Another BigCloset TopShelf story. "The name is Bond, James Bond." Five actors have played the role. Is Bond number six up to the challenge? An insider's view: the adventure begins–part one of three parts.

Story:

NOBODY DOES IT BETTER, PART 1

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

THANK YOU: A big thank you to Angela Rasch. Angela/Jill contributed many creative ideas and she is a talented editor. Crystal Sprite provided useful feedback as well. And thank you to Karine Lau for being the inspiration for the story.

1

"So why don't you stay for the night? Or maybe a bite?
I could show you my favorite obsession.
I've been making a man with blond hair and a tan
And he's good for relieving my tension.

I'm just a Sweet Transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania.

So come up to the lab. And see what's on the slab.
I see you shiver with antici... pation!
But maybe the rain isn't really to blame
So I'll remove the cause, but not the symptom."

- Sweet Transvestite from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

 
 
Janet and Brad joined hands with the tall, thin transvestite, Dr. Frank-N-Furter, attired in a black wig, garish bustier, fishnet stockings and high heels. As the cabaret performers, the WayOut Dolls, took their final curtain call to thunderous applause, the DJ started in with Cyndi Lauper's crowd pleaser, Girls Just Want To Have Fun.

I looked at Michelle. She smiled as we glided onto the crowded dance floor. Attired in a metallic gold top, a shiny black mini-skirt, gold high heels and a blond wig, she moved effortlessly and energetically, hips gyrating and arms flaring, her body singing harmony to the effervescent melody. Michelle wanted 'to be the one to walk in the sun' because 'girls just wanna have fu-un.'

On high-heeled vinyl boots, I found that my boobs and booty shook in sync with Cyndi Lauper's 'female anthem' as if I was born to the role. But, in fact, I was all fake.

My shoulder length, black, synthetic wig, with red highlights, was fake. My synthetic D-cup boobs were fake. My padded hips and booty were fake. My thin spandex enhanced waist was fake. My red-lacquered, acrylic nails were fake. My thin, wax covered eyebrows and false eyelashes were fake. My costume jewelry was fake. The Gucci knockoff purse was fake. My girly speaking voice was fake. Had you been able to see beneath my miniskirt, even my latex vagina was fake.

In spite of all my fake parts, beneath the hair and the makeup, my smile was genuine and so was my enjoyment of the dancing. Dressing as a girl somehow awakened my inner chick. I enjoyed being a girl because 'when the working day is done, girls–they want to have fu-un.'

At the WayOut Club in London, England, I wasn't the only fake. The dance club was dominated by inbetweenies. Certainly, there were some apparent males and some apparent females. In addition, there was everyone else on the gender spectrum: bisexuals, homosexuals, transvestites, transsexuals, heterosexuals, asexuals, shemales, hermaphrodites, sissies, lesbians, lipstick lesbians, butch lesbians, drag kings, drag queens, T-Girls and whatever else could pass for human. But these were just terms. To classify someone as one of those gender flavors was limiting, pointless and meaningless.

All of us just want to have fun.

As Cyndi's spirited song faded into the background, I flashbacked to my previous life. Until two months ago, I was a relatively normal male, Michael Lee.

2

M: Where's 007?

Moneypenny: He's on a mission, sir.

M: Well, tell him to pull out immediately!

{Cut to Bond 'on a mission', sprawled on a rug with a naked Austrian beauty.}

- from the film The Spy Who Loved Me

Spectacular!

That's the only way to describe the drive along California's Pacific Coast Highway south of Big Sur. The two-lane highway clings tenaciously to the rocky embankments of the Santa Lucia Mountains. On the right side, steep sea cliffs plunge precipitously to the pounding surf of the Pacific Ocean.

Big Sur is like young love: breathtaking and invigorating, with dizzying twists and turns.

Dangerous and oh so romantic, but I wasn't here for my honeymoon.

Early this morning, I had boarded a plane at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. When I landed in San Francisco, I rented a car and drove south on Highway 101, exiting near Carmel, shifting over to the Pacific Coast Highway and then on to Big Sur. I zipped along at breakneck speeds, risking the radar traps of the California Highway Patrol, hoping I might be able to catch some of the day's action.

I expected to be at the shooting site of the new James Bond movie within minutes, when the traffic ahead of me suddenly came to a dead stop.

Where was the highway patrol when you needed them?

In Fort Worth, I had been training with Air Scooter technology. The mini-helicopters could sure come in handy in situations like these. I could have soared over the traffic and touched down at the shooting location while snail-like vehicles crept along below.

Having done stunt work as a helicopter pilot and as a stunt driver, there was no doubt in my mind. Give me a chopper any day! Why crawl along the ground when you could fly high like an eagle?

Due to a previous commitment for stunt work on a television show, my training on the Air Scooter had been pushed back. So I was eager to join up with the James Bond second unit.

I thought I should check in with my new boss, the stunt co-coordinator. So I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial buttons.

After a couple of rings, "Hello."

"Hello, Mister Jackson?"

"Yes."

"This is Michael Lee."

"Oh, Michael, good to hear from you. We've been expecting you."

"Yes. I've been on the road for quite some time. Believe me, I have made the best time I could."

"Where are you right now?"

"I'm about 20 minutes south of Carmel on the Coast Highway. But, I'm stuck in traffic."

"Hmm. Undoubtedly it's because of what we're doing. You must be really close. We just finished shooting a scene a few minutes ago, so traffic should be moving along at almost any moment."

And just as my boss Rich 'Moses' Jackson had predicted, immediately the traffic began moving. CHiPs ahoy!

"I'll see you in a few minutes," I said as I hung up.

Further ahead, along the roadside, was a long line of film production trucks.

Spotting the stunt co-coordinator's trailer, I wheeled my silver Honda Accord off the highway, just ahead of the trucks.

At long last, I had arrived. I stretched, relieved to breathe the fresh salt air.

For a moment, I looked out to the Pacific. The natural grandeur of the 'peaceful sea' felt comforting to me. My Zodiac sign is Aquarius. Although I don't believe in astrology, I do have an affinity for water. Three weeks of training in the hot Texas sun will bring that home without question.

Being of Chinese heritage, I was born in the year of the Monkey. According to my birth year of 4679 by the Chinese lunisolar calendar, I like to play practical jokes on people, but I know how to accomplish the most difficult of tasks through great enthusiasm, concentration and economy of effort. For Monkeys, life is one big adventure.

However, there was another monkey influence on my life. It was evident whenever my family had visitors. We were like the stereotypical Asian family. My sister and I would be put on display; we were to be seen, but not heard. In our kitchen, above the doorway, there was a constant reminder–a plaque of the Three Wise Monkeys, a replica of the one at the entrance to the Nikko Toshogo Buddhist Temple in Japan. Mizaru, covering his eyes, sees no evil. Kikazaru, covering his ears, hears no evil. Iwazaru, covering his mouth, speaks no evil. On my sixteenth birthday, my sister May gave me a statue with four wise monkeys. The fourth, Shizaru, covering his crotch…

"Michael!"

I turned in the direction of the voice.

"Mr. Jackson."

Richard Jackson, an elderly but fit Englishman, dressed in a tan coveralls and tennis shoes, greeted me with an enthusiastic handshake. "Are you ever a sight for sore eyes! We need you right away, like yesterday."

"What's going on?" I asked. "I thought I wasn't really going to be needed today."

"Nothing much is going on out of the ordinary. We crashed a few cars; some planned, some not. But our last crash didn't go at all like we had intended. These mountain roads aren't too forgiving. I'm afraid that Irene Chiu ended up badly shaken."

"Is she all right?" Irene Chiu was an awesome stunt driver. She set the standard for all of us.

"She's on her way to the hospital in Monterey, even as we speak. She has a concussion, maybe a broken leg. You should see the wreck. The front end looks like an accordion. It's a wonder she wasn't hurt even worse."

"That's too bad. Irene's one of the best."

