Charles’s face finally breaks. Much better, he says. What do you think, Sean?
All I can do is carry on clapping.
Charles says, Congratulations, looks like you’ve got the role.
Adonis grabs my hand and pumps it up and down, up and down.
Oh my god, he says, pumping up and down. Thank you, thank you so much.
When he finally stops trying to shake my arm out of its socket, he grabs his jacket and steps out.
I say, It’s kind of nice making someone’s day like that, no?
Indeed, says Charles.
F
ORTY
This is me, in the dark, standing in front of Other Me’s building again.
Because I went back to Charles’s place after the auditions, looked to see if Other Me was in his room reading his book. But he wasn’t.
So I’m waiting for him to come out again. Or return home.
Because let’s face it: I’m frigging obsessed.
I brought my camera along so I can shoot some frames in case I’m here waiting for a while.
And so I can make this guy’s portrait.
Because: I might be going crazy and imagining the whole thing?
I see two girls walking down the street towards me, dressed identically in stripy tops and matching trousers.
Just as I fire off a shot, a voice says, Oh hey, fancy seeing you here again.
I turn around, and Other Me is stood there. Standing tall, smiling warmly at me.
I advance the film and let the camera hang loose around my neck.
Oh hey, I say.
He says, I was just about to go and get something to eat. You hungry?
And I say, Sure, I could eat.
As the waitress walks past our table, Other Me says something to her in Mandarin. Not Mandarin like a foreigner, but Mandarin like my parents – the tone, the enunciation.
She stops, smiles at him and replies.
He laughs, says something else – and now they’re in full-blown conversation.
I watch him as he talks. The arm slung across the back of the empty chair next to him, the way he casually touches her as he cracks a joke, the eyes laughing even though the mouth is only just about smiling.
I’m looking at a warped reflection of myself, and I can’t stop watching.
The charisma, the easygoing vibe of the guy, it’s everything I want.
Everything I don’t have.
After she’s gone, I say, You speak Chinese?
And he says, Why wouldn’t I?
The canteen we’re in fizzes and swells, Saturday night in Taipei getting on going.
The waitress is back at our table with a tray, and places on our table dish after dish of different meats, vegetables, seafood and sauces. In the middle between us is a gas stove, sunken into the surface, and on top of that, a large pot full of simmering broth.
Hot pot. I’ve only had this once with Charles, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just stare at the array of ingredients in front of us.
Other Me? He takes his chopsticks, picks up a thin slice of red meat marbled with fat, dunks it into the broth four or five times, and puts it into his mouth, his eyes closed.
Oh man, he says. So good.
I do what he does, and he’s not wrong.
What was your childhood like? I say.
