A LATE CAREER MOVE

Part one

Completely out of breath from climbing fourteen stairs in the shabby dorm building,
she paused in front of number 223. She waited for her heart to calm down again, but it didn’t: it kept pounding in her throat, long after her breathing had returned to normal. She ran her fingers through her silvery hair one last time, set her glasses straight on her nose, and rang the bell.

“Alea iacta est.. », she thought, and waited.

The door was opened by a young man, more of a boy even, in his late teens, she estimated. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black, baggy jeans. His hair was dyed, also black.

“Mrs. Davis? Hi, I’m Gerald; come right in!” A pleasant baritone. Perhaps he was a bit older after all, she thought, shaking his hand.

One room. A bed, a small desk with a computer, a few small tables and one easy chair. And, to the far side of the room, two spotlights and a camera on a stand.

“You do fully understand the nature of the shoot?”, he asked, his back to her, rummaging through a closet. “I mean, have you ever been helpless before?”

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