I flew back to St Palma, and Farris called me into the agency for an update. I texted Raf and had a shower while waiting. My prescription for Roburfortis had arrived in the mail, so I took it with me and then we were rolling downtown in his car, coming to a stop outside the manicured emerald lawn fronts of the Talent Corp complex, with the neighboring buildings reflected in its glass panels.

As Raf took me through the building, a couple of office staff looked up and followed me with their eyes.

"HOW'S LIFE ON SET?" Farris asked with his usual flashing smile, as soon as we entered his office.

“It's different," I replied, as my feet touched down on his long espresso oak desk, and from behind, a chair squeaked as Raf settled into it. Across the desk, Farris swiveled between looking across at me, his phone, and his computer.

"THE CORRECT ANSWER IS, THIS GIG HAS ITS UPS AND DOWNS. THE CORRECT ATTITUDE IS, Perseverance. A LOT HINGED ON SECURING YOUR FIRST ROLE. I HAD TO CONVINCE SOMEONE TO TAKE A RISK. NOW IT PAID OFF, YOU USE THE CREDIT TO SPRINGBOARD INTO MORE."

I leaned back, rocking my weight into my heels to keep Farris’s bald head and rapidly shifting eyes in my direct view, from my reduced viewing platform on the corner of his desk. A normal sized person, like Raf, could keep Farris in view without moving but because I was so small, every time Farris swivelled I needed to turn my head to follow.

"Great. So, what next?"

He placed his hands flat on the desk, but his fingers kept moving.

“WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT EXPECTATION MANAGEMENT. WHERE DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE YOU?"

“Into more roles, if I can get them.”

“SAME SAME OR SOMETHING DIFFERENT?”

My hands slipped in my pockets and I fought to keep them there. Watching the agent’s zippy energy was sparking up my own sympathetic nervousness. Or I was genuinely nervous about expressing what I actually wanted.

“…How different?”

"YOU MUST GET SICK OF PEOPLE THINKING SMALL.” He said, matter-of-factly. “I DON'T MICRO-MANAGE, I MACRO-MANAGE; FOREST AHEAD OF TREES. WHAT YOU’VE BEEN WORKING ON IS A ‘LITTLE GUY’ ROLE. PURSUING MORE OF THE SAME IS GOING TO GET YOU TYPECAST.” He added: “NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT IF YOU LOVE IT.”

“I’ll do that role, but…” I faltered.

Farris swivelled around to face me head on.

“YOU DON’T LOVE IT.”

“…it would be cool to be a lead…”

I’m not big enough to be a lead, said a voice in my head.

“…with a romantic interest.”

There is no actress small enough, the voice concluded.

Farris nodded.

“Perseverance,” he repeated, somewhat flippantly. “ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE.”

Then he changed tack:

“REMEMBER I GAVE YOU THE LOWDOWN ON A FILM THAT I SAID WAS A SHAPING INTO A BOMB—?”

“I honestly don’t remember,” I replied in earnest.

“THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO HEAR! THE NEWEST INSTALMENT IN THE GAMELANDIA SERIES JUST HIT THE SHELVES AND INTEREST IN THE FEATURE FILM ADAPTATION HAS SKYROCKETED. PRODUCTION IS ON THE GROUND AND RUNNING AGAIN: NEW DIRECTOR IN THE PILOT SEAT, ROCK-SOLID INVESTOR BACKING, BIG SCRIPT CLEAN-UP, ALL SYSTEMS ARE GO. SO FORGET EVERYTHING I SAID; I’M PUSHING TO GET YOU IN.”

“So what happens now?”

“WE’VE GOT A MEETING OF MINDS WITH THE CO-PRODUCERS AND WRITER TEAM. I GIVE MY LITTLE PITCH, WORK MY MAGIC MOUTH, TILT THE BALL INTO THE BASKET – YOU WEAR SOMETHING NICE – AND GOAL!”

Later that day we picked up some Roburfortis at the pharmacy. To me, the box was big enough that it could have contained a large painting. At home I withdrew the foil sheet and punched one of the tablets out. The prescription had been mailed with instructions for regime: one quarter of a tablet per week. I gnawed the tablet until three quarter remained, and apart from some odd muscle twinges that night, didn’t feel any different.  

*

We were scheduled to meet the production players at noon. I put on a suit and tie and rode my booster seat in Raf’s car into the St Palma arts district. We pulled up, early, across from Zaatar Garden, a hip, faintly bohemian Israeli restaurant café, and milled outside the façade until Farris appeared. Raf handed me over and Farris took me through the café into a tea garden out the back, with creepers twining around the beams and trellis walls.

