Heiress Apparently

by Diana Ma

  But I’m not ready. Not without Eileen. And not with a headache making the backs of my eyeballs throb in agony. “Nothing.” Eileen doesn’t get it and wouldn’t support me even if she did.

  “Are you sure?” Eilene asks. “Is there something you want changed?”

  She’s giving me an opening now, and I can’t help but remember what she’d said after the last shoot. I’ll be there to back you up. But you’re the actress. You’ve got to figure out who your character is. Then you’ve got to fight for her. Maybe Eilene will support me if I can just explain what’s wrong with the scene.

  But when I open my mouth to speak, my thoughts get jumbled and confused. I’m an unknown actress on a big-film set. It would be stupid to make waves. Eilene should know that. If she were really looking out for me, she’d tell me to keep my head down and just do my job.

  Ken’s sneering voice pops into my head. 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.

  “The scene’s fine,” I say, mouth dry as sand. I can’t take the risk of pissing off the director on the chance that Eilene will stand by me.

  But my gut feels all hollowed out when Eilene shoots me another worried look. Her face goes tight, like she knows what I’m thinking.

  “OK, then,” Jake says. “Take your positions.” Ryan perches on the edge of the desk, and I also go back to my starting position. “Take four.”

  I walk onto the set with the exaggerated, bowlegged stride that is my character’s approximation of masculinity. I look ridiculous. In my peripheral vision, I see Jake nod in approval. So far, I’m following Jake’s directions perfectly. Now I’m supposed to greet Ryan in a fake-deep voice—again, a parody of a man. One that falls hilariously short. “Good morning, Ryan.” I sound like someone died. Shit. That’s not right at all.

  “Cut!” Jake yells. He doesn’t even bother to tell me what I did wrong because it’s obvious that my character’s not supposed to sound as if she’s in deep mourning for her soul. Even though that’s exactly how I feel.

  Jake tells us to take our positions. We try again.

  And again.

  When dinnertime rolls around, we’ve done so many takes that they’ve all blurred together. All the takes have one thing in common. Me. Screwing up big-time. Jake calls over a PA, and I know what’s going to happen. Jake’s going to have the caterers deliver dinner. Then we’ll keep shooting as long as necessary—probably up to midnight at this rate—until Jake says those three magic words to set us free: That’s a wrap. Long shoots are part of a Hollywood film and nothing new, but this time it’s all because of me. I’m the one keeping everyone here.

  Instead, Jake tells the PA, “We’re done for today. Prep for a reshoot.”

  My stomach twists. A reshoot? Is this normal?

  Aidan curses under his breath. No. Definitely not normal if easygoing Aidan is taken aback.

  “We’re not going to keep shooting today?” Eilene’s eyebrows arch up.

  “What’s the point?” Jake’s gaze swivels to me, and nerves prickle at the back of my neck. “Thanks to Gemma, today’s a wash.”

  Aidan makes a noise in his throat, but it doesn’t become an actual protest. What could he say in my defense? Jake’s right. This is my fault.

  Heat rises into my face. I can feel the rest of the cast and the crew staring at me, but I avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. Can’t everyone just go away? But no one’s budging. I can’t say I blame them—this little scene between Jake and me has as much drama as the Butterfly scenes.

  Jake sighs in disgust. “We’ll start again Monday.”

  “Monday’s a holiday, remember?” Eilene reminds Jake. When he looks at her in disbelief, she adds, “To celebrate the moon. It’s Mid-Autumn Festival.”

  At home, Mom will be making celebratory mooncakes to send to me. Mooncakes are the one thing not on my list of food to eat in Beijing. Because there isn’t a mooncake in the world that can compare to my mom’s. A lump of longing congeals in my throat.

  The mention of Mid-Autumn Festival has a different effect on Jake. “Dammit! Who the hell has a national holiday to celebrate the moon?”

  Roughly twenty percent of the world’s population, for starters. But this isn’t the time to get snarky.

  Placatingly, Eilene says, “Maybe it’s a good idea for us all to have a day off and start fresh after Mid-Autumn Festival. I’m sure we’ll be able to get a good scene in the can after a day’s rest.”

