Jewelry and Shoes

"Are you still working for No Such Agency?" Wilma of Human Resources looks up from my resume, her eyes wide.

"I do consult with them; but, since the Raindrop Expose, they haven't had as many assignments. I also lead seminars on threat assessment."

"Hmm. That's a lovely wedding band; does Mister Bolt still work?"

"Yes, Fronds manages the flower shop." I waited in reception two hours. No agency should be busy on the hottest day of summer. I need to find paying work.

"You do have a strong background in national security, I see," the interviewer continues. "My mother was a great fan of Lektrika Bolt; she held you up as a role model when we were coming up."

"That's very kind of you to remember that."

"Oh, it's exciting to have a superheroine come out of retirement to our studio. Our producer is delighted to have such a famous character on our roster."

"I'm glad to hear that. Our association president tells me you film the most challenging subjects."

Fronds, my husband, was meeting the repair crew. "Hey, honey," said his last message, "the cooling guy can't fix it. The motor is melted out--fried all the way to the pole. He says City Power has to lay a new cable. I ordered a generator for the coolers, and I bought all the ice at the deli."

Last night, in sweltering Baltimore humidity, I had cranked the air conditioning just a touch. One fingertip had juiced up the fan power. We now have neither lights in our apartment nor refrigeration in our shop below.

"Arlene is a wonderful producer; I know she will want you on this assignment," Wilma raves. "She works with the mature ladies and finds flattering roles."

A young woman approaches the doorway and nods to Wilma.

Wilma rises and waves an arm toward the visitor. "This is our Senior Producer Arlene, who is leading your project."

Arlene offers a brisk handshake. "Mrs. Bolt, it's an honor to meet you. If you have time today, I'd like to show you what our house can offer you." She steers me into a hall furnished in sofas and video screens.

The phone in my pocket vibrates. While Arlene cues the video, I listen to my husband's message. "Hey, honey, the whole block is off. Nelson next door wants to know how we got an electrician here first and who's gonna pay. I tell him the electric company said it was the transformer. He says they told him it was a power anomaly. I'm delivering that funeral now. Hope you get that job."

The producer offers me coffee and dims the lights. "Here's what our writers think displays you to your best advantage.

"You will wear your vintage costume--was that thirty years ago? Well. You find generic breakfast cereal at the supermarket. You use your super powers to remove the toxic additives from the cereal and change it into our

Lightning Super Bolt

cereal. Your scene closes in victory as you destroy the evil chemicals."

Thunder booms from the wall speakers and a rainbow of lightning flashes fills the screen. A younger version of my character appears center screen. She wears body paint and high-heeled boots.

"Now," narrates Arlene, "the contemporary Lektrika Bolt announces that the cereal is now our great new

Natural

Lightning Super Bolt

product and presents it to the audience. Does that sound thrilling?"

My phone vibrates again. I hold my professional smile on my teeth and gaze at my interviewer. "That's a fascinating scenario. My work as an action heroine gives me the depth for this role."

"Great! We'll have the Director speak with you, and then we can get started." She leads me into an office beyond a smoked glass door.

"Now, Mrs. Bolt, here is where you'll take your screen test. This is the Director's office. You can keep your shoes on and remove everything except your jewelry." Arlene gestures toward a velour sofa. "See that square tape mark on the floor? When you're ready, just stand there. Good luck. You'll be splendid."

A barbershop pole striped in candy-cane red swirls next to a billiard table. Beyond, stands the grand sofa. It could seat my family of four with room to spare. I drape my jacket on the barber pole and unbutton my blouse.

Fronds gave me these periwinkle earrings at our wedding, this aster navel pin on our fifth anniversary, and the matched sapphires on our tenth: twin sparkling pendants that grace my bosom.

"Fronds

," flashes my phone with a message. "Honey, City Power can't turn us on today. The electric company inspector has questions for you. You should call the block captain, too. She wants generators. I'm taking the boys to a hotel. Did you get the job?"

The blouse slides off without damage. All of my rings are secure. All are bright blue. All are pierced. Indeed. I fold my trousers and place them on the sofa.

Directly above the silver square shines a tiny spot lamp. I stride across the rug on stiletto heels. From the center of the square, I see pinpoint spots mounted around the ceiling.

Talent trained and skill sharpened won me stardom. Whatever the Director wants, I can play the part. I can galvanize him, or her, with my electric performance. It's only acting. Bring on the screen test. I have my talent. Bring on the Director. I have my power. I'm back in the spotlight--where I belong.

END