by Diana Ma
Jake sighs. “Eilene, explain it to her, please.”
By the appalled look on Eilene’s face, I can tell that she’s just had the same realization I had. I expect her to step in the way she had before when she suggested a script rewrite, but instead, she says, “I’d like to hear more of what Gemma has to say.”
My heart drops. I really wanted Eilene to say what I can’t say. Or am too afraid to say.
Jake repeats what he said before, except even more slowly, enunciating each word.
Your character is strong, remember? It’s not like I’m a criminal actor facing down the Red Guard. I’m just up against Jake—asshole director.
Desperately, I muster all my courage and try again. “How about if I play Song as, uh, hot?” Eilene nods at me encouragingly. “Ryan could be attracted to Sonia as Song.” Quickly, I add, “But he’s not freaked out! Because homophobia isn’t funny, and that’s not what we should go for.” Jake is staring at me in disbelief, and I start talking way too fast, stumbling over my words. “But maybe Ryan’s bi, and maybe Sonia never knew that Ryan was bi, and that makes Ryan seem less stiff and uptight than she thought he was, so then she’s attracted to him again, plus she’s really into the whole outside-the-gender-binary dynamic between them, but she can’t act on it as Song without revealing who she really is, which is ironic because she dressed up as a man in the first place to stop, not start, sparks from flying again.” I pause to take a breath and add weakly, “It’s funny.”
Jake is now looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “You can’t be serious. It’s just not believable for Ryan to be attracted to Song as a man.” He waves a hand at Aidan. “Anyway, Aidan will never go for it.”
“Actually,” Aidan says, “I like it.” Thank you, Aidan.
“I do too,” Eileen says.
“Well, I don’t,” Jake says. “We’re hoping to capture the Asian market as well as the U.S. market with this film, and the Asian market, especially a country as traditional as China, will never go for a film with such overt gay content.” Then, almost gently, he says, “It’s not a bad idea, Gemma. It just won’t fly.”
I glance pleadingly at Eilene. This is where she offers to rewrite the script again. But instead, she says, “Why don’t we see what Gemma’s vision looks like.”
“It’s a waste of time.” Jake’s mouth sets. “So, can we please get on with this scene now?”
Eilene looks at me calmly. “Well, Gemma? How are you going to play this?”
I let Eilene’s double meaning sink in. That and the fact that she’s not going to save me. The weight of this whole impossible situation settles into my back muscles, making them feel tense and tight. What does she expect me to do? What can I do? I’m just a newbie actress who badly needs to make a good impression. “Trip over my pants,” I say dully. “Got it.”
Eilene comes by my trailer after I’ve taken off the horrible suit and changed into a sundress. The air conditioner still hasn’t been fixed, and my hair is plastered to my forehead with sticky moisture. I’m bad-tempered from the humidity and my failure to make a difference in the film. Jake seemed reasonably satisfied with today’s shoot, but I’m filled with disgust by selling out and playing my character as a cheap racial caricature.
“Why didn’t you show Jake your vision of the scene?” Eilene asks at once, shutting the door of my trailer behind her. Then she visibly recoils as the stifling heat hits her. “Are those fans doing anything but redistributing hot air?”
“No,” I say sullenly, answering the second question and ignoring the first one.
Eilene perches on a spare stool and contemplates me for a moment. About a ton of sweat pools between my shoulder blades as the silence stretches out between us. Unfairly, Eilene looks as cool and collected as always.
Finally, she says, “Did you ever hear the story of what Michelle Yeoh did on the set of Crazy Rich Asians?”
I nod. Michelle Yeoh is right up there with Eilene as someone deserving my undying adoration. So I can guess where she’s going with this. Michelle Yeoh famously refused to accept the role of Eleanor Young if she were written as an Asian tiger mom stereotype. As a result, Eleanor is one of my favorite characters—layered and multifaceted. The way I picture the scene in my head is like this:
Michelle Yeoh: I’ll take the role, but it has to change.
