“Later.” Why am I dreaming about Vanity Fair and morning shows but I immediately say no to Sam trying it out? The whole point is to have people use it.
“You’re going to need testers, and you already promised me I could beta test,” he says reasonably. “It has to scale and I gave you a bunch of ideas.”
“Why do you want to try it?”
He grins. “You make it sound exciting, like it’s going to turn my life around. I could use that.”
“You. Sam Yao, movie star.”
His smile doesn’t drop. “Who only has limited time in a day and on this world to get things done.”
“You can try it once I write up how-to instructions,” I say. He’s right, I do need to test it.
By the time our next big engagement comes around, I’m more confident, which is good because it’s for Chanel and is an all-eyes-on-me situation. Fangli was going to do it but begged off last minute. She’s come down with a cold and truly does look like hell.
“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.”
Sam’s face has stilled into neutral but he touches my arm when I go to turn around.
“Forget it,” he says softly.
“Like hell.” I glance behind to see who the asshole is and have no trouble locating him. He’s older, in his fifties, wearing a baggy black suit. I take a long look so I can recognize him later, watching as he shoves his empty glass at a passing server and jabs his finger in her face until she gives him a fresh drink from her tray.
Sam and I mingle but the man’s comments have soured my mood. Sam must notice because he leads me onto the balcony that provides a view out over the black lake. Thanks to an unseasonably cold night, we’re the only people out here.
“You need to let it go,” he says. “You’re not going to accidentally spill a drink on him or beat him in rational debate, so quit thinking about it.”
“How did you know I was going to spill on him?”
He gives me a look out of the corner of his eyes. Against the night, his face is starkly outlined. “There are many like him here.”
“At least you can go back home and not have to deal with people like him. I’m stuck.”
“There are always people like him, everywhere.” Sam leans his forearms on the balcony rail. Tonight he’s in slacks and with the sleeves of the dress shirt rolled up, he exudes coolly confident style. I’ve already seen two men glance over and fix their own sleeves. “He’s scared and he feels inferior and he doesn’t like it.”
“Or maybe he’s not scared but just a class-A dick who needs to be snapped into place. I bet he lords his money over everyone around him.” I look back into the room. “Oh my God.”
“What?” He stands in front of me as if to block whatever it is. I pull him out of the way gently.
“That’s Robin Banerjee.”
Sam waves his hand. “Some context, please?”
“A venture capitalist based in the city who only funds local business and has a focus on lifehacking ventures.” I’ve done my research.
Understanding dawns. “Like Eppy.”
“Like Eppy.”
“Now’s the time to get him,” Sam urges. “Pitch him.”
“I can’t.” I want to stomp my feet in rage. “I’m Fangli, not Gracie.”
“Right.” He gives a brisk nod. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll go over, introduce myself, and tell him I have a friend with a great idea and will he meet with her.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, he might say no.”
“You’d do that for me?”
Sam looks down at me. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I feel weird.”
“It’s called networking.”
“I’ve always managed by myself.”