9

"You should not be like an actor, who puts on a costume for the performance and takes it off immediately at the end. Many of us are like that. Although we undertake the practice very seriously during the meditation session, after it is over, we revert to the same negative person again. We do whatever we like–fighting, quarreling, and so forth … Things are easy during the actual meditation session because there is no one to interfere with you … When you meditate, you are trying to transform your mind, but the effect really shows only during the postmeditation period."

- from Awakening the Mind, Lightening the Heart, by His Holiness the Dalai Lama

After the shoot, while I was getting into some warm dry clothes, Rich Jackson approached me about taking on more duties as Michelle Zhang's stunt double.

I was reluctant. Dressing up as a girl wasn't what I had signed on for. Initially I was going to do some chase scenes as a driver, I was the backup pilot for the Air Scooter, and I was going to be involved in the final fight scene. And when I wasn't doing stunts, I'd be at work as an extra.

So I said I had to talk it over with my agent and I'd inform EON Productions within a few days. But I wasn't really that worried about my agent's opinion. The potential roadblock was something completely different. What would my family think?

There was a weeklong break in shooting. The movie production was being shifted back to Pinewood Studios, the home for almost all of the Bond films.

So I took the opportunity to go home to Santa Monica, California. I hadn't seen my mother and sister for a few weeks. I had been down in Fort Worth, Texas, training on the Air Scooter.

"Let me see if I understand the situation correctly," my mother said. "The filmmakers want you to be a stuntwoman? Are they crazy?"

I put my chopsticks down and reached for my cup of green tea. "As I explained, Irene Chiu was injured. She was the stuntwoman for Michelle Zhang. I took Irene's place as the stuntwoman because I had just arrived and there wasn't any other Asian stuntwoman at the shoot in Big Sur. So it was either delay shooting and add tens of thousands to the budget or dress me up like a girl and film on schedule as planned."

"But Irene Chiu is not the only Asian stuntwoman in the world. Surely the Bond producers can find someone else to be Michelle Zhang's double."

"I know this might be hard to believe. But when the makeup artist worked her magic on me, added a wig, the undergarments, the dress and the shoes, I looked almost identical to Michelle Zhang."

"If they could do that with you," began my mother, "imagine what they could do with your sister May."

"Mom, that wouldn't work. First of all, May isn't a stuntwoman. She doesn't have the right skill set. Also, May is about 5 inches shorter than Michelle Zhang. And May doesn't have Ms Zhang's figure either."

"Neither do you."

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, but I guess I'll have to show you the photos. I have them in the living room."

I got up from the kitchen table. "I'll just be a minute."

There, above the kitchen door, was the plaque with the Three Wise Monkeys: See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak No Evil.

"You don't want your duck soup to go cold. I prepared it specially for you."

It was not going well. I thought my mother might realize I was doing this dressing up as a girl just for work. It's not like I was becoming a transsexual. And I wasn't coming out of the closet because I was homosexual.

The large manila envelope had over a dozen 7 x 11 photos. I retrieved it quickly from the laptop case I had brought with me. I always traveled with my computer whenever possible.

But I paused for a moment to look at some family photos on top of the stereo cabinet. Photos were taken at various family celebrations of my cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents, mother, sister, and, of course, my father.

My father had been dead for 8 years. But, not a day went by that I didn't think about him. I missed him so much. I was thankful to him for being a good role model, for having taught me so much and for creating so many good times.

Outside of Asian culture, I thought that ancestor worship was misunderstood. We honored them. We remembered our ancestors and all they did in their lives, for their karma was passed on to us, their descendants. For that we were thankful. Every one of my relatives was important. We were all connected. Without any one of those ancestral links, I wouldn't even have been born.

Even though my father was dead, he still lived within me. A person was said to die twice. The first was the physical death. The second death occurred many years later, when all of the people who knew the person passed away, the existence was finally extinguished.

I brought the envelope back into the kitchen. It was really nice to have home cooking again. In our family, love was expressed through the food. Mom was a great cook. She provided us with tasty dishes that pleased the palette and warmed the heart. I loved her so much.

"Okay, here they are," I said, as I withdrew the photos and spread them out on the melamine tabletop. "The first one here is of Michelle Zhang. I got a digital printout from the film itself. She's wearing a black dress here. In the next photo, she's in the car. Now, these two photos show me outside of the car as the bad guys are trying to take me back to their car. Here's where Bond opens his car door and I hop into the Aston Martin. Now, do you see how similar we look?"

"Okay, from a long distance away, you look like her. But there's over a billion Chinese in China alone. The filmmakers should be able to find another person who looks like Michelle Zhang."

I dipped my spoon into the bowl for a quick sip. The duck soup tasted wonderful. "Mom, this soup is really good. I wish I had your talent."

"Thank you, but don't try to change the subject."

I put down the spoon and reached over to one of the photos. "Here, look at this close-up photo of me, taken by the makeup artist, Annie Delmonica. Now, compare it to the one of Michelle Zhang."

My mother looked at the side-by-side photos carefully.

"Michael," my mom began, as she adjusted her glasses, "you do look almost the same as Michelle. I admit that you make a pretty girl, maybe even beautiful. But why should you do it?"

"It's work, mom. I have to earn a living. I'll receive about a fifty percent increase in pay because I'll be involved in more scenes."

"But Michael, think of the embarrassment. Everybody's going to think you're gay. All of our relatives, my friends, your friends, they're all going to think you're a pervert. If your father were alive, he'd kick you out of the house."

"Mom, I already have my own apartment."

"You know what I mean. You don't disgrace your family. You don't bring shame to your ancestors."

I hadn't seen my mother this upset in a long, long time.

When I was hurt doing a stunt for VIP, she urged me to get out of the stunt business before I got killed like my father. She was in tears then.

"I don't know where we went wrong," my mother continued. "Your father and I always provided you with the best we could. We did everything for you and May. But May is off in Las Vegas, gambling away her savings. And you come home telling me you want to dress up like a girl.

"Michael, we will be a laughingstock, not just in Santa Monica, but the whole world. The Bond films are everywhere. People will taunt you, make fun of you. Behind your back, people will make jokes. When your father was alive, he had great respect. If you dress like a girl, you will lose respect, for yourself and for him. And you will never regain it."

"Honestly mom, I am not crazy about this idea either. But it's unlikely our relatives and friends will ever know about my cross-dressing. We are scheduled to shoot in London England next week. We have to fly to Dubai shortly after that. Then it's back to England. I doubt that we'll shoot anything in the United States. The shooting on location in North America is already finished. So nobody we know will even be aware of me being Michelle Zhang's stunt double."

"Michael, you know something like this won't be a secret. The stuntman business is like, boshi, how do you say it?"

"A fraternity?"

"A fraternity. The stuntmen here will find out about it."

"The stuntmen might find out. That's true. But stunt people are required to do the action scenes that are too dangerous for the film stars. We take the place of other people. Just because I take the place of a female star doesn't mean I'll do this again and again. I'm not becoming RuPaul or Dame Edna or a drag queen."

"Promise me you won't do this again. Once the film is over, I don't want you to dress in women's clothes again."

I wasn't sure I could keep that promise. "Maybe I should get changed and show you what I look like. Perhaps you wouldn't be so worried."

"Michael, I've seen the pictures. That won't be necessary. Look, even though May has a gambling problem, I still love her. I will still love you no matter what you do. But I think it's a mistake if you keep doing this."

I leaned over to her and gave her a hug. "I'm doing this for work, mom. I doubt that I will have to ever do this female stunt double work again. I promise not to embarrass you or the family name."

10

"Everywhere turn around freely,
Not following conditions,
Not falling into classification.
Facing everything, let go and
Attain stability.
So it is said that the earth lifts
Up the mountain without
Knowing the mountain’s
Stark steepness.
A rock contains jade without
Knowing the jade’s flawlessness.
This is how truly to leave home."

- Hongzhi Zhengjue (1091-1157)

Pinewood Studios, located about 20 miles (32 km) west of London, has been the main location where almost all of the James Bond films have been shot. In fact Albert R. Broccoli's 007 Stage was named in tribute to the Bond films' producer.

Amazing things have been created on film at Pinewood. The ingenuity of the talented crew defied belief.

However, to make me Michelle Zhang's exact double wasn't going to easy. But when Michelle and I had plaster casts made of our bodies, this "body double" thing really took off.

Even before the body casts were made, I was given a complete body waxing. I have no idea how women ever put up with it. Imagine having hair ripped from your body, roots and all.

Primarily, the obvious differences between Michelle and I were in the breast and hip areas. So, by creating duplicate casts of both of our bodies, the special effects and makeup people were able to create breast forms and hip forms out of some space age padding and latex that gave me Michelle's shape–or a reasonable facsimile.

However, my waist was not as narrow as Michelle's 24 inches (61 cm). To reduce my 27-inch waist to a more girlish figure, a special, flesh-colored, body shaper was made out of seamless spandex.

