Yep, he says. Takeshi Kaneshiro. Definitely.
You know, he says, some people say I look like him too?
T
HIRTY
-N
INE
Was that any good? says the blond guy with the big jaw.
He lowers the sheet of paper, looking at us with wide, grey eyes.
In the middle of this studio space he got me to rent out for the day, Charles is sat down on a stool. He says, Will you excuse us for a minute?
Sure, the guy says, and steps outside.
Charles says, What do you think?
Me, I can’t focus on what we’re doing. On account of my encounter with the other me this morning.
I’m shook.
It felt like the whole conversation he was alluding to the fact that we’re the same, without explicitly saying it.
Charles is looking at me expectantly, so I shake it off and I say, He was pretty good. Maybe the best we’ve had all day.
Charles goes to the door to take a look at the guy again. I like that he’s American, he says. Tall and muscular. Handsome, too.
He looks like Brad Pitt is what it is, I say. A regular Adonis.
I bask in the guy’s presence, even though he’s not in the room anymore.
A feeling of half-admiration, half-self-loathing.
Tall, good-looking white dudes, they have that effect on me.
Charles folds his arms and looks at me. Is he making too much of it, though? Is he overdoing it with the hand gestures and the tears?
Why don’t we give him some pointers and let him have another go at it?
Good idea, says Charles.
Adonis composes himself, clears his throat.
He’s standing dead straight.
He wipes his face blank, then draws in despair.
He knocks on the black, Victorian-style door with the golden lion knocker. The number 88 above it in gold, too.
Charles is on the other side of the door, on the other side of the studio that’s not decked out like the hallway of that crazy glass and steel sci-fi apartment block the movie star lives in.
The red and gold carpet with the same pattern, the wall lights, even the oil painting of the old-time admiral on his warship in that elaborate gold frame.
No playing, it’s all here, every detail recreated.
Going to these lengths? It is insane. And for true, I am impressed.
Charles opens the door.
Please, says Adonis. This time he’s not reading the script.
I can’t do this anymore. It was okay when we were on set, I could handle it. But now? It’s killing me.
When I wake up in the morning, you’re all I think about. When I’m on location, you’re all I can think about. When I’m sleeping with other women, all I can see is your face.
He pauses. The desperation leaking out of this guy is unreal. Charles is just standing there, face blank, watching the performance.
I’m sick of tiptoeing around, says Adonis. I need to be with you. Forget that loser already, he’s a shitty actor and an even shittier husband.
Please.
He stops. A sharp exhale, a roll of the head and shoulders, and he stands up straight again, face back to normal.
Wow, I say, clapping my hands. How do you do that?
