CHAPTER SIX

I’m haphazardly throwing clothes into my suitcase, ticking off in my head everything I’ve done and still need to do before leaving for Beijing in two days. Join Screen Actors Guild. Check. Meet Eilene Deng for dinner. That’s tomorrow night. Get roommates to cover for me if my parents show up in LA unannounced. Check—sort of. Glory agreed immediately, but Camille was more reluctant. Still, I think I can count on them both not to give me away. Say goodbye to Ken and hope that he doesn’t meet someone else while I’m six thousand miles away. As soon as I think this, the doorbell rings.

I climb over my open suitcase and various pairs of shoes that I’m still deciding between to get to the door. Ken is standing at the entrance with a bouquet of bright flowers.

I fling my arms around him. “I love these! Thank you!” Maybe I’m being a touch too enthusiastic, but things have been a little strained since I was cast in the film, and the flowers give me hope that the weirdness is gone now.

“You’re welcome. You better put them in water. They probably won’t last long. Not that you’ll be here to notice.”

Nope. Weirdness definitely not gone yet.

Things are better when we leave the apartment. We talk a bit about the commercial and how it’s an important stepping-stone in Ken’s career. In the back of my mind, it registers that we’re talking more about his toothpaste commercial than we’ve ever talked about my movie. But I shove away such thoughts as petty. He should get to enjoy his moment too.

Ken suggests a movie he’s been wanting to see, and it sounds good, so I agree. I did kind of hope we’d go somewhere we could talk, maybe the beach again—but being at a movie with Ken turns out to be nice. We hold hands and share popcorn in the dark, and I realize that this is our first movie date. We’re so new as a couple that I still get excited about our “firsts.” When I point out that this is our first movie, Ken whispers back, “There’s a reason I suggested a dark theater for a date.” Then he nuzzles my neck, sending sparks through my body.

After the movie, Ken takes me back home, and both Camille and Glory are there, so all four of us hang out for a bit until my roommates simultaneously decide to “turn in early” and leave the living room/my bedroom to us. I’m really going to miss those two.

To my surprise, Ken gets to his feet when my roommates go to their rooms. “I have an early morning tomorrow, so I should go too.”

I stand up, hiding my disappointment. “Oh. I guess this is goodbye, then, for two to three months.”

He shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “Look, you’re going to be gone for a while, and I think we should clear some things up before you go.”

My body tenses. Is Ken breaking up with me? “OK . . .” The silence that follows is torturous.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be exclusive while you’re in China.” Quickly, he adds, “I’m not saying that I actually would meet someone, and I definitely wouldn’t get serious with anyone else, but we could . . . uh, keep our options open. Just for the three months you’re gone.”

That seems . . . not horrible. As long as it’s not code for I want to break up with you but am too much of a wimp to say so. “Sure. That works for me.” Because I’m a decent actress, it comes out sounding light and unconcerned.

Ken seems relieved by my reaction. “Hey, you’re still my girlfriend, OK?”

“You bet.” I bump his hip with mine. “Don’t think you can go out and replace me.” Inwardly, I wince. I was trying to sound totally blasé about the whole non-exclusive thing, but all I’ve done is remind Ken that he could meet someone.

He laughs. “Impossible. You’re one of a kind, Gemma Huang.” He pulls me in for a kiss.

Only after he leaves do I realize that neither of us considered the possibility that I might meet someone else.

I cannot believe this is happening. I’m actually sitting across the table from Eilene Deng at Nobu. Yes, Nobu is one of those hot-spot restaurants that makes me feel totally unhip and out of place, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m with Eilene Deng! She could take me to an organic vegan raw food restaurant where everything is served juiced or frothed in shot glasses, and I wouldn’t even care.

Eilene does the ordering and starts with an order of Hamachi Kama Miso Salt. This isn’t my first experience with sushi, but I have no idea what that is. Since when is salt a meal? She follows this up with the Toro Spicy Karashi Su Miso Caviar at market price (I gulp because the printed prices on the menu are already astronomical) and then rattles off a whole bunch of other dishes. I have to admit that the ingredients I do recognize sound delicious.

As the waiter rushes off to put in our order, Eilene leans back in her seat and takes a sip of her cocktail. “Tell me about yourself, Gemma. How did you get into acting?”

Once I get over my nervousness, I find Eilene easy to talk to. I even tell her about trying out for Snow White in fourth grade and getting cast as a bird instead, with a single line of “Tweet. Tweet.” And how it didn’t matter because just getting on the stage with everyone pulling together to make the magic happen was enough to infect me with the acting bug. Whenever I pause, self-conscious about talking so much, she draws me out with another deft question.

When Eilene asks me what roles I’d like to play, I say, “All kinds. I want to be like Awkwafina, who got to be a con artist in a female heist movie. The quirky best friend in a rom-com. A girl figuring out her Chinese American identity in an award-winning family dramedy. Especially that last one. The Farewell is one of my favorite movies ever.” I went to see it by myself and was unprepared for how that movie would break my heart and put it back together again. I didn’t even bring any tissues, which was stupid given that the trailer alone had reduced me to tears. Fortunately, two sympathetic older white women in the row in front of me had handed me some tissues before my sleeves got too soggy.

