The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The quotation hung in a place of honor on the front banner of the video store. Chester had seen it while passing the library on Fifth Avenue, and he couldn’t think of a better credo for his new business, or the new life he was building with his son Ben. The escape and the long trip across the country were the least of their concerns as they settled into the three-story building on 10th Avenue. There was too much to do to set up the store, most importantly the unloading of the massive stock of DVDs and the setting up of his computer- after all, without the computer, he couldn’t duplicate any American program and replace the subliminal messaging with his ideas instead of hers. Really, it was almost comically simple how the messages could be overlaid onto any media, as if anyone could make the entire nation think anything on a whim. If the circumstances weren’t so grave, he would have laughed, but there were too many memories for him to do more than stifle a little chuckle and shed a couple of tears as he hauled boxes out of the truck.

“Where do you want the naked pictures of mommy?” Ben asked, and the blend of innocence and maturity in his voice said a lot about the evils he had been exposed to at the age of ten. There were a lot of people in the world who had seen less of the world’s darker side in an adult lifetime, but that was the peril of living in interesting times. As it was, Chester recognized that he was raising a cynic who would trust a used car salesman over his closest friends, but that had as much to do with the government as it did with Chester’s influence.

“We should put those downstairs,” Chester said. He could hear the sentiment leaking through the sternness in his voice. Not for the first time, he wondered how much Ben knew and understood what had happened to his mother and to the country, and just how much of a role his father had had in it.

“That where you gonna put all the dirty movies?” Ben replied.

“No, mommy’s still special, so she gets her own room.” It was a leap of faith, and Chester wasn’t sure if he was ready to explain if Ben asked what happened. But Ben didn’t ask, just laughed it off and continued carrying things downstairs.

A new voice cut into the conversation, laden with a heavy New York accent and an attitude. “A whole room dedicated to that whore? Puh-leeze! Jay Street Jamie’s about as New York as that Virginia is, and that whore’s from Michigan! Wouldn’t be surprised if Jay Street Jamie turned out to be some far out hick town outpost like South—”

“South Jersey. Cape May, if you must know,” Chester interrupted coolly. He looked the woman up and down, taking in the all-black get-up, the short hair, the stocky build, the defined muscles, and the absolutely stunned look on her face. “They warned me someone like you was gonna show up, just to make sure I wasn’t a spy or some other brainwashed drone. Times Square Church sent you, right?”

“Naw, I was just tryin’ to bust your balls,” the woman shot back.

“Well, there’s your problem. I thought you came to New York was because you weren’t into balls.” Chester grinned, and they shared a laugh. “Name’s Chester Garfield. I’m working on deprogramming software. All these Channel 1 videos are legit, or at least they were before I wiped ‘em clean of their subliminals and replaced them with anti-government, freedom-loving messages. As for the hardware, it comes straight from Hollywood. Let’s just say I have very close connections with Jamie.”

“If you’re tryin’ to impress me, you’re doin’ it wrong. I know you’re her husband. That’s why you got me as your welcoming committee. Nat Baker, Thespians’ Union, and we’re looking to see if you got what it takes to join us. This project of yours seems really interesting, even if it’s a little ambitious. I mean, if it works, we could take Hollywood down in a couple of years. I’m guessing it’s more than just playing the DVD backwards. Gonna kick myself if I’m wrong, ‘cause we already tried that and it didn’t work.”

“That’s not it at all. Really, do I seem that cruel? No, I know a lot you don’t about the system and how to beat it.” Nat opened her mouth to protest, but Chester held a hand up. “Yes, I know you were one of the fifteen snuck out of Hollywood before they could get you on television, which is a very good thing. Given your role... the less said about that the better.”

“How in hell did you know I was a part of that project?” Nat spluttered, absolutely taken aback.

“I could say a lot of things, but let’s go with my love of sarcasm. I was a big Natalie Baker fan before just plain Natalie stole your jokes.”

“Man, you are good. I didn’t think anyone across the river remembered me. I was so pre-2008 I thought they paid money to trade me in like they did foreign cars. So do I want to know how this works, or is it gonna make me hurl?” She gestured at the boxes of computer equipment that Chester was setting up behind the counter.

“It works the same way as anything Hollywood puts out. The lines are just a little more freedom friendly. It’s that simple, but would you expect anything else from them? Two trillion dollars, you would have thought they’d be a little more careful of their copyrights.”

“How can they? They’re too busy looking at boobies!” Ben piped up, passing by on his way to the truck for another load of DVDs.

“I see the family resemblance,” Nat said with a smile.

But Chester’s face was more serious than it had been through the entire conversation, and he spoke quietly. “I don’t know how much he knows, but he can see where the reinforcement comes from. That was one of the last straws that brought me back to New York. I don’t mind the After Hours pictorials, but for such a pious government, they’re very lax about where they stock them. I think they have more of this stuff on television now than they did in the ‘sinful’ era. It must be the only way they can get the sheep to do something so sick and wrong.” The words came accompanied by a laugh, but one that was meant as a disguise. Sometimes, knowing too much about the programming system was the only way he could laugh at anything.

“Well, they can’t addict them to crack, or booze, or pot... what’s left but porn?”

“Exactly. But that’s been Hollywood’s MO since before they became what they are today, and they’re less like America ever was than even the average American is.” He gestured to Nat to sit on one of the chairs that peeked out from behind piles of boxes.

“So I guess that’s what the sign on the awning’s s’posed to mean?”

“That’s only half of it. I hope you didn’t have any other plans for today. It’s a long story...”

2010 had just begun, and in Hollywood, the boom times were just underway. The ten-channel system had taken root faster than anyone had anticipated, and aspiring actors and actresses flocked to the studios for a chance at being adored and idolized. In turn, the studios reached out for those who could be useful to them, and Chester’s computer programming abilities were quite attractive to Mountain Studios. Jamie had no problem with that, since LA was also the hub for US Soccer’s women’s team; defenders rarely got the credit they deserved, so Jamie needed every edge she could get, even with the alarming number of her former colleagues who were giving up the game to take up acting.

“I still don’t know why they put Flo, of all people, in charge of a studio, even if it did knock some sense back into my teammates,” Jamie complained between frustrated grunts as she unloaded boxes.

“Hey, she’s pretty good at getting a bunch of immature brats to behave themselves and do what they’re told. Can you think of a better qualification for a Hollywood boss? That horde of kids will seem like a vacation after a week.”

“Speaking of which... no, Ben! You can play with these boxes instead!” Jamie said, neatly scooping up the two-year-old as he scooted towards a row of open boxes and stowing him in an empty box.

“That’s one of his more endearing qualities. Moving just means more toys than he could ever dream of,” Chester said, laughing as Ben amused himself with an empty box.

“And to think of all the nights I stayed up worrying that he wasn’t going to handle the move well.” Jamie put her arm around Chester’s waist, and they both beamed with pride at their only son before they got back to work.

Chester’s face creased with worry. “I do think it’s strange, though. Do a few ads for the new networks, then someone gets a starring role in a movie, and now everyone’s sequestered here. And your coach seems as interested in my talents as in yours.”

“I thought that was really sweet of Flo. She didn’t have to find you that studio job, you know. And it pays more than your old job in Jersey, for a lot less work. How hard could being an assistant to the producer be? Most of the other husbands moving here are lucky to be asking if you want fries with that at O’Reilly’s. Look, it’ll be fun helping make what everyone else sees... and knowing what it really is,” Jamie said with a quick kiss.

It brought a smile to Chester’s face. For her Jersey roots, Jamie had a sensibility to her that blended Philadelphia sass and New York directness, and her no-nonsense attitude had swept him off his feet all those years ago. Deep down, he knew that the only way that Jamie would have considered moving across the country was if she could be sure he would have a steady job. After all, soccer was something she could give up for a real job, and given the national team’s spotty record with her, she’d mentioned using her degree more than once.

All of that was very nice, but he wasn’t looking forward to going from lead programmer to ‘assistant to the producer’. It was still a demotion. And he hadn’t figured out why a producer would require an assistant to have top-notch computer skills, either.

April’s tongue caressed her lips yet again, her hands searching frantically for a way to release the lust burning inside her. Her golden hair fell in glorious disarray as she tossed and turned, moaning more and more loudly as her distant eyes stayed fixed on the scene before her eyes. The bright dress she wore was falling off her shoulders, and the skirt was hiked up past her knees, but she no longer cared.

“How’s she doing, Chester? Is she ready for a visit from Mama Flo yet?” Flo asked. Her coach’s jumpsuit was out of place among the collared shirts and ties of the production crew, and with the scene going on in the glass encasement. At least it had been half an hour ago, the last time Chester had dared to look away from the brain scan in front of him so that he didn’t give in to temptation and stare at what he knew was going on in the enclosure. It was quite a rousing end to his first day of work, but the way things had been leading up, he couldn’t say he hadn’t expected it. Everyone in the computer business had heard rumors about the brainwashing machine, and how actors and actresses were really mindless propaganda puppets, but there was something about seeing it in front of his eyes that he would never be able to explain to anyone who hadn’t been there.

“She needs a couple of more minutes. As you can see, she’s completely taken, but she has a lot of past to empty out,” he noted, fighting to keep his voice properly neutral as he watched the computer transform April Dawson from a bright prospect on the national team into a puppet to be manipulated on television and in the movies, from Jamie’s periodic roommate on the road into another mindless ‘daughter’ for Flo and Cory to add to their doll collection in the name of profit.

He knew it should bother him much more than it did, and a small part of his mind screamed at him that he was an accessory to murder, but the bulk of his mind was taken up by fear- fear that Jamie would find out that his job was watching beautiful women orgasm more than anything else. Only that reminder kept Chester’s eyes glued to his screen instead of to April.

As for Flo, she gave him the creeps, the way she hung around the studio and how obsessed she was with her stable of ten- nope, make that eleven, he corrected as April came with a drawn-out moan and high-pitched squeal that made him cover his ears, even through the glass- actresses who she just called her daughters. Sometimes he wondered about that. For such a pious woman who used to boast that soccer was the perfect sport for her because she could play the season then have a kid and get back into shape during the offseason, Flo was disturbingly turned on by other women. But maybe it was just the mind-erasing machine that revved her motor up. Whichever it was, her obsession was obvious.

