Nick Juliet Investigations & The Case of the Golden Starlet (Chapter 4, June 22)

[PeculiarChangeling]

Written for @cute little kokiri girl, using the Youthlock ideas and setting explained in this post!

Our plan is to release about a chapter a month, so strap in!

 

 

Chapter 1

I can tell a lot about a broad by what troubles she decides are worth my time to solve. 

To put it in terms any Joe could understand, my services don’t come cheap, and I’m not in the business of looking glamorous. Sometimes a dame will wander in telling me how her cat’s gone missing, and it’s not because she’s mistaken me for a newsie looking to make cash on the side, it’s because she’s got too much dough and not enough sense. 

On the other hand, if I have a dame come in telling me her husband’s gone missing, that tells me something else–if she were rich, she’d be hiring some glitzy gumshoe who’s got his name in the papers, assuming she didn’t just place a donation or two to get the coppers on the job. You don’t come to the only youthlocked detective in Los Angeles because you’re just stirring up trouble.

And that’s me–Nick Juliet, Private Eye. Don’t let my looks fool you, I might need to sit on a phonebook to use my desk and I’ve still not finished potty training, but I’ve been old enough to drink since prohibition ended, and if you take me for a kid, I’ll take you for a ride. 

It was just about closing time when the latest doll waddled into my office, looking cute as a button. She had it all–golden hair that curled up like a coiled spring around her shoulders, eyes like blue puddles, wearing a little pink number with lace that just wouldn’t quit. She stood maybe three feet tall even in her patent leather heels, but even though I could hear her diaper crinkle as she crossed my office, I knew this wasn’t any little child who’d wandered in off the street.

Youthlocks aren’t common, but we aren’t all that rare either. The lucky ones get all the way to nine or ten before they stop aging, when they’re tall enough to reach the middle shelves at the grocery store without jumping. At a glance, we look like kids, but you can tell us apart if you know what to look for. The diaper bulge is one thing; I can’t say why, but our potty training goes to squat when the youthlock sets in. There’s the walk, too. You spend thirty years practicing, you’ll have a swagger to your step that few tots will match.

In this case, though, I didn’t need any of my observation skills, just a pair of eyes. This wasn’t just any dame who’d walked in off the street, it was Shelly Chapel. The Shelly Chapel, the starlet with more than thirty hit films to her name. 

“You must be Nick Juliet,” she said, stopping in front of my desk. She had to stand on tip-toe to see over it, giving me a view that only showed her precocious eyes and a stare that’d stolen the hearts of audiences across the world. 

“And you’re Shelly Chapel,” I replied, glancing past her. My secretary had stepped out. Hopping down off my desk chair, I walked around, pulling out the seat for her. Prepared for a Youthlock, I had a spare book I kept on the edge of my desk at all times, but sizing up the actress, I quickly realized I’d need more height than just one book offered. Stacking a couple newspapers beneath it, I offered her a hand, pretending that I couldn’t spot her diaper beneath her dress as she got onto the boosted-up seat.

“I thought you’d be shorter,” she commented, looking down at me from her perch. I had a good six inches on her at least, the result of my youthlock setting in a couple years past hers. 

Walking back to my own seat, I clambered into my own chair, feeling the need for a pick-me-up. “How can I help you?” I asked, reaching into the pocket of my vest and producing a package of candy cigarettes. Extending one, I offered her first pick of the pack, but she shook her head. 

“They say you’re good at finding things,” Miss Chapel said, her golden hair flopping adorably over her shoulder as she tilted her head to eye me. It felt odd, seeing decades of suspicion in eyes that belonged to a preschooler’s face. “They say you’re discreet, too, but I don’t know much else about you.”

Setting the candy stick between my lips, I sat back, letting the slight sugar rush give me the energy I needed. “Funny thing about keeping secrets,” I said as chalky sugar dissolved down my tongue. “If you never share them, nobody ever knows how good you are at keeping them.” 

“Well.” Shelly nodded thoughtfully at my comment. “Thanks to the paparazzi, my life’s an open book. I can’t take a nap without a camera finding its way between the crib bars. For once, I’d like to be ahead of the tabloids.” 

I nodded, taking the notepad from my desk. “Ahead of the tabloids on what?”

“My manager, William Waters. He’s a chisel, and a bastard, and he’s trying to kill my career.” 

She sat back, eyeing me, as though waiting for me to call her crazy or question her story. I knew this part all too well. Dames who came in my door weren’t always looking for the truth, they just wanted to know that someone believed them.

I’d learned a lesson or two from the girls on fourth street: So long as they paid, it never hurt me to play the pal. Nodding, I clicked my pen a couple times, jotting down names. “Give it to me,” I prompted. “From the beginning.”

“You know who I am,” she began, stating it as an observation, not a question. I nodded anyway, and she continued, “I’ve been in the business for a long time–hell, I started playing six year olds when I was actually six. I’ve had the same manager for a decade and a half, and I’ve been at the same studio for the past eleven years. And let me tell you–I’m just about sick of it.” Her gaze drifted out the window looking wistful. 

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re done with acting?” 

“I’m done with Shelly Chapel,” she replied. “Little girl, sings and dances, cute as a button–it’s so goddamned sweet it makes me want to choke. I’ve been acting for my whole life, Mr. Juliet, but it seems like I’ve only ever been cast in one role.” 

Nodding, I chewed on my thoughts, and on the tip of the candy cigarette. “Alright. So what’s the problem?” 

“I’ve been auditioning for new roles,” Shelly explained, reaching down to dig into her purse. “And my manager–he’s worthless. He’s not able to do a damned thing for me. With my resume, I should be able to walk onto any set I please and get a part, but no, it’s like a kid wandered into a factory, they just want to coo over how cute I am and then usher me away. I was beginning to suspect something, and then this happened.” 

Producing a letter, she tossed it onto the desk. I leaned forward, unfolding the wrinkled paper and skimming the note. It was written in a tight cursive script, jotted down by someone with good penmanship.

Phone call from Candor Taurus of Erikson Productions, asked to pass along: 

He’s confused why you didn’t accept the part, but they’ve decided to go with someone else. He asked why you never responded, after you were so enthusiastic at the audition, but he had to make another choice to get production moving and couldn’t wait any longer.

I frowned. “Candor Taurus? The director of It Occurred One Evening?” Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Why didn’t you respond?”

“Because, I never got told I’d been accepted!” she snapped bitterly. “Calls don’t come for me directly, I’m too busy to answer the phone on set. Typically, William will accept them for me and let me know if anything’s important, but my manager claims he never got this one.” 

“Who wrote the note?” I asked, holding up the paper she’d given me.

“One of the receptionists.” Shelly reached over, taking the message back. “If nobody’s around to take the call, they’ll pass along messages and have them delivered.”

“Could several messages have been missed?” I asked. “A few phone calls in a row?”

She shook her head, golden curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Impossible. If nobody picked up, his studio would call back. Someone got the message, and just didn’t pass it along to me.”

“Or several messages, by the sounds of it,” I said, frowning as I thought it over. “So, you think your manager killed your chance at a new role? Why would he do that?” 