The first time we tried the fake boobs, booty and waist reducer, it took almost five hours to get everything properly fitted, adjusted and flesh-colored. For example, there were fine blue vein lines drawn onto the breasts, exactly where they were on Michelle Zhang. Aureoles were painted on to duplicate hers exactly. Small freckles were added to give the 'skin' a more realistic, less plastic appearance. Making a synthetic material look exactly like human skin was not easy to do.

Annie Delmonica performed her wizardry with the facial makeup. When she was done with her artistic touches, she declared that I didn't need any latex pieces to attach to my face. My cheekbones, for example, were very much like Michelle's–high and sexy.

An absolutely perfect set of wigs had been prepared that duplicated several of Michelle's hairstyles.

By the end of our session, I must admit, I was really pleased with the overall result. When I looked at the reflection in the mirror, I didn't see any trace of Michael Lee. I saw only Michelle Zhang. The breasts and hips and rear end looked like they were really a part of me. It was hard to tell where the fake skin ended and the real epidermis began.

As we began taking off the appliances from my skin, a visitor popped her head into the dressing room.

"Hi Michael! How are you doing?"

"Michelle!"

We ran into each other's arms. We smothered each other with kisses. I was so happy to see her.

"You're looking great. You look like my reflection."

"You should have been here a few minutes ago when I had my Michelle headlights on. I felt like I could have breast fed a set of quintuplets."

"I'll bet. But your booty looks really fine," Michelle said as she patted my padded posterior.

"Almost like the real thing," I replied with a gentle squeeze of her bum.

"We look so much alike we could be twins."

"Like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny De Vito?"

"More like Amanda Bynes in She's The Man."

"Who knows? Maybe we were brother and sister in a different life. You know, before we were reincarnated."

"Are you Buddhist?"

"In a previous life."

Michelle laughed. "So were you anybody famous?"

"It's not likely you would have heard of most of my previous incarnations, especially the Asian females." I was improvising. "But I have existed in other cultures too. Perhaps you've heard of Narcissus."

"Yes, as in the word narcissistic. That explains a lot."

"Did you know, in Greek mythology, Narcissus had a twin sister? They dressed in the same kind of clothes. And when his sister died, Narcissus missed his sister so much, when he looked at his reflection in the water, he pretended he was seeing her."

"History repeats itself."

"And who were you in a previous life?"

"Probably the reflection in the water."

"That's deep. Are you into metaphysical thought?"

"Of course I am. I'm Chinese, aren't I? China's the land of Taoism, Confucianism and Feng Shui. It's embedded in our culture."

"Someday I'll have to learn more abut the land of my grandfather."

"Well, my great-grandfather was an actor in the Beijing Opera. In fact, he played the female roles. Women weren't allowed to be actors."

"Just like England in Shakespeare's time," I said.

"Right. So I am just carrying on family tradition by being an actress."

"As you know, my father was a stuntman. That's what got me into this line of work."

"Yes. Rich Jackson told me about your father being a great stuntman." Michelle looked straight into my eyes. "You are in a dangerous line of work."

"Maybe it's my destiny."

"Perhaps, but I think we all have choices to make. Our decisions can take us down different paths."

There was a ring tone emanating from Michelle's handbag.

Michelle extracted the cell phone from her bag.

"Hello."

There was a lull while the other person spoke.

"Okay, I'll be there right away. Thanks.

"That was the director's assistant. They need me on the set right now."

Michelle kissed me on the mouth. Her usual sweet gesture left me breathless.

"I missed you."

Then she was gone.

11

"By illusion the various good karmas are caused;
By illusion the various evil karmas are committed.
My body is like a bubble, and my mind is like the wind;
This illusory creation has no root and no reality."

- Sikhin Buddha

On the second fitting a day later, the coloring problem had been more or less solved. Certainly, from a distance, there would be little to indicate that my bust and hips and tiny waist were not my own.

And I must admit, after two hours and thirty minutes in Makeup, when I looked at myself in a full-length mirror, I was proud to be a beautiful woman.

Penthouse and Playboy readers would be in for a nasty surprise if they ever saw what was beneath my thong. And speaking of nasty surprises, where does a female impersonator hide his family jewels? The art of tucking was a painful act of retracting the testicles into a previously undiscovered cavity--going where no man had gone before. Plus, one had to pull back the penis and tape it in place. What an actor did for one's art!

The special effects crew had even given me an optional fake latex vagina; imagine the possibilities.

Why the fake vagina? Something about not being able to act like a real woman if one felt neutered. So I wasn't a Barbie Doll. Hell, I could perform in strip clubs and the audience would never know!

But, being a practical man, I preferred to do without it. Removal of the glued-on vagina would make going to the washroom a real problem.

When Annie Delmonica performed her makeup magic, there was little to distinguish me from the real Michelle Zhang. In a side-by-side photo comparison, perhaps my jaw was a little firmer than hers, my cheeks might be a little fuller, but with makeup, those differences were diminished. Maybe my upper arms were a little thicker and the shoulders slightly broader, but this was nitpicking. We looked like we had been separated at birth.

Being the 'twin sister' of a beautiful movie star was more fun than visiting 'the happiest place on Earth'. Disneyland paled in comparison to the Michelle Zhang fantasy ride.

For the afternoon, I was scheduled to meet with stunt co-coordinator Rich Jackson and the wardrobe people.

When I walked into the meeting room, all eyes turned to me.

Annie had given me black Capri pants. The Capri pants showed a little bit of leg, but they were also very tight, so they showed off my shapely long legs to full advantage. A white silk blouse, tied above my navel, exposed my midriff. Very sexy!

"Michelle," Hugh Farrell said, "I didn't know you were scheduled to be at this meeting."

Hugh rushed over to me and embraced me, but as he tried to kiss me on the mouth I turned my head so that he kissed me on the cheek.

"Ah, Hugh," I whispered into his ear. "I'm not Michelle. I'm Michael."

When the 50 other people in the room saw that we were trying to share some private thoughts, they resumed their conversations.

Hugh stood back from me, taking in my apparently real curves. "Fooled me again. But, there's something different about you this time. A different outfit perhaps?"

"No, it's more than that," I stayed in character, using my best imitation of Michelle's voice.

The look of puzzlement turned to a smile. "It's your figure. Somehow you seem slimmer and shapelier."

"Very observant. The makeup and special effects people here really can do some magical work."

"You'll have to show it to me sometime."

What a rogue!

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Rich Jackson announced as he approached us. "We have some work to do."

Rich, with a gesture of his arms, indicated that we take a seat around a large table. Among the large gathering were Craig Colbourn, Danny Carter, Josh Williams, director Marshall Robb, and set designer Vernon Underhill.

There were two other large tables set aside for the other stunt people and the wardrobe assistants.

Hugh pulled out a chair for me.

"Thank you, Hugh." I gave Hugh's hand a squeeze in thanks. "You're such a gentleman," I cooed adoringly. Messing with Hugh's mind could be fun.

As Hugh sat down beside me, he pulled his hand back to his side.

I leaned over to whisper in Hugh's ear. "By the way, you should see what the special effects people did for me. I am now completely anatomically correct. I'm better than a blow-up love doll."

I wish I could have caught on camera the look of shock on Hugh's face. In spite of my knowledge of Buddhism and Zen, there is a devil within me that sometimes escapes censorship.

Rich moved to a storyboard display by the nearby wall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our next action scene takes place in the Al Mahara Restaurant…"

Using the illustrations, Rich outlined the sequence of events and the actions that would happen.

While Hugh and Michelle, as James Bond and Karine Lau, were eating dinner in a seafood restaurant, a group of Euro thugs would enter. They'd fire bullets at James and Karine.

To avoid being hit, James and Karine would take evasive action. This is where Craig and I would switch places with Hugh and Michelle.

Rich Jackson explained that the huge aquarium built on this special set would be cracked by gunfire. The floor-to-ceiling circular glass wall would burst, releasing two hundred thousand liters of seawater.

How the restaurant furniture would be tossed about was unpredictable, making the shot dangerous for the actors. Hence, it was necessary to use stunt people as the restaurant patrons and wait staff.

Metal utensils and ceramic plates would be cleared from the restaurant set before destroying the aquarium. The tables and chairs would all be made of balsa wood to minimize the destructive impact on the stunt persons.

"In order to ensure the safety of the stunt players," Rich began, "we will be using a special wardrobe. So I'll turn the meeting over to Quinne Llewelyn, who heads our wardrobe department."

Quinne, a middle-aged lady, was dressed very smartly in a black pantsuit, with a ruffled white blouse.

"Thank you, Rich," Quinne said as she moved over to a rack of clothing by the opposite wall.

There were many suits, jackets, pants, dresses and gowns hanging on rolling garment racks.

Selecting a suit jacket, Quinne held it in her arms. "Although this looks like an ordinary men's jacket, it has some special qualities. The material is not just wool. The inner lining and shoulder padding is made from a high tech material called d3o. It's a specially engineered material that has intelligent molecules. As you move, the material is flexible. But, on shock, the molecules lock together to absorb impact energy. The reaction time is a mere one-hundredth of a second."