As for Cory... his lip curled in disgust as he watched her kneeling in front of the glass, mouthing a prayer that had as much sincerity as Ben’s bedtime oath to God. The less said about her the better. Flo might be crazy and obsessive, but Cory was as mean as a snake, and someone he swore never to turn his back on.

That seemed to be Flo’s cue to grab her headphones and enter the chamber, and he was sure that she’d be the next one moaning, but she didn’t seem to show any ill effects, though maybe that had to do with her being half-crazy anyway. She pulled April’s entranced body into an upright position and began to undress her, writing a new script on the blank pad of her brain with low whispers. April’s eyes fluttered as her new life was burned into her mind to become the only reality she would ever know.

“Does she even know she’s a dyke?” the man next to Chester sneered.

The word ticked something in Chester’s memory, and his tone was a little harsher than he’d anticipated when he replied, “Which one?” Without arguing any further, he turned back to the keyboard and began to type in commands for April. The clack of the keys paused when Flo stepped out of the booth with the self-satisfied air of a college quarterback who’d banged another cheerleader and the look of someone who’d made another tally mark on a chalkboard.

“All right, boys, watch little April for me while I do some shopping for her,” Flo said with a giggle as she beamed at her new... creation. For lack of a better word to describe someone still flesh and blood but completely controlled by the computer, Chester stuck with ‘actor’ and ‘actress’, though he toyed with ‘life-size Barbie and Ken doll’.

He looked up as Flo bustled past him, humming some obnoxiously cheerful tune as she went out the door. He tried to turn back to his screen, but as he moved his head, he caught sight of April’s completely naked form on the reclining chair, eyes locked on the screen, legs spread, hands poised over breasts and cleft as her empty mind awaited the next set of instructions.

The next step was one that only Flo dared to take- her maker’s mark, as it were- and one that gave Chester the chills. Not that he hadn’t been warned, but the idea of bearing witness to it was just too much for him.

His colleagues, on the other hand, had no such compunctions. “Fun time!” the man next to Chester announced, cranking up the sexual imagery and deep subliminals to the max as he turned the screen back on.

“You know this isn’t just for us, right? It’s what brings them down deeper than any other studio. It has to be. I don’t think anyone else is this... never mind.” Chester stopped talking when he realized that the man next to him was too busy fumbling with his zipper and enjoying the show as April’s mind was bombarded with pure, raw sex. She reacted to it with complete joy and total abandon, cementing the bond between her and the computer until it was so strong that it overrode everything else in her mind. The catcalls, opening zippers, and filthy talk from the men was everything he’d expected from them as they all focused on April’s sexual frenzy.

Chester, on the other hand, just kept his eye on the computer, watching April’s mind fade into nothing but a receiver for signals and pulses from the system. After a couple of hours, when he finally heard the moaning stop, he dared to look up from the screen and saw April completely out. She breathed so slowly that for a moment he thought they’d gone too far, but no, it was just enough to keep her alive. Her body was limp on the recliner, her eyes open with pupils dilated so that her eyes were almost black, and her face wore an ear-to-ear smile that never wavered.

“Congratulations, Mrs. McIntyre, it’s a girl,” he muttered under his breath.

“Missed quite the show there!” one of the guys hollered. “Who knew sweet April was such a... okay, okay, I get it, you don’t want to piss off wifey. Seriously, man, she’s not here. You can look up from the computer every once in a while. Or maybe wifey’s not a factor...”

The man was gone before Chester could provide proof that the process made him just as tight in the crotch as it did all the other guys. The difference was that there was only one woman Chester would ever want, and all the time spent in close contact with the computer only strengthened that bond. The thought of Jamie gave him enough fortitude to wave at Flo as she went back inside to dress April in her new role. He suspected that Hollywood sleaze was where Flo was going with the just-this-side-of-decent skirtsuit in loud colors.

“Only one not running to the bathroom, I see. So truly loyal. It’s adorable,” Flo said through the glass as she cleaned April up before giving April her brand new lace panties. “Really, dear, do feel free to watch. We’re all family here, after all. Even a darling gossiper like April won’t tell.”

Chester’s hand twitched over the dial that would restart the process and get Flo to shut up, but getting fired on the first day was a bad idea and explaining it to Jamie would be even worse, so he resisted temptation and instead kept an eye on Flo as she dressed April in the short skirt, tight blouse, and matching jacket. April didn’t move an inch from whatever pose Flo put her in. Finally April was all dressed and ready to go. As Flo and her newest toy left the booth, Chester handed her April’s programming disk. Then they were gone, whisked off to Flo’s mansion.

He cleaned up the various messes and shut down the office for the day, then came home to Jamie. She lay on the couch, feet up on its arm, wearing a baggy sweatsuit that did nothing to hide the firmness of her body, reading a mystery novel. She looked up at the sound of the door closing, and her face lit up, then fell at the look on his face. “You look like hell. First day that bad?”

“April got hired as a reporter for the entertainment show. Had to run her interview and screen test, and it all went a little long.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. It’d take a lot of lying to get her boobs and nose to be the proper size,” Jamie said, dismissing both the program and her former competition for roster spots.

“So I take it you won’t be watching her debut.”

“Puh-leeze. If I wanted to stare at a woman the way they want you to stare at women, it’d only be to get me kicked off the national team and get us back to New York, and I’d like to think you think I have better taste than that. Come on! I’d pick someone a little less trashy than April! Maybe someone where I don’t know where that’s been!”

“Sounds like you have someone in mind. Feel like sharing?” Chester teased back, knowing that playing to the stereotype was one of Jamie’s favorite roleplay scenarios.

“I don’t share with anyone,” Jamie murmured, pulling Chester in for a kiss. “Hey, according to these guys, I’m going to hell anyway for being Catholic. So who says it’d be just one?”

Chester laughed and kissed her even more passionately, which led to them teasing and stroking each other into the bedroom as loudly as they dared, lest they wake up Ben. Jamie shut the door with her foot. “Well, hello there,” she whispered in his ear as he pressed against her. “I hope that’s not a gun in your pocket. Just remember to aim.”

That night was one of the most passionate they’d had since Ben was conceived. Chester finally gave out first, rolling over and snoring within seconds. Jamie was too wired and too happy to sleep, and not even a few minutes with her hand could take the edge off. She flipped on the television, looking for a late night movie that would relax her enough to sleep, and her still aroused mind drank up the images, some of which had once been friends and teammates of hers.

Days went on, blurring one into the other. Another long day in the studio meant only one thing: another fit, pretty young woman being drowned by pure sexual bliss. This time it was Monica... Monica Somethinguez- Chester couldn’t remember and Flo no longer wasted her time with last names. Whatever it was, it had belonged to a shy Chicana who had a body her soul was dying over, but who had always been modest about it in brightly colored long dresses. As coos turned into faint hisses and whimpers that faded into silence, Chester recognized that none of that mattered anymore. Monica was now just the youngest sister to Flo’s brain-dead clan of actresses.

With his job done, Chester dared to look up, ignoring the ridicule of his co-workers. Flo entered the chamber with a bag of clothes in one hand, counting out something on the other. Chester watched Flo dress her new doll, building Monica’s new identity. The old modesty was long gone: she was now the Mexican novella sex kitten, wearing a skimpy neon green tube top and jean shorts so short that Clara the porn vamp would blush if she had the free will to do so.

“Latin channel needs its eye candy too! Besides, now Clara won’t be so scared and lonely coming home late at night,” Flo announced, sounding like she still thought her dolls had any feelings. A few of the more veteran programmers chuckled, but Chester just sighed as Flo led Monica from the chamber. “Ohhh! Dear little Monica won’t have to be the youngest for long! So that’s why Cory stayed home to take care of the family- we’ll be having our twentieth today! I need someone to walk Monica home- Chester, would you mind terribly?” Flo’s smile was bright and blinding, and it took all Chester’s will not to throw up. He packed up his laptop and tucked a microphone into the bag, then got up to take Monica to the limo.

The ride was silent and uncomfortable, as if he were a passenger in a hearse. Monica’s basic, automatic programming didn’t include any social cues or human gestures: she sat there and did nothing but breathe and occasionally blink. There was no reaction even when Cory opened the door at the mansion.

“Oh, hello, Chester. Guess you’re the only one dear Mama Flo trusts not to grope her darling daughters,” Cory said with poison dripping off every word. “Which one is this again? Monica? Take her computer, point her towards the changing room, and make sure she doesn’t stray.”

Chester dreaded the idea of what ‘straying’ might mean as he directed Monica into the small cubicle just inside the door. Cory sat down at the master control panel, twin to the one at the studio except for the lit buttons, and pressed #19. Monica’s eyes slid shut as her brain downloaded and absorbed the large amount of programming flowing into it. When her eyes flicked open again, Chester shuddered; they had been unseeing voids before, but now they looked more like a doll’s eyes than anything living. Her face was blank as she took off the scanty clothing she had on and changed into a white soccer uniform. Devoid of even the little character she had been assigned, she made Chester think of zombies from old horror movies.

Her hands pulled her hair into a ponytail, then fell to her sides as the subroutine ended. Cory jerked her chin at Chester, then at the elevator, and he ran to catch up to Monica, who was following the next subroutine. They descended to the main level, where the doors opened on the biggest girls’ dorm in the world. Ten of the other actresses were in residence at the moment, some in between projects, some finished with early morning work, some waiting for the night shift- if waiting could be used to describe automatons with no initiative of their own. They sat or lay on their numbered beds like statues, only swiveling their heads in a programmed response to the sound of the elevator doors shutting.

