Two Forms Of I.D. Part 3 free porn video

Two Forms of I.D. By Joe Six-Pack Part 3 Escorted by her lawyer David Ibsen, Christina Angler was seated out side the opulent Los Angeles offices of the Cannon Record Group, waiting for her appointment with the Chairman and CEO of the company. Harvey thought that he was just coming to the place to introduce himself to all the record people. But now he found himself on the top floor of the tallest building he'd ever seen, ready to meet the most powerful person in the entire industry. Harvey's knees were knocking as he sat in the comfortable waiting-room chair. "Stop that. You're making me nervous." David mumbled under his breath. "I'm doing it on purpose?" Harvey whispered back. Edward J. Cannon was seated in his oppressively immense office, reviewing a tape of Christina Angler singing and dancing. Photos Christina's face and body were sprayed across his desk. "Patrick, this Christina girl couldn't get a Catholic priest to jack off to her face. She's downright ugly." Patrick, Jean's soon-to-be fiancee, was seated on the opposite side of the desk. "We always take care of it, Edward. It's part of the program. You know that." Patrick said. "But she's quite special to me. She's got potential." Mr. Cannon crossed his arms. "I can't cash checks written out to Potential, Patrick." He picked up another photo of Christina. "I don't want another Emily Grant." Patrick looked at Edward Cannon with a self-satisfied grin. "Emily liked life too fast. So I've tried to find a more emotionally mature type this time." Cannon drum-beat his hands on his desk. "I have my doubts, but I trust you. You've never been wrong about these girls of yours." "And you always have the same reservations." Patrick used his finger to make his point. "And you always wind up getting filthy rich off them." "You're sure she has the 'unique' qualities we need in our top stars." Cannon asked. Patrick smiled. "I've made sure of it. Personally." Cannon gathered up the photos on his desk and put them away. He pressed a button and the TV screen on his wall rolled up into the ceiling. "Well, I suppose it's time to meet the next big thing. You'd better be on your way." Patrick walked over to a wall as a concealed door opened automatically, and closed behind him. David looked at Harvey and his jitterbugging knees with a mild sort of anger. "You're going to wear out those pants if you keep doing that." "Just shut up." Harvey said. "You're making me agitated." From the elevator came Rick Gilburn, the VP in charge of artist development and business affairs, whom Harvey and David had met with just a few minutes ago. He was a shorter, stockier man who looked a little uptight in his suit. Harvey thought he was a nice enough man, but he was far more interested in numbers than music. "Still waiting?" Mr. Gilburn said. "I'm sure it will only be a minute or two." A secretary's desk buzzed from the other side of the huge, cavernous room. "Mr. Cannon will see you now. Go right in!" She said. With that, the giant double doors that led to Mr. Cannon's office clicked open of their own accord, and gracefully opened. "All set?" Mr. Gilburn said. Harvey and David stood, and followed Mr. Gilburn into the office. It was as large as an indoor tennis court, with a fifteen foot ceiling and a view of the city that was breathtaking. "Ms. Angler!" The sharply dressed, trim figure of Edward J. Cannon said. "Welcome to the Cannon Group!" David noticed the giant doors closing behind them. The four people exchanged introductions. David and Harvey found seats, but Mr. Gilburn remained standing. Mr. Cannon wasted little time. "I won't beat around the bush. Christina, we think you have what it takes to become our top selling star." David and Harvey turned in unison to face each other. They shared the same startled look. "You do want to be a star, don't you, Christina?" Cannon said. "Uhh... Yeah!" Harvey wasn't expecting such adoration. "That'd be great!" In his head, Harvey cursed at himself for sounding so stupid. "Good. That's the right attitude." Cannon poked at a button on his desk. "Send Donyell in, Marcie." The giant door clacked open again, as an unfamiliar figure entered. Mr. Cannon introduced the man. "This is Donyell, one of our top stylists. He'll be working with you, Christina, to develop and hone your... sense of presentation." The young black man introduced himself wit a silent handshake and a smile. Harvey was expecting this, someone who would be assigned with the task of fashioning his new 'look.' Harvey was relieved to see that Donyell was dressed in a black turtleneck and khakis. Not too flamboyant, and not too swishy. Cannon turned his attention to David. "Mr. Ibsen, if you could go with Mr. Gilburn to hammer out the contractual details and all that legal hoo-hah. Christina, you