Milosz by Cordelia Strube

gestures. ‘It’ll just take a second.’
    Milo begins to run. Commercial auditions have conditioned him to accept humiliation, to co-operate as though lobotomized, no acting required.
    â€˜That’s great,’ the casting director says. Milo feels his gut and breasts bouncing as he runs from one wall to the other.
    â€˜Run in circles,’ the scarlet-nailed woman orders.
    The circles are tiny, causing a mild dizziness, but Milo perseveres, dreaming of cheques.
    â€˜That’s excellent,’ the casting director says.
    â€˜Enough?’ Milo asks.
    â€˜Keep going,’ the woman orders, stepping behind the camera. The client and director will view the footage later, will discuss Milo’s bouncing breasts and gut, his Everyman expression.
    â€˜That’s excellent,’ the casting director repeats. Panting, Milo feels a sudden urge to remove all his clothes, to wag his penis in the scarlet-nailed woman’s face. His hand moves to his fly.
    â€˜That’s enough,’ she commands. ‘You can put your shirt back on in the hall.’
    â€˜Thanks for coming in,’ the casting director says, putting a firm hand on Milo’s naked back and ushering him out.
    In the corridor a young woman with pink streaks in her hair and an exposed midriff says, ‘I know you. I so totally loved painting you. Your body is, like, so totally Everyman.’
    Milo has never met one of the artists outside the studio. That this curvaceous young woman has traced his naked contours with a brush causes both mild arousal and embarrassment. He puts his shirt on. ‘Do you work here?’
    â€˜I work for the caterer.’ She points to food trays on a cart. Her toenails are painted rainbow colours. She smells of patchouli.
    â€˜Do you aspire to being a painter?’ he asks.
    â€˜I am a painter. You’re my favourite model, totally. I keep trying to get you back, but unfortunately most of them want this dancer who’s, like, ripped.’
    She has seen him naked and is still willing to talk to him. Astonishing. Freed from concerns that his physique will disappoint in the bedroom, he wants to take her right here on the linoleum. ‘I didn’t get your name,’ he says.
    â€˜Fennel.’
    â€˜I’m Milo.’
    â€˜Nice to see you again, Milo.’
    â€˜What’s that clinking sound?’ he asks.
    â€˜Ankle bracelets.’ She turns to the cart and he knows time is running out.
    â€˜Would you come to my house for dinner?’ he asks.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜There’s money in it. A hundred bucks.’
    She stares at him and the planet shudders. ‘Go fuck yourself.’
    â€˜It’s not like that,’ he says. ‘It’s an acting job. My friend needs a date to impress his mother. She’s visiting from England and thinks he’s got a girlfriend. All you’d have to do is be nice and polite for a couple of hours. He might even pay two hundred bucks.’ Milo is willing to sacrifice his bonus to prevent Fennel clinking away.
    â€˜Cash?’
    â€˜Of course. Here’s a down payment.’ He hands her Pablo’s twenties and Wallace’s fifty.
    â€˜I know karate,’ she warns. ‘I can inflict bodily harm.’
    â€˜I’m sure you can but that won’t be necessary.’ He pulls out his pen and feels around in his pockets for a scrap of paper.
    She holds out her arm. ‘Use my wrist.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    She nods glumly. He recognizes the resignation, the need for cash. Art supplies don’t come cheap. As he pens his address and phone number on her tender flesh, he senses that she is trying to avoid further bodily contact.
    The door to the audition room swings open and the scarlet-nailed woman prods Milo. ‘We told you to leave.’
    â€˜I am leaving.’
    â€˜Is this man bothering you?’
    â€˜Did he do something wrong?’ Fennel asks.
    â€˜I didn’t