The Agent

Thomas Valenti's office was small, cramped, and worst of all, shared.

There was barely enough room for the two desks the room contained. His coworker's desk was pushed against the far wall, but Thomas had his desk sitting in the middle of the room so he could sit with his back to the wall. It gave him less space, but he hated the feeling that someone was looking over his shoulder. Unfortunately, this meant that his coworker, Robert West, and his desk were always in his direct field of view. Robert's desk was littered with knickknacks, little models and fake props from some of his favorite movies. Thomas could understand having trophies from movies your clients had worked on, or if the props were real production items, but this garbage was neither. It made Robert look deeply unserious to have what were effectively toys strewn across his desk. The only ornamentation Thomas kept in his work area were photos with A-listers from the couple of Hollywood parties he'd been invited to.

Thomas was trying to focus on his work, but he could hear his coworker quietly humming the Indiana Jones theme to himself. Thomas glared at the back of Robert's head. With his short brown hair parted to the side and cheap suit, the man looked more like an accountant or middle-school teacher then a Hollywood agent. Sure, neither man's client list was especially prestigious, but at least Thomas looked the part. He worked out frequently to stay in shape, and he'd spent not a inconsiderable amount of money to get his collection of Armani suits tailored to fit his 6' frame perfectly. His dress shoes were always brushed and polished to a shine, and he saw a barber every other week to keep his black undercut hair neat and trimmed.

The one upside to his office was that it did have a window, which at least put it a step above the cubicle he'd been stuck in for the first couple years he had worked at the IGI Talent Agency. He'd spent two years in that cubicle slogging through piles of insipid screenplays, headshots of hopeful nobodies, and hours of excruciating audition reels all so the “real” agents wouldn't have to. Then finally, finally, the Agency had seen fit to trust him with actual clients. Admittedly, those clients were still nobodies, but actual clients all the same.

He'd been ecstatic at first. Of course he knew the Agency wouldn't give him any of their VIP clients right off the bat, but he figured that would just give him something to work towards. If he could get just one major gig, one big break-out role for just one of his clients, surely that would get him moving on up to the big leagues. His hopes dried up quickly the first time he went through his client list and touched base with each of them. His client list turned out to be a hodge-podge of no-names trying to break into the film industry and washed-up has-beens the business had left behind. There were a handful of gems, but by and large it was list of losers. It was so bad he had put together a presentation, arguing to his boss that the Agency would be better off just cutting these people loose, but that had gone nowhere.

And so, Thomas found himself on this sunny California spring day glowering at the back of his coworkers' head, when he should have been looking through casting calls. Robert's humming was mercifully interrupted by his cell phone ringing. Thomas' heart did a little flip. Robert usually would step out of the tiny office if the call was on his cell phone and sure enough, Robert was standing up to leave. On his way out, he clumsily ran into the corner of Thomas' desk. Thomas couldn't mask his glare fast enough, but Robert didn't meet his gaze. He just mouthed a silent “sorry” and slipped out the door. Thomas turned back to his computer screen and the list of casting calls. After aimlessly perusing it for several minutes, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his blue eyes. He wasn't having much luck today. At least he had the office to himself for now. He turned and gazed out at the parking lot wistfully. One of the company's more senior agents had just bought a new Ferrari, and the cherry red car was sitting in the parking spot right next to Thomas' green BMW. His envious reverie was suddenly interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing.

“Tom Valenti, IGI Talent,” he answered, trying to sound both sharp yet relaxed.

“Yes, Mr. Valenti? Someone gave me your name and said you might be able to assist me.” The feminine voice was nearly a purr. Tom's ears perked up. The accent was strangely familiar, but he couldn't quite seem to place it. Whoever she was, she sounded hot.

“Well, what can I help you with Ms...?

“Ava.”

“Ava...?”

“Just Ava dear, I'm calling on behalf of Double H Productions.”

“Uh huh...” Tom was beginning to grow doubtful. A woman with no last name claiming to represent a production company he'd never heard of? This was either a scam or some crazy lady. But before he could hang up, the voice continued.

“We're about to start production of a new reality dating show, and we're looking for representation.”

That was all Thomas needed to hear. Some crazy lady had managed to get hold of an agent's number, and thought they could skip all the normal channels to pitch their mad idea. He sighed heavily.

“Ma'am, I can transfer you to our Television division, but they normally don't take cold calls. Now you can lea-”

“Oh no Thomas,” the voice interrupted. “I wanted to call and extend this offer to you specifically. You see, we're looking for an agent that can give us their undivided attention and their discretion. You see, not only are we looking for representation for the show itself, but we’re also looking to fill several roles both on camera and off. We’d prefer to run that all through one agent so we can keep our cards close to our chest. I can absolutely assure you we can make it worth your while,” the voice almost teased.

Thomas knew that as a junior agent of the company he should transfer the call, if not just hang up completely. But as the woman spoke, his eyes wandered out across the parking lot to the cherry red Ferrari parked next to his drab green BMW.

“Ok, I'm listening...”