Teen Idols And Happy Meals

Martinis and Mobs

Jacen’s POV

“Oh yeah, that’s it! That’s it!”

Unfortunately, it’s not what it sounds like. Believe it or not, though you really should believe it, there is a considerable amount of overlap between sex and modeling. First off, you’re usually naked, despite the fact that it’s not required. Secondly, you have to move around in ways you would not normally move while people, sometimes even strangers, judge you. And lastly, alcohol is often needed to help swallow your pride and just do the thing.

Now, tell me that doesn’t sound exactly like sex.

“You look perfect,” gushed the photographer, an artificial redhead with hipster glasses named Penelope. I guess any scene girl with a camera can become a photographer. Go figure. “Seriously, you look fantastic. Except, just one thing, makeup? Can we get some more oil on his chest?”

I snorted. “Any more and you’ll be able to fry chicken off my pecks.”

“There’s no such thing as too much oil,” recited the photographer chick with a raised finger, as if she was a lecturing professor. “Shiny equals sexy and sexy is what we aim for.”

I rolled my eyes as a shapely Spanish girl from the makeup department strutted over in massive heels to rub more oil on my chest. “That’s great but all I’m saying is that when somebody gets permanently blinded by the glare coming off my chest – that’s all on you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Penelope, tinkering with her camera. “Alright, now he’s perfect, but where the hell is my leading lady?”

“Right here Penny!” came a familiar, high pitched chipmunk voice.
“Oh dear God,” I moaned.

Dread continued to fill me as I watched a familiar set of tits bounce into the room. And attached to those was a whole girl, and that was the part I had a problem with. Molly North; my old co-star, ex-girlfriend, and rumored baby mama all in one. 

“Molly?” I choked, strangely thankful that that useless set assistant was taking an eternity to get my frappe. Had I been drinking anything at the moment, I probably would’ve sprayed it spit-take style. “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Monica?”

“Nobody’s been able to get a hold of her,” Penelope explained without looking at me as she replaced the lens of her camera.

“Still?” I demanded, shocked. Monica had been MIA for the past three weeks. She was infamous for running off to Cabo or Aruba on a whim, but this was getting ridiculous. Shooting for the movie was already seriously backed up thanks to her disappearance, and now this. What was supposed to be an easy photo shoot for a magazine feature was now turning into another rerun of the crazy ex parade.

“Looks like it. She must be on holiday,” piped the tanned, chestnut brunette in her Mary Poppins’ accent as she strutted over in her skimpy bikini. “So they called me. Isn’t that fantastic? It’ll be just like old times!”

“Oh, so you’re planning on blowing me in a supply closet?” I quipped dismissively. Molly and I had ended on better terms than say, Rosalyn and I, but I still found her immensely irritating.

“Jace!” she admonished me playfully, mouth gaping familiarly as she smacked me on the arm with all the force of a raging kitten. “You’re embarrassing me!” She didn’t sound particularly embarrassed. In fact, she looked rather pleased with herself. She was practically purring as she eyed the other females in the room smugly.

“Well that was my intent,” I mumbled, looking everywhere but at her. Fortunately, I caught sight of the squirrelly set assistant tripping over himself as he rushed over.