“Miss Mosely?” Mr. Slick got a stern look on his face as I sat there, arms crossed again.
“Just no,” I repeated. “To all of it.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Mr. Slick crossed his own arms over his chest, a chest that was covered in a nice suit instead of the ratty old T-shirt I was wearing. He crossed his ankle over one knee and leaned back, his shiny shoes not impressing me by even one tiny little bit. “We got you a burger and an agent so that we could iron out the deal, not so you could turn it down. Now what part is upsetting you so?”
There it was. That was the condescending crap I’d been expecting to rear its ugly little head. In all their bantering and negotiations, I’d learned the one thing that messed up the whole deal. I’d learned that even as an inmate, I owned the show. They owned the AIs but intellectual property of the show itself was a big deal in a world where AIs did almost everything else better than humans. Once I’d put my stamp on the show, I owned its copyright. They couldn’t even air it without my permission.
“I’m saying that I’d rather serve my term to completion than sign away any rights to the show,” I stated, enunciating clearly so he could tell I was serious.
“Do you think that’s wise?” Mr. Slick challenged me. “You’ve barely served a few weeks of your term and you want to serve the full two years?”
“Oh, no,” I sighed. “I don’t intend to serve that long at all. I only have to get to 2,000,000 viewers and that looks like it might be happening sooner rather than later.”
“It could flop tomorrow,” Mr. Slick warned and there was more to what he was saying that gave me chills at the chance I was taking.
But that was the hitch in my part of the deal. They owned me. Each concession they gave up, each perk or percentage, was balanced by an extra month here or year there onto my parole. And once they got to the bottom line of fine print, once I was released from my parole (which was in no way based on viewers, but rather only on time served), they owned the program. Every contract ended with me giving up my rights to the show. They could terminate my deal at any time, but I was locked into it. This is why it was never a good idea to do these meetings without a lawyer, which they’d never offered me, not even a Tom and Jerry version of one.
“It could,” I nodded. “I am really good at screwing things up, so I’m sure that’s a very real possibility.” I actually knew better. We weren’t going to flop. We were trending in a world where people lived to binge-watch Reality TV fads. And I had quite a few points in Trend Adhesion.
“You’re not sure, though, so tell me what I can offer that would make you sign on the bottom line,” Mr. Slick gave me another predatory smile.
“First, you’d have to do better than a sloppy burger and cheap shake,” I ticked off my points on my fingers and he laughed at the first one. “Second, I’d need 40% of the revenue, not profits.” His smile slipped slightly. “Third, the parole term would have to be a maximum of six months, not the four years you’ve worked it up to.”
Mr. Slick tilted his chin down and pretended to be annoyed with me, but I could tell that his type just loved the deal. The grittier the deal, the more they loved it.
“Anything else?” he clucked his tongue at me, and I was impressed and even more determined to keep my show. They’d sent a real shark after this deal and that meant I had something here. If he could see that I had one more shoe to drop, he was good. Really good.
“Finally, you’d have to strike the final addendum from the contract,” I let my smile reach my eyes and he leaned back to give me a nod.
“I’ll bet a lot of people underestimate you,” Mr. Slick said, eyes alight. “I take it that you’re adamant about that last point?” He knew. I was almost in love with how he’d played it all.
“Solid as steel on that one,” I admitted with a wink. For one second, he was almost in love with me too. I’d never known the rush of the deal like this. I sucked at Monopoly in all its forms. If you had to talk to someone, I was flunking that topic completely. I was thinking I was liking the new Janet.
“Escort her back to her program,” Mr. Slick told the guards with a smile. “Watch your back, Miss Mosely. Dr. Phendal will not be amused to have lost this commission.”
“Oh, no,” I shrugged as the guards nudged me off the chair and toward the door. “More torture at the hands of Dr. Psycho. Whatever shall I do?”
Mr. Slick shook his head with a slow smile. I could tell he wanted to say more but wouldn’t.
“Who knows?” I let the guards pull me by my arms from the room as if I was dead weight. I figured on making them work for it a little. “Maybe I’ll see you again in a few weeks when the show tops 2,000,000 viewers.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Don’t forget that you need a 4.0 rating in your reviews too, Miss Mosely,” and with that I realized how Dr. Fuckhead was going to screw with me next.
“Damn,” I hung my head comically, though where I got the nerve to flirt with the man as the guards dragged me through the door, I’ll never know. It wasn’t that he was pretty, but he kind of was. He was smart! Why couldn’t I meet guys like that in my world?
“Wait for me!” I hollered out from down the hallway, and I could have sworn I heard him laugh.
I was drowned in the liquid aloe-oxygen gel stuff, and I’ll spare you that part again. You’re welcome.
“Hey Grace,” I tried to shake off the unfiltered feeling of gel settling into and around my eyes and focus on the idea of looking at Grace in my vanity mirror.
“I was trying to warn you about the email you’d deleted, but I was too slow,” Grace gave me a concerned look. “I don’t know how you humans communicate at this speed and get anything done.”
