Wang Yang went outside to the balcony, where he saw Rachel standing hunched against the rails. Smiling, he said to her, “What are you looking at? Why don’t you join our card game?”
Rachel wagged her head slowly and smiled. “I don’t know any card games. I’m a total idiot when it comes to these things. So I came out to get some fresh air.”
Wang Yang nodded. Reclining against the rails and tilting his head toward Rachel, he asked, “Rachel, you’re turning 20. How do you feel?”
“Jeez!” Rachel seemed to be taken aback by the question. She said, in a pretended rage, “Yang, don’t you know you aren’t supposed to ask a girl such questions? It’s so annoying.” Then, she breathed through her nose and added, smilingly, “I feel one year older, I guess.”
Wang Yang cracked up in laughter. He tilted his head at the clear, blue sky and consoled her. “Everybody gets old. But look on the bright side. One more year and you’ll be able to drink legally in this country,” he said thoughtfully, “Aren’t you stoked?”
Rachel rolled her eyes and made a pouting face. “I’d be stoked if I were an alcoholic, but I’m not.”
Wang Yang shrugged and replied, “I’m not an alcoholic, either. I guess there’s nothing to look forward to then.”
Smiling, Rachel said, “Yeah. You can look forward to growing a beard though. It’ll make you look more handsome.”
Wang Yang stroked his baby-butt smooth chin and asked doubtfully, “You really think so?”
Right at that moment came Jessica’s voice, “Rachel, Yang, let’s play some cards!” She was standing in the living room at some little distance from the balcony, egging them on, “Come on!”
“Coming!” Wang Yang answered. He turned back to Rachel and urged with a smile, “Come on, you’re the birthday girl. It won’t be fun without you.”
Rachel assented with a nod. “I guess you’re right.”
Inside the living room, the friends were sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of Texas Hold ’em. Michael Pitt was holding two cards with still fingers and an unlit cigarette between his teeth. His face, haggard, as usual, was expressionless. Joshua kept studying him out of the corner of his eye with his head bent forward and his brows knitted. Meanwhile, Zachary seemed as if he had washed his hands of that game completely. His heart, eyes, and soul were not in the cards, but in Erin Elis, who was sitting beside him.
“Looks like the game’s starting to heat up!” Wang Yang joined the circle with a smile. Jessica and Rachel sat across him in the circle, ready to join the next game.
The last community card was revealed and Michael Pitt won with three of a kind—tens. He swept the plastic chips from the middle of the circle to the side of his feet, where an impressive mound was taking shape. He had bought those plastic chips yesterday under Wang Yang’s instruction, in preparation for today’s game.
Seeing his own pile of chips dwindling, Joshua interrupted the game with a loud flourish of words. Then, suddenly came the three terrible words, “You are cheating!”
Michael Pitt shook his head with his cigarette sticking out from his mouth. “No, I’m just lucky.”
The muscles were rigid in Joshua’s jaw as he tried to suppress his outrage. “Luck? You’ve been winning too many games straight. It can’t be luck! Come on; tell us. How did you do it?”
“Joshua, shut up. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Jessica said reproachfully as she picked up the deck of shuffled cards and proceeded to deal.
Upon picking up the first card and taking a look, Wang Yang chuckled, “Wow, nice!”
Jessica looked up at him and smiled, as her hands continued to dole out cards in circular rotation. “Really?”
Wang Yang nodded gleefully. He picked up the second card and burst out with joy, “Wow, this is awesome! Jessica, you’re my lucky star!” When it came to his turn to bet, Wang Yang gathered all his starting chips and shoved it to the middle of the congregation with a glowing air of prowess and pride. “All in!”
Wang Yang’s blatant display of confidence sent thrills of indignation into the hearts of his opponents. They looked at Wang Yang with full suspicion. Even Jessica was a little skeptical. Could she have dealt Wang Yang such a good hand? Could it be a pair of aces?
