The Misfortune Cookie

Maybe more hair-and-makeup artists in show business should train in mortuaries, I thought.

The cast had to be self-sufficient about doing our own touch-ups, though, since John was a very busy guy. In addition to working on his PhD in biochemistry at NYU (which was where he was right now) and helping out at his family’s funeral home, he was also rehearsing to be one of the lion dancers roaming the streets during the upcoming firecracker festival.

It took two men to wear a lion costume and perform the dance. Bill Wu, who had the lead role in this film, was John’s partner this year. He was telling Officer Novak about it as we waited for our food.

“It’s sort of like a giant puppet that you wear,” Bill explained. “One man is the lion’s head, and the other is the body. The lion’s head is very animated—the eyelashes flutter, the mouth opens and closes, the head swivels and bobs up and down. And the whole dance is very athletic. The training for it arises out of Chinese martial arts, so there’s lots of jumping and kicking, crouching and leaping. And when two lions meet in the street, which happens often during the festival, they have to ‘fight’ or compete for the ‘lucky money’ and cabbage they’ve come to collect from the shopkeepers there.” Bill added, “The fighting is just symbolic, of course. We try to outdance each other. John and I love doing this because we’re really into the beauty and skill of martial arts, but we’re not that interested in hitting anyone.”

Ted said, “I thought John always did the lion dance with his brother, though.”

“His brother didn’t have time for training anymore. Not since his wife had their second baby a few months ago. So he decided to drop out,” said Bill. “Which was when John asked me to partner with him this year.”

Given John’s other commitments, I was amazed that he had time or energy to train for the lion dance. And Bill was almost as busy. He was a pharmacology student who had reduced his course load to part-time this term so he could star in Ted’s movie. He was hoping that success in ABC would convince his parents to agree to let him drop out of grad school and pursue acting as a full-time career, which was what he really wanted to do. His parents, however, expected him to get this youthful acting bug out of his system by doing Ted’s film, then return to school full-time next term and become a pharmacologist—a future that Bill viewed without much enthusiasm.

Like John, Bill was twenty-five—just two years younger than me. And I couldn’t imagine letting my parents play that big a role in my decisions about my adult life; not even if my parents happened to be people whom I listened to. But I was learning that things were often different for a first-generation Chinese-American than they were for me. Especially in Chinatown, where traditional influences remained strong.

“Those lion costumes are so beautiful and elaborate,” I said to Bill. “Is it a lot of work to take care of them?”

“Oh, you bet,” he said with a nod. “And they’re expensive, too.”

“I should write something for ABC that takes place during the firecracker festival,” Ted mused. “We could film a scene where the characters are surrounded by lion dancers. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“As long as you remember to get a permit,” said Officer Novak.

“Huh?” said Ted.

I repressed the impulse to roll my eyes.

“Well, the whole event sounds great,” Officer Novak said to Bill. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You’ve never been to Chinatown during the New Year before?” I asked him.

“Nope. This will be my first time.” He added, “But I’ll be working that day. Crowd control.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, even while working,” Bill said. “It’s a great celebration.”

I and everyone else at the table agreed with this. Besides Ted and Bill, we were seated with several crew members and two other featured actors in the film.

Cynthia Kwan, the only other woman in our group today, was playing Mei, the FOB girl who was Alicia’s competition for Brian’s affections. Cynthia and I got along well, whereas our two characters fought like alley cats every time they met in the story—such as when Mei bumped into Brian and Alicia kissing on Doyers Street, which scene we were supposed to film today. The only cast member besides me who had an agent, Cynthia had graduated last year from NYU’s Tisch School of Performing Arts. I thought she was good as Mei, though—like me —she was somewhat hampered by the clumsy dialogue and one-dimensional stereotyping that dominated Ted’s script.

The other cast member seated with us was Archie Sung, who played Jianyu, an imaginary medieval warrior-poet who appeared to Bill’s character, Brian, in daydreams and reveries, to give him advice, teach him cultural pride, and impart traditional values to him. There was no explanation or internal story logic for Jianyu’s visitations; he just kept popping up in Ted’s heavy-handed script, quoting Confucius and Lao Tzu, until Brian gradually realized that the hardworking and honorable Mei epitomized the traditional values he was coming to appreciate, while the selfish and materialistic Alicia would never even be able to understand them.

Archie was a martial arts pro, rather than an actor. He had won a number of competitions, and he ran a martial arts school uptown. He saw ABC as an opportunity to get his skills on film, which exposure he hoped would attract sponsors and students. So Jianyu delivered all his speeches while performing elaborate kung fu forms. Although this meant there was usually a disorienting lack of continuity between what Jianyu was saying and what he was doing, the gracefully athletic routines Archie performed while delivering his dialogue were certainly a welcome distraction from the tedious monologues that Ted had written for him.

I was warm enough to remove my heavy coat by the time our food arrived. Since I didn’t want to risk getting food on my costume, I asked for extra napkins, which I tucked carefully over my chest and lap. Cynthia and Archie did the same; but Bill, who mostly wore his own clothes when playing Brian, said he’d just go home and change shirts if he spilled something on himself. Like John, who lived with his father (John’s brother had moved out upon getting married), and Ted, who lived with his mother and sister, Bill lived with his parents; and the family apartment was only a few blocks from here.

Archie (about whose personal life I knew nothing) had to be particularly careful with his costume, since Jianyu was dressed entirely in white: pants, slippers, tunic, sash, and robe. Even his sword belt was white. The sword itself currently lay sheathed on the floor under our table. While Mei stood exchanging insults on the sidewalk with Alicia, after finding her in Brian’s arms, Brian would have a vision in which Jianyu performed an elaborate sword-form in the middle of Doyers Street while reciting a monologue about honor, wisdom, and virtue.

Well, that had been the plan, anyhow. Before it turned out that Ted had forgotten to apply for the necessary permits for a location shoot.

All things considered, I wondered if this film would really get made.

Although the soup dumplings which the waiter had set before me looked mouthwatering, I knew from experience not to bite into one immediately. They usually came to the table molten hot, so I was letting them sit for a bit.

So, since my mouth wasn’t full, I made conversation. “Has anyone heard from Mary Fox? How’s her leg?”

Although we weren’t exactly filming a cult classic here, I was nonetheless very pleased to have this job—and keenly aware that it was available to me because the original actress had broken her leg. I knew how I’d feel if our positions were reversed, so although I didn’t know Mary (and although I was very glad to have her role), I felt bad for her.

Ted, who was a surprisingly big eater for such a skinny guy, paused in his consumption of the enormous lunch he’d ordered. “Oh, yeah, that reminds me! I talked to her last night. She says we can still use her apartment.”

I frowned in puzzlement. “For . . . ?”

“For the scene that takes place in Alicia’s apartment,” he said. “We need a designer-chic uptown sort of place for that, and when I asked you about where you live, it didn’t sound like your place would fit the bill.”

“Definitely not,” I said. Alicia was well-to-do (though the source of her money was never explained in Ted’s script), as well as materialistic; she wouldn’t be caught dead in my apartment. “Mary’s acting career must be going well if she can afford the kind of apartment Alicia would live in.”

Ted shook his head. “Not really. Mary comes from old money. Trust fund and stuff.”

“Ah.” If I’d felt any guilt about taking her role, it was evaporating. Mary could still eat without this job; I couldn’t.

Cynthia added with a smile, “But she’s nice, even so.”