I guess Mom took it because it reminded her of Xiao He. I can’t bring myself to deprive her of the memories, even if they cause her pain, and I put the album back in its drawer.
Finally I see residents walking by on their way to the morning coffee break. “It’s time for a cookie,” I tell Mom. “Let’s see if they have chocolate chip.”
She follows me like an obedient child, and after she’s had two cookies and a cup of tea, she seems to be back to her old self. “You’re a good girl to visit, but go back to work,” she says. “You are hired to do a job and shouldn’t disappoint them.” Her tone brooks no argument and I give in the same as I always did growing up.
Sam isn’t outside waiting for me and the taste of disappointment comes up hard and sour. I told him to leave. Why would he stick around after what I pulled? I was worried about Mom but it wasn’t the choice I should have made.
I blink back the tears as I turn the corner and head for the bus stop. It’s a long ride home, made even more depressing by the lack of texts from Sam. I take my phone out to check again and my finger hovers over his contact. I need to apologize.
He said I knew he would do what I asked. I want to ask him exactly what he meant.
On autopilot, I go from the bus to the subway, the subway to the hotel, the hotel to my room. I get a glass of water and sit down on the couch to decide my next and hopefully less disastrous step when the phone rings.
Sam or Anjali would text and the home is the only one who phones so I answer without checking who’s calling. “Hello?”
“Is this Gracie Reed?” It’s a woman.
“Yes.” I stare hard out the window at the lake without focusing. Definitely the home and please let Mom be okay.
“This is Miranda calling from ZZTV. We’d like a comment from you.”
ZZTV? My heart slams into my throat but I try to play it cool. “From me? About what?”
“We have a tip that you’re impersonating Wei Fangli and want to give you a chance to tell your side of the story. We pay well and it would play in your favor to get ahead of the story.”
I hang up without saying another word. Shit. How could they have found out? Who gave them the tip? Then I know. Todd, of course. Sam had only told me he took care of it, not what he did. I’d trusted Sam, through his lawyer, to take care of this but it’s becoming clear Todd is a Terminator—always coming back when I think he’s out of my life.
I put the glass of water carefully on the coffee table because my arm is shaking so hard I can’t control my hand.
The secret is out. I check online immediately and sag with relief when nothing comes up, then take a deep and shuddering breath before sitting on the couch and mentally running through my options, which are very few. Obviously the best one is to tell Sam and Fangli what’s going on and let them deal with it because I’m no PR shark to try to make deals with ZZTV. I’d make a bad situation worse.
I pick up my phone but hesitate, not wanting to commit the words to a screen. Maybe ZZTV is hacking my phone and that’s how they know. I put the device down on the table beside the water and eye it like a loaded gun before staring up at the ceiling. Could the room be bugged?
God, what about Mom? If they know who I am, they’ll go digging. What if they call the home and ask about her? I should call them. I stop again. For all that Glen Lake isn’t Xin Guang, I do trust them to keep their patients’ privacy. Plus, if my phone is hacked, I don’t want to give any clues. I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or realistic.
The luxury Xanadu suite feels like a cage, the walls closing in over my head. I jump off the couch and go out to the balcony, where I grip the rail so hard my knuckles go white. This is the exact situation Anjali warned me about. Now that it’s here in front of me, what do I do? That sensation of powerlessness binds me—the same feeling I felt going in to work for Todd, which makes sense because here he is ruining my life again.
I never want to feel this again.
With a quick shove, I push away from the rail and check the time.
I need to talk to Fangli and Sam to get a solution. I won’t let this happen to me as if I have nothing to do or say about it. For the first time, it dawns on me that I need to give myself the same consideration I do Mom, or Fangli or Sam. I need to matter.
I go back into the suite and over to the connecting door. Better to do this in person than by phone, even though I’m not sure what to say. I know Sam’s very rightfully angry with me but this is urgent enough a problem for him to put aside his personal feelings, at least until it’s fixed.
I’m about to knock when I hear voices—Sam and Fangli are both in.
“She told ZZTV?” It’s Sam’s voice, colder than I’ve ever heard him. “You have to let her go.”
Are they talking about me?
“I trusted her.” Fangli sounds sad. “I thought she was paid enough. How could she?”
Shit, it is me. They think it’s me who ratted them out. My hand hasn’t moved but now it’s frozen. All I need to do is walk in there and tell them the truth.
