Deep in the Act : Chapter 1

Star Ocean Hotel, thirty seventh floor, room 3726. Zhang Zhun sat sunk in a massive black fabric sofa, tightly gripping the temporary script. It was a suite, with a semicircular front hall connected to a bedroom separated by a screen. In the eastern corner of the bedroom was a small study. During the preparation period, film crews often camped out in places like this. The director and assistant director would stay for ten days to half a month, casting actors, discussing scripts, arranging schedules, and sometimes playing cards to relax.

Zhang Zhun had come for an audition. More precisely, he had come to test chemistry with a scene partner. The role selection had ended a month ago, and the director was very satisfied with his performance. Yesterday the assistant director called him, and he thought it was to notify him of the start of filming. Who knew that on the other end of the line they said: “Teacher Zhang, do you have time tomorrow? Please fly to Shanghai. We still need to test the scenes.”

Zhang Zhun’s family was in Guangzhou, for no other reason than that his girlfriend was from Guangzhou. He thought briefly and knew there had been a change. “Okay, I have time. Which scenes should I test? Let me prepare.”

“Test some chemistry scenes,” said Assistant Director Zhou, who was in his forties and spoke very tactfully. “You also know, our film is a bit special…”

It really was special. This was a gay themed film. When he first received the script, Zhang Zhun was holding bamboo chopsticks cooking noodles for his girlfriend. The script was in outline form, and he finished reading it in ten minutes. He flicked away the bangs that were too long in front of his eyes and asked his manager Xiao Deng: “This kind of film… can they shoot it now?”

“Don’t know,” Xiao Deng said, wearing an apron, picking up the bamboo chopsticks from the pot and poking his head out from the kitchen. “I heard the investment is in place. Anyway bro, you wanted to shoot an art film.”

He really did want to shoot an art film. Zhang Zhun had started out as an action star. He had struggled in the entertainment industry for over ten years, done stunt work, done fight choreography, played male lead in low budget films, but he had never really caught fire. He was pushing forty. It was time to shoot a proper work, a work with depth and acting skill, a good work that could be linked with his name.

“The subject matter is too risky,” said Xie Danyi, leaning into his arms holding a milk cup. “Let’s not even talk about whether it can pass review after filming. Even if it really passes review and gets into theaters, this kind of thing, if handled poorly, could lose you fans.”

She had a petite beauty, short and lively. She had also started out as an actress, then switched to behind the scenes work when she got older. She had known Zhang Zhun for three years, and their relationship was fairly stable. After another year or two of dating they planned to get married. Xiao Deng’s teasing voice came from the kitchen: “Sis, are you afraid bro will shoot this film and run off with a man?”

Xie Danyi looked Zhang Zhun up and down: “Oh really, you still have this kind of ability,” she said, turning toward Xiao Deng: “Other men I wouldn’t be afraid of. You two are so close. Tell me, have you already done something to my man!”

She set down the milk cup and went into the kitchen to laugh and play with Xiao Deng. Zhang Zhun rubbed the thin script. He didn’t understand gay or not gay. He only knew he liked this story, and he was interested in these two characters. So now he sat in this hotel suite, still rubbing that plot outline, anxiously, expectantly, with a little bit of shame, waiting for his fate.

The sound of a key card swiping rang out behind him. He turned his head and stood up. The person who entered was the director, wearing a white T shirt, jeans, and a worn out baseball cap. He nodded at Zhang Zhun: “Been waiting long?”

Behind him followed two or three people, chatting pleasantly about something outside the door. Zhang Zhun guessed one was Assistant Director Zhou, one was a production assistant, and one should be his scene partner.

“Little Zhang, you really don’t look thirty seven or thirty eight,” the director looked at him like he was looking at a painting. “A face the size of a palm, with a youthful air.”

Zhang Zhun was a bit embarrassed: “Director Chen, I want to look more mature too. With this face I can’t get big roles.”

The director lit a cigar and said with certainty: “You’re very suitable for this role.”

