Fable Weaver
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STS Ch-3
🕑 Added 2025-03-06 23:03:16 +0000 UTCOnce I had the briefs on, I returned to Clarissa, who immediately sat me down and got to work on my hair. Within moments, she had gathered my shoulder-length locks into a tight bun.
"You know," she mused as she adjusted a few loose strands, "Jordan’s still hoping you’ll cut this down to a more ‘manageable’ length."
"Not happening," I said without hesitation. I liked my hair long.
When she was done, I stood and checked myself out in the full-length mirror nearby.
I looked good.
My body was built for swimming—every muscle sculpted to perfection. Broad shoulders, defined biceps, chiseled pecs, razor-sharp abs, and powerful thighs and calves. It was like I had been carved from marble, an old Greek statue come to life.
Poseidon might be an asshole for having wiped out all my knowledge of coding and tech, but I had to admit—being a demigod came with some serious perks.
After finishing school last year, I had ramped up my workouts. Four hours of swimming daily, followed by an hour of weightlifting. That was it. No insane diets, no extreme regimens. I didn’t even have to sacrifice anything. Hell, I could drink and smoke if I wanted to. Not that I did—back then, I hadn’t even known about my blessing. But now? Now I had options.
"Done admiring yourself, Narcissus?"
I turned to see Jordan approaching, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Another middle-aged man walked beside him.
"Yeah," I replied with a smirk of my own.
Jordan gave me a once-over with his sharp, professional gaze before nodding in approval. "You look incredible. More than incredible, actually. Once this photoshoot is out, you’re going to set the swimwear industry on fire. Don’t you think so Alex?"
The man, now revealed as Alex, nodded in agreement. “You look great, young man.” Then he offered me a handshake. “I’m Alexander Moffat, the marketing head of Speedo in the States.”
“Thank you Alex,” I shook his hand. "It was a pain in the ass achieving this look." I joked. "But I’ve gotten used to all the hard work. Let’s just get this over with as soon as we can."
Jordan chuckled. "Bear with me and we’ll be done before you know it. Now, take your position by the pool, like you’re about to dive in. Don’t jump in yet, I want your hair dry for this part of the shoot."
Without a word, I moved into position. Benny, a member of Jordan’s small crew walked over to me with a spray bottle, and sprayed some water on my torso to give me slightly damp look. As soon as he was out of the shot, I took my initial pose and the photography commenced. I cycled through various poses, giving Jordan my best rugged, intense expressions as the camera clicked away. After shooting in multiple briefs and swim trunks on dry land, it was finally time to get in the water.
Thankfully, the pool was heated, making the experience much more comfortable. The process was similar—different poses, different strokes, different swimwear. But this time, I was actually in my element. Unlike most shoots, this one didn’t feel like work. It felt natural. Fun.
Time blurred as the session stretched on, and before I knew it, we were wrapping up. I climbed out of the pool after the final shot, quickly toweling myself dry.
I thought back to the dozens of swimsuits I had tried on, unable to hold back a small grin. One of the best perks of this job was the free clothes. Big sponsors like Speedo usually let models keep what they wore—especially intimate pieces like underwear and swimwear. At this point, my closet had enough underwear to last a lifetime if my size never changed. Even my collection of shirts and pants could easily last me years.
"Excellent work as always, Noah," Jordan said, grinning.
“Absolutely,” Alex, who had been a silent observer all throughout the photoshoot, said confidently. “I’m damn sure we’ll see a surge in our sales once we launch these photos. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“Thank you,” I nodded. "Just remember that as per my agreement, you can't use these photos for direct advertisement."
"Of course," he assured me.
I hated adding that clause to all my modeling gigs, but I had no choice. It was all because of the stifling rules that the Olympic committee likes to impose on its players. Models without such restrictions could earn twice what I was making. Luckily, the sponsors of this shoot weren't picky about that condition, and were still willing to pay me generously.
Alex didn’t stay long afterwards and left for his office. That’s when I realized that I was getting late for my workouts as well.
"If you’re free, how about grabbing a meal?” Jordan offered.
