The music filtered out of the ballroom and competed with the surf sounds as Joe sat in the sand surrounded by piles of floofy ball gown that he’d bunched up around his knees. Was it weird that Glenda’s rehearsal ball was a gender-swapping/cross-dressing gala? Joe wasn’t going to question anything Glenda decided to do after seeing the blackmail pictures, but he wasn’t so insecure that flouncing around in a ball gown was going to throw him for a loop either. Every half hour their clothes magically changed gender. He was currently in the ball gown and wig worthy of Bridgerton. Not only did the gender change, but the theme changed every hour as well. The life-sized Eiffel Tower in the “garden” had been a huge hit, considering that the ball room had turned into an open square depicting a 1889 Exposition Universelle where they’d unveiled the majestic landmark. Joe had liked the steampunk attire of that hour, but when they’d gotten to the Southern American Revolutionary theme, he’d bowed out for a break.

There was a huge bowl of unchilling bacon-truffle ice cream next to him, and he was sucking on the chocolate-infused candied apple spoon that had come with it. Together, it had been more decadent than he could have imagined. The rehearsal had been rehearsal-y, the dinner had been utterly divine, and the ball was... well, Glenda knew how to throw a party, and the conga line was half conga and half cupid shuffle and had lasted for a whole hour during a 1950’s rainbow of guaybera shirts and tropical prints. The male version had been fun, but trying to conga on platform sandals gave Joe a reason to tap the rum barrels and that had just made him sick.

Mr. Glenda was something out of a Hallmark Christmas romance that made Joe think they were doing a crossover episode with bingo cards and everything. He was into everything Glenda, dancing with her almost exclusively the whole night except when the two sneaked away for a few kisses. And this was just the rehearsal. When they did all this again the next day, Joe was sure everyone would be ready except him.

Joe had gotten an influx of 700 xp for doing all the wedding prep chores. Hell, he’d gotten 50 xp per dance with the beautiful heiresses and a few beautiful boys at the ball in their tuxes or dresses and perfect steps. He’d begged off after 250 xp of that. The other 450 xp had just been for showing up and standing where he was supposed to stand for scenes. He felt more like a cardboard cutout than a person. If he’d danced all night, he might have leveled again. Joe was pretty sure he had leveled, but it was so hard to keep up with how much when he couldn’t see his character sheet out here. All he knew was that his display had changed and become more dynamic before he’d begged off his latest dance partner and headed for the sand. That must have meant that he’d leveled up. He knew that he should have gone right back in there and danced the night away, racking up the exciting experience points, but there was only so much smiling through champagne and caviar that he could do before he just needed a break.

So, why was he, the supposed star of the show, sitting out here in the sand? Joe hadn’t stopped being an introvert just because he’d spent a week on reality TV. Hex lay curled up between his legs in a nest of moonlight-touched, pale-yellow taffeta, but the ferrets had been hanging from the chandeliers in the ballroom the last he’d seen of them. Joe idly stroked Hex's fur with one hand, propped up on his other hand and sucking on the slightly mint-flavored stick that was at the base of his apple-y spoon. Tam had called it a palate cleanser. The moon glittered on the little waves, and Joe basked in the almost-silence. He was just hoping they’d filled enough reels for the next episode for him to take a little break and get some good rest. If he looked up, between the moon and the waves, he could see what he thought was his room in that wing that was stretched out over the ocean, but it looked far enough away that he considered sleeping here in the sand instead of finding his way all the way back up there.

“And here I thought I’d be the only one escaping the thrills for the quiet,” came a quiet, feminine voice behind him. The solitude had been so soothing that he resented any intrusion. Joe swore the next upgrade he was giving himself was a room where he could lock his door and be alone for five freaking minutes.

He twisted to look as Hex scampered up his arm and into the hair of his southern belle wig as if on some cue that he didn’t recognize. He was ready to be snarly, but there stood Venus de Milo, decked out in a tux with the pants rolled up over her bare ankles, shiny black shoes dangling from two fingers, one sock toe dangling out. In her other hand, she held her jacket by one little finger over her shoulder. Her tie was as casually loose as her sandy-blonde hair tied up in a manbun, and her shirt was unbuttoned enough to glimpse ample evidence of her femininity. Joe was torn. Did he drool? Not until his eyes got snagged by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Dear gawd, were those dimples at the edges of that devilish smile? Hex started kneading in his hair with just enough claws to snap him out of his gawping before he totally embarrassed himself.

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“Introvert break,” Joe admitted, with what he hoped was a self-deprecating smile. In his mind, he was thinking, she was sweet and cute as could be, but then again, he wasn’t some Sandra Dee, and he didn’t need some gorgeous woman to make him feel like a man.

