Marissa held her phone in her hand, double-checking the map.
“This is the place,” she confirmed. She sighed as she looked at the rickety steps leading up to the front door. The wood was broken and splintered. It didn’t look safe for someone nimble, and it sure didn’t look safe for someone of her size.
What if she stepped on the step, and the wood snapped, and she fell through? Where was the bottom? Was it right there, or was there a pit beneath?
She wouldn’t be surprised about a pit.
At all.
The house itself looked like a wooden fire hazard nightmare. The rickety steps were just the beginning. The porch sagged, and the front door looked like it was barely hanging on the hinges.
Who knew what lay on the other side?
She considered turning around, but damn, she needed the work.
Though she wasn’t quite sure what the work actually was.
The front door creaked open. She expected to see someone greeting her, someone who had been watching her no doubt as she vacillated. But there was no one there.
She looked again at the steep, broken stairs.
Did she dare?
There was no handrail. She wasn’t sure if she could make it.
Marissa took a deep breath. They promised $100. She needed the money so badly. She could take half and put it in the casino game, and the other half she’d stash for rent.
The ad was ambiguous. But there had actually been comments under it that indicated that this wasn’t a fly-by-night.
Or maybe it was.
Are you fifty to one hundred pounds overweight? Would you like to make some extra money just being you? No diets, no exercise, no weight loss. This is real life, baby. How real are YOU? Click here for more information.
Marissa had clicked, which only led to a popup email. She hated emailing for information about anything anywhere. She liked to check up on things a bit first, whether it was for a job or renting an apartment or anything else.
The email she received on a fake account she used for just such dubious tasks sounded a bit weird, a bit enticing. She was intrigued and not sure what kind of scam it might be.
“Thank you for your inquiry to Slices of Life Productions. We are a world-renowned entertainment company who produces and packages acts from around the world for various social media platforms. We are always on the lookout for new and varied talents for our many shows.
This opportunity pays $500 for five hours of your time. You must sign a waiver that you agree to be filmed for broadcast plus a non-disclosure agreement. Please send back your measurements so our seamstress can create a costume for you. This is a one-time session. This is legal work. Once completed successfully, you will be added to our roster of talent should you wish to pursue any further opportunities with us. Please respond ASAP with your measurements according to the attached chart. We will send you the time and location. Locations vary for ambiance and are rarely the same. Contact us immediately if you are no longer interested.”
Marissa had read the email several times over the next hour. Was it really so easy to make $500 in one day? It claimed to be legal work. Was it porn?
Could she do porn?
She knew there was a niche for girls her size, so it wasn’t an outrageous consideration. But the ad had said it wasn’t porn. A commercial? Maybe one of those weird foreign commercials?
There was only one way to find out.
And now, here she was, standing in front of a creepy old house with a door that had just swung open.
As Marissa considered the stairs again, a beautiful blond woman with trendy giant pouty lips and cat eyes appeared in the doorway with a cigarette. She studied Marissa as she took a puff. She batted her large eyelashes, surveying Marissa up and down.
For a moment, Marissa thought it might be Lonny Meow, but this woman was much lighter in complexion than Lonny. However, the plastic faces were almost the same.
It was so weird how many had jumped on the plastic surgery train; how many women and men didn’t believe in their own beauty anymore? Sure, some older people could use a bit of rejuvenation, but the giant fish lips and giant butts were a very weird trend. As if everyone had to have giant cushioned orifices to attract the opposite sex, or the same sex, or any sex.
“You must be Marissa?” the woman said as she stood at the top of the stairs.
Marissa frowned. She didn’t think that she’d used her real name. How did this woman, this person, know who she was?
“Oh, don’t be alarmed. We do deep background checks on everyone. Can’t be too careful these days.”
“Huh.”
“My name is Bonita. At least, that’s what they call me at this gig. And that’s who I am. I’m one of the producers for Slices of Life.”
