Is this guy serious? This is all too much.
I like the ease of it, he says, running his hand through his perfectly combed hair.
I can’t believe what I am hearing, these blasphemous words coming out of what appears to be my mouth, so I decide to just shut up for a bit.
Who’s the dude you’re living with then? says Other Me, as he pours more tea into our cups.
This takes me by surprise, because I haven’t mentioned Charles to him before. He doesn’t even know where I live. At least, I think he doesn’t know where I live.
I say, What do you mean?
Other Me, he says, You know, the dapper, white-haired gentleman I see you hanging out with on that roof terrace over there. He nods in the direction of Charles’s place, which, of course, is opposite this flat we’re sitting in right now.
He laughs and he says, You’re not the only one with a telephoto lens, homie.
I curse my ignorance and my arrogance, and I say, He’s called Charles. I’m working for him, and in return, I get to stay at his place.
For real? says Other Me.
For real, I say.
Must be nice, says Other Me. Living large in that penthouse.
Yeah, I suppose it is, I say, thinking about the luxury of Charles’s place, the sheer space of it, and how already I’m taking it for granted, forgetting I used to share a poky one-bedroom flat in Hackney just a couple months ago.
He says, What kind of work are you doing for him?
I say, Just photographing interiors, nothing exciting.
Huh, interesting, says Other Me, and he’s quiet for a moment, blowing on his tea to cool it down.
He looks back at me, eyes smiling slightly.
What about that girl I’ve seen you with? he says.
That’s Akemi, I say. She’s Charles’s daughter.
Other Me makes an I see kind of face. He says, She’s pretty, no? In an unconventional way, I mean.
And I say, Yeah, I suppose she is.
F
ORTY
-E
IGHT
The projector flickers white light onto the wall as the small screening room emerges, slow and smooth, from the darkness.
Me, Akemi and Charles, we’re all sitting in a row of reclining chairs, me in the middle.
Watching the end credits rise, backed by an orchestra of swoon-inducing strings.
Akemi nudges me with her elbow. That was fun, watching that film for the fiftieth time.
Charles nudges me with his elbow. He says, He got a Golden Horse award for that performance. Unbelievable.
He beckons me to lean over, and he whispers in my ear, We’ve taken his wife, we’ve taken his child.
He whispers, And you’re absolutely right, we should take his career next.
I’m thinking, What? I never suggested that we take his career.
Or did I?
Akemi says to me softly, Why can’t we watch something different for once? Like some vintage Masahiro Shinoda or something?
I look at Charles, and he’s being serious.
And I whisper back to him, I didn’t suggest we take his career?
Charles frowns at me. He says, Are you pulling my leg? We had a conversation about it the other night. A couple of days ago. Outside the building. Remember?
I flip through the index cards of my brain, try and remember where I was two nights ago, because I for sure don’t remember having this conversation that Charles is adamant we had.
What are you two talking about? says Akemi.
