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Next Scene: 15 - The Mean Girls
Previous Scene: 13 - Julie

I stared after Julie, wondering if she was, in fact, a sociopath.

"Jessica! Jessica, Jessica!" called a somewhat shrill voice. This was followed by the frantic, high-speed clicking sound of somebody walking too fast in heels.

I turned to find Sharon power-walking toward me at top speed. Her face wore a manic grin.

"That was...that was, wow, Jessica. That was just...that was something!" Sharon was Dazzle's head creative agent. You'd think she'd be better at sentences.

I smiled. "It was definitely something, Sharon. Not really what I was planning, but..."

"Oh my god, it was amazing though! They absolutely hate you! And the whole Witch thing! I mean, you know, at first I thought it was a bit...I don't know, a little trite, cliché, 4th-grade-level or whatever, but man, they ate it up!"

I simply nodded, hoping my clenched teeth could be mistaken for a smile.

"So, you know, I say we go all-in with it! I talked to Bob, he swears he can make you a cauldron in time for next week's show, and I found a hat that would..."

"Sharon," I interrupted calmly, placing my hand on her shoulder. "We discussed this."

"I know, but..."

"Sharon," I said slightly more forcefully. "I am not...wearing...a fucking...hat."

She hesitated for a few seconds and then let out an overly-loud burst of nervous laughter. "Right! Right, of course! Sorry, right, you were very clear on that. So, ummmm. No hat."

"And no cauldron."

She looked as though I had just drowned her puppy. "But...but we..." she took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, I can get through this..."

"So Sharon," I said, eager to change the subject. "Am I fighting next week? You did promise me...how did you put it, 'loads and loads and loads' of air-time?"

"Hmmmmm?" She was looking away, clearly distracted by thoughts of cauldrons. "Oh....oh! Yes, darling, of course you're fighting next week. You're also fighting tomorrow. And Thursday. Off the air, of course."

I raised an eyebrow. "Three matches in four days? Isn't that a bit much?"

"Oh, they'll be quickies, I promise." She waved her hand dismissively. "But we do have bills to pay, and more importantly, we need to get your name out there! Speaking of which, have you met any of the other fighters? I mean, other than the one you just punched in the crotch?"

"Just Julie," I replied, looking away.

"Ah. Julie. Julie's a bit...hmmmmmm. Julie is..." her eyes danced as she searched for the perfect way to describe Julie. "Terrifying. She is absolutely, fucking terrifying. Not sure if you picked up on, ummmmm, on that dynamic."

"Really?" I replied. "I thought she was a sweetie."

"A swee...ah! Ah, it's a joke! You're joking. Of course! Okay, well that was funny, seriously funny, but I have to run, like yesterday. You know, matches to book, stories to write...cauldrons to cancel..." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly for a moment.

"Okay, Sharon, I guess I'll..."

"Right, byeeeee!!!" she called out, already clicking her way down the hall at break-neck pace.

"I would not want that job," I thought to myself.

Description
Next Scene: 15 - The Mean Girls
Previous Scene: 13 - Julie

I stared after Julie, wondering if she was, in fact, a sociopath.

"Jessica! Jessica, Jessica!" called a somewhat shrill voice. This was followed by the frantic, high-speed clicking sound of somebody walking too fast in heels.

I turned to find Sharon power-walking toward me at top speed. Her face wore a manic grin.

"That was...that was, wow, Jessica. That was just...that was something!" Sharon was Dazzle's head creative agent. You'd think she'd be better at sentences.

I smiled. "It was definitely something, Sharon. Not really what I was planning, but..."

"Oh my god, it was amazing though! They absolutely hate you! And the whole Witch thing! I mean, you know, at first I thought it was a bit...I don't know, a little trite, cliché, 4th-grade-level or whatever, but man, they ate it up!"

I simply nodded, hoping my clenched teeth could be mistaken for a smile.

"So, you know, I say we go all-in with it! I talked to Bob, he swears he can make you a cauldron in time for next week's show, and I found a hat that would..."

"Sharon," I interrupted calmly, placing my hand on her shoulder. "We discussed this."

"I know, but..."

"Sharon," I said slightly more forcefully. "I am not...wearing...a fucking...hat."

She hesitated for a few seconds and then let out an overly-loud burst of nervous laughter. "Right! Right, of course! Sorry, right, you were very clear on that. So, ummmm. No hat."

"And no cauldron."

She looked as though I had just drowned her puppy. "But...but we..." she took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, I can get through this..."

"So Sharon," I said, eager to change the subject. "Am I fighting next week? You did promise me...how did you put it, 'loads and loads and loads' of air-time?"

"Hmmmmm?" She was looking away, clearly distracted by thoughts of cauldrons. "Oh....oh! Yes, darling, of course you're fighting next week. You're also fighting tomorrow. And Thursday. Off the air, of course."

I raised an eyebrow. "Three matches in four days? Isn't that a bit much?"

"Oh, they'll be quickies, I promise." She waved her hand dismissively. "But we do have bills to pay, and more importantly, we need to get your name out there! Speaking of which, have you met any of the other fighters? I mean, other than the one you just punched in the crotch?"

"Just Julie," I replied, looking away.

"Ah. Julie. Julie's a bit...hmmmmmm. Julie is..." her eyes danced as she searched for the perfect way to describe Julie. "Terrifying. She is absolutely, fucking terrifying. Not sure if you picked up on, ummmmm, on that dynamic."

"Really?" I replied. "I thought she was a sweetie."

"A swee...ah! Ah, it's a joke! You're joking. Of course! Okay, well that was funny, seriously funny, but I have to run, like yesterday. You know, matches to book, stories to write...cauldrons to cancel..." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly for a moment.

"Okay, Sharon, I guess I'll..."

"Right, byeeeee!!!" she called out, already clicking her way down the hall at break-neck pace.

"I would not want that job," I thought to myself.