“You know what his job is?” Shelly asked. When I shook my head, she explained, “It’s to sit around and collect a paycheck while I do all the work. A manager’s supposed to find new jobs for me, but we’ve been working on the same lot for more than a decade. All he’s had to do was get a bonus whenever someone calls up asking for an endorsement or product sponsorship–if I start working for new companies, taking on serious work, he’ll actually have to get off his ass for once. Clearly, he’d rather keep the easy ride going.” 

“So fire him,” I suggested. “You’re the biggest youthlock name in town, I’m sure there’s managers out there who’d blow their wig to scoop you up.” 

“He’s got me in a bulletproof contract,” she glowered. “Locked me into it before I was old enough to know better: If I fire him without cause, there’s a do-not-compete saying I can’t bring on anyone else. I need proof he screwed me so I can take his ass to court and hire his replacement.” 

I nodded, mulling it over. Her story sounded plausible, but I didn’t just take every plausible case that wandered in off the street, no matter how cute she looked when she gave me a pleading look. “Miss Chapel,” I began.

Her expression fell, then I saw the beginnings of an angry snarl. “You don’t believe me?” 

“I believe you,” I promised, quelling her anger, “But if you’re right, if your manager took the calls and then buried them, or he threw away notes from the telephone operators, that’s going to be almost impossible to prove. I’d need to get him to admit it, and it’s not often you’ll convince a man to incriminate himself. You’d be wasting your money if you hired me.” 

“But there’s a chance?” she asked, leaning forward. “Right?”

“Not a good chance.” I shook my head, biting the end of the candy cigarette into pieces and chewing on it. “Even if he’s got loose lips, once a private eye shows up on set and starts asking questions, he’ll clam up like a wet diaper in winter.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “I might be able to do something about that–I can get you onto set without it being too disruptive.”

“I don’t want to take your money and leave you without answers.” I shook my head, leaning back in my chair. 

Persisting, she dug into her purse again. “I understand. Payment up front, then.” Taking out a stack of bills, she dropped it onto my desk, where the fresh green cash sat between us. 

I frowned. I had a hard time saying no to dames in desperate straits, but I had an even harder time saying no to cash up front. Leaning forward, I took the wad of bills, riffling through them like a deck of cards. 

“What’s your plan to get me on set?” I asked, nodding. 

“Call you an extra,” she explained. “We’re filming a scene at an orphanage in two days. Kid actors are cheap, but they’re hard to work with–Youthlocks are better if you can find ‘em willing to act.” 

Thinking on it, I pursed my lips. “I don’t care to have my picture taken.”

“You’ll just be a kid in the room,” she promised. “Please, Mister Juliet. There’s nobody else I can trust with this.”

I considered a little longer, but my heart was already made up long before I nodded my head. “I’ll take the job,” I said. “Call my secretary, Miss Brown, tomorrow, get her the details for when the filming starts.” 

Smiling, she pushed to her feet, falling down to the floor. I could only see her eyes over the edge of my desk, but I saw relief in them. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I replied, staying in my seat. “I still don’t think I’ll be able to get much out of him.” 

She waddled out of my office, skirt flouncing as she reached up to turn the handle on my frosted glass door.

I mulled things over while she left, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. A film set–a whole studio full of people who lied for a living, and a case that it’d be impossible to prove before any judge. 

(Why do I even take these jobs?) I thought to myself, sitting back and putting my feet up on the desk. There was something foul in the air about this whole situation, but I couldn’t place my finger on what. 

As I pondered, my door swung open a second time, but now it was a familiar face who walked in, carrying a paper sack. Margaret Brown, the best damned secretary on the west coast. She was just a little younger than me, but stood a solid two feet taller, actually looking like a woman in her mid twenties. 

“You’ll never guess who I walked by on the street!” She exclaimed, excitement shining on her face as she set down the sack. 

“You’d be surprised,” I replied coolly, hopping off my office chair and walking over to her. 

“Go on,” she prompted, removing a package of diapers from the bag. “Guess.”

“Shelly Chapel?” I suggested, eyeing the package. 

“No, it was–” she began, before pausing to look down at me. She sniffed, disappointed. “How’d you know?” 

“Because, we’ve got our next job,” I replied, reading the label. “‘Coddles’?” 

“It’s the new disposable diaper brand,” she explained smoothly, before guiding the conversation back on track. “We’re working for the Shelly Chapel?” 

“The one and only.” I frowned. “I don’t see what’s so bad about terry cloth and plastic–old fashioned diapers have never done me wrong in the past.” 

“You’re not the one who has to do your laundry,” she replied haughtily. “And, on that subject, I smell a soldier who needs a change–let’s get you freshened up, boss.” 

I rolled my eyes but took her hand, waddling behind her to the bathroom where she hefted me onto our changing table. Smiling as she undid my diaper, Margaret asked, “So, what did the little starlet want?” 

Crossing my arms and wrinkling my nose, I stared at the ceiling. I could have changed myself, but Margeret was faster and did a better job, so I took the opportunity to get her help whenever I could. “She wants to be taken seriously.”

“Oh?” Margaret inquired, mostly making the sound as a prompt for me to keep going while she wiped my thighs clean. “Bottoms up.”

Pushing to raise my hips off the table, I let her pull my diaper away and wipe to get everything else clean. “She says someone’s sabotaging her career, trying to keep her out of serious film.” 

Margeret nodded, dusting me down with fresh baby powder, filling the room with an overbearing cloud of perfumed talcum. “And do you think she’s right?” 

“I don’t know.” I pondered it quietly for a little while as Margeret folded up my new diaper, taping it down. I still didn’t see the issue with good, old-fashioned cloth diapers, but the sticky tapes did seem to be easier to apply. “I don’t trust her.”

“Really?” Margaret seemed genuinely surprised as she sat me upright and moved to wash her hands. “Shelly Chapel? That girl seems like she’s a saint in her films.” 

“That’s the thing about actresses,” I replied. “She’s made a career out of trying to be someone she’s not–so, call me skeptical, but I’m not taking a bite ‘til I know that the sweet isn't just there to cover up something sour.” 

 

...

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[PeculiarChangeling]

Author Commentary:

(Gonna try doing some author commentary/lite-blog posts like this!  Let me know what you think and if you want to see more of these!)

Sometimes a concept just comes together with just a little push, and this was one of those cases!

Little  Kokiri Girl reached out to me to talk about some commission ideas, and  when she pitched me the idea of a classic noir mystery with an ABDL  twist, I was on board.

Youthlock as a concept is something she came up with, a world where some people stop aging and have to deal with a few  additional ABDL-styled problems, like incontinence and needing a crib so  they don't fall out of bed. I think it fits really well with these  sorts of genre blending stories. I enjoy playing around with different  elements in my fiction, and in this case, I got to mix in some really  fun genre tropes and 30's slang and language, adapting them all to the  youthlock twist. Once I had the general premise, ('A youthlocked  hollywood star hires Nick for a case',) a lot of elements just fell into  place - I knew immediately who I wanted to base the star on.

I think everyone will probably guess  who "Shelly Chapel" is an allusion to, even without all the historical  parallels in her backstory. The real child star had a history of dealing  with contract issues and underpayment from studios, which played nicely  into the mystery angle of the story. Using that as inspiration gave me  all sorts of ideas for a fictionalized backstory for Shelly which plays  into the intrigue - some of which you'll have to wait and see in future  chapters.