Zhang Zhun’s eyes were very beautiful, large and bright, with long curled lashes. When there was light they looked hazy and intoxicated. He really did have a face the size of a palm, with a pointed chin and thin lips. From years of martial arts training his body was lean and resilient. If you asked anyone who knew him what part of him was the most beautiful, the answer was probably the back of his neck, especially when his hair was cut short and neat, the soft curve of his neck making people want to grab it.

“You have a certain quality. It’s what I want,” the director very naturally transitioned the conversation from small talk to work. “I want you to be beautiful, restrained, neurotic. In this film you wear good suits and drive nice cars. You need to be a bit arrogant, a bit of a neat freak.”

Zhang Zhun listened seriously, his expression focused, his heart nervously memorizing. At this stage the director wouldn’t give him too much character analysis, but quickly moved to today’s audition: “You two touch base. If the feeling is right, we’ll start filming.”

The implication was, if the feeling wasn’t right, they might replace him. Zhang Zhun couldn’t help looking toward the door. The director followed his gaze and called out: “Teacher Zhen, stop chatting. We’ve been waiting so long the flowers have wilted.”

Taiwanese, that “er” sound was bitten very heavily. What was interesting was that the answer from outside also had that same soft, light accent: “Director, I haven’t even seen the formal script yet.”

A tall person walked in, carrying a smile that shifted between shallow and deep. Short black hair, oily and shiny, permed, fluffy curls revealing half a nose bridge beneath. Thin and upturned lips, some stubble. He turned his head and saw Zhang Zhun on the sofa, his big eyes narrowing into long thin slits, slowly calling out his name: “Zhang… Zhun?”

Zhang Zhun of course recognized him too, and stood up to shake hands: “Teacher Zhen.”

Zhen Xin, a child star from Taiwan, handsome with excellent acting skills, and even more excellent luck. At a young age he had acted in every kind of film and won every kind of award. Wherever he went he carried a dazzling brilliance.

The director patted Zhen Xin’s shoulder with one hand and gestured for Zhang Zhun to sit with the other: “You two know each other well. That ‘North High Peak,’ Director Liu Fatty’s film, not bad.”

Zhang Zhun nodded, Zhen Xin also nodded. “North High Peak,” Director Liu Jianwei’s film, both of them were supporting male roles. Logically they should have been familiar, but in that crew, Zhang Zhun and Zhen Xin hadn’t said a single word to each other.

“And ‘Galloping Horse,'” Assistant Director Zhou and the production assistant also entered the room, setting up equipment as they spoke. “A film from seven or eight years ago. It was really damn popular back then!”

Zhang Zhun laughed awkwardly. In that film, Zhen Xin was the male lead, and he was only the female lead’s stunt double. Seven or eight years later, everyone only remembered him being in that film, not that he never appeared on camera. But Zhen Xin probably remembered. He silently glanced at Zhang Zhun, found a sofa not too far and not too close, and sat down: “Director, what’s the arrangement for today?”

Director Chen stubbed out his cigarette, using the opportunity of extinguishing it to lower his head: “You two run through some scenes together, see how it feels.”

Zhen Xin let out a puff of laughter, laughing as if he knew exactly what was going on: “What scenes?”

Director Chen seemed a bit embarrassed: “What scenes, intimate scenes!”

Then nobody spoke. The huge room suddenly seemed to shrink to the size of a palm. Zhang Zhun secretly clenched his fist. Before this he had imagined all kinds of possibilities, good, bad, and barely acceptable. But he hadn’t expected it would be Zhen Xin. He had seen this kid act. He was a monster who could devour and destroy anyone acting opposite him.

Zhen Xin was also sizing up Zhang Zhun. They had crossed paths before, but never acted opposite each other. His gaze was sharp, scanning Zhang Zhun from top to bottom. Zhang Zhun of course felt it, so he unclenched his fist and rubbed his hands together: “Director Chen, how about…” His slender fingers drew an arc between himself and Zhen Xin: “We get familiar with each other first?”

