The Popstar & Me

Chapter 22 - Abducted By A Celebrity

Chapter 22

What the heck am I doing? I wonder as the hospital disappears into the distance. It starts to drizzle as the cab takes us across Zhaojiagou Bridge. I'm sitting here with the most sought-after bachelor in this entire city, but I am having second thoughts about this trip to "buy sneakers." I'm checking my phone every five seconds as though my mom is awake at four in the morning in New York and could sense that something was wrong — her daughter is off with a sexy stranger who isn't another dumb high school student.

Nope, no messages. Who would send me messages? I blew off both Calvin and Andrew. I locked lips with Lana's boyfriend, and even though she didn't know about it, there's no way Zhang will agree to any more tea trips with this slutty huáqiáo.

American girls aren't even born virgins anymore, that old saying comes back to me, and I start to wonder if I had reaffirmed that stereotype by kissing Zhang and then hopping into a cab with Fang. 

Back home, I try to dress skimpy to combat the stereotype of being another nerdy, wallflower immigrant hellbent on getting a scholarship to an Ivy League. Now, I'm combating the stereotype of being a loose woman trying to date three boys at once.

"Hey," I whisper as Fang's head flops down with a sharp turn of the cab. He wakes up momentarily, blinks, and closes his eyes again. "Hey, I think I'll go back home instead."

"Back home?" He murmurs, barely opening his eyes. "We're already here. My place is around this corner. Let me go change, and I'll take you to Dior for some new sneakers."

"Dior? As in Christian Dior?"

"What? Do you want to go to Louboutin instead? Or Chanel?"

I'm silent now. One part of me would love to try on a pair of Dior sneakers. I don't think I've seen those other than in the underground knock-off markets and on Canal street. On the other hand, I can't possibly afford them, which means I'll be entirely dependent on Fang to pay. My parents would never agree to that. Even though I'm only in high school, I know that when an older boy buys you an expensive gift, certain expectations come with it.

Fang curls up in the corner and goes back to sleep, snoring a little as the cab pulls up to the world's most glamorous apartment complex. The place is shimmering like a diamond, and there's a fancy bridge at the top, which I'm sure contains the world's most instagrammable roof-top pool. Why would a guy like Fang work this hard to try to get into my pants? Why do that when he has a million girls out there who would show up if he so much as glanced at them twice?

No, there are no ulterior motives. Fang's trying to be nice. So nice that it would be impolite for me to jump out of the cab and escape to the nearest subway station when this cab comes to a complete stop. Also, where the heck is the closest subway?

A doorman knocks on the cab window. He's wearing white gloves, and in his spare hand, he's holding an umbrella. He addresses us in perfect English and asks if Mr. Yao needs help bringing any bags up to his room.

First of all, I'm ecstatic to hear someone talk to me in English. Second of all, Mr. Yao is the bag of bones that needs help getting up to his apartment.

"No, we're fine . . . sir!" I reply and reach for Fang's arm. "You're home. Let's get you up to your room." I lean into Fang's ear, close enough to smell the puke on his collar. "Oh no, are those teen girls with cellphone cameras over there?"

Fang jerks up to attention at that. He glances about wildly and runs a hand through his damp hair.

"Where?"

"Let's go before your doorman calls you an ambulance."

Fang opens his car door and steps out. I try to pay for the cab using my travel card, but Fang yells at me to stop.

"Don't embarrass me; everything is paid for," Fang grumbles. "Did you think I would let you pay?"

"That's a relief because I have no idea how much money I have left on this travel card," I reply. "And I have no idea how much taxis cost."

"Come, poor girl," he says and drags me into the gold-gilded lobby. The doorman holds an elevator for us, and Fang doesn't even acknowledge him as we enter. Fang is starting to look green again. I hope he doesn't throw up inside this beautiful elevator with the white marble tiles and velvet bench in the back.

"Do you need some air?" I reach over and pat his back. Although Fang appears tall and slender, his back is pure muscle. I try not to grope around as I pat him a couple of more times in my best attempt to imitate a person with medical know-how. "Take deep breathes."

"I'm all right," Fang finally replies as the elevator reaches the thirtieth floor. "What I need is a shower and a glass of water."

We enter Fang's penthouse apartment, and it feels surreal. I've seen Fang's music videos and some clips from his tv series. After meeting him in the hospital, I feel like I have a pretty good idea of who he is as a person. After he puked on my shoes, I feel pretty well acquainted with the inside of the GI tract as well.

Seeing the inside of Fang's apartment is a whole different story. There is something intimate and discomforting about seeing the inside of a celebrity's house. Especially when that house is a mess, it's not cold, sterile, and devoid of personal effects like the pictures one sees in Town and Country magazine or Vogue's staged slice-of-life photoshoots.

Although the apartment is gorgeous with its white marble counters, modern furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows, it's the clutter that I feel more awkward about looking at. There are t-shirts and jackets strew on the couch, muddy dress shoes haphazardly tossed into the corner, and unopened mail lying in a heap beside the front door. A bag of spicy Lay's chips lies open on the coffee table. Beside it are several opened beer cans. There is a dog bowl on the kitchen floor even though there's no dog in sight. Despite the mess, my eyes are drawn to the magnificent wrap-around balcony with the greek-baluster-style railing.

Wow! If I had an apartment like this, I would never leave home!

"I'm going to go change," Fang mutters as he heads to the bedroom. "We'll be out of here in five minutes at most."