Everyone involved with the film: Yes, oh goddess! Whatever you want!
But I’m not Michelle Yeoh. I’m a mere mortal. Worse than a mere mortal—a debut actress.
“You have a promising career ahead of you, Gemma,” Eilene says. “You’ll work with directors who might be a lot worse than Jake, and it’s not always certain that there will be anyone on your side. Actors do have the power to change a movie for the better. But you’ll never learn how if I swoop in every time you start to stand up for yourself.”
I wipe furiously at the makeup on my face with a towel soaked in makeup remover. “So, you’re saying that I’m on my own?” The makeup remover burns across my skin like a swarm of fire ants.
“I’ll be there to back you up.” Eilene stands. “But you’re the actress. You’ve got to figure out who your character is. Then you’ve got to fight for her.”
Who my character is? I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m lying to my parents, confused about my feelings for Ken, wondering just what’s going on with Eric, worried about disappointing Eilene and pissing Jake off. Oh, and let’s not forget that my cousin is a socialite celebrity running around Beijing with my face.
I toss my towel onto the dressing table. “You saw how Jake shut me down when I tried to suggest a change to Sonia’s character today!”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.” Eilene smiles without humor. “We’re actresses. We’re supposed to play roles that other people create for us. But I call bullshit on that.”
The shock of hearing profanity from Eilene makes me almost fall off my chair. I’m paying attention now.
“The people who’ve created characters like Sonia—and every character I’ve ever played—have no idea who we really are,” Eilene says. “That’s why you have to make Sonia your own. If you don’t—then you’re sunk.” Heat smolders in her eyes. “You’re not just fighting for your character—you’re fighting for yourself.”
I swallow hard. It’s clear that Eilene is speaking from her own experience. And isn’t this what I wanted—to learn from my idol’s wisdom?
Yeah, but that was before her advice boiled down to: Sink or swim. And if you sink, I won’t save you.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My depression about the film seeps into the next day. I have the tour to the Summer Palace booked for this morning, but I don’t have the heart to deal with people, so I end up canceling. Instead, I look over my sides for next week and start memorizing lines. OK, this isn’t so bad. There aren’t any more “Song” drag scenes coming up this week. Even better, we’re going to be shooting on location in the city all week.
Maybe I should march down to the concierge and book a tour to the Summer Palace after lunch. But as soon as I decide this, a draft of the whole script is delivered to my hotel room. Don’t look at it, Gemma. My inner voice gives good advice . . . but of course, I ignore it. In an exercise in masochism, I read through the whole thing, and when I’m done, I order room service and full-on wallow. If anything, the later Song scenes are worse than the one I did yesterday.
So, no Summer Palace.
Instead, I park my butt in front of the TV screen. My eyes are dry and burning, and I’m deep into a martial arts scene in a Wuxia drama when my phone lights up with a call from Ken.
For one long, breathless beat, I just stare at my buzzing phone. My first thought is totally instinctive. I don’t want to talk to him. Then I give myself a mental shake. Don’t be silly. This is your boyfriend. Talk to him! You’ll feel better.
I tap the green answer icon. “Hi, Ken!”
“Hey, Gemma!” Ken says. “Man, it’s good to hear your voice!”
<
br /> “It’s good to hear your voice too!” And it is. I’m glad that I picked up the phone. Maybe my attraction to Eric doesn’t mean anything. And maybe Ken’s disappointing emails and texts don’t mean anything. After all, I’ll be leaving Beijing—and Eric—and be back home in a month or two. “What’s up?” I check the time. It’s 5:00 p.m. here, which means it’s two in the morning for him. Chill, Gemma. Ken staying out until the bars closed doesn’t mean a thing. It definitely doesn’t mean he was on a date.
“Well, I finally got paid for that commercial I did!”
I love this version of Ken—happy and upbeat. “Hey, that’s great!”
“So,” he says slyly, “guess what I’m going to do with the money I got for the commercial?”