  “We’d better. Gemma just cost the studio a boatload of money on today’s wasted shoot.” Jake glares at me. “I don’t know where your head is at, but you’d better get your priorities straight. If it weren’t so expensive to replace you at this point, I’d do it in a heartbeat!”

  Icy shame fills my body. Jake wants to fire me. No one will want to hire me after this. All my hopes and dreams will go up in smoke.

  Eilene glances at me and then back at Jake. “Gemma was in a car accident today—”

  Jake interrupts her. “Were you hurt?” he demands of me.

  “No.” My voice is a tiny whisper.

  “Then you have no excuse for your performance today.”

  Jake didn’t say it like it was a question, but I answer him anyway. “You’re right. There’s no excuse.” I shouldn’t have listened to Eilene and all her talk about changing the film together.

  Eilene slides off her director’s chair to face Jake. “This isn’t Gemma’s fault, Jake. Everyone has an off day sometimes.” She doesn’t flinch as Jake stares at her, and my heart rises to have Eilene’s support.

  “Always standing up for her, aren’t you?” Jake says. “I told you we shouldn’t have cast Gemma, even if she does look like some famous Chinese social media star, but you insisted. Said she was a talented actress, if I recall. Still think so?”

  “Absolutely.” She doesn’t miss a beat.

  Jake doesn’t bother to reply. He rises from his own chair and stalks away from Eilene. “Why are you all just standing around?” he yells at the crew. “I said to prep for a reshoot!”

  As the cast scatters and the crew hurries to carry out Jake’s orders, Eilene comes to my side. Anxiety steals over me in a cold film of perspiration. In spite of what she said in my defense, I’m still worried about what she thinks of me.

  Eilene places a cool, dry hand on my hot, sweaty shoulder. “Gemma, listen to me,” she says. “This isn’t your fault. You’re not the one doing anything wrong.”

  My relief that Eilene’s still on Team Gemma is weaker than it should be. “How can you say that?” Tears spring to my eyes. “Didn’t you hear what Jake said?”

  “I’ll talk him down,” she promises. “He’s hotheaded, but he’ll listen to reason. I’ll get him to see this isn’t your fault.”

  “How isn’t this my fault? Because of me, we have to do a reshoot!”

  “That’s because the scene is wrong. Not you!” Eilene says urgently. “I’ve been there so many times. You have to trust your gut on this. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you do. So let’s fix it together.”

  I want to believe her. And maybe Eilene’s not using me the way Ken thinks she is, but it doesn’t mean she’s right. Eilene is an established actress. I’m not. I can’t afford to take the stand she wants me to take. It was stupid to think the film industry could change or that I could do anything to change it. The only thing that matters is not blowing my big chance.

  Shaking off her hand, I walk over to Jake. “Jake,” I say, ignoring Eilene’s sharp intake of breath, “I’ll play Song exactly the way you want.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I can feel Eilene’s concerned gaze on me as I flee to my trailer, but she doesn’t follow me. Liz is already there, ready to help me with my wig and makeup removal, but she takes one look at my face and quietly slips out to leave me in peace.

  I collapse into my chair, put my head on the dressing table, and cry until I’m a sniveling mess. What just happe
ned? I just flubbed a whole shoot. And to top it all off, I’ve disappointed Eilene. I’m not the strong, outspoken actress she thought I was when she took a chance on me. I’ve given up on my character and all my ideals. Ken’s right. I’m a sellout.

  My lungs aching from heaving out one breathless sob after another, I finally lift my head. As Song, I don’t wear as much makeup as in the scenes when I’m Sonia, but black mascara streaks all down my flushed face, and my eyes are red and swollen. I look as awful as I feel.

  I should go to Eilene, talk to her, tell her what I’m feeling. But I can’t. I’m too ashamed. She gave me chance after chance, offered her support, and I let fear for my own skin stop me from listening to her. I really blew it.

  Hands shaking, I pull out my phone. I need to talk to someone who might understand. Please pick up. Please don’t be asleep. My head is too muddled to do the time zone calculations, but I know it’s way late in LA. Or maybe way early.

