I'm in the shower when the phone rings. I step out of the scalding water, wrap a soft white towel around myself, and hurry, dripping, down the hallway to pick up the phone at its last ring. "Hello?" I'm soaking the carpet but you know in my business when they call with an offer you've got to take it.

"Hello. Tatiana Thumbzten? This is Don Wallace, the casting director for the music video The Way You Make Me Feel. You auditioned last month and I'd like to let you know you've been chosen for the part."

I almost drop the phone.

"Hello?"

"Yeah... sorry..." I stutter, almost dropping the towel. "Um, that's great! What should I--"

"You'll need to be over on the set tomorrow at two to discuss the contract, meet the team, and learn more about what you'll be doing. Do you have a pencil and paper to write down the address?"

"Yeah--one sec." I scramble for something to write on--the back of my checkbook--and a pen. "Ready."

He recites the directions and I copy them down in almost illegible handwriting. "We'll expect you there, then. We're all excited to see you, and think this'll make a good production."

"Yeah, I'll be there." I say goodbye and let the phone drop, leaning against the wall, momentarily stunned.

I'm Alice in Wonderland in a bizarre dreamworld. Can't believe I actually got picked. Can't believe I'm actually going to be in a music video that'll be played all over the world. This is my big break. This is it.

And I'm not going to let anything stop me. Not going to lose this chance. I'm going to lose my inhibitions, grit my teeth and give all I have to give. Because I can finally make a name for myself, and I'm not going to let this go.


"Tatiana, welcome! You're early." It's the guy with the glasses, and he shakes my hand. His palm is moist and sticky, and I let go quickly. "I'm Don Wallace; we spoke on the phone." He stretches his mouth out in a smile. "It'll be about half an hour before the rest of the cast gets here, but the director, Joe Pytka, is here, he's in the back talking to Michael."

At that moment I can hear heated conversation emerging from the doorway from the back room, and Don breaks off. One voice clearly Michael Jackson, and the other probably the director.

"Yes, but I don't want to portray that kind of image!" The famous soft voice is strong with vehemence. "I know everyone does it. But there's nothing wrong with a hug. It's not that I don't want to, but--"

He breaks off as they both move into view and see Don and me. Michael Jackson's curly hair is loose and messily falling around his shoulders, and he's dressed casually in a red shirt and black pants. Joe what-was-his-name looks older but strong, like one of those old guys from the Westerns. He has long, straggly hair, longer than Michael's, and steady black eyes.

"We'll talk about this later," he says in a low voice to Michael, then turns his attention to me. First he meets my eyes, and I can feel my chin lift a little stubbornly. Then his gaze travels downward, examining every part of my body, but not in a perverted way; somehow I don't feel uncomfortable. After a few moments, he releases me with his eyes and steps forward, shaking my hand. "I'm Joe Pytka," he says, smiling easily. "I'll be directing the music video--"

"Short film," Michael interrupts.

"--short film," Mr. Pytka agrees, nodding. "I'm pleased to meet you. We'll--you, me, and Michael--be working together a lot, more than anyone else involved in the mus--short film, so I hope to get to know you well."

He steps back, nodding slowly, then mutters to Michael, "Good choice, Michael. She'll do very well."

Michael Jackson smiles with embarrassment. "Oh, God, does that mean I have to introduce myself now?"

Mr. Pytka lets out a short bark of laughter. "Yes, Michael, it's not that scary."

"Shut up, Joe." He ducks his head, and I think he's blushing.

My hands twist around each other. I'm not a fan of celebrity adulation, but his embarrassment is making me embarrassed as well. "It's okay," I say shortly, "I know who you are. I don't live under a rock." I hate introductions, and my smile is forced. "I'm Tatiana Thumbzten."

Mr. Pytka claps his hands together, breaking the awkwardness. "Well, why don't we go ahead and enter the meeting room while we wait for the rest of the cast and crew to arrive?" He gestures for me to go ahead of him through the doorway he and Michael Jackson came out of, and I walk through it, clutching my jacket around me. It's not cold, I'm just nervous, like I shouldn't be.

The room is large, with a high ceiling, and chairs set up in a circle; there must be close to forty chairs. I'm surprised so many people will be here, and look around at all of them, wondering where to sit.

"Mr. Pytka, why are so many people needed to make a music video?"

He laughs and takes a seat. "Call me Joe. And don't call Michael Mr. Jackson, he hates that." We both look at Michael, who's standing near the door, still looking embarrassed, with his hands clasped behind his back. "Come on, Michael, don't be shy, sit down," he calls, then continues. "You haven't been involved in many music videos, have you? There's many more than forty involved in its production. Once we get into it, you'll see what I mean." He winks, then turns as voices are heard in the outer room.

"Oh, that must be the crew; it's just about time." He checks his watch. "They'll be coming in here as soon as they get their information down with Don. You two better sit down so you don't look like idiots, by the way," he adds.

Michael Jackson sits next to Mr. Pytka, crossing his ankles together and folding his hands together on his knees, looking as awkward sitting down as a professional basketball player in an office chair. I take a seat a few chairs down on the other side, set down my purse, and pull my jacket close around me.

The people slowly filter into the large room, filling the silence with motion and noise. They spend some time greeting each other--most of these must be Michael Jackson's regular team--and then take seats. On my right is seated a tall, bone-thin blonde who looks like she has something disgusting under her nose; on my left a large sweaty biracial man, with a friendly smile as he meets my eyes. The chatter swells and I withdraw into my cold exterior. I let the ocean of the sound sweep over me, like I'm not involved.