“Clearly you’re excited about it, so I’m guessing it’s not rent or bills.”
He laughs. “Well, that’s part of it, but I’ll have enough left over for something really special.”
“A seventy-inch TV? A party to end all parties? All-you-can-eat buffets for a month?” I tease.
“No, no, and . . . tempting . . . but no,” Ken replies. “Actually, you’re not even close, so I might as well tell you. I’m going to buy a ticket to Beijing and visit you!”
My heart lodges in my throat. “Really?” Panic makes me sit up on the couch and clutch the phone hard. Is there a chance I could have misunderstood? “Did you just say you were going to come and visit me?”
“Yeah! Isn’t that awesome?”
It should be awesome. So why am I all flustered at the idea of Ken’s visit? In my head, I’m already envisioning myself dragging my exhausted ass back from the set to a boyfriend who’s on vacation and wants to go out. And explaining this luxe hotel suite, Alyssa, my mom, and the family secrets that are driving me batty.
While I’m struggling with an answer, he says, “Oh, before I forget, I just wanted to say that picture of me doesn’t mean anything.” What picture? He’s talking way too fast, and a clammy sense of foreboding crawls down my back as he says, “I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t have—”
“Ken,” I interrupt, my insides all twisted up, “I haven’t been able to get onto social media since my first week in China.”
“Oh.”
“So . . . what picture?” I’m not stupid. I can guess. All too clearly, an image of Ken with his tongue in another girl’s mouth pops into my head. Our agreement didn’t extend to posting pictures on social media that I might see! I would never do that to Ken.
“Just an embarrassing picture a friend took of me,” he says. “I was pretty drunk and looked silly.”
Well, I think uncharitably, Ken does hate to look silly. He might be telling the truth after all. But the sick feeling in my stomach worsens.
“Anyway, it’s not important,” he says quickly. “The important thing is that I’m coming to see you!”
“Yeah. About that.” I know I’m making the right decision, but that doesn’t make the heaviness in my chest go away. “I’m on the set all the time. The hours I’m working are crazy. I won’t have any time to spend with you.”
“Believe it or not,” Ken says with a forced laugh, “I do have some experience with being on a set.”
“Yes, but this is a movie set.” Oh crap. Am I trying to sabotage this relationship? Maybe I’m overreacting about this picture of Ken with another girl that may or may not exist. And let’s face it—Ken was honest with me about seeing other people while I was gone. My tongue trips all over itself. “I mean, of course you’ve been on set too. Lots of them. More than I have. So you totally know what it’s like.” I’m actually making this worse. If that’s even possible.
“So do you want me to come or not?”
I get why Ken’s upset. After all, he’s just made this big gesture by wanting to spend his hard-earned money to visit me, and instead of squealing with joy like any other girl with a romantic bone in her body, I’m being all hesitant and cagey. It’s not too late. I could still turn this around. I take a deep breath. But what comes out of my mouth is: “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I see.” His voice is subarctic.
My heart spasms in response. “Ken, I do want to see you, but there’s just so much going on right now.” Maybe if I tell Ken what’s at stake, he’ll understand. “Eilene’s counting on me to help her to turn this film around and make it something we can both be proud of.” This is as close as I’ve ever come to admitting to him how badly the film is going, and part of me wants to cover up the truth. But the other part of me remembers how good it felt to talk to Eric about the film. If I can’t talk to Ken about my problems, then what does that say about our relationship?
Still, my stomach curdles with anxiety as I take the plunge. “To tell you the truth, things aren’t going well. Eilene’s trying so hard to help me with my career, and I’m worried about letting her down. There’s also a lot going on with my family that I need to tell you about. That’s why it’s not a good idea for you to visit, OK?”
There’s a chilly silence before Ken replies. “Let’s get real, Gemma,” he says. “This is a fluffy rom-com we’re talking about. It’s not exactly serious filmmaking, is it? The chances of this being your big break are pretty much nil.”
