Liz is visibly startled when I stroll into my trailer early the next morning with a garment bag slung over my shoulder.
“Good morning, Liz!” I call out before pushing Song’s ugly suit aside on the rolling clothes rack to make room for the garment bag that I brought. “Could you do me a favor?”
Interest sparks in her eyes. “Sure. What is it?”
“First of all, how many of those”—I point to the bowl-cut wigs—“do we have?”
“Too many,” she says, and then clasps her hand over her mouth as she realizes that she’s inadvertently given her uncensored opinion about those awful wigs.
“Good,” I say cheerfully, “then it won’t matter if we modify one.”
The interest in her eyes turns into a maniacal gleam. “What do you have in mind?”
I pull out my phone to show her images of Eric’s short, urban-chic hairstyle. The fact that he patiently let me take as many pictures as I wanted from all conceivable angles last night speaks volumes about how much he likes me. I’m lucky to be with Eric for many reasons, the least of which is his awesome hair—but the hair certainly doesn’t hurt. Is it weird that I want to copy my boyfriend’s hair? Mentally, I shrug. If it’s weird to want to look as hot as Eric, then call me weird. “Can you do something like this with one of the wigs?”
“Oh yes,” she breathes in reverence. “It will be my pleasure.”
I smile. Roping Liz into my plans didn’t turn out to be all that hard.
Twenty minutes later, Liz puts her shears away, works some mousse into the wig, and blow-dries the last strand into place. “What do you think?” she asks, gesturing to the wig still on its mannequin head.
I look with admiration at the cool layers and texture she’s added. “It doesn’t look at all like the original!”
“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”
“Liz, you are a miracle worker! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” she replies modestly. “Let me do your makeup first, and then you can try on the wig.”
She does my makeup quickly and then places the wig on my head, carefully tucking in the stray strands of my hair. Then she stands back to take in the whole effect.
Sitting in the makeup chair, I stare in awe at my reflection in the mirror. “Wow.” For a moment, I forget that the sexy, handsome face staring back at me is mine.
Liz smiles in satisfaction. “I’ll leave you to get dressed, then. But I sincerely hope you brought another suit with you because it would be a travesty to wear my masterpiece with that horrible suit.”
I grin. “Don’t worry. I’m in complete agreement with you.”
As soon as she leaves, I unzip the garment bag to reveal the clean, sharp lines and quality fabric of the suit. The one I coveted and finally let Eric give me. Nothing at all inappropriate in accepting a gift from my boyfriend, I think with smug satisfaction. Besides, he’s right. I’m an aspiring actress who’ll be good for Eric’s business once I totally rock this suit on film.
I’m going to take back Song’s character, my role, and this film in general. If my mother can stand up to her family for her beliefs, then I can fight for my beliefs—and change Butterfly while I’m at it. My mouth firms. After all, the women in my family are descended from royalty. So maybe it’s time for me to rule.
The suit feels just as good as I remembered. This time, I’ve practiced knotting a tie with Eric. After some pleasurable detours. Who knew that putting a tie on (and taking it off) with one’s boyfriend could be so hot?
After I’m dressed in shimmering black silk and soft cotton, I put on a pair of shiny black loafers that Eric gave me as well. Only after I’m completely dressed does my stomach go wobbly with nerves. I guess I’m ready to face the music. I pick up my phone. Would it be too much to put on “Sail” by Awolnation, the song that played when Keanu Reeves walked into the restaurant to such great effect in Always Be My Maybe? Yes, I decide, and put the phone back down on the dressing table. Quit stalling, Gemma. This is your moment.
Channeling a confidence I don’t quite feel, I leave my trailer and walk toward the studio, where we’re doing the reshoot. My hand freezes on the handle that will open the studio door. My ancestress might have been an empress, but I’m just a newbie actress terrified about blowing my big chance. No, I tell myself sternly. I’m not alone in this.
The thought of Eileen on my side is what decides me. Not only do I have a legacy of powerful women in my lineage, I have one powerful woman in the film industry at my back. The doubts that Ken stirred up about Eilene are gone. Eilene will fight with me.
All I have to do is begin the fight and not give up. I’m Sonia Li, badass lawyer. I’m sexy as all hell, oozing hot Asian masculinity, and I’m about to effing kill this role as Song, my bisexual ex-boyfriend’s new crush.
I press down on the handle with numb fingers and push the door open. My body burning with compressed energy, I swagger into the studio. One by one, each cast and crew member stops what they’re doing to stare at me.
I come in just as Aidan, as Ryan, is speaking his lines to Eilene, who seems to be standing in for me. “Yeah, this is the tie that my ex-girlfriend bought. . . .” Aidan’s words trail off, and his eyes widen as he catches sight of me.
Now everyone is looking at me. But instead of nerves, a surge of excitement runs up and down my spine as I stroll up to Aidan.
“What’s this?” Jake mutters. “That sure as hell isn’t Song’s costume!”
Eilene, on the other hand, steps aside for me at once, a joyous look of understanding dawning on her face. She sits down in the director’s chair next to Jake and puts out a hand when he makes a motion to stand up and stop the scene.