Monica waited for a moment at the top of the corridor before stepping forward without a word to take her place in line. Chester imagined that the glances the others gave her were pitying, or grieving, or perhaps even welcoming, as she passed through their ranks to the steel-framed bed with #19 on the headboard. The number was the only thing to differentiate it from any of the others; even Danielle, an Oscar-winning supporting actress, got the same plain rack, cheap mattress, pressboard table, and clock radio for the writer’s reference. Monica took her position and her eyes slammed shut again as she was synced into the rest of the pack.

Her eyes opened again, and she moved with the rest of them out the door, a pack of Siamese sisters joined at the brain, being put through their paces in the rec room. Chester could do nothing but follow, computer in hand.

As the day wore on, some left for their assignments, while others returned from a day’s work. It all blurred into a sea of white jerseys and long ponytails, and more than once Chester had to look down at the programming disk to remember #19’s name. He was starting to understand how having the name over the number had been a bone of contention between Cory and Flo.

When evening fell, all the lights flashed, and the actresses returned in two straight lines to the bedroom, where they sat and awaited their new sister. Chester didn’t know her, except that her name was Cameron; from the height, he guessed she had been a basketball player, but now she was nothing but a dazzling blonde model to sparkle people’s eyes. But the program was the same, whether the actress carrying it out was Sarah, the first, or Monica, among the youngest. As soon as Cameron was in her #20 place, Melda arrived from a photo shoot and took her #2 place in line. Mechanical in their precision, a hybrid of trained ballerinas and graceless robots, they sent shivers all down Chester’s spine.

Cory smirked at him as he left, and her gaze dropped further down than he would have liked- because while the entire scene had given him the heebie-jeebies, it had also excited him in ways he hadn’t expected. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind as he headed home, but it came back again as soon as he came through the door and saw Jamie glued to the television. He understood that it was supposed to happen this way- after all, he was doing his small part to make the shows irresistible so that the population’s ability to question would be blunted into nonexistence- but seeing Jamie that way sent him into the same maelstrom of emotional confusion as his day at the mansion had.

As she struggled to turn her head, he saw that she recognized the plan, that she saw the chains the television was trying to use to bind her into loyal obedience and would fight them tooth and nail. This fight lasted less time than most of the others- in short order, she leaped off the couch and threw her arms around him in a passionate hug. “So how was work today?” she asked, and for a moment her smile was the bland, warm one from the television before it curled up just a little bit more with Jamie’s own sense of mischief.

“Pretty good. Your friend Monica got hired for Channel 5, so look for her in about a week,” Chester said, hiding what had really happened as he always did. Sometimes he wondered what would infuriate Jamie more if she ever found out the truth: that he had basically killed some of her former teammates and friends, or that he broke his vows by sneaking peeks at their orgasming forms all day.

“That’s... she’s cut out for that,” Jamie said, and her tone every time he told her about a ‘hiring’ made him wonder if she suspected subconsciously that her friend and colleagues were dead or very close to it. As far as he knew, she knew nothing of the secrets behind the television, and she watched her shows as faithfully as any other American, but he knew she was smart enough to know that something wasn’t right.

But there was no more time for pondering, because she took his hand and led him to the couch. One passionate kiss later and every thought beyond the latest subplot was erased as he let the television take him into its world with Jamie by his side. Reality and imagination seemed to blur, and as they went to bed after the news, he found that the sex that accompanied After Hours was just that much hotter after a new creation. It was almost as if he could imagine Jamie in that state of total, abandoned lust, with him being the one who led her there. The thought was perverse, perverted, and more than a little frightening, but Jamie seemed to enjoy the effects as she purred in post-coital satisfaction, draped her arm over Chester with a soft kiss, and let the afterglow lull her to sleep.

By the time she was fully awake again, she was in her old practice shorts and a t-shirt, stretching seductively along with Cardio with Caitlin. The motion and sound awakened Chester, and he was a little chilled, because he knew full well that the show was more about relieving the sexual energy of the morning than exercise, but the stretches were good, and Jamie could outdo Caitlin, as she proved when she turned on one leg in full stretch to face him, then put the leg down and hopped on the bed in a full split, her eyes showing pure desire. Chester wasn’t about to deny the woman he loved when she wanted something so badly, especially on a weekend.

When they were done, Jamie followed the morning procedure to the letter, which left Ben rubbing his eyes in confusion and lingering sleepiness- after all, usually his mommy let him sleep as late as he wanted on Saturday, and here she was shaking him awake at nine in the morning and telling him to watch cartoons. And she was wearing dresses too and twirling around in them to ask how she looked.

“Are you nervous, Donna?” Flo asked as she sat across from Donna DeVries. Everyone knew the story: the tall blonde knockout had first switched from sand volleyball to indoor volleyball so she could expose less of herself, then abruptly transferred from UCLA to San Jose State so she could be closer to home. At least that was the story that the media told and told again, but the men and women of Hollywood knew the real reason. After all, the Hollywood Reporter had all but put a bounty on her head with its breathless talk of how big a star she could be if someone could just get her to throw off her innate shyness and get into a production studio. She had all the tools: long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, a shapely body, a beautiful face, and a built in fan base from her time on the volleyball circuit.

In short, Donna DeVries was a dead woman before she even graduated high school- and she knew it.

But here she was with clear eyes and a bright smile, saying, “Not at all, Flo! I trust you and Mountain Studios to make me the star I’m destined to be!” to the trade press. They looked around at each other in confusion. This was the same woman who once sat out a game just because there were cameras in the house, and yet there she was shaking Flo Burke’s hand. Clearly she hadn’t figured out anything about the secrets of Hollywood after all.

There was something about the whole recruitment process that bothered Chester, but he was too tired to put his finger on it; both Flo and Cory had gone to San Jose to recruit Donna, which had left the writers running the studio for a week, which In turn meant that Chester was doing all the decision making that didn’t involve removing clothes. Working almost twenty-four-hour shifts both exhausted him and left him constructing ever more detailed fantasies about how he was going to make love to Jamie before collapsing into bed and blacking out for a day or two.

“Look out, Candy lovers! Here comes DONNA!” Cory exclaimed as she hoisted the #25 jersey high in the air. Flashbulbs popped and flashed all throughout the room, and one of them went off over Chester’s head. Donna had known something was up, even if she didn’t know the particulars. Cory knew everything and lived on the same precipice edge. But she’d been down in San Jose with Flo, talking Donna into going, knowing what would happen. Murderous bitch, he thought, but he didn’t have time for more than that, because the press was leaving, with Donna blowing kisses to them as they went.

“Goodbye kisses. How sweet,” Cory said as the door to the chamber closed behind Donna. “She knew more than we thought. She was so tired of hiding that she resigned herself to her fate. We spent most of our time reassuring her parents.”

That was enough to reassure Chester as he watched Cory start the process. In the chamber, Donna’s virgin body melted like butter as the intensity picked up. She really did almost seem to know what was coming, and she started moaning at whatever hallucination she saw in about half the normal time. Chester’s hand hovered over the dial to turn it down, but chalked the anomaly up to her virginity and innocence and let the process go on.

Virginity and innocence were the last things on anyone’s mind when Flo came out of the chamber, leading Donna by the hand. “Say hello to the new queen of Hollywood!” Flo exclaimed. Even Chester found himself drooling at Donna’s new look. The high-collared blouse and long denim skirt were gone, replaced by a silver dress with a plunging neckline and a hemline that was barely decent. Her old sneakers were gone, and she wore silver high heels that strapped all the way up to her knees. Her slow strut sent some of those who’d just returned from the bathroom right back out the door. “No more brain-rotting Candy for our boys!” Flo said triumphantly.

Everyone knew that was a shot at Warner Studios and their Channel 4 sex queen. More than just rivalry, though, Candy’s major problem was that she threw too many people off track. They weren’t supposed to admire colored women, after all. That was why Donna had been such a priority for Mountain: she could knock the sultry temptress off her throne in the movie theaters and replace it with wholesome blonde goodness.

Flo stood up with a grin on her face and shouted, “Grab your laptops! One more long night, then the girls are going on vacation! And you know what that means- so are you!” That drew cheers.

“Boys, I’m just curious- can any of you tell me why we put dear little Donna in silver? Other than you, Chester, I know you know,” Cory asked.

And he did. The jersey had been the hint. The idea of celebrating the body count like a birthday or an anniversary sickened Chester, but there was nothing he could do by now, because Flo was going on, “Get your wives or fiancées and invite them to the Brown Derby! Then bring your daughters back here to baby-sit! Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve had a family outing! I can’t wait! I know the girls can’t either!”

Chester cringed at the realization that he’d have to show Jamie the fruits of his labor live and in person, where she would have to notice that there was something wrong. This couldn’t end well.

“It can’t be that bad, right? They seem OK on television, maybe just a little caught up in their roles, but everything else is normal, right?” He could hear the strain in her voice, a sign of the conflict within her. It was like there were two Jamies: the one who watched television and followed its orders to the letter, and the one who dyed her hair jet black and imported illegal drugs from the Griswold Company in Mexico. He knew the Jamie he loved still existed behind the white picket fence, housewifely dresses, and canned dinners.

“They’re okay, just remember, Amanda goes by—” He stopped as tears welled up in Jamie’s eyes. Sometimes he wondered if there were two Chesters too, because he knew full well that Melda was always the one to snap Jamie back to normal, because she was so different from the woman she had been before. He should have known better than to mention her... and yet he had.

“It’s Melda now, so don’t call her Amanda or Mandy or Ammy because she’ll look at me like I have two heads. And when Sarah or one of the others lights up, don’t bash smoking. That’s okay, ‘cause the way Sarah smokes she’ll be dead in three years. And don’t mention Clara’s dress or lack thereof. Damnit, when did she become such a tart? Why did we move here? Oh, that’s right, the team loves me now because I had to pretty much win the World Cup by myself with a team that only qualified because of a technicality after losing every match they could play in. I can’t take this anymore! One day I’ll move you back home, I’ll get you a job, I promise, oh, God, I’m so sorry for dragging you out here because of a stupid game.” She clung to him and took a couple of deep breath as the bout of hysterics settled into a more profound sadness. “I don’t understand, Chester, they’re my friends, why can’t I connect with them anymore?”