"Yes, which is why we need you. You're a wonderful stunt driver too. I need you to take her place."

"No problem." Then it hit me. "But why me? You've got lots of other drivers here."

"Yes, we do. But none of them can look like Irene."

Oh, oh. "Mr. Jackson, you want me to dress like a girl? Don a wig? Put on some makeup?"

"That's right. And, by the way, don't call me Mister. I'm Rich to everyone."

"All right, Rich. At the risk of sounding redundant, why me?"

"You know Irene's doing the stunt work for Michelle Zhang, the female lead. Well, if Irene broke her leg, and it looks like she has, we need you to pinch hit for her. At the moment, there aren't any female Asian stunt drivers here."

The stunt driver business was much like NASCAR, a male domain. Female drivers, especially Asian female drivers, were a rarity.

However, to step in at the last moment totally unprepared?

"Do you think I could pass for Michelle or Irene?" I must have had an incredulous expression on my face--one of utter disbelief.

With an appraising look, Rich replied, "Yes. I think you could pull it off. It will only be for the long shots. You won't get any close-ups. And you'll just be a passenger."

'Me, Michelle and Irene?' I thought to myself. Sounds like the title of a Jim Carey movie.

3

{Bond and his psychological evaluator, Caroline, are taking a ride in the mountains near Monte Carlo.]

Caroline: James, is it really necessary to drive quite so fast?

James Bond: More often than you'd think.

Caroline: I enjoy a spirited ride as much as the next girl, but …

{She's interrupted by Bond looking away from her. Xenia Onatopp, in a Ferrari, pulls up alongside and smiles.]

Caroline: Who's that?

James Bond: The next girl.

{After Xenia Onatopp passes Bond at high speed, he gives chase. The pursuit quickly escalates into a dangerous competition.]

Caroline: James, stop this! Stop it! I know what you're doing.

James Bond: Really? What's that, dear?

Caroline: You are just trying to show off the size of your, your–

James Bond: Engine?

- from the film GoldenEye

Working on a film involves a lot of 'hurry up and wait' sequences.

Shooting inevitably falls behind because of bad weather, lighting problems, traffic congestion, expired permits, inadequate planning, unhappy residents, nosy passersby, equipment malfunctions, re-shoots and any number of performance mishaps. And every day wasted builds up the tremendous production costs.

They rushed me into the makeup trailer and sat me down on a comfortable 'salon style' chair to begin the makeover process.

Rich Jackson explained what needed to be done, while a makeup person deftly attacked my five o'clock shadow with a straight-edged razor. To tell you the truth, five o'clock shadow was an exaggeration. My beard growth had always been minimal.

"Okay, you don't have to do very much. It should be a snap for you."

"Uh huh," I managed to utter. I didn't want to say very much while somebody I had never met before sliced off whiskers with a real Wilkinson Sword.

Storyboards were set up on easels in front of me. In pictorial form, they showed the action sequence moment by moment.

"For the first shot, you'll be jumping into the passenger seat beside James. You've worked with Craig Colbourn many times before. He'll be in the James Bond seat. He drives up in his invisible Aston Martin Vanquish as the bad guys are taking you, Michelle, to their car. James pulls up, remotely opens the car door, it knocks over one of the assailants, freeing up Michelle. Then you have to jump into the Aston Martin."

I signaled to the lady waving the machete to stop. "How are you making the car invisible?"

"We use CGI, green screen, to make the car disappear in post production." Rich carried on. "Then, as the Aston Martin 'Vanish' picks up speed, the villains are going to fire guns at the invisible Bond car. Of course, the bullets are going to bounce off the car's metal armor and bulletproof glass."

"Rubber bullets or squibs?"

I tried to say as little as possible. I had visions of that old Brian De Palma film Dressed to Kill. In that final dream sequence, Liz Blake had her throat slashed by Bobbi.

"Squibs. Although we could use rubber bullets, we'd be too worried about the mess. These environmentalists here along this coast don't want anything left behind. So there will be a hailstorm of bullets punishing the Aston Martin. And the barrage of bullets will cause the Vanquish to become visible--a short circuit causing 'adaptive camouflage failure'. The bad guys will be in hot pursuit. Then coming out of the turn, Bond will gun the car down a straightaway. Danny Carter and Josh Williams, in a black Mercedes M-B Gullwing, will be in hot pursuit. Behind them will be four more trailing cars.

"Now, as James, or Craig, comes to the corner, he'll drift through it, relying on friction of the sideways motion to slow him down. Then as the car straightens out, the Mercedes will fire a rocket at you. It'll explode just behind you, hitting one of those yellow warning signs that you see at the edge of a precipice."

"Right."

"As you speed away down the next straightaway, you'll see an ice cream delivery truck ahead of you. It'll be a wide-body van. Before you get to the next turn, you won't be able to pass it because of traffic coming the other way. So the pursuit cars will gain on you. In desperation, James, being a notorious lead-foot, will pass on the corner, narrowly missing an oncoming SUV."

"Got'cha."

"Here, the men in black won't be so patient with the ice cream truck. They'll fire a rocket and blow it off the road." Rich pointed to the drawing of the delivery truck blowing up.

"Sounds great!"

"Unfortunately for the bad guys, they'll be out of rockets."

"A little reality raising its ugly head?"

"Good fortune for Bond," Rich said. "However, once again traffic will slow you down. There'll be a mom with children in a Chrysler Caravan blocking your way. Actually, the kids will be in the back. Mom will have an aquarium on the front seat."

"With goldfish for comic effect?" Not being able to concentrate could be a fatal flaw for a stuntman. I had to block out thoughts of Irene Chiu too. Focus. Stop zoning out. Start Zenning in.

"Yes. You'll pass the Caravan quickly, but so will the bad guys. Then as you come out of the next turn and swing around a large U section, you'll drift around another turn. The car will be bumped from behind. It'll be just a little tap. Then you'll zip directly down a long straightaway. And that's where we'll cut."

"Sounds simple." The storyboard illustrations said it all.

"You just arrived for the coup de grace. We shot a lot of the chase scenes yesterday and this morning. Only two sequences remain."

"Good."

Rich looked me in the eye. Was there a touch of worry in his expression? "Okay, I'll see you later on. I've got some prepping to do."

"Thanks for the detailed explanation, Rich."

As he left the trailer, my attention turned back to the storyboard display in front of me. It looked like there wouldn't be any problem, although I'm sure Irene Chiu must have had those exact same thoughts before her accident.

The general public probably believed all stuntmen were daredevils. I must admit I've done my share of scrotum shrinking extreme sports. For example, I've done some curling. All right, that was meant as a joke. But the impromptu game on the edge of a glacier was exhilarating. I have tried mountain climbing, paragliding, flying, surfing, ski jumping, snow boarding, whitewater rafting–whatever the thrill, I've experienced it. However, thrill seekers could be divided into two categories: there were risk takers, and then there was the lunatic fringe who got off on cheating death. I've never had a death wish. Stuntmen plan all their spectacular acts carefully. I work with a team. They have my back and I have theirs. Every stunt is planned to the last detail.

The makeup lady, Annie Delmonica, finished wiping off any excess shaving foam with a moist towel. The shave had taken a lot longer than expected because of all of my chatter.

Annie looked at my face carefully, viewing it from different angles. "You know, Michael, I think this will work."

"Really?"

"You've got nice skin. The triangular shape of your face, the high cheekbones, that small Asian nose, perfect teeth and the lack of Neanderthal male features make you a natural for this."

"Well, thank you, I think. And you can call me Michelle," I joked.

Annie laughed. "Have you done this before?"

"No."

"Are you sure, Michelle?"

"Never."

"Well, when I'm done with you, you'll look beautiful. And you might not want to change back."

"I doubt it. I like beautiful girls. I don't want to be one."

"We'll see."

I wondered what my late father would have thought of this. I doubt that he ever donned drag when he worked as a stuntman on martial arts films and action/adventure TV shows.