My body tingling with adrenaline, I touch the intricate folds in the taut knot of Aidan’s tie. “Your ex-girlfriend has good taste.” My voice is low and growly, the way I’ve been practicing. “I like this tie on you.”
I’m close enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Line,” Aidan calls faintly.
His line is about beer and football. Same as my next line. I recall Jake’s direction from last time—for Aidan as Ryan to recoil from a man hitting on him and for us both to “get real macho, real fast” at this moment in the scene. Frantically, I try to improvise a different line in my head, but it will be hard to play off Aidan if he’s following Jake’s vision of the scene.
Jake begins to give Aidan his line. “How about those Patriots—”
Eilene cuts him off. “Let’s play this Gemma’s way.” My heart explodes with gratitude as she continues. “Aidan, you’re attracted to Song, thinking he’s a man, and you’re into it. Gemma, you’re conflicted about starting up things again, but you’re into Ryan being attracted to you as Song. Use the same lines for now with the different direction, or improvise.” She smiles at me. “This is your vision now, Gemma. Let’s see what happens.”
Too choked up to speak, I just nod. I was right to trust Eilene. She wanted me to take the lead, to fight for my vision, but she’ll be here to back me up.
“That’s not what we agreed on!” Jake says.
“If I recall correctly, Jake,” Eilene says coolly, “your objection had something to do with how it wasn’t plausible for Ryan to be attracted to Sonia in drag as Song.” She turns to Aidan. “Can you play Ryan as attracted to Song?”
Aidan clears his throat. “If Gemma plays the character like she just did? Not a problem.”
Jake looks me over, but for once, it’s not with a leer. In fact, I could swear there’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “It could work,” he admits grudgingly. “Let’s take the scene from the top, but this time with the cameras rolling.”
We do the scene, and I play Song with an edge of cockiness, but also with vulnerability and sweetness—just the way I like my men. And women too, now that I think of it. When the dialogue about football comes up, I go for broke. After all, if Jake didn’t want me to make sly innuendos about balls and padding, then he shouldn’t have handed me a topic so ripe with possibilities.
“A bunch of sweaty, muscular guys tussling over big balls, trying to score,” I say archly, leaning toward Aidan like I can’t help myself. “What’s there not to love?”
Aidan also leans in. “There’s more to the game than that!” His improvised line and delivery are both perfect. The stiff way he’s playing Ryan is irresistible. It would tempt Song to mess with him, rattle that adorable proper facade and tease out his clear attraction to my character.
“Right.” I wink at Aidan. “There’s also padding to make the players look bigger.” Slowly, my eyes lower—but not demurely like when I was playing Sonia. This time I’m all flirtatious mischief. Aidan’s gaze follows, and then freezes. On where I’m packing. I may have overdone the padding, but as Jake keeps reminding me—this is a comedy.
Aidan is staring at my bulge and heroically struggling to keep a straight face. “How about those Patriots?” he chokes out. And that’s all I’m going to get out of him. Because Aidan has now crammed his shirtsleeve into his mouth to keep himself from breaking character. Yup. Overdid it on the padding.
It’s time for Song to pull back on the risqué humor and get a little vulnerable. “The Patriots? You used to love—” Pretending to correct myself, I say hastily, “I mean, I knew someone who loved . . . the game.” I give him a small, bittersweet smile. “As for me, I never liked it when the players got hurt.”
Aidan manages to sober up and get back into character. “Getting hurt is part of the game.” He’s looking at me like he’s really into this game we’re playing. Like he’d pay the price of getting hurt if he had to.
I clear my throat. Song would pivot now, put a lid on those feelings for Ryan. I grin at Aidan. “So, padding! Do you use padding when you have a . . . uh, scramble? Fromage? What’s it called?”
“Scrimmage,” Aidan gasps through stifled laughter, losing it again.
“Well, whatever it’s called—real men use padding.” To underscore the point, I widen my stance, emphasizing my own padding.
When we finish, I know we’ll have to do the scene again—not because I messed up—but because my improvised lines kept making Aidan crack up. I was right. This is hilarious. And it doesn’t have to be homophobic to be funny.
Jake seems to agree. “I actually like that,” he says grudgingly before asking Eilene, “What do you think?”
Eilene’s opinion is the one I really care about, so my breath freezes in my lungs as I wait for her reply.
“I have some suggestions, but what we’ve got to work with here is pretty amazing.” Then Eilene looks at me. “Bu cuo.”
Ah. I breathe again. There it is. The “not bad” in Chinese that I was hoping for. This time, I reply in Chinese, “Ni ye bu cuo.” You’re also not bad.
Eilene’s eyebrows rise. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak Chinese.”
“I’ve been practicing. Wo shi zhong guo ren. I’m Chinese after all.”
“Yes, that you are.” A small smile hovers over her lips.
Jake makes an impatient noise. “Can we get on with this, please?”
Eilene makes her suggestions, we talk over the scene a bit, and then we do the next take.
It’s not an easy shoot, but at the end of ten grueling hours, Jake finally says, “That’s a wrap! Gemma, good job today.”
It’s not as meaningful as Eilene’s “bu cuo.” But I’ll take it.