Ashley's stilettos chattered on the tiles and she flapped her hands against the air for balance as she ran. She skidded into the boutique's front counter, splayed her fingers against it, and her over-size blue eyes widened to the point of grotesquery. "Lizabel, I may have got the part."
Lizabel didn't move a hair except to breathe the word, "Hush." She continued to lean on the counter like an elegant mannequin in autumn colors: chocolate skin, auburn hair, amber eyes. Those eyes had slid sideways, toward the doors to the Minor Surgery Spa, and a single vertical line marred the synth-skin between Lizabel's brows. A babble of high-pitched rage leaked from behind the lacquered doors.
"Lizabel!" Ashley gritted her teeth and writhed in frustration. Her bullet-shaped breasts and tiny waist made her look like the idealization of a pole dancer. "This could be the most important day of my life! Didn't you hear?"
"And can you not hear?" Lizabel pursed lips that were already swollen to mimic a pucker. "Mrs. Shienne is having a phone-fit at her lawyer in there."
Ashley straightened and frowned at the spa. "What about? I need time off this afternoon for my second audition."
Lizabel smiled. "She's disinheriting her son."
"Do you think she'll be in a good mood or bad when she's finished?"
Ronnie, the new VP of the children's division at WarnerFoxBC, turned off the video screen and faced the program's executive producer and pitchman.
"It's brilliant," she stated simply. "It's just what I was looking for, for our 7-10 year-old-girl demographic. The merchandising potential is through the roof here."
Only one thing was left. Ronnie knew she needed to get on the line to her broker and increase her stake in pharmaceuticals for plastic surgery for teens. God, this show was going to screw up a bunch of girls' body images. And that was a clear investment opportunity.
Oh, and antidepressants. Pre-teen Prozac. Maybe she could get Ashley's face imprinted on each pill?
Opening: Whitemouse.....Continuation: Pacatrue