Annie set about applying a moisturizing cream to protect the skin. Next came a thick theatrical makeup around the mouth area to make any trace of beard disappear.

Annie used a Chapstick wax to cover my eyebrows, although I've never suffered from chapped eyebrows. Apparently makeup artists improvised once in awhile. Then she blotted away any trace of the dark eyebrows with a covering makeup.

Over the rest of the face and neck was a foundation of lighter weight. Powder was applied with a feathery puff to set the makeup.

As she worked, Annie explained to me what she was doing.

Annie was an artist working with a blank canvas. More accurately, blank described my brain and my expression. I watched, fascinated by her adept touch. I marveled at her dexterity.

Perhaps Annie thought I could learn how to transform myself. Could I develop the fine motor skills?

I watched the transformation in the mirror with a Spockian fascination. The eyebrows were penciled in. Thin high arching lines were drawn above my natural eyebrows.

Annie began working on my eyes. She used a dark pencil to outline the eyes. Then she held up an eyelash curler and pressed it onto my eyelashes. Reaching over to a nearby shelf, Annie found a small plastic case that held false eyelashes. Annie used tweezers to hold the eyelash while she used a pin to apply a thin white line of adhesive. The false eyelash was placed precisely on my right eyelid. Then the procedure was repeated for the other side. Liquid eyeliner helped to hide any trace of adhesive.

Mascara was added delicately, helping to blend my own eyelashes with the fake ones.

Next came some eye shadow to give the eyes some depth. Brushes were used to blend the lines between the different color powders into nothingness.

Then it was on to my lips. A pink lipliner was used to give me fuller lips. A brush was used to apply lipstick. Next came the lip-gloss wand to add a sensuous glow. I noted that the lip-gloss, added to the middle portion of the lips, had a minty taste. My lips looked kissable and irresistible!

Annie stepped back and looked at my 'Extreme Makeover' visage for a moment.

Then she stepped forward and reached up to my face with a triangular sponge. With deft touches, she applied some shadow near the edges of my face. This, combined with light-colored powder on the nose, plus light powder below and above my eyes, would bring my facial features forward.

Dark makeup also was used to add contours to make me resemble the star, Michelle Zhang. It hollowed out the cheeks a little, helping to emphasize my high cheekbones.

Annie turned away from me for a moment. When she spun back in my direction, she had a lustrous brunette wig to cover my short hair. The hair was long and full, cascading over my shoulders, with bangs and tendrils that complemented my face. Surprisingly, it felt like the wig was caressing me in a loving way.

Annie asked, "Now what do you think? Do you look like a beautiful girl or don't you?"

"You were right. I do look like a girl." As I stared in the mirror, I realized it was much more than that. I looked pretty. Would I dare say sexy? The kind of girl I would look for in a dance club.

"You make a beautiful girl."

I nodded.

My father must have been turning over in his grave. And what would my mother and sister think?

Annie removed the smock that had been used to protect my clothing from the excess makeup. "Now, you need to get into the proper wardrobe," Annie added. "Rich left some garment bags for Irene here. You can step behind the screen over there and get changed."

Moving over to the screen, as I unzipped one of the bags, I found a skimpy black dress that looked like something a former girlfriend of mine might have worn. As I held it up and compared its length and width to my own body, I thought there was a chance it might fit.

In the other garment bag were underthings. There were panties, a bra, tights, pantyhose, breast forms, foam pads and a few other things I couldn't identify.

Quickly I removed my shoes, shirt, pants, socks and underwear.

With Annie's advice coming from the other side of the screen, I was able to don what she called a 'gaff'–a tight bikini style bottom that would help cover my male appendages. I had to roll up the pantyhose first, insert my foot, and then unroll it up my leg. Then, I repeated the procedure on the other side. I must say, it felt like nothing I had ever worn before. I had to consciously will myself not to be stimulated by the smooth whispery feel of the nylons on my legs.

"Annie, I can see leg hair through the nylons."

"Does it look gross?"

"Yes."

"We don't have time for a leg wax or a shave. Put on as many layers of stockings as you can. Or, if there are tights in that bag, that would be even better."

I rummaged through the clothes bag once more. There was a pair of tights! Glory hallelujah!

Off came the pantyhose. Darn! My fingernail on the right index finger, much to my chagrin, caused a run in the stocking.

So I tried that rolling and unrolling trick again with the tights. Very carefully, I took out a new set of pantyhose from a package.

"What's taking so long?"

"I had a run."

"Welcome to the joys of womanhood."

"What's next?"

"I don't think you need a girdle. You're pretty skinny. Have you put on the bra yet?"

"No, but I know a quick way to take off a bra."

"Stop bragging. To put on the bra, turn the bra around. Do up the attachment, then rotate it to the backside."

As flexible as I am, I might have been able to contort my arms to do up the snaps on the backside anyway.

Then I realized what the jelly-like forms were for. I stuffed two of them into each bra cup. I was suddenly blessed with D cup boobs. Ads for those silicone bra stuffers were commonplace on TV. What the ads didn't mention was the strong scent of glue.

I wondered if Irene used them.

I held up the little black dress. Wasn't it supposed to be suitable for all occasions? And slimming too? I was stepping way out of my comfort zone. Was the little black dress a safe choice for a first-time outing?

"Annie."

"Yes."

"This is going to sound dumb."

"Go ahead."

"To put on the dress, do I try to slip it on over my head, or do I undo the zip as low as it will go and step into the dress?"

"For this one, undo the zip and step into it."

Following her zipping instructions, I stepped through the waist part of the dress. I inserted my arms into the openings and then found myself faced with a dilemma. How do I zip up the back?

Being fit and flexible, I was able to reach over the shoulder and pull the zipper all the way to the top. Then I pulled down on the bottom of the dress and smoothed out a small wrinkle at the waist.

"Hey Annie! It fits!"

"Of course it does. Unlike a man's shirt, that dress doesn't have a collar or sleeve size to worry about. For you, all that matters is the bust. You’re a skinny guy, so if you can step into that dress, then your hips are fine. Women are wide at the hips so they can give birth, whereas some guys have skinny asses. If you can zip up the back, it means that your waist and bosom are small enough to fit that LBD."

"LBD?"

"Little black dress. Women's sizes off the rack are large, medium or small. You're a medium or, in numbers, likely a 6."

Next, I found some black high heels in an outer pocket of one of the garment bags.

I placed my toes into the rather delicate looking sandal-style shoe. There were only two straps–one around the ankle and the other over the front of the foot. Surprise! Surprise! The shoes fit! Perhaps it was because Irene Chiu and I were about the same height.

Then again, maybe the front strap was a bit tight.

"How are the shoes?" Annie asked from the other side.

"They're on."

"Are they pumps or sandals?"

"Sandals."

"You're lucky. They're much more forgiving than pumps."

When I took a few tentative steps from behind the safety of the screen to appear in front of Annie, I was able to look at myself in the mirror again.

This time, I looked even better than before. Wow!

"You look great!" Annie said. "Every inch a lady."

"A few inches aren't," I quipped.

"Only a few inches?"

I giggled in a surprisingly feminine way. "Actually, I'm blessed."

Annie looked at the lower part of my body. "Nice legs. They'll drive guys crazy."

"Thanks."

"Hmm, speaking of dimensions, I think your shoes are a size too small. Plus, you're lacking in the booty department."

"Yes. The shoes hurt." I turned my bum to the full-length mirror. "I see what you mean. But, I think there was some extra padding in the garment bag."

A moment or two later, behind the screen, I lifted up my dress, pulled down my tights and placed the circular, spongy pads on my posterior. Then I pulled up the tights, pulled down the dress and smoothed it over my rear end. My butt looked squeezably plump.

I wondered if Irene Chiu wore these cheek cheaters as well. I was beginning to think she might have more of a boyish figure than I had thought.

