Hannah Gets an Agent

Chapter 1

"I don't know I want to do this," Hannah said, as her mother maneuvered the twenty-year-old sedan towards the Wilshire Boulevard tower of gleaming glass.

Without looking away from the downtown LA traffic, Jane responded, "Honey, if you want to keep your aid money and scholarship, you know you need a work study. Millions of girls do this. And I worked so hard to find this fancy agency to make sure you're in good hands—do you want to throw all that away?"

The guilt trip stung, but Hannah's anxiety was doing the talking. "But mom, you didn't do this in college!"

"Times were different back then," Jane answered, while changing lanes. "My grandparents could get married out of high school and buy a house. Sometimes, the system we live in makes life harder for working people. If you want to change that, if you want to make things better for people in this country, then you need a fancy degree to get you on the road to being a lawyer. Don't you want to bring that change to the world? Or have you given up on your dreams? The dreams for which I sacrificed so much?"

Though still shaking, Hannah caved to her mother's pressure. After all, everything her mother said was perfectly true, and there was no alternative. And this was supposed to be one of the best agencies in the greater LA area, which presumably meant it was one of the best in the entire country.

"Alright," Hannah said. "You're right mom. I'm sorry; I'm just nervous."

Jane, having pulled the sedan along the sidewalk, leaned over and hugged her daughter. "It's okay sweetie. I remember being eighteen. It's a tough time. Everything seems like the end of the world. But this is just part of the ladder you have to climb. Remember how hard you worked to get into Berkeley? And to get this scholarship? You're going to do fine."

Hannah returned the hug, then pulled away, adjusting her tank top. "Thanks mom. You're totally right. How do I look?"

Jane studied her daughter, clad in tight yoga shorts and a tight fitting tank top, but wearing layers of makeup completely incompatible with actual serious exercise. The sporting look had been Hannah's idea, and Jane had to agree it was perfect for the thin, athletic frame of her baby girl.

"Fine, darling, but just let me redo your lipstick," Jane said, and reached into the backseat to grab the makeup kit, much fancier than anything she or Hannah normally wore. Grabbing the lipstick, Jane made two gentle strokes over Hannah's lips. Then, without asking, she slightly changed the part of her daughter's hair to keep her eyes in the best view. "Your eyes are the best part—don't let your hair get in the way," Jane said, trying to reassure her daughter.

Despite Jane's intentions, Hannah shuddered at that comment. It only highlighted her mother's naïveté. Hannah felt certain that whatever the agency liked (or disliked) about her, it would be lower on her body than her eyes.

"Thanks, mom," Hannah said, and with a last hug, stepped out of the car.

Through the open window, Jane called out "Call me when you're done sweetie! I know you can do this!"

Hannah blew a kiss at her mother and turned around. She tried to ignore the knowing smiles the men on the sidewalk were flashing her. As if they knew why she was here... and they probably did, given that someone her age, dressed like she was, would only be here to see an agent.

Striding confidently, Hannah went through the revolving door and walked up to the receptionist.

"I'm here for—"

The receptionist took one look and interrupted her. "Thompson & Arnold? Twentieth floor." With vague disgust on her face, she waved Hannah onwards.

Hannah assuaged her anger by reminding herself that the receptionist probably hadn't been to college, and was just jealous that Hannah was in a position to need a good agent to fund her studies. As long as she believed that, Hannah could avoid the other possible reason for the receptionist's brusqueness—that the woman at the desk was approaching thirty and hated the crop of eighteen year-olds stealing her opportunities to get ahead in the cutthroat market for female creators.

Mercifully, the ornate elevator was empty when Hannah marched in, allowing her to gather her thoughts and check her looks one last time in the reflection of the polished gold in which the floor buttons were set.

The doors opened, and Hannah stifled a gasp. She had known this was a fancy agency, but the reception room awaiting her was lavishly decorated. It looked like the Ritz, or at least what Hannah had always imagined the Ritz would look like. The fact that the reception room was outside the elevator doors also meant that the office must take up the entire twentieth floor. How big was this agency?

Feeling decidedly underdressed for the architecture, Hannah strode toward the oak table at the other end of the room. A middle aged woman wearing an expensive-looking dress stood up and walked around the desk, extending her hand. "Hello, Hannah. My name is Louisa Perez, and on behalf of Thompson & Arnold, I want to welcome you. We are so excited to have you as a client and are honored you chose us to be your companions on this journey."

Hannah shook Louisa's hand. "How did you know who I was?"

Louisa laughed, ever so slightly. Her manners were remarkably impeccable for a receptionist. Just like the reception room in which she worked, Hannah thought.

"My dear, you submitted a headshot with your application," Louisa said, smiling to show perfect Hollywood teeth. "Here at T&A we always put our clients first, and we believe that starts with the first impression you get. It's very important that you feel welcome here from the moment you walk in for the first time."

Hannah nodded. It was a nice gesture, but, having grown up in Los Angeles, Hannah knew the performative niceness that saturated the entertainment industry and anything remotely connected to it. Even so, this was better than the utter disregard which, if her friends who had graduated the previous year were to be believed, the lesser agencies treated their clients. "They look at you as cattle," one had texted Hannah when asked if she had had a good experience at the rather downmarket agents she had used.

"Now," Louisa said breezily, "May I take your bag? And can I get you anything to drink?"

Hannah handed over her purse, a small and cheap number, without complaint. She had heard that most agencies checked personal belongings when a client came in for an evaluation. "Some water please," Hannah said.

Louisa then rattled off a surprisingly long list of possible brands and extras. Not wanting to show how unsophisticated she was with water (to Hannah, water was just water, no brand better than the tap), Hannah, trying to seem prim, asked for Evian. That was a fancy brand, wasn't it?

A small glass, presumably into which the expensive water had been decanted, was in Hannah's hands with remarkable speed. Then, Louisa directed Hannah to wait in one of the well-upholstered chairs on the other side of the reception room. The seats adjoined a large window, looking out onto the vista of Los Angeles, with mountains in the distance.

Hannah sat down. To her surprise, only one other person was waiting; she would have thought that T&A would have dozens of girls coming in. Then again, the time specified had been so specific (2:37 in the afternoon, sharp) that maybe they kept apart potential clients to avoid them running into one another. Hannah thought she had heard that some casting calls for big movies did that to lessen the awkwardness of the waiting room.

The only other occupant of the room was, Hannah realized after a moment, male, albeit one very effeminately made up. He was wearing fishnets, short shorts and a crop top, and was very pretty.

Prettier than I,

Hannah thought. Then she suppressed it. She wasn't in competition with him. Or at least she didn't think she was.

"Hi," Hannah said, "I'm Hannah Norris. Are you here for a first interview?"

The boy looked up from checking the paint on his nails. Softly, his voice pitched higher than Hannah's, he answered, "Hi babe, I'm Nico Ferrell. And yes, my first time. I'm off to Harvard in the fall—going to study engineering."

Hannah suppressed the surprise she felt. After all, the fact that Nico had dressed like a slutty femboy didn't mean he was an idiot. Hannah had been valedictorian at her high school and had a string of academic awards to her name, but was sat here dressed like a slutty gym bunny. She was in no position to judge the affectations Nico had put on to afford college.

"Berkeley and political science for me," Hannah said. "And then hopefully law school."

Without much enthusiasm, Nico said "You go girl!"

It was almost as if he knew that was the line a gay best friend would say in that situation, Hannah thought. With a pit in her stomach, she realized that Nico might not even be gay. After all, virtually all lesbian girls still went to an agent. Why not boys? True, his features were effeminate and screamed gay, but a poor straight boy was just as likely to cultivate feminine features to succeed in the market as a poor butch lesbian.

Her reverie was disrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Hannah pulled away by instinct before trying to recover her composure.

Louisa smiled, trying to project real emotion through her fake-looking face. She'd clearly had work done, though it was very good quality. How old is she?Hannah wondered. It was a question with a weighted meaning in a place like T&A, where sexual market value was quantified by almost scientific methods.

"Relax, Hannah," Louisa said softly. "You'll do great. Mr. Brooks is ready to see you—he's a wonderful junior associate and so passionate about empowering our clients to live their dreams."

Hannah nodded, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak, and stood up.

Gently, her hand barely touching Hannah's clothing, Louisa guided the teenager to a set of stately doors.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw that another woman about Louisa's age was manning the front desk. What kind of firm was so tightly wound as to so seamlessly cover reception for the thirty seconds it would take for Louisa to direct Hannah?

A rich one, of cours

e, Hannah thought.

Mom hadn't been lying about how fancy this place was.

On the other side of the doors, a young man only a few years older than Hannah was waiting in a tailored Armani suit. Behind him was an Asian woman, also young, dressed in a stunning form-fitting dress, and wearing what looked like a Tiffany's collar, gleaming around her neck.

The man extended his hand, managing to, his age notwithstanding, seem paternal. "Hannah, hi," he said, in a smooth baritone, somewhat incongruous with his frame. He stood only a couple inches taller than Hannah's five-foot four. "So glad you could make it. I'm Marty Brooks, a junior associate here, and this is my PA, Cherie."

The woman behind Brooks nodded, not speaking.

"We'll take her from here," Brooks continued, flashing brilliant teeth at Louisa. "Thanks Louisa, you're a doll."

To Hannah's surprise, Louisa blushed and giggled. "Thank you Mr Brooks," she said, playing with a strand of her hair before leaning in to stroke the suited man's arm. "I am always glad to be of service."

Brooks lightly swatted the receptionist on the rear. It was casual, but, combined with Cherie's silence, established the hierarchy here. Brooks was a suit; the women were decoration. Hannah was not surprised (what else could she possibly expect?), but it was different to see it in person than to intellectualize it.

Louisa slipped away wordlessly, though Hannah noticed Brooks's eyes glancing languidly at Louisa's bottom.

"Alright Hannah, my office is just this way," Brooks said. "I understand you're going to Berkeley? I'm a Stanford man myself, but I won't hold it against you!" He laughed and Hannah forced a giggle to play along.

He led, his hand draped gently on her shoulder, Hannah down a few corridors, past rows of offices, before his phone rang. Glancing at his watch, Brooks raised an eyebrow. "Hannah, doll, I'm sorry but I've got to take this—my second most important client... after you!" He laughed again. "Cherie will take you to my office and I'll be there in a moment."

He pulled out a headset and clipped it to his ear. While he started to chat to whomever was calling him, Cherie walked behind Hannah and pulled both the teen's arms behind her back, with surprising force.

The Asian girl leaned in and whispered in Hannah's ear, "Let's move, bitch." With one hand pinning Hannah's arms in place, Cherie then made a crude attempt at groping Hannah.

Hannah complied. The PA's display of dominance didn't phase her. This was a top agency in LA; of course, the PAs wanted to be talent, and consequently, of course the PAs hated every pretty young woman who walked in the door. It was a sign of weakness, not strength, to treat Hannah like this.

Letting herself be frogmarched, Hannah was led past a maze of corridors into a very nice looking office, larger than Hannah's bedroom. There was a desk, a green screen, walls full of photos, and a large window.

If this was a junior associate's office

, Hannah thought,

what did a senior partner's office look like?

Cherie directed her to a chair, one of two in front of the desk, and said "Sit and don't make trouble, you slut." After shoving Hannah into the chair, groping along the way, Cherie went and knelt in front of the door, waiting for her boss to return.

Hannah settled into the chair. For some reason, she had been vaguely expecting a couch. A chair felt less sleazy, more professional. It was a reassuring bit of furniture, in this context.

After a few minutes, the door opened and Brooks walked in, putting his headset in his pocket. "Sorry Hannah," he said, walking past Cherie as if she weren't there. "Curse of the biz, I'm afraid. Everyone's always calling their agents needing to vent. But that's what I'm here for—looking out for my clients and occasionally serving as a cut rate therapist." He laughed, and again, Hannah giggled to play along.

While Brooks was talking, Cherie had knelt next to him, and pulled out a laptop from under the desk. It was only then that Hannah realized that the room had no desk or chair for a PA.

Brooks picked a tablet off the desk. "Hannah, I am so excited to have you here at T&A. Your application was fantastic—the academics were brilliant—valedictorian baby, amazing extracurriculars, impressive array of skills. Your winning essay for the Learned Hand Prize on criminal justice reform was amazing!"

He had read her work? Why did he care?