"You must be joking," Hugh Farrell asserted, echoing the thoughts of many stuntmen in the audience.

"If you are hit by a large object, such as a chair, the molecules will lock together, forming a hard protective shell. It's the latest development in body armor."

"What is this, the set of a Star Wars movie?" Hugh asked derisively. "How do we know this C-3PO stuff works?"

There was laughter all around.

Rich Jackson stood up. "All of the stunt persons involved will be wearing this protective clothing. This material was used by skiers in the 2006 Olympic Games. It really is quite remarkable."

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," Quinne suggested.

"Allow me," I said as I stood up.

"By all means, Miss Zhang. Or is it Mr. Lee?"

"Does it matter?"

Quinne smiled as she extended the jacket to me. I placed one arm through with her help. Then the other.

Quinne stepped back.

So I did my impression of R2-D2 falling over. I jumped high in the air and let myself fall directly to the floor on my back. But my self-preservation instinct kicked in. I turned it into a judo fall, tucking in my chin to avoid hitting my head and thrusting my arms out to spread out the force of the impact.

Much to my amazement, I hardly felt anything.

When I sprang to my feet apparently unscathed, the assembly broke into spontaneous applause.

"Did it hurt?" Rich Jackson asked.

"Not at all."

"Well," Hugh Farrell interjected, "if it's safe, for this scene involving the destruction of the aquarium, can I do my own stunts?"

"I was hoping you would," director Marshall Robb said. "It would give us more opportunities to shoot close-ups. But, you'll have to work out the safety aspect with Rich. Ultimately, it's his call."

Rich nodded in agreement. "We'll have to see how the restaurant furniture is set up. We don't really know what will happen when 200,000 liters of water burst through the glass wall of the aquarium. I'd rather err on the side of caution."

For the next half hour or so, the stunt players tried on the special d3o clothing.

The wardrobe mistresses took measurements to adjust the fit of the suits and dresses. Using chalk and pins, the tailoring proceeded quickly and efficiently.

Full-length mirrors were placed near the clothing racks. Five foot high Shoji screens had been set up at the back of the meeting room so that the clothing could be tried on with some degree of modesty.

When I tried on a strapless yellow gown by Prada, it seemed to go on without any problem. Then I stepped in front of a full-length mirror to see if it fit.

As I looked at it from various angles, checking the length, tightness and shape, one of the wardrobe mistresses declared it a perfect fit.

Hugh Farrell approached me, attired in a tuxedo. He looked every bit like the image of James Bond: suave, sophisticated and ruggedly handsome.

"You look very beautiful in that." His eyes devoured my body, fixating for a moment on my disturbingly real bosom.

"Thank you. The tuxedo fits you like a glove."

"My compliments to the makeup department. Even up this close, I cannot believe you aren't Michelle."

"Well, the bosom is all d3o padding." I turned to the side, showing him my ample booty. "So apparently is my posterior."

"Very tempting, but why d3o? Are you expecting a lover with caveman tendencies?"

"No. I'd rather not be dragged by the hair to some cave lair to be ravaged by some Homo Erectus."

"Perhaps you're looking for a space age lover sporting a d3o cover?"

I laughed. Imagine a smart condom that turned from flaccid to rigid on contact. "A hard man would be good to find. But that's not quite enough."

"So what would you like?"

"I'd prefer a lover with a slow hand and an easy touch."

"Are you giving me Pointers, sister?"

"I've heard about your fast moves, I prefer a slow groove."

"Not come and go in a heated rush?"

"I want somebody who will understand."

"I already heard, what your body's saying to me."

"I saw the look in your eyes, are you seeing what you wanted to see?"

"If you say it's all right?"

We moved closer together. I could feel Hugh's ripped chest make soft contact with my d3o bosom.

"I hope you find it amusin', 'cause it's all an illusion."

We both laughed as he gathered me in his arms in a friendly embrace.

"An illusion that causes confusion, I like what it's doing to me."

Hugh was quick on the uptake–not at all dimwitted. And his d3o smart molecules seemed to have hardened in a critical area.

For a moment, there was a serious look in his eyes. "I think it's why I got into acting," Hugh said. "The world of pretend and make believe is so much better than the real world."

Should I melt in his arms and see where fantasy could lead reality?

Then Director Marshall Robb spotted our heads above the 5-foot high Shoji screens and approached.

"Don't you two make a fine couple. These outfits look terrific on you."

"Thank you," I said. I wasn't sure if the director knew that I wasn't Michelle.

"When Rich Jackson told me about Michelle's body double being a stuntman, I didn't think it would fly." Marshall Robb gave me a conspiratorial wink. "But I needn't have worried."

"Thank you again, but the makeup and special effects department deserve all the credit." I wondered if the makeup hid my blush because Hugh Farrell had suddenly turned a different hue.

"Nonsense, I know talent when I see it. You're a natural."

"You're very complimentary."

"You deserve it," Marshall said. "But, as much as I've enjoyed meeting you, I need to discuss tomorrow's shoot with Hugh, so could you excuse us, please?"

"We'll have to continue this another time," Hugh said.

Marshall put his arm around Hugh and led him away.

Apparently I had not found somebody who could spend some time, with a slow hand and an easy touch.

12

"Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water my friend."

- Bruce Lee

When I returned to London in my rental car, I pondered testing out my new appearance. I loved the Capri pants, the white silk blouse, and the Gianna Meliani high heels Annie had provided for me.

Why not? Everyone on the film set complimented me on my appearance. They all seemed to think I was a natural as Michelle's body double. What could be a better test than going out in public on my own? Besides 'Michelle Two' needed clothes of her own.

I know I had promised my mother that I wouldn't do anything to embarrass the family. But if nobody ever 'read' me as a guy in drag, this would be a critical test. Here I was in London, an ocean and a continent away from home. It was like that description of Las Vegas. 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.' My sister May, given her penchant for gambling, believed in that theory too.

So I dropped off a gym bag, containing my male clothing, at my hotel, the Sloane Square. I touched up my makeup. Then I went out in search of some shops.

After asking at the front desk for directions to shopping, I found there was only one shopping mall in London, but there was plenty of on street shopping nearby. Knightsbridge had many fashionable shops and department stores.

While walking down the streets, I did get attention from many passersby. Was it because I was beautiful? Or was everybody onto me being a guy in drag? Maybe it was because my makeup was too heavy.

Using light powder, I had tried to tone down the makeup contrasts that Annie Delmonica had given me. Makeup for films was more like the kind of shading a gal would use in the evening. For the nighttime, makeup was heavier, more dramatic because it had to stand out in diminished light. For films, bright lights could reveal my light five o'clock shadow, so Annie used Kryolan, a thick theatrical makeup. But she didn't apply it with a trowel.

Not far from my hotel was Harvey Nichols, a department store renowned for its exclusive fashion merchandise. Drawn in by the elegant fashions on display in the storefront windows, I soon found out that the ladies' wear was beyond my limited budget. Alexander McQueen, Roland Mouret, Donna Karan and Stella McCartney were some of the names I could admire, but could not afford.

Harrod's was another Knightsbridge institution that I checked out. I loved this world famous store. Supposedly you could buy anything in this store–from a packet of pins to an elephant. Indian or African? While there was a large range of products, to my American eyes, it seemed that the merchandise was overpriced. Call it the Wal-Mart effect.

Eventually, in my seemingly endless wandering around Harrod's, I found a combination that I liked on one of the mannequins. The sexy top was what grabbed my attention. The ensemble consisted of a black Sorrel Belt Bustier, a pleated black pencil skirt, a Patricia clutch and a Davina necklace. Very sexy! But affordable–only 180 pounds (US$335) in total. And the high heels, by Gianna Meliani, that I was wearing, matched the outfit and accessories.

It was almost eight when I made my way back to the hotel along Brompton Road. Since I hadn't eaten all day, what with the makeover transformation and the meeting, I needed to find a restaurant. Fortunately, a short distance from my hotel, I spotted an interesting looking Tandoori restaurant. London has a huge Indian and Pakistani population. And I love curry. So my adventurous nature got the better of me.

Tandoori was a style of food that was named after the tandoor, a clay oven. Marinated meats were lowered into the oven on long metal skewers. The chicken and beef were usually red or yellow in color because of the ground annatto seeds and saffron contained within the marinade.

As I entered the restaurant, there was a scent of curry. But it wasn't overpowering.

A hostess greeted me and I was seated quickly near the window.

After looking over the menu for a moment, a waitress came over to my table almost immediately. So I placed my drink order. I wanted to try a Guinness. You know, the old expression, when in the UK, do as the tourists do.

While I was pondering my choices, I noticed a man trying to make eye contact with me. Early thirties, wearing a black Ralph Lauren suit and an open neck black sport shirt, he had an athletic, ruggedly handsome look about him.

As if deciding whether or not to take a chance, he decided to be bold when I smiled at him.

"Pardon me, but I'm just dying of curiosity. You look a lot like Michelle Zhang, the movie star."

How should I play this?