What? I finally spill my guts about how tough the last month has been, and this is how Ken reacts? He didn’t even pay attention to what I’d said about my family! Maybe this will all blow over if I just tell him I want him to come after all.
But I can’t.
Rage boils up in me and spills into my voice. “Are you even listening to me? Do you even hear yourself? This film might be nothing but a ‘fluffy rom-com’ to you, but it’s important to me! And it would be nice if my boyfriend could be supportive of that!” I’m hissing fire, and my phone screen fogs up with the heat of my breath.
“Well, it would be nice if my girlfriend could show a little appreciation for the fact that I want to fly to China to see her.” His usual chill is gone. “But no, you’re too infatuated with the great Eilene Deng to see what’s really going on!”
My anger goes cold and hard in the pit of my stomach. “What does that mean, Ken?” Taking potshots at my career is one thing. Going after Eilene, who’s shed blood, sweat, and tears to blaze a trail for Asian actresses like me—that’s a completely different thing. “And I’d think very carefully about what you say next if I were you.”
“This film that means so much to you is nothing but a vanity project for Eilene. Face it—she’s past her prime and can’t get cast anymore,” he says. “She weaseled her way into this film and has everything riding on it now, but I doubt anyone else sees this film as anything but a sop to Eilene’s pride.” Oh no, he didn’t. Only the sheer fury clogging my throat keeps me from interrupting. “Eilene’s using you to prop up her own career. She doesn’t care about you or your career. And you’re too blind to see it.”
That checks my anger a bit. Could Ken be right? Eilene did hang me out to dry at the last shoot. She said she wanted me to learn to fight for myself, but what if she just didn’t want to get her own hands dirty? What if she is just using me? “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” But my voice comes out faint and frozen.
“I just don’t want to see you get your hopes up for a doomed film. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t count on the film or your role in it going anywhere.” Then Ken hits the nail home. “But don’t feel too bad. This movie is just the studio’s token attempt to cash in on the Asian rom-com craze. And you knew that when you took the role.”
This strikes a nerve. Doubt worms into unguarded chinks, splitting apart my certainty. “Are you calling me a sellout?” I demand. A chilly dread turns my skin moist and clammy. It’s true that I took the role knowing what this movie was. I knew full well that it might reinforce every hideous, dangerous Asian caricature I’ve hated all my life. Doesn’t that make me a sellout?
Ken hesitates for too long. “No.”
The answer should have been immediate. And it sho
uld have been “Hell no!” Followed by a million abject apologies. There’s no doubt that Ken said some jerky things. But that doesn’t mean he’s entirely wrong. And he’s probably hurting from what he sees as my rejection of him. I’d probably be more sympathetic if not for the fact that he’s bringing to light the ugly demons I’ve been pushing into dark corners for weeks. I may be acting small and petty—but I can’t forgive him for that.
After a moment of fraught silence, Ken says, “Don’t get defensive, Gemma. I’m not trying to be insulting. I’m just calling it as I see it.”
“Are you done?” I ask with icy calm.
“Yes.” He sounds tentative, like he realizes that maybe he’s gone too far.
But it’s too late.
“Good. Because so am I.” A part of me is screaming, You’ll never find anyone this cool and sexy again! But the other part of me is thinking of all the red flags I’ve ignored throughout our short relationship. My heart slams painfully into my ribs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands.
It’s pretty clear I liked the idea of Ken more than I liked Ken himself. And that’s not fair to either of us. I swallow down the dryness in my throat. “I’m sorry, Ken, but I’m afraid this isn’t working.”
“Unbelievable! Are you really breaking up with me?”
Yeah, Gemma, are you really going to do this?! “I am. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be too sorry,” he says coldly. “It’s not like I don’t have other options.”
“Like the girl in the picture with you?”
“Exactly.” Then there’s nothing but dead silence. Ken has just hung up on me.
Oh shit. I really did it. I just broke up with Ken.