"Oh, we forgot to add some jewelry and fingernails. Michelle wears a beaded black necklace. We've got a duplicate here. As for the nails, we'll have to use the false press-on nails for now."

Within minutes, I had a new set of pink talons. For a moment I was reminded of the long nails Halle Berry wore in Catwoman. Perhaps I could use my claws in a catfight to scratch some bitch's eyes out.

I held up my hand, wiggled my fingers in front of the mirror and purred to my reflection, "The name is Bond, Jane Bond…If you're into bondage, you know where to find me."

Annie laughed. "You're insane, you know that."

"It helps to be a little crazy in the stuntman business. Or should I say stunt person business."

"You can say that again."

"It helps to be…."

Annie shook her head in disbelief. "Sweet Baby Jane, I promised Rich Jackson and Ted Armstrong we'd have you ready in an hour, so we'd better hustle you over to the shoot."

"Okay, I'll contact Rich on the phone."

"I'll go get Michelle. She's next door."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

Annie took two steps over to the entrance and swung open the door.

Up the Winnebago steps came Michelle Zhang–in an identical little black dress.

"Ohmygod! That's me! " Michelle cried as we came face-to-face.

"Yes it is," Annie affirmed, beaming from ear to ear. "Michellle Zhang, I'd like you to meet Michelle Zhang." Annie chortled.

Michelle looked at me incredulously. She examined my face suspiciously.

"She looks like me, but who is she?"

I did not want to chance my male voice destroying the illusion. So I resisted the urge to say anything.

"Michelle, this, believe it or not, is Michael Lee," Annie said. "Yep, that's right, Michael is your stunt double."

"You’re a guy! " Michelle looked at Annie, then back at me. "You can't be a guy. I don't believe it. Annie, you're playing a joke on me, right?"

"You're a guy!" I repeated in my best imitation of Michelle as I could manage. "I don't believe it. Annie, you're playing a joke on me, right?"

Michelle and Annie burst into laughter.

My vocal imitation was better than I thought it would be. The cadence and intonation were just right–a clipped Chinese staccato in a singsong alto. Hell, it was bang on!

"She even sounds like me! She does me better than I do."

"My name is Michelle Zhang," I said with conviction. "And you are…?"

"No, my name is Michelle Zhang. I'm the real Michelle. You are an impostor!" With a laugh, Michelle gave me a gentle shove.

"No, you're the impostor!" I shoved back.

Annie interrupted our back and forth remonstrations. "No, no more, I can't allow you to mess up each other's makeup. There's one way to settle this." Annie reached into the front of my low-cut dress and extracted one of my D cup boobs.

Because the silicone was sticky, I could swear there was some skin ripped off my tender tits.

Incredulous for a moment, Michelle almost doubled over with laughter. "Just fantastic! Silicone deceivers! You really are a guy!"

Then Annie reached up to my hair and lifted it with one quick snatch. "Now, there's no doubt."

The beautiful illusion was ruined, or so I thought.

Michelle wrapped her arms around me in a warm laughing embrace. "Just incredible! You're so gorgeous."

At that precise moment, I think I fell in love with Michelle Zhang.

4

"When you expect something, when you aim at something, right there you dilute your energy; you split your energy, you split your attention and it becomes more than the place of yin and yang. You do not only divide, but you create the problem."

- Taizan Maezumi

As we headed to the cars that would transport us to the shooting site, Michelle and Annie hung back for a moment to hold a private conversation.

I had a feeling they were talking about me.

Anyway, a minute later Annie directed me toward a vehicle near the front end of the film company's fleet. Meanwhile, Michelle climbed into a van a little further back.

Annie, while holding a cell phone up to her ear, ambled up to me and said, "How'd you like to meet Hugh Farrell?"

"I'd love to."

Hugh was the new James Bond, following the likes of Pierce Brosnan, Timothy Dalton, Roger Moore, George Lazenby and Sean Connery.

He was every girl's dream man. Ruggedly handsome, he was tall, incredibly fit and supposedly had a quick wit.

We approached a limousine at the front of the line.

"Michael, I want you to stay in character as Michelle for a few minutes. Let's see if Hugh will catch on quickly or not," Annie said as she opened the car door.

Hugh was already seated in the limo and patted the seat beside him, inviting me to sit with him.

I must admit photographs did not do him justice. He had this amazing energy about him. A kind of glow, an aura if you will.

When Annie closed the door behind me, she opened the front door and slid into the seat beside the driver, still clutching her cell phone.

We were ready to go. As soon as Annie did up her seat belt, the limo started up. A momentary break in the traffic allowed us to merge immediately onto the highway.

Hugh pressed a button beside him. The privacy window, separating the front seat from the passenger compartment, rose slowly.

"Hold it!" shouted Annie. "There's someone on the phone that wants to talk to you, Michelle."

Hugh stopped the privacy window for a moment, as Annie reached over the barrier and handed me the cell.

I held up the phone to my ear.

"Hello," I said in my best Michelle voice.

"Hi Michael, it's Michelle. Can you do me a small favor?"

"Sure."

"You are holding a camera phone. Can you place the phone down in a spot where I can watch both you and Hugh?"

"I can try."

"You're a good sport. This ought to be really funny. Thanks."

I placed the open cell phone on the ledge behind the seat.

"We're on standby," I said to Hugh as an explanation for the call.

Hugh shrugged his shoulders; then the tinted privacy window resumed its upward motion.

"You're looking very beautiful this afternoon," Hugh said with a smile. "Absolutely stunning!"

"Oh, thank you for the compliment. But it's all Annie's doing. She's great with the makeup."

I had been around movie stars before. However, Hugh had some indefinable quality about him. Would charismatic be too strong an adjective?

"Don't be so modest. I think Annie's got great material to work with. After all, as the Americans say, you can't turn chicken poop into chicken salad."

Then again, maybe it was the lighting. "Thank you, I think that was supposed to be a compliment."

Hugh looked at me with his baby blue eyes. He was really cute! He leaned a little closer to me. Ohmygod! He was going to kiss me! Hugh wrapped me in his muscular arms and brushed his lips tenderly over mine.

I struggled for a moment, repulsed by this development. But Hugh had me pinned against the seat. He was bigger and stronger than me and he had the advantage of leverage. Then I relented, figuring this is probably what Annie and Michelle thought would happen.

Then, Hugh opened his mouth and tried to insert his tongue into my mouth.

Yeech! It caught me by surprise.

Actually, it tasted like Dentyne Ice. Never again would I buy that gum.

I tried to push him away, but his vise-like grip was just too strong. So I caved once more.

This apparent assent only seemed to encourage Hugh. His octopus-like arms were moving all over my torso. He squeezed my butt, he tickled my sides, and he massaged my knockers. Couldn't he tell what was man-made and what was natural?

I squirmed uncomfortably. Was Hugh ever in for a big surprise? What would he do to me when he found out?

Finally, he gave his tongue and my glottis a rest.

"Hugh, please stop," I said, "or I'll need serious help with the makeup again."

"Oh c'mon babe. Less thinking and more feeling."

But thoughts of escape and revenge raced through my mind. 'Less thinking?' How dare he! If guys' thought processes were controlled more by their brains than by their penises, this would be a better world. It's why females were regarded as the smarter sex.

In the film Body Heat, Kathleen Turner said to William Hurt, "You're not too smart, are you? I like that in a man."

Hugh renewed his full frontal assault.

Desperately, I turned my head away from his probing tongue.

"Hugh, there's something I have to tell you."

Hugh's mouth glommed over my lips. His tongue went in search of the oral treasures of my palate, tongue, teeth, gums and saliva. Yeech!

"Hugh, please stop." I shoved him away as hard as I could.

"What's going on, babe? Don't spoil the moment. Carpe Diem. Seize the day!"

"Hugh," I said in my natural male voice. "I'm Michelle's stunt double. I'm a guy. I'm not Michelle."