He held her close and stroked her hair, staying quiet because there was no way for him to really reassure her without giving away the secret. And while revealing all was tempting, he would never be able to get it out; he recognized his own programming well enough to recognize that. Even if he did, Jamie wouldn’t believe him, because it was too far-fetched. Even if she did, that would mark them both for death, and there was Ben to consider. “They’ve changed. Fame does that,” he said, the truth straining at the edges of the platitude. “I know you miss them, and your country. I miss it too. Find a better job for my skills and I’ll move in a heartbeat. But for now...” He trailed off, unable to finish. He knew they were trapped, and worse he knew that she knew. Maybe she already knew too much, just from seeing the changes in her friends’ personalities, Cory’s callous cruelty, and Flo’s obsession. It frightened her to death, making him want to protect her, making her want to run into his arms-but was that just another part of their programming, or their own fear?

“For now, I have to find something to put on for this show, and you have to go put Ben to bed. Shoo!” she said, waving him out with both hands. As the door shut behind him, he heard the television come on, trumpeting the arrival of Donna to Flo’s ‘family’. Just enough to numb her to what she has to see. he thought sadly, then put the thought aside and went to tuck Ben into bed.

He was waiting downstairs when Jamie came down in a flowing, sparkling black and gold dress that came to her knees, loose enough to dance in but tight enough to be alluring.

“I guess you’re feeling better?” he asked with a smile.

“I figured this new tart might like to see what a real set of legs looks like. That one thinks she can strut? She and Candy haven’t seen anything yet,” Jamie declared. She tossed her hair back and struck a pose. Chester knew his cues and looked her up and down before taking her arm and giving the sitter a few last-minute instructions.

The limo was waiting out front for them, and Chester breathed a careful sigh of relief when he saw that Cameron was their traveling companion; at least this wasn’t someone Jamie had known. He could tell that she gave Jamie the creeps, though, from the way Jamie held his hand tight and how her eyes darted around the car. Her perception was uncanny, given that with the makeup and the public interaction program, this was the most normal Chester had seen one of Flo’s creations ever look. But Jamie’s word was law. Unobtrusively, he pressed a key on his cell phone to disengage Cameron’s social interaction program, and the blonde just stared blankly out the window for the rest of the trip before being directed to hit the red carpet at the Brown Derby.

“She certainly is a cute girl. I’ll have to watch more of her show,” Jamie remarked as they got out behind the starlet. Chester looked down at his phone and didn’t answer- he was on the job, and Jamie understood her role in that situation. Her time would come.

It came after dinner and after Donna’s formal introduction, when the dancing began. Jamie could easily outdo all the puppets on the floor without doing anything that complicated. Chester glared at the men who watched his wife with obvious lust on their faces, and reserved one death glare especially for Cory as they returned to their table.

“Let’s see Little Miss Sex Kitten outdo that, baby!” Jamie said with a face full of pride. Chester tapped her leg with his foot to signal her to low five him under the table so that Flo’s furious eye wouldn’t fall on their celebration. After all, they had challenged the new princess, and challenged Flo and Cory’s power, right in the stronghold of the producers and writers. There was fear behind Jamie’s bravado; he knew her too well to know otherwise. But when it came down to crunch time, she turned her fear into something far more useful and dangerous.

And the Olympics in New York were coming up soon, too. Maybe that was their chance. The idea buoyed both of them, and the smile never left Jamie’s face as she sliced Cameron and the other actresses around them into verbal ribbons.

“After all the work you put in to make that happen, you better have a week off,” she said as soon as they got home, before she could change out of her dress and pantyhose. “You look about ready to drop.”

“Yeah, it’s vacation time for the girls.”

“Lemme guess, they have to give the new one her padding,” Jamie replied, standing up straight and taking a deep breath to emphasize her point.

“Something like that,” Chester mumbled.

“Well, maybe a real beauty would give them better ratings,” Jamie teased, unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the ground.

“Works for me,” Chester replied between heavy breaths as all the arousal from Donna’s creation came to the fore. He pulled her down on the couch next to him.

The next morning, Jamie was up at seven on the dot, watching TV while Chester recovered upstairs- more from her than from the week without sleep, she thought naughtily. This time it was Ben who saw the small change in Jamie from the creation night romp and the television programming. “Would you like a brother or sister one day?” she asked him with a bright, empty grin.

“No! My mommy! MINE!“ he said, and that was enough to wake Jamie up just for a few moments before she checked the branding on everything in the kitchen, bundled Ben up for school, dropped him off, and went over to the grocery store to restock on the proper brands.

Later that day, when Ben was home from school, she sat next to him on the couch and pointed at the show he was watching. “See her? Mommy knows her!” she said proudly to Ben as Danielle gave a lecture about bravery on Tracy’s kids show. There was something off to her about the story of the dashing young general destroying four times as many redskins as he had men, but she shrugged it off and drank it up.

But one ad for East 57th shoes later, and Jamie dug through the old boxes of books until she found an old copy of Pinocchio to read to Ben, then found a mystery novel to curl up with herself. She could see the changes in herself, and they terrified her so that she clung to her beloved.

<Look aroused. Spread your legs. Let your breasts be in the forefront.> Chester tapped at his keyboard and watched as Danielle struck a breathtaking pose in her tough girl blue jeans and t-shirt.

<Pull up your shirt. Let your hair fall back.>

Chester had no idea why Flo insisted he be the one to direct Danielle’s nude pictorial for her upcoming appearance on After Hours, but there he was, trying not to become aroused by something intended to turn men on so that they’d be ready for their wives come bedtime.

<Remove your bra. Let your hair fall back. Flaunt your breasts.>

Just typing the words was making Chester stiff, and laying eyes on one of the most beautiful women in show biz topless was enough to make him cross his legs in an effort to maintain control. Flo had mentioned something about a lunch meeting, but that was becoming hazy as he focused on his work.

<Crawl towards the camera. You need your man more than anything.>

The pose Danielle struck in response to that command made him drool, and he adjusted the keyboard so he could continue working one-handed while the other began to rub his crotch.

<Stand up again. Undo your belt. Lick your lips as you unzip to show your panties.> That was enough for him to surrender to the fantasy of Danielle as he continued his commands.

<Take your jeans and panties off at the same time. Flaunt your breasts and your cleft.>

One picture later, Danielle was naked, and the shoot wrapped up with the final three shots. Without further input, though, Danielle was still in the last pose, naked and fully aroused. “Oh, right,” Chester muttered, smacking himself in the forehead. He typed in the default command that would cause Danielle to dress herself, and she was almost done when Flo came in.

“You really are such a nice, faithful boy. You’re not going to let my darling daughter reward you for your hard work? You deserve it-that’s why I gave you the assignment. Speaking of our family, I was meeting with Jamie today,” Flo said, and the words made Chester’s heart skip a beat.

“W-what?” he managed to get out. Between the pain from sudden loss of arousal and the shock of Flo’s audacity, he was dumbfounded.

“Well, I’m sure you know about London’s generous offer to New York for the 2012 Olympics. We need a good New Yorker to show them around the crazy place. She didn’t seem to mind- she was tickled pink that we asked her- but since you’re my assistant, she wants your approval. Such an honest boy, not telling her trade secrets like the other men did. I’m sure they’d tell you I was the best thing that ever happened to their family.”

Chester winced, knowing that every other married man he knew had either had his wife join the acting profession or had acquired a trophy of his own. But that was them. He couldn’t think of Jamie as a puppet and one apparently oblivious to the process. Not the woman he loved, the mother of his child, his partner, his lover, his best friend- she was so much more than a warm body and a bright smile.

But then he looked at Danielle, whose life would forever be without stress, without pain, without frustration, without suffering; even when she was gone, she would be beautiful and young for generations to come. He thought of the women he had seen in the chamber, turned on even before the sexual imagery forged the link to the computer. He thought of the nights he had spent with Jamie, imagining what it would be like for her to descend into the same fiery lust, wondering if she felt the same way, wondering if she knew all along and wanted it.

He looked over at Danielle and had one last question. “Will she... could Jamie still... be my wife?”

“Why, of course! Marriage is eternal and sacred! There’d be some paperwork for you to sign so I could take good care of her, but who am I to keep a man from his wife? And of course, if you come to visit the family you can say hi to all of my girls! Plus you get me as a mother-in-law!” Flo’s voice never wavered from its chirpiness, but there was something uncannily sharp behind her eyes. Chester, however, was too distracted by Danielle and too preoccupied with trying to keep himself presentable.

“If that’s what she wants. If it’s really what she wants. But I don’t want to see her util afterwards. I won’t be there for it. Don’t.”

The choice wasn’t easy, but it might be the only way out for her. He had seen how sharply conflicted Jamie was: half of her wanted to give everything up after the Olympics to have another child and be a stay-at-home mom, half of her wanted to give everything up after the Olympics to go back home and live a rebel life in New York. He’d watched her flaunt her assets and skills in front of Flo after every new creation, taking every opportunity to walk the line between individuality and defiance. Maybe she wanted it after all and that was her way of showing it. But the whole idea sickened him.

Or maybe she thought she was the last of her group and there was no reason to hang on to the last tatters of her liberal pride. He’d seen her clique of friends go under one at a time, all of them seeming happy to go when he saw them. Hippie Jana was now a sideline reporter, Sandy was now working on an alt rock album, Megan would be running the daytime Olympic broadcasts, and Bree was gushing about Flo on her new talk show. In the back of his mind, he tried to make things make sense: putting together the numbers he had seen on the new jerseys, Flo’s offhand comments about how her team was taking shape, Bree’s old seething hatred of Flo, Megan’s understated New York pride, Sandy’s short hair and loving girlfriend.

But then Danielle came back in the room wearing a button-down plaid shirt, open to reveal her beautiful breasts and lack of bra. Somehow, she got positioned so that her cleavage was right in front of Chester as he signed the contract, and for a few minutes, he could escape the implications of what he had just done. “Thanks, dearie! Jamie sends her love!” Flo said, skipping off to the production studio.