The director looked at his watch and sighed: “Ten minutes.”

The equipment didn’t move. The two of them went to the bedroom, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the big bed, facing a screen painted with golden powder cranes on a cliff. The cranes on the cliff were about to spread their wings, the cranes in the sky were turning their heads back. Zhang Zhun said softly: “It seems like I really haven’t talked much with you.”

Zhen Xin glanced at him and smiled: “Never had the chance.” He pulled out a cigarette case: “Smoke?”

Zhang Zhun turned his face and nodded. Zhen Xin lit two and handed him one: “This kind of thing, I have experience.”

Zhang Zhun took a drag. It was a bit strong, choking him into coughing. Zhen Xin said: “I was… sixteen or seventeen then, also Director Liu Jianwei’s film, a small supporting role. One kissing scene, one bed scene.”

He stopped. Zhang Zhun felt he should probably say something. But Zhen Xin propped his hand beside him, leaned over, and stared at him with the playful eyes you see in magazines: “If you ask me, what’s there to talk about? Just kiss directly.”

For about a minute, his mind went blank. Zhang Zhun held the cigarette near his mouth, watching smoke drift across Zhen Xin’s beautiful black eyes.

“Can we, try it?” Zhen Xin was getting a bit irritated from the smoke, his gaze focusing on the narrow thin lips before him. An old man’s lips, he thought. Zhang Zhun was two years older than him, but in “getting into the mood” he clearly wasn’t as smooth as he was. Zhang Zhun blinked, turned his head away evasively, and said in a barely audible voice: “We don’t necessarily have to kiss. Hugging works too.”

“Director!” Zhen Xin called out toward the other side of the screen: “Can we just hug!”

The director shouted back with anger: “At least three bed scenes! Two fully nude! No clearing the set!”

Zhang Zhun knew his face must be red beyond recognition. He glared at Zhen Xin angrily, meaning why did he have to provoke the director. Zhen Xin was quite happy about it, laughing with the cigarette in his mouth, his shoulders shaking, one corner of his mouth higher than the other, very handsome.

Zhang Zhun discovered this kid was too good. What just happened was probably only part of his acting skill. He freely oppressed him, relaxed him, controlled him, made him shine. This kiss, with him, perhaps could work… Zhang Zhun relaxed slightly. But Zhen Xin stubbed out his cigarette and loudly said: “Director, we’re ready!”

The loosened string suddenly snapped taut again. Zhang Zhun grabbed Zhen Xin in disbelief, mouthing at him: “You’re playing me! You’re ready but I’m not!”

Zhen Xin grinned roguishly, threw his arm over his shoulder and dragged him out. Director Chen and Assistant Director Zhou were smoking. The production assistant had just unscrewed the lens cap. For some reason, Zhang Zhun was less nervous than before. When Zhen Xin hugged him from behind in that arm over shoulder posture, he even naturally struggled a bit. Zhen Xin was more than half a head taller, burying his nose in his hair and whispering: “Stop struggling, we’re filming.”

The camera’s red light wasn’t on. Zhang Zhun turned his head to expose his lie, but was covered by a head of curly hair, followed by wet lips landing without aim on his eyelid, pausing for a moment, then heavily sliding down past the bridge of his nose and sucking at the corner of his mouth.

Only then did the director shout: “Action!”

Zhang Zhun was stunned, his eyes wide open, being sucked back and forth on the mouth by Zhen Xin like some small animal. From his Adam’s apple to his chest everything was numb. By the time he realized he needed to react, a warm large hand had already slipped in from beneath his jacket.

“Mm…” He gasped in surprise, but the sound that came out of his nose was completely not what he meant. He was startled, subconsciously shrinking back, and just kicked Director Chen’s coffee table where he had put his cigar. There was a clattering sound, and the lighter along with a full ashtray of ash all tipped over onto the carpet.

