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!”
“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 should 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.