Then the four of us sat at a table – I sat on the table. Sitting together were husband and wife co-producer team, Executive Producer, Joe, and Screenwriter and Associate Producer, Deborah. With woollen sweater and glasses I initially confused him for the writer, while Deborah (formerly in marketing, editing and PR) was fashion-conscious, hair in a stylish bun and distractingly bright lipstick – everything I thought a writer didn’t look like. Not to mention, she was possibly fixated on my ‘image’; her eyes kept flying down at me mid-conversation, as if trying to figure out ways to draw me back into the conversational limelight. My gaze was repeatedly caught by the passage of the waiters gliding past, and in the un-drenched garden, there was nowhere to hide.

Sitting on the tabletop, my head didn’t even clear the height of the tall soup bowls. Unlike the finely cut morsels of Japanese cuisine at Bunka Bocho, the food here was sliced into formidable chunks. There were flatbreads and sweetbreads that could've wrapped me up like blankets.

Bright white dining plates like showroom platforms, gleaming silver cutlery that could have run me through like jousting polearms. Worse: shish-kebabs spearing diced chunks of lamb that could’ve passed for my cooked body parts. Sitting upon the table amongst the servings, it was hard not to feel like just another strange appetizer laid out for evaluation.

The writer, Deborah’s lashes fluttered as she took me in.

"WE THOUGHT THERE WAS A MISTAKE WHEN FARRIS GAVE US YOUR HEADSHOT,” she said, smiling. “ALL THE BLANK WHITE SPACE SWALLOWED UP YOUR FACE, HON.”

"HE'S THE ONLY CLIENT I'VE EVER HAD WITH A TRUE-TO-SIZE HEADSHOT," Farris said. “HE’S A WALKING SPECIAL EFFECT.”

“JERRY,” Joe fixed me with an earnest stare, “DON’T LISTEN TO THEM. COMING FROM SOMEONE NOT QUITE SIX FEET, IT’S ALL IN GOOD TAILORING. OWN IT AND DON’T TRY TO CON WITH A POOR FIT.”

“OR ELEVATOR CUBAN HEELS,” Deborah muttered with a sage look askance at her husband, who shied from the look, turning his head down at me with amusement:

“IF SOMEONE DOESN’T WARN YOU, JERRY,” he said rapidly, his thick eyebrows jumping and posturing a lot when he spoke, “I WILL. THIS WOMAN IS CRIMINALLY FLAMBOYANT: SHE HAS A PRESSED ENSEMBLE OUTFIT FOR EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK. YOU’VE GOT TO GO OVER ANY SCRIPT CORRECTIONS WITH A FINE COMB BCAUSE SHE’LL WRITE THESE CUTE LITTLE OUTFITS INTO YOUR PART, I’M TELLING YOU.”

Deborah shook her head with mock exasperation. Getting serious, she said:

“THERE HAS BEEN A SLIGHT TECHNICAL FAILURE TO LAUNCH BECAUSE THE COMPANIES TAKE ONE LOOK AT THE STORYBOARDS AND ALL GONE ‘NUH UH’, WE WANT PG FOR DEMOGRAPHIC COVERAGE. OF COURSE, ANYTHING LESS THAN AN R-RATING IS GOING TO KICK UP A STINK IN THE FANBASE.”

Joe threw a conspiratorial glance around before adding:

“IF YOU ASK ME, IN EXEC WORLD, IT’S UPSIDE-DOWN: THEY’LL BACK AWAY FROM A SCENE WHERE A KID’S BONE POKES OUT, BUT THEY’LL GIVE THE THUMBS UP TO A SCENE WITH A SKELETON WITH ALL IT’S BONES SHOWING.” He made a snort of disbelief.

“SO WE’VE HAD TO MAKE HUGE CHANGES TO KEEP THE EXECS HAPPY; PUSH THE RUGGED ELEMENTS TO THE BACKGROUND AND BRING THE LEVITY UP INTO THE FOREGROUND, DRAW THE KIDS IN AND KEEP THINGS COMMERCIAL. NOW,” he spread his hands in a grand gesture, “NO MORE DEALBREAKERS.”

“IF I MAY INTERPOSE,” Deborah said, “THE BOOK IS CHOCK FULL OF MAIN CHARACTERS. THE SCREENPLAY HAS CUT AND COMBINED THESE DOWN TO FIVE LEADS—” she glanced at Joe, “—GIVE THEM YOUR REASONING, HONEY.”

“NINE LEADS IN LORD OF THE RINGS,” he rattled away, “MINUS FOUR LEADS IN JUMANJI, EQUALS FIVE LEADS.”

My brow scrunched at this logic, but I said nothing.

“ALL LEADS ARE SIGNED ON?” Farris said quickly.

The two of them nodded.

“THESE KIDS ARE GREAT,” said Joe. “NEW TALENT BUT YOU WOULDN’T KNOW IT, AND THEY’VE GOT A REAL COMRADERY GOING ON OFF SET, ALREADY.”