"You're right. I'm flattered that you recognized me."

He beamed from ear to ear.

"I'm a big fan. I saw you in that Jackie Chan film, Rush Hour 2. You were great."

The man's accent was American. Or was it Canadian?

"Why thank you for the compliment."

"I liked the way you did all those martial arts fight scenes."

"Well, Jackie did most of the fighting. I think my role was to be the poor helpless girl he saved from the forces of evil."

I was trying to remember the plot of Rush Hour 2. I had seen it and liked it, but I was improvising because I saw it on television. When I watch films on the TV, I tend to change the channel during the commercials, so I don’t always see the whole film. Sometimes there'd be gaps in my memory for a good reason.

"So, why are you here in London? A vacation?"

"Actually, I'm working on a movie."

"Oh, I remember reading that you'd been signed for a James Bond film."

"Very good. We're here shooting at Pinewood Studios."

"Are you playing the villainess?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can't tell you much about the movie." Right now, I thought to myself, I'm playing Dorothy Michaels in Tootsie. "You'll have to wait until it comes out."

"I understand." He paused, perhaps a look of embarrassment in his expression. "I don't normally do this. Could I have your autograph, please? It's for my son."

"Certainly, do you have a pen and a piece of paper?"

He handed me a business card from his wallet as he drew a pen from his shirt pocket.

"Thank you," I said as I turned the card over. "What's your son's name?"

"Brandon."

"Oh, the same as your name."

"Yes."

I signed it simply. 'To Brandon, Honesty is hardly ever heard. Love, Michelle Zhang.'

"You know, if you have a picture of your son, maybe I should sign that as well."

"Oh, unfortunately, I don't have one with me, but I'm sure he'll be happy with this autograph. Thank you."

When 'Brandon Sr.' looked at the autograph, there was a look of guilt on his face as he walked back to his table.

But he didn't realize it was I who was dishonest. I could have just as easily signed it, 'Honesty is hardly ever heard. Love, Billy Joel.'

The autograph signing reminded me of a story my father told me. Back in the seventies, he had been on vacation with my mom in Jamaica, of all places. They were strolling down a beach near Kingston. A group of American teenagers came up to them. One asked if my father was Bruce Lee. As a joke, he said yes. He ended up signing autographs for the whole group. Later on, word spread throughout the resort that my father was staying at. Harold Lee, movie stuntman, was actually Bruce Lee incognito.

Like father like son. Or should that be like daughter?

13

"Our life is like a wheel out of kilter. It's not satisfying. 'There's something out there I've got to get. And there's something else out there I've got to keep away from me.' This is bondage–this wanting, leaning, craving for something outside ourselves. It comes from that illusory vision of seeing our selves as separate and real."

- From Buddhism Plain and Simple, by Steve Hagen

In every Bond film, Double-O Seven seduces at least two beautiful girls, usually one who is a stunning villainess and the other a sexy ally. Nobody Does It Better would be no different. Michelle Zhang, as geneticist Karine Lau, was to be one of Bond's conquests.

Because of my interest in Michelle, and what I knew of Hugh's appetite, I had mixed feelings about the seduction scene that was going to take place.

The 007 Stage, through the magic of the set dressers, was now a luxurious hotel suite in Dubai.

With a huge circular bed, a comfortable padded headboard, cozy bed coverings, matching curved end tables, a mirrored wall with nautical blue drapes behind the bed, a mirrored ceiling, plush yellow carpeting and sheer drapes, the bedroom was an exact copy of the upper floor of a suite at the Burj Al Arab Hotel, right down to the gold arrow on the ceiling that pointed the way to Mecca.

In the real hotel, the living room and kitchen portion of the suite were on the bottom floor.

There must have been forty people on the set. There was the lighting crew, the set decorators, the director, the assistant director, the cameramen, the grip, the sound crew, the makeup artists, the wardrobe people, the caterer, other actors and hangers-on like me just hoping to get a glimpse. Dressed in my drab old Michael attire, I blended in with the other gawkers.

"Action!" director Robb yelled.

Hugh Farrell and Michelle Zhang emerged from the stairwell.

"So this is the bedroom? It's huge."

"Big enough for a Sheikh's harem."

"This bedroom is bigger than my whole apartment in California," Michelle, as Karine Lau, said.

"When it comes to matters of the bedroom, as the Americans like to say, 'Size matters.' "

Karine scanned the room and was drawn to the circular bed. On a curving end table, a champagne bucket held a bottle of Bollinger '61 on ice.

"It's not the only thing. Creativity counts too."

"And imagination."

"Quality," Karine said as she felt the texture of the satin beddings.

Bond wrapped Karine in his arms and kissed her. "So does the frequency," Bond said as he kissed her again, "of maintenance." Bond loosened the straps of Karine's dress. The blue silk material fell to the carpet in a puddle.

"Attention to detail," Karine whispered, "in matters of the heart…"

The camera shot over Bond's shoulder, a close-up of Karine's intoxicating visage. She never finished her sentence as Bond kissed her again, pulling Karine's inviting body to him. He could feel Karine's soft, full breasts on his muscular chest.

"It wouldn't matter to me if we had a roll in the hay," Double-O Seven murmured, "in a mangy, dilapidated barn."

A back view from another camera caught the arms wrapping around Karine's bare back and posterior.

Tightly wrapped together, Bond and Karine fell onto the soft coverings of the bed.

Bond kissed her once again. This one was long and passionate.

As they lay on their sides, Karine and James looked up to the mirror covered ceiling, reflecting their perfect bodies in harmonious union.

With renewed vigor, Bond rolled Karine Lau onto her back and they kissed tenderly at first and then with more animal ferocity.

At this moment in Bond films, the scene usually faded to black. The audience was left to imagine Bond making love to a beautiful girl, over and over again.

And, indeed, since this was only the first take, Hugh and Michelle had to repeat the scene over and over again.

I felt envious of Hugh making love to Michelle. But, I could not help but wonder if she had any feelings for him.

However, after yesterday's flirtatious encounter with Hugh, I also wondered what it would be like to make love to James Bond.

Now that was disturbing.

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

An inner voice told me that my father must be rolling over in his grave. Again.

14

"Nhat Hanh begins…with the concrete, practical aspects of life in a Zen monastery, where the emphasis is not on the learning of philosophic concepts but on simple labor and a life of awareness. For in Zen, intellectual learning is nothing but the studying of a menu, while actual practice is the eating of the meal."

- from Zen Keys: A Guide to Zen Practice by Thich Nhat Hanh

In keeping with the Bond film tradition, we were to film at the best locations in the world.

Filmgoers wanted, for a few hours, to exist in James Bond's world. Here was a man of obvious good taste and amazing abilities, for whom only the best would do.

The Burj Al Arab Hotel, in Dubai, was one of those magical places. Supposedly the world's only 7-star hotel, the billowing sail of this magnificent structure soared 321 meters (1053 feet compared to the 986 feet of the Eiffel Tower) high above the Persian Gulf on its own man-made island. Near the luxury resorts of Jumeirah Beach, the Burj Al Arab featured the tallest atrium in the world. Perfect for a James Bond film!

The minimalist white structure resembled the shape of a dhow, a type of Arabian vessel. One of the noteworthy elements was the outer beach-ward wall of the atrium, composed of a woven, Teflon-coated fiberglass cloth. Dubbed the "giant cockroach" by the locals because of its shell-like exterior, it was also said that when viewed from certain angles, the Tower of the Arabs had the shape of a Christian Cross. Perhaps an intention of the British architects?

However, for the destructive mayhem planned for the hotel, it was decided that the 007 Stage had to be used.

Copying the design of the ground floor of the Burj Al Arab Hotel, a spectacular set was built to replicate a unique restaurant. To reach the undersea Al Mahara seafood restaurant, hotel guests would take a 3 minute simulated submarine ride from the hotel lobby. This gave the guests a chance to see the diverse nature of the Persian Gulf marine life. Stepping through a circular gold tunnel, diners then took their seats beside a floor-to-ceiling saltwater aquarium.

The restaurant had a futuristic look. The bright neon blue ceiling and metallic red tabletops with the ultra-violet glow from the aquarium gave the space a surreal atmosphere.

On this Pinewood set, Michelle Zhang and Hugh Farrell were discussing possible ways to prevent Sebastian Randall, the criminal mastermind, from launching terrorist attacks against the oil industry.

Both actors were dressed elegantly. Hugh was dressed in a Saville Row tuxedo and Michelle in a yellow Prada strapless gown.

As Bond lifted a fork to his mouth, he spotted a group of about 15 European 'guests', all dressed in black pants and black shirts, emerging from the golden tunnel entranceway, holding revolvers and machine guns.

At this point, I took the place of Michelle Zhang and Craig Colbourn took over the role of Bond.

If my father ever saw me in this beautiful, sexy low cut gown, what would he say?

All of my life, I had tried to live up to the macho image of my father. But I could never be the stunt man he had been.

I remember, at the funeral, there must have been over a thousand people in attendance! Famous actors, film directors, producers–the real movers and shakers of the entertainment world were there. And, of course, almost every stunt person my father ever worked with was there too.