“Guilty,” her smile broadened slowly, and yep, that was a stomach-dropping dimple on that perfect cheek. Joe's introvert warred with his desperately squelched romantic side. “Glenda’s bashes are a blast, but if I don’t go out at the halfway point, it’s impossible to enjoy it.” Was she thinking Joe was crazy to be out here in the sand? Was Joe crazy to be dazzled by a goddess in a tux? He wouldn’t be the first. He wouldn’t be the last.

“I don’t think you made it to the halfway point,” Joe warned her, steeling his nerves to not let his voice quiver like some dopey Hallmark-guy. “I have it on good authority that she’s pushing this one all night long.”

“Makes me want to go swimming instead,” she gave Joe a flirtatious look. “Get out in the waves. Splash around.”

“You’d go back to the ball all wet?” Joe tried to be reasonable, ignoring that flirtation because women like her didn’t flirt with guys like Joe.

“Maybe you’re right, but we don’t have to get our clothes wet, if you know what I mean,” she suggested. Wait, really? In Joe's mind, he did that look-behind-you thing, thinking she must be talking to someone else. Then again, Joe was the star of the show, supposedly. Was she here for Joe? Were they bucking for a romance angle here?

“Ten o’clock and I’m back in there dancing,” Joe told her, not sure what plotline they were working toward. He was just itching for a costume change that would put him back in his tux. His display said he had about ten minutes to go.

“You’re kidding,” her smile slipped a bit and so did Joe's stomach. Steady, man.

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“Nope,” Joe said on a sigh. “I’m with the chef and mimosa breakfast is scheduled for 4 am, followed by super-sleep enhancements so we can all be pert and perky for the wedding’s 11 am wake-up call.”

“Pert and perky,” she echoed Joe's words, laughing around them. “Tell me more.”

“Her words, not mine,” Joe commiserated as she slumped to the ground next to Joe, her hand very close to where Joe's hand was bunched up in his sandy skirt.

“With the chef, huh?” she probed, dropping her shoes and jacket in the sand casually. Did women like this have to practice moves like that? Even with practice, Joe would have flubbed it.

“Guilty,” Joe said, scooting his taffeta out of the way as she was close enough for Joe to smell her midnight flowers perfume. Just as Joe went to brush off some sand, her hand reached for Joe's. It was like a fast-forward summer romance. Joe busied his hands in his skirt, thinking he wasn’t that kind of guy.

“I’m going to need longer than a ten-minute break, then,” she turned her head toward Joe and smiled. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” Joe said, almost automatically, though she’d already invited herself. Joe was feeling that tug of mindlessness that comes from being the nerd noticed by the cheerleader.

“AND CUT!” scrolled across Joe's vision. The off-air light went on, and the red door appeared.

“That was great,” the mystery woman was still smiling at Joe, and he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. “Sorry for the interruption. I didn’t know they’d try to work me into the script.”

“I’m sorry?” Joe asked, his confusion only intensified as Hex took that moment to hiss at the woman sitting next to him in the sand. That feeling in Joe's gut was going quickly from giddy to gurgle.

“You should probably head into the green room and work on your stats,” she motioned to the door. “You’ve reached level 10. Congratulations.”

“Who are you?” Joe asked, knowing that the answer would ruin everything but having to ask anyway.

“I’m your new agent if you want me,” she gave that sparkling smile with the perfect dimples. And there it was… the other shoe that came to kick Joe's ass.

“Another AI?” Joe asked, realizing that he should have taken a cue from Hex.

“No,” she laughed out. “I’m a real person. My name is Sandra.”

Of course it was. Joe raised an eyebrow at her and drew back a bit. He hadn’t followed anyone’s directions to get up and go to the red door. Joe wasn’t really a following directions kind of person anymore. In this place, it was hard to feel like a person and not just a cog in the machine, but for one stupid moment, Joe had felt not only like a person but a man. The gurgle in his stomach settled into a small pit, but it was growing.

“Well, this is an avatar,” Sandra admitted, running her hands down her luscious curves like it excited herself. The gurgle-lump mixed with Joe's rising anger. Joe wasn’t just mad at her, but she made for such a pretty target. “But I’m a real person behind the screens. I was given access to your program for a modest fee to try to recruit you into my talent pool.”

She said it like it wasn’t a slap in the face. Joe kept his emotions under wraps, at least on the surface. Now Joe was ready to get up and head to the red door. He pushed up out of the sand in an ungraceful scramble and wadded up his cloud of taffeta in one arm as he marched to the red door. Ms. Venus de Milo Avatar pushed up to follow Joe, so he walked faster.