stay here, and Donyell and I will give you a rough outline of what we have in mind." David turned to Harvey, to make sure it was okay. Harvey gave him a subtle nod, and David was on his way. Mr. Cannon waited until he and Mr. Gilburn had left - and the doors had shut - until he continued. "Christina, I believe in being frank with my talent, so I'll say it straight. You're where you are now because of your dancing skills and voice. That's two parts of the package. We need to work on the missing part, and that's your style. "You're sixteen, and that makes our approach simple. You need to be the sort of act that gets discovered, rather than pushed on the public. We've found that heavy marketing campaigns for new talent invariably wind up hurting long- term sales. "If we have you to sneak up on the public, and you get 'discovered' by critics and fans, that's where we can make the most impact. What we'll do is position you as a girl- next-door type, an all-American apple pie local-girl-makes- big sort of thing. "At which point, if sales are positive, we'll then progress you down the line, expanding your audience with more traditional marketing approaches that cross multiple demographics with a worldwide promotional strategy." Harvey was following it up to that last sentence. "So, now I'll put you in the capable hands of Donyell, and get you started. Sound good?" Harvey talked for the first time in a few minutes. "Yes." "All right then. If you have any questions, just give my office a call, or talk to Mr. Gilburn." Mr. Cannon got up to offer a handshake. "I hope this is the beginning of a long, mutually beneficial relationship Christina." --- "Okay, very first thing you need to know about me." Donyell said, as he led Harvey into the limousine waiting outside, "I may work for you, but I'm always going to tell you like it is." Harvey crept into the ostentatious white stretch Cadillac and had flashbacks to his prom night. Donyell sat beside him. "I am going to be one hundred thousand percent honest with you at all times, so don't you ever worry about me. If you're dressed like a bag lady, I'll tell you. If you smell like a skunk, I'll tell you. If you're talkin the talk, but not walkin the walk - believe me I will tell you the truth! Now, is that clear?" Harvey nodded. He was wrong about this man not being flamboyant. "First stop is the salon. It all starts with the hair." Donyell pulled a small stack of photos from his clipboard. "And... These are computer composite images of you with six different styles and colors." Harvey took the photos and tried to give them a good look. But the Donyell put his hand in the way. "But before you even look at those, I want you to do something for me." Donyell let out a dramatic sigh. "When I think of Christina, I think: hello, eighties! And when I think of Angler, I think of fish. And I don't want nobody looking at Christina Angler and thinking about fish or the eighties, or nothin!" Donyell steadied himself. "So what I need you to do is think of a new name. Something that just says 'Hey! I'm new, I'm fresh, and I got it goin on!'" It was a moment later that Harvey realized he had been asked to do something. "Right now?" He asked. "No time like the present!" Donyell said. "Uh... I really don't know... How about... 'Harley?'" Harvey said. "Biker slut. Get serious." "Ummmm... Uhhh.... Jasmine." "Oh PLEASE!" Donyell threw up his arms. "I don't want stripper names! This doesn't have to be so hard! Just... I don't know... work with... 'Christina' a little." "Okay... um... How about Chris." Donyell shook his head. "Tina." Donyell covered his face in shame. Harvey sounded it out. "Crus... Creee.. Crooo... Cruss... Chriss... Chrisss..teee...." All of the sudden, Donyell started to wildly point at Harvey, as if he were in a game of charades. "Christie?" "More like... K-R-Y... S-T-I!" Donyell proclaimed. "Krysti." "Krysti - young, hip, groovin'!" Donyell snapped his fingers for emphasis. Harvey let it rattle around in his head for a while. It had a ring to it. He started to smile. "Krysti. Krysti. Krysti. Krysti. Krysti Angler." Then he had another idea. "Krysti Angel." He said, beaming. Donyell held up his palm to the excited Harvey. "No more calls we have a winner!" Harvey and Donyell high-fived. He pointed back to the pictures Harvey was holding. "Now which one of these girls is Krysti Angel?" Harvey flipped through them quickly, giggling. Then he stopped on one, kissed it, and held it up to Donyell. "THIS is Krysti Angel!!" "Yeah!" Harvey said. The stylist at the salon, had just turned Harvey's chair around, so he could see the finished product in the mirror. "That's perfect!" Harvey fluffed his new mane of hair from the bottom. It was a golden blonde, feathered and winged at the sides. It was like Drew Barrymore's from