Everything about her was a lie. From the red and purple highlights in her hair all the way down to her inflated ass. A cheap look; not bottom shelf, but certainly not top of the line. When she moved too quickly her hair’s frame rate dipped slightly.
Jon didn’t mind. He knew that underneath the glamour there would, unfortunately, be no more inflated ass.
The two were standing at the bar. It was dark; the only light coming from the soft orange glow of a few lonely incandescent lights overhead. Jon had made the first move, exchanged hello’s, and bought them both a drink.
“What do you do for work,” Jon asked over a neat bourbon.
“Oh, well right now I’m a dog groomer.”
Jon nodded along, humming into his glass.
“So I take dogs, bathe ‘em, dry ‘em, give ‘em cute haircuts. And if they aren’t little shits I cut their nails.”
Dog groomer: okay. Is that mole on her left cheek fake too? Who pays extra for a mole in their glamour?
“It’s alright money. And you do get tipped sometimes, which is nice. But it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. When the economy picks up a little bit, I plan on opening my own salon down the street from my house.” She paused and sipped her tequila sunrise. “I’m licensed to work on hair–human hair. And, my girlfriend Becky is working on getting her license now.”
Jon leaned harder into the bar. He felt himself slipping out of the conversation.
Becky? Hmm, I don’t remember Jack Daniels being this vanilla-y? Did they change their recipe?
Jon continued to nod until she stopped talking.
“So, uh, what do you do?” She said.
Jon searched for an answer. “I, er, jail break glamours.” Jon said, swallowing the last finger of bourbon.
“You what?” Her hand reflexively went to her face as if to cover herself. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Technically, yes.” Jon shrugged. “But it’s good money.” The whiskey made him bolder.
I could hack you right now if I wanted to. Why the fuck am I even talking to a fat-assed dog-grooming nightmare when I could be having this conversation with Emma fucking Watson. I shouldn’t though: too many eyes around.
“So what kind of shit have you done?” She asked, arching her eyebrow. “Do any weird sex stuff?”
Oh, I can’t spill all of my secrets honey.
“Sure. All the time. A while back I was hired by some big tech company CFO to hack his escort’s glamour. He met me before hand and handed me a picture of some girl. I scanned it, fleshed it out, and loaded it onto her system no problem. Dude paid me $10,000 for one night.”
Her eyes widened. “Ten grand? For one night. My god.”
“That’s not even the craziest part,” Jon said smirking. “I looked him up on Facebook after. Turns out it was his daughter’s picture.”
“Yeah, sick shit right.”
“Who’s the guy?”
Jon smirked. “I can’t tell you that. I’m still under contract with the old fucker.”
That, and I just made the whole thing up. It wasn’t his daughter. It was his long-dead wife. But that depressing shit doesn’t get you laid. Weird shit on the other hand…
She looked impressed. Or maybe it was the way her fake eyebrows arched. “Do you wear one?” She asked, placing her hand on the bar to steady herself.
“Of course. Everyone does.” Jon leaned in close and whispered. “Y’know, I can be anyone.”
She laughed a fake laugh and pulled on his arm. She smelled of cigarettes and didn’t walk straight. He hated that. But she was pulling him towards the bathroom. He hated that he liked it. Everything about him was a lie.
Prompt: “Everything about her was a lie.”