Free Behind the Facade by Rebecca Heap, Victoria Page A

completely engulfing her small one. He’d held on to her, turning
her fingers over in his and studying the nails and skin. He’d then looked up
and scrutinised her face. Brenna had swallowed, uncomfortable. His dark eyes
had felt like ants scurrying over her skin. She shivered at the memory. 
    She’d been relieved when he’d released
her hand but he’d not released his gaze. Examining a lock of her hair he’d
asked abruptly, “Is this your true colour?”
    Brenna had simply nodded, her mouth too dry to form words. Apparently satisfied, he’d then dismissed her
with a flick of his hand, instructing her to return to the middle of the room.
He’d sat back down and perused some papers on his desk for a minute, a minute
that felt like forever to Brenna, as she’d stood there feeling like an insect
under a microscope.
    Then the questions had begun.
Strangely this had put her more at ease. She had expected questions.
     “We don’t have much detail on
you, I’m afraid. May I ask you your age?”
    “Sixteen,” she’d responded truthfully.
    He’d seemed troubled by this, his face
creasing a little. “Not still in school are you?”     
She’d vigorously shaken her head.  He’d nodded in satisfaction. Then after
a brief conversation with his two colleagues, he’d asked. “Could you turn around
for us? Slowly please.”  
    As she’d revolved, feeling very
self-conscious, Brenna had become convinced this was a candid camera show and
any minute someone would jump out and surprise her. 
    Then Hilary, the blonde, had risen
from her seat and walked towards her, carrying out a quick, but concentrated
appraisal of her. Wishing she was wearing something a lot more flattering than
her skinny jeans and favourite but well-worn top, Brenna had thought if this
wasn’t a wind up, then it must be some kind of weird dream. Hilary returned to
her seat and all three of them debated intensely between themselves.
    What came next had come completely out
of the blue. “We’re prepared to make you an offer,” Harry had said. “Subject, of course, to age verification and parental approval.”
    Despair had quickly followed on the
heels of elation. “Parental approval?” she’d queried. Her mother would
positively revel in denying her such an opportunity. “My mother will never
approve of this.”
    “Father?”
    She’d shaken her head. 
    “Do you have an appropriate adult who
might stand in for them ?“
    She’d thought of her brother but
quickly dismissed the idea of asking him. He’d definitely want her to
finish college first.
    “This isn’t going to happen, is it? I
don’t even have a portfolio.” She was sure this would be the nail in the
coffin.
     “Oh, don’t worry about that,
honey,” Margot had piped up. “We don’t put much store in pre-produced
portfolios. Once you’re with us, we like to design our own around our concept
of your unique selling points.”
    Harry interjected.  “Look, we
like you. We think you have potential. But we need you to sign a contract with
us so we can act as your agent and promote you.  Because you’re under 18,
in the absence of parental consent, there’ll have to be a disclaimer as well,
confirming you understand the agreement and have waived the right to parental
consultation. You ok with that?”
    “Absolutely!” she’d confirmed without
hesitation, her hopes reignited.
    “Great.”
    Margot had then shuffled some papers
and produced a two-page document that she’d handed to Brenna with a pen,
offering up her chair and saying, “Please sit down, whilst you read through
it.”
    At least it wasn’t some mammoth
agreement with lots of small print. This comforted her but she’d taken her time
examining it. Her brother had always counselled her to read any legal document
carefully. It had looked OK to her. It talked about promoting and marketing
with something about a 15% share in her income and a finder’s fee once a
contract was secured. She appreciated