The Latter Day Saints of Television, Part 3: Marketing

Part 2: https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@grebmot/the-latter-day-saints-of-television-part-2-not-as-free-as-you-thought

Marketing

Another red rose and the wardrobe would've exploded. Magnus was sitting somewhere between piles of pink teddy bears, stacks of love letters, well wishes and lewd photographs. Mostly mature housewives throwing sexy poses, more or less skillfully, but with an emphasis on less. Some of it had a certain Betty Page cosplay vibe to it, partially due the pointy bras and the tan nylons. Magnus raised an eyebrow and kept on flicking through another couple of pages. Nice, very nice. He tossed the notes and took a look into his big hollywood style showgirl mirror. "You still got it, man! Everybody loves you! You're smart, funny, and relatable! You're crushing it!"

Magnus was neither relatable, funny, or particularly smart. He wasn't crushing it either. At least that's what they told him during his last visit at the agency. As matter of fact, the whole trip was like running the gauntlet, or some kind of sick humiliation ritual. First they left him stewing in the lobby, their way of gauging his desperation, and then some annoyed receptionist led him to the slaughter. The big double door fell shut behind her. "Approach." Someone barked. Magnus was being mean mugged by a triad of functionaries, people he had never seen before, sitting behind an elevated table.

"You suck!" One of the functionaries said. "What!?" Magnus was confused. He looked over his shoulder, like he was expecting a hidden camera. "Is this a prank?" It wasn't. "I don't like him." Magnus opened his mouth and was about to reply something, but his answer was cut short. "Oh, shut up!" The others nodded. "The numbers don't lie, kid." The functionaries went on to finish eachother's sentences. "It's over. Your career is a dumpster fire." It was true. "You had your fifteen minutes, that's it. What more do you want?" Magnus interjected. "Where's Reinhart?? My agent?" One of the functionaries snapped his fingers.

Bang! The double door swung open again. Two well groomed thugs in dark business suits were escorting a badly bruised Reinhart into the room, who looked at Magnus like a scared puppy pleading for help. His shaky hands were zip-tied and there was a piece of industrial strength duct tape covering his mouth. "If it had not been for your agent..." Reinhart was put to his knees. "...we wouldn't have talked to you at all." One of the thugs was loading a revolver and gave the drum a spin. "Make it right and we'll grant you one last chance." The thug handed Magnus the gun and he understood instantly. "I'm sorry Reinhart, it's not me, it's just marketing!" Magnus pulled the trigger. Click! "Well done mr. Magnus!" Reinhart would live another day.

To be continued?