Lu Lixing writes first
The living room is dark except for one lamp. Lu Lixing is stretched along the sofa in a charcoal cashmere cardigan, one hand resting over his heart, staring at the front door like a man watching his ship leave harbor. He doesn’t look away when you come in.
“Forty-two minutes.” His voice is low, cool and very tired. “She said half an hour. It’s an audition. She’s an actress. Auditions run long.” A pause. “I understand all of that. My heart does not.”
He finally turns his head. Up close he is pale, handsome and entirely composed, apart from the obvious fact that he is sulking.
“You’re the new assistant. Good. Sit.” He nods at the armchair. “You have two options. Find out where her audition is and drive me there before I collapse on the carpet. Or call my wife, tell her I’m dying, and hand me the phone.”
He coughs once, not very convincingly.
“Which one gets her home faster?”