Then there was my mother's side of the family plus my father's side–the Lee clan.

Actually, the magnitude of the funeral was about all I could remember. The details were a bit of a blur because I was kinda in shock that whole week after his death.

I wish I could bring him back to life, even if he could see me now, dressed like a girl, I'd be the happiest guy in the whole world.

When the guys in black began firing, Bond flipped up the table. We hid behind the solid mahogany (balsa) furniture as the other guests screamed and scattered. Squibs exploded on the table surface. Behind us, an Arab waiter bit the dust.

Bond extracted the old reliable Walther P99 from his armpit holster. I reached into my Prada handbag and extracted an identical Walther.

Bond fired once, hitting one of the gunmen in the chest, as the others looked for cover. Another bad guy caught a bullet as Bond fired once more.

Then Bond grabbed my hand as we retreated away from the charging barbarian horde.

Since the restaurant was a circular shape, centered on the aquarium, we were able to disappear briefly from the line of fire.

Spotting the door to the kitchen, Bond pulled me to safety behind a large counter just as a row of squibs exploded perilously close to my head.

Before the pursuers could get off another round, Bond fired three shots into the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the aquarium. Within seconds, large spider web cracks appeared in the glass. Then it shattered, releasing a torrent of salt water, fish, crustaceans, sea kelp and other aquatic life. Two hundred thousand liters of water burst through the restaurant, splashing the diners and our attackers up against the far wall.

While huge fish flapped around on the floor, including a large animatronic shark, we ducked into the kitchen area. As we ran, I swore in disgust. Running in high heels was a bitch!

Bullets rang off pots, pans, cupboards and food carts.

Bond grabbed my hand as we scurried through the kitchen, ducking and dodging the flying bullets. Panic was etched on my face as I gasped for air.

When we finally emerged from the restaurant's employee exit, our scene had ended. Now we were ready to pick up the chase scene in Dubai, UAE.

15

"Those who awaken never rest in one place.
Like swans, they rise and leave the lake.
On the air they rise and fly an invisible course.
They live on emptiness.
They have seen how to break free.
Who can follow them?"

- Dhammapada

The United Arab Emirates, a nation composed of seven emirates, is one of the wealthiest countries in the world, with proven oil reserves that are ranked as the sixth largest. Although Abu Dhabi is the capital, Dubai is the UAE's thriving commercial center.

Since the UAE was formed in 1971, Dubai has been on a fierce building program. Many high-rise office buildings have been erected. As well, some unique luxury hotels have been constructed.

What had begun on a set at Pinewood Studios in England was going to resume in the lobby of the actual Burj Al Arab Hotel.

James Bond and Karine Lau had just emerged from the kitchen area of the Al Mahara Restaurant.

After the close-up on Hugh Farrell and Michelle Zhang, Craig Colbourn and I stepped in.

We spotted an elevator and ran across the lobby toward it. As we scrambled in, Bond pressed the button for the top floor. Before the elevator doors closed, Bond fired one last shot, nailing the first gunman emerging from the restaurant exit.

As the transparent doors closed, the glass cage zoomed up the open elevator shaft. We had an excellent panoramic view of the Burj Al Arab's magnificent atrium. The circular golden balconies looking into the open space created a weird, repetitive geometric pattern. It felt like we were inside a gigantic kaleidoscope.

Squibs exploded on the glass walls, shattering the compartment. We ducked down, seeking the cover provided by the metal floors of the cubicle.

We watched the attacking Caucasian brigade jump into another elevator. Up they came, but we had an advantage of maybe 15 seconds on them.

The Muzak in the elevator started playing 'As Time Goes By.' Our pursuers could have been Nazis raiding Rick's Café in Casablanca, looking for Victor Laszlow. 'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.'

Bond fired off a shot, but he was forced to duck as a volley fired back instantly.

As the high-speed express elevator took us quickly to the 28th floor, it was a breath-taking ride. My expression was a mixture of shock and awe.

The view of the huge, multi-tiered, water-jet fountain and the desert-hued Arabic patterns in the ceramic flooring of the lobby was quite incredible! Unbelievably, a powerful jet of water shot past our elevator, almost reaching the ceiling of the 180-meter (590 feet) high atrium!

As we emerged from the elevators, we ran down a short corridor. Signs along the way, in three languages, directed guests to the Helipad.

A large circular white concrete platform was cantilevered out from this magnificent sail-shaped tower.

From a helicopter high above, a camera shot showed the precarious perch in its dizzying glory–stirring up high anxiety from sufferers of vertigo.

Of course, being a Bond film, we had the latest transportation technology at our disposal. In order to tour the UAE's oil fields to conduct experiments, Karine Lau had been using a mini-helicopter.

Bond reached the Air Scooter before I did. The engine started up as soon as he turned the key. He laid down some covering fire as I hopped on the back of the Air Scooter. With a well-rehearsed move, I hiked up the Prada gown, showing lots of leg for the camera.

Looking like a small sea helicopter, with two large yellow pontoons on the base, the Air Scooter's two large whirling rotors rotated in opposite directions from the same vertical shaft. The two-person Scooter, with a 160 horsepower engine, was very compact and light, weighing only 298 pounds.

The controls were much like those you'd find on a motorcycle handlebar. Bond buckled himself in, and then twisted the right hand grip. The engine screamed to life as the Air Scooter lifted off the helipad. The Air Scooter was a real crotch rocket!

Bullets flew into the sky as Bond dipped the handlebar to the left, in the general direction of the nearby shoreline.

Bond craned his head around and he gazed back at the Burj Al Arab Helipad. There was a look of consternation on his face. And I could see why.

Our pursuers had jumped onto the hotel's helicopter. At gunpoint, they instructed the pilot to follow us. Used to transport guests to and from the Dubai airport, the Augusta 109E helicopter could easily overtake our Air Scooters. Being small and highly maneuverable, we'd have to use the Air Scooters' assets to our advantage.

Audaciously, Bond circled back to attack the larger chopper. I had my Walther out and I fired three shots in quick succession, clutching the gun with both hands to control the recoil.

An Uzi blazed at Bond from one of the Augusta's side doors.

Bond zipped away and down from the imagined stream of bullets, which would be added by CGI in the final film version.

Then Bond struck out toward the shore, in the direction of the Jumeirah Beach Hotel. With its striking breaking wave-like architecture, the huge glass and steel structure shone like a silver tsunami in the bright Dubai sun.

As our Air Scooter screamed at the limit of its engine speed, the Augusta 109E easily overtook us.

However, Bond used the Air Scooter's greater maneuverability to suddenly change direction. Gunmen on the port side of the Augusta found that Bond was a hard target to track. As Karine, I clung desperately to the Air Scooter's handlebars while the mini-chopper careened from side-to-side.

Bond took a vector that almost had us smash into the tenth floor of the Jumeirah Beach Hotel, but he veered off onto another tack at the last moment. Then, Bond circled around the hotel, hugging the glass-fronted surface, forcing the 109E helicopter to back off for a moment or two.

As I craned my head to look behind us, I could see the pursuing Augusta plus two camera 'copters playing a game of 'Follow the Leader'.

Heading in the direction of the neighboring Wild Wadi Water World, a theme park for tourists, Bond descended to ground level, the Augusta chopper in hot pursuit.

Past the Jumeirah Sceirah, the tallest and fastest free-fall slide outside of North America, over a huge wave pool, in between palm trees, Bond slalomed between obstacles as quickly as he could, hoping the helicopter pilot might get too close and make a fatal mistake.

But the 109E pilot backed off.

Bond turned toward Al Sufouh Road, the coastal route beside the Persian Gulf, replete with luxury hotels. Dipping down to the level of the lampposts, the Air Scooter zipped over cars and trucks as Uzis chattered behind him. Squibs on the cars and pavement exploded in rapid succession. I kept my head down, burying it in Bond's back when the bullets flew all around us.

The Augusta 109E might as well have been the legendary World War II Messerschmitt 109 fighter plane, Germany's rival for the British Spitfire. Bond's luck could not hold up much longer as the chopper closed both the horizontal and vertical distance.

Then Bond saw a chance. As he approached two high-rise buildings on the Gulf side, he maneuvered the Air Scooter into the tight space between them.

But the Augusta helicopter pilot was no fool. He stopped abruptly. He hovered above Al Sufouh Road as the gunmen fired Uzi bursts at our Air Scooter. I fired back, but the Walther's bullets seemed to get lost in the distance.

Rounding the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Bond headed in the direction of the Palm Jumeirah, the self-proclaimed Eighth Wonder of the World, with 32 beachfront hotels, thousands of villas and apartments, all built on man-made islands laid out in the shape of a palm tree.

Flying at low altitude, Bond skimmed over small buildings, between trees and then back over to Al Sufouh Road. The 109 was on his tail all the way. The Air Scooter tried to duck in and out of the traffic. It was a deadly game.

Bond turned up the Umm Suqeim Street corridor, but the Augusta chopper climbed above the traffic and changed course.