On the other hand, I'm not sure if anyone will guess  all the name references I buried into the studio and director - even if  you figure out who I'm drawing a parallel to, guessing why I chose the  substitute names is probably going to be tricky. Sometimes I write  little in-jokes just for myself, and this is definitely one of those  cases.)

Really, writing AB/DL with Noir just ended up being a  peanut butter & chocolate style marriage of ideas. Kokiri Girl had  the idea for Nick to use candy cigarettes, which just perfectly blends  the gritty noir with the juvenile elements, and I think the relationship  between him and his assistant/nanny just kind of hit its stride right  out of the gate.

I'm really excited to continue this one, and I'm excited to see what y'all think, too. ^^

 

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[BabySofia]

I really like where you're going with this! Glad she was able to connect with you! I look forward to more! 🙂

[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 2

“Animal Wafers in my Stew–” 

I rolled my eyes slightly as I watched the picture show, leaning back against Margeret’s chest and popping a candy cigarette between my lips.

There was a distinct difference between the Shelly I’d met the day before and the Shelly on screen. The actress in my office had been adorable, certainly, but she’d had a certain dignity to her that distinguished the woman from the child her body resembled. Her outfit, though pink and cute, had been refined, professional. 

On-screen Shelly, though? She’d fallen from a tree and hit every adorable branch on the way down. Her hair had curls whose flouncing ignored gravity, and her blush stood out even on the grainy film.

It wasn’t just the makeup that made her stand out, though: The dame had pipes. Three feet tall and singing her little youthlocked heart out, she somehow managed to blend the talent that came with decades of singing experience and a genuine youthful energy, never making her role seem artificial. She sounded perfect, and between her wardrobe and her fluid dancing, you’d never know there was a diaper nestled beneath her puffy bloomers if you didn’t know what to look for. 

Even knowing her, having met her in person and seen her real self, I would’ve sworn that the girl on screen was just a precocious child with a prodigious singing voice. 

It made me wonder what else an actress could lie about.

We’d hit a matinee screening. Margeret had come with me, posing as my mother so I could get free admission. I normally sat on her lap so I could see over the heads of anyone in front of us, but today the effort wasn’t really needed; the theater was practically empty. Still, a few inches of extra elevation afforded a better view.

I watched the film with a careful eye. Silly songs and dance performances weren’t much my speed, but I wanted to get into Shelly’s head, into the world she lived in. 

Her costar wandered into the scene–Candice Wick, a woman in her early twenties who towered above her diminutive costar. They were playing cousins, I was reasonably sure, though these two had been paired off together in dozens of films over the years, and their relationship always felt like an afterthought. Twins, back in the early days when they’d looked the same age, then big sister and little sister, then adult and child siblings, as the age gap grew more and more pronounced. 

They had chemistry on screen, the sort of familiar banter you’d expect from a double act who’d been working together for more than a decade. The whole piece was too syrupy for my taste–I had a sweet tooth, but Shelly’s films were pure anodyne, cotton candy celluloid. Not exactly my tempo, but I couldn’t deny the craftsmanship and acting chops on display. 

And that smile–when Shelly flashed her grin to the camera, perfectly cutesy, innocent and adorable–I knew why she’d become the face of a media empire. 

The film ended on an expected note–the poor orphan girl got adopted into her cousin’s family, the day was saved, the mayor got re-elected, everyone lived happily ever after. Margaret and I left the theater in the early afternoon, holding hands in case anyone started asking questions about our alleged ‘mother-son’ relationship. 

“It’s about time to get to set,” I commented, checking my watch. “Mind dropping me off?”

Margeret nodded, still smiling at the end of the film. She held my hand a little tighter than was strictly necessary as we crossed the street to the car, another indication of her chipper attitude. I knew she didn’t think anything of it, but when Margeret got in one of her happy moods, she had a habit of mothering me a bit too much. 

Trying to gently steer her back into a business mindset, I added, “You notice anything about that last film?” 

“What?” she asked, glancing down at me as she opened the rear door of her car, helping me inside. The car was in my name, and strictly speaking I had a license, but it was easier to just let her drive–unless I felt like being pulled over a few times per drive so that a cop could ask why I’d taken daddy’s car for a joyride. “Oh, no, what was it? The film seemed perfectly sweet to me.”

“The film did, sure,” I replied. “It’s the audience–or the lack of one. The film came out this week, you’d expect more of a crowd.”

“It is a matinee,” she pointed out. “Lots of folks are at work.”

“Sure,” I said. “But still–we were the only two there, and we only went because we were being paid.” 

“Mmmm,” Margaret said, starting up the Chrysler. I caught the skepticism in her tone–I’d said something only partly true. I reconsidered my summary. Just because the film was too cloying for me, didn’t mean it didn’t have an audience. 

I shrugged. “Alright, well, I only went because I’m being paid.” 

She nodded, and we puttered onto the road, right into the heart of Hollywood. 

Within an hour, I was on set, standing beneath the hard gaze of a man who took his job far too seriously.

“Places,” the director snapped into his megaphone. “Places, people–I swear to god, if this is the best we’ve got, I’m going to go out and hire some actual seven year olds to take your spots.”

(He’s a real charmer,) I thought, though I put a little extra pep in my step as I moved into the desk chair that’d been assigned to me. 

The director, Don Allan, glared over his megaphone at the eight of us, all ‘extras’ who’d been hired to fill out a classroom scene with Shelly. He was in his forties, with a combover that did little to hide his prominent bald spot and a constant glare on his expression, as though someone in the room had whispered an insult and he was trying to figure out who’d said it. 

This was our third run through the blocking rehearsal so far, and I was beginning to worry that we’d never get out of the practice. I was only pretending to be an actor–yes, I’m aware of the irony–and I still needed to find time to ask a few questions.

“Alright,” Don Allan insisted. “Let’s do it again. Shelly’s going to raise her hand, and–listen–and then you’ll turn…and…look.” 

The eight of us mimed looking over our shoulders to the back of the classroom set, our collective gaze falling onto an empty desk–Shelly was in makeup, and she didn’t need to be here for this part. 

“No!” he snapped. “You’re not turning to watch a performance–you’re turning to see who asked the question! This is simple, people, what are you not understanding?”  Tossing his megaphone to the side, he pinched the ridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “I’m going to have a smoke. When I get back, I expect to see some goddamned whimsy in here.” 

He stalked out. Only half the set looked convincing–he didn’t have to slam a door to leave, he just walked through the open space where the cameras would be placed when it came time to roll, past a table of snacks and out to the exterior door. That left me sitting inside half a room with seven extras who all knew Shelly better than I did.

“Is this typical behavior?” I asked under my breath, trying to match the cadence of a new actor looking for gossip. “I heard things were rough on Don Allan’s sets, but woof–this guy needs to unwind a couple degrees.” 

The actors–my costars, really–were a couple seconds behind me in relaxing, waiting until after an audible slam echoed through the set, a door being closed with a firmly unnecessary amount of force. 

One of the extras reached into his prop desk, taking out a pack of smokes and a strip of matches. Offering one to the woman next to him, he lit them both up, the pair of pint-size actors sharing the smoke break together. 

