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Playing the Panda

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Afterwards, he was never entirely clear on what had happened, but what Farouk remembered later went something like this:

Gamal'd been acting like an asshole again all afternoon, bragging about his role like getting to play a cook was assistant's anything to brag about, and Aicha'd been kind of bummed out there hadn't really been a part for her this time around, except the panda, which had been when Anwar'd jumped in to say that Aicha couldn't be the panda 'because she's got too much here' (at which he'd cupped his hands over his chests) and okay, it'd been sort of stupid and Farouk got it, he really did; it wasn't easy to be the only woman around here, but Aicha'd known what she'd been getting into from the start.

"Farouk!" The suit really wasn't meant for talking; her voice sounded all muffled. "How do I look?" The suit also really wasn't meant for moving in with any speed; Aicha tried to spin around or something - probably something she'd seen models do on TV or something, and narrowly avoided crashing into the wall.

The suit would probably have protected her, Farouk thought, only what would have protected the suit? "Very pretty," he said. "Very beautiful, Aicha."

She giggled, or he assumed she did so, anyway.

"Now," he went on, "take it off, please?" Getting to wear the panda suit had put her in a good mood again, and that was great. If they stayed away too long though, someone might walk in, probably Gamal, and he'd probably say something stupid, and then Aicha's mood would turn sour all over.

His mother would tell him she was one of those girls he should stay away from. His mother would also just give the Panda a good whack on the nose if he'd try to tell her what to eat.

"Fa-rouk! Do you say that to all the girls?"

His mother was miles away, still living in the same house where she'd given birth to him and his brother and three sisters. And he knew that, joking aside, Aicha really wasn't that kind of girl. The pretty ones never were. This was just a bit of harmless fun and games.

Aicha had found a package of Panda Cheese somewhere - the new kind you could use to cook with.

"Would you like some cheese?"

She'd got the eyes down perfectly, or perhaps they were part of the suit, too - in which case, Farouk wondered, how did she see? They must be her own eyes. He'd never before noticed how big they were. Eyes a man could drown in, really.

"I - " he started to say. She came a bit closer, practically shoving the cheese under his nose. "It's not the cheese I'm interested in, if you know what I mean." He leered exaggeratedly, just in case she didn't get that he was joking.

"Ooh!" One of the Panda's paws swatted at his face without actually connecting. "Naughty, naughty."

He was having fun, really. Still: "Seriously, Aicha, you should take the suit off. They're going to wonder where we are."

"Are you saying 'no' to Panda?"

Maybe she was a little bit tipsy. "I'd never say 'no' to Panda," he said. "But - "

 

They shot the commercial in one day, with Anwar wearing the panda suit and Aicha having taken the day off. Farouk felt secretly relieved; the night before was one big blur in his memory, only he was pretty sure something happened, and that it'd been the kind of something that could leave a woman pregnant.

Gamal might congratulate him and ask for details over a drink if he found out.

"Hey, Farouk." Speaking of the devil. Gamal smiled at him insincerely and threw something in a big plastic bag at his chest. Farouk caught it instinctively. "Take that to the dry cleaners, a'right?" Gamal pronounced the word as he thought an American might. He'd got ambitions, Gamal did, even more so than the rest of them. Farouk didn't see it happening but then, neither did Gamal, probably.

"What is it?"

Gamal grinned. "My underwear from the past three weeks."

Anwar made a disgusted sound. "Don't listen to him, Farouk. It's just the suit, and I'd really appreciate it if you could drop it off on your way home."

As far as Farouk knew, he didn't drive past any dry-cleaners on his way home but that was all right; it wasn't a big deal, and if he left it to Anwar and Gamal, the suit would never get cleaned.

"Sure," he said, throwing in a perfectly pronunciated: "No problem," just because he could.

 

People liked the new commercial, although there were also a few who thought it wasn't not as 'cutting edge' as the first two had been.

"Not as violent, they mean," Anwar said wisely.

Farouk wondered what the next one would be like; they'd had some other jobs, sure - they'd be out of a job if they wouldn't have had other jobs, only there was just something about the Panda Cheese commercials. They were special.

Aicha didn't seem to want to talk about what'd happened. Farouk was perfectly happy with that, even though he felt like a bit of a coward. Still, it was her choice, wasn't it?

The old lady at the dry cleaner'd asked him for his autograph when he'd come to pick up the suit, talking about telling her friends she'd met 'the Panda man'. It'd made Farouk feel a little embarrassed.

 

Two months later they got the script for the new commercial, and it was just -

"Lame," Gamal complained.

"Kind of tame," Anwar agreed. "I've heard they're thinking about trying for the American market. Maybe that's why. Oh well, it's Farouk's turn to wear the suit anyway."

"Since when do Americans object to a little violence?" Farouk asked. It was a valid question, he thought; they'd all seen the American movies, the things they showed on TV over there.