“Please!” Joshua shouted indignantly. It was not the gentleman’s way to force opponents to raise their stakes even before the first card was revealed. But to his eyes, Wang Yang’s countenance was positively bullish. He considered a moment, then laid his cards down resignedly. “I fold!” he said.
“I fold, too,” said Zachary, dropping his cards. He looked at Erin sidelong and told her, “Erin, don’t raise.” Then, scratching his head, he told everyone, “Nobody raise!”
Everybody evidently felt that Wang Yang held superior cards, and one by one they decided to fold. Wang Yang let out a cheer. Sweeping all the chips to his side of the floor, his eyes gleaming with joy, Wang Yang chuckled and chuckled. Unlike at a casino, it was not the custom among friends playing Texas Poker at home to reveal cards upon winning. But upon his curious friends’ requests, Wang Yang whanged his cards down—three of hearts and six of spades.
The jaws of the others dropped as they looked at him. Then, there was a chorus of curses. It turned out his cards were dogs! Jessica, expecting to see a pair of aces, seemed a little disappointed.
Zachary, having been cast a disapproving look by Erin, grumbled, “Yang, you sly dog!”
Joshua scrunched his hair and said disgruntledly, “Man, I had a pair of nines!”
Rachel smiled and said, “We got to see another side of Wang Yang. I never knew he was such a good actor!”
Wang Yang laughed in a manner that others found annoying. Then, gathering the cards in his hands, he said, “Come on, round two. Let’s get at it.”
After the card games, the gang sang and dance and watched DVDs until the sun went down. The cake that Wang Yang had ordered came, and everybody stood around it as they sang “Happy Birthday” to Rachel. They ate the cake and frolicked late into the night. The party ended on a high note, and one by one, laughing and in great spirits, the guests left the apartment for their homes.
Silence settled like dust after the party. Wang Yang was sitting on the wicker sofa watching television, while Michael Pitt was sitting on the other end of that sofa, thinking about the day’s event. Suddenly, he asked, “Yang, there’s something I don’t quite understand. Jessica and Rachel—which one of them is your girlfriend?”
That stymied Wang Yang. He wheeled upon Michael Pitt and shrugged his shoulders. “Neither of them is my girlfriend,” said Wang Yang.
“Interesting,” said Michael Pitt with a thin, cunning smile. Wang Yang ignored him and went back to his television. After a period of silence, Michael Pitt spoke again, “Didn’t you notice it? They’re both into you.”
Wang Yang watched the television without saying a word. How could he not notice it? He was neither stupid nor inexperienced when it came to love. He sensed it, all right. It was just that… Wang Yang turned off the television with the click of the remote. Then, he rose from the sofa and started for his bedroom. “Give it a rest, Michael. It’s none of your business,” he remarked.
Michael Pitt put his feet up where Wang Yang was sitting and reclined on the sofa, angling his head at Wang Yang as he walked off. “Come now, you can’t run away forever,” he said.
“I know,” Wang Yang stopped to say, then strode into his bedroom. For some reason, Michael Pitt’s words had a profound effect on him; they echoed in his head, causing him intense frustration. He paced back and forth in his room as he recounted that incident on the beach with Jessica—he had been about to propose to her, but then someone else’s face had come to his mind, and at that moment, he felt he was not ready to embark on a new relationship.
Wang Yang made another lap around his room and came to a corner where a cardboard box filled with books lay. It was the very box that he had brought with him when he was kicked out of USC. All the books were still inside, untouched when they should have been placed on a bookshelf. He picked a book out of the cardboard box titled Little Women and sat down on the side of his bed. As he opened the book, the first thing he saw was a photograph.
In the photograph was a blonde girl with the most vivid and attractive smile. Her eyes had a twinkle that resembled stars in a night sky. Wang Yang laid his back on his bed, holding the photo up with outstretched arms, and breathed out through his nose. “D*mn it…” he murmured.
The next day, Wang Yang rode his car to Wally Pfister’s photography studio after receiving a call from Sandy Parks. The would-be “best cinematographer in the world” was then a free agent with a small shop tucked away somewhere inconspicuous. Being both the proprietor and the sole employee of his shop, he was a one-man team. He was making a small living by taking pictures for his clients; that was his day job.
Wang Yang came to the studio and met Wally Pfister. The middle-aged, Caucasian man was pleased to see him. His smile was amplified by a shadowy stubble that grew from his lower cheeks down to his chin, and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He put out his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wang.”
Wang Yang grabbed his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pfister. Call me Yang.”
After exchanging greetings, Wally Pfister took Wang Yang down to a small den inside the studio. No sooner had Wang Yang sat down than he got right to business, “Wally, I suppose you’ve heard from Sandy Parks why I came here today. We’re looking for a good cinematographer for High School Musical, and I was hoping you’d join us.”
Wally Pfister was making coffee. He smiled and replied, “Yang, if you ask me to choose between shooting movies and taking family photos, I’d always choose the former. It’s what I aspire to do, and I’m thankful for the opportunity. But realize that…” he paused, handing a cup of freshly brewed coffee to Wang Yang, and went on, “I need to see the script first and see whether it’s within my abilities before I sign up for it.”
Wang Yang took the coffee and nodded in agreement. His hand went into his briefcase and came out with a couple of documents. “Here’s the script, the split-screen script, and a list of film equipment that we intend to rent,” Wang Yang explained to Wally.
“All right. Let me see.” Wally Pfister sat down, putting the script and the split-screen script side by side, and his eyes went back and forth between them. Wang Yang had tried his best to illustrate his ideas in the split-screen script. Though drawing did not come naturally to him, and he did slave over pen and parchment for hours on end, his illustrations were fortunately legible to Wally. He took his time reading them quietly. When he finished reading the last page, he looked up at Wang Yang and said, “The split-screen script is done very nicely. I can see you’ve put a lot of thought and effort into this movie.” Wang Yang took a sip of coffee and smiled, “Of course. I’m very serious about my work. I’m not some kid playing in his sandbox as the media would have you believe.”
Wally Pfister nodded. His feedback sounded promising. “To be honest, as a cinematographer, my biggest concern about working with a new director is his lack of preparation. But since we have such a comprehensive split-screen script, I don’t think that will be a problem. At least I won’t be caught clueless about how to shoot a scene.” He smiled then went on in a more serious tone, “But Yang, if you were to hire me, you must be open to my ideas, too. There will be times when I may not follow the split-screen script to a tee.”
With a shrug to say that he was okay with it, Wang Yang replied, “Wally, I totally understand. I’ve never shot a movie on film before, but I know there will always be adjustments along the way. Things that haven’t been considered in the split-screen script might pop up during the shoot.” He picked up the split-screen script by its bindings and ran its pages through his thumb. “This is a guide, not a bible,” he said with a knowing smile.
At that, Wally Pfister smiled broadly. Wang Yang’s understanding put him at ease. He thought for a moment, then said, “I’m guessing you want ample lighting and warm, vibrant tones for this movie? Something that’s sunny and youthful?”
Wang Yang nodded, “Yes.”
Picking up his coffee, Wally Pfister said, “These shots wouldn’t be too difficult for me. I think I’m up to the task. But I have no experience shooting music and dance sequences.”
“For the music and dance sequences, I’m planning to shoot it from multiple angles, using as many takes as possible, then choose the best shots and piece it all together during editing,” Wang Yang suggested, wanting to bounce his idea off Wally Pfister. He looked at him and asked, “What do you think?”
Wally Pfister nodded his head in agreement, “I think it’s a good idea, but all that film’s going to cost you.” Wang Yang smiled. “Don’t you worry about that. As the producer of the movie, I promise you I won’t skimp on film. I’ll never blame the director or the cinematographer for wasting film if it means making a better movie.”
Cracking up with laughter, Wally Pfister responded, “In that case, I have no other concerns. Sign me up.”