“He gets pretty evil when we’re behind schedule and overbudget,” another extra prompted. I glanced back her way–she looked to be about eight, though she certainly didn’t sound it. She didn’t quite have the perpetual adorability of Shelly, a little too much world-weariness visible in her eyes, which is probably why she was filling a classroom desk rather than headlining. “Which, if you’re new here, that’s pretty much every day.” 

I pursed my lips. Sitting back in my own desk, I put up my feet on the empty chair in front of me, mimicking the relaxed posture of the other extras. “You think that’s why Shelly’s trying to get on other films? Rumor has it, she’s trying to get in with some bigshot drama director.” 

The man who’d taken out the smokes snorted. “The golden girl? No, she gets the princess treatment. Everyone knows where the checks are coming from–it might not be her name on the studio, but we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Chapel.” 

Nodding along, I considered that. It tracked with what I knew, though it also painted a question mark on the director’s back. Who would benefit the most from Shelly’s inability to find other work? The studio that made bank off her name, of course. 

The woman who’d been given a cigarette, one of the older-looking youthlocks in the room, stubbed out her Lucky Strike with about half of it left, tucking the remainder behind her ear and pushing to her feet. “I need to powder my nose,” she commented, though a slight lingering odor betrayed her euphemism a bit. 

After a long beat, I asked, “You think Candor Taurus really wanted to hire her? I mean, that’s a role to kill for, if I–”

A loud scoff interrupted my question, and I turned to see Don walking onto set, a scowl on his face. “That’s a crock,” he snarled. “She’s not working for Candor Taurus, or anyone–our studio’s all she needs.” 

I put up my hands defensively and shook my head. “Just asking about a rumor.” 

“Rumors,” he spat, saying the word like a curse. “Where’s Barbara?” 

“Went to change,” another extra supplied. 

Don swore, then waved a hand at the whole group. “I can’t get you into better shape than this–go get into makeup, I want to be rolling in thirty minutes.” 

Nobody had to tell these actors twice–in moments, the set emptied out like someone had yelled ‘Coppers’ at a speakeasy. I was the last one out, giving Don Allan a passing glance as I waddled towards the makeup rooms. 

He looked tense, more so than he’d been before his smoke break. My comment about Shelly working for other studios had rattled him. 

Sliding my gaze smoothly past the director, I waltzed through the rest of the studio, trying to look like I belonged. It was in some ways easier than normal–I didn’t look like a kid to the people around me, just another extra, and so I didn’t have any adults…

I didn’t have any non-youthlocks trying to get in my way.

Bobbing my head, I shook out the thoughts buzzing around in there and returned my focus to the job.

I took a second to inspect the mail cubby by the makeup rooms, but it didn’t offer much in the way of clues. A half dozen notes were set in labeled shelves, but there were no guards keeping an eye out to keep the messages private or to ensure the wrong person didn’t walk off with them. Had someone noticed a letter for Shelly sitting out in the open, there’d be nothing stopping them from swiping it before anyone was the wiser.

Walking through the door into the makeup room, I found myself blinking away at the sheer illumination in the place–every mirror had half a dozen lightbulbs around it, and there were more on the ceiling, with a few more mood lamps scattered about to boot. Makeup artists were apparently allergic to shadow, and my eyes watered a little as they adjusted to the stiflingly bright room. 

Once my eyes had adjusted, I clambered up into one of the makeup chairs to await my turn. It was similar to the kind barbers used, with a foot pump at the base to raise and lower it and a swivel so the makeup artist could rotate her subjects around. A couple other extras had arrived before me and were in their own chairs–though, I noticed, only a couple had arrived. Most had apparently scattered to steal a quick break before they were required on set. 

One makeup artist was assigned to us extras, applying thick layers of foundation that wouldn’t run from sweat or come off too easily while filming. Shelly had her own team, three technicians primping and polishing her appearance to a perfect shine, highlighting the contrast between her importance and our own. Sitting in the chair, she straddled the line between her reality and her persona–the miniature professional woman and the doe eyed darling tot. 

The makeup team had her almost done, but it was missing something–the sparkle in her eyes, the energetic posture, the acting that turned her wardrobe from a costume into a character. Her outfit might have been On-Screen Shelly, but her mind still reflected the world-weary woman I knew lay beneath the clothing.

She made brief eye contact with me when I got in the chair, but didn’t give me so much as a nod of recognition, keeping our real relationship a secret. I was just another extra.

My feet dangled off the chair while I waited, pondering what I knew to pass the time. This job had left me plenty of time to think, but not much to think about so far, just a few loose motivations and a blank spot where my evidence should be.

That all changed as the door opened, and a skinny man in a slightly oversized suit came bustling in, a three foot poster folded awkwardly under his arm. 

“Shelly!” he called, tripping over himself as he pulled one of the posters out. “I’ve got something to show you.” 

I could tell by Shelly’s look that she knew this man well, and that she wasn’t pleased to see him. That pegged him as her manager, William Waters. As I saw the poster in his arms, I got an idea of why.

It was a painted version of Shelly’s likeness from behind, though with her head turned so that we could clearly see the precocious grin on her face. The real subject, though, was the disposable diaper hanging around her waist, sticking out with more poof than even the frilliest bloomers. 

There was a slogan printed beneath: ‘Coddles - Protecting even the brightest smiles.’ 

He held it up for Shelly to see. “I just got out of a meeting with the marketing director at Beverly-Mark, they’re ready to start printing these in magazines and–”

Over the course of a second, I saw Shelly’s face flicker through all a dame’s most dangerous emotions–surprise, confusion, and then, finally, rage. 

I was wrong. Her world-weary, professional act melted away in front of my eyes. Shelly’s true self came out, face contorting in anger, and then came the screaming. 

...

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[cute little kokiri girl]

Hay guys hope you like chapter 3.

[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 3

“Shelly–Shelly. Shelly!” William Waters called, trying to cut in over the near-incoherent rage fuming out of his diminutive star. “Hold it, dollface–this is going to get us all the bread, I don’t see–”

“I told you,” Shelly screamed, storming forward, jabbing a finger up at him. Even on her tippy toes, she couldn’t really get in his face, so she clambered onto one of the makeup chairs, using the extra elevation to glare pure murder at eye level with her manager. “I told you I’m not putting my face on any goddamned diaper ads!” 

“It’s just a drawing of your mug,” William protested, putting the poster off to the side and raising his other hand defensively. “You don’t even need to pose–just sign the checks! It’s easy dough!” 

Shelly’s rage managed to burn red even through the layers of perfect makeup on her face, and she inhaled sharply, readying her tirade. “And that’s all I am to you, huh? A pretty face and a name on the check.” 

“Woah, woah.” Setting the poster to the side, William left it face up, so that Shelly’s adorable printed visage and the poofing, perfect diaper were fully on display. “You’ve got me all wrong, kitten. It’s like it’s always been–I’m just looking out for you!”  

“You’re just looking out for your thirty percent commission,” Shelly barked. “You don’t want to put in the work, you don’t care about my career, you’d throw my whole future in the trash just to get your goddamn cut!” 

The manager’s eyes widened further and he stepped back, utterly baffled. “Shelly, it’s–”

“What’s got her diapers in a twist?” 

I’d been so focused on watching the argument play out that I hadn’t noticed Don Allan until he announced his presence with the quip. All eyes fell on the director, a cloud of cigarette smell wafting into the makeup room after him. 