Zhen Xin used his momentum to push him toward the floor to ceiling window. Zhang Zhun was very embarrassed, being held tight by a man. Even the whites of his eyes were pink. The camera followed close behind. The director rolled up his script and shouted: “More!”

Both of them understood what he meant. Zhang Zhun stole a glance at Zhen Xin. There was sweat on his forehead, his brows furrowed. He wasn’t relaxed either. In this earth shattering moment, his tongue lightly traced along the lip line, then with one breath pushed in. Zhang Zhun closed his eyes and endured it. In the darkness he imagined it was Xie Danyi’s tongue, but it was different. She didn’t have the taste of smoke, nor this fiery aggression.

Zhang Zhun was very compliant, even without a trace of acting skill. This annoyed Zhen Xin, making it seem like he was really seriously kissing him. Zhen Xin knew how to make a kiss look passionately greedy, or sticky and erotic. But with Zhang Zhun, these seemed unnecessary, because the thing was already on him, in his half open eyelashes, in his scattered hair strands, in his red flushed cheekbones.

No wonder the director chose him, Zhen Xin thought. He carried this quality.

One had the quality, one had the acting skill. The chemical reaction naturally emerged from their collision. Director Chen held his breath. The production assistant stared dead at the viewfinder. Assistant Director Zhou shyly covered his face and turned his back, although the two faint humming sounds still drilled into his ears.

This kiss was very long. When the director felt it was about time to shout “cut,” Zhen Xin suddenly grabbed the thick curtain beside him and raised it high to cover the two of them. In the purplish red shadows, he released his mouth and rested his forehead tiredly on Zhang Zhun’s shoulder. The two of them pressed tightly together, even their heartbeats clearly audible. Zhang Zhun’s head naturally rubbed against his curly hair, like a patient whose high fever had just broken, helplessly staring into empty space.

After panting for a while, like holding a ripe fruit, Zhen Xin turned Zhang Zhun’s face over. A brief eye contact. He released the velvet cloth in his hand and bent down to kiss again. The curtain brushed across his back and slowly slid down, swaying left and right against the window view for a while, slowly returning to calm. The director relaxed his grip, the script spreading flat with a swish. He shouted: “Cut!”

Zhang Zhun and Zhen Xin heard it, but neither moved. Their lips and tongue separated bit by bit, hot breath spraying on each other’s faces. They both wanted to look at the other, but their gazes simultaneously dodged. Zhen Xin made a gesture at Zhang Zhun, meaning for him to use the bathroom first. Zhang Zhun covered his mouth and passed through the bedroom. When he closed the bathroom door he heard Director Chen asking Zhen Xin cheerfully: “Teacher Zhen, when you pulled the curtain up… what were you two doing?”

He had no interest in Zhen Xin’s answer. He clicked the door shut, turned on the faucet, and his ears were filled with the sound of rushing water.

After the cleanup came praise and small talk. Director Chen seemed very satisfied with his performance. After washing up, Zhen Xin sat on the sofa silently smoking his cigarettes. When Zhang Zhun left he didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at him. Sitting on the plane back to Guangzhou, Zhang Zhun thought perhaps there would still be others coming to audition. Seeing that Zhen Xin had no intention of leaving, perhaps… the things he had done to him, he would have to do two or three more times, smiling at different faces, whispering the same sentimental words.

Right after getting off the plane, Xie Danyi’s call came in: “Arrived? How did it go?”

“Not bad…” He had a guilty, thief like panic: “There might be more than one candidate. I still have to wait for the results.”

Xie Danyi laughed, very light and quick: “It doesn’t matter. Best if they pick someone else. I don’t want you getting felt up by men all day.”

Zhang Zhun couldn’t help laughing: “What man would want to eat this old tofu of mine.”

“Whoever has eaten it knows!”

Zhang Zhun really wanted to pinch her nose through the phone: “What do you want to eat tonight?”

“Croissant and borscht!”

The noise of the arrivals hall gradually drowned out his lowered voice: “I’ll buy it for you on the way back…”