Charlie's Angels. And it looked great to Harvey. He couldn't stop playing with it. Next was the make-up table, where he was made up with glittery pink cheeks, shimmery pink lips and the legal limit of mascara. Harvey then had his nails done in clear polish with a nice pink tint to it. From there he was driven to the glitziest, highest-class clothing store that Harvey had ever been allowed in, and found they had shut the place down to let him shop alone. And with Donyell at his side, they cleaned the place out. They had an arm full of the 'punk' look. They took six bags' worth of the 'sporty' look. They loaded up the limo with the 'all-American' look. And they had to call for a truck to haul away all the stuff for the 'teen princess' look. And the shoes. They bought slides, they bought flip-flops. They bought thongs, sandals and sneakers. Knee-length boots. Calf-length boots. Ankle boots. One inch, two-inch, three-inch, four-inch heels. They had enough shoes to outfit an army and have something left over for a navy as well. Then it was on to accessories... --- David had been in the middle of some light reading, but his book had fallen out of his hands. Because a few seconds ago, some teenage girl skipped into the room, dressed in tight dark jeans and a black belly-baring halter-top. Slung over her shoulder was her denim jacket. Her pink toenails poked out from under her cuffs, resting atop platform flip- flops. And the little tart was smiling at David. She tossed her jacket onto a chair, and thrust her hips forward and to the side, keeping her hands behind her. "Hi, mister! I'm Krysti Angel!" David's first impulse was to demand this girl leave his hotel room. But having the logical mind a lawyer has, he analyzed the facts. You needed a key to get in this room. Harvey had that key. He knew only one person in 150 miles of this city, and that person happened to be dressed like a girl. And the voice of this girl perfectly matched the perky, irritating voice he had grown used to hearing from Harvey. "Harr..." David began. He had to run through his logic again before he continued. "Harvey?" The girl shifted her hips and crossed her arms in front of her. "No, mister! I just told you, I'm Krysti Angel!" And she giggled. David approached the girl, examining her like a mysterious artifact unearthed from a crashed spaceship. "Harvey." The girl couldn't hold back anymore. She collapsed in laughter, having just scared the life out of his good friend. "Asshole!" David yelled, kicking Harvey in the rear. Harvey continued to convulse on the floor, cackling. "You... I... DON'T DO THAT!!" David bellowed. "Oh God, you just about shit your pants!!" Harvey said, in between laughs. David fell back into the chair he had been sitting in. Harvey tried to find his feet. "I gotta stop laughing before my eyes run." Harvey made his way over to the couch, still randomly spurting a laugh or two. He slumped into the seat, leaving David with a chance to realize what the heck was happening here. "What did they do to you?" David begged to know. "You look like one of those girls you see at the mall - only... concentrated." Harvey rose his arms to display himself better. "That's the idea!" His arms fell down again. "I'm the girl next door. I'm the sweet young thing America will fall in love with - Krysti Angel." He poked his cheek with a finger to drive the point home. "Jesus Christ. They don't fool around, do they? And where did they come up with that stupid name!?" "I chose it!" Harvey said with a slight air of indignance. "And I like it. I think it's cool." "Ooookay. Sure." "Anyway, get all your stuff. We're checking out." Harvey got his feet again. "Huh?" David was confused. "I rented a house out in Beverly Hills." "You're kidding." David had to ask. Harvey dug out his suitcase. "Well, I personally didn't rent it - I had someone do it for me. But I saw some photos, and it looks real nice!" David still couldn't believe it. "You rented a house!?" "I'm not going to go back to Jean's place. And I need to stay out here for the publicity, recording, video shoots and stuff." Harvey shrugged off David's concern. "You just can't go renting a house without checking with me first, all right?" David said with a severe look on his face. "I have to go over the books to see if..." "David, you're not my father! I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions!" "I wasn't saying that! It's a matter of money!" David countered. "Do you want me to book into the Y?! A public figure like Krysti Angel can't stay in a hotel." Harvey pointed out. "It's something I would had to do sooner or later." "But how much does it cost, Harvey!?" David growled. "All this comes out of your earnings!" "David, we're going to have to spend some money on the essentials, and this is an essential, okay?" Harvey said to clear things up. "Fine." David wanted to drop the subject. Harvey was glad to let it go. "So hurry up. The limo's waiting." David experienced the same high school prom flashback Harvey had when he go to the limo. Inside was Donyell, looking very impatient, and cursing on his cell phone. But as soon as he saw Harvey, he put the phone away without even saying goodbye. "Well, let's get go-innnng!" He sung out. Once David had found a seat, he and Donyell reintroduced themselves. He noted that Donyell's handshake was little more than a weak pinch. "You two have been busy." David said. "Oh, let me tell you! We have been to the salons, we have been to the shops, we have been to the spa, we have been all OVER the town!" Donyell's head pivoted from side to side as he talked. "And this is just day number one!" "Well it sounds like you had fun." David said, trying to keep up in a conversation he didn't want to have. He turned to Harvey. "Man, you're gonna have to be put on an allowance." Harvey eyes turned to Donyell, with a catty look. "Krysti Angel a spoiled princess, David. A girl's gotta shop. It's part of the image." "Mmm-hmm!" Donyell agreed. David wasn't sure what to make of that. "Just take it easy, that's all I'm saying." "Never mind him, Donyell. He's just a stick-in-the-mud." Harvey said, laughing. David sat back and decided not to say anything until the ride was over. Which it was, forty minutes later when the limo pulled into the long gated driveway of some sort of gaudy theme hotel. Or at least that's what David thought it was. It wasn't. When David stepped out of the limo, he couldn't believe it. "Holy fuck! You paid money to live HERE? "Oh my God!" Harvey yelled as he got out of the car. "This is too much!" David looked around the naked statues spouting out water into a huge artificial pond. A garden of loud, neon flowers packed every available square inch of the yard, excepting for the drive way which was made out of white gravel. A walkway of cobblestones wove around ornate French streetlights until it led to the house. The house itself was in the style of a Spanish monastery - if it had been attacked by giant, man-eating plants. Vines and ferns emerged from every visible ledge. Trees shaded the building, nearly obscuring it totally. All one could see was vegetation and stucco. As they drank in the sights, a maid and butler slowly approached the car, and stood by patiently to greet the new master of the house. David saw them first, and realized who they were, and more importantly how expensive they were. "How much is this COSTING us?" David yelled at Harvey. "Stop worrying!" Harvey yelled from the other side of the limo. "I cant believe this! We're getting out of here! NOW!" David back. Harvey gave him a dirty look. "Why don't you go fuck yourself, David!" "What?" David said. "WHAT did you say to me?" Harvey ignored him and ran into the house. David reluctantly followed. As he passed through the enormous oak doors, and into the white marbled interior, he wondered where the furniture was. But it was just the receiving room. In the next room, he found the furniture. When the Nazis captured France, they plundered all it's treasures and riches, taking it for their own. And they must have deposited it all in this one room in Beverly Hills. A mad array of paintings were scattered along the walls, almost concealing the maroon velvet wallpaper. Huge, overstuffed, gilded furniture straight from the palaces of beheaded Kings were arranged in a tight circle around a round gold table with a turquoise stone top. Above it, a crystal chandelier with 1000 or so tiny bulbs hung on a golden chain from the vaulted ceiling. The dull orange shag carpet on the floor contrasted with everything else in the room, if not everything else on the planet. Harvey's head popped up from behind one of the sofas "Don't you LOVE it?" He then hurtled the back of the sofa and arrived at David's feet, excited and deliriously happy. "It's SO Hollywood!!" David had his hands already on his head, gripping his hair in preparation of pulling it out. "What in the world... are... you... thinking?" He said slowly as the words came to him. "This is going to cost a fortune, and it looks like Sigfield and Roy and Liberace threw up in here!" "It's perfect! I love it!" Harvey squeaked. "You're NOT renting this house. And THAT'S final!" David demanded. The expression on Harvey's face turned dark. "You can go back home if you want to David, nobody's stopping you. I like this. I think it's incredible!" Donyell strolled in, followed by the dour maid and butler. "Wait 'till you see the safari room!" He said. He continued to walk on into a hallway, calling out "This way!" Harvey turned to follow, but David grabbed him by the arm before he could move. "Are you fucking insane? Have you lost all your