"It's different when it's a cute animal doing it," Anwar said, as if he were any kind of expert on the subject.

Gamal was nodding. "Yeah. So, how's your English, Farouk?"

"My English is fine, thank you very much," Farouk said. If they were really going to make a commercial for America, he thought the customers would probably get American actors, no matter how good or bad Gamal's English was.

 

Farouk pushed over the shopping cart for what felt like the hundredth time (they were actually only on take thirty-eight or so, because the groceries kept falling the wrong way, according to the producer, who was a pain in the behind but also entitled to ask for as many takes as he wanted, alas). The groceries fell, Mohammad and the kid looked properly shocked and then of course the box of soup thingies burst open and Farouk resigned himself to take forty, except that the cameras kept rolling, so Farouk started counting in his head, slowly. The script said he'd just be standing there for twenty seconds.

When he reached nineteen, the producer rose and Farouk should have been relieved, except that he wasn't. Gamal was right, he thought, this commercial's lame. Boring.

He kicked at the groceries. Mohammad's expression didn't change. He was a professional, like Farouk.

The producer sat down again, looking thoughtful.

Farouk thought about what else he could do, except kick. There was all kinds of stuff among the groceries - canned foods and glass jars so it would probably be a really stupid idea to go and jump up and down on those groceries; he'd get the suit damaged and maybe even get injured himself; he wasn't like Gamal, or Anwar; he was just ordinary Farouk; the customers'd provided script, and what the customer wanted, the customer got, and -

"Cut!" the producer called. "Tell me you got that!" To the cameramen, who nodded. "That was beautiful. Beautiful." To Farouk. "Don't ever do it again if you want to keep your job."

 

The suit was fine, and Gamal and Anwar insisted on taking Farouk out for drinks that night. When he woke up the next morning, Farouk felt pretty good about himself - only a little hung-over.

He spent most of the day in a daze; everyone seemed to have heard about what happened the day before, and everyone seemed to think he'd done something really great. It didn't make a lot of sense to Farouk, but he enjoyed the fame, fleeting as he knew it would be.

 

One week later, they shot the next commercial - a sequel, of sorts. Gamal wore the suit, and Farouk told himself he wasn't jealous; Gamal did a fine job; nobody would be going to be able to tell it wasn't the same guy in the suit as it'd been last time.

They only needed fifteen takes to satisfy the producer, which Gamal was probably going to be smug about.

 

For three months after that, nothing happened, and then Gamal dragged Farouk and Anwar to an internet cafe to show them someone'd put the Panda Cheese commercials on YouTube, which was -

"Cool." Gamal came very close to sounding American this time. Perhaps he'd been practicing.

Anwar appeared less excited about it, or perhaps he was just being more realistic. "Not like anybody who's actually someone in the movie business is going to see this."

"Look at this guy: 'pandas are douchebags. just sayin'." Gamal reached for the keyboard. "Well, realtalkernolies, maybe you're the one who's a douchebag. Just sayin'."

"Gamal, come on," Farouk said, when Gamal started typing.

Gamal shook his head and hit enter. "He was asking for it."

" '32 people like bamboo cheese. ewww'," Anwar read out loud. "It tastes of bamboo?"

"How would I know?" Farouk asked. "Or anyone? I doubt if this shadow00188 has ever eaten bamboo in his life. He's just trash talking." A bit like Gamal and Anwar did sometimes, Farouk thought but didn't say out loud.

"There's more," Gamal said. "Look." He typed in the address of a blogging website.

Anwar frowned, leaning closer to the screen. " 'Frankie doesn't get enough love, does he?' Who's Frankie?"

"Someone who doesn't remember you," Farouk said.

Gamal grumbled and scrolled down the screen. "I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about this."

Farouk blinked as the words on the screen didn't immediately make sense. Next to him, Anwar seemed to have much the same reaction. It was - well, the word 'unreal' came to mind.

"Panda Zombies?" Farouk didn't want to imagine what those would look like, let alone what they'd do.

"Panda porn," Gamal said. "Just imagine. This very moment, someone could be writing about us."

"It's just a joke," Anwar protested. "I mean, she says it herself."

" 'Just kidding ... probably,' does not quite say 'Just kidding,' period. And anyway, it's Yuletide, so there's a pretty good chance nobody's going to be doing any writing at all," Farouk said.

"You guys don't get it at all," Gamal complained. "This is cool. This is awesome."

 

What it was, Farouk decided, as he got home that night, was weird.

On the other hand, he'd always wanted to try his hand at writing something, and what better way to practice than an anonymous fanfiction exchange? Especially now that they were hosting it at the AO3, he could always simply 'orphan' the work after, never put his name on it.

He sat down, and the words just seemed to be right there in his head.

Afterwards, he was never entirely clear on what had happened, but what Farouk remembered later went something like this: