Comfy

"I just love the lighting," publicity agent Laila Fender gushed, looking at the color glossy, her head cocked around the telephone receiver. "It's as if the light just - flows around the bed." She paused, listening, idly flicking a speck of dust off her Vesace jacket as she sifted through an open FedEx package. "Yes, I understood that from your instructions." Pause. "Yes, I can certainly arrange for models to test it, providing you included their fee... Ah, yes, I have the check for that as well. They don't normally work through the night, but to test a bed, I suppose..."

"Yes, all right, that can be done..." She gently furrowed her brow, then, mindful of wrinkles, carefully relaxed her facial muscles. "Ah, getting people to work tonight sounds very aggressive. Do you have any flexibility with - Oh, all right. I understand. Yes, you're right, you did pay for expedited service." A grimace flashed across her face, again quickly replaced with the blank, studious look she long schooled herself to assume. "No, there is no problem; I can handle the transportation..." she rummaged in the envelope, came up with a set of keys and three credit card-sized cards, each clearly marked with a letter. "Uh huh, yes, I have those, and... yes I see the address for the shoots." She glanced at her platinum Rolex watch. "Ah, I am running late for my next meeting. Was there anything else?" She fidgeted, regretting she was on her office handset, not a mobile telephone. "Yes, I understand. No, I think I have that covered. I have your cellular number right here, on my retainer form. Uh huh, it will be attended to. Yes. Thank you... Have a nice day, Mr. Oyev."

'What a pain!' she thought as she hung up the phone. She pressed an intercom button. "Jen, come in for a minute." She plopped down into her designer chair, absent-mindedly rubbing her neck. A moment later the door opened and her assistant, Jenna Loit, came in and sat down across her, memo pad open and pen out.

"Yes, Ms. Fender, what do you need done?"

Laila Fender stretched back in the chair, rolling her neck. Her brief silk dress wasn't up to the challenge, and her large, well-sculpted breasts pulled her hemline up above her garter belt, showing off thin, almost bird-like legs. Finishing her stretch she glanced down, then reseated herself, adjusting the skirt back in place. She missed Jenna's long glance at her from beneath her eyelashes. "First, schedule me some time for me with Bobby for a neck massage," she started. "Then, I need you to get three people from this list," she continued, handing Jenna the list, "to be available as product evaluators and modelers for our latest client." She handed over the FedEx envelope and its contents. "There's a check in there to cover all expenses, and for some reason there's a rush on getting it done."

Jenna went over the items in the pouch as Laila started gathering her things to go out. The instructions looked well documented and clear, even as to instructions for each of the three evaluators. But the checks...

"Um, Ms. Fender, there is something wrong with the check amount. It's far too high an amount, even considering this is being expedited."

Laila waved her hand above her head in dismissal as she dove below the desk to change out of her comfortable running shoes to the latest pair of high-heeled pumps she'd received from one of the fashion houses. 'For your evaluation,' they'd say, meaning, 'make me look good in your next press release.' She winced as she slipped a strap over a raw ankle; the shoes were pretty, but a little too clunky for her size. She popped back up from under the desk, a little flushed. "Well, today's the first I've heard of this Joe Ishah, Jen; that FedEx was followed less than ten minutes after it arrived by him phoning me. I mean," she continued, "the list is all people I've used before, and if the fee paid is too high, that's not my problem; I didn't ask for the job or quote a fee." She thought for a moment. "You know, after you get the evaluators set up, be a darling and make up a price sheet that matches what he sent. Maybe we can raise our prices again this year, based on this deal."

"Yes, Ms. Fender," Jenna responded, and made some notes. "If I can't get all three evaluator positions filled for tonight, can I look outside that list?"

"No, dear, Joe was very specific on that point. He said that I or anyone in my office could substitute, but no one else aside from those on the list." She shrugged. "For what he's paying in evaluator fees, I'll be one of the evaluators. From the look of that sumptuous bed, and how my neck's been feeling, it might well do me good!" They both laughed, and Laila went off to stroke two models, and speak with the trainer of the third; poor Uma had been gaining weight again, and it would lower her appeal to her current target market.

Later that day Laila definitely wasn't laughing, after Jenna frantically called her on her cell phone as she tooled down Rodeo Drive in her Dodge Viper.

"Ms. Fender," Jenna bellowed, knowing the Viper's engine roar made normal conversations impossible. "There's a problem getting evaluators for this evening." She waited, listening for the engine roar to peak and subside, peak and subside as her employer masterfully downshifted and swung over to the side of the road. Suddenly the line was much clearer.

"What do you mean, a problem, Jen. There were at least fifteen people on that list!" She was fuming; she'd already made some purchases at one of the boutiques, counting on the generous retainer fee sent in the package. It simply wouldn't do to have that dress held on by the store for another few weeks; it might be out of season by then.

"Well, I called all the people on the list, and I was able to place two, that model Elan, and someone named Morone (she pronounced it moron). But everyone else is busy. I even called the agents of those I could dig up, and they're all under contract and unavailable tonight." She paused. "You know," she said, "I could do the third, Ms. Fender. And I could really use the money." She tried not to simper or whine.

Working for 'Front End Fender,' as her rivals nastily dubbed Laila, was a great way to break into the fashion scene. And for all the grief Laila dished out, she was very good about giving her castaway clothes from the last season, seeing as they were almost the same size (although Jenna both starved herself a great deal and wore falsies to fit into her second-hand wardrobe). But Laila Fender was notoriously cheap, and Jenna couldn't risk a night job to fill in the missing income, as Laila Fender required that her assistants be available 'twenty five by seven, or not to bother coming to work the next day.' Jenna was assistant number three so far that year, lasting all the way from April through October, a record, according to Laila.

"Hmmm," Laila said, and paused. She could do the evaluation herself, given her current date had decided yesterday to stand her up and go out partying with some movie producer's executive assistant. She couldn't blame him, though; that woman had such good connections... "Well, I suppose it would be all right," she said, then laid down the punch line. "But you have to be ready tomorrow for my nine o'clock with that tax person, at his office." Actually, with an IRS agent, since she had been miserably excoriated in her last audit, and if she didn't help his son get a good modeling contract, she would end up declaring a messy, public and noisy bankruptcy. "And you'll need to have a few agency leads for me to give him at that meeting, so if you can't do all that today..." She left it at that.

'Score!' Jenna said to herself. "No, Ms. Fender," she replied, "I already have two or three who have his package, and I will have at least one more by the end of the day."

"All right, Jenna, I expect to see five names tomorrow morning. Don't embarrass me in this, this bed evaluation," she said, shut the phone, and expertly wove herself back into the twisted traffic flow, ignoring the squeals of brakes and horns honking behind her.

"Bitch," Jenna said to the telephone receiver, and hung it up hard. She glanced at the clock: almost three o'clock and she had to be across town at six for the all night test. Not enough time to both go home and get pajamas and find another two agencies willing to at least see the IRS agent's lanky, dazed looking son. She sighed, and prepared to cash in some of her few, hard won, IOUs.