Allison’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary, staring at me across the greasy diner table. She’s an art director at a Chicago ad agency.

She lays it out: Tom Horn Smokeless Tobacco needs new faces.

“Think you’ve got what it takes?” she asks.

I sip my coffee, thinking about my rent, bills, and half-paid-off Harley parked outside and all those suck-ass nights behind the bar, pretending to enjoy serving booze to frat boys and Lincoln Park trixies.

“Pay any good?” I ask, playing it cool like McQueen in a getaway car.

“Pays enough to get you out from behind that bar,” she says.

Allison must see something in me other than a 30-year-old bartender riding life’s rough road. Maybe I’ll try it. Hell, I might even take my clothes off for the right price.

I meet the casting director, an excruciatingly well-groomed guy named Mr. Jones with a Harvard accent and a Vassar attitude. He eyes me like I’m fresh meat or maybe yesterday’s leftovers.

“Allison tells me you exude a certain charm,” he says, making “charm” sound like something linked to herpes.

Pay’s more than good. It’s damn good. I sign the contract, fill out a form for direct deposit, and we shake hands. Allison’s smiling like she’s won the lottery.

“Ready for the big time?” she asks as we walk toward our bikes.

“Born ready,” I say.

Copyright © 2023 L.T. Hanlon