Ariana Grande rolled into the video village to find Chloe Bennet and Rose McIver already there. Unusual for all of them to be together; the project had all of them scattered to different subplots. She got killed in the opening, Rose was only in flashbacks, and Chloe was the lead.
They were filming the movie mainly in a nowheresville Georgia town, so there'd been a lot of intermixing with the natives. The crew were like sailors on shore leave, going to the local bars and sharing stories about Harrison Ford or stuntwork. Chloe had played laser-tag. Rose had made an effort to fit in, going shopping at the outlet mall and signing autographs whenever asked—pretty shameless. Ariana had stayed in her trailer. A few more days for reshoots and she would be history. No point in putting down roots.
Producer Jerry Osgood, the point-man on the movie, pressed play on a Youtube video. "Watch this," he said.
It was a pretty standard Youtube video. Three siblings, African-American, two brothers and a sister. Asking her, Chloe, and Rose to go to prom with them. For every one of those that got answered, Ariana knew there were a hundred that didn't. It all depended on whether your PR agent decided whether the risk of being seen with some stranger from the internet outweighed the reward of butting into the news cycle.
"So?" Ariana asked when it was over and the hashtag had flashed. "They're not Marines or anything."
"They are black," Jerry replied.
"So?"
Rose spoke up. For a New Zealander, she was pretty abreast of these things. "Jerry's worried about how people are perceiving the movie. A bunch of white people go to Egypt, get cursed, and then start getting killed back in America—which is full of white people."
"My father's Chinese," Chloe said.
"It's still a movie about an Egyptian curse with no Egyptians in it."
"But oh, the cast went out with some black guys, that makes it all better?" Ariana asked. "I mean, not that I have anything against that—"
"You know one of them's a girl, right?" Chloe asked.
"You just have to go to a dance with them, not get married," Jerry said. "It's one night."
"My contract doesn't say anything about going to prom," Ariana insisted.
"It says you have to promote the film. And this is good promotion! It'll get people talking—"
Ariana crossed her arms. "If I do this, no Jimmy Kimmel."
"You have to do Jimmy Kimmel, he's the kingmaker!"
"I'll do a musical performance, no interview."
Jerry countered, "I want this prom going viral. Selfies, snapchats, the works. Whatever the hell hashtag that is, it'd better be trending!"
"Oh, it'll trend," Ariana said, putting on her sunglasses. "I'll make sure of it."
***
Ariana dressed faux-casual: nice, but like she was not trying to look nice. To go with—or rebel against—the school days theme, she wore a short tartan skirt, a gray crop top, and long white stockings up from her pretty polished Mary Janes. With the little bob of her ponytail trailing behind her, she looked like the most Catholic schoolgirl to ever grace an Aerosmith video.
The date was like pressing the flesh anywhere. After letting their people handle the details, they showed up on the night in a limo. Had a little meet and greet, everyone doing a few pictures and vids for social media. They were all old hands at it, though the triplets—the Randalls were their names—seemed to have fun playing it up for the camera, showing them the house, laughing at all the right jokes. After some cooing over how cute everyone looked in their prom outfits, they headed out.
Ariana's date was named Mags. He was shaved bald, with six tattooed dots on his forehead. Besides that, he was tall and slender, a runner's body; exceedingly, almost painfully polite. Ariana forced herself out of her shell to talk to him, trying to keep pace with the animated conversations Rose and Chloe had going.
Finally, they arrived. The prom was being held in the lobby of the local high-class hotel—Ariana thought Chloe and Rose were actually staying there. And whoever was in charge of decorating the place, either students or some hired professional, had done a good job turning the place into a decent imitation of a nightclub. It was a madhouse, in fact, electricity in the air, music pounding, lights shattering the atmosphere, everyone both dressed to the nines and dancing like a fool.
Ariana grabbed Mags's hand and led him deeper into the grind. "Let's see what trouble we can get into," she said with a giggle—relaxed now that the fraughtness of the limo ride was over. Now she just had to dance, play along, and she could do that almost automatically.
She, Rose, Chloe, they all strutted. This movie was their big break and they were out to show they deserved it. Ariana saw Chloe with her date, the sister, Ariana forgot her name. They cut into the seat of hot bodies just like she and Mags were doing, the dancers parting for them as if to the beat of the throbbing music. There was a lighted platform waiting and Chloe climbed onto it with the sister, the two women grinding their hips together, dragging their hands up each other's thighs as they rocked their hips to the demanding bass of the Caribbean beat.
Chloe wore black hotpants, cut a few inches above her thighs. A silver zipper ran down the high-waisted shorts, down the front of her flat belly, between her legs, the tab hanging like a tail at the apex of her buttocks. An untanned portion of her breasts showed underneath the silk blouse that flowed freely from her shoulders to just below her jutting cleavage. Every man in the room was eyeing her and her writhing date. Even Ariana watched in a little astonishment, barely distracted by the dance she was doing with Mags.
"Let's get a drink," Ariana said, intending to go with him, but Mags hurried off without a word, returning in a moment with a loaded Dixie cup. Ariana took it with a thanks and drank. "Who spiked this, anyway? I've tasted Kool-Aid that's more bitter."
"Oh, it's not spiked," Mags assured her. "The school has sensors that detect the alcohol content in the punch bowl."
"Ain't technology grand."
The next song started. Ariana glanced at the lighted platform. Chloe and the sister were still at it. Grinding their breasts against each other, running their hands over their own curvaceous thighs, buttocks, breasts, in searing symmetry with the other. The women feigned disgust, but Ariana thought it was just jealousy—knowing that at that moment, either of the two ladies could've had any of their boyfriends.
Mags's brother approached, Rose on his arm, both of them sweaty from their own dancing. The brother bore two drinks, one of which he gave to Ariana, who was running on empty.
"Thirsty work, huh?" Rose asked, grinning shyly.
They eagerly started in on the conversation, Ariana grateful that Rose did most of the work. She was something of a party animal, and was quick to praise the hotel, the music, what everyone was wearing, how everyone was dancing. All Ariana had to do was chime in now and then and enjoy her drink.
Were the Randalls local boys? Yes, born and bred. Mags was on the swim team, his brother headed the debate club. What were Ariana and Rose up to? Ariana was next headed to a shoot for a fashion magazine, while Rose would be recording voiceovers for an upcoming cartoon.
As they talked, lined up against the far wall of the dance floor where the music wasn't so oppressively loud, Ariana noticed she was being eyed. Every eye in the place seemed to be on the provocatively dressed celebrities and their local boy dates. Rose seemed to play to it, chatting coquettishly, sliding closer to her date. Ariana was tired of being the odd man out, though, the second fiddle, not as hot as Chloe or as charismatic as Rose. She reached out to Mags and touched his arm, emphasizing the point she'd just made in their conversation.
A moment later, Mags confidently reached out and put his arm around her, almost touching her well-displayed cleavage. Ariana leaned herself against him encouragingly, discreetly rubbing her breasts on his arm. He may have been on the swim team, but he was tall enough for basketball.
"Hey, Rose, isn't your room up there?"
"Yeah," Rose answered, batting some of her hair back behind her ear. "Why?"
Ariana shrugged. "Thought maybe I could get a real drink."
"Minibar? I'm on the CW, not a network, Ari."
"I'll pay you back," Ariana promised. "So how about it, Mags? One drink?"
"Sure," Mags said. "I could go for a drink. Bro?"
His brother shook his head. "I'm good. Rose, how about another dance?"
Rose smiled widely. "Sure!"
Rose and Ariana hugged and kissed each other goodbye before parting, then Ariana led Mags out into the nearly deserted hotel proper, finding an elevator just waiting for them...
***
Up in Rose's room, Ariana stepped out of her pumps first thing. "You mind if I get a little comfortable?" she asked.