What if they don’t believe me? Miranda had my name. What has she told them?
I’m desperate to know more before I go bumbling in. I’ve learned my lesson that there are no clear-cut answers in the world, no unilaterally good actions. I can’t help my mom without hurting Sam. I can’t help Fangli without lying. What I can do is get all the facts before I open my mouth and embarrass myself yet again.
“Keep your voice down,” Fangli says. “She can’t hear this, not yet.”
Sam answers in rapid Mandarin, no doubt to hide what they’re saying about me from me, and I’m lost.
No, I’m not.
I grab my phone and tap the new language app I found, the real-time audio translator. My conscience hits as I hold it up to the crack in the door but it quickly disappears as I read the translated text. I know it’s not going to be one hundred percent accurate but it will at least give me the gist of their conversation so I can go in prepared.
“What benefit was there from the suitcase?” This is Fangli. This stupid translator. What the hell is the suitcase?
“Greed.” Sam’s voice comes through clear enough. I stare at the words appearing on the screen so hard they blur. “Envy.”
“There was enough.”
“For some people, there’s never enough. I should have traveled sooner.” He sounds furious. “That argument caused this.”
“You heat lamp have known.”
“We can’t trust coffee.”
“It must have been the mackerel.” This is Fangli. “I’ll talk to her. I hate it.”
“I’ll do it for cheese.”
“Sam, it’s my responsibility. I hired her.”
That’s me Fangli is worried about firing. And Sam offered to do it for her. Their voices dip too low for the translator, and I back away from the door until I bump the table with my hip. I look down without seeing it, my attention held by the conversation going on behind that door between two people I had come to consider friends and, in Sam’s case, more than friends.
Then I creep back and slowly twist the bolt to lock my side of the door. I act on impulse, only knowing that I need to stop any chance of either of them coming in. I need to think this through logically but my mind jumps from one idea to another without lingering long enough for me to process. I need to think. I can’t think. It’s too much.
There’s an aura around my sight, almost like tunnel vision. My eyes light on a jar of poppies on the table before they travel to my phone, which I don’t remember putting down. The chairs are all tidily tucked under the wooden table and I see a pen near the edge. My hand combs over my hair, short and stiff with product, before giving my earring a slight tug and running the hem of my shirt through my fingers. I grab the back of a chair. My thoughts begin to slow. A siren wails from the street outside and the refrigerator hums in the corner. In the hall, I hear someone laugh. The room smells of the candles I lit last night, a rich lavender, mixed with the purple hyacinth scent from the perfume drawer of wonders. Finally, I run my tongue over my lip and taste the synthetic fruit of my lip balm.
My chest hitches a bit as I inhale, like my body is trying not to cry but I force the air in again and again. I’m not okay but I can function, which is the best I can ask for right now.
Sam might have liked me but not enough. It’s only slightly less painful than if he didn’t have feelings for me at all. Whatever he felt, it wasn’t sufficient for him to default to my side when he thought I sold them out and called ZZTV. Fangli is the one who mattered.
I can’t prevent the wave of self-disgust. I should have known this would end in disaster because that’s what happens when you reach too high. I forgot that this little bubble I’m in isn’t real.
The best thing for me to do would be to unlock that door, explain that I did not call ZZTV, thank them for their time, and leave.
I want to. I know I should.
I don’t have the guts.
I’m done, but I can do Fangli the favor of not forcing her to fire me in a painful and stress-inducing conversation. I can help her one last time by clearing out with enough class to leave us all with some dignity and without hostility.
It doesn’t take me long to pack.
Then I write an email to Fangli.
You probably know that ZZTV called me to get my side of the story. I hung up on them. I know I signed the NDA, but even if I hadn’t, I never would have told them. I overheard you and Sam but I swear it wasn’t me who told ZZTV.
I wish I could spend more time with you. I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything.
I hesitate, weighed down by the thirty grand sitting in my bank account. Should I keep it? The money might be tainted but I did earn it. I decide to keep it but tell her I understand if she wants me to return it and of course I waive all rights to the rest of the money.
I read it over a few times before I decide it will do.
Sam, though, Sam’s another story. He knew I needed the money for Mom, not out of greed or ego. Refusing the rest of the pay seems like a message to Sam as well, at least in my head. I walk out the door, and right before I enter the subway, I click Send and then block both their numbers from my phone. It’s better this way.