“I HAVEN’T HEARD A SINGLE PEEP FROM MR. MOUSSEAU, THERE,” Deborah observed, her gaze sweeping down the table and stopping on me. “YOU MUST HAVE QUESTIONS FOR US?”

“Yes,” I cleared my throat. “Uh…What is my role?” Seemed the obvious first place to start.

"CAN YOU PLAY THE BAD GUY?" Joe raised one of his thick, almost comically expressive eyebrows.

My imagination galloped ahead. Me as the bad guy up against regular-sized cast? I was about as intimidating as a thumb. Was this a joke or a serious proposal?

"SO," Deborah said, interrupting my thoughts, "THERE'S A CHARACTER CALLED MIKE. HE BECOMES JEALOUS OF THIS GIRL, MADISON, WHO TURNS INTO A GIANTESS. HE USES MAGIC TO MAKE HER EVIL AND DO HIS BIDDING, BUT IS DEFEATED IN THE END BY THE MAIN PROTAGONIST AND MADISON’S LOVE INTEREST, ADAM. YOU’D BODY DOUBLE MIKE.”

Deborah’s eyes were suddenly fixed on me keenly and I blushed under her interest. She gave me a probing smile.

“WOULD YOU LET ME SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET, MY LITTLE DARLING?”

“Uh…okay.”

Before I could react, her hand arranged itself at my front to clasp my chest and lift me from the table. Next moment I was deposited on her other hand, palm upturned.

“LIGHT AS A CLOUD,” she breathed. “YOU ARE A DELICATE WINGLESS SYLPH – FAIRY,” she added, glancing up at the other two. “OKAY, EMBARRASSING, BUT I USED TO BE OBSESSED WITH FAIRIES WHEN I WAS LITTLE, SO THIS IS ACTUALLY KIND OF MAGICAL FOR ME.”

A thought struck her, and she beamed at me suddenly.

“NO, I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE; I USED TO HAVE THIS TINY BIRD AND YOU ARE HIS EXACT SIZE AND WEIGHT. IF I HAD MY EYES CLOSED I’D THINK YOU WERE HIM.”

“THERE’S STILL TIME, JERRY,” Joe joked, “GET OUT OF HERE. SHE’LL PUT YOU IN A LITTLE FEATHERY COSTUME AND MAKE YOU SING FOR HER.”

“OH, STOP,” Deborah said.

Her hand rose and fell gently like an elevator over the table as she amused herself weighing me.

“YOU WOULDN’T MIND IF ALEXA CARRIED YOU?” she asked, peering down into my face. “SHE’S IS SIGNED ON TO PLAY MADISION, YOU’LL ABSOLUTELY LOVE HER.”

Taking a sip of water, Joe added with a reminiscent grin:

“AS SOON AS SHE WALKED INTO THE AUDITION, FROM THE FIRST WORD, WE KNEW WE HAD OUR MADISON.”

Farris stroked his jaw.

“DO I HAVE THIS RIGHT: ADAM’S NOT A GIANT?”

“YES,” said Deborah. “ONLY MADISON.”

The fingers of her other hand came flying for me, pinching around my ribs and lifting me slightly to reposition me on her hand. She repositioned me experimentally like this several times as Farris went on:

“SO THE LEAD MAN AND THE GIANT GIRL GET TOGETHER AT THE END…AND JERRY DOUBLES THE LEAD MAN?”

“ADAM HAS NO SHARED SCREENTIME WITH THE GIANT MADISON. SHE TURNS BACK AND THEN THEY REUNITE.”

“YOU LOOK NOTHING LIKE A BAD GUY,” Deborah suddenly noted, stroking my chin to turn my head to assess my physical suitability. “YOU’RE SUCH A SWEET-LOOKING LITTLE THING.” She looked sideways at Joe, sitting next to her. “MALE ingéNUE?”

“I can do a bad guy,” I piped up, puffing my chest out and trying to sound tough and confident even if my chin was balanced daintily on Deborah’s fingernail.

“THE FILM LAB WILL MAKE HIS FACE LOOK LIKE MIKE,” Joe answered. “THE REAL ISSUE IS THIS—” He prodded my pec with a fingertip.

“WHAT’S YOUR THINKING, JOE?” said Deborah.

“HIDE IT UNDER COSTUME OR,” he pantomimed doing a dumbbell curl, “GET OUR MAN PLAYING MIKE TO HIT THE GYM.” Then he waved a hand dismissively as if to say ‘we’ll figure it out.’

“YOU TRY SOME OF THAT KNISH, DEB?” Farris said.

“IT’S DEEP-FRIED, AND I’M WATCHING MYSELF WITH THE FATS.”

