“Shelly–Shelly. Shelly!” William Waters called, trying to cut in over the near-incoherent rage fuming out of his diminutive star. “Hold it, dollface–this is going to get us all the bread, I don’t see–”

“I told you,” Shelly screamed, storming forward, jabbing a finger up at him. Even on her tippy toes, she couldn’t really get in his face, so she clambered onto one of the makeup chairs, using the extra elevation to glare pure murder at eye level with her manager. “I told you I’m not putting my face on any goddamned diaper ads!”

“It’s just a drawing of your mug,” William protested, putting the poster off to the side and raising his other hand defensively. “You don’t even need to pose–just sign the checks! It’s easy dough!”

Shelly’s rage managed to burn red even through the layers of perfect makeup on her face, and she inhaled sharply, readying her tirade. “And that’s all I am to you, huh? A pretty face and a name on the check.”

“Woah, woah.” Setting the poster to the side, William left it face up, so that Shelly’s adorable printed visage and the poofing, perfect diaper were fully on display. “You’ve got me all wrong, kitten. It’s like it’s always been–I’m just looking out for you!”

“You’re just looking out for your thirty percent commission,” Shelly barked. “You don’t want to put in the work, you don’t care about my career, you’d throw my whole future in the trash just to get your goddamn cut!”

The manager’s eyes widened further and he stepped back, utterly baffled. “Shelly, it’s–”

“What’s got her diapers in a twist?”

I’d been so focused on watching the argument play out that I hadn’t noticed Don Allan until he announced his presence with the quip. All eyes fell on the director, a cloud of cigarette smell wafting into the makeup room after him.

William Waters shook his head. “Just talking business with the star.”

Glancing sidelong at the poster, Don Allan rolled his eyes. “Well, try to keep the crying down–we’re trying to work here. We’re calling action in fifteen minutes–be sure to change her diaper, I can’t have my star throwing another tantrum once the cameras roll.”

He turned and sauntered away, leaving Shelly to sputter furiously. Tears welled in her eyes, and after taking in a few breaths, trying to summon another round of rage, she whirled and, after awkwardly stepping down from the chair, waddled out of the makeup room and rushed out of sight.

Running both hands through his hair, William exhaled through his nose. “Jeez, I was just trying to make a dame a dollar, didn’t want to go on a trip for biscuits.”

I waited a few moments so it wouldn’t be too obvious that I was hurrying after the star of the show, but it seemed that nobody cared much about the random extra who’d been brought along for the day. Hopping down from my chair, I waddled in the direction I’d seen Shelly go, towards the nearest exit, past racks of set lights on tall steel stands on one side and more doors leading to the green room and cast lounge.

Half jogging to catch up, I almost walked into the legs of a tall, slender broad.

“Woah,” I said, half stumbling back, but she reached out and caught my arm, stabilizing me.

“You okay there?” she asked, as I tried to get a look at her face.

In half-silhouette on the dark end of the studio, it took me a few moments to recognize Shelly’s costar, Candace Wick, an actress with as many credits as Shelly and twice as many inches of height.

“I’m fine,” I said, leaning to look past her, towards the exit door.

She crouched down to get to eye level with me, smiling broadly. “You’re the new youthlock, right? One of the extras?”

I nodded, and her expression turned just a hair more professional. She was still squatting down like she was talking with a toddler, but at least Candace had stopped giving me the doe-eyes that dames typically reserve for cute animals and children.

Speaking quietly, as though the question were only for my ears, Candace asked, “I heard some yelling, is Shelly alright? She’s been getting into it with her manager, and…did you see which way she went?”

If I told her the truth, she’d go talk to Shelly, and I’d miss my chance for a heart-to-heart. Shrugging, I reached into my pocket, producing my pack of candy cigarettes. “I split when the music started,” I explained. “Just stepping out for a smoke.”

She pursed her lips, nodding and standing to her full height. Everyone seemed tall to me, but she was especially so, a feature that’d contrasted her well with Shelly as Candace grew up.

I stepped around the actress, walking to the exit. I pressed the door lever with my elbow and slipped a candy stick between my lips in one motion, stepping into the brisk cement exterior of the Hollywood lot.

Shelly stood just to the side, and raised a hand to her mouth, but wasn’t quick enough to cover the pacifier suckled between her lips. I pretended not to notice as she palmed it and lowered it to the side–a dame was due her privacy, or at least her illusion of it.

Taking out the pack in my pocket, I offered her one of my candy cigarettes, the candy stick bobbing between my lips as I slid another one up for her to take. “Help yourself,” I offered. “No tobacco–real smokes are too bitter for me, I just like the sugar rush.”

She eyed the candy but shook her head; I could tell it wasn’t the oral fixation she was interested in.

“Suit yourself,” I replied, pocketing the candy. To break the ice, I added, “Don Allan’s an ass. Asking if you needed a change? What a pill.”