Before she could think better of it, Hannah blurted out, "I'm surprised you care about my academics. I'd have thought you only care about..."

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Brooks laughed again. "Only care about looks? Hannah, baby, you live in Los Angeles. You should know how cheap good looks are. The mid girls in your average Valley high school are tens in Peoria. Looks are easy to get; it's just a matter of effort, unless you were born very unlucky. If looks were all that mattered, T&A would be out of business, because pretty eighteen year olds are so common that our ten percent wouldn't be worth a thing. The agencies that take clients based on looks alone, they don't get this kind of office." He gestured around. "No, Hannah, we here at T&A are the best in town, and we only take on the best in town. That means something that can't be achieved with a workout regimen and good skincare: true intelligence. That's where the real boost in SMV comes in. It takes brains to be good at this stuff, to understand how to present to each market, to move on your feet. A pretty airhead is a dead end. So yes, we spend more time looking at your résumé than your photos and videos."

When Brooks had said "pretty airhead", he had distinctly leaned over and kicked, albeit softly and playfully, Cherie. The PA didn't show any reaction, but Hannah felt a sense of victory. Cherie had had her moment of power, but she was, in the end, just a PA, whereas Hannah was a client. A PA cost money, whereas a client made money, and Hannah was sure that, at an agency like T&A, hierarchy was dependent entirely on matters of money.

Testing her hypothesis, Hannah smiled at Brooks, giggled, and said flirtatiously, "That's wonderful to hear. It means so very much to me that you liked my essay. It's so...

intimate

to have a man read one's words." After tilting her head demurely, Hannah, without changing her gaze said, in a sharp tone, "Cherie, be a dear and get me some Evian please."

Cherie looked mutinous, but Brooks snapped his fingers and said, "Yes, get me one too, and hurry it. Glad to see you have great taste in water, Hannah. That kind of stuff matters, the little details."

Cherie slinked away and Hannah mentally cheered her little victory. The PA could playact and call Hannah names, but in the end, it was Hannah who was on top.

Brooks picked up a tablet and seemed to be looking through it. By this time, Cherie had returned with two glasses of water, serving Brooks first and then Hannah. "Thanks dear," Hannah said. When Cherie turned around, Hannah slapped her ass. Now they were even.

"Alright," Brooks said, putting the tablet down. "Let's discuss what we do here. At T&A, we are all about empowering our clients, giving them the agency, no pun intended, to pursue their dreams and lives. We're here to support and lift the voices of our clients, and we're especially proud when we can do that with those who came from an underprivileged background like you. Don't get me wrong—you're not a diversity hire. We go by SMV merit, and you are in the top league. That said, we are really proud of our work in diversity, equality, justice, and inclusion, and we do try to make sure that our efforts create a more equitable society. Part of that is, of course, helping you get through college and law school with financial security and freedom from the market pressures that keep working class people out of elite institutions. Part of it, though, is also giving you the confidence and self-esteem to get up and express yourself. This is so important as a way to help combat the patriarchy and misogyny that tells women they have to be demure and rewards men like me for speaking our minds. By helping you succeed as a creator, we are giving you the tools that will take you from the courtroom to the boardroom, able to express yourself without shyness, fear, or reticence."

Brooks paused, and, despite the spiel about empowering women's voices, neither Hannah nor Cherie dared to speak.

"You know, Hannah, this isn't something I'd bring up with our average client but you actually might be interested to know that our firm is proud of our work in some key public interest litigation from around thirty years ago. Have you ever heard of a Supreme Court case called

Joyce v. Kronski

?"

Hannah hadn't expected to have a constitutional law discussion with her agent, but she was delighted to be talking about case law rather than... well, the other stuff.

"Yes," she said eagerly. "Part of the series of key women's rights cases that expanded the reach of the Equal Protection and Due Process clauses holding that discrimination against sex work is ultimately sex discrimination, which the Court had a year earlier—I think it was in

Lonsdale v. University of California Board of Regents

— reclassified as subject to strict scrutiny. I think Joyce was a creator and esbee suing Kronski, who was the Secretary of Education, over being denied need based financial aid because she fulfilled the work requirement that had been added by the Education Responsibility Act of 2035, the one that abolished and forgave the old student loan system, by, well, creating and being an esbee."