William Waters shook his head. “Just talking business with the star.”

Glancing sidelong at the poster, Don Allan rolled his eyes. “Well, try to keep the crying down–we’re trying to work here. We’re calling action in fifteen minutes–be sure to change her diaper, I can’t have my star throwing another tantrum once the cameras roll.” 

He turned and sauntered away, leaving Shelly to sputter furiously. Tears welled in her eyes, and after taking in a few breaths, trying to summon another round of rage, she whirled and, after awkwardly stepping down from the chair, waddled out of the makeup room and rushed out of sight.

Running both hands through his hair, William exhaled through his nose. “Jeez, I was just trying to make a dame a dollar, didn’t want to go on a trip for biscuits.” 

I waited a few moments so it wouldn’t be too obvious that I was hurrying after the star of the show, but it seemed that nobody cared much about the random extra who’d been brought along for the day. Hopping down from my chair, I waddled in the direction I’d seen Shelly go, towards the nearest exit, past racks of set lights on tall steel stands on one side and more doors leading to the green room and cast lounge. 

Half jogging to catch up, I almost walked into the legs of a tall, slender broad. 

“Woah,” I said, half stumbling back, but she reached out and caught my arm, stabilizing me.

“You okay there?” she asked, as I tried to get a look at her face.

In half-silhouette on the dark end of the studio, it took me a few moments to recognize Shelly’s costar, Candace Wick, an actress with as many credits as Shelly and twice as many inches of height. 

“I’m fine,” I said, leaning to look past her, towards the exit door. 

She crouched down to get to eye level with me, smiling broadly. “You’re the new youthlock, right? One of the extras?” 

I nodded, and her expression turned just a hair more professional. She was still squatting down like she was talking with a toddler, but at least Candace had stopped giving me the doe-eyes that dames typically reserve for cute animals and children. 

Speaking quietly, as though the question were only for my ears, Candace asked, “I heard some yelling, is Shelly alright? She’s been getting into it with her manager, and…did you see which way she went?”

If I told her the truth, she’d go talk to Shelly, and I’d miss my chance for a heart-to-heart. Shrugging, I reached into my pocket, producing my pack of candy cigarettes. “I split when the music started,” I explained. “Just stepping out for a smoke.” 

She pursed her lips, nodding and standing to her full height. Everyone seemed tall to me, but she was especially so, a feature that’d contrasted her well with Shelly as Candace grew up. 

I stepped around the actress, walking to the exit. I pressed the door lever with my elbow and slipped a candy stick between my lips in one motion, stepping into the brisk cement exterior of the Hollywood lot.

Shelly stood just to the side, and raised a hand to her mouth, but wasn’t quick enough to cover the pacifier suckled between her lips. I pretended not to notice as she palmed it and lowered it to the side–a dame was due her privacy, or at least her illusion of it.

Taking out the pack in my pocket, I offered her one of my candy cigarettes, the candy stick bobbing between my lips as I slid another one up for her to take. “Help yourself,” I offered. “No tobacco–real smokes are too bitter for me, I just like the sugar rush.” 

She eyed the candy but shook her head; I could tell it wasn’t the oral fixation she was interested in.

“Suit yourself,” I replied, pocketing the candy. To break the ice, I added, “Don Allan’s an ass. Asking if you needed a change? What a pill.” 

She pressed her lips into a line, glancing away. “He’s not wrong,” she admitted, quietly. “Damn him, he always knows, even when I can’t tell myself.” 

“Wouldn’t be a director for this long if he didn’t have an eye for detail,” I pointed out. Taking the cigarette from my lips for a moment, I rolled it between my fingers, licking a bit of sugar residue off my thumb. Chuckling to myself, I added, “Margeret says these things are going to kill me–I’m up to a pack a day, but I’m not much for coffee and I need the buzz, you know?” 

Nodding, she looked down, fumbling with the pacifier concealed in her hand. “We’ve all got our own vices,” she replied, finally revealing the soother as she popped it back between her lips. 

I stood there in silence with her for a long beat, waiting as she relaxed against the wall. I was starting to build a hunch into a proper theory, but I wasn’t about to start making accusations just yet.

Shelly had a bone to pick with her manager. Clearly there was no love lost between her and William, and you didn’t settle into a screaming match like the one I’d witnessed without having gone through the whole song and dance a few times before. 

My gut told me that Shelly was looking for a reason to fire him, and that the missing job offer was just an excuse–if she’d been offered the role at all. If I was correct, then she’d brought me on just to rubber stamp the dismissal, to give her cause so she could get out of her contract. 

I was a professional. If that’s what she wanted, I wouldn’t give it to her, but I wouldn’t start throwing accusations around without a good reason, either. 

“So,” I began, after a long moment of quiet. “You’ve got something you want to say?” 

Shelly moved the pacifier to the corner of her mouth, mumbling over it. “He’s such an ass.” 

“Mhmm,” I replied, sucking on the end of the cigarette, which had already dissolved down to a stub. “But it’s not just him, is it?” 

She looked at me, eyes still tinged with red from the shouting match. “You saw the poster.” 

I nodded, non-committal. 

“That’s how he sees me.” She looked away, staring out at the Hollywood lot. “That’s how they all see me. I’m not a woman to them–I’m not even a six-year-old, I’m a toddler who can remember her lines.” 

I nodded. “It’s the twentieth century, you’d think everyone would know what a youthlock is, but I still get people stopping me on the street and asking if I’m lost.” 

“No.” She shot me a look–not mad, but bitter. Jealous, even. “They don’t just see a kid, they see the girl on screen. You’ve got people who know who you are, who treat you like an adult, but what do I get?” 

“They treat you like an actress,” I suggested. “I’m sure all big stars get pampered a bit.” 

“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” she asked, scoffing, spitting the pacifier into her hand so she could speak more directly. “When I started acting, Candace and I looked the same age. Sisters–hell, we played twins and people bought it. We grew up on set together, we’re costars. I got to see her live the life I wanted, to get respect, to be treated as an adult. By the time she was ten she had more respect on set than I did. We’ve had the same crew for a dog’s age–same director, same manager, same talent. They all know I’m an adult, but you’d never see Allan calling her outbursts a tantrum.” 

She turned her back to me, and fell quiet for long enough that I thought she might be done. I stayed silent, just in case.

“That’s what this is about,” she explained, in a whisper so faint I almost lost it in the wind. “If I get up there on screen in a proper film… a real role, you know, not this treacle.” She looked down in disgust at her girly, poofy lace dress and overdone curls. “They’ll see who I really am.”

Looking her over, I asked, “You’d still be playing a kid, wouldn’t you? Even in a drama.” 

“For now,” she said, looking back at me. “But we’re real people. There’s youthlocks out there in the world. How come we never see us on the screen? They have us play children, sure, but have you ever seen one of us in a film, playing an adult?” 

I thought about it, but I couldn’t. 

“That’s what I want, Nick.” She looked back at me, and the look in her eyes showed me a mature determination that proved her womanhood, no matter how many frills and diapers she was dressed in. “I’m going to be a star, and I’m going to play adults like you or me. Even if I have to fight for it. Once my ticket comes in, we’ll all be given a little more respect.”

I stood there in stunned silence. 

