There was a whiff of something foul in the air as I waddled back into the studio, and for once, it wasn’t coming from the seat of my diaper. The mood had never been light on set, but any Joe on the street could tell that things had gone especially sour since the screaming match.

Nobody talked, except to exchange gruff comments about work; moving lights and getting cameras into place. Don Allan was walking in long, quick paces on set, snapping out instructions at his crew of youthlocked extras that seemed to have more to do with asserting authority than giving feedback to their performances.

Uninterested in becoming his next target, I diverted my path back to the makeup room, cooking up an excuse in my head about needing to touch something up before we filmed.

Instead of finding the makeup artist, however, I found Candace Wick, puffing on a cigarette and scowling hard at the poster that’d kicked up such a storm.

“Aren’t you supposed to go outside to smoke?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“I’m the star,” she replied, shaking her head and exhaling smoke out her nose. “I can do whatever I want.” Her gaze never went off the printed image of Shelly, precocious, adorable, diaper on full display, and her sour expression had nothing to do with the burning nicotine.

“I’m not one to bump gums, but rumor is, Shelly thinks that your manager’s treating her like a cash register,” I said, prodding with a bit of information. I suspected Candace already knew her co-star’s opinions on William Waters, and sometimes giving a little information was the best way to get some in return. “Just pumping her for cash instead of focusing on her career.”

“I swear, what I’d give for five minutes in a dark room with him,” Candace replied. “To give him a piece of my mind. You want to talk about ‘not focusing on a career’?”

I waited for a long moment for Candace to answer her hypothetical question, but she trailed off. Hoping to keep the talk going, I nodded at the poster. “I’m guessing it’s not the first time he’s pulled something like this.”

“We used to think Waters was a decent guy,” Candace said thoughtfully, taking a pull of her cigarette. A long stem of ash was forming, but she didn’t tap the end to knock it off, so it just grew, gray building up in a column. “When we did our first couple films together, we got paid a hundred bucks a week. We didn’t even get a bonus when a film got done, we just started filming something new. Pretty quick it became obvious that we were earning the studios big bucks, but he’s the one who went and got us a lawyer and fought for us to be paid more.”

“Let me guess,” I probed. “Your higher rate means he got a higher rate, too?”

“You said it,” she confirmed. “But that’s not the half of it. He kept Shelly’s image rights.”

I tilted my head, glancing at the poster. “So how come he’s asking Shelly for permission?”

Stepping forward, Candace stubbed out her cigarette on the poster, right on Shelly’s face, smearing ash and burning away the image so that it was just any generic girl. “Because I made him back off. It was a five year contract–when I was just getting into my teens, we were making dough hand over fist with ‘big sister and little sister’ films, and our contract was up for renewal. I told Waters I’d walk if he didn’t return image rights.”

I whistled. “That’s a risk.”

“Almost got fired for it,” Candace said, flicking her cigarette into the trash. “But we’re not just sisters on screen. Maybe we don’t share blood, but we’re family–we’re supposed to watch out for each other, in good times and bad.”

Nodding, I glanced out the door. I could faintly hear Don Allan ranting and calling directions, but nobody had called for me. “When’s your next contract up? Maybe you can just tell William Waters to take a hike then.”

Candace scoffed, checking her makeup in the mirror. “Hardly. There’s three years left before we’re up for renewal, and with the way things have been going lately, I’m not going to be spoiled for choice. Shelly could, maybe, but if we’re not a double act, I’m not pulling in the ticket sales. We’re with Waters, come hell or high water.”

I paused. “The way things have been going lately?”

“It’s hardly public, but it’s hardly a secret, either. Our budget’s gone out the window. Reused sets, smaller casts. We get a bonus based on how well the film sells–and that bonus has been pretty slim lately. You can read between the lines; we don’t hold the star power we used to.” Deciding herself ready to be seen, she stood up straight. “If we wanted to ditch Waters, we needed to do it while we were on an upswing, but we realized too late what a snake he was. All he’s after is Shelly’s money.”

Turning, she left me alone in the makeup room, pausing for just a moment in the doorway. “You want my advice?”

I shrugged. “I’d definitely take it.”

“Get a job doing something else. I hear they’re always looking for postal workers.”

She left me alone, standing there with my thoughts. I wanted to mull things over a bit, but already, ideas were starting to percolate in my head, and a feeling had formed in my gut that had nothing to do with all the candy cigarettes I’d been sucking my way through.

Hitching up my costume britches, I waddled out of the makeup room, pausing as I felt my diaper squelch between my thighs. I couldn’t hear Don Allan yelling, suggesting I had a moment to spare. It seemed unwise to get back to set only to leak onto my costume. Making up my mind, I detoured one last time, squelching my way to the restrooms on set.

