The crowd around me is screaming in an airless concert venue while the scruffy lead singer of an indie band I’ve never heard of belts out a song at the top of his lungs. Ken, Glory, and Camille seem to be having fun. That’s more than I can say for myself, but by now I’m resigned to my friends and new boyfriend dragging me to dark little clubs that require me to have a fake ID. At least the ID part was easy. Getting one was simply a matter of asking Sara Li to give me her old driver’s license and get a new one; I reimbursed her for the replacement fee, and that was that. The fact that I look nothing like Sara doesn’t matter—the doorman at the club tonight didn’t even blink when he checked my ID.
Camille says I’m “lucky.” But that’s not how I see it. After all, it’s not often that white people’s cluelessness benefits me.
If seeing this band is a benefit, that is. The lead singer’s screech tears through the stuffy interior of the club, and someone accidentally bumps me, dripping cold beer onto my arm. I wince and try to move away, but there’s nowhere to move to. For once, I’d like to go someplace where I can move more than an inch without coming into contact with the sweaty chest of a stranger. And I wouldn’t mind listening to a band with intelligible lyrics either.
“Dai earplugs if you go to a rock concert, Gemma. Be careful of your ears.” Before I left home, Mom loaded me up with advice—as if I were a fragile plate that needed to be wrapped up in layers of care before being shipped off. Still, it’s nice to know that getting cut off from financial support doesn’t mean getting cut off from parental advice—even though I’ve ignored most of it, including the one about being careful of my ears. I’m not about to be the uncool girl wearing earplugs at a concert.
But if Mom had told me in all English to make sure I understood and repeated the exact same thing again in all Chinese to underscore her feelings? Then I’d be shoving orange squishy cones into my ears—no matter what anyone else thinks. Looking uncool is nothing compared to ignoring that kind of warning. Because that’s DEFCON 1 for Mom. Life or death.
Glory and Camille are too into the music to notice that I’m being elbowed aside by a crowd of excited fans trying to get closer to the front, but Ken notices. He puts a protective arm around me, and his touch is so lovely and tingly that I don’t complain about getting even hotter and stickier from his body heat.
The set ends at last, and the crowd starts to ease away from the floor and toward the bar. My ears are ringing, so I don’t immediately register that the phone in my back pocket is buzzing. Who’s calling me near midnight on a Saturday? I pull out my phone and glance at the screen. Then the world tilts and I stop breathing. It’s my agent.
In slow motion, I answer the call. “Hi, Laura,” I squeak.
Ken drops his arm from my shoulders, and Glory and Camille both turn away from the stage to stare at me. They don’t know about my Butterfly audition. Why tell them about every long-shot audition—only to be disappointed? But that doesn’t keep the hope from rising in my throat.
“Are you sitting down, Gemma?” Laura asks.
“Yes,” I lie, calves and feet aching from dancing in place for hours on a hard, concrete floor. My breath is coming in hard pants now. This could be it. This really could.
“Good.” Excitement sparks in her voice. “Because you, Gemma Huang, just got cast in the lead role of Sonia Li!”
My heart goes numb in my chest, and my knees weaken, making me wish I actually were sitting down. “Oh, wow,” I whisper in hushed awe. Ken, Glory, and Camille all lean closer to listen in, and I take a step backward. “Did you just say lead role?” Thrilled disbelief jolts my heart, making it thud painfully. I thought Sonia was a minor role. The scene I read made her seem like the ex-girlfriend of the white male lead. “We’re talking about Butterfly, the M. Butterfly update that I auditioned for, right?”
Camille gasps, clutching her chest dramatically, and Glory starts doing a little victory dance. But Ken doesn’t react at all. A prickle of unease works its way down my spine, but goddammit, I’m finally being offered a role, so Ken should be the last thing I’m worrying about.
“Unless there’s some other audition that I don’t know about.” Laura laughs. “Yes, Butterfly, and it’s absolutely a lead role!” She pauses, and I hear the ruffling of paper, probably her notes. “The production company needs you to send a copy of your passport so they can get you an expedited visa. Shooting in China begins in two weeks.”
The joy blazing through my body freezes suddenly, and cold dread stabs my stomach. China. Right. I was so sure I wouldn’t get the role that I didn’t pay much attention to where the film was being shot. “Um, do you know what city?” Not Beijing. Not Beijing. Mom’s warning to stay out of Beijing doesn’t even have a spot in my ranking system of motherly advice. It’s off the charts. More than life or death.
“Beijing,” Laura says.
My hands go hot and clammy, and I have to clutch the phone to keep it from sliding out of my grasp. Of course it’s Beijing. It’s the capital city, after all. “That’s so amazing!” My voice sounds like it’s coming from a long way off. Wait! Am I actually accepting the role?
Laura seems to think so. “Great! I’ll send the contract along with a synopsis of the script.”