“Awesome!” Wang Yang’s face lit up with immense delight as a wave of relief washed over his heart. Even then, Wally Pfister’s cinematography skills were top-notch, and he was experienced in filmmaking. Wang Yang was all the happier when he insisted on bringing his ideas to the table, for it meant that Wang Yang could learn from a master of his craft, that Wang Yang’s inexperience would be compensated, and that the movie would benefit greatly with its every frame imbued with the man’s genius and passion.
Having considered all of that, Wang Yang put out his hand and said ardently, “Wally, it’s an honor to have you on board. I look forward to working with you on the set.”
Wally Pfister smiled and shook his hand. He opened his mouth as if about to speak, but suddenly his cellphone buzzed. He apologized, took out his cellphone, glanced at the caller ID. Then, he frowned, and murmured painfully, “Not that fat guy again.” Then, he answered the call, “Hi, Harry. Sorry, I’m not looking to hire an assistant… I know…”
“Fat guy? Harry?” The words evoked strong feelings in Wang Yang, followed by the image of a corpulent gentleman stuffed into a McDonald’s uniform. “Harry?” he murmured again. When he saw that Wally Pfister had ended his call, Wang Yang asked him eagerly, “Wally, who’s that?”
Wally Pfister shrugged a little shrug. He did not know what had motivated Wang Yang to ask that question. But seeing as it was nothing to hide, he told him truthfully, “It’s a fat guy. I don’t know how he got my contact information—the internet, perhaps? Anyway, he came here to my studio a few times. Now he’s calling me every day. I’m not the only one he’s harassing, though. Apparently, my friend is also a victim of his.” He threw his hands up with a laugh and said, “He said he’s interested in working for me as an assistant photographer. But as you can see, I haven’t had a single customer all morning. This studio is barely keeping afloat. How on Earth am I supposed to afford an assistant?”
“Is he by any chance Harry George?” Wang Yang enquired directly. Wally Pfister gave a puzzled look. Wang Yang explained, “Wally, that fat guy is an old friend of mine whom I’ve not seen in a long time.” The last time he had spoken to Harry George was when he had just been awarded the publication contract by Lionsgate. But instead of congratulating him, Harry had scoffed at him and quit his job at McDonald’s in a fit of petulance. Ever since that day, Wang Yang had not seen him or contacted him.
Wally Pfister tried his best to recall, but finally shook his head and said, “I don’t remember off the top of my head, but I have his card. Let me find it for you.” He went to a nearby desk and rummaged its surface for the said card. After a while, he cried, “Here it is. His name is Harry George like you said.” Without looking at Wang Yang, he handed the card to him and said cheerily, “Looks like he really is your old friend.”
Wang Yang’s heart gave a little lurch as he took the card and read it. It was creased and crusty, with “Harry George – Cinematographer” printed in a large font that jumped out and screamed at him. Below that was his contact information and home address, and on the other side was his work address and a crude copy proclaiming his willingness and ability to accept any photography related work. As Wang Yang studied the card, the beginning of a smile narrowed on his mouth. When he was through with it, he cracked up, cracking straight up until he was guffawing like a tavern drunk. “This guy, this guy…” He looked into Wally’s face, and asked candidly, “Wally, do you think he has what it takes to be an assistant cameraman for a movie? Or a production assistant?”
“He has some interesting ideas on photography and his knowledge seemed on par with a professional,” Wally Pfister began to praise; and then, shaking his head, said, “But he told me he has never worked with a movie camera before. Most of the things he said are just theory-crafting. So I don’t think he can operate the cameras by himself just yet, but he should have no problem handling menial tasks around the set.”
“Thanks!” Wang Yang said happily, clenching his fingers, “I’ve got to go now. Sandy will get in touch with you regarding the details of the contract.” Flicking his finger at the card with a smile, he added, “I’m going to see an old friend now. So long!”
Wally Pfister acknowledged with a nod. Then, jokingly, he said, “Tell that fat guy on my behalf that if he ever wants to be my assistant, he should lose some weight.”
