The Contestant

v

Another man. He looked down at her.

            “Poor thing, what would you like to do? Have you chosen a name yet?” He pursed his own lips in the mirror in front of her. They were painted a bright shining purple, to match the shadow on his eyes that was flecked with gold. She wondered if he had it on for real or if it was surgically painted on. They had come quite far in technology.

            It was how they had caught her after all.

            “Good, honey. What is it? Something femme fetale or really pure and simple?”

            “Sheelagh.”

            “She-Ra?” The hair and make up person held up his SAED with a pen stick, held up, at the ready to draw out an image for her. “What’s that honey?”

            “Sheenagh.”

            “Sheenagh what honey? You’re not fucking Cher, you know.”

            “Just Sheenagh.”

            He looked away from the mirror and turned to face her. Taking her head gently in his hands and looking at her, softly, she knew he was checking to see what he could do with her. “You have to pick a second and middle name, honey. It’s in the rules. What if they want to make up a family or something? You’re going to need some kind of fucking back-story. You need to give out meat if you want them to hold on to you.”

            Taking his hands away from her face, he gently felt the rest of her. She wondered at herself if she was being frisked or felt up. “Awfully intrusive, aren’t you?”

            “You try wearing the same outfit forever, honey, you tell me how you like it. Everything I put out there has to be a masterpiece. We have to keep clothes either current, which keeps you out there for a short time, like until neon becomes unpopular again or fucking poke-a-dots or we put you in something classic, classy, sassy and chic. Get people to pay attention to you. Get people to notice you. Then you could be on here for years.”

            She sat there for a moment and thought about this. “I only get the one outfit?” She finally asked. “I don’t get to wear anything else?” She thought about the wisdom of a hoodie.

            “Well, you get three, but it’s all about a theme. You get daywear, afternoon wear and evening wear. It all depends on the kind of person you are. They will change automatically depending on the time of day. Do you want to go out and get drunk in the evenings or do you want to stay home and read a good book? Are you a librarian or a bank manager? Are you a doctor or a lawyer? Do you volunteer? That kind of thing.” He motioned with his hands and tried to encompass everything in his gesture. “We have to keep in mind that one moment you could be climbing rocks and another moment, you’re in a well, diving into the dark for a lost friend.” He snapped his fingers and the rings on his fingers twinkled in the air. “And it can change like that. In the next Room, you could be on a date with a handsome stranger.”

            Sighing, she looked at herself in the mirror. “That’s an awful lot to think about.

            “Well think of it this way, honey. They want an image, a package. Give them what they want, which is current and high tech, but save that for what you say. Play their game that way. Just let your clothes speak for you, your beauty.” He looked at her. “Had any work done, any procedures I should know about?”

            Sheenagh shook her head. “No. None.”

            “You’ve aged well. How old are you?”

            “I’ll be sixteen next month.”

            “Oh honey, well, they’ll just make you have a birthday on television. That’ll suck, but try to enjoy the crappy gifts. It’s all you’ll get for a while. Don’t ask outright for food or there will be trouble. As for things that can sustain you, like a book, or some classical music.” He turned and took out a makeup case. “Take your time and pick out a good name. I can wait. I’m going to think of my own ideas while I wait.” He picked up a SAED and started drawing.

            Sheenagh reached out a hand softly to touch him. “You’re very kind. You talk a lot, but you’re kind.” She took her hand away. “What’s your name?”

            “I’m Jules.” He said. “I can be Cher, you cannot. Therefore, pick a name, pick something you like. I’ll be over here, reading and waiting for you to make up your mind.”

            She smiled at his sassiness. She would never have dreamt of saying such a thing to anyone, but she supposed now she would have to. She tended to notice that the funnier or bitchier you were, the longer you stayed around. And sometimes a quiet person could cost by for a few months, even a year. Only the really popular characters on Haven stayed around for very long. Sheenagh had to decide what she wanted to be.

            Grinning, Jules gave his hand a wave. “You don’t mind me. You think of a name so I can start thinking.” He smiled at her, gave her a wink.

            She smiled. “Why are you so kind?”

            Barking out a laugh, Jules held up his electronic device. “Honey, they call these thing’s SAED’s?” He pointed at himself. “Well this mother fucking is sad too. We’re prisoners, too. Just not in the same way.”

            Looking at herself in the mirror, Sheenagh thought of two names: “Sheenagh Dellitrude Chase.” She said.

            “Dellatrude?” Jules raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

            “It was my aunts name.”

            “Oh no, honey, that is not going to work.” He shook a finger at her. “Nu-uh, you’re going to have to try again. This whole Sheenagh thing, too. I don’t know. Too off.”

            She sighed, crunched her brows in thought. “What about Sheenagh Sabrina?”

            A spark went off in his eyes. “Now you’re talking. Kind of like a sexy librarian thing going on, like librarian by day but a dominatrix by night. Okay, I can work with that. Let’s see what we got here.”

            As Jules moved towards her, he smiled again. “Give me another name, something you’d never think to call yourself.” He touched her face lightly. “Remember, a name creates an image. I just create you nine outfits, plus additional sleepwear, all based on a similar theme. This is what decides your future.”

            He sat back and began drawing on his SAED. “Now give me another.”

            The paperwork was like a firecracker in her grip.