I could have intuited a lot of this, but I’d missed it–and it threw a wrench into my theory. Shelly wasn’t bitter with her manager, she was bitter with the limits that being Youthlocked put on her career. Replacing William wouldn’t change what society permitted her to be.

More importantly to me, I could see the conflict brewing. William could only sell diaper ads with Shelly’s face so long as she played the cherubic child. She was right–it was in his financial interest to keep her out of dramas, and to keep her firmly in the camp of childish roles.

Nodding back at the door, I said, “Want to get back in there?” 

She looked down at the pacifier in her hand. A soother, one she’d have to give up to be seen as a real woman, even though it was just a harmless bit of rubber and plastic. She slipped the pacifier into the folds of her dress, making it vanish, and put on a smile like I’d seen some people put on a new suit. She was cheerful again, even playful. Ready to be Shelly The Precocious Child for the cameras. 

She was damned good. Even knowing it was there, I couldn’t see the sadness behind her eyes. 

...

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[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 4

There was a whiff of something foul in the air as I waddled back into the studio, and for once, it wasn’t coming from the seat of my diaper. The mood had never been light on set, but any Joe on the street could tell that things had gone especially sour since the screaming match.

Nobody talked, except to exchange gruff comments about work; moving lights and getting cameras into place. Don Allan was walking in long, quick paces on set, snapping out instructions at his crew of youthlocked extras that seemed to have more to do with asserting authority than giving feedback to their performances.

Uninterested in becoming his next target, I diverted my path back to the makeup room, cooking up an excuse in my head about needing to touch something up before we filmed.

Instead of finding the makeup artist, however, I found Candace Wick, puffing on a cigarette and scowling hard at the poster that’d kicked up such a storm.

“Aren’t you supposed to go outside to smoke?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“I’m the star,” she replied, shaking her head and exhaling smoke out her nose. “I can do whatever I want.” Her gaze never went off the printed image of Shelly, precocious, adorable, diaper on full display, and her sour expression had nothing to do with the burning nicotine.

“I’m not one to bump gums, but rumor is, Shelly thinks that your manager’s treating her like a cash register,” I said, prodding with a bit of information. I suspected Candace already knew her co-star’s opinions on William Waters, and sometimes giving a little information was the best way to get some in return. “Just pumping her for cash instead of focusing on her career.” 

“I swear, what I’d give for five minutes in a dark room with him,” Candace replied. “To give him a piece of my mind. You want to talk about ‘not focusing on a career’?” 

I waited for a long moment for Candace to answer her hypothetical question, but she trailed off. Hoping to keep the talk going, I nodded at the poster. “I’m guessing it’s not the first time he’s pulled something like this.”

“We used to think Waters was a decent guy,” Candace said thoughtfully, taking a pull of her cigarette. A long stem of ash was forming, but she didn’t tap the end to knock it off, so it just grew, gray building up in a column. “When we did our first couple films together, we got paid a hundred bucks a week. We didn’t even get a bonus when a film got done, we just started filming something new. Pretty quick it became obvious that we were earning the studios big bucks, but he’s the one who went and got us a lawyer and fought for us to be paid more.”

“Let me guess,” I probed. “Your higher rate means he got a higher rate, too?”

“You said it,” she confirmed. “But that’s not the half of it. He kept Shelly’s image rights.” 

I tilted my head, glancing at the poster. “So how come he’s asking Shelly for permission?” 

Stepping forward, Candace stubbed out her cigarette on the poster, right on Shelly’s face, smearing ash and burning away the image so that it was just any generic girl. “Because I made him back off. It was a five year contract–when I was just getting into my teens, we were making dough hand over fist with ‘big sister and little sister’ films, and our contract was up for renewal. I told Waters I’d walk if he didn’t return image rights.” 

I whistled. “That’s a risk.”

“Almost got fired for it,” Candace said, flicking her cigarette into the trash. “But we’re not just sisters on screen. Maybe we don’t share blood, but we’re family–we’re supposed to watch out for each other, in good times and bad.” 

Nodding, I glanced out the door. I could faintly hear Don Allan ranting and calling directions, but nobody had called for me. “When’s your next contract up? Maybe you can just tell William Waters to take a hike then.” 

Candace scoffed, checking her makeup in the mirror. “Hardly. There’s three years left before we’re up for renewal, and with the way things have been going lately, I’m not going to be spoiled for choice. Shelly could, maybe, but if we’re not a double act, I’m not pulling in the ticket sales. We’re with Waters, come hell or high water.” 

I paused. “The way things have been going lately?”

“It’s hardly public, but it’s hardly a secret, either. Our budget’s gone out the window. Reused sets, smaller casts. We get a bonus based on how well the film sells–and that bonus has been pretty slim lately. You can read between the lines; we don’t hold the star power we used to.” Deciding herself ready to be seen, she stood up straight. “If we wanted to ditch Waters, we needed to do it while we were on an upswing, but we realized too late what a snake he was. All he’s after is Shelly’s money.”

Turning, she left me alone in the makeup room, pausing for just a moment in the doorway. “You want my advice?” 

I shrugged. “I’d definitely take it.”

“Get a job doing something else. I hear they’re always looking for postal workers.”

She left me alone, standing there with my thoughts. I wanted to mull things over a bit, but already, ideas were starting to percolate in my head, and a feeling had formed in my gut that had nothing to do with all the candy cigarettes I’d been sucking my way through.

Hitching up my costume britches, I waddled out of the makeup room, pausing as I felt my diaper squelch between my thighs. I couldn’t hear Don Allan yelling, suggesting I had a moment to spare. It seemed unwise to get back to set only to leak onto my costume. Making up my mind, I detoured one last time, squelching my way to the restrooms on set. 

One perk of working at a place that hired youthlocks on the regular–the bathroom had a changing table, and even a couple stepstools for the youthlocks who worked in the studio. I preferred to get my assistant’s help when I could, but being a gumshoe meant I had to operate as a lone agent, a man who could stand as an island and deal with his own affairs. Toddling up the step stool, I got to work changing my own diaper.

It was a pretty simple affair–pants down, diaper off, wipes, powder. A new-looking box shaped a bit like a newspaper dispenser sat by the changing table and gave out diapers for a nickel, and though I still didn’t trust disposables to hold up like a trusty cloth diaper and rubber cover, I couldn’t argue the convenience.

And, as I worked through the effort of changing my bottom, I had time to think.

I recalled my viewing of Shelly’s latest film, just the day before. The theater had been dead empty, with nary a filmgoer to watch it.

A few more elements clicked into place. 

Shelly and Candace would be a high expense for the studio, but they were also the pillar that the films were based on. If Shelly started headlining in new titles, making a name for herself as a star beyond Don Allan’s reach, her rates would go up. With the studio already struggling to stay in the black, a more-expensive Shelly threatened to tank them completely.

It wasn’t William Waters that would have suffered if Shelly accepted her role with a different studio.

Sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the changing table, I began to tug up my pants, when I heard a snort from the stall. 

Hopping down, I glanced under the stall door, noting a pair of familiar, gleaming patent leather shoes. Don Allan was taking another break, it seemed.

That presented an opportunity. 