goddamn perspective?" "I'm a star now, David! This is what stars do!" "You're..." David looked around to see if anyone was around. No one was, but he lowered his voice. "..you're Harvey Angler, a 26 year old man. You're an electrician. You're pretending to be a teenage girl, pretending you know how to sing and pretending you know what you're doing! There's not even a fucking record yet!" Harvey looked shocked. Then he looked angry. He tugged his arm out of David's grasp and his face went red with fury. "I have more TALENT than you could ever DREAM of! I have a GREAT voice, and I'm a GREAT dancer!! I employ YOU and YOU do what I tell you to! If I want to get a house, I'll get whatever FUCKING HOUSE I want!! This is MY life, and all you need to do is read the contracts and file the papers!" Harvey growled a feminine grunt. "You're jealous. You're jealous of all the fame I'm going to have! Well, if you want to go and tour the country in some STINKING VAN for six months and eat 10,000 FUCKING PEACHES, then go ahead and be my GUEST! I EARNED this, I DESERVE it, and I'm going to ENJOY it!! And David..." He took a breath. "YOU can call me KRYSTI ANGEL from NOW ON!!" Harvey turned on his heel and strutted out of the room. David watched Harvey go, disappearing into the darkness of a hallway. David trembled with rage, and then let out his breath. He tried to drain his bad feelings out with it. He felt betrayed, somehow. And now he was standing here in someone's else's house, far away from home, and more alone than he had ever felt in his life. --- The album, simply titled "Krysti Angel" performed poorly upon release, selling only 20,000 copies in its' first month. It's overproduced, tuneless music was a poor showcase for the singer's voice, which on most tracks wasn't even Harvey's anymore. The video failed to gain airplay on TV. And the song was never on the radio. Until, that is, a throwaway track called "Luv Me 4 Me" appeared on the soundtrack of the sleeper blockbuster hit move of the summer. A video was quickly shot and a new single was issued. In only a few weeks, 50,000 more copies of "Krysti Angel" were sold, and the sensation started to build. Publicity and promotion was needed. Fast. The moment of opportunity would certainly pass quickly. Harvey spent nearly three whole days in a photo shoot, trying to get the perfect pictures to put in the magazines and on sleeves and posters. But the shoots had gone badly. Harvey was tough to work with. He was nervous about his looks, nervous about being photographed and petrified about being spotted. He was certain someone might see through his disguise if they could examine the pictures closely enough. "Krysti!" Mr. Cannon said, on the other end of the phone. "I hear the shoot's not going well. What's the problem?" Harvey didn't know what to say. The phone felt like a hundred pounds in his hand. "I guess I... I'm a little nervous." "Oh, I can imagine all this attention can be difficult to deal with for a girl your age." Cannon said, with a kind tone. "I guess so." "Well, I'll tell you what. I'm giving a party for some of the media people tonight, I'd like you to come. It'll help you relax and take your mind off things." Just the opposite, thought Harvey. He couldn't imagine a more tense situation for him right now. But he already knew you never said 'no' to Edward Cannon. "Sure! Sounds great!" Harvey said with that "Yes! to Life" attitude that had gotten him so far. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" Mr. Cannon proclaimed. "I'll have a car for you outside in a few minutes. They'll pick you up, drop you off at a salon for a quick touchup and then I'll see you around seven at the Mayfair Ballroom." "Okay! I'll be there!" Harvey said. After putting down the phone, he fell back onto the satin pink sheets on his waterbed. "This is going to be a nightmare." He decided. The limo did indeed pick up Harvey and take him to a salon, but a private one that was hidden behind a pottery store and very exclusive. The stylist there gave Harvey a load of skin treatments and shampoos to use every day, as well as making him over for the night's affair. When they were done, Harvey had never looked so good. Or so girlish. His eyes here large and bright, his lips big and shiny and his skin was flawless. They had twisted and pinned his hair up in the cutest way. He was so impressed, he made an appointment for every Thursday from now on. Back in the limo, the driver presented him with some white boxes "compliments of Mr. Cannon." Inside Harvey found a daring new outfit that he'd never have chosen on his own. It was a sequined rose red spaghetti-strap top which left his midriff bare. His midriff wasn't his best asset, he knew. The skirt was ankle-length in the same rose color, but was made of a satin-like material