“Will do!” Wang Yang replied with a laugh as he picked up his briefcase and strode swiftly outside.
Following the work address printed on the back of Harry’s business card led Wang Yang to Hollywood Boulevard. He pulled up at a parking spot and walked across the pavement to a street opposite the Chinese Theater where Harry George supposedly worked. He did not call Harry George in advance, nor was he sure of finding the fat guy at his alleged workplace. Still, he drove all the way there.
It was the time of the day when the sun was at its hottest. The streets were clear of tourists as there were no celebrations or activities at that time, and Wang Yang could distinctly see the Chinese Theater from way across the street. As he went farther up, another impressive sight came into his view—the familiar, massive profile of Harry George.
His obese frame was covered in a billowy striped t-shirt and topped with a baseball cap. A Polaroid instant camera hung from his neck, which sweated profusely under the hot sun. He was approaching—almost accosting—tourists with offers of his photography services. But all of them passed it up by shaking their heads or waving their hands in rejection. After all, what tourist would not bring a camera to Hollywood?
Wang Yang approached Harry George slowly. As he drew near, the massive figure resolved itself into a man who was thinner, darker, and more clean-shaven than Wang Yang had remembered. Most of all, there was a fire in his eyes the likes of Wang Yang had never seen. Wang Yang came up behind the fat guy and hollered with a grin, “Hey, I’d like my photo taken, please!”
“Sure, no problem! One photo coming right up!” Harry George turned around enthusiastically, with his Polaroid camera in his hands. But as soon as he saw Wang Yang’s face, he was imbecilic with shock. “Yang?” His breaths were ragged gasps. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped from his chin. He was like a rhinoceros coming out of a stream.
Wang Yang posed against the backdrop of the Chinese Theater. “Take a picture for me, Mr. Photographer!” he said in all seriousness.
“Okay!” Harry replied passively. He held the camera to his face with one eye closed and pointed the lens at Wang Yang. A click, then a crack. In seconds, the camera spat out a photograph like a child sticking his tongue out. Harry took the photo and handed it to Wang Yang. “All done.”
“I’m not going to pay you,” Wang Yang said jokingly. He took the photo from him and looked at it. It was very well-taken. Looking at Harry George, sweat-drenched and working for a pittance under the hot sun, Wang Yang could more or less surmise what had happened to him since they had last met. Still, he asked, “Harry, what are you doing here? Did you quit your job at McDonald’s?”
McDonald’s? Harry George roared with laughter as though he had heard the greatest joke. When he was laughing, his features scrunched together so that his face was one amorphous blob. “Of course I quit! To hell with McDonald’s!” His laughter was growing into quite the spectacle. He laughed and laughed, indifferent to the passers-by’s curious looks. “Yang, thank you,” he said, “You were right! I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m doing what I love. I get 1,000 times more joy out of taking a photo than selling a burger. No, 10,000 times! No, 100,000…” His voice grew louder as the numbers got bigger until it turned into a scream. “1,000,000! 10,000,000! 100,000,000!”
Harry George paused to catch his breath. Wang Yang went up to him and smote his shoulder, which went up and down as he panted. “Dude, don’t you mean 1,000,000,000 times?”
“Yes, 1,000,000,000 times!” Harry George bellowed before dropping to the ground exhausted, with a stupid smile on his face. “Yes… 1,000,000,000 times… 1,000,000,000!” he mumbled to himself. Then, he turned to Wang Yang with a grin that was somehow shy and proud at the same time. “Yang, my dream… it has come alive.”
“Harry, your dream never died in the first place.” Wang Yang was immensely glad for him. There was a great contrast between the bitter, angry, fat guy who used to work in McDonald’s and the contented, smiling, fat guy who stood before Wang Yang that day. How could Wang Yang, as a friend, not rejoice? Pointing over his shoulder to the parking lot behind him, Wang Yang said to Harry cheerily, “Come with me. Let me take you to a place.”