The Popstar & Me

Chapter 32 - Runaway Gala Date

Chapter 32

On Thursday evening, Fang's driver shows up at 6:30 p.m. Fang's wearing tinted glasses even though it's nighttime. I suppose with men's fashion being far less flashy compared to women's fashion, guys have to add little touches to their outfits to stand out from the crowd. Compared to my extravagant dress that is fit for a Qing Dynasty empress, Fang's wearing a simple black t-shirt under a stark black blazer. To that understated ensemble, he has added a belt with a silver buckle. On the other hand, Teddie is wearing a tie with sequins on it, and his hair is gelled up like a cockatiel.

"You look like something out of this world," Fang says and pretends to fall backward in shock when he sees me. I'm sure Teddie sent him a picture of the dress for his approval a week ago, so I'm flattered Fang is going through the lengths to feign surprise.

We get into the car together. Teddie takes care to make sure my train isn't jammed in the car door. He snaps a picture of me with his cellphone and whispers under his breath that the sight is tài bàng le. I've heard the phrase muttered in the game shows my mom watches. It means "too awesome."

I'm starting to think Teddie is more than just a personal shopper; he's also accompanying us tonight as my personal stylist to make sure I'm not walking about with a crumpled dress. As I've learned now, people always step outside their job description for a celebrity with as much oomph as Fang Yao. Heck, I was supposed to be a student acupuncturist this summer, and now I'm Fang's curvy red carpet eye candy.

"What are you thinking?" Fang asks and lowers his sunglasses. He reaches across the back seat and takes my hand in his. His fingers are warm. They rub circles into the back of my hand. I'm surprised by the intimate gesture. It's like he is trying to woo me. Does a man like Fang need to woo anyone? I thought he just snapped his fingers and the heavens opened up, revealing the perfect girl created just for him by the gods.

"I'm thinking about . . . well . . . I'm not sure if I belong here."

"You belong here if I say you belong here."

"You do know that I'm going home soon, by the end of the summer."

"I . . .know," Fang replies and drops my hand. "Are you looking forward to going home?"

"I was," I reply with difficulty because it seems as though he was looking for a different answer. "But, now, sitting here, I'm not so sure."

I wonder if this is the right moment to tell him that his fanbase is about to skin me alive and wear me like Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. But heck, otherwise, our relationship is great, truly.

Fang slips his sunglasses on as we approach the crowded streets of onlooking fans.

"They don't know about my condition," Fang confesses with some difficulty even though it's been obvious since the day I met him that he's not quite in top-performing shape. I wonder if he's repeating this to me now, more for his own sake than for mine. Perhaps he needs to get used to saying those words, to telling people about the accident. Instead, he clears his throat and reaches for my hand. "Let's forget about that for tonight. Are you ready to step outside?"

I nod. I've stepped out of many cars in my day, but I can see why it's different this time. This time that simple act will be an act that will be etched in the memories of his loving fans forever. I can't begin to understand how to prepare myself for this moment mentally.

We arrive at the crowd of paparazzi gathered outside the Fosun Arts Center. Fang leads me out of the car, and he even fixes my train himself. The photographers swarm us, and there are so many flashing cameras, this event should come with an epilepsy warning.