As the English like to say, Hugh was gob smacked.

"Holy shit! You sound like some Californian surfing dude."

"Actually I do surf. And I'm a stuntman. If you don't believe me, ask Annie or Michelle. In fact, I left the camera phone on, so smile for the camera because Michelle wanted to see what would happen."

"How could you do this to me?"

There was a look of exasperation on Hugh's face.

"How could I do this to you? I didn't do anything but try to resist. You tried to force yourself on me."

"I did not."

"You did so."

"I did not."

"Okay, we'll have it your way. I seduced you…Maybe you'd better talk to Michelle."

I handed the camera phone to Hugh.

Thank god he didn't hit me or there'd be two Michelle Zhang stunt doubles in hospital.

5

"If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him."

- title of a book by Sheldon B. Kopp

On the shoulder of the Pacific Coast Highway, overlooking a steep cliff, I struggled in the arms of Danny Carter and Josh Williams. Bond's 'invisible' Aston Martin pulled up. The passenger door sprung open, knocking Danny to the ground.

I dug my high heel into Josh's foot, elbowed him in the stomach and punched him in the face. Josh fell over like he'd been given a forearm shiver by a WWE wrestler. I never even touched him.

"Get in!" Craig yelled.

I jumped into the Aston Martin. A bullet squib on the rear window exploded. As the car started rolling, the door slammed shut from the sudden forward momentum.

Craig/Bond shifted through the gears as quickly as possible as we made our escape. The invisible car kicked up a cloud of dust and gravel as Bond spun the wheels. I wondered if they would add sound effects later on so that the car would 'squeal out' on gravel.

Carter and Williams quickly scrambled into their car and were in hot pursuit, followed by four other cars.

The helicopter swooped in close, allowing the cameras it carried to pick up all the action. I could hear the chopper's 'flap-flap-flap' as it approached, the whine of its turbine and the whoosh as it closed in.

On Carter's black Mercedes M-B Gullwing, two pods emerged from the front hood. On the driver's side was a machine gun. On the passenger side was a rocket launcher.

A hail of bullets bounced off the back window and trunk section of the specially equipped Aston Martin. The squibs had fired perfectly.

On the movie screen, little explosions would be seen and heard on the almost invisible, pixellated body of the Aston Martin.

The car's on-board computer blared its message, "Adaptive Camouflage Failure." Now the movie audience would see the aerodynamic lines of Bond's green Vanquish.

As we came to a corner, we drifted through it at high speed. I hung on tight. I could see the yawning Pacific Ocean beyond the yellow sharp turn warning sign and the guardrail. Then as the car straightened out, the Mercedes fired its rocket! The sign exploded!

Choking acrid smoke! The camera closed in on the obliterated warning sign. Beside it was a partly destroyed placard, 'FIRE HAZARD ZONE. EXERCISE EXTREME CARE WITH FLAMMABLE MATERIALS.'

A narrow escape!

The engine screamed as we sped down the straightaway. A slow moving ice cream delivery truck blocked our way. A stream of oncoming traffic prevented any passing. The pursuit cars were gaining on us quickly. As we entered the next turn, Bond spotted an island in the stream. The turbo-boost kicked in. Just as we slid sideways through the turn, an SUV suddenly appeared from around the bend. Bond turned the wheel just in the nick of time as the ice cream truck braked, allowing us to zip by.

As the Aston Martin's motor screamed its high-pitched whine, the pursuing cars honked their horns at the slow-moving ice cream truck. Putting aside his cell phone for a moment, the truck driver stuck his hand out the window, giving the trailing drivers the impudent finger. Seconds later, the Mercedes fired another rocket. The ice cream truck exploded! Blown to smithereens! Fudgsicles galore! It was launched off the highway. Airborne and in flames it sailed majestically over the sea cliff, plummeting downward to the water, 500 hundred feet below.

The helicopter camera caught its magnificent volatile descent and incendiary splash!

No stunt men were killed in the making of this movie. The ice cream truck was remotely controlled.

More traffic ahead. A ponderously slow Chrysler Caravan blocked our progress.

The pursuing cars were gaining on us once more.

There was a sudden break in the oncoming traffic.

Bond went for it. He changed lanes.

We roared past the Caravan. I looked back at the middle-aged mom with her kids. Strangely, the front passenger seat was empty. The kids, stunt midget escapees from a Wayans Brothers film, were all in the back seats. Then I remembered that there'd be a shot of goldfish swimming in an aquarium on the front seat.

In the studio, the camera would zoom in on the aquarium lid falling off. A gold and white koi would slosh about and leap out of the tank, landing on the décolletage of the startled matronly mom.

But the trailing cars zipped by the Chrysler also. Now they were really close.

Open sky faced us as we came to the next bend. We squealed through the turn at high speed. As we accelerated through it, another hail of bullets hit the rear window on Bond's side. Around a long sweeping U-shaped vista we raced, the four-wheel drive of the Aston Martin helping us to maneuver around the turn. Carter and Williams were really close now. Ahead of us was open sky at the next bend. Then, as we came out of the turn, our car lurched forward, knocked from behind by the aggressive Mercedes.

The engine revved to the red line as we blasted down a long straightaway.

But then Bond slowed down as we came to the next turn.

Our day's mission was completed.

The big finale was to take place tomorrow.

6

"Death and life are looked on
As but transformations;
The myriad creation is all of a kind,
There is a kinship through all."

- Huai Nan Tzu (2nd century B.C.)

I knocked on the open door.

"Hello," Michelle said cheerfully.

Irene Chiu looked up from her hospital bed. "Hi," she managed to say weakly. There was a look of confusion on Irene's face.

"Irene, we thought we'd stop by to see how you're doing. Before you ask the obvious, let me introduce you to my new stunt double, Michael Lee."

Irene gasped. "Michael, is that really you?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'm Michelle's new stunt double."

"Michael, I didn't know you dressed like this."

"I don't. The first time I ever did anything like this was today."

"You look amazing!"

I held Irene's hand. "Thank you. But it's all your fault."

Irene laughed.

Why did I ever allow Michelle to persuade me to come here dressed?

"The last time I saw you, we were working on The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

"That was a great time. But I never saw this side of you."

"Believe me, until today, I never suspected this side of me existed."

"Well, it just might have doubled your job opportunities. A good career move."

I laughed. To change the subject, I asked, "What happened today?"

"Oh, the usual unexpected unanticipated stuff."

"Like what?"

"Entering a corner, I was supposed to slide through the bend at high speed. But, as I came around the other side, I saw a large bird on the road, picking away at some road kill. I think it was an eagle. Anyway, I swerved to avoid hitting the bird, but that threw me out of control, off the road, into an embankment."

"The eagle thanks you," Michelle chirped.

"Unfortunately, my BMW did not survive."

"So, how bad is it?" I asked.

"I have a broken left ankle. My foot was crushed, so I've got multiple fractures there. And I suffered a concussion, some whiplash too."

"Do you have a headache now?"

"I would if they hadn't given me some Tylenol."

"So, I take it that I'm going to have to dress like this again tomorrow."

"I'm afraid so," Irene said with a snicker.

"Doesn't he look good?" Michelle asked.

Irene looked me over appraisingly. Michelle had lent me a light blue summer dress and white sandals. My dress was a little brighter and darker than Irene's hospital gown.

"Absolutely amazing. He looks exactly like you. You're twins! Although it's still Michael's voice, that kind of destroys the illusion."

"No. Michael can do my voice pretty well. Show her Michael."

"Irene, you have no idea what kind of grief you caused me," I said in my best Michelle Zhang alto.

Irene and Michelle laughed.

"Pretty good," Irene said.

"He even fooled Hugh Farrell."

I groaned.

"Yeah, I tried to get it all on the camera phone, but the angle wasn't quite right, so all you hear are these disgusting kissing noises."

There was a look of amazement on Irene's face.

"Hugh Farrell hit on you?"