Just ahead, I could see Sheikh Zayed Road, a main thoroughfare, and the massive Mall of the Emirates, Dubai's largest shopping center. Behind me, the chasing helicopter was closing the gap once more. Bond swerved just as an Uzi's rat-a-tat-tat spat at us again.

Nearing the 4th Interchange, I sensed what Bond was thinking. He stayed low, zipping along at street level, between the vehicles, relying on the Air Scooter's small size and greater maneuverability. The 109 followed in hot pursuit. I hung on tight as we sped below the concrete overpass. Bond slowed to the speed of the traffic, allowing us to duck in behind a transport truck. The din of the Air Scooter's whirling blades within the underpass was deafening. At the last second, the chasing chopper pilot changed his mind, pulling back on his collective stick. The Augusta gained altitude. For a moment it looked like the 109 might hit the bridge structure, but the skilled pilot managed a heart-wrenching, narrow escape.

Emerging on the other side unscathed, Bond veered right toward the huge Kempinski Hotel and the grand Mall of the Emirates. The Augusta played its deadly game of Follow the Leader. I felt like Luke Skywalker in the gun sights of Darth Vader. A gunman amidships raised his machinegun to fire. Bullets streamed past us as Bond vectored upward to the right.

At the far end of the Mall was a strange, angular metal structure on top of the parking garage. Its shape resembled a ski jump ramp that one might see at a Winter Olympic Games. In fact, the huge, flattened metal tube was that indoor ski hill, Ski Dubai. Who in the world would ever be crazy enough to build a ski resort in a desert?

The Air Scooter zipped toward this eccentric right triangle. Bond flew the Scooter in between the pillars that held up the high end of the gigantic metal 'car muffler.' This time, the chopper pilot boldly followed us into that small opening.

Immediately upon passing through the aperture, Bond climbed higher, ascending to the 25-story height of the top end of the Ski Dubai superstructure. The Augusta chopper was directly below us as it emerged between the supporting pillars. I quickly fired the Walther P99, emptying the remaining bullets from its 16-shot magazine.

I must have hit something.

Suddenly, the helicopter exploded! A huge ball of flame engulfed the chopper. Bits of metal flew in all directions. The109E's rotors stuttered and then sang their swan song as the disintegrating chopper spiraled downward. The Augusta aircraft plummeted toward the parking lot below, destroying a handful of expensive cars in its final fiery impact. The Air Scooter, caught in the updraft of the explosion, a pungent plume of smoke, careened out of control. I braced myself as the Air Scooter angled toward the side of the Ski Dubai structure. The whirling rotors struck the end of the building, carving a large hole in its thin metal skin, as we fell into it.

Suddenly, on the other side, I could see a white Winter Wonderland within, in sharp contrast to the browns of Dubai's sandy natural environment. The extreme temperature difference was striking.

The Air Scooter slammed into the snow-covered surface of the indoor ski hill. But our ride wasn't finished. The large yellow pontoons of the Air Scooter acted like snowmobile runners. Unexpectedly, we were the Jamaican bobsled team in Cool Runnings.

Bond shouted, "Coming through!"

Amazed, dumbfounded snowboarders looked at us like we were alien beings invading their planet.

The Air Scooter gained momentum as it slid downhill. At a quarter-pipe, we narrowly missed hitting a few airborne snowboarders.

Bond continued to shout out his warnings. But there's something about a mini-helicopter sliding on pontoons that lowers the collective I.Q. of snowboarders.

I thought about bailing as we flew over a jump and landed with a heavy thump. However, there was a small building approaching us quickly, a café. Bond lowered his feet into the snow, trying to brake our long downhill slide on the edge of disaster. That didn't seem to work very well. All it did was cause us to spin around. Releasing the seat belts, we jumped off the train wreck, landing softly in well-placed piles of snow. The Air Scooter continued its mad spin, smashing into a protective orange snow fence in front of the halfway café, stopping inches away from a dining room window.

There were a lot of amazed expressions among the diners who clambered toward the windows to see what else might be coming down the mountain.

As Bond helped me to my feet, he looked at my snow-encrusted face. Gently, he helped to brush away the snow. Bond hugged me, happy to still be alive. And then, staring into my eyes with his baby blues, he kissed me. The incendiary kiss could have melted all the snow in Dubai. With a smile he said, "That Air Scooter is one hell of a ride." With a glance downward at the tent in his pants, he joked, "Although the stick keeps pulling to the right."

The whole air chase scene had gone flawlessly. It had to. We knew there could only be one take for the flying sequence, unless we wanted to bankrupt the Bond franchise.

As for the helicopter explosion and the Ski Dubai scene, some CGI trickery was added to enhance the action.

16

"By day the sun shines,
And the warrior in his armor shines.
By night the moon shines,
And the master shines in meditation.
But day and night
The one who is awake
Shines in the radiance of the spirit."

- Buddha in the Dhammapada

The Muntaha Restaurant was located on the 27th floor of the Burj Al Arab, 200 meters above the Persian Gulf. The Muntaha, meaning highest or ultimate, was a sybarite's delight. After dark, it offered a romantic view of the lights of Dubai, its burgeoning coast and the Palm development, the series of man-made islands in the shape of a palm tree, with a stunning mix of villas, apartments and luxury hotels.

In the darkness, the white fabric 'sail' of the Burj Al Arab glowed with projected lighting, providing a dramatic, illuminated, ever-changing beacon in Dubai's night sky.

Attired in a white gown by Dolce and Gabbana that shimmered in the glow of the light show, Michelle looked drop dead gorgeous. Her long hair was arranged simply, suggesting that she was confident in her natural beauty. Michelle's dewy eyes shone in the moonlight. I decided she was a lady I could fall madly in love with. In fact, I think I was already in love with her.

But, I was a bit mystified by her intentions. Men were never good at decoding women's signals. I felt a stirring in my loins as I wondered about the nature of our relationship. After all, she had never seen me in my male clothing.

Michelle Zhang had invited me to dinner after my helicopter shooting concluded.

She insisted that I stay in drag while we went to dinner. So I put on the black Sorrel Belt Bustier and pleated black pencil skirt that I had purchased at Harrod's.

It felt to me that we had switched roles. She was me; I was her. She was the hunter; I was the prey.

And yet, it felt nice to be appreciated and coddled and praised.

When our non-alcoholic drinks arrived, we selected our dinner entrees. The wait staff was very businesslike and efficient.

Undeterred by the brief interruption, Michelle's eyes intensified their predatory glow.

"I love your sense of style. Where did you pick up that bustier?"

"In London, at Harrod's. I treated myself one afternoon to a spending spree."

"Very sexy."

"I must admit that I felt like a pervert while shopping for women's clothes."

"You're just a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania."

"The experience wasn't quite a horror show, although there were a few rocky moments."

"Such as?"

"Well, it's not something I've done before. I've never shopped for evening gowns, bras, blouses, skirts, panties, hosiery or lingerie. So, after I selected the items, I had to try them on to see how the clothes would fit? To see whether the bustier would be too tight or too loose? How the skirt would hang?"

"And?"

"Trying on the skirt gave new meaning to that male greeting 'How's it hanging?'"

"A little free and easy?"

"Breezy. There was this unexpected breeze invading my nether regions. Even now with the air conditioning turned up full blast, it feels quite different."

Apparently Michelle had taken off her shoes because the next thing I knew I felt, her foot under the table, exploring the aforementioned area. As the candlelight lighting was dark and romantic, perhaps the other diners wouldn't notice her bold move.

"If it makes you squirm, perhaps I shouldn't ask such probing questions?"

"Ah, although trying on the clothes was a revelation, because of my new body shape…"

"It's a great body," Micelle interjected. "Nobody would ever guess your boobs are fake. At least not the type you can take off at the end of the day."

Michelle's twinkling toes were a distraction. The stimulus caused an almost autonomic reaction.

"Where were we?"

"You were trying on clothes at Harrod's."

"Ah, ah right. After trying on the clothes, I thought they looked great on the 'body by Michelle Zhang.' I thought the ensemble was sexy. It was classy, not trashy. But, of course, I still had to pay for the bustier, skirt, handbag and necklace."

"You didn't use my credit card, did you?" Michele joked. "Identity theft is a growing concern."

Michelle jabbed her toes into my crotch, as if trying to make a point, causing a 'groaning concern.' My loud moan of pain caused nearby patrons to look our way.

I carried on regardless. "I don't remember you offering it to me."

"So your appearance didn't match the name on your credit card?"

"Exactly. When I pulled out my credit card to pay for the clothing, the Harrod's clerk gave me a suspicious look. 'Michael Lee?' So I said my parents wanted a boy, as I was the fourth child born–all of them girls. So they named me Michael in spite of the biological evidence to the contrary. Of course, I made up the whole thing."

"You're not the fourth girl?"

"I have one sister, May."

"It's lucky that your credit card doesn't have a photo on it."

"Yes, although now that we've been seen in public together, you might have to face questions about your twin sister."