And Flo kept her promise. He was whisked to the mansion that night so he could be there when Jamie woke up the next morning. He forced himself to watch as his wife- wife only in name now, he understood that all too well and all too late- jerked awake with the others, wearing the same uniform as the others, walked to the bathroom un unison with the others, and began to dress in unison with the others. The only difference came in the outfit that had been chosen to give her a new character: a little black dress, New York in its understated elegance and jet black hue, accessorized with a gray stole. Once it was on, she seemed to become bigger than life as her new character took the forefront and she became the exaggerating Broadway ham everyone expected of someone from the asylum state.

There was nothing left of the woman he loved- less than nothing, even. There was nothing behind the dead brown eyes that stared straight ahead as she munched on her cereal before getting up and walking past him like he was just another piece of furniture. His heart sank and remorse washed over him, but he had to go on with his work, so he picked up his laptop and checked his next assignment-Clara, so he could go home and rest up, since she worked the night shift.

He was expecting to hear Ben cry for his mommy, but the photo shoot had coincided with Ben’s first day of preschool, so he was thinking about as much as his mother was. He tucked Ben in, handed off responsibility to the studio’s babysitter, and headed to work. As soon as he came through the door, he was greeted with applause.

“Jay Street Jamie, man! Quiet as you are, I didn’t think you could handle that! Put it there!” one of the guys said with a bright smile, as if they were discussing the ultimate sexual conquest.

“Don’t feel bad. Think of it this way, you’ve got pick of the litter. I mean, sure, Jay Street Jamie’s yours any time- no more headaches- but a man needs a little spice in his life, you know? Me, I don’t know if I could take the Brooklyn accent all the time, but if you keep her mouth full- okay, okay, look, we don’t take anyone with a ring without asking first!” another said.

“So finishing up with Danielle tonight?” a third asked with a broad wink.

“Maybe,” Chester replied just to get them all to shut up. He checked around until he found Clara in her micromini and fishnet stockings, synced the laptop, and took her over to the studio for her interview with Danielle. Danielle and her equally mindless husband were already there, the husband in nothing but a pair of well-packed briefs, Danielle in a flannel shirt that just barely covered everything legal. Clara’s arrival seemed to be the cue for the other two writers to have their characters begin their routine. Chester could barely watch, but watch he did, and the scene aroused him more than he would ever admit. All he could think of was Danielle’s athletic body, and how it would feel next to him, what it would be like to run his hands along the planes of her body... if she would feel like Jamie.

The man across from him whose computer controlled Danielle’s every move recognized that, and Danielle sauntered over to him with lust in her eyes. One deep kiss, her hands fumbling with his belt, was enough for him to surrender to his new life.

Over a year’s time, Jay Street Jamie became the caricature everyone expected her to be, lampooning the asylum state of New York on a nightly basis on Channel 8. She even moved up to becoming a recurring character on The Quaker Show as the one too dumb for even Melissa to understand. She earned a bonus because breakouts from the programming lessened in her first year, thanks to her cautionary stupidity.

Once again, he turned on the television and saw the woman who had once loved him barking out her stilted dialect in a Brooklyn accent so thick even he couldn’t understand a word he said. It kept him awake even as he climbed the ladder. He earned a promotion to co-producer, sitting right next to producer Cory and executive producer Flo; with his writing skills, he could pick the best of the young starlets to work with.

What broke his heart, though, was that Ben was already seeing his mother as Jay Street Jamie than as the loving woman who gave birth to him. More proof that the young were most easily molded, Chester determined as he signed another check made out to Jamie Romanelli-Garfield for deposit into the joint account that he swore he would never close. Her name was written on his heart; he might as well have it written on his bank statement as well.

The doorbell rang, and Chester had to look over at the calendar to remember that it was that time of the month. He opened the door and coolly regarded the black-haired woman in the little black dress, his eyes darting to the young writer who stood behind her before he stepped aside to let them in.

“Hiya, baby,” Jay Street Jamie said in her nasal accent while giving Chester a rushed hug. “And there’s my little Benny boy! You grew so big while mommy was out to work, didn’t ya?” she squawked at Ben, pinching his cheeks. Chester bit his tongue to keep from laughing at the scene in front of him. Even Ben, at the tender age of five, seemed to know that this empty-eyed figure had never been anyone’s mother.

“Can the act, buddy,” Chester finally said to the writer. Jay Street Jamie walked up to him, put her hand on his shoulder, then froze as she awaited the next cue. Chester shot the writer a grateful look and said, “Sitter’s running late. Here’s your stole, sweetie, now wait in the car.”

She twirled and flashed a plastic smile as he put the gray mink stole around her shoulders, then walked out to the limo where her puppeteer waited.

“Why does mommy call me Benny?” Ben asked with such innocence that Chester’s hart sank.

“Your mommy’s a very busy lady these days, ad she doesn’t always remember how people like to be called. You’re lucky she doesn’t call you by my name and call me Benny. Mommy’s a very... special lady, and one day I’ll be able to tell you more about what that means, but for now, just think of her as your mommy, so you treat her like you treat me.”

He was amazed he got the words out without crying, but that might have had something to do with Cory coming down the hall; the hardness in her face gave him strength, even if she put on her brightest face as soon as she laid eyes on Ben.

“Have fun at the dinner tonight! I know Ben and I will. I thought I’d introduce him to puppets!” she chirped in the over-bright voice of a kindergarten teacher.

Chester gasped. “Cory! What are you—”

“What are you worried about?” Cory asked, pulling a bright red sock puppet out of her purse and waving it at Ben, who giggled.

“Oh, nothing. Ben, you be nice to Aunt Cory now. I think we’ll talk more about puppets when I get back,” Chester said, glaring at Cory as he left.

One would have thought that having a drop dead gorgeous wife fawning all over him, barely able to keep her hands to herself, would be heaven, but his memories of the real Jamie made this part of every month hell. But Flo insisted on this monthly gathering, so there he was in his best suit, kissing some Hollywood actress who was now given the role of being his wife. He looked out the window as the limo pulled up to the country club, where the other writers and producers were there with their trophy wives, all in over-the-top dresses and outfits that described their roles. In the middle of the group, watching over all of them with the eye of a hawk and the broad smile of a madwoman, was the most protective of mother-in-laws. Now that her smile was a permanent scar caused by exposure to the mind melting waves of her death chamber, it was clear to others what Chester had always suspected.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone! We’re so glad you could make it out here! All my daughters have been so anxious to see their darlings again. We have so much to celebrate- not just the hard work you put in as the best staff in Hollywood, but the fact that I could be here with you after recovering from my little accident...”

“Accident on purpose, more like. Why couldn’t she hang herself like a normal person?” one of the other writers whispered to Chester.

“Wouldn’t have gotten her as much attention,” Chester replied just as quietly. After all, Flo’s suicide attempt during her messy divorce from her husband had been major news in the Hollywood Reporter and the other trade publications. While some thought the incident had damaged her career more than it had her mind, Chester noticed that ultimately she had gotten away scot free; they say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and there’s less left in there to hesitate than there was before, he decided.

“And of course, I couldn’t be here without my acquittal on such shockingly false charges, but let’s not talk about that. We’re here to celebrate joyous things, like the birth of my fiftieth child...” Chester tuned out again at the reminder of that. There were some things he had to be pretty zonked out to even try and face, and he wasn’t going to get that opportunity here.

He had enough problems to deal with while dinner was being served. After all, Jay Street Jamie’s role was to be a total buffoon because she was trying too hard to be elegant, and this was the perfect setting for her character to do the most embarrassing things possible. So it had been for the past twelve months, both on and off camera; so it would be every moth for eternity. Chester could barely even look at her except to offer a warm smile at her lovelorn glances, and the only time he touched her at the table was to pet her leg whenever it wandered over to his leg.

The start of the dancing was announced, and he took Jay Street Jamie’s hand to lead her out to the dance floor, his heart aching for the days when Jamie’s soccer skills and stamina mixed with her innate sense of rhythm to make her a better dancer than some professionals. Those days were gone, and all Jamie’s fancy moves were replaced by Jay Street Jamie’s simplistic waltzes and robotic two steps that left Chester feeling like he was part of a giant electric football game more than a group of dancers. He looked the consequences of his actions right in the eye and kissed her hand, eliciting an over the top giggle and blush that caused heads to turn and gave him a good excuse to go back to their table so he could rest.

“Nice one there, Chester! So you wanna dance with Millie next? I’ll take good care of your baby there. Real good care, if you know what I mean,” one of the other men said, leering at Jay Street Jamie and grabbing her butt. But it wasn’t part of her program, so she didn’t react.

“Why not? Just be careful, these New York girls can get pretty crazy,” Chester said, playing the perfect foil to Jay Street Jamie’s comedy- so perfect that she recognized the cue and picked it up with a “Fuhgeddaboudit!” buried deep in her memory banks for ‘spontaneous’ public interaction.

Chester chuckled at the absurdity of it, but everyone else belly laughed at Jay Street Jamie being her crazy, uncouth self. “I better bring strings to hold her down, if she’s that crazy. Now Millie here, she’s more of a hand puppet, if you know what I mean,” the other man said with a twisted grin, running his hand up Millie’s bright red gown, grazing her panties before coming back out again without Millie doing anything more than briefly flashing a smile to acknowledge his touch before going back to total blankness.

“I’ll keep that in mind. You try to keep control with Jay Street Jamie. Don’t let her call you a cab home. TRUST ME on this,” Chester said as playfully as he could manage while another man led the actress who had once been his wife upstairs for a wild romp. That left him alone with Millie, the former hard-charging forward turned late night sportscaster turned 6 o’clock anchorwoman, who had gotten moved into a better slot since Sky’s arrival a few months earlier. Rationally, Chester dreaded this moment, but his primal instincts howled for this sole release from his nightmare of a day. His eyes were drawn to Millie’s enlarged breasts poking through the top of her gown, and he touched her cleavage gently before he could remember what she had been like when she was trim and athletic like his Jamie had been.

