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Centre of Attention
🕑 Added 2021-10-21 13:03:38 +0000 UTCWoman: Faestock
Motorcycle: Creative Commons
Tiredly, Suzika wiped the table for what seemed like the millionth time that night. Soon her shift would be over and she could go home for some rest. It had seemed so glamorous, travel to Hollywood, get discovered become a star! She and seven others had come from their small town in Iowa nearly ten months ago. All had left to return home, too. All save Suzika. She wanted to be a star ever so bad. But there was just nothing for her.
Not enough experience ... Too blonde ... Not blonde enough ... Too short. Every possible reason for saying no. A bored customer's cup was empty. Suzika filled it without even asking.
Finally the ten hour shift was over. Ten because she had to open up in the morning and get the grill started. All gratis, of course, if she wanted to keep the job. And she did. Without this slave labour to pay the bills, her glistening future could never be. She packed up, threw her apron into the dirty hamper and left the boss to the shift he loved best: 7PM to midnight.
She walked slowly home. Home. As if that silly one room apartment would ever be home. How she longed for the wide open spaces of home and her family. But she'd burned too many bridges at home to go back unsuccessful.
She turned when she heard footsteps behind her. It was the customer from the shop. He quickly passed her and headed for the subway. If only he'd been one of those talent scouts myth had it were everywhere in Hollywood.
"Why can't I be the centre of attention just once?" she spoke quietly into the silent night.
"It could happen," a voice near her sounded.
Jirini jumped. Where had he come from? She was sure she'd seen him hustling to the subway only minutes before.
"What?" was all she managed.
"The centre of attention. It could be you. You've got the right lines for it."
The first compliment she'd received in months.
"You a talent scout?"
"Of sorts. Not from the big movie houses, though. Just a small firm."
"Oh!" breathed Suzika. "Where?"
"Downtown. I'll give you my card. If you're interested, give me a call tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," she replied.
Her break! It might just be! And he might be a pimp like several of her friends had met before becoming disgusted with Hollywood and leaving. It was hard getting to sleep that night. She tossed and turned with visions of her up on the silver screen. Finally, having had virtually no real rest all night, she got up. A pale grey dawn had broken the dark blue of night. 7:30, her clock informed her. Having no phone in her apartment, she waited until the day brightened and she could walk to the corner payphone. Prudently waiting until 9:00 AM (after all if he were out all night, he'd probably not get in until then), she dialled the number. The exuberant voice remembered her and invited her down for an interview. Grabbing her best clothes and bag, she headed for the subway.
The crowd had thinned by this time of day and Suzika didn't have to wait too long in line for a ticket. Excitedly, she boarded the train and road to the nearest stop to the address on the card. It was one of the skyscrapers! This outfit couldn't be that small if it could afford offices here. The interview and screen test went splendidly as far as Suzika could tell. In fact, the dark man from the previous evening (Mr. Findergast, as she now knew him), asked her to wait while they reviewed the rushes. Twenty minutes, a coffee and a danish later, Suzika was hurried into Mr. Findergast's office.
"You'll be perfect. Just what the client wants! Just a second, I've got to get you under contract," he bubbled.
"Contract?" she puzzled.
"Standard agent's contract," he replied offering her a sheaf of paper and a pen.
Suzika tried to read the gobbledygook but it got denser and denser and less and less understandable.
"What's it mean?" she asked.
"I'll represent you. 10% of your wage goes to me. I find you contracts. You'll be famous!" He exulted.
"Oh," she'd heard about agents.
They were worth having and none of the others was interested in her. She'd talked to hundreds of others, or so it seemed. Without reading further, she signed on the indicated lines.
"Excellent," he smiled. "Just follow me now. I have someone who you need to meet."
He led the way to a large black limousine parked in the parkade under the skyscraper. He opened her door and they were on their way. Obviously, the diner's neighbourhood was rough enough to make the subway a better choice yesterday. Turning several times, Suzika soon became confused. Finally they were out of the downtown area and into a more residential section. They arrived, after half an hour, at a large mansion.
"I've found your girl!" he bubbled at the well dressed man who opened the door.
"Mmm," was all the reply he got. The man's piercing eyes looked Suzika up and down. "It is possible."
He walked over to a nearby computer and took an expensive looking digital camera from a shelf above. He took a whole series of pictures of Suzika from all angles and then connected the camera to the computer.
"Downloading images. I'll send them to the director," he said to Suzika.
A few seconds passed and the camera beeped. The man quickly opened an email program and attached the images to a quick memo. The memo wasn't written in English characters. It looked like strange squiggles and dots. Arabic or Chinese maybe? Suzika wasn't sure. She’d never paid much attention to things she couldn’t read.
A few minutes after the message had been sent, the computer beeped again. The man, having said nothing the whole time, opened an newly arrived email. As he read it, he nodded his head slowly.
"What size?" he asked.
"Size?" Suzika puzzled.
"Dress size," he stated.
"Eight," she replied.
He merely snapped his fingers and a servant appeared from somewhere. A quick exchange in a foreign language and the servant disappeared to return with a shiny red costume of some sort.
"Change rooms over there," he pointed.
Suzika quickly changed into the shiny costume. It was tight fitting and made her look like she was made of plastic or metal. When she returned, he took some more pictures and sent them off. The email which returned obviously pleased him.
"Standard contract?" he asked Mr. Findergast. Mr. Findergast nodded.
"Excellent." He turned to Suzika. "The shoot starts in a few days. You'll have to leave from here. The helicopter is waiting on the roof."
Once more the imperious finger snap, the foreign language and Suzika followed Mr. Findergast and the servant to the roof.
"This is a tough client," Mr. Findergast said quietly. "But the pay is excellent. Have you a bank account?"
"Yes," replied Suzika. "But ..."
"Gimmee a void cheque. I've got to get your automatic deposit information to the client so you can be paid."
Suzika, her head spinning, quickly complied. She was helped into the waiting helicopter and whisked to the airport. Instead of a commercial airline, she was led to a small private plane waiting, engines running, on the tarmac. It was soon airborne and Suzika leaned back into the luxurious seat. Soon she was asleep.
She was awakened by a sudden light and a rough voice demanding to "Roll 'her out of there." She tried to say something or even move her hands or feet and found she couldn't. Turning her head, she found out why. Somehow, while she slept, she'd been changed. Her body and a motorcycle had been combined somehow. The rough voice was followed by equally rough hands that she could feel touching her arms and the back of her seat. Quickly and efficiently she was rolled out of the cargo bay of a plane - a different plane than she'd fallen asleep in! It felt odd to feel the road roll beneath her tires. She could feel every part of this strange new body. Rolled from the back of the plane into the blinding desert sun, she found herself facing another richly dressed man.
"You're perfect," he smiled as he signalled the men to load her onto a truck. "Just perfect."
