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“That’s my boss,” he tells me after shoving his phone in his pocket. “Well, our boss now.”
No.
“Thanks for helping with this. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he continues.
“I mean… I haven’t really done anything.” Except lean against this wall. If that’s why I’m here, I’m nailing it.
“Don’t say that! Reedweather thinks you’re great!”
“Really? That’s… okay. So, the guy you talk to all the time is your boss?”
“Yep.”
“Cool.”
Wait, is he putting makeup on the cutout?
“To reduce the shine,” he explains as he brushes powder over the photo’s cheeks.
“Don’t you pay to have a glossy finish?”
“Yes, but the gloss is for public displays, not the photoshoot.”
“There’s a photoshoot?”
“Of course.” He steps back to admire his work. “What do you think?”
That it looks like a cardboard cutout of Jarvis that used to have a shiny face but now has a powdered substance on it.
“It’s… tall.”
“I know, right?! So tall. You ready?” He waves me toward the cutout.
“Ready for what?”
“To be famous, silly!” His expression clearly isn’t interpreting mine.
“Huh?”
He pulls a camera from the bag.
Hang on. No. Hell no.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but the left is probably your stronger side,” he says.
“You want me to pose with this thing?”
“Absolutely. Why do you think I invited you here?”
For literally any reason other than posing with a life-sized image of Jarvis in his dressing room.
“I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I work for Larinda, not Jarvis. I’m not comfortable giving the impression he and I hang out.”
“Exactly.” Another wink.
Okay, what’s up with the winking?
“No. I mean it.”