He recognized the exact moment when Millie’s seduction program was activated, and he even had enough of a mind left to wonder who had drawn the short straw to perform writing duties for this party before he was swept away on a tide of hormones, leading Millie upstairs the way the other men had taken the other actresses. After he finished, he was no different from the rest of the middle-aged frat boys on the floor, whooping it up with Oak Tree and dirty tales of conquest and lust, each of them seeking to top the last.

He wasn’t thinking much when the limos pulled up outside the mansion and he and his colleagues were guided to the proper cars and driven home. Cory greeted him at the door, smirking at the glaze over his eyes and the lipstick on his collar. Playing the role of Concerned Aunt Cory to the hilt, she took out a tissue and wiped off the drool at the corner of his mouth that came from the idol that knelt before him.

“All that remorse and you still can’t resist a good dirty blonde,” she said in a quiet, even voice that dripped with poison. “Who was it this time? Sky? Millie? I’ll find out, you know. I find out everything here. Did you really think Flo would put up with the way you people use her darling daughters like your own personal brothel? Even you’re a john, no matter how much of a goody-goody you try to be. They lead you to the water and you’ll drink.” She smirked as she guided him inside to the living room. “Hope you’re ready to get back to work tomorrow. Dear Flo isn’t fully recovered and we need this new actress bad.”

“Hrngh?” Chester mumbled.

“Annie’s vocal cords need a break,” Cory said, pointing at When Insomnia Attacks!, the B-grade horror flicks that were designed to put the viewer back to sleep within minutes if they randomly woke up in the middle of the night. Chester looked automatically, and Cory smirked as she recognized that he still saw and felt everything form the television like an ordinary person as his head drooped and he collapsed on the couch. She straightened him out, trying to hide how leaden her body had become at the subliminal lullaby playing in the movie.

But two yawns and a flop into the easy chair later, and Cory was out cold.

Both of them woke up with a start at 7 on the dot. “Thanks for sitting,” Chester said, and Cory shrugged in response before going out to her car. Chester swung into the morning routine, making sure that Ben did too, before he headed out to drop Ben off at school and go to work. As out of it as he was, he remembered his promise to his son, so before he left, he ducked into the basement, dug out a dusty box, and took a half-forgotten book out of it.

“So what did Aunt Cory teach you about puppets?” Chester asked.

“That you can make them out of anything!“ Ben replied excitedly. He showed his dad by making a quick shadow puppet with the sun shining next to his booster seat. “Quack! Quack! See? It’s a duck!”

“Very nice. And your Aunt Cory’s right, but... do you remember that very important lesson I keep teaching you about? The one they’ll never teach you in school?”

“Reading, yeah, daddy,” Ben replied.

“Here’s something to study that with. It’s all about puppets,” Chester said, handing Ben the First Reader picture book of Pinocchio and wondering if Ben would understand. “Now remember, don’t take it out in school, because they’ll take it away from you. But when you get home, while I’m at work, read it, and ask me about it when I get home, okay?”

“Yes, daddy,” Ben replied, hopping out of the car at school and joining the throng. Chester looked after him for a moment before heading over to the studio, where it was business as usual. After his tryst with Millie, he wasn’t as worried about the ethical ramifications of his job as a producer, and he sat in the conference room poring over pictures of young women from various collegiate athletic teams.

“So many darlings. Oh, if only they could all be my daughters! Maybe one day when the need is there,” Flo said dreamily, twisting her hair and staring off into space.

“We’re making a country girl, so we’ll want a nice natural blonde, and we need her pretty quickly, since the summer album rush is in three months. That means no time for surgeries, and maybe not even a good bleach job,” Cory said coldly, shoving pictures to the side as she deemed them unsuitable.

“That also means unmarried, since we can’t wait around for all the permissions to come through. Besides, for country music, especially on Channel 10, we could go far marrying her off,” Chester added.

Cory tossed her head. “Please, that’s child’s play. Permission’s a non-issue. Ah, here we are. What do you think, Flo?” she asked, selecting a tall blonde with good assets out of the pile in front of her.

“Oh, Chrissy? She’s a lovely girl, but I’ll have to spend extra time with her to teach her how to sing. Will that take too long? Oh, look! Sunny here already plays guitar, so maybe that would be easier? But sweet little Chrissy will do. I’m sure I can teach her how to sing in enough time,” Flo rambled, her smile never letting up.

“I’d go with Sunny. Chrissy’s married to one of our assistants, and he loves her a lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if she... knew,” Chester objected.

“Nonsense, dear. If she knows, she’d want to join my family even more. I’m the best mother-in-law a man can have. Don’t you love spending time with my family?” Flo said.

“Yes, but we need this person to be ready fast. You know how long it took you to get me to agree to adopting Jamie,” Chester said, drawing chuckles from both Flo and Cory.

“Hmm, he does have a point. Better have Rick work After Hours tonight,” Cory said, tossing back her long dark hair with a knowing smile.

“I’ll call him. Oh, lovely, it’s Millie’s turn. Spring bra sales, you know! The department stores insist!” Flo said as she pulled out phone and dialed Rick.

“Guess it’s up to us to convince Chrissy, so let’s get on it,” Cory said as coldly as if Chrissy’s life was just another stat on the scoresheet.

“Um, Cory, you do know...” Chester asked, speaking as freely as he dared.

“No, I just kneel and pray for them because I know you horny little piggies like to see a woman on her kenes,” Cory snapped back at him. “We don’t have time for this nonsense.”

And that night Chrissy was sitting anxiously in Cory’s office, her knuckles turning white. She clutched her purse even more tightly as Cory and Chester finally entered. “Uh, hi,” she said, almost trembling with fear.

“What’s the matter? We’re just here to talk and off her you a job? I don’t bite. What did you think we were doing?” Cory said, laughing a little at Chrissy’s reaction.

“Laying off my husband. I know how tough things can be these days, and he hasn’t been home yet, so I thought he had to clean out his desk or worse, but if he’s not, then—”

“Calm down, Chrissy. There’s no way we’d lay off Rick. He’s one of the best we have, and he’s a good guy,” Chester said. Rick was one of the few guys at the studio he even wanted to be on a first-name basis with; he engaged in the activities that all the other men did, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it the way they did, his reactions falling more in line with Chester’s than anyone else’s. Unlike a lot of the men, the picture of Chrissy and Rick on Rick’s desk showed them as obviously equal partners, and showed her in ordinary clothes instead of something better suited to a fetish catalogue.

“That’s why we thought of you when we heard the label was looking for a new country singer to promote. We’d teach you everything, provide all the training and equipment, handle all the profits. I’d say that with your looks, you’d be a big star, and we could get you on Channel 1 by the fall season,” Cory said with a smile so fake Chester wasn’t surprised Chrissy didn’t get up and run right then and there.

“I think I could be a little more than, um, a prancing tramp on stage the way so many singers are. I have a BA from Stanford that I’d like to put to use. And I wouldn’t want to be Channel 1. I don’t like actresses, they’re always so... dense. Sorry. I know you guys work with them, and I mean this is in the nicest way, but it’s like they’re never out of character. I don’t think I could do that my whole life, never being myself. I hear some of the things Rick tells me after some of the sessions. Does Melda really demand that the studio buy her twenty pairs of shoes a day?”

Chester almost turned pale at the revelation of how much Chrissy knew, and if Cory hadn’t been there he would have aborted the operation at that moment, but Cory was unfazed. “Well, she is the spokeswoman for East 57th. She’s going to have to keep samples. We can’t have heels breaking on stairs, so she has to test out what she endorses, and of course they have to go with her outfits.” She took out her laptop and clicked on a few icons. “Would you at least want to see what your new role would be before you turn us down completely?”

“I guess I could. If it’d make Rick happy. I know you would have to talk to him before hiring me,” Chrissy said, sounding like she just wanted to get them off her back so she could go home.

“That’s why Mrs. McIntyre isn’t here, she’s talking to Rick about it right this second,” Cory said with a smile. She clicked on the last button, then flew out of the room as if a bomb were about to go off. Chester quickly put two and two together and fled as well-straight to the men’s room, sick to his stomach as he understood what Cory had done. He came out with eyes filled with rage and angry questions on his lips.

“How were you about to get the core system on a DVD like that? I thought that was impossible!”

“You can’t get the entire system on, but if you splice in some of the extreme subliminals used in the chamber, you can give them a nice little teaser of their future life, and we’ve had a few years to work on it. As my dear, darling, beloved colleague likes to say, ‘everyone deserves their fifteen minutes of fame, dearie,’” Cory said, dropping into a chillingly accurate imitation of Flo at the end.

“So that’s how you get the holdouts to sign, stun them until they’re unable to say no. And meanwhile I’m sure Millie’s modeling more than just bras to Rick,” Chester said, gritting his teeth. Only his morals and the idea of what would happen to Ben if he had to go to jail keeping him from strangling Cory where she stood.

“You should know,” Cory replied sweetly, and Chester took a step towards her until he got himself back under control. “Well, most don’t give in as easily as you think. They need to be reunited with their wives, who of course want it more than anything, and the husbands won’t sign until after a week of being nagged to death. It’s kinda pitiful, actually.” Cory rolled her eyes.

Chester, on the other hand, was about ready to either throw up or tear Cory to pieces with his bare hands as he remembered the ‘negotiations’ that turned Jamie into Jay Street Jamie, and the emptiness in Donna DeVries’s eyes as she held her new jersey in the air. Lie upon lie upon lie, a web of deception woven over patient years; Cory was even more of a conniver than he had thought.

A watch alarm beeped, and Cory opened the office door to show Chrissy spaced out and twirling her hair with a broad, mindless smile on her face.

“You poison their minds so they can’t say no! You’re the living end! Doing that to the spy was one thing, but this? You killed my wife! You- how many other have you murdered this way?”

“Garfield, if I’m a murderer, you’re an accessory, because you helped. Oh, have you ever helped. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If you want to turn me in, you’ll have to turn yourself in, and then Flo gets a little grandson to take care of. Would you really want that?”