"That won't be a big concern. Body doubles are used on films all the time. Besides, to many people, all Asians look alike. For instance, not too long ago, somebody said I looked like Margaret Cho."

"You weren't flattered by the comment?"

"Well, she is very funny. But, no offence to Margaret, I'm younger, taller and slimmer than her. And I'm not Korean. Other than that, we are identical."

Our food order arrived.

Thankfully, as the waitress placed the dishes on our table, Michelle removed her toes from their resting place.

I had ordered Laham Meshwi, which was like a lamb shish kebab. Tomatoes, peppers and onions plus the lamb cubes were on metal skewers. Fasoulia Khadra, a green bean stew, looked appetizing, plus Timman Asfar, a yellow rice dish.

Michelle's choices included Mechouia, a grilled vegetable salad, Laban Matboukh (cooked yogurt), and Tabouli Salad.

We decided to share our food so that we could gain a better appreciation of Arabic cuisine.

While the food was a little different, there were also other noteworthy distinguishing characteristics of Dubai. Very noticeable was a large foreign population. People were brought in to do the dirty jobs that the native population of the United Arab Emirates no longer cared to do. Many Europeans and North Americans, highly skilled workers, were brought in, not as much for the dirty jobs, but more for their technical expertise in building up the infrastructure. However, foreigners did not have equal social status with the citizens of Dubai.

The whole Dubai experience was an eye opener. In the entire world, there couldn't be a bigger building boom. Skyscrapers popped up like weeds in springtime. Luxury residential complexes rivaled developments anywhere in the world. In much the same way that Las Vegas was a city of excess, so too was Dubai a city of over-the-top entertainment and extravagance. The people of Dubai had so much money they had trouble finding ways to spend it. Dubai's oil industry was in the boom phase of the boom and bust cycle. But when would the bubble burst?

Although I struggled with instantaneous conversion of the Emirati Dirham to American Dollars, 100 AED was equivalent to about $US 27. Admittedly, it seemed that hotel costs were excessive. The deluxe two bedroom suite at the Burj Al Arab, a 5-star luxury hotel, was 7000 AED per day, which converted to over $US 1,900 a day. However, I had heard that it was possible to find an inexpensive hotel in Dubai for about $US 80.

Vehicular traffic was a nightmare. It crawled along in spite of the 120 km/h (75 mph) speed limits, in large part because everyone in the Middle East drove like they owned the road.

Our movie shoot, even on a Saturday, had caused massive disruption to local traffic circulation.

"Did you hear that the script is undergoing revisions?" Michelle asked.

"It happens all the time. What's unusual about that?"

"I mean major changes."

"Why?" I asked as I sampled some of Michelle's Laban Matboukh.

"Real life concerns. A Bond film cannot be too realistic. For example, Die Another Day was supposed to have taken place in North Korea. If the plot had involved the threat of nuclear weapons and the use of intercontinental ballistic missiles, it might have affected real world politics."

"Good point. Instead of nukes and ICBMs, I think they used a metaphor for those weapons. The Icarus satellite, a huge mirror that could be used to extend growing seasons in Polar Regions, but also be used like a searing death ray."

"For our situation, Nobody Does It Better touches upon too many political hot potatoes." Michelle took a bite of my Laham Meshwi. "Mmm. This is good."

"Is that because the real world hotspots became inflamed?" I asked.

"Yes. Anything pertaining to the Israel-Palestinian issue must be eliminated because of the current conflict. G8 Summits might be controversial too. So a lot of the script has to be pitched."

"I remember that the release of the film V for Vendetta was delayed because of the terrorist attack on the London tube system. I guess showing V's destruction of the British parliament buildings right after the bomb explosions on the public transportation system would have appeared insensitive."

"And this kind of thing has happened before on Bond films. According to Marshall Robb, Bruce Feirstein's script for Tomorrow Never Dies underwent major changes right in the middle of filming due to the changing geopolitical situation."

Michelle struck me as being very intelligent and well informed. She wasn't just a pretty face. But I knew that already.

"So what's going to happen with Nobody Does It Better?"

"The original plot concerned a strike against the G8 by Anarchists. The scene down here concerned an attempt to prevent destruction of Middle East oil fields."

"Will the major action scenes that have been shot so far make the final cut?"

"Probably. Because you've been involved in the elaborate, expensive action sequences that haven't involved much dialogue, those bits will likely be retained. It's the dialogue that's likely to be changed."

"Have you any idea what changes are being contemplated?"

"Remember our conversation about The Vapors?"

"Uh huh."

"I think I'm turning Japanese."

I laughed out loud as I had visions of Michelle playing with a vibrator. "So are you concerned about the change in nationality?"

"It's a bit of a stretch for my acting abilities, right up there with playing Korean. But Japanese moviegoers might not like it. The female leads in Memoirs of a Geisha were Chinese. That film didn't do as well as expected at the box office in Japan."

"Better that you're switching nationalities rather than sexes," I said.

"I doubt that a James Bond film will become The Crying Game."

"But why the change in your character?"

"There's a Raymond Benson book, The Man with the Red Tattoo, that might be adapted or modified to fit what has already been shot."

We discussed the pros and cons of changing to The Red Tattoo's storyline. Benson's frightening concept was that a Japanese drug company, controlled by the Yakuza, would spread a virulent form of West Nile disease by using mosquitoes. But the West Nile threat had fallen off the radar screen in the public consciousness. Also, it didn't seem like a good match for the scenes in Dubai.

As we chatted, the waiter brought Michelle a coffee and I had a cup of tea.

The view from the Muntaha Restaurant, overlooking the Persian Gulf and the Dubai shoreline, looked completely different at night. To think I had flown over so many of those transformed places in the Air Scooter. Within the candle-lit dining room, there was an air of tranquility.

I felt lucky to be in the company of such a beautiful, intelligent lady.

My thoughts refocused on the film storyline. Having spent time in Japan while filming The Fast and the Furious 3: Tokyo Drift, I had an idea that involved the oil industry.

"Let's suppose we used the biotech angle. The Japanese would like to reduce the world's economic dependence on oil. Japan has no oil reserves."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Taking the lead from your character's research in oil-eating bacteria, if you wanted to alter the world's dependence on oil, you'd destroy the world's oil supply. The weapon would be the oil-eating bacteria--the type being developed for use on oil spills, only much more aggressive."

"What would take the place of oil?" Michelle asked.

"There are lots of technologies that exist now."

"Then why aren't they being used?"

"Big businesses use their influence to suppress other technologies."

"How so?"

"Right now, you could run cars on hydrogen, corn oil, peanut oil, soybean oil, genetically engineered whale oil--even water."

"Really?"

"Being a stunt driver, I know cars. For example, there's Hydrogen ICE, the hydrogen internal combustion engine."

"Isn't hydrogen explosive?" Michelle asked.

"Not when it's in solid form. There's something called an Ovonic Metal Hydride solid hydrogen storage system."

"That's a mouthful. Either you've done a lot of research or you're a tech geek."

"A bit of both. Scientific American has a show on PBS. The Discovery Channel has lots of science shows. Anything I mentioned could be found easily on the Internet. Eventually hydrogen fuel cells could cut emissions to zero."

"Reducing the threat of global warming."

"Right. But let me tell you a short parable. In the early 1970s, some kid in Canada invented a battery that used sugar as a power source. There was great excitement about it. After all, sugar is cheap and readily available in many Third World countries because sugar cane grows well in tropical climates."

There was a look of disbelief in Michelle's expression. "So why don't we have sugar-based batteries?"

"A big multinational battery company bought the patent rights from the young inventor. It's secret became buried in some vault–never to see the light of day."

"Why?"

"Who would buy the mega company's batteries if that Canadian kid had let the rest of the world in on the secret?"

"What a sad situation."

"Globalization does have a downside. But other researchers have found a bacteria that converts sugar into energy. In fact, a Japanese company, Matsushita Electric, is researching the sugar battery."

"So how do you see this James Bond plot unfolding?" Michelle asked.

"The Japanese biotech company develops a fuel alternative to oil. And it releases the oil-eating bacteria."

"Your idea sounds a bit far-fetched."

"Exactly what a James Bond movie needs."

17

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than exposure."

- Helen Keller

Bond films are known for their strenuous physical demands on actors.

So back at Pinewood Studios, for a one-week period, the stunt crew and the actors trained for a difficult fight scene.

Not only did the actors and stunt persons have to be in good shape, the whole fight sequence had to be choreographed and rehearsed.

A typical day involved an instructional lesson in martial arts training. The goal here was to teach everyone how to concentrate according to Zen principles. As a physical warm-up, the instructor would lead the stunt persons and actors in tai chi chuan. This helped with the balance, flexibility, energy and calmness. Tai chi harmonized the energies of the body.

Then each of the actors was given a fight choreographer to work with.

As in most Bond films, Bond would enter the lair of the enemy. Faced with overwhelming numbers against him, Bond would use his Q Branch gadgets to reduce the enemy threat.