Eilene smiles. “The Farewell is one of my favorites too. Seeing that movie is one reason why I think I can be a director and make the movies I want to make.”

Awkwafina is good in everything she does, but in The Farewell—as Billi, a young Chinese American woman who returns to China with her family to visit her dying grandmother—she’s downright luminous. I’m pretty sure a big reason why Awkwafina was so good was because of Lulu Wang, the Chinese American filmmaker who wrote, directed, and fought a white Hollywood for her vision of the movie. Eilene says that’s the kind of movie she wants to make. And that’s the kind of movie I want to be in.

Then Eilene asks the one question that causes me to stumble. “Where’s your family from? Mainland China? Taiwan? Somewhere else?”

I swallow my mineral water too fast and start coughing. She waits patiently while I dab my lips with a cloth napkin. “Mainland China.” Tension winds up my spine as I wait for Eilene to ask what provinces and what cities.

She shoots me a penetrating look and changes the subject. “Do you know why you were chosen to play Sonia?”

I shake my head. That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering since I got the call from my agent, almost two weeks ago now. “I thought it would go to Vivienne.” Jake Tyler had clearly wanted Vivienne for the role, and I can’t imagine her turning it down.

Eilene’s mouth turns up in a wry smile. “Audition waiting rooms are notorious for having thin walls.”

“So if Jake wanted Vivienne, how did I end up getting cast as Sonia?”

“To answer that question, I need to first explain why I was brought into this project. The producers anticipated backlash when they hired both a white screenwriter and a white director for a remake of M. Butterfly—or rather, it was pointed out that they should anticipate a backlash.” This time, her smile is sharply edged. “I was brought in to be the film’s . . .” She pauses as if searching for a diplomatic phrasing.

“Token,” I finish. “You were brought in to give the film authenticity.” I make air quotes around the word “authenticity.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Ah. You understand. Perhaps you also understand that I wanted a Chinese American actress for the role?”

I remember Jake asking Eilene, What does it matter? after Vivienne’s audition, and Eilene saying, Isn’t that why I’m here—to tell you what matters? Everything clicks into place. Vivienne is Vietnamese American, and Eilene must have told Jake that it is important for a Chinese American actress to play a Chinese American character. And of course Jake didn’t get why it mattered. He probably thought all Asians were the same. “Was I the only Chinese American actress who got a second callback?”

“No, as a matter of fact,” Eilene says. “Of the other two actresses up for the role, one was Vietnamese and one was Chinese like you. But you’re the one I wanted.” She leans forward, fixing me with a steady gaze. “You understand Sonia as a character.”

I shift uncomfortably in the plush leather booth. No way that I can confess what I really think of Sonia as a character. “Um, OK.”

“And by understanding Sonia,” she says, eyes never wavering from mine, “you understand why she needs to change.”

The waiter arrives with a ceaseless procession of small plates. Gorgeous food is laid before us, but I can’t even focus on the stunning array of dishes. I’m taking in what Eilene just said.

After the waiter departs, I ask, “So you want me to . . . do what exactly?”

Instead of answering, Eilene uses her chopsticks to slide jewel-red fish, beautifully garnished, onto my plate. “Asian actresses have it tough. Sometimes we have to make compromises to get roles.” Her expression turns bitter. “It can make you feel like you’re selling out.” She takes a serving for herself. “And even then, once an actress—any actress, not just Asian—in Hollywood hits a certain age, roles get scarce.”

“There have to be roles still for someone like you—someone with your talent!” Then I wince because that’s so naive, and really, I know better.

Eilene waves away my protest. “It was time for me to move on anyway.” She gestures for me to eat. “I’ve always wanted to direct, but the problem is that no one wanted to take a chance on me. Then this film came along, and they needed a Chinese co-director for . . . authenticity . . . as you so astutely put it.” She sets down her chopsticks without taking a bite herself. “The problem is that Butterfly is complete drivel.”

The sushi is smooth as butter, and it’s a good thing too, or else I would have choked midswallow at Eilene’s words. “Drivel?” I repeat weakly.

“Oh, don’t pretend it isn’t,” she says with a smile. “But I understand why you’re hesitant to speak your mind. I was a young actress like you once. It’s not easy in this business to be true to yourself, especially as an Asian woman, but to truly be a great actress, that is what you have to do.”

I nod, barely resisting the temptation to nerd out and take notes about what she’s saying on my phone.

“I need this film to do well. And the way it’s going right now, that’s not going to happen,” she says quietly. “So, back to what I want you to do? I want you to become a truly great actress.”

Becoming a great actress is easier said than done. And also . . . what does she even mean by that?

She lifts her glass to me. “Together, we’re going to take over this film.”

Oh damn. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Eilene Deng is asking me to hijack Butterfly with her.