She hit him right in the guilt, right where it hurt most, and his simmering rage settled into a slow burn..

“So will you help me walk Chrissy to the production room or not?” she asked impatiently, leading Chrissy by the hand to the waiting table near the entrance to the production studio. Chrissy’s eyes were glazed over, and she was obviously only able to think enough to muster a giggle as she almost missed the chair.

“The time with the mini-system only lasts a few minutes. She’ll wake up in about two hours, but the memories will last much longer. If, I don’t know, a month, goes by and she doesn’t come back to go all the way, she’ll forget and go back to who she was. You can see why I get out so fast, though. I’m too important to get zonked out the way these little girls do.”

Most people saw this side of Cory- the part of her that was so fearful of the programming chamber that she wouldn’t even stare through the glass- as her compassionate side, but Chester knew better.

“Too important? More like too proud. Afraid of being made into someone else’s Barbie doll? Or are they even more subhuman than that to you?” Chester snarled. Just because he was trapped in this job, having to support Ben as a single parent and do penance for what he had allowed to happen to Jamie, that didn’t mean he couldn’t fire off his shots at the people who’d put him in that position.

Flo cut through the tension as she walked into the room looking like a giddy school girl who had just gotten a A on the paper she waved around so excitedly.

“That was easy! Chrissy, your Rick can’t WAIT for your lessons to start!” Flo exclaimed.

Cory covered her ears at the girlish scream that followed.

“Shouldn’t you save that voice for singing?” Chester mocked as Flo led Chrissy to the chamber, came out, locked the door, and motioned for Chester to begin the program. As Chrissy’s breathing became heavy and she started to moan, Chester looked away from his work long enough to work up the courage to talk to Flo- if there was any Flo to talk to. Sometimes he wondered if she were an actress with Cory as her wrtier.

“So, why do you insist on people you know? On people from the soccer team and other female athletes?” Chester asked, wanting his first question not to give away his intentions.

“Why, my daughters have to be stronger than others, so they have be very fit. I just don’t think an ordinary girl could survive such a grueling regimen,” Flo said, beaming with pride at her ‘girls’.

“So you create a machine to make sure that you don’t have to convince them? Just look at them in the window and take, take, take, like a greedy little brat?” Chester shot back.

“Oh, dear. Cory is such a wicked stepsister sometimes and so ungrateful for the good work we do. As good as I treat my daughters, everyone should see what family life will be like before they make their decision. I do think everyone deserves fifteen minutes of fame, don’t you? I certainly wouldn’t do this to someone against their will! That would be cruel!” Flo said. Chester could tell that she meant every word she said eve if not a single word of it made any kind of sense.

“I think I understand now,” Chester said sadly as he looked up at the chamber and saw that Chrissy was Flo’s for the taking. He the noticed that she was about the same height and weight as Jamie had been, and had an idea. “It’s been a long day for both of us. Why don’t you stay here and keep an eye on Chrissy while I get some air and do the shopping for her?”

“OOh, are you getting a crush on sweet little Chrissy? If you want, I could loan you my headphones and you could get to know her better.” Flo said excitedly

“No thanks. I’m not divorced and neither is she. It would be wrong. Besides, she’ll be Channel 10- it’d be like marrying someone from another country.” He laughed, and Flo laughed with him, while Cory shot him a suspicious look as he left. What neither of the women knew was that he was speeding home and down into his basement.

“There it is! If that doesn’t send the message, nothing will!” he exclaimed as he pulled out Jamie’s favorite dancing outfit: a pair of tight black jeans sequined in silver and gold, with a black and gold top to match. Just to disguise his intentions he grabbed an old belt with an elaborate buckle that had belonged to his uncle and tossed it all in a plastic bag before he went to the usual boutiques for the overpriced outfits Flo usually preferred for her girls, then returned to the normal sights and sounds of the studio.

“Oh, very nice!” Flo exclaimed. She looked at all the options, then picked out Jamie’s outfit to dress Chrissy in, not even thinking twice about it.

“Well, she is going on Channel 10. Secondhand clothes will make her more realistic to the viewer,” Cory snarled, glaring at Chester. As soon as the chamber door was closed behind Flo, Cory rounded on him. “You really thought that Flo would get something that subtle? Or do you just need someone to look like your wife so you can get it up like a real man?”

“Neither, I swear. I just thought it would all fit the character. And it’s not like a Brooklyn girl like Jay Street Jamie needs it anymore,” Chester answered with a sigh. He’d actually hoped the idea would get him fired, but instead it looked like it had helped trap him in hell for eternity.

Leaivng Cory and Flo to their work, he headed home. The babysitter- a local kid working her way through college- was staring at After Hours. She was a little young for that- she should have been watching the music videos on Channel 9 instead- but she seemed to be enjoying it, if the wet spots on her shirt and jeans were any hint. “Thanks for staying late. Here’s a little something extra for your time,” Chester said, reaching into his wallet and handing her a stack of bills.

“No problem. Ben’s been asleep for a while. He’s a nice boy, but he’s got a really strange fascination with dolls and puppets. You may want to get him into T-ball or something like that. You wouldn’t want him growing up... you know...like gay or anything like that,” the sitter said with a know-it-all smile. Chester held back his laughter until she was out the door.

The next day he saw Rick half asleep at his station from the long night before with Millie, and the other guys noticed too. “So how many sets did she model for you, man?” one of the guys yelled.

“Or how many times did she model her set?” another shouted with a smirk.

“I never thought Chrissy would sign up. You should see her now! YOWZA! Admit it, you jerked off to the sight of that prude strutting around in those tight jeans,” a third man said with a leer.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rick mumbled as he plodded on with his work. Chester sat down next to him.

“I’ve been there too. Meet me after work,” he whispered. Rick nodded but made no other acknowledgement as they took their assignments for the day.

That night they were the only two writers in the dining room among Flo’s mindless children. Rick stared in dumbstruck horror at Chrissy in her white soccer uniform, #53 among the pretty maids all in a row, neatly lined up from oldest to newest, knowing only their characters, seeing nothing and knowing less.

“Does she even know that I exist?” Rick finally asked.

“Not a chance in hell. With the other studios, there might have been, because they build around the past personality and just do the one session. Flo, well, she...” Chester said, but he didn’t finish before Rick lowered his head onto Chester’s shoulder and started bawling.

“Why would she even agree to- she was always afraid- I signed because I thought she wouldn’t and I thought that was the only way to get Flo to stop, but then I saw that it happened and it didn’t make sense, and it still doesn’t make sense.—”

“Easy there. If you want to blame someone, blame Cory. Cory drugged her with a subprogram and Flo knew it. It was the only reason Chrissy agreed, and it was the only reason Jamie agreed too,” Chester explained.

“We’re nothing but cold-blooded killers, aren’t we?” Rick asked.

“Cory is. She thinks they’re just little plastic dolls to play with. Everyone’s there for the taking- whoever they want, whenever they want, for whatever game they want to play. That’s why she fears the machine- not because of what it does to other people, but because of what it can do to her. She loves it as long as someone else is the target, even if she pretends to hate it.” He stopped himself before he could really lose his temper and maybe cause Cory or Flo to notice what he and Rick were discussing, and instead change the subject to something he’d been wondering about for a while. “You know why they’re so close to the athletic community, right? The strength needed to destroy the mind to this point- to make someone a basic zombie, more than any actress usually is- would kill a normal person. You’ve seen the end stage. They’re barely breathing. Let’s face it, Flo and Cory are the worst of the worst. And I wonder if Flo’s really alive these days. All that radiation can’t possibly be healthy.”

“We need to get out of here, or at least change the culture,” Rick agreed as he turned away from Chrissy.

The plot was on.

Jay Street Jamie’s gown glistened brighter than any she had ever worn as she sat next to Chester in the limo. A year of plotting and planning behind Cory’s back was about to pay off. Caitlin had to be retired, because even in her mindlessness, and even after several surgeries, the pain of her knee broke through; Chester had seen the X-rays and was frankly surprised it had taken this long for her body to notice that her knee basically didn’t exist.

But it had happened, and he was at the 75th daughter party for Flo. More than any of the get togethers, he hated these with a passion. He had gotten used to the wife-swapping; he knew enough not to consider any of these puppets anyone’s wife anymore, and that meant the one sitting next to him and clinging to him until she was pulled away, too.

He understood full well that Flo’s children were there to be one thing: the sexiest creatures on television. As much as he resisted, he couldn’t turn down the sight of one of Flo’s daughters coming on to him, wanting nothing but for him to relieve her of the lust between her legs. It bothered him, but he knew that it was the programming that made them that way, and that made him unable to resist, that the only reason he could resist even a little was because of his strong mind.

Flo’s children were too controlled to be the top of the line, to be the A-list with all the world falling at their feet, though Flo’s stable had occasionally picked up a few makeup or writing awards, and Danielle had earned a Best Supporting Actress Oscar once. But they could sell things in commercials, strut the ugliest of clothes until everyone wanted what they had, and flat-out sell sex, and that was all the Mountain wanted from them. Throw in their complete willingness to do After Hours and you had a multi-billion dollar machine that could react to any need instantly.

Cathy, the clowning comedienne, was doing her routine to open up the show, as her writer had her doing wackier and more dangerous stunts before she finished up to thunderous applause. Cathy was one he hadn’t known, and he wondered who she had been before, and if she had ever been the kind of person to tell a joke and make herself the center of attention. Cory’s purr of content made Chester think that not only was the answer no, it was the exact opposite.

The emcee announced that it was time to hit the dance floor, and he stared at Chrissy- not because he wanted her but because she was wearing Jamie’s outfit and it looked as good on her as he thought it would. His mind filled with mixed emotions, half of him fantasizing about Jamie’s prowess on the dance floor being fulfilled again and half in anger that someone would toy with him so badly. Chester thought a little, then headed over and asked to cut in, not seeing how dreamy Rick was with his Chrissy. As they traded off, he took a moment to call North Carolina before turning his attention towards Chrissy.