She pressed her lips into a line, glancing away. “He’s not wrong,” she admitted, quietly. “Damn him, he always knows, even when I can’t tell myself.”

“Wouldn’t be a director for this long if he didn’t have an eye for detail,” I pointed out. Taking the cigarette from my lips for a moment, I rolled it between my fingers, licking a bit of sugar residue off my thumb. Chuckling to myself, I added, “Margeret says these things are going to kill me–I’m up to a pack a day, but I’m not much for coffee and I need the buzz, you know?”

Nodding, she looked down, fumbling with the pacifier concealed in her hand. “We’ve all got our own vices,” she replied, finally revealing the soother as she popped it back between her lips.

I stood there in silence with her for a long beat, waiting as she relaxed against the wall. I was starting to build a hunch into a proper theory, but I wasn’t about to start making accusations just yet.

Shelly had a bone to pick with her manager. Clearly there was no love lost between her and William, and you didn’t settle into a screaming match like the one I’d witnessed without having gone through the whole song and dance a few times before.

My gut told me that Shelly was looking for a reason to fire him, and that the missing job offer was just an excuse–if she’d been offered the role at all. If I was correct, then she’d brought me on just to rubber stamp the dismissal, to give her cause so she could get out of her contract.

I was a professional. If that’s what she wanted, I wouldn’t give it to her, but I wouldn’t start throwing accusations around without a good reason, either.

“So,” I began, after a long moment of quiet. “You’ve got something you want to say?”

Shelly moved the pacifier to the corner of her mouth, mumbling over it. “He’s such an ass.”

“Mhmm,” I replied, sucking on the end of the cigarette, which had already dissolved down to a stub. “But it’s not just him, is it?”

She looked at me, eyes still tinged with red from the shouting match. “You saw the poster.”

I nodded, non-committal.

“That’s how he sees me.” She looked away, staring out at the Hollywood lot. “That’s how they all see me. I’m not a woman to them–I’m not even a six-year-old, I’m a toddler who can remember her lines.”

I nodded. “It’s the twentieth century, you’d think everyone would know what a youthlock is, but I still get people stopping me on the street and asking if I’m lost.”

“No.” She shot me a look–not mad, but bitter. Jealous, even. “They don’t just see a kid, they see the girl on screen. You’ve got people who know who you are, who treat you like an adult, but what do I get?”

“They treat you like an actress,” I suggested. “I’m sure all big stars get pampered a bit.”

“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” she asked, scoffing, spitting the pacifier into her hand so she could speak more directly. “When I started acting, Candace and I looked the same age. Sisters–hell, we played twins and people bought it. We grew up on set together, we’re costars. I got to see her live the life I wanted, to get respect, to be treated as an adult. By the time she was ten she had more respect on set than I did. We’ve had the same crew for a dog’s age–same director, same manager, same talent. They all know I’m an adult, but you’d never see Allan calling her outbursts a tantrum.”

She turned her back to me, and fell quiet for long enough that I thought she might be done. I stayed silent, just in case.

“That’s what this is about,” she explained, in a whisper so faint I almost lost it in the wind. “If I get up there on screen in a proper film… a real role, you know, not this treacle.” She looked down in disgust at her girly, poofy lace dress and overdone curls. “They’ll see who I really am.”

Looking her over, I asked, “You’d still be playing a kid, wouldn’t you? Even in a drama.”

“For now,” she said, looking back at me. “But we’re real people. There’s youthlocks out there in the world. How come we never see us on the screen? They have us play children, sure, but have you ever seen one of us in a film, playing an adult?”

I thought about it, but I couldn’t.

“That’s what I want, Nick.” She looked back at me, and the look in her eyes showed me a mature determination that proved her womanhood, no matter how many frills and diapers she was dressed in. “I’m going to be a star, and I’m going to play adults like you or me. Even if I have to fight for it. Once my ticket comes in, we’ll all be given a little more respect.”

I stood there in stunned silence.

I could have intuited a lot of this, but I’d missed it–and it threw a wrench into my theory. Shelly wasn’t bitter with her manager, she was bitter with the limits that being Youthlocked put on her career. Replacing William wouldn’t change what society permitted her to be.

More importantly to me, I could see the conflict brewing. William could only sell diaper ads with Shelly’s face so long as she played the cherubic child. She was right–it was in his financial interest to keep her out of dramas, and to keep her firmly in the camp of childish roles.

Nodding back at the door, I said, “Want to get back in there?”

She looked down at the pacifier in her hand. A soother, one she’d have to give up to be seen as a real woman, even though it was just a harmless bit of rubber and plastic. She slipped the pacifier into the folds of her dress, making it vanish, and put on a smile like I’d seen some people put on a new suit. She was cheerful again, even playful. Ready to be Shelly The Precocious Child for the cameras.

She was damned good. Even knowing it was there, I couldn’t see the sadness behind her eyes.

...

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