"He thought I was Michelle."

"How precious! I would have loved to have seen that."

"You know what Hugh said to me the first time I met him up at Whistler, B.C.?" asked Irene.

"He used a pick up line?"

"Yeah, when he found out I was the stunt double for Michelle, he said, 'I hope you're not injured too badly because you look like you just fell from heaven.'"

"Smooth," Michelle said.

Girl talk. Is this what it was like?

"When he first met me," Michelle said, "he looked at his watch and said, 'This special James Bond watch tells me you're wearing no underwear under that dress, but this watch seems to be running an hour fast.'"

"Hugh Farrell," Irene said, "is a walking gonad. He is insatiable."

"Isn't he," Michelle agreed. "He loves girls."

"And girls love him."

"That's the problem. Hugh tries to accommodate as many girls as he can. That's fine if you're a Mormon, but I prefer a one-woman man."

"For Hugh, it's like that old Stephen Stills song, you know, Love The One You're With."

"Exactly."

Now I had the inside dope on Hugh Farrell. For both Hugh and James Bond, it was pussy galore.

7

"We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us."

- Albert Einstein

As Michelle and I drove to the hotel in Monterey where the big stars of the film were staying, I couldn't get this song out of my mind. That old Stephen Stills classic was just bouncing around my cavernous cranium.

"Well, there's a rose in a fisted glove
And the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love, honey
Love the one you're with

Don't be angry, don't be sad
Don't sit cryin' over good times you've had
There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something to do
Love the one you're with."

Michelle had suggested we have a late dinner at her hotel. She was staying at The Lodge, located right beside the prestigious Pebble Beach Golf Course.

I had seen this enchanted setting many times on television for events such as the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am and the US Open. In spite of the beautifully maintained greens, fairways, rough and sand traps, the changing weather conditions were always a major factor. The rain, fog, cold, sun, heat and wind played havoc with the tournament scores.

Pine trees, whose branches had been shaped by the westerly wind from the Pacific Ocean, perched precariously atop rocky coastal outcrops. Ghost cypress trees, bleached by exposure to the sea spray, haunted scenic 17 Mile Drive. Deer, cormorants, gulls, pelicans, seals and whales added to the picture perfect panorama.

As we pulled to a stop in front of The Lodge, I could not help but feel fortunate that I was in a magical location with a wonderful movie star like Michelle.

A stately, white, two-storey building, The Lodge was a welcoming retreat in a glorious oceanside setting.

After stepping through the front doors, Michelle directed me to the restaurant, the Stillwater Bar and Grill.

The hostess found us a seat by the window, with a magnificent view, overlooking Carmel Bay and the 18th green of Pebble Beach Golf Links.

We had arrived just before sunset. After I pulled my chair around to Michelle's side, I could get a better view of the large red ball of the sun sinking into the dark distant horizon of the Pacific Ocean. But as I put my arm around Michelle's shoulder and she snuggled up to me, the glorious sunset was the last thing on my mind.

We must have looked like twin sisters hugging each other, or lipstick lesbians, but I wasn't going to allow anything to spoil the moment.

It had been a long productive day. However, the evening looked even more promising.

When the waitress brought us the menu, I must confess I was famished. My last taste of food was on the airplane, eons ago.

The choices on the menu were a seafood lover's delight, ranging from Yellowfin Tuna Carpaccio to Monterey Bay Red Abalone to Stillwater Lobster Thermidor.

I ordered the Oysters on the Half Shell, the Hamachi Sashimi plus Watercress and Fuji Apple Salad. For her entrée, Michelle selected the Wild King Salmon along with the Grilled Asparagus and Prosciutto Salad. And we agreed to share a carafe of the house white wine.

While we waited for the food, I could not help but feel lucky to be in the presence of such a beautiful person.

"So Michael, you worked with Irene Chiu before?"

"On The Fast and the Furious 3: Tokyo Drift and Charlie's Angels."

"What was The Fast and the Furious like?"

"The stunt driving was really intense. And it was a real test of my abilities. But, the whole experience was like a dream come true. The cars were so well prepared mechanically. And we got a lot of cooperation from the Japanese auto companies."

"Did you do anything dangerous?"

"There's always a risk when you do stunt driving." I chose not to mention that my father was killed while doing stunt driving for a movie. I didn't want to ruin the mood. "We wrecked a lot of cars."

"I saw the movie. Is it true the Japanese police don't go after the really fast speeders if the police cars can't match their speed?"

"Apparently. And that logic kinda makes sense. No police car could ever hope to catch some of those Japanese crotch rockets."

"Crotch rockets?"

"That's what they call those souped-up Kawasaki motorcycles."

"A suggestive name."

"Explosive."

"Boys and their power toys."

"I'm not trying to compensate for any shortcomings."

Michelle laughed. "Are you sure? I mean you ordered oysters for dinner."

"I like oysters. It's just a coincidence."

There was a devilish grin on her face. "Uh huh."

"Anyway, I really enjoyed working in Japan. But it's quite a culture shock when you go to Japan."

"How so?"

"Tokyo doesn't look like any North American city. Somehow it seems kind of futuristic. The building styles are different–very dense and a lot of high-rises. Although Tokyo is huge, it's very crowded, always jammed with people and traffic. The pace of life seems frantic, but organized."

"That could easily describe Hong Kong, my home. America has a lot of wide open spaces when compared to Japan or China."

In the distance, through the window, I could see the lights of a passing powerboat. In the covering darkness, peace and serenity.

"I used to think California was getting crowded, with all the new immigrants, but not when compared to Japan. However, the Japanese people are so different from Americans. Here, I'm used to seeing different races of people. But, in Japan, almost everyone is Japanese. Who woulda thunk it?"

"So, did you learn to speak some Japanese?"

"Just the basic greetings, please and thank you. And 'Nihongo wakari masen,' which, of course, means I don't understand Japanese."

"And how to order food and where is the nearest washroom?"

"Yes. Also, being of Chinese heritage, it was difficult for people to tell that I wasn't Japanese. So they'd start talking to me in Japanese. Although, if they were beautiful girls, I'd try my best to communicate in their tongue."

"Good motivation, huh? So after being there awhile, was it like The Vapors song Turning Japanese?"

"Do you want me to sing, 'I really think so'? Do you know what 'turning Japanese' was supposed to mean in that song?"

"No, not really."

"'Turning Japanese' meant excessive masturbation." I squinted my eyes, curled my lips, showed my upper teeth and bobbed my head up and down.

Michelle laughed. "I didn't mean that. Stop it!" She reached out to slap my hand.

"Although I liked Japan, I wasn't turning Japanese, especially not in The Vapors sense. But how come you know a song like that?"

"It was in Charlie's Angels. Besides, I know a lot about North American culture, although apparently not all of the nuances. When I was in junior high school, my parents sent me from Hong Kong to live in Vancouver with my uncle and aunt."

"Oh, because of Hong Kong being given back to China? In 1997, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Nobody knew what changes were going to happen."

The waitress interrupted us to serve us the wine. After pouring the white wine, I wondered if a carafe would be enough.

Michelle swirled the wine around in her glass and sniffed the bouquet. I did the same. It had a light, flowery scent.

When she looked at me, I extended my glass toward her.

"Cheers."

The wine had a lightly oaked, fruity taste. Savoring it, I noted that the soft aftertaste did not linger.

"Very nice," I said.

"I like it too. It reminds me of some of the Canadian wines I've tasted."

"You know, Michelle, I had been wondering why you spoke such excellent English. Your Vancouver experience explains a lot. Your English does sound kinda Chinese Canadian. But you've been in a lot of Chinese films, haven't you? And I remember seeing you in that Jackie Chan flick Rush Hour 2."

"Yes. That was an attempt to cross over to American or English speaking films."

"I love Jackie Chan. He does the most amazing stunts!"