  A moment later, Glory’s face pops up on my screen, and she doesn’t look groggy. Good. She wasn’t asleep. Maybe she just finished a late-night shift at work. “Hi, Gemma.” Her face wrinkles in worry. “God, you look terrible. What happened?”

  “I screwed up. Badly.” My hands are still shaking, but already I feel a little better seeing Glory’s face and hearing her voice. Even though I’m afraid of what she’ll think of me, I tell her what happened.

  She gives a low whistle when I’m done. “That sounds like a shitshow all right.”

  I laugh weakly. “Listen, you can tell me the truth. I know I shouldn’t have caved in without even trying to explain how horrible that scene was.”

  “So, you want me to tell you that you’ve betrayed your values, are a terrible person, and all that?”

  Well, not exactly like that. Hurt steals over me, even though Glory’s just putting into words the thoughts I had been thinking about myself.

  “Tough,” Glory says. “Because I don’t think any of that. That’s not how this works.”

  Relief floods me. “Not how what works?”

  “This,” she replies promptly. “You know, one Asian actress supporting another. And our friendship. Let’s not forget that.”

  “I love you, Glory,” I say devoutly.

  “I love you too.” Her gaze sharpens. “So, now that we’ve established that we love each other and I’m not going to rip you to shreds for every mistake you might have made . . . how are you going to fix this mess?”

  My stomach tightens. I still don’t know the answer to that.

  But before I can reply, Camille’s face squeezes into the screen next to Glory’s. “Hi, Gemma!”

  “How are you both up at . . .” I’m finally able to calculate the time difference. “Two a.m.?”

  “I just got home from a waitressing shift,” Camille explains. “That’s why I didn’t have a chance to call you earlier. I was going to text you, but it really seemed like a phone call thing and not a text thing, you know?”

  Wait. Huh? “What are you talking about, Camille?” I glance at Glory, but she looks as confused as I am.

  “I’m talking about your parents showing up at our apartment.”

  Oh shit. I have to clear my throat before I can squeak out, “My parents? In LA? Today?” I realize I just repeated what Camille said as a series of fragmented questions, but my head is going all woozy. “Why didn’t they text or call me?” At least that one was a complete question. Then my brain disgorges a much more relevant question. “And what did you tell them?” My voice rises in panic.

  “I think they wanted to surprise you. They told me not to tell you that they’re here, but obviously, I had to tell you.”

  “Camille.” I fight to stay calm. “What. Did. You. Tell. Them?”

  Her eyes widen. “I couldn’t lie to your parents.” My stomach drops, but then she says, “So I told them you were at work. Which you were.”

  My body puddles in relief. “Oh. Thank you!”

  “But I can’t keep covering for you.” Camille pins me with her gaze. “You’re going to have to come clean to your parents.”

  Glory squishes her face close to Camille’s so she’s firmly in my screen too. “I’m going to have to side with Camille. It was one thing when your parents were still in Illinois, but now that they’re in LA, your parents are going to figure out you’re not here.”

  “Not if I email them, saying that the location of my shoot has moved,” I improvise desperately. After all that’s happened today, the last thing I need is to disappoint anyone else. Especially if that “anyone else” happens to be my parents. “Maybe Nevada.”

  “Nevada.” Glory’s disbelieving voice makes it clear what she thinks of my idea.

  Camille is more direct. “Gemma! How long are you going to keep lying to your parents?”

  Her question cuts me to the bone, and it’s hard not to sound defensive. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but you don’t understand why it’s so important to keep my parents from finding out that I’m in Beijing.”

  Glory sighs. “They’re your parents, and you know them best. I think it’s a bad idea to tell them that you’re in Nevada, but what do I know?”

  As far as support goes, Glory’s is pretty lukewarm, but it’s still better than Camille’s. Her face set in a mutinous scowl, Camille says, “I’m not going to lie for you.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” Panic rises in my throat, making my voice stiff and tight. “But can you just . . . not say anything that will give me away?” Maybe I’d consider taking my roommates’ advice to tell my parents the truth if it didn’t seem like everything in my life is falling apart. It’s bad enough that I broke up with Ken and now can’t stop thinking about Eric, a guy who’s all wrong for me. And now there’s my epic failure with this film and failing everyone who trusted me to succeed. I just can’t face losing my parents’ trust too.

