Agent to the Stars by John Scalzi

“I don’t see why people would be so upset that she said that.”
    â€œI know, Michelle,” I said. “That’s why I think you should skip this role.”
    Michelle glared at me angrily and appeared to be winding up to a tirade when her eyes slipped into her skull, leaving only the whites visible. Her mouth dropped open slightly. She dropped her fork onto the table. I stared, panicked—I had made her so angry I caused her to stroke out. I was in the process of yanking out my cell phone to dial 911 when she snapped back.
    â€œThat’s better,” she said.
    â€œJesus Christ, Michelle,” I said. “What was that all about?”
    â€œI’ve been going to a hypnotherapist,” she said, “to help me handle my stress. He placed an autosuggestion into my subconscious so that every time I get angry or stressed, I sort of float away for a couple of seconds. It’s really helping me deal with my issues.”
    â€œLet’s hope you don’t have any issues while you’re on the 405,” I said.

    â€œWell, I usually stress out in traffic jams, so it’s not a problem,” Michelle said. “I’m not moving anyway. Listen, you just made me very angry back there.”
    â€œI know that now,” I said.
    â€œYou’re supposed to be my agent, you know,” she said, “and that means helping me get the roles I want.”
    â€œYes, but I’m also your friend,” I said, “and that means looking out for you. And also, as your agent, I have to look out for the longevity of your career. If Hard Memories flopped, it wouldn’t stop you from making movies, but it would make folks think twice about hiring you for another drama. And then you would be stuck doing Summertime Blues and Murdered Earth sequels. Very profitable in the short run, but not what I think you want to do all your life.”
    â€œI don’t even want to do this Murdered Earth sequel,” Michelle said, sullenly. “Any way I can get out of it?”
    â€œAfraid not,” I said. “We’ve gone beyond the oral agreement stage. Besides, you’ve got twelve million plus back end. You’re unbelievably rich now. Enjoy it.”
    Michelle poked at her food. “The only reason I got the first film was because Brad wanted to screw me.”
    â€œThere was more to it than that, Michelle,” I said, and that much was true—at the time, she had also been cheap to hire. “But look at it this way: now you get to screw him. To the tune of twelve mil.”
    Michelle shrugged and looked down at her plate. “All I’m saying is sometime soon I’d like to get to do something where the reason I got it wasn’t because someone wanted to get in my pants.”
    I remembered why I had started representing Michelle. I felt unbelievably filthy.

    â€œYou ready to go?” I said.
    She looked up at me. “What?”
    â€œLet’s go,” I said. I pulled out my wallet and set down a couple of twenties.
    â€œI haven’t ordered dessert yet,” Michelle said.
    â€œI believe that you would have eaten it,” I said. “Now I want you to come with me. I have an idea.”
    Across the strip mall from the Mondo Chicken was a Barnes & Noble. We went in.
    â€œWhat are we doing?” Michelle asked.
    â€œGetting research materials,” I said, and sat her down in one of the store’s chairs while I went shopping. I picked up Hannah Arendt, Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel, and Simon Wiesenthal. I grabbed Hitler’s Willing Executioners, Denying the Holocaust, Shoah , and Why Did the Heavens Not Darken? I went to the graphic novel area and fished through costumed superheroes until I found Maus . On the way through the fiction I spotted Sophie’s Choice. I grabbed it. Couldn’t hurt.
    I had no illusions—these books were enough to confuse graduate students, let alone Michelle, who was, at the very