I could have played it cool, but my instincts told me I was right, and I was done with the charade. Besides–I could see that, despite being in the stall, Don’s pants were up. I wanted him vulnerable, but I wasn’t trying to catch him with his boxers down.

Pulling a safety pin from my pocket, I reached up, slid it under the latch, and yanked open the stall door. My intrusion was met with a satisfying tableau as I got to watch Don Allan hastily wipe white powder off his hand, alarmed at the sudden intrusion.

“Mister Allan,” I said, raising an eyebrow at him. “We need to have a conversation.” 

Flabbergasted, the director stared at me, finally stammering, “You’re one of the extras, aren’t you?”

I had to admit to a certain thrill of satisfaction at seeing the usually belligerent director so off guard. Pressing his discomfort, I commented, “I’d ask if you have a prescription, but I think we both know the answer to that already and I’m more curious how you’re paying for it when the studio’s barely keeping the lights on.” 

Don Allan’s jaw dropped, and paranoia sparked in his eyes as he took a step away, the back of his legs bumping against the toilet.

Perfect. I always liked my suspects a little paranoid–it made it easy to push their buttons.

“I’m not here to star in your film, Mister Allan,” I explained. “I’m here because some people have concerns on set about how you’re treating them.”

His face flashed with realization. “Shelly hired you, didn’t she?” 

I considered keeping that fact a secret, but my gut told me I’d get more information by divulging that truth, so I nodded. “Yes sir, and I know what you’ve been doing.” 

He shook his head, shuddering slightly. “Look–she’s getting paid for every film we’re doing. I have a contract that keeps me from telling her anything else. If you’re mad, talk to the studio execs, they’re the ones who said we had to keep things hush-hush.”

I kept my face a mask as he spoke, pretending I could dig his meaning. I had been preparing to demand a confession from him, to ask for him to admit he’d thrown away Shelly’s messages and ruined her chances at getting cast in a new film, but now I just let him talk. “How long have you known?”

Shoulders slumping, Don Allan shook his head. “I got told the news about two months ago. We’re fully funded for three more films before they shut us down, then this lot’s being demolished to make room for a new parking lot.” 

His words gave me something to chew on. “So it doesn’t even matter if these films do well? You’re going belly up no matter what.” 

He nodded, blushing slightly. Sitting down on the toilet seat, he rested his head in his hands. “Truth be told, I’m glad Shelly knows. It means I don’t have to be there when Waters breaks it to her.” 

That hit me like a ton of bricks. “William Waters knows?”

“Of course he does, he’s her manager,” Don Allan replied, shaking his head slowly. “He’s signed the same confidentiality papers as me, though.”

“So,” I said, pressing on. “What happens to Shelly once your three films are up?” 

Don shrugged. “She stops being a household name, I suppose. Maybe she finds work somewhere else. Whatever it is, our studio’s not going to be a part of it.” 

My brow furrowed.

Don wasn’t the culprit after all, but William Waters suddenly had new light cast on him. Shelly’s name was about to become small change, and when her films went, her brand deals would go with them.

Shaking my head, I gave Don Allan a withering look. “This conversation stays between you and me, and maybe you don’t have to deal with Shelly walking before you get your last paycheck.”

He nodded quickly. “Lips are sealed.”

Turning on my heels, I set my brow and waddled to the door.

It was time for Shelly to learn the truth. 

...

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[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 5

My experience with Hollywood studio sets extended to about half a day of snooping around, but I knew chaos when I saw it.

It made sense, given what I knew. The director knew he was on a sinking ship, and what little passion he had was spent snorting down cadillacs in the bathroom. The star hated her management, the budget was in the toilet, and nobody was going to bother trying to patch the ship when it was steaming straight for an iceberg in a few months no matter how the films did. 

Two of the extras were sharing a cigarette on set, flagrantly ignoring posted signage about smoking outside. The smell of a dirty diaper wafted from one of the other youthlocks, though I couldn’t pin down which one, and whoever it might have been they didn’t much seem to care. Everyone was in a holding pattern, waiting around, killing time until they got cut for the day. 

Shelly paced at the front of the room, and I had to give her credit as the one professional on set. For all her anger, she had a job to do, and she did it–her steps moved through choreography, and I could see her lips move as she whispered lines to herself, walking through the next dance number in quiet rehearsal.

“Crackerjacks and candy stripes, gummy bears and sweet delights,” she whispered, then stomped a pretty white shoe on the floor and spun, sending her costume dress twirling. Raising an arm and beaming at an invisible partner, she added, “Then he’ll take my hand…”

Shuffling up to her, I got Shelly’s attention, waiting for her to stop her music-free dance before I asked, “Where’s Waters?”

She caught the embers of anger in my frown, and her precocious smile vanished, replaced with hard rage. “It’s him?”

“It’s him,” I confirmed. “You were right.” 

A spark caught behind her eyes, and in a matter of moments, righteous vindication turned to a blaze. Beneath her rosy makeup her face turned red, and she whirled and bellowed, voice half incoherent with rage, “WILLIAM!” 

Scurrying footsteps scrambled, and the beleaguered talent manager got onto set a moment later, his expression more frayed and weary than ever. “What?”

“You bastard,” Shelly began, but I raised a hand, and she fell silent before her anger could turn to a tirade.

“Three films,” I said simply, and the realization in his eyes was almost enough confirmation all on its own.

He made a few leaps in logic and stammered out his reply. “Who is this?”

“Nick Juliet,” Shelly explained. “Private eye.”

Waters shook his head, stumbling over his words. “Shelly–I–I’m sorry. I couldn’t…I wasn’t allowed to say anything, it’s in my contract.” 

Anger derailing, Shelly shot a glance back my way. “What?”

“You knew,” I continued, refusing to slow down. “You had three films left, then Shelly’s time as America’s Golden Girl would be gone. That’s not much time to cash in on a legacy, is it?”

William Waters’ shoulders slumped, deflating like a blimp. 

Around us, a crowd was forming. Shelly’s screaming had attracted attention, and the confrontation was more dramatic than anything they’d filmed in years–we had all eyes on us. The cast, the crew, even Candace came out from the green room to see what was happening. 

“Here’s how I see it,” I continued, staring up at the tall, gangly manager. “You know Shelly hates those posters, she hates the marketing and the sponsorships you try and get her, but you’re hungry, and you know the butter and eggs are going to be off the table before much longer. You have to make your quick cash, now, because if you lose any time, your starlet’s going to be out of the public eye and nobody will pay the big bucks for her face.”

William wouldn’t meet my eyes, though his downcast gaze still fell near me. Pathetically, he nodded. “Can you blame me?” he asked, weakly. “You have to make hay while the sun shines.”

“That’s not all,” I continued, driving my verbal assault forward. “You’re getting a consistent cut right now, but if Shelly goes to dramas, your prospects are up in the air. Who knows if you’ll still be in the picture if she starts working for Candor Taurus? And, besides–if Shelly gets cast in a drama, if people start seeing her as the woman she is, it’ll make her appeal as an ad darling considerably weaker.”

All eyes were on us, all watchers were hushed. Shelly contained her abject rage, but I knew the screaming would come soon, once I was finished.

I let Waters speak, though I kept my glare burning through him, cutting past his defenses. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said, head trembling and shaking. 