with a lining for fullness. Included was a pair of clear high heeled platform sandals, and a simple crystal pendant necklace and matching earrings. Harvey did his best to enhance his sub-A cups, but there wasn't much to be done. And the skirt hid his best features, his lean dancer legs. He dressed in the car, and then arrived at the ballroom. It was a red carpet affair, and as he departed the limo, he was help up by a doorman into the flashbulbs of a pack of paparazzi. Harvey tried to smile, but felt like diving back into the car. He stumbled twice before making his way into the lobby, where he was led into the main ballroom, packed with hundreds of men and women in semiformal attire. "Krysti!" The deep voice of Mr. Cannon came from behind. "I was afraid you'd have second thoughts. I'm so glad you're here." He wrapped his strong arm around Harvey's waist, resting his hand on Harvey's half-bare hip. Harvey shuddered, but he didn't stop smiling. "I want you to meet some of the big players here in the media market." He looked around for a moment, before yelling "Larry!" in the general direction of a gray-haired and bearded man with thick glasses. "Larry, meet Krysti Angel, Cannon Group's hottest rising star!" The man turned around slowly, and held out his hand. Harvey shook it firmly. "Hi there!" Harvey said earnestly. Larry looked at Harvey up and down, seemed to sneer a little, and looked back at Cannon without speaking. He just sipped his drink and turned away. Harvey led Cannon away where he couldn't be overhead. "What's his problem?" Harvey asked. "Larry's an old timer. He's seen a lot of girls come and go. I suppose he's a little jaded." Cannon patted Harvey on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it." Harvey played with his new necklace as he had started to worry. This was going to be a stinking, grisly disaster. It was a very bad idea to come here. "I have to go to the bathroom." He needed to get out, and he left Mr. Cannon's presence swiftly. Harvey leaned forward on the counter of the ladies' washroom, breathing heavily as all his worries caught up with him. He was in over his head. David was right. He had no right being here. He looked at himself in the mirror, his makeup still intact despite his pouting. He looked at his exposed belly, thick and undefined. His broad shoulders. If you looked closely, you could even see an Adams' apple on his neck. This was ridiculous. A sneering voice came from the doorway: "The one and only Krysti Angel." Harvey was caught off guard, and turned quickly to see the familiar figure of Emily Grant. She was the hot young thing just a few years ago, it seemed to Harvey. She was the biggest selling artist the Cannon Group had. The music was crap, but she sure was a looker. Even if she was too young. Emily had obviously led a fast life, as her face was now ravaged by time, despite the fact that she couldn't be older than nineteen. Her eyes had bags, her skin creased on the sides of her nose. Her bare arms looked bone-thin and fragile. She had a cigarette in one hand, which she kept perched at her mouth. She looked at Harvey with disgust. "Krysti Angel. Mr. Cannon's newest prot?g??. How sweet." Emily slowly approached Harvey, not breaking her laser-like stare. "Is this my replacement? This fat cow?" She was now so close, they were almost rubbing noses. She took a long drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke in Harvey's face. "You're pathetic!" She sneered. She took a few steps around the backside of Harvey examining him. "My God, how desperate are they? You're a fucking pig!" The smoke made Harvey feel dizzy. "Hey..." Harvey said, in a meeker tone of voice than he intended. All of the sudden he felt tired. Dead on his feet. Spent. The room turned colors. "Hey!" Emily mocked. "Hey!" she said again. She walked around in front of Harvey again. "You shouldn't be much of a challenge. The cameras get one good look at the fat, fucking, cow behind the music, and you're history. And Cannon will come back to me, desperate for a star to sell. Classic!" "Fffat" Harvey mumbled. "Cowww.." Emily turned her back and started to laugh. "Ha, ha, ha!" She then turned around again and spoke clearly. "If I were you, I'd do whatever it takes to make sure I stay at the top." "Whatevr it takes..." Harvey repeated. "Because you're nothing, if you aren't a star. And I'M the star here." Emily then stuck her nose in the air and left. Harvey's eyelids fluttered involuntarily. "A star..." He said. "Wht evrrr it takesss..." Mr. Cannon greeted Emily as she exited the washroom. "So?" He asked Emily. "I think it went fine, Mr. Cannon, sir." Emily said. "I went through the script word for word." "That's wonderful, Emily. I'll make sure you'll have as much... Um..." Cannon searched for the right word. "Smack." Emily quickly