“We could still be friends,” Sandra called out to Joe as she followed on his heels. Did that really work on people? Well, it wasn’t working on Joe. He had no illusion that Sandra wanted to be friends. She seemed much more like a pimp than a friend.

“Grace, can you lock that door to Ms. Venus de Milo’s avatar?” Joe asked her before the door even closed all the way on Sandra’s startled face. The fact that she had the nerve to be startled just added fuel to Joe's fire. Even if Joe did decide he wanted an agent, it would not be this guttersnipe.

“Sure thing, Honey,” Grace told Joe as he strode toward his mirror. Thank the AIs Joe's taffeta had been replaced with his normal jeans and a T-shirt now that he was backstage. He didn’t even have to dust the sand off of where it gets into everything. There were some serious perks to this immersive VR stuff. As far as Joe was concerned, it was the only way to visit the beach. Seriously, no sand anywhere.

“You’re going to want an agent before – “ Sandra was saying as the door snapped closed on her foot. It wasn’t like it was a real foot. It didn’t get chopped off or anything, but she didn’t get in the door. And like the irritating sand, the walking toothpaste commercial was gone as efficiently as the sand had been. If this had been the real world, Joe would have been tapping sand out of his sneakers two weeks from now, but as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, Hex hopping down, there wasn’t a speck of sand or Sandra left.

Now that Joe had lost the bundle of taffeta, he felt like he could breathe again. It also helped that the person was gone. Yeah, okay, maybe AIs weren’t going to understand how Joe was thrown by a real person walking in on a set where he’d been getting used to the fact that he was actually pretty much alone. To have that upended without warning had old Joe poking his head up out of his box to yap like some terrier with more fluff than teeth. Joe shoved him back in the box and pulled up his big-dog pants.

“Agent?” Joe demanded. “That was a real person?” Oh, my gawds! A real person. Joe's mind finally caught up to the fact that he’d seen a real person inside the VR. Yes, he knew, he’d seen the shrink in the real world only… good grief, was that this morning? Seriously? Shrinks didn’t count anyway. They stopped being people when they were taught to ignore their emotions so they could help other people through theirs. Joe was going to have to add agents to that category of not counting as people too. Then again, it was only one person. They couldn’t all be that bad. It was just that she hadn’t seemed any more genuine than Grace or the World AI. What did that say about Joe? Half of him had been enjoying being seduced by a pretty face, and the other half had been worried that he was being thrust into a love arc. None of Joe had been ready for a sales pitch with dimples.

“Well, yes,” Grace admitted, but she was confused by Joe's attitude. “We’ll need to negotiate contracts with channels, and while I have the capacity to help you, the Endangered Jobs Act requires that we allow for agents to vie for that privilege.”

The Endangered Jobs Act. The moo-verse herded into the polls on another “cause” when AIs had more jobs than humans. Was it the fault of the AIs who were given all those jobs that humans supposedly didn’t want anyway? Or was it the fault of the moo-verse that didn’t want those jobs? It didn’t matter once Polly Homemaker decided that she couldn’t feed her kids because she couldn’t even get a job as a hooker anymore. Was she really expected to live on government subsistence (which was more than Joe made at his previous job) since she had four kids? NO! The moo-verse was called in with pretty pictures of chubby little starving children. Why weren’t they being fed in school, like the other kids due to the Feed the Future campaign (which Joe had to admit had seemed like a very good idea until corporate America had decided to outsource the food prep of school meals to McDonalds, who had then introduced boiled pizza packs—don’t ask, don’t tell was the motto of that food choice for balanced meals)? The children weren’t eating at school because they were homeschooled by Polly the Ex-prostitute who used the subsistence money on her boyfriend Stew. None of that came out in the Scandal papers until after the Endangered Jobs Act had been enacted, and by then it was too late. AIs had been banned from any job that had authority over real people, except for prisoners who had no rights as people anyway.

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“We’ve locked the door to agents, but they will be forming a queue,” Grace said.

“Let’s go over stats, Grace,” Joe looked into the menus and focused on what he could control. “I don’t want to talk to anyone until I know all my options.” While that’s what he said, Joe wasn’t looking at his stats. He had his head buried in his arms on his dressing room vanity. Just when he’d thought he was getting the hang of things, it blew totally out of control again. Had anyone even tested this system of “rehabilitation” before it was enacted by the moo-verse? How many systems were there like this? How much was so broken that real people didn’t count anymore and wasn’t there anything anyone could do about it?