“Me neither, Grace,” I smiled, letting the insult roll off my back. What was a little AI diss after that marathon con session with the man of my dreams? “We have some work to do folks.”
We’re happy to jump back into the fray, but shouldn’t we be a bit more concerned about the censors against our cooperation? the World AI joined the conversation and others joined in too. I could almost feel the departmental AIs circling around and I thought it might be the new points I went back to dribbling into my stats. I could sense them better. Maybe it was the Story Synthesis. Maybe it wasn’t the blind obedience stat I’d originally thought it was.
“I’m pretty sure it’s already as bad as it could get, so some horse trading isn’t going to do much more to what they can do to me,” I admitted, and told them most of what happened out there. I didn’t say it all because I didn’t want my knowledge on record for Dr. Psychobabble. I didn’t talk about what I’d figured out about the contracts, but I told them that I’d done something to totally piss off the doc to the point that he wasn’t going to hold anything back anymore.
It is an old adage indeed that says that a hopeless person has nothing to lose, the World AI commented at the end of my explanation.
“If I’m going to be punished anyway, I might as well earn it,” and I grunted over the word earn.
Tami let out a nervous laugh. Glenda gave me a lopsided smile.
“Fuck it, let’s do it,” Jean said, and we all cocked our heads at her. “What?”
“I thought you guys were programmed for PG?” I teased Jean, who raised an eyebrow at me like I was being silly.
“That’s onscreen, not back here,” she shrugged. “I have the responsibility to develop my character into something believable and as unique as I can make it.”
“Character development,” Tami nodded to her AI sister and gave Hex a pat. There was a meeting, but I ignored it to blink.
“So, who wants what?” I announced, spreading my hands over a mirror that expanded to include everyone’s wish lists.
I dribbled the last of my free stat points into stats as I fell back onto the white apartment’s bed, our off-air light still on. I had eight hours to sleep but my mind was whirling. Hex curled up into my hair, Kodo behind my legs and Podo onto my hip. My pets all had new spells and skills to play with and I was happy to see them happy. My character sheet looked a bit like this when I was done.
Actor Character Sheet
Name: Janet Mosely Level: 50 Exp: 3,371/25,000
CB – 50
DQ – 64
TA – 44
SS – 51
ER – 49
Skills: Acrobatic Stealth (7), Acting (61), Brand Insertion (11), Contract Negotiations (4), Hiding (11), Flavor Analysis (16), Lockpicking (2), Misbehaving (4), Misdirection (18), Safe Cracking (2), Stealing (6)
Backstage had gotten a huge upgrade due to the Producer AI adopting some of Jean’s attitude or maybe my new one. I’d turned down another personal upgrade and figured out how to refund my trailer for an extra 400 running xp that I’d spent on Props via two upgrades to the Producer AI. I’d had to spring for Pre and Post-Production’s upgrades, as well as the Special Effects department, who’d gone from trailer to studio status, whatever that meant, since there wasn’t a real trailer. They promised me some spiffy stuff.
We had a marketing department that not only took advertising on our show out of Pre-production’s hands, but also marketing for our show off Post-Production’s plate. That had automatically freed up so much workability for Pre and Post Production that they’d forgone their upgrades this round in order for the sound studio to gain a full 101 instruments and 23 sound effects. Our next upgrade was queued up for 1001 sound effects, but we had to wait for it because I’d spent a whopping half of my budget on upgrading the World AI.
I’d gotten myself an assistant and immediately upgraded it. I needed the Tyrone upgraded because then my assistant could not only filter and sort all my emails, but also give me constant up-to-date alarms for anything hinky going on with our viewer count or reviews. Dr. Psychobabble was coming after me and I’d need Tyrone to catch it as it was happening so that we could respond the right way. The fact that Tyrone looked a little like Mr. Slick was no coincidence and it goaded me to work smarter and harder to beat them all. Grace had been granted her own assistant by the World AI. This offloaded Grace’s research skill into its own entity.
Tyrone was also very skilled at a backrub, which is why it was baffling why I couldn’t just drop off into sleep. Instead, I stared up into the chandelier that the props department had changed to compliment Hex’s eyes instead of the spooky red and white stuff we’d done before. I refused to feel like a kid waiting for Dad to come home. The only reason that Asshole had control over me was a travesty of justice, not merit or any authority I recognized. He could torture me, but he couldn’t punish me.
I’d have tossed and turned, but I didn’t want to dislodge my little pile of pets, which was silly because they were there because they wanted to support me. Trying to remember that I was a rebel and that they wouldn’t mind, I forced myself to roll over and nearly laughed out loud when Hex cracked one eye open long enough to levitate them all while I adjusted. What was it about me that I waited there, with a chuckle stuck in my chest, just long enough to seem to naturally turn over again? I’d just wanted to see it again.
Hex gave me a twitch of a whisker, which was the equivalent of rolling on the floor laughing for her, and then settled back comfortably in my hair. I did it again. Of course, I did. The only change came with my fourth turn. Podo sidled up into my arms instead of on my hip. I thought I’d do it again, just once more, but I fell asleep first.