Ella Sue’s Audition

“And who are you?” the receptionist asks, looking at me. “Not here for an audition too, are you?”

“I’m her personal aide,” I say, glancing at Ella Sue.

The receptionist nods, as if this were not unexpected.

“Dressing rooms are all along this corridor, you can take room seven. We’ll knock on the door when it’s your turn, should be between fifteen to thirty minutes. Only the actress will be allowed in the audition room,” the receptionist recites, and then he slides a key across the desk to Ella Sue.

She picks it up between her pointer and middle finger, flashes the receptionist a winning smile, and then heads down the corridor without so much as a word. I follow behind her, carrying her bags.

It’s a dimly lit corridor, long chunks of drywall separating each pale green door from the next. Door number seven is about halfway through the hall, but as Ella Sue stops to open the door, my attention is caught by the lone bodyguard standing at the end of the hall.

I tap her shoulder and say, “Door seventeen.”

She looks at me questioningly, but I’m already moving, and left with little other choice, she follows in my footsteps.

The bodyguard stands by door twenty. He doesn’t move as we approach, instead eyeing the two of us up. I give him a once over back, several things clicking into place in my head while Ella Sue fumbles with the key at door seventeen.

I don’t recognise the man, but that doesn’t matter. It’s that suit he’s wearing… a Huntsman, the Saville Row classic. Nobody in my family owns one. It’s too transparent of a statement. But to those in service of the family? Very different story. It’s practically uniform.

“It’s got to be door seven,” Ella Sue says, after failing to open the door for the third or fourth time. “This isn’t working.”

“Sure boss,” I shrug, lowering my voice an octave.

Moments later, I’m standing in dressing room seven, surrounded by half a dozen mirrors and Ella Sue, who has her arms folded over her chest.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” she asks.

I look off to the side, saying: “I thought that Tiffany might be in that room. The one with the bodyguard in front of it.”

Her blue eyes search my face for a few seconds, trying to find the lie that isn’t there. Then, she laughs.

“You’re silly,” she says. She digs through her bag and pulls out a makeup palette. “But I did like the whole personal aide act. It made me feel very important.”

“You are important, Ms. Fifteen-thousand Followers. Bet they’d all like to get a piece of this,” I say, squeezing her ass, and she laughs again, putting aside her thick brush.

“Maybe not so many of those, now that there’s a rumour floating around that I’m taken,” she says. “I would even say that they’re jealous of you, not that I’ve confirmed anything of course, but they do like to talk. I know you like to keep private. Except when it comes to Tiffany…”

“What are they saying? Do they have pictures? How do they know—was it the ponytail guy at IKEA?” I ask, trying to avoid the sense of cold panic rising in my chest.

“Whoa, whoa, I uh… yeah, I guess it was the ponytail guy? I think it started with him? But it’s mostly just speculation in the comments, they don’t know what you look like or anything,” she quickly says, knitting her eyebrows. “Really, don’t worry. Look um… if it really gets on your nerves, I can delete the comments talking about it? But then people might talk about that, so…”

“No, no, leave them up,” I say. “Just don’t… let them find out anything more than they know now, okay?”

Ella Sue slowly nods, looking somewhat disappointed.

“Okay, no worries,” she says. She picks up her makeup brush again, and begins applying her makeup again.

Minutes pass, and I find myself with little else to do other than preen in the mirror.

I’ve got on a khaki blazer and a light grey shirt, paired with dark blue jeans below. It’s just enough to look sharp without looking overdressed for the role. I lower my sunglasses, checking my face.

Sleeker, bolder, sexier… I like my new look, and I run my hand over the hint of stubble along my jawline. Satisfied, I resume standing by Ella Sue’s side, and silently finger the card in my pocket.

Any second now.

Ella Sue’s fixed her hair for just about the twentieth time when the knock finally comes. The receptionist from earlier unlocks the door, and motions for Ella Sue to come outside. I follow her out.

“Only Ms.—” the receptionist checks his clipboard “—Ms. Sergeant can enter the audition room.”

“I’m just stretching my legs,” I say, and nod my goodbye to the two of them as they head through the main foyer towards the audition room.

I walk the other way, towards dressing room twenty.

The bodyguard eyes me up again as I approach him. I meet his gaze with a full-toothed smile, trusting in Dr. Kee’s facial surgery to keep my safe.

“She’s not taking any unknown visitors,” the bodyguard says even before I come to a stop before him.

I pat him on the shoulder—good fabric—and draw the card from my pocket, passing it to him. I watch his eyes widen a fraction. The card is simple, but well crafted. A silver hunting dog imprinted on a black background.

This is the real test. Is Mr. Samuel still in Father’s good graces?

I don’t know.

The bodyguard wordlessly hands me back my card and opens the door, revealing a much more luxurious dressing room than the one I was in before.

Even dressed in a casual black tank top and designer jeans, Tiffany Najbreit is a sight to behold. Though her top would probably be described as modest by most, it still does little to hide her natural bustiness, the hint of her hourglass waist left uncovered enough to make a priest break his vows. She sits on her chair with one leg folded over another, giving me a side view of her magnificent ass, and then there’s her face…

Tiffany’s lips hold all the sultriness of a tropical beach, her dark eyes twin pools of brightness and charm. Somebody’s doing her jet black hair, but I don’t have time to take in those details, because she’s noticed that I’ve entered the room, and now her eyes are fixed on me.

“Oh hey, you looking for an autograph?” she asks, smiling a full smile just for me.

Then the bodyguard quickly walks up to her and whispers something in her ear. Tiffany’s eyes widen. Her hands fold, one atop the other. The bodyguard cocks his head at me.

Time to take initiative.

“I’d like a moment with Ms. Najbreit,” I say.

It’s true in more ways than one.

The hairdresser, the other bodyguard in the room, some kind of other assistant, all of them turn to Tiffany, looking at her expectantly. She thinks, weighing whatever the bodyguard told her with everything that Father has fed her over the years. I pray that that doesn’t include an indictment of Mr. Samuel. She takes a small breath, as if steeling herself, and then nods.

“Everybody, out, please. I’ll call you back in once we’re done discussing… matters.”

And just like that, they shuffle out of the room, leaving me alone with my step-sister, the most valuable actress in the world.