“Do I?” I demanded. “You’ve got all the incentive in the world–if Shelly starts playing in dramas, your career is in jeopardy and you lose out on sponsorship revenue. If she stays here until the ship sinks, you’ve got one last paycheck before the golden goose dies.” 

“I’m not going to risk a sure thing on some half-cocked pipe dream!” Waters snapped, shocking me with his sudden energy. Looking me in the eye, he spoke bitterly. “I don’t know what Shelly told you, but there’s no manager in the country that could get her a job working for a dramatic production. This is it. I haven’t failed to get her new roles because I’m bad at management, it’s because it’s impossible. Shelly has a few months left, a few films, and I’m using that time to make sure she gets as much bread to retire on as possible, because I’ll be damned if I burn it trying to find some crock of gold that doesn’t exist!”

My confidence wavered. 

“Impossible?” Shelly demanded, stepping in. “How can you say that? I had the role!” 

Waters stared at her, eyes wide, baffled. “What?”

My understanding of the situation fractured. (He doesn’t know.)

“I got the job,” Shelly snarled. “Candor Taurus wanted me, and then you threw out the casting letter.”

“What?” Candor shot back. “Shelly, I–”

“He doesn’t know,” I repeated out loud. “Shelly, he doesn’t know.”

Eyes fell on me once more, and I took a breath, collecting my thoughts.

“Your manager didn’t sabotage your career,” I said. “He just thinks you’re incompetent.”

Waters shook his head. It was his turn to get angry, and he threw that frustration at me. “No I don’t! Shelly is a fabulous actress, but it doesn’t matter how good she is, nobody’s ever going to take her seriously as a leading lady when she looks like that.”

“You son of a bitch.” I expected as much to come from Shelly, but the statement instead came from the side set. Candace stepped forward, looking almost as angry as her youthlocked co-star. 

William Waters whirled, eyes widening. “What? Did you come here to blow your wig at me too?” 

“The studio’s shutting down?” Candace demanded. “You knew that?” 

“Well–” he began, shaking his head. “Sure, muffin, but…it’s complicated. I signed an NDA before they told me. You can’t blame me for keeping quiet, we’d be out on our backsides if I’d let it slip, and–”

“I don’t care that you didn’t tell me, you worthless crumb,” Candace interrupted, stepping up into his face. “You’re my agent.”

“So?”

“So where’s the fucking poster parade for me?” Candace roared. 

The studio fell silent for a moment, all eyes on the second-billing star. Beneath the rage I could feel her frustration, her sadness and grief, barely contained. 

“You’re going out and doing all this shit to keep Shelly afloat,” Candace continued, her eyes burning hot and wet. “Practically dragging her through marketing meetings and getting mockups you know she’s going to hate and running all across town to earn her a buck–and what the hell am I? Yesterday’s news?”

Waters put his hands up in a weak defense, stepping back. “I’m only one guy, you dig? I can’t be everywhere at once, and I’ve gotta put my eggs in the right baskets!” 

“You just dropped me!” Candace screamed. “You and everyone else! I fought tooth and nail for this studio, I busted my ass for you and Shelly, and you’re both just willing to kick me out to the curb the moment it’s convenient for you!” 

“Candace,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling with sadness. “I didn’t know either, I swear.”

“Yeah?” Candace snarled. “And that’s why everyone’s talking about you flaunting off to go work with Candor Taurus? You think if you go dance off to Washington with your new friends, things would just be smooth sailing down here? Fat chance–you’d be abandoning us to sink, and none of you care.”

She burst into tears, grief and anger finally overwhelming the actress. I could tell her upset was real–she’d taken it on the chin a few too many times, she’d grown up in an industry built on backstabbing and rumors, and despite playing roles for a living, she wasn’t faking this.

That only gave me a flicker of guilt as I stepped up, raising my voice. I asked my question to Shelly, but pitched it at Candace. “What’s the film you got offered?” 

Candace’s confused grief turned on me, an expression so twisted up that it was hard to read. “What?”

“It was supposed to be called, Mister Brown Goes to D.C.,” Shelly said, almost as confused as her co-star. 

“Okay,” I said. “Did you tell anyone that?” 

Shelly shot me a perplexed frown. “No, I–”

She got it, and her emotions melted away into horror.

In case anyone else in the gathered crowd of extras and stage hands hadn’t put it together, I shot my next question at Candace. “How’d you know that Shelly was going to Washington?” 

“I–” Candace began, spluttering. “Someone–I heard someone talking about it.” 

“Nobody on set knew,” I insisted, my voice flat and face expressionless as I spelled it out. “Nobody except Shelly, and whoever it was that took her job offer and tossed it in the trash.” 

Candace stared at me, tears marking rivers into her makeup. “I…”

“You spent your whole career protecting Shelly,” I said. “You saw her as your actual sister, didn’t you? It must’ve come as a sucker punch when you found out she’d be leaving you behind, so you threw away the message and made sure to bury it.” 

“I–” Candace repeated, shaking her head. “She…she didn’t even tell me!” 

The room was perfectly silent, save for the near-inaudible buzz of the bright tungsten stage lights, until a choked whimper cut through the tension. 

I’d half expected Shelly to be the one to break into sobs, but it was Candace who lost control, crying incoherently in front of all of us.

“Mr. Juliet,” Shelly whispered, her voice straining as she contained her feelings of betrayal. “I’ll send your check in the mail. I think we’re done here.” She spun on her heels, storming out of the studio. The slam of the side door echoed through the set as she left us, furious. 

I watched her go. She probably needed a friend–or, at least, a shoulder to cry on.

Instead, I waddled to the clothing rack, retrieving my trench coat. Slinging it on my back, I slid my arms through and retrieved a candy cigarette from the pocket. The sugar melted over my tongue as I popped it between my lips, suckling as I shuffled to the front exit of the studio. Margaret wouldn’t be there to pick me up for a couple more hours, but I could catch the bus and make my way downtown. 

It was time for me to leave. 

The case was closed, and I needed a dame bringing me her troubles like I needed diaper rash. 

The End

…

Shelly Chapel Sues Former Co-Star

In a stunning turn of events, famed youthlock actress, Shelly Chapel, has launched a legal battle against her former co-star, Candace Wick. According to her filing, Candace is being sued for intentional damage to Shelly’s career after concealing an offer to work on a new film with Candor Taurus.

Evidence discovered by Private Investigator, Nick Juliet, played a crucial role in this suit. Testimony will be provided–

Interesting.

It seems our little detective has been doing quite well for himself. 

Maybe it’s time for me to let him know I’m in town. 

 

...

Written as a commission - and I had a lot of fun playing with the private eye gumshoe tropes in an ABDL context!

https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

[cute little kokiri girl]

Hey guys this is the end for the first story of Nick Juliet and his investigations, there's definitely going to be more stories but first I like to give a huge thanks to PeculiarChangeling because if it wasn't for his great writing and plenty of great ideas this story would never have come to fruition, seriously he's awesome definitely commission him.

Anyway I want to know what your thoughts are on Nick Juliet and his first story, the stuff you liked the stuff you didn't like, it's all appreciated. Also if you're wondering when the next investigations of Nick Juliet is going to be, it's going to be a little while as I'm planning on commissioning PeculiarChangeling for a sci-fi story soon. But after that story is complete definitely there's going to be a new Nick Juliet story.