"He's great! However, the audience is always looking for greater and greater stunts. And I think it's impossible for him to top himself. When he was younger, he did some absolutely fantastic stunt work. No Computer Generated Imagery, like in The Tuxedo."

"Right, CGI hadn't been invented. Or, later on, the HK filmmakers didn't have the budget."

"Also, I love the humor in his films."

"That's what separates Jackie Chan's films from all the other martial arts films."

"So did Jackie Chan inspire you to become a stuntman?"

"In part, I suppose. But my father was a stuntman."

"Your hero, eh?"

"I suppose."

"So how did you get involved in this film?"

"Rich Jackson, the stunt co-coordinator, has been around a long time. In fact, Craig Colbourn refers to Rich as the Ancient One."

"A term of endearment."

"Uh huh. Apparently my father had worked with Rich, while he was still a very young rookie, on You Only Live Twice. Rich became aware of me around the time Die Another Day was being shot, but I was committed to television shows and other films. Fortunately, I worked on television shows like VIP, She Spies, Alias and 24 plus movies such as Mr. & Mrs. Smith and Kill Bill."

"Impressive."

The food arrived. It looked delicious. It was presented so attractively, it was almost a shame to eat it. Michelle's salmon looked particularly appetizing.

The oysters, with a little soy sauce and a squeeze of lemon, were succulent. And I was famished. However, I didn't want to chow down the way a starving guy would. I wanted to be ladylike and refined.

Michelle offered to share her food with me. So we exchanged some of the tasty tidbits. I sampled some of her salmon. She tried some of the oysters and sashimi.

The food was a gourmet's delight. Not only was it well presented, the salad ingredients were fresh, the spices zesty and the seafood had that fresh out of the ocean taste that could not be beaten.

"So how did you get involved in Nobody Does It Better?"

"I've done about fifteen films in Hong Kong or China. Although my most recent film was a comedy, the Bond film producers saw my work in some action films, like the spy adventure film Tokyo Raiders 2, so they asked me to audition. Luckily, they liked my test and they thought I could handle some of the physical aspects of being a Bond girl."

"So what exactly is your role?"

"I am Karine Lau, a geneticist."

"And what was happening on the road today?"

"I was being kidnapped."

"Why?"

"Apparently Karine Lau was attending a biotech conference in Whistler. A power mad biotech company owner wanted one of the genetically modified organisms that I had developed."

"What type of bug?"

"A bacteria that eats oil. You've heard of the Exxon Valdez running aground in Alaskan waters?"

"Yes."

"That stimulated research in finding ways to clean up oil spills."

"So why would a Bond villain want an oil eating bacteria?" I asked.

"If you were a company that developed an energy alternative to oil, having a bacteria that could destroy the world's oil supply would make you king of the world."

"That's mad."

"True, but James Bond doesn't rescue unimportant people."

"Right, Bond saves the whole world from catastrophe."

"Just like Austin Powers."

"I love those films. They really make fun of the whole James Bond genre."

"Mike Myers is so clever," Michelle said with a smile, "as is the Mike I'm looking at."

"Thanks for the compliment."

Michelle leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips.

I was really attracted to Michelle. Her beauty, her genuine warmth and her fun-loving character drew me like a syren (of Greek mythology).

On the other hand, I'm not sure what she saw in me. Here I was, dressed and made up to be her double. How strange was that? As weird as it was, I didn't care. I'm not a psychologist. The 'I exist, therefore I am' psychobabble, the Oedipus and Electra complexes, the transgender 'I'm a girl in a guy's body' were all foreign territory to me. So I took refuge in the wisdom of Stephen Stills:

There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something to do
Love the one you're with

Now I was just like Hugh Farrell. I was a walking gonad.

However, my Zen training in the martial arts had taught me to never enter a situation with expectations. What happens happens.

All through dinner, Michelle was sending me encouraging signals that fed my desire. Her leg rubbing up against mine, her hand squeezing my upper thigh and the look of hunger in her eyes. Lust is blind. I wanted to be her lover. I couldn't wait to touch her perfect body with my mind. And since my gonads were doing all of the thinking, well, you get the thrust of it.

After dinner, when we walked over to Michelle's room, I was certain that I wanted to make love to her. Even dressed as I was, what man wouldn't? However, did she want me?

So when we stood at her doorway, I wanted to put forward my most persuasive argument. I reached out to her, touching her face. I moved my hand along her cheek and drew her toward me. I looked into her eyes and then down at her lips. Then, when I looked into her eyes, I could tell she was ready. I placed my fingers gently on the back of her head, running them gently through her hair. She closed her eyes. Our lips brushed together. Then I pressed my lips together with hers. My mouth opened slightly at first. She opened hers. My tongue probed her front teeth for an instant. Then our tongues met and I savored her delightful flavor.

For a moment, we broke the kiss. I looked into her eyes and saw that I had caught a glimpse of her soul. We kissed again.

Neither of us wanted to break the kiss for fear that the magic would be broken.

But when our lips finally parted, Michelle slowly opened the door to her room.

"Unfortunately Michael, we have a full day of work ahead of us. I have to be in makeup by 6:00 a.m. So I have to be up by 5:00. So, this will have to be goodnight." Her lips brushed mine quickly.

Then she closed the door.

"Goodnight," I mumbled to the door.

On the way back to my hotel room, I replayed that last scene over and over again. It felt like an outtake from The 40-Year-Old Virgin. What a come down!

8

"Nowhere!
Not in the sky,
Nor in the midst of the sea,
Nor deep in the mountains,
Can you hide from your own mischief.
Not in the sky,
Nor in the midst of the ocean,
Nor deep in the mountains,
Nowhere
Can you hide from your own death."

- Dhammapada

From the crack of dawn, the special effects crew had worked hard preparing for this final shot. It had been a long journey.

In fact, this whole film sequence began on the highway between Whistler, British Columbia and Vancouver.

However, unable to find a stretch of highway with a sufficiently high sea cliff, the chase sequence was moved to California for this spectacular finale.

That's the way the movie business works. In Die Another Day, not a single bit of film was shot in North Korea, although you'd never know it by what was on screen.

A very special single function vehicle replaced the Aston Martin Vanquish we had used the previous day. It still had the standard 48 valve, 6.0-litre V12 engine with 520 horses beneath the bonnet, but extraordinary modifications would add 212 pounds of additional weight.

We had all of the camera angles covered. Two camera helicopters would ensure that nothing would be missed.

Five pursuit cars were behind us.

We would drive down the same straightaway as we had before.

Attired in the same little black dress, high heels, makeup and wig as I had the previous day, I gave little thought to the male-to-female transformation process.

The upcoming scene had to be done in one take.

What we were doing was dangerous. And expensive. Too much was at stake for any screw-ups.

But Mother Nature had other ideas. What had started as a beautiful sunny morning, suddenly turned foggy. This was not unusual for the Big Sur area of California.

So the second unit director, Ted Armstrong, put us on hold until the fog dissipated.

How long we'd wait, nobody knew. When it became apparent that the fog and drizzle wasn't going to go away immediately, we were advised to stand down.

I called Michelle on my cell phone. She was busy on the Internet, emailing friends and family back home.

So I went back to the makeup trailer, which had served as my dressing room. I thought perhaps I could shoot the breeze with Annie Delmonica. Annie was used to waiting around. She was always on call, but there were wigs to prepare, messes to tidy up, materials to organize and items to order.

When I stepped into her trailer again, the television was on. There was an image of an hourglass on the screen.

"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives."

Annie was so focused on the TV screen, she barely noticed that I had entered. She was focused on the intrigue, betrayal, infidelity, passion, lust, violence and love.

While we waited out the bad weather, I found out more about The Days of our Lives than I wanted to know.

However, the delay gave me an opportunity to meditate. It was my father who first turned me on to Zen. He told me it was helpful to him in developing his powers of concentration. So I tried it and gradually Zen became a part of my being.

The essence of Zen was awakening. One could learn a little bit about Zen by reading books, but to fully realize Zen, it had to be experienced.