One perk of working at a place that hired youthlocks on the regular–the bathroom had a changing table, and even a couple stepstools for the youthlocks who worked in the studio. I preferred to get my assistant’s help when I could, but being a gumshoe meant I had to operate as a lone agent, a man who could stand as an island and deal with his own affairs. Toddling up the step stool, I got to work changing my own diaper.

It was a pretty simple affair–pants down, diaper off, wipes, powder. A new-looking box shaped a bit like a newspaper dispenser sat by the changing table and gave out diapers for a nickel, and though I still didn’t trust disposables to hold up like a trusty cloth diaper and rubber cover, I couldn’t argue the convenience.

And, as I worked through the effort of changing my bottom, I had time to think.

I recalled my viewing of Shelly’s latest film, just the day before. The theater had been dead empty, with nary a filmgoer to watch it.

A few more elements clicked into place.

Shelly and Candace would be a high expense for the studio, but they were also the pillar that the films were based on. If Shelly started headlining in new titles, making a name for herself as a star beyond Don Allan’s reach, her rates would go up. With the studio already struggling to stay in the black, a more-expensive Shelly threatened to tank them completely.

It wasn’t William Waters that would have suffered if Shelly accepted her role with a different studio.

Sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the changing table, I began to tug up my pants, when I heard a snort from the stall.

Hopping down, I glanced under the stall door, noting a pair of familiar, gleaming patent leather shoes. Don Allan was taking another break, it seemed.

That presented an opportunity.

I could have played it cool, but my instincts told me I was right, and I was done with the charade. Besides–I could see that, despite being in the stall, Don’s pants were up. I wanted him vulnerable, but I wasn’t trying to catch him with his boxers down.

Pulling a safety pin from my pocket, I reached up, slid it under the latch, and yanked open the stall door. My intrusion was met with a satisfying tableau as I got to watch Don Allan hastily wipe white powder off his hand, alarmed at the sudden intrusion.

“Mister Allan,” I said, raising an eyebrow at him. “We need to have a conversation.”

Flabbergasted, the director stared at me, finally stammering, “You’re one of the extras, aren’t you?”

I had to admit to a certain thrill of satisfaction at seeing the usually belligerent director so off guard. Pressing his discomfort, I commented, “I’d ask if you have a prescription, but I think we both know the answer to that already and I’m more curious how you’re paying for it when the studio’s barely keeping the lights on.”

Don Allan’s jaw dropped, and paranoia sparked in his eyes as he took a step away, the back of his legs bumping against the toilet.

Perfect. I always liked my suspects a little paranoid–it made it easy to push their buttons.

“I’m not here to star in your film, Mister Allan,” I explained. “I’m here because some people have concerns on set about how you’re treating them.”

His face flashed with realization. “Shelly hired you, didn’t she?”

I considered keeping that fact a secret, but my gut told me I’d get more information by divulging that truth, so I nodded. “Yes sir, and I know what you’ve been doing.”

He shook his head, shuddering slightly. “Look–she’s getting paid for every film we’re doing. I have a contract that keeps me from telling her anything else. If you’re mad, talk to the studio execs, they’re the ones who said we had to keep things hush-hush.”

I kept my face a mask as he spoke, pretending I could dig his meaning. I had been preparing to demand a confession from him, to ask for him to admit he’d thrown away Shelly’s messages and ruined her chances at getting cast in a new film, but now I just let him talk. “How long have you known?”

Shoulders slumping, Don Allan shook his head. “I got told the news about two months ago. We’re fully funded for three more films before they shut us down, then this lot’s being demolished to make room for a new parking lot.”

His words gave me something to chew on. “So it doesn’t even matter if these films do well? You’re going belly up no matter what.”

He nodded, blushing slightly. Sitting down on the toilet seat, he rested his head in his hands. “Truth be told, I’m glad Shelly knows. It means I don’t have to be there when Waters breaks it to her.”

That hit me like a ton of bricks. “William Waters knows?”

“Of course he does, he’s her manager,” Don Allan replied, shaking his head slowly. “He’s signed the same confidentiality papers as me, though.”

“So,” I said, pressing on. “What happens to Shelly once your three films are up?”

Don shrugged. “She stops being a household name, I suppose. Maybe she finds work somewhere else. Whatever it is, our studio’s not going to be a part of it.”

My brow furrowed.

Don wasn’t the culprit after all, but William Waters suddenly had new light cast on him. Shelly’s name was about to become small change, and when her films went, her brand deals would go with them.

Shaking my head, I gave Don Allan a withering look. “This conversation stays between you and me, and maybe you don’t have to deal with Shelly walking before you get your last paycheck.”

He nodded quickly. “Lips are sealed.”

Turning on my heels, I set my brow and waddled to the door.

It was time for Shelly to learn the truth.

...

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