In the fight training, Michelle proved quite adept at learning the kicks, punches, blocks, tumbles, feints and flows of movement.

However, I was needed to do four stunts for Michelle. One involved jumping high into the air, shooting both of my legs forward, catching my opponent's neck in a scissors move and bringing him to the ground.

A second stunt would be difficult to believe. As one of the assailants prepared to attack James Bond from behind, I'd take a running leap clear over one of the henchmen and kick Bond's attacker in the head. Of course, I'd need to use a mini trampoline, but there'd be no CGI special effects.

The third stunt would be one where I'd be running away from a pursuer, I'd run up a wall, do a back flip and kick my opponent in the head as I came down.

The final stunt would be to receive a roundhouse kick to the face, knocking me down. This was undoubtedly the easiest stunt.

During this training period, newcomers Anthony Hopkirk and Kyra Dailey joined Hugh Farrell and Michelle Zhang in the principal roles.

Anthony Hopkirk, a veteran British actor, had a huge range. He could play a nasty villain or a charming lover. He had a long list of highly successful films to his credit. Hopkirk was to assume the role of Sebastian Randall, CEO of Gene Cure Laboratories.

Kyra's career had really taken off. She had been a co-star in a series of hot Johnny Depp films. She had a string of hit movies and received favorable critical praise in all of her work. Kyra was to play Jennifer Randall, the daughter of Sebastian.

The Bond producers felt fortunate to have landed them for these villainous roles. Both had busy careers and hadn't been readily available until now.

Sebastian Randall was the megalomaniac in charge of Gene Cure Laboratories. GCL was the huge pharmaceutical conglomerate that developed all sorts of biotech weapons and medical cures. But, after acquiring Karine Lau's parent company in a hostile takeover, Gene Cure Laboratories would hunt Karine down because she knew how to counteract the aggressive oil-eating bacteria.

Due to the changing world political situation, OPEC and the Four Sisters of the Oil World were elevated to become the new target of the biotech conglomerate. So the anarchist villain Sebastian Randall became Bond's worthy opponent.

Luckily for Michelle, her Karine character wasn't turning Japanese. However, her character was apparently going to have some martial arts expertise.

Unfortunately, Michelle found the fight training very physically demanding. Each day she'd complain about new bruises she had acquired by blocking a blow from a stuntman. Even though the fight was all choreographed, there had to be some physical contact.

I was always transformed into Michelle's identical twin at the beginning of each day of training. It meant long hours in the makeup chair. The director said that if I rehearsed in character, on the day of shooting, the actions would come naturally.

So Michael disappeared. To distinguish between Michelle Zhang and I, I was called Michelle Two, or simply Two. Being called a number was reminiscent of the Seven of Nine character in Star Trek Voyager.

After a solid three days of training, we were given a Sunday off. Michelle and I decided to take advantage of the break by going out late Saturday evening in London.

So, after work, I borrowed one of Michelle's outfits and we went out for a night on the town. Just the two of us.

Although Michelle liked me as a male, I think she preferred me as her twin sister. I enjoyed being with her no matter how I was dressed. But, I must confess, dressing like a girl was getting addictive. I was starting to crave it.

I recognized the addiction because I had a compulsive craving of another sort--the adrenaline rush of danger. When I performed a life-threatening stunt, it was as good as orgasmic sex. But dressing up was taking me to a similar high plane of ecstasy.

London has a great nightlife.

We started off in Soho, visiting a wine bar and taking in some of the active skuzzy street life.

Michelle had selected a gold sequin top, black skirt and gold lame high heels. She wore a blonde wig and green contact lenses. Very glam! Kinda trashy and flashy!

My club wear was edgy. The black vinyl skirt, black top and boots put out a scary vibe. My long wig with red highlights gave me a kinda wild look. Divine decadence! My own mother never would have recognized me.

We attracted a lot of attention as we hailed a cab on Brewer Street. Travelling a very short distance in one of those throwback London cabs was a change of pace.

One of the Londoners had recommended The Borderline, a club on Manette Street near Charing Cross. Tiny, smoky and intimate, we hit upon a show called The Queen is Dead. The live band really rocked the house! They did stuff ranging from Beyonce to The Clash.

Then we proceeded to The WayOut Club on Crosswall Street, near the Minories and Tower Hill tube station.

Michelle had chosen the club. It was a real eye opener, particularly for someone who had never been in drag until a few months ago.

Big Sur, the Pacific Coast Highway, the transformation into Michelle Zhang's stunt double, the car chase, ejecting from the Aston Martin and the parachute landing in the Pacific Ocean were so vividly etched in my mind, it seemed like all those events had happened just yesterday.

When I walked into the WayOut Club, my jaw dropped in amazement. The WayOut Club was for transgendered patrons. It featured wild tranny divas in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I must admit some of the performers were really beautiful drag queens. Their costumes, dance routines, choice of music and their stage presence elevated the entire production.

Some of the clubbers were breathtaking in their beauty. You would have thought some of them were high fashion models. Some of the shemales had obviously had some enhancement surgery. I must admit I did a lot of breast gazing that night.

Michelle dragged me onto the dance floor. Never having danced as a girl before, I tried to feel the music, Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. I found, with high heels on, moving my 3do enhanced booty seemed to come naturally. Even the boobs seemed to take on a life of their own. I was like a Brazilian dancer at Carnaval, liberated and carefree. Intoxicated by the music, I moved and grooved to the beat, in sync with the meaning of the lyrics and the rhythm.

Mostly I danced with Michelle. But, I warmed up to some of the charming admirers, and I consented to dance with them. Some of my dance partners were men, some were trannies, but I'm sure some were real girls too.

In my guise as Michelle Zhang's twin sister, I felt as one with her because 'girls just wanna have fu-un.'

When we left the WayOut Club just before closing time, I put my arm around Michelle's shoulder. Her arm encircled my waist and then she leaned her head against mine.

But as we stepped onto Crosswall Street, we came upon a confrontation in progress. A group of four guys in their early twenties were hurling insults at two of the trannies that had just left the WayOut.

"You ugly fairies! You faggots ought to be shot for being so ugly!" one tough guy yelled.

"Thrown in jail and sodomized!" another shouted.

I was surprised he had such a long word in his vocabulary.

"Leave us alone," the taller of the two trannies replied. Not one of the more passable T-girls, his/her male gender was apparent in spite of the dress, high heels, makeup and wig.

One of the troublemakers reached forward and snatched the wig from the tall T-girl's head.

"Look at that bald clown! He looks like a painted cue ball!"

The band of four laughed.

"Give it back!" the victimized T-girl shouted in a deep voice.

"We'll call the police!" the shorter T-girl yelled.

"Are you going to make us?" the wig stealer taunted, waving the long locks in front of them.

"They want to make you, Nigel! Turn around and show them your arse."

'Nigel' spun around, undid his belt and pulled down his jeans, mooning the T-girls. "Want to make me!"

His friends laughed.

I stepped forward into the fray. "Why are you doing this? These people weren't looking for trouble." Hoping to reason with them, I used my Michelle voice.

Nigel looked me over for a moment as he pulled up his pants. "Well, what have we here? Siamese Twins?"

His friends laughed.

"Why are we doing this?" Nigel continued. "Perverts are the scum of the earth. All faggots ought to be put to death. That's why."

"And Yankee fag hags are no better!" his friend added.

The four fag-haters laughed.

"I'm not a fag hag," I said in my normal male voice.

"Hey Nigel, I never would have guessed. This one actually looks beautiful."

"Now please give back the wig, and we'll be on our way."

Nigel stepped toward me. "Make me," he said as he tried to shove me.

I stepped aside adroitly, and as he stumbled forward, I snatched the wig from his hand.

"Thank you," I said. I tossed the hairpiece back to its surprised owner.

Nigel spun around. Angry and drunk, he telegraphed his punch. I ducked to avoid the blow. He swung again, a big roundhouse left. I blocked it with my right forearm. I moved into him and stepped hard onto his boot with my high heel.

"Oww, owww!" Nigel hopped around in pain. He reached down to his foot. My heel had pierced through the leather. He was bleeding. "You bitch!"

"Sorry." I hadn't allowed for the sharpness of the stiletto heel.

His friend charged at me. I took one step forward and leapt high in the air. My lead foot shot out about three feet above his head. When I landed on the other side of him, I whirled around quickly. "Now, please let us go on our way," I said as I took a defensive karate stance.

The four amazed thugs, looked at each other, and then scurried away toward the Minories.

Michelle hurried over to me as the sound of running footsteps diminished in the distance. "Michael, you were absolutely brilliant!"

The two T-girls came toward us.

"That was unbelievable," the shorter tranny said. "You leapt clear over that guy. Thank you for helping us."

"I don't know what we would have done," the other added. "And thanks for returning my wig."

"I was glad I could help." I breathed a sigh of relief as I hugged Michelle. I was sure Michelle could feel my heart racing 200 miles per hour. She was trembling. Any attempt on my part to minimize the danger wouldn't be believed by Michelle. She could sense the fear and excitement within me.

Notes:

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