“BETTER GO EASY ON THAT ONE, JERRY,” Farris warned me. “OTHERWISE YOU’LL WAKE UP TO FIND YOU’RE A PING PONG BALL.”

“OH, BUT WOULDN’T THAT BE SO CUTE?” Deborah gushed, her hand snaking forward to give my stomach a ticklish poke. “I LIKE A LITTLE BIT OF MAN-TUMMY.”

“IF YOU CAN’T TELL,” Joe wiggled his furry eyebrows.

I just had one other question.

“Will I have to work with any horses?” It was a fantasy-styled movie, so I naturally thought knights on mounts.

“WE WOULDN’T PUT YOU ANYWHERE NEAR A HORSE, HONEY,” Deborah.

Joe’s eyes went wide, his eyebrows flying up jauntily.

“YOU’D GET MUNCHED UP LIKE CUD, KID!”

“CUD’S THE CRUD,” Farris shook his head, “JERRY WOULD MAKE A VERY NUTRITIOUS MEAL; ALL THAT IRON AND FIBER.”

It took me a moment long to recognize he was joking.

*

“THIS ISN’T LIKE YOUR PREVIOUS SIGN-ON,” Farris was saying as he drove me back to the Talent Corp complex. I sat in my booster seat in the passenger side, texting Raf so he would pick me up outside the office.

“THEY’RE NOT DESPERATE. IF YOU BAIL, THEY’VE GOT VFX IN THE WINGS. BUT I’VE GOT THEM INTERESTED: YOU’VE GOT A UNIQUE MARKETING ANGLE IN LIVE ACTION INTERACTION BETWEEN MULTI-SIZED LEADS.”

Meanwhile, I was thinking: this was a fantasy film; what kind of strange make-up effects would they have me sit overlong in the chair? Then again, it surely couldn’t be worse than the dog costume.

“NO GUARANTEE,” Farris added, after some thought, “BUT THERE’S SEQUEL POTENTIAL IF THIS REVIEWS WELL; THEY MIGHT CALL YOU BACK ON.”

That was great for stability, but still, I hated being pressured. Farris picked up my hesitation.

“YOU’VE GOT NOTHING ELSE ON YOUR AGENDA RIGHT NOW, BUT SHOULD I FIND YOUR ROMANTIC LEAD, YOU’LL BE THE FIRST TO KNOW.”

Later, Farris got a hold of a copy of the screenplay for me to read.

"Let me make some calls,” he said. “Just sit tight, kid. I'll get you in somewhere."

*

It was late; the windows flung open to let in the cool night air. I needed the air against my face to feel like I was moving, as in a speeding car, even though the air was stifling and still. Every so often there was a warm shift, but it was from a mechanical, not natural source. The ghostly sounds of rock music played up the street.

Outside the windows the sky was smoky, black and lit up with the city skyline. I was buzzed, hungry, jittery, couldn't sit still, even though I was supposed to hit the bed within two hours, if I was fastidious about that kind of thing. Problem was I had the energy to do anything, but the attention span to accomplish nothing. I took my phone and dialled.

“What’s happening?” I said.

She said provocatively:

“Guess who I was talking to recently?”

“Who?”

“Stuart.”

“Why?

“What do you mean ‘why’? You said you wanted him to be at the wedding, so I called him. I didn’t have to…”

“Oh,” I said, now remembering. “What did he say?”

“He’s coming. With his new girlfriend. You wanted him to come, so I said fine, okay, sure.”

There were a bunch of different things I could have said in response, but I just said:

“Thank you.”

“So, who’s up there? You must be bumping into some interesting people now.”

“Well, no one up here from before I got shrunk.”

I used to use euphemisms like ‘accident’ to refer to what happened – there was something about direct terms like ‘shrunk’ and ‘miniaturized’ that were cartoonish and unbelievable, and made me self-conscious to use, but it was futile running from it; that’s what had happened, I had been shrunk.

“Makes no difference.” But her tone had mellowed somewhat.

“I’m the tiny guy to them,” I patiently explained. “I’ve always been the tiny guy. Back home, people remember me as the guy who used to be normal sized.”

“Jerry, repeat after me: it shouldn’t matter and it doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

She huffed, bored of the topic.

“Is that therapy happening yet?”

“Patience, my love. I just started it.”

“If it works, you’re going to need a whole new wardrobe,” she said dismissively.

“If it works,” I said slowly, savoring the words, savoring the possibility, “you’re going to need a whole new wardrobe, because I’m going to rip your clothes off you.”

She pretended she hadn't heard me. But, later, she sent me a jpg that was totally black. Thinking the picture had corrupted or failed to load properly I asked her to retake or resend the image. Her next text elaborated:

where i’d put u if u were her…mouth? V? A? wanna guess?