“I don’t know,” I said evasively. “I am late already.”
“My treat.”
Jordan knew I couldn’t resist a free meal. With how much I trained daily, I needed those extra calories. Plus, I loved eating out. "As long as it’s not McDonald's," I quipped playfully.
Jordan placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "What do you take me for? A cheapskate?"
I found it a little odd that, out of our five-person team, I was the only one Jordan had invited to lunch. Then again, I was also the only one who wasn’t a full-time employee. For the others, this was just another workday. For me, these kinds of shoots were rarer. Most gigs didn’t pay more than $500 a day—some even as low as $100.
But this one was special. A whopping $5,000 for half a day’s work. The reason? They had a very specific look in mind—young, lean, and ripped. You wouldn’t easily find people my age with a body like mine. That’s why I received the premium pay.
The restaurant Jordan chose was one of the more upscale spots in town. Fortunately, it wasn’t too crowded, so we got a table without needing a reservation.
“Here’s your check for the day.” Jordan slid an envelope across the table.
I took a quick glance inside, confirming the amount before tucking it into my wallet. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, waving it off. “We’re both benefiting from this, aren’t we?”
I nodded. “True.”
Just then, the waiter arrived with menus. Since Jordan was feeling generous, I ordered a full gourmet meal. After hours of posing in the pool, I was starving.
Once the waiter left, I leaned back and gave Jordan a knowing look. “Alright, so why’d you really invite me here?”
“Can’t I just be a nice guy?” he asked playfully. “Maybe I just want to build a better relationship with my top model?”
I raised a brow. “You know I’m heading to Harvard in September.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jordan waved a hand.
“Which means I won’t be modeling after that. Not for you. Not for anyone. Not when I’m more than 200 miles away. And on top of that, I need to start prepping for the 1980 Moscow Olympics.”
I had modified my original life plan after regaining my memories, but some things remained unchanged. I had always dreamed of competing in some international sports, like the Olympics. Now, with my supernatural advantage, there was no way I was missing it.
As for Harvard, my original goal had been to study economics or finance, but regaining my memories, I had a new ambition—to build a tech empire from scratch, without my past knowledge. So, instead of business, I had decided to pursue a degree in computer science. Between that and swimming, I wouldn’t have time for something as vain as modeling.
Jordan’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “I know all that. But that’s still eight or nine months away.”
I sighed. “What are you getting at?”
He leaned forward slightly. “How would you feel about auditioning for a film?”
That caught me off guard. “A film? What kind of film?”
Jordan smirked. “You remember that underwear shoot you did last year?”
I racked my brain, trying to figure out which shoot Jordan was talking about, until it clicked.
"Jockey? The annual calendar shoot with the eleven other guys? That one?"
Jordan nodded. "Yeah, that’s the one. A casting director saw those photos and called me yesterday specifically about you. They want to know if you’d be interested in auditioning for a Hollywood film."
I stared at him, momentarily stunned. A movie? Me?
I had no idea how to react. Should I even consider this? Or should I stay focused on my swimming career until my college?
"They’re planning to start filming in the next few months," Jordan continued, unfazed by my silence. "And let’s be real—you aren’t going to school anymore. I doubt doing a movie would be too difficult on your schedule. If things go well, you’d be done before summer even begins. Then you can kick back, enjoy the heat, and get ready for college."
I sat back, mulling it over. Acting had crossed my mind before—what model hasn’t thought about it at some point? But I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for it. And now, after regaining my memories, I knew I had zero acting experience. In my past life, I had never even been in a school play, let alone anything serious.
"What do you get out of this?" I asked after a beat.
Jordan exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "Have you ever done something for someone else without expecting anything in return?"
"Yeah," I said, shrugging. "Mostly for my family."
Jordan smiled. "I consider you my son, Noah."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
"I know how hard you work—for your family, for your own ambitions—and I love that about you," he continued. "No one would be prouder than me to see you succeed."
Guilt crept up my spine. Here I was, doubting his intentions, when he had always been one of the few people who truly had my back.