“Oh!” Marissa was deeply nervous. Bonita looked very Hollywood, her perfume, hairspray, and makeup all wafting from her in a citrusy vanilla haze with a touch of … Marissa wasn’t sure since she wasn’t into fancy fragrances. Bonita was definitely a fancy-fragrant person. Designer clothes clung to her shapely, very shapely body, along with designer shoes that added another four inches of height to a body that was already at least six feet.
“Are you worried about the stairs?” Bonita asked.
Marissa nodded.
“So was I. I thought these heels were going to smash right through those crappy old planks. Good news, there’s a side entrance. That’s the one I used. And we’re shooting in the basement.”
Relief flooded through Marissa and lit up her face. “That sounds good to me.”
As Marissa let herself through the side gate and along the sidewalk, she wondered how hideous the basement would be. If the outside of the house looked like it was ready to be demolished, god only knew what the inside was like.
Bonita opened a side door.
“Right here, sweetie. This door leads down, and we’ll do all the paperwork there, too.”
Bonita clicked on the light, and Marissa had to do a doubletake. No matter how the outside looked, the inside could have been Drake’s crib.
“Oh!” Marissa said as she stared at the gleaming marble stairs leading down to a brightly lit basement. Lots of cables snaked up and down the stairs. There were also very large and sturdy handrails mounted into a wooden and cement wall. A large mural swirled down the stairwell, going up the side walls and sprawling across the ceiling. There were all kinds of images in the colourful swirls, but Marissa didn’t have time to take it all in. Bonita led her down the eight stairs that weren’t hard to navigate at all. The hallway led to an office on one side; the rest of the basement was a film studio. Everything was clean and bright; lots of lights and gels and simple furniture. Bonita whisked Marissa into the office.
This was sleek and modern, a black and white efficiency with desk and chairs, a little bar, cabinets, and a small sink with glasses and a coffee maker.
“Have a seat, Marissa.”
Marissa sat.
“You should have a glass of water while we talk. Don’t worry, it’s water. In fact, you can open the bottle yourself. I’m sure this all is strange for you. It always is for the newbies. But I think we’re going to get along.”
Bonita handed a cold bottle of water from the minibar over to Marissa. She also gave her a rocks glass. Marissa opened the bottle. Yes, it was sealed, and she poured the water. She was super thirsty, and her nerves were shot. The bottle shook in her hands, the water barely making it into the glass. Bonita sat at her desk and opened a file.
“This is the boring legal part where we protect each other. Here at Slices of Life, we literally show Slices of Life. These are vignettes about daily activities that are mundane. For instance, the model just watches TV. It might be more engaging, such as singing in the shower or shopping at the store. We use people of all shapes and sizes as there is a niche for everyone about something. That’s it in a nutshell. How does that sound so far?”
Marissa nodded. “So far, so good.”
“Basically, Marissa, we’re going to make a short video that will play on pay-per-view sites. You will be the star. All you have to do is eat some food. It’s not a mukbang. You just have to eat as you normally would.”
Bonita smiled.
“While you eat, a man will come in.”
Here we go…
“The man, one of our regular actors, Georges, will eat with you. When the director feels he has enough footage, you’re done.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do we talk?”
“You can talk. The director will likely give you prompts. Just be yourself and don’t worry about anything. Does that sound like something you want to do?”
Marissa thought about it.
“Sure, why not?”
Marissa signed the forms. When she was done, Bonita texted someone on her cell phone. Within seconds, a small woman with her hair tied back, an apron, and tons of hair clips on her pockets appeared.
“Libby, this is Marissa. Marissa, this is Libby, who will be doing your hair. You will also have to see wardrobe and make-up, just through that door. Libby will show you.”
Beads of sweat formed on Marissa’s face. Costume? Hair? Makeup? For REAL?
“Nice to meet you; follow me,” Libby motioned.
The next hour was spent in a whirl of hair, makeup, and costume. The costume was a cute little plaid outfit. A mini skirt and a short short top with a bit of a custom-made bra peeking out from under. Marissa’s hair was curled and pinned in a half-up, half-down style. Black, shiny Mary Janes were buckled onto her feet.
