Title: Slaughter
Summary: "I sometimes fantasize about taking a knife to my face," She said. Lighting her cigarette, the man beside her smiled. "I can help with that." Page Monroe, retired model and comedic actress, meets an unlikely fan. [Calendar Girl origins, re-told.]
When she woke up that morning and looked in the mirror, fate immediately dawned on her. She'd had the same skincare routine since she was eighteen. Wash, scrub, moisturize. That's how her mornings usually went. After that, she'd brush her teeth, comb out her hair, and hop in the shower. Soon, she'd either be at the gym or doing crunches on the floor of her apartment. Skipping breakfast, she'd often opt for coffee then a late lunch at a deli after a casting.
Today wasn't just like every other day. Today was different. Significant in ways which shook her to her core. After only some fleeting three years in the modelling industry, Page Monroe was about to retire.
She looked at the row of beauty products on her sink in silence, hands gripping the sink to keep herself steady. Honey nut scrub for dryness, lavender bed-time oil, rose-hip oil for the evidence of late-nights out on the town, designer moisturizer, floral face-masks…
Pulling the lever on the faucet, Page could feel the tears fall down her cheeks. Instead of washing her face, she looked at herself for a long time, as always. Except, today, she was a mess. Last night, she hadn't even bothered removing her make-up. After a long talk with her agency, which ended with her throwing a chair across the room at her agent, Page had downed some vodka and a couple of aspirin, disappointed to find she'd still woken up. Even if it was two-thirty in the afternoon.
Page splashed water onto her cheeks and dragged her fingers across the mascara stains, thinking back to her meeting the previous day. "You're past your prime, Page." Andrew had claimed, "Don't take it personally – of course, you're still pretty. You're just not…perfect. At least, not for right now, okay honey? Oh come on, don't cry…"
After that, he'd tried to explain how times were changing. Twenty was the knew thirty, and the biggest market in the industry right now was for teenagers. Teenagers look up to other teenagers, not twenty-four-year-old college drop-outs who should be starring in family films or TV commercials about furniture. The commercial part really got to her, because Page knew several ex-models who'd appear on her TV-screen occasionally, all fake-smiles and extra pounds after being thrown out of the fashion world.
However, unlike other models, Page didn't mind getting called fat, or ugly, or not good enough. But, as she looked across her sink with tears in her eyes, feeling the humiliation wash over her, she couldn't help but wonder if she should buy anti-ageing cream.
"Hello, can I please speak to Andrew?" Stood outside her apartment block freezing cold, cigarette in hand, Page waited for the secretary to recognize her voice. She didn't.
"Who may I ask is calling?"
"Page Monroe." She spoke through gritted teeth, letting out a smoke cloud in exasperation. The secretary stammered for a moment.
"P-Page. Hi, um, honey… did you want to talk to him about, uh, paying for a new office chair?" Page let out a cruel laugh.
"Are…are you kidding me? I want to know when my next casting is."
"Now, Page… you must understand, this is as difficult for him as it is—"
"Just put Andrew on the phone, would you?"
There was some shuffling on the other end, then silence, then more shuffling. Page smoked her cigarette, stressfully.
"Hello, Page. It's Andrew. Have you signed the forms for your resignation?"
"Fuck you!" Page screamed, hands shaking as she gripped her phone. "Have I fuck! How could you do this to me?"
"More screaming. How typical." Andrew murmured, chuckling. "Didn't you get everything off your chest when you threw my office chair across the room?"
"I should have thrown it out a fucking window."
"Page, do yourself, and this agency, a favour. Stop embarrassing yourself. File the paperwork, post it to my office, and order yourself a pizza. You might have been done before but, now, you're finished. So why don't you go and enjoy it, hm?"
Page felt more tears roll over her face before she could stop them. She tried her hardest to stay strong over the phone.
"Do you really think any agency will want you after how you've acted? I could tell them everything. And I don't just mean the chair, Page, I mean everything."
Page felt her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
"Y-You…you wouldn't. You can't."
"I can, sweetheart," Andrew said. Page could feel his smile from the other side of the phone. "We both know this isn't just about your age. I could make sure you never get a job ever again. Not in modelling, not in television, not in anything. But I won't, as long as you file the paperwork…and walk away."
Page's cigarette fell to the floor. She could feel the light patter of rain on her jacket. It was getting colder.
"I don't know if I can. I can't do this. I can't go out like this..." Page whispered. "Andrew please. Please. Give me something. Anyth—""
"Page—"
"Last night I tried to kill myself." The words left her mouth before she could help it. Andrew said nothing.
"You…you what?"
"I'm sorry, Andrew, I just…it's not just the job, okay. It's you. Not seeing you again, after everything, after what we did—"
"Page, stop—"
"I just need a reason. A purpose. Without this, I have nothing. I dropped out of college for this, Andrew. Remember? You ran into me in that department store of fifth street, you asked me if I wanted a job… Come on, Andrew. I'm begging you. I've given you everything. Give me something."
Andrew was silent for a few minutes before letting out a sigh.
"Okay." He finally said. "You can't work for Young Faces anymore. You know that."
"O-Okay," Page murmured.
"But, I know a producer at GTV. He's looking for a girl around your age for a pilot. A comedy. Think you can hack comedy?"
"I-I can try." Page felt herself smiling.
"Good." Andrew murmured, bluntly. "I'll be in touch. But after that, it's over, Page. We are over. Okay?"
Page, biting her bottom lip, tried not to sob.
"Tell me you understand me, Page."
Page closed her eyes.
"I understand."
"Good girl. I'll fax over the details and send the bill for the chair to your apartment. Goodbye, Page."
After that, she stood in the rain for a long time.
In the darkness of a warehouse, with only a couple of working lights, the Joker read the newest copy of Gothique magazine with an unreadable expression. There was a small, electronic radio perched on an old wooden stool playing experimental jazz, whilst one of his henchman laid opposite him, doing press-ups.
"Never pegged ya as a fashion kinda guy, boss." Joey said, breathlessly, as he worked out. The Joker laughed under his breath, leaning back in his chair comfortably.
"What? You don't find my, uh, suuuit very, uh, stylish?" He said darkly. Joey chuckled, standing up and downing some water.
"Nah, jus' never pictured you reading Gothique before, ya know? Not that the girls aren't smokin' hot. Then again – I'm a Playboy man myself."
"The giiirls in this magazine are much more…int-erest-ing. Belieeeve me." The Joker looked closer at the page in front of him, smile falling from his face as he read the gossip column.
"Well, well, well. How…int-er-esting, indeed." The Joker repeated, through gritted teeth. He looked closely at the glossy pictures in front of him.
The model in front of him was no stranger to him – oh no. For weeks now, the Joker had been obsessively collecting fashion magazines of all kinds, trying to find any information on his favourite celeb-model, Page Monroe, who'd been absent from magazines for the past two months.
The girl was tall and thin, like all the others, but the snapshots of her had been taken on the street. She was lighting a cigarette with one hand and talking on the phone with the other. It was clearly a personal moment the paparazzi had gotten hold off. The Joker looked over her black leather jacket, the short French haircut, the smudged red lips and zoomed-in mascara stains.
There was something about all her pictures which had the same haunting quality. Maybe it was the pale skin, the way she looked just so damn good in red, or the way she never smiled in any of her campaigns.
For the first time in months, the Joker had information on the girl he'd only been able to envision in the shower.
Even with smudged make-up and a thrown-together outfit, Page Monroe manages to look as chic as ever. Unfortunately, Ms. Monroe has decided to retire from modelling, but is rumoured to be pursuing a career in comedy. Her agent has given us the following statement:
"It is with great sadness that Young Faces must severe ties with Miss. Page Monroe, a fashion icon and starlet."
"However, we wish her luck in her comedic career, and look forward to watching her grace our screens very soon. As a model she was great, but as an actress, I'm sure she's excellent."
This statement was released following one of Monroe's most recent drug stunts. Her and late model, Amelia Aldridge, were found snorting cocaine in a hotel bathroom just two months ago. Miss. Aldridge's heart stopped as she overdosed, whilst Monroe only recently returned from a rehabilitation centre in Metropolis.
Just as her agent Mr. Andrew McCarthy has stated, we are glad Ms. Monroe has had a safe recovery. We look forward to her comedic come-back!
As the Joker came to the end of the gossip column, he couldn't help but laugh.
"Somethin' funny, boss?" Joey asked, sitting opposite him. The Joker's chuckles rumbled from within his chest.
"There's this, uh, this girl. You know the one on all those make-up commercials? The one who never, uh, smiiiles?"
Joey snapped his fingers.
"Why yea, boss, you mean Patty Monroe, or somethin'? Page, maybe? My, uh, my Mrs. loves that lipstick line…what's it called…"
"Velveteen? Yesss." The Joker grinned. "I'm more of a, uh, paint fan myself, though."
"So, you think she's hot or somethin'? I gotta say though boss, she's a little on the skinny side."
"Well then I guess she'd be easy to, uh, kidnap. Ha…haha…Hahahahhaaha…" The Joker said, laughing wildly.
"You wanna abduct this Monroe gal? But why?" Joey asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his backhand.
The Joker, getting to his feet, stood up straight in front of Joey and grinned.
"Weeeell, she wants a, uh, comedic come-back," He murmured, laughing darkly, "And I'm gonna give it to her."
Joey smiled, and shook his head.
"You want me to go get the boys? Get this show on the road?" Joey asked, nervously. The Joker grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him, hard.
"You go do that, Joey. You. Go. Do. That." The Joker grinned, letting out a wild laugh.
As Joey's footsteps echoed away, the Joker threw his magazine down on the table.
"Page, Page, Paaaage." The Joker chuckled. "You want comedy, sweet-heart? I'll give ya comedy. Oh yeah. I'll make you smiiile alright...haha….hahaha…HAHAHAHAHAHA…."
A comedic come-back.
He liked that.
He really. Really. Did.