Attachment to knowledge could be a hindrance to spiritual awakening. The Zen saying 'If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him' was simply about setting beings free from the prison of knowledge and belief.

Koans were seemingly senseless and paradoxical questions posed to help Zen practitioners gain spiritual awakening. 'What is the sound of one hand clapping?' 'What was your face before you were born?' 'Does a dog have Buddha nature?' 'How can one prevent a drop of water from ever drying up?'

Enlightenment was a difficult goal to define. Even more difficult was achieving it. But setting enlightenment as a goal missed the point. Helping others, being kind to everyone was a simple, achievable and worthy goal.

A cluttered mind and over-thinking impeded action. Living in the moment, action came effortlessly.

To get comfortable, I took off my shoes, dress, bra and wig. However, the thong remained on.

Near the back of the Winnebago was a bed. In the middle of it, I took up the Lotus position. I sat cross-legged, with each foot on top of the opposite thigh. My back was fairly straight, my head tilted slightly forward, and my eyes closed. The back of my hands rested on my knees with the forefinger and thumb of each hand forming a circle. To some it seemed an uncomfortable posture that only suited contortionists. But it did have an advantage. If I ever fell asleep, I couldn't fall over.

One purpose of meditation was to calm the 'monkey mind'–the busy, over-active level of thinking. I breathed deeply, I chanted my mantra and soon I was able to blot out the sands in the hourglass, The Days of Our Lives.

I visualized the stunt I was performing. I went through all of the storyboard images step by step. My goal wasn't to be 'one with the car' or 'one with the universe.' It was simply mental practice, which was just as important as physical repetition. Since the spectacular feat was to be a one-time thing, there couldn't be any physical practice.

When the fog and rain finally cleared, we lined up all the cars as we had before. The police would block off the Pacific Coast Highway traffic for about 15 minutes. This was our window of opportunity to shoot. As it was about 6:00 p.m., we might not get another opportunity.

In a James Bond film, the public expected the stunts to be done in camera rather than relying on CGI.

After climbing into the Aston Martin, I buckled up the seat belt. I looked at Craig. He held out his right fist. I gave him props, the fist against fist gesture. We didn't say anything.

While we waited, I had time to reflect on the danger involved.

It was exactly eight years ago to the day that my father had died. Harold Lee was working on a film called Jade Dragon. He was driving one of the cars involved in a chase scene. Unfortunately, his car blew a tire while traveling at high speed. It spun into the path of an oncoming truck. The truck stunt driver tried to swerve out of the way. But the truck ended up flipping onto its side just as my father's car made contact with it.

My father was killed instantly!

My inner voice told me that I had to stop thinking about how he died. I had to put it aside.

So I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the next action sequence. Storyboard images flashed through my head as I went through my actions step by step. Then I tried to clear my mind of extraneous thoughts.

Over the radio, the second unit director, Ted Armstrong, gave us the go ahead.

I looked at Craig. He nodded to me, indicating he was ready.

Off we went! Craig stepped on the gas and the Aston Martin accelerated quickly through the bend just as we had yesterday. The G forces pushed me back into the bucket seat as my hands searched for something to latch onto.

I turned to look behind us. The five pursuit cars gave chase.

We roared down the long straightaway. The engine screamed beyond the tachometer red line and my mind screamed too. As we blasted to the end of the straightaway, there was open sky straight ahead. Bond hit the nitrous oxide boost. The car exploded forward in hyper drive!

Out over the precipice we flew! We were airborne!

I could hear the whistle of the wind over the aerodynamic form of the Vanquish.

Then the car tilted forward as we began our descent. Doing my best damsel in distress, I screamed like a banshee!

The carbon fiber top of the Aston Martin blew off. I could see nothing but patchy sky above.

Then the auto's chassis shook briefly as twelve compressed air tubes fired, rocketing the seat capsules into the air. We shot upward! Blasted into the sky! I held on for dear life. The tremendous G forces compressed my face into a pink Peppermint Pattie. My brain was a ping-pong ball in a rotating spherical bingo cage!

The ejector seats worked!

Higher and higher we flew! My stomach was doing cartwheels! I swallowed hard, trying to keep my guts in check.

At the apex of our trajectory, it felt great! This was a better thrill ride than any roller coaster at Magic Mountain!

Then as we started to fall back to earth, there was a loud double thwack as the parachutes opened. My black dress billowed out like Marilyn Monroe's white dress above the subway grate in The Seven Year Itch.

The strong offshore breeze caught us and pushed us further out to sea.

I looked back to the highway, craning my head around the headrest. The five chase cars had stopped at the edge of the precipice. All the men were out of their vehicles.

Below I could hear an audible splash as the Aston Martin plunged into the water.

But I was going to enjoy the slow ride downward.

I could see the magnificent sea cliffs of Big Sur, the sweeping vistas of the Santa Lucia Mountains, and waves splashing up against the rocky outcrops of the seascape below.

And I spotted the Aston Martin as it bobbed on to the surface of the bay, aided by flotation devices.

At my eye level, Bond's colorful red, white and blue Union Jack parachute was in full view. In fact, we had been worried about the possibility of a mid-air collision, but the ejectors were set to give us slightly different trajectories. Thankfully, the calculations were correct!

Behind me, there was the rat-a-tat-tat sound of machine gun fire.

A row of squibs on the backside of the ejector seat exploded in quick succession.

Doing my acting role, I tried to duck my head.

My wig had been secured with clips to ensure that there'd be no embarrassing revelations.

A Canadian CH-149 Cormorant helicopter, initially a speck on the horizon, approached rapidly. As it zoomed over our heads, it began firing a machine gun burst at the bad guys on the Pacific Coast Highway.

That would send them scrambling.

But now the seawater seemed to be coming up fast.

I wondered how the American astronauts felt when the Apollo missions ended in the South Pacific Ocean after traveling to the moon.

I tried to ready myself mentally for the big splashdown.

The water was almost upon me. It was white-knuckle time. I took a deep breath just before I hit the surface.

It wasn't a soft landing.

Imagine a super super Cannonball off the high tower! The impact shook me from stem to gudgeon–from my stiletto heels to my big hair wig!

The ejector capsule plunged deep into the swallowing maw of the cold Pacific Ocean. Deeper and deeper I went. I could feel the oppressive throb of the ocean depths on my eardrums. Trying to find solace from the pain, I covered my ears with my hands.

I realized that the air bags must have deployed immediately upon impact, giving the seat assembly buoyancy or I might have been in real trouble.

After what seemed an eternity, the ejector seat bobbed up to the surface. But the parachute was entangled all around me. I struggled to free myself of this suffocating trap.

There was a button below the armrest. I had forgotten about it. I depressed it over and over again. After what seemed an eternity, the parachute drifted away slowly. I spat out the taste of dirty salt. I could breathe again. I was free and clear.

I looked around. Nearby I could see Bond, cool as a cucumber, bobbing up and down on the waves.

The bright yellow Canadian Coast Guard Cormorant hovered above us. The roar of the whirling chopper blades was deafening. But, the hard part was over.

I just hoped that the cameras had captured all of the action. I'd hate to do this again.

As a harness was lowered from the copter above, I undid the seat belt. I reached up to the harness as it swung back and forth above me. Almost! But a wave pushed me away from it.

The helicopter pilot adjusted to the movement. On the next attempt I grabbed for the rope once more.

Got'cha!

I pulled the harness toward me. Then I stepped through the straps, secured the Velcro and signaled that I was ready to be reeled in.

As I was winched into the chopper, I dangled precariously above the water. The downdraft from whirling helicopter blades rained air pellets on the seawater surface below me. Also, I felt the chill from the cold breeze under my little black dress. The sensation of penetration was most uncomfortable!

My hair was a disaster. I must look a mess. Or a miss?

As I smiled for the camera, I wondered, was my makeup waterproof?

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.