Reel Stuff by Don Bruns

being every superhero in comic book kingdom. Imagined I was every spy in the world and every movie action hero in the last fifteen years, but only dreamed. And here, with one phony call, Em was close to actually getting an agent and fulfilling her fantasy.
    Fat chance of that ever happening. No résumé, no head shots.
    Here we were in the land of make-believe, pretending to be private investigators, pretending to solve a violent murder in Miami while pretending to be actress and her manager. We fit in very well.
    The strip mall store advertised passport photos and head shots in their window. Five digital photos, ten copies, and we were out the door for fifty bucks. I could have done the same on my cell phone, but this guy seemed to know what agents wanted.
    â€œThis is the style and these are the poses they look for,” he said. “And, lady, you are the real deal.” His eyes explored her body. “They’re looking for you.” He leered at Em, wetting his lips. “And, hey, if you ever want to do something a little racier, here’s my card.”
    We left, photos in my right hand, middle finger extended on my left hand.
    A believable résumé was another thing.
    Inside a FedEx office location, Em worked the Internet.
    â€œHere’s a sample,” she pointed to the screen. “Sort of a template. TV roles, movies, theater, commercials, training, and special skills.”
    â€œWhy don’t we start with the special skills,” I said. “There’s that thing you do in the shower when—”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œOkay, what kind of roles have you had?”
    â€œHow about policewoman in
Deadline Miami
, recurring role?”
    â€œWow. I like that. You’re one of the background officers.”
    â€œWhat else, Skip? You watch TV. There must be other obscure roles I could have had.”
    â€œJames watches Ellen DeGeneres. Put down that you have played various characters in skits. You were a dancer, or you took one of the audience members on a crazy trip through Wal-Mart. Ellen does some bizarre stuff.”
    â€œOkay, have I done theater?”
    â€œSure. You were Off Broadway in—” and I realized I didn’t know much about theater. “You haven’t done theater, except for playing the Ann-Margret role of Kim MacAfee in
Bye Bye Birdie
in high school—God she had been sexy in that role—but you were a shopkeeper in
Entourage
, a waitress in
According to Jim
,” and so it went as we put together Em’s professional life. I had no idea if this agent would check on her, but the roles were sketchy, almost all just walk-ons, so I figured Kathy Bavely wouldn’t look into Em’s background too hard.
    Em had been girl number three in a Chili’s ad, a surprised socialite in an Ashton Kutcher Nikon camera commercial, and she’d even had a conversation with Chad in the Verizon television spots. Everyone important seemed to have hired her to represent their company, but she was almost always background. Barely recognizable.
    Theater training was at a small community college in Miami, and I listed her as taking private lessons with a famous director who had died last year. They couldn’t check on that.
    â€œSpecial skills,” Em paused, “and not the one you’re thinking of,” she said.
    â€œActing skills? You took ballet as a kid.”
    â€œI dance pretty well. We’ll put it down. Anything else?”
    â€œNothing I can think of. Other than—”
    â€œHow about firearms,” she said.
    â€œFirearms?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
    â€œYeah. I took a conceal and carry class two months ago. It turns out I’m a pretty good shot.”
    I was stunned.
    â€œAnd when were you going to tell me this?” Was she making this up or did she really take the course?
    â€œI don’t know. It was eight hours and just one of those private things. I