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That makes two of us. Whatever “this” is.
“Liquify me,” he barks, snapping his fingers.
Within seconds a servant—I mean, assistant—shoves a glass of lemon water into his hand. He takes maybe half a sip before handing it back.
“Let’s get this over with,” he grunts, stomping toward the slightly faker version of himself. I can’t help but notice they’re wearing the same outfit.
Chad pretends to adjust settings on his camera, while Jarvis pretends he’s not standing beside a replica of himself. The ease with which he does this makes me think that might be a standard part of his day. If anyone would interact with a life-sized reproduction of themself on a regular basis, it would be this person.
“Let’s do the cutout image first,” Chad says.
Jarvis steps back to make room for something. When five gazes lock on me, I realize I’m the something he made room for.
I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
“Don’t smile in this one,” Chad tells me.
That shouldn’t be hard.
“You will have to get closer and maybe look at him?”
“Who?” I ask.
“Jarvis.”
“Cutout or real?”
“Cutout. I just said that.”
“Yes but… never mind,” I grumble, then plaster a fake smile on my face.
“I said don’t smile for this one.”
Oh. Right.
“Don’t look unhappy, though. You’re glad to be in the presence of such musical magnificence, just not smiling about it. You’re overwhelmed… but with awe, you know?”
I pull in a deep breath.
“Perfect! Don’t move.”
Do I look different than I did a second ago? Because I still feel like a guy who would rather be doing anything other than this.
“Okay, I think we got it. Oh wait! No. You need to take off your security badge. You can’t look like you’re part of the tour.”
“I am part of the tour. And I’m literally in his dressing room.”
“Yeah, but it’s about the aesthetic.”
“The aesthetic? I don’t?—”
“Quit being a whiny wasp and just do what he says,” Jarvis snaps.
I shoot him a glare and rip the lanyard over my head.
“Yes! Keep that face but turn it toward Jarvis… other Jarvis. Great! Now, Real Jarvis.”
I’m already in a living nightmare when Real Jarvis shifts closer. Too close because his denim jacket brushes my arm, and I’m nearly choked out by the aggressive cologne he’s wearing. Does he get daily sandalwood injections?