Just like that, it’s all done. I’m back to being Gracie Reed, sad, jobless loser.
Thirty-Five
It almost feels like getting fired all over again, but with more heartache and in a less comfortable environment since I decided to get an Airbnb for a few days. Thanks to their detective’s dossier, Sam and Fangli know where I live. I don’t want to talk to either of them because it would be too painful to have to recount what I said in the letter in person. A clean break is the best break for both bones and relationships.
It’s no Xanadu, but it’s cute, a small sunny apartment in a low-rise on the other side of town. The central design element in the living room is a hard couch that I sit on for hours, staring at my phone, half expecting and half dreading what could happen and refreshing my browser every three minutes to see if I’ve been publicly shamed. Thank God my social media is under the generic @gracie_graceTO, so I don’t need to worry about that getting flooded. I can watch cat videos in peace even if I need to go into hiding from the world.
For the twentieth time, I almost check to see if Sam or Fangli have shown up in my voicemail for blocked callers. I toss the phone aside. That experience is over and whether they try to contact me or not doesn’t matter. It’s done. I’m done.
Rectitude. If I’d acted with rectitude, I wouldn’t be in this position now. I wouldn’t have a thing to be ashamed about.
I call Anjali and tell her I left and that ZZTV called. I leave out the part about eavesdropping. That hurts too much to talk about.
“I’m sorry, Gracie.” Her voice is gentle and holds none of the smugness she’s entitled to as a result of being correct that this would end in tears. She’s in Vancouver for work, but physical distance has not prevented her from taking on the role of cheerleader with a vengeance.
Anjali lets me talk, not interrupting at all, which is so unlike her that I know I must be a more pitiful mess than I thought. Finally, once I peter out, she says, “You have to stop blaming yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“It was dumb. You told me this was a dumb thing to do.”
“I did,” she agrees. “But you keep acting like this is some moral failure on your part.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? About tricking people?”
“Do you think Fangli is ethically lacking? That she’s a bad person?”
“No.”
“Then give yourself the same consideration.”
“Is this life coach advice from the good days?”
“Saw it on an online advice column but it remains valid.”
“Maybe.” Easier said than done.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Wait for ZZTV to drag my name through the mud and move to Tierra del Fuego?”
“It’s cold there. Damp, too.”
“I’ll bring a coat,” I say morosely.
Her sigh gusts into the phone. “Do you have a plan B? What about Eppy?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Are you working on it or sitting on your ass checking your phone to see if ZZTV released your name?”
I pause. “The latter.”
“When this started, you said Fangli’s team could handle any scandals.”
“I did.”
“Nothing has happened yet.”
“Not yet.”
There’s a bang, then Anjali’s voice comes back on. “That was me hitting the phone in frustration,” she says. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”
Despite myself I grin. Anjali’s back in fighting form. “What am I going to do?”
“I’m going to set up a Google alert for your name and I’ll tell you if anything happens. You’re going to turn off your Wi-Fi and work on Eppy.”
“I might need to research something.”
“Save everything you need to search and send it to me. I’ll copy and paste the web pages.”
“This is ridiculous. You don’t have time for this.”
“I’ve been on the phone with you for an hour. Trust me that I have the four minutes to set an alert. Plus it’s a scientific fact I made up that 98.9 percent of internet searches are only mindless surfing.”
“Anjali…”
“Two days. Try for two days. Give yourself a break, Gracie. Leave your phone at home. See your mom. Work on a project you love. Let me help.”
I lie back on the couch and nod before I remember she can’t see. “Thanks.”
“Now turn off your damn phone and get some rest.”
***
Over the next two days, Anjali texts me updates every few hours that only say “None” so I know she’s checking for me. It feels good to have her on my side. I think she and Fangli would have liked each other.
It’s not so bad being myself full-time again. It’s a relief to not have to be a person I’m not, and I was never able to take full advantage of the wine or food as Fangli anyway. I miss talking with Fangli more than I expected and a few times find myself thinking of things to tell her before I remember that part of my life is done.
I also, because I’m a bit materialistic, miss that expensive perfume collection. I left it all there, every little bottle, so they couldn’t accuse me of stealing. I even left that gorgeous jumpsuit but mostly because it reminded me of Sam.
