Malachy Jackson Site

‘Please lift up your right breast.’

Standing in front of me were three naked blonde women. At a momentary glance, they could’ve been a set of identical triplets. I knew better, however, and it was my job to. The three women lifted their right breasts in unison. As expected, there was a star-shaped mole right beneath it, three times in a row. These women all wanted to be the next big thing, or more accurately, they wanted to be the current big thing. The next version of it. They all wanted to be the next Aeran Isis, the world’s most successful pop star for the past one hundred and fifty-eight years running.

How does one stay the most successful pop star for a hundred-and-fifty-eight years? Very simple. When the old model can’t keep up with the job anymore or starts falling apart from the plastic surgery needed to keep them looking pristine, the company that owns her brand simply brings in the most dedicated lookalike superfans. We put them through a series of rigorous trials, judged by experts in the field such as yours truly. These girls in front of me were the last three of about two thousand who had signed up. This stage of the process was the last. My job was to know every minute detail of Aeran Isis’ body, the extremely trivial things no one would notice. For instance, I can tell you that this specific star-shaped mole on the underside of her right breast was only visible for one-hundred-and-thirty-five frames (shot at twenty four frames per second) of a sex tape (available at a pornographer near you for the low-low price of nineteen dollars ninety-five) between her and some R&B singer who’s supposedly famous, when he massages her chest, and lifts her breasts in much the same way these women are doing to themselves now.

‘Please present your fingerprints.’

They showed me their hands. Each had Aeran Isis’s exact fingerprint lasered onto them. Same palm lines, too. Usually, I can use these to predict which one will make it through, but these girls have been getting smart in the past few years. No detail left unchecked.

‘Hold up your hair.’

The original Aeran