interjected. "Is that what the kids call heroin." Mr. Cannon rhetorically asked. "Anyway, you'll have whatever $10,000 can buy you. Now please leave." Emily retreated, backwards. "Thank you sir, thank you!" She turned tail and briskly sped out of the hall, rubbing her arm. She'll probably have overdosed and be dead by morning, Cannon thought to himself. The door to the washroom opened as Harvey stepped out, wobbly in his heels. "Mr. Cannon?" He said, with a slight slur. "Oh!" Mr. Cannon said, feigning surprise. "I was getting worried, Krysti." Harvey looked up, and found his view blurry. But quickly his world seemed to come into focus. "Don't.. Nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Cannon." Harvey straightened his posture and put on his best smile. He shook his hair back out of his face and straightened his top. "I need to meet more people, don't you think?" Edward Cannon smiled. "Yes. Of course." He escorted Harvey back out onto the floor. "Walter!" he called. A pudgy man who was sweating in his suit turned around to acknowledge Cannon. "This is Krysti Angel, the Cannon Groups' fastest rising star!" Harvey smiled brightly and took Walter offered hand with both of his hands. Harvey then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Hi! What do you do Walter?" Walter smirked. "I work for the Daily Entertainment Bulletin." "Oh my gosh!" Harvey placed is hand over his chest in astonishment. "That's a big important publication! Do you write?" "Well I edit some, and do some ad sales." Walter said, definitely warming up. "That's fascinating!" Harvey gushed. "Tell me all about it!" He took Walter by the arm. A smile crept across Mr. Cannon's face as he left Krysti alone, and moved on to other guests. --- Sales were up. Way up. The schmoozing made a real difference. Krysti was in magazines, her video was in heavy rotation on TRL and her songs were everywhere. By the end of the fourth month of release, "Krysti Angel" had been certified gold, selling 500,000 copies. There was a buzz around the record, and its' star. For the next video, the record company went all out. A cast of fifty extras and twenty dancers were used. The set was lavish, costing alone a million dollars. And the special effects were cutting edge. It all came together beautifully, producing one of the years' most talked-about music videos. It was when he saw the final cut that Harvey noticed something strange. Krysti Angel was a bit player. You couldn't see much of her, and when you did, it was only for brief moments. The director had seemed to deliberately cut away from Krysti and distracted the viewer from seeing her. Lounging on a love seat in his new house, Harvey was watching the video over and over. "Donyell..." Harvey asked the young man reclined on the nearest sofa. "Why is Krysti, I mean me.. why is it that they keep cutting away from me?" Donyell shrugged. "Don't look at me!" "It's MY video! It should be nothing BUT me!" Harvey whimpered. "You should complain." The girl who was doing his nails said. "That's totally bogus." "Mr. Gilburn?" Harvey said into the phone. "Why do they keep cutting away from me in the new video?" "Focus testing." Mr. Gilburn said. "The numbers don't lie." "Numbers?" Harvey asked. "We made a number of different cuts of the video. The final cut is the one that scored highest within key demographic groups and subgroups." A long silence required Mr. Gilburn to translate. "Simply put people really liked the version with fewer shots of you in it." "Um. Okay. Thanks." Harvey said, placing the handset back in it's gaudy golden cradle. "They don't like me." Harvey said out loud. "People don't like me." "They just don't know you." Donyell reassured. The nail girl chimed in. "You shouldn't stand for that!" In his stomach, he felt a pang. It sickened him. He was losing his grip. His grip on everything he had worked so hard for. People not only needed to like Krysti, they needed to LOVE Krysti. Without that, he was a has-been. A forgotten face and name. He had to do something. Harvey turned off the VCR, and the TV switched over to MTV, where it always seemed to be tuned. It was an old Emily Grant video, part of a marathon they were playing to remember her after her untimely death last week. Harvey devoured the video. And the one after it. And the next one. He sat through the entire Emily Grant marathon. Emily as the reluctant sexy lover. Emily as the misunderstood beauty. Emily as the innocent lonely teen. Emily as the racy renegade. When it was done, Harvey had come to some definite conclusions. "I don't have the look. I'm not trying hard enough. I need to do whatever it takes." He said. Harvey jumped onto the phone and started to make some calls. One after the other, appointments were scheduled. Dates were set. And a new path had been charted.