I end the call and look up at my friends. “I just got the lead role in a film update of M. Butterfly!” I don’t tell them about my mom forbidding me to go to Beijing because I’m still freaking out about that. And I don’t want Camille to give me a knowing look and mentally file the information away in a “Gemma’s tiger mom” file. I’m probably being unfair to her. Camille should get some credit for being the only white person in our little friend group.
“Awesome!” Glory’s eyes shine. “I didn’t even know you auditioned for it!”
Camille shrieks in joy. “I love that opera! But does that mean you have to sing?”
“Not Madama Butterfly, the opera by Puccini,” I explain. “M. Butterfly is a gender-bending play and film by David Henry Hwang. Totally different.”
“For one thing, an Asian woman doesn’t kill herself over a white man,” Glory says dryly. Glory and I both identify as Asian, but when a film does a casting call for an Asian actress, they don’t have someone like Glory in mind. They’re thinking of someone like me, small-framed with delicate features. That’s the film industry’s idea of Asian womanhood. Scarlett Johansson has a better chance of getting cast as an Asian woman in a film than Glory does. After all, when Scarlett Johansson was cast as the lead in the live-action remake of the Japanese anime film Ghost in the Shell, they added a whole convoluted plotline to explain why the character has a white woman’s body. I mean, they could have just casted an Asian actress. It’s seriously messed up. Glory says her only chance is with “ambiguous” roles—she means in terms of both gender and race. One time, she showed me a casting audition that literally called for an “ethnically ambiguous” actress. That’s me, she said with a wry smile.
“But,” Ken says, speaking at last, “there are no female lead roles in M. Butterfly.”
I stiffen at his flat tone. “Like I said, it’s an update.” But Ken does have a point. I can’t think of a female lead role in M. Butterfly either. It’s why I originally thought I was trying out for a supporting role. I wonder if I’m being cast for the part played by B. D. Wong on Broadway and John Lone in the film version. And if so, how am I supposed to play a woman playing a man playing a woman?
“An update.” Ken’s face turns blank. There aren’t a lot of roles for Asian men—and Song Liling, the male Chinese opera singer who seduces a white male diplomat by pretending to be a woman—is a role Ken would’ve killed to play.
My breath goes hot with indignation. There are as few roles for Asian women as there are for Asian men. Ken knows that, so it would be nice if he could be happy for me.
Glory groans. “Don’t tell me they’re straight-washing the whole thing!”
My stomach twists. Oh no. What if Glory’s right? Casually, I slide my phone back out. Laura said that she would send me the synopsis. I’ve got to know what I’m getting myself into.
Camille is gazing in amazement at Glory, Ken, and me. “How do you all know so much about a film I’ve never even heard of?”
That’s easy. We’re all Asian actors. Of course we know every Asian actor who’s ever made it and what roles they played. It’s not like there are that many. Ken and Glory explain this to Camille while I check my emails. My pulse races when I see Laura’s email in my inbox. I open the attachment with the synopsis and start reading.
Outspoken, vivacious Song (everyone calls her Sonia) Li’s dream job negotiating overseas business contracts has just opened up! The problem? Ryan Glenn, her ex-boyfriend, will be her boss. And it’s not like their breakup was amicable. How can she convince him to hire her . . . and keep dangerous sparks from flying again?
Damn. Glory is right.
Ken’s eyes narrow. “I saw that casting call. They weren’t casting Asian male roles.” His face, normally so calm and easygoing, is pinched. “Just extras. I’ll bet the romantic interest is a white man and all the Asian men in that film will be sexless and nerdy or chauvinistic and domineering.”
And there’s another hitch. Sonia’s first contract will be for a deal in China, and Chinese businessmen won’t take a female lawyer seriously. But Sonia has a plan to solve both problems. By becoming Song Li, unassuming, reserved . . . and male. The opposite of everything Sonia Li is.
Shit. Ken’s right too.
I look up from my phone, a forced smile on my face. Everyone is looking at me, and a cold bead of perspiration slides down my neck. Ken has his arms crossed, and I wish he’d just give me a hug and say he’s on my side.
But it’s Glory who puts a hand on my arm and says, “You’ve got to go for this, Gemma. It’s the chance of a lifetime, and you’re going to be amazing.”
“Of course you’re doing it,” Camille says. “It’s a lead role. It’s what we’ve all dreamed of!”
“Yeah.” Ken’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Congratulations, Gemma.”
At least he’s trying. Maybe he just needs time to come around. And maybe if I take the role, I can influence the direction of the script. Right. That’s about as likely as my mom not caring that I’m taking a job in Beijing. But I need this role. Like Glory said, when will a chance like this come again? I’m just going to have to keep my mom from finding out where I’m going. My throat tightens as I brightly say, “Thanks, everyone. I think it’s all going to work out.”