Afterwards, Chester went home, once again with his mind wrapped up in the sexual conquest he had made. He handed money to the babysitter, but she didn’t move, and that woke him up all the way. He looked over and saw the writer sound asleep in the chair. He turned on another light and his fears were confirmed.

“FLO-GO? They sent one of those ROBOTS, one of those things here to take care of my very real son?” Chester yelled, waking the writer up with a start.

“Easy! I’m here and I’m human. Besides, Flo-Go is eighteen, and she’s programmed to be a children’s show hostess. She knows a little about children, more than a man like me, and I wasn’t up to going to the party. A lot of Channel 2 stars babysit actresses’ children. It makes sense. Calm down about it, man.”

“I don’t want my son getting attached to those things, especially not Flo-Go! You do know who she was, right? Or as our dear boss likes to say, ‘she always was what she now is’,” Chester said bitingly.

“I don’t see the big deal, but if you have issues, take ‘em up with Dear Leader. Don’t drop my name, that’s all I ask. If you want my advice, your son is way too girlish for his own good. He actually asked Flo-Go if she could pretend to be a doll,” the writer said with a laugh as he took Flo-Go with him and sped back to the mansion. Chester broke into a smile and snuck into Ben’s room.

“You should have asked if she could pretend to be a real girl,” Chester whispered as he smiled at his sleeping son before going back to his room to prepare for the next day.

The next morning was as big as he thought it was going to be. He knew it from the first moment he laid eyes on Flo and saw the bloodlust in her eyes as she looked at Cory. She wanted Cory in the only way she could ever want anyone now: as a dead soul in a live body to be used and played with in any way that Flo saw fit.

This was the day he had waited for for years, when her replacement was ready to take over- and Rachel was sitting right there, so there was no excuse on that end. Chester, Rick, and the rest of the writers had done a good enough job of making Flo seem capable that Cory’s presence was seen as redundancy, so there was no way Cory could weasel her way out. All she could grab was a twenty-four hour reprieve for her to say good-bye to her children and an empty prayer for forgiveness.

He knew that she thought she had earned enough concessions to still retain some scrap of her soul, but as soon as she entered the chamber, everything would be gone. It only seemed fitting. She had done that to so many of the women she was going to be living with, after all. If she had been a little less cruel about it, Chester might have felt bad for her.

And if she hadn’t been such a cold, calculating, bitch who took every opportunity possible to put the knife into her colleagues, she might have looked noble on the day of her execution. She chose not to drug herself with the program she used to take what she couldn’t get by persuasion, facing her fate with a clear mind and clearer eyes. She chose a dignified exercise outfit, already fitting herself to her new role with full awareness of what was coming. She obviously knew that one day she was going to be condemned one way or another, but she almost seemed pleased as she sat down in the chair and told Flo, “Fire when ready.”

It was the only time that Chester watched the entire process through the window the way the other men did. To see icy Cory melt before his eyes and turn into a puddle of mindless goo, and to see every concession given to her willingly removed as she turned from a brunette athletic icon into a blonde fitness tramp made Chester unzip and hoot and howl along with the other piggies. When all was said and done and Cory laid there as just another motionless, mindless, blind, deaf, and numb doll like all the other ones she had condemned to living death, he drooled at her form as Flo led her out.

The smirks were unscripted and the giggles by the rest of Flo’s daughters all but real. Chester remembered reading in a horror book when he was young that no matter what, a murder victim always recognized their killer. Maybe that was what happened as Cory’s soulless body was dressed in jersey #77 and marched through the common area of Flo’s mansion. He could have sworn that Jay Street Jamie’s eyes lit up, as if for a moment he was looking at his beloved wife and not a puppet. Sky, the UN spy that Cory took down to earn a Medal of Freedom, looked to be taunting Cory from her place deep in line. Clara, the first of Flo’s children, whose one moment of exhibitionism made Cory transform her into a whore doll to host After Hours, whistled as Cory stripped for the shower. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe it was a hoax that the other writers were doing together to get the studio to fire Flo so they would not have to work for a woman (though there was still Rachel to consider) but whatever it was, it made him smile for the first time since Jamie became Jay Street Jamie.

That moment of euphoria wasn’t bound to last long, and it ended when Chester checked his e-mail.

Through all this time, all I’ve wanted was Chrissy, to be with her, to touch her, to kiss her, to love her again, and have her love me. Revenge can never bring her back, but there was one way I could be with her again. Goodbye to those who cared, and thank you for trying to help.

He read the e-mail again, and he couldn’t believe it, despite the evidence being on Channel 10 as Ricky made his debut as the long lost lover of Chrissy. The syrupy lovey doveyness of the whole scene made him as sick as the suicide note did. Chester knew Flo didn’t keep many boys- not her style- and he thought she would be smart enough to try and talk Rick out of it.

Enough was enough. The furious thoughts that raced through his head were enough. The hate on the screen that he could see through his rage was enough. The machine was enough. Ben being bullied and labeled a faggot at school because he understood what his mother had become was enough. Enough was enough. Chester ripped the television out of the wall and threw his laptop to the ground, laughing as they shattered. There had to be a way out. He had to save his son, even if he couldn’t save himself, and he didn’t care what he had to do to do it.

He walked into work for what he knew would be the last time.

“Oh, just the man I wanted to see!” Flo exclaimed. “Jay Street Jamie’s did After Hours for the first time with her new husband, and I thought you wanted to see what she was up to.” The smile still never left her face, but he couldn’t tell if it was a dose of the cruelty he had learned to expect from Cory or just a scar of her psychosis. He saw another woman wrapped up in her “fifteen minutes of fame” in the nearby office, Rachel grinning from ear to ear at her first conquest.

“They look great,” he said sarcastically. “I see you have her sprawled out on a cab. Very New York, especially for those who come as tourists. It’s amazing what you can do with someone when they’re in the business, isn’t it? From the looks of your new best friend over there and her little pet, another one of your writers was too loyal to his vows.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Flo asked, and he couldn’t tell if her sincerity was real or fake anymore.

“You’re murdering another wife to make sure the man’s just another of your little piggies? I don’t know if you’re completely off your rocker or you’re even worse than Cory, but I’ll tell you this as the last piece of advice I’ll ever give you. Rachel’s got all your ambition and all of Cory’s ruthlessness, so you better watch your back before she pushes you down the stairs... or into the chamber. And if you survive her, well, one day America will wake up and realize that Hollywood’s not America, and that it’s anything but. I swear, both of you will hang for the crimes you’ve committed and the sins on your souls,” Chester said as he turned towards the door.

“But- but I took in Cory for you! She was the one who was like that!” Flo protested.

“You can’t be serious. You can’t possibly be serious. Make us as dumb as you so we think we’re as clever as you are, is that your plan?” Chester replied as the elevator came up behind him. “Oh. I almost forgot. I FUCKING QUIT!”

“Now that’s an exit,” Nat said approvingly.

“Too theatrical an ending for me,” Chester disagreed. “Let’s fast forward a little bit.”

“I do declare, you know a lot about that computer of theirs. Now here’s the question. You ready to work at it again? To work harder than you ever did so you can find a way to break this spell of celebrity worship so America can go back to some human decency and democracy?” the old man in the white suit said with a Southern drawl so thick that Scarlett O’Hara would have blushed.

“Anything to save Ben from this fate,” Chester said firmly.

“That’ll do. I’ll have the driver pick you up at midnight. Don’t bring a cell phone or anything like that, but any old DVDs you might have would be a fine starting point,” the man said with a smile.

Chester had heard stories about Aaron Ames, the former media kingpin who tried to blow the whistle on the operation before the entire country fell under Hollywood’s spell, and he was willing to bet that Ames offered the best way out.

“But what about mommy? Why isn’t she coming with us?” Ben pouted as he packed his bags.

“I guess you’re old enough and you’ve seen enough dolls. Mommy... well, she needs to stay behind and work here. Here’s a picture I want you to remember her by for what she does now, not for who she was when you were too young to remember her.” Carefully, he tore the centerfold out of the pictorial magazine and handed it to Ben.

“Umm, she’s naked?” Ben asked hesitantly. Comprehension dawned. “Will she ever be able to turn into a real girl?” he asked.

“If you wish and work hard enough, maybe,” Chester replied as the white hybrid sedan pulled up in front of the building and Chester loaded their bags so they could speed off to Canada.

“I spent the next two years working on these disks and figuring out how to hack their system without getting unwanted files. Now my computer’s hooked up to the Channel 1 database, downloading new files for me to rewrite. It’s an all-day job, but someone has to do it, and for what I’ve done, it’s only the least I can do,” Chester concluded.

“So you’re here because you’re ready to distribute the disks and start a revolution?” Nat asked.

“And because I want my son to grow up as a real American.”

“Looks like I brought the right gift for Ben after all,” Nat said with a smile, opening her capacious bag to reveal a leather-bound copy of the original Pinocchio, and she left it on the table as she got up from the chair. On top of it, Chester put another form letter from Mountain Studios and an autographed photo of Jay Street Jamie, sent to them in answer to another of Ben’s letters to her, then called for Ben.

“How’s your mom’s room coming?” he asked.

“Pretty well. Mommy wrote me again? I’ll put this next to the poster where she almost runs Tracy over with a cab!” he exclaimed with an evil grin. He got a look at Nat. “So you’re daddy’s new friend. You know TV lies, right? That’s why Mommy’s—”

“Nose gets big,” Nat interrupted in a hurry. Chester stifled a laugh, not successfully.

“Nose, riiiiight. Her nose got so big. Daddy, I thought you said these people would be less afraid of the truth,” Ben said dismissively as he took everything downstairs.

Nat blushed. “Well, he’s got the real New York attitude. So which side of the family does that come from?”

Chester smiled back at her. “Maybe I’ll rewrite a Jay Street Jamie DVD for Ben’s birthday,” he replied. “Well, New York’s the right place to start.”

He went through one of the boxes until he came out with a DVD in one hand and a soccer jacket in the other. It was a little snug, but it fit him well enough as he set to work, rewriting the DVD with messages from the mother Ben would never know.