  Camille rolls her eyes, but in the end, she agrees to keep covering for me as long as she doesn’t have to say anything that’s a direct lie. Glory says she doesn’t have a problem with covering for me, exactly. It’s more that she thinks my deception will catch up with me and that it’s better to get in front of it.

  I can’t help but think she’s right.

  After I end the call, I go right to my email. Taking a deep breath, I type a note letting my parents know that my shoot was unexpectedly relocated to . . . Here, I pause. What’s to keep them from following me to Nevada? After some thought, I put Vancouver, Canada, in my email. Maybe saying I’m in another country will dissuade them.

  It’s only after I send the note that it occurs to me to wonder why my parents showed up in LA in the first place. I scroll through my emails until I find the last ones from my parents. The one from Dad is a forwarded article about “The Five Best Workouts.” As always, it has no subject or context. The one from Mom is all about the museum, the obligatory question about when I’m going to college, and how well her dahlias are doing. Nothing in it gives me a clue to her motivation for the visit. Until I get to the end.

  Mid-Autumn Festival is almost here. Family should be together.

  Maybe the answer is simple. Maybe she just misses me.

  I can almost hear her voice warm with love, saying those words. Hot tears scald my cheeks. I should have guessed my parents would come to LA to see me. After all, we’ve never been apart on Mid-Autumn Festival. Even though it was never a big celebration with just the three of us, Mom would always make her famous mooncakes, and we would go to our favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner. Suddenly, all I want is my mother’s comfort, her arms around my shaking body. I want her to tell me it will all be OK. I want to believe her because she is my mother who will love me no matter how badly I’ve messed up. And I wish I could say the same thing to her—that no matter what she did, even if she stole a whole museum’s worth of paintings—I wouldn’t care, because I know that she wouldn’t do anything without a good reason.

  I just wish I knew what that reason was.

  CHAPT
ER TWENTY-SIX

  The train wreck of a week doesn’t improve over the weekend. For one thing, I get an email back from my mom. She’s disappointed that they missed me in LA. I can’t tell if she bought my excuse of filming in Vancouver. She might find it fishy that I didn’t tell them about the filming relocation earlier. I can only hope that she won’t look up the film online. Fortunately, her resounding lack of interest means that she hasn’t asked me any questions about the film. So, it’s unlikely that Mom has enough details about Butterfly to find out where it’s being shot. But when she doesn’t follow up her email with a phone call, I know she suspects something. My gut feels all hollow. I’ll call my parents on Monday—Mid-Autumn Festival—a holiday we’ve always spent together. It would be suspicious if I didn’t call them, but more than that, I just miss them.

  And that’s the other thing. Alyssa was supposed to contact me by Mid-Autumn Festival, so it’s looking more and more likely that she’s broken her promise.

  Although the gifts and pink notes still keep coming.

  On Friday, it was a pair of diamond chandelier earrings—A little bling, just for fun! Xoxo, Alyssa. On Saturday, it was an exquisite ebony jewelry box set with carved jade—A treasure box for your treasures! Xoxo, Alyssa. And today, Sunday—it’s a Gucci poppy-print silk scarf—Every girl needs some glamour! Xoxo, Alyssa.

  It’s Mid-Autumn Festival eve, and I’ve got all the pink notes laid out in a row on my dressing table, hoping they’ll reveal some kind of coded message. But of course, they don’t.

  The muscles in my neck and shoulders seize up into a vise of tension, and in a fit of temper I sweep the notes into a drawer. I don’t know what to do about my cousin, and I’m too exhausted to figure it out.

  It’s not that late, only about seven in the evening, but all I want is a nice long bath and then bed. I still haven’t figured out how to fix the mess with the film, my parents, or Alyssa, but I’m not going to figure it out right now. Especially since I’m completely wrecked after my pity party weekend of ice cream and late-night TV in the lonely splendor of my room.