"I’m sorry, Jordan," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just—"
He held up a hand, cutting me off. "It’s fine. I get it."
A brief silence settled between us before he spoke again.
"So, about that movie—are you interested?"
I hesitated. "Do you really think I’d be any good at acting? I’ve never done it before."
"Then learn," Jordan said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’re smart. If you put your mind to it, you’ll pick it up fast. And you’ve already got confidence in front of a camera—that’s half the battle won."
He leaned forward, his expression serious now. "The real question is: do you want to do it? Because if you do, this could change your life. They’d pay you more than enough to cover all four years of college, even if you somehow lost your scholarship. You could finally replace that piece of junk you call a car. And if you’re smart about saving, you could even help put your siblings through school."
I swallowed hard, staring at the table. This wasn’t just a casual offer—it was an opportunity that could completely shift my future.
And the scary thing was… the more I thought about it, the more tempting it sounded.
Dad had never been a believer in college education. If it were up to him, I wouldn’t be heading to college this fall. He thought it was a waste of time—four years spent learning things that, in his mind, real life could teach better.
But Zach and Daisy deserved better.
If I wanted my siblings to have a future where they didn’t drown in student debt, I’d have to make sure they had the means to get through college. If doing one movie could secure that for them…
I exhaled slowly. "What do you know about the film?"
Jordan shrugged. "Not much. They just told me to put you in touch with them. All the details will come later—if they still want to move forward with you after an initial audition. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect they’re looking for someone good looking. That’s probably why they’re reaching out based on still photographs."
Then he leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Listen carefully, Noah. If you want this role, you’ll have to work for it. You have no experience. No connections in Hollywood. That means you’ll be starting from nothing. So unless you’re willing to put in the effort, don’t waste your time."
Before I could respond, the waiter arrived with our food. Plates were set in front of us, and for a few minutes, we ate in silence. But my mind was elsewhere.
The decision wasn’t difficult for me. I wanted to do this. And not just for my siblings’ future.
What 18-year-old wouldn’t want to feature in a Hollywood movie?
Even with another lifetime’s worth of memories buried in my head, I still considered myself a teenager. This was an opportunity most people would kill for. All I had to do was shoot one film. Then, in the fall, I could return to my normal life—college, swimming, everything I had planned.
I’d gain a unique experience. Make some serious money.
There was just one problem.
Doubt.
I had never failed at anything before in this second life. Academics, sports—whatever I applied myself to, I succeeded. Even in modeling, I had learned the ins and outs of photography and lighting from Jordan in just three years.
But acting?
That was completely uncharted territory.
And that uncertainty—that was what made me hesitate.
While my natural talents had always made me confident, deep down, I feared that acting might be the one thing I wasn’t innately good at.
Jordan believed they wanted someone good-looking, but that didn’t mean they’d cast me without any acting ability. Movies weren’t just about looking the part—I knew enough to be certain they’d put me through a camera test. I’d have to read lines, perform in front of professionals, and prove I belonged there.
And what if I wasn’t good at it?
That doubt gnawed at me—for all of five minutes.
Because honestly? So what if I wasn’t good?
I’d try my best. If it didn’t work out, I still had my Harvard degree to fall back on. And besides, I wasn’t even guaranteed a role yet. If I wanted it, I’d have to earn it.
And if there was one thing everyone agreed on about me, it was this: I never backed down from hard work.
"I want to do it," I said, this time with confidence.
Jordan’s face split into a smile. "Good. I’ll call Vic Ramos—the casting director—as soon as I’m back in my office and set up a meeting for you. Sound good?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Jordan," I said sincerely.
"You’re welcome." He paused for a moment, then asked casually, "So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?"
I shrugged. "Nothing much. I’ll train for a few hours. Hundred laps in the pool, then a hundred push-ups, sit-ups, burpees—you know, the usual."
Jordan blinked at me as if I’d just announced I was going to climb Everest for fun.
I ignored him and turned back to the real priority—finishing my meal.
Comments
TheLazyWarrior
I know.
June Soriano
the US along with 60 other countries boycotted the 1980 Olympics.