While she’d been getting ready, the studio had been transformed into a simple kitchen dining area. A table, chairs, fake sink, cabinets, and fridge behind her. She was led to the set after all the final touches on her appearance had been made. She caught a glimpse of herself. She was stunning for sure, for her. The tight outfit let some of her fat peek out from her stomach, her arms, and legs. The outfit looked kind of cute, and now Marissa knew the game.
Chubby Chasers.
And that was fine by her.
The director appeared, a black-haired man with the requisite hat, designer jeans, and a purple shirt.
“Jimmy Burns,” he said as he shook her hand. “So kind of you to join us today, Marissa.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
“Good to hear, good to hear. Now, Marissa, you can sit at that table there. Once you’re settled in, we’ll roll for a bit. You don’t have to do anything, but you’re waiting, okay?”
The first scene took no time, and once cut was yelled, the hair and makeup people returned to fuss. The costume lady pulled and pushed Marissa’s flesh to where she wanted it to be in the costume.
Another person, a young man, came in carrying a large plate with heaps of bacon, eggs, toast, and jam. Another person followed with a glass of orange juice and a glass of water.
“Now, Marissa, you just have to eat. Take your time and be yourself.”
After Marissa had polished off her meal, the scene was cut.
The young man returned carrying the exact same combination of foods. Again, the OJ and water followed.
“Now, Marissa, Georges will be in this scene.”
“Do I get to meet him first?”
Jimmy frowned.
“No time for that, sorry. We’re already running behind.”
“Okay.”
The cameras rolled, and Marissa ate some more. She was already more than full, but she wanted the money and didn’t complain. Georges entered the room. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at.
Georges was a knockout. A bronze god.
Marissa stopped eating to stare at him. This magnificent Georges was wearing only a gold bikini.
“Good, good, Marissa. Now keep eating, no matter what,” Jimmy directed.
The lights changed to flickering strobe lights, and eighties-style disco music was piped in. At first, Marissa was startled by all the changes, especially as the cameras never stopped rolling. She looked over at Jimmy, who gave her hand gestures of eating.
Georges began to dance. And dance. And dance.
And a dancer, he was not.
His weird, awkward movements were reminiscent of Elaine’s famous dancing from the show Seinfeld. Marissa concentrated on her bacon and eggs, growing ever queasier from it all.
Georges danced, gyrating, his gold lamè crotch glittering in the strobes. He danced facing her. He danced away from her. He danced on a chair, with a chair, humped a chair… Marissa watched out of the corner of her eye.
She was getting to a point where she couldn’t eat another bite. She’d gone beyond acting, and now, she was going to puke.
“Keep eating,” Jimmy called and motioned with his hands. Georges danced near her but she wasn’t seeing him. She could only focus on the way her stomach was heaving. Bile crept up the back of her throat.
“Keep eating.”
Marissa stared morosely at the still half plate of bacon strips, easy over eggs, toast… butter all over… what had been so delicious mere moments ago now seemed like the worst torture ever.
“Eat!”
Marissa took a bacon strip and snapped it. She played with it a bit before putting it in her mouth. Jimmy grinned and nodded with a thumbs up. Marissa played a little more with her food, stretching out the time between consuming bites. Georges danced like a demon all around her, barely interacting with her. Unseen stagehands wheeled out giant mirrors and strategically spaced them so that Georges could admire himself dancing in the strobe lights.
Marissa managed to finish the bacon. But next were the rest of the eggs. She lifted some of the runny yolks up on her fork, and as she leaned over to eat it, she puked.
Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She puked all over the place. Georges continued to dance. Puke splattered him as Marissa tried to stand up, but he continued on. Marissa waved her hands around, horrified.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Jimmy yelled, “Cut.”
Hair and makeup ran out. The costume lady had a huge raincoat. Other crew set to work cleaning up the vomit-splattered stage. Georges was escorted off to his dressing room with his team. Marissa began to cry, vomit running down her chin as the makeup lady wiped her down.
“Excellent work. Absolutely excellent,” Jimmy said.
Marissa stopped sobbing and stared at him.
“What?”
“You were perfect. I know that was a lot to eat. You’re a trooper.”