Then Mr. Pytka--Joe--raises his voice, and I'm snapped back to the present. "Quiet! Quiet, please!" The people still, the ends of conversations tailing off into whispers, and all attention goes to him--and Michael next to him.

"Well, it's great to have all of you here," he says, looking around the circle, "the new faces, as well as the old ones from previous short films we've done. We've had a great success with the others, and I'm sure this'll do just as well--and be just as fun." He pauses as they applaud, and I bring my hands together a couple times.

"Basically this meeting is just to organize what'll exactly be happening, the tentative schedule for the rehearsals and filming, and just informally meet the people you'll be working with. So I'm not going to sit here preaching to you, but I'd just like to quickly introduce you to a few people you'll be wanting to get to know over the next few weeks.

"First--I'd like you to stand up, please--we have our costume designer, Barbara Slinn." She gets modest applause, as do the next few people, "Don Wallace, the casting director who also manages most of the logistics; Mark Porter, who takes care of the cameras and filming; Susie Reynolds..." I tune out, until a large outburst of cheering and clapping means he introduced Michael Jackson. I look up and suddenly meet his eyes; he glances away quickly like he's been staring at me, and bites his lip. I don't know what to make of that, but now people are standing to see him and are blocking my view.

"Okay, okay," Joe raises his voice higher, "sit down please, settle down. Yes, you'll all be working with Michael over this time, and you'll have plenty of time to see him, don't worry. I'll be selling tickets, though," he jokes, and the atmosphere eases. I can see Michael Jackson staring at his hands now, still biting his lip.

"So now I'd like you all to mingle and meet each other, find out what all of you will be doing, who you'll be working with, alright? The next meeting," he now has to yell since people are standing up and talking excitedly, "will be right here next Friday at 8:00 PM. This is a mandatory meeting, and you'll all have to be here to..." his voice trails off, "of course you'd have to be listening to know about it... oh, what the hell." He gives up and sits back down, amusedly muttering something in Michael's ear, who laughs as well.

I get up, since no one's sitting down anymore, and push my way through the crowd to lean against the wall so I can breathe. I should be talking more with Joe, and whoever wrote the script, find out exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, but I'm sort of out of breath from being thrust into this so quickly. All these people seem used to it. I'm not.

"What are you doing?" It's the tall, obnoxious looking blonde, and she's looking down at me. I wish I had worn my heels.

"Um... standing here?"

She snorts. "I know. What are you doing in the music video?"

Short film, I think in my head. "I'm playing the... uh, the girl?"

"The girl? You mean Michael's love interest?"

"Yeah."

She laughs a "Good luck," and walks away on high heels. Strange how someone can make a 'good luck' sound derogatory. I slide down the wall and pull my knees close, hoping to ward off any other interrogators.

"Tatiana?"

"What?" I snap.

Then I bite my tongue when I turn and see it's Michael Jackson, smiling awkwardly at me. "Sorry I startled you," he says apologetically.

"It's okay," I say, though I should be the one apologizing.

He bites his lip again. "Um... Well, we'll be working together a lot, like Joe said, so, yeah. Um, are you excited about playing the part?"

I take a second to respond, then do, facing out into the crowd instead of at him. "I, yeah. It'll be fun. I've never been in anything big. But--don't take this the wrong way, but like, I'm not excited because it's Michael Jackson, you know? I'm not really into all that." I look down, hoping I'm not offending him.

He's silent for a while, and I finally look up. His face has relaxed, and now he's smiling. "That's great. That's what I want. I thought you might not be; that's why I picked you. I think you'll be perfect for the part."

I laugh. "I wish. I'm not that good."

"Yeah? I saw you dance at the audition." A mask seems to have fallen from his face, and now he's talking easily with me, leaning against the wall next to me. "You're an amazing dancer. It's like you really feel the music... not like it's forced. When I see someone dance like that it's like, like a connection." He gives me a quick, anxious glance. "You know what I mean?"

I nod slowly. "I do."

"Michael, when are we leaving?" I know this pouting face; it's La Toya Jackson, hair tousled high. "I've already met everyone I want to. What time is this meeting over?"

He laughs and straightens up. "Soon, La Toya, don't be so impatient."

I want to leave as well; I cover a deep yawn, and Michael notices it. "You're wanting to leave too, right," he says regretfully. "It is late; why don't you just leave? I don't think anyone would notice."

"Why don't you?" I return. "I don't think you're required to care if anyone notices."

"I like her," La Toya laughs. "She's got a point, Michael, what about it?"

"I'd get in trouble," he says, sticking out his bottom lip pitifully. I admire the brother-sister relationship; I wish I had anything near the easy friendliness in my family as these too.

"Hark to your love interest," she tips her head in my direction, and Michael blushes, "you're not required to care. Come on."

He hesitates for a bit, then relaxes. "Fine. You've convinced me." He looks at me. "Do you need a ride?"

"No, my car is parked outside." He looks slightly disappointed, then smiles. "Alright. Let's see if we can sneak out without anyone noticing." He edges along the wall towards the doorway, pulling La Toya by the hand, and I follow them. We make it to the doorway and slip through it.

As I make my way through the bags and purses of the people inside, I, though Michael and La Toya are already outside and can't hear, faintly recognize Joe's voice, "And, once again, Michael Jackson escapes the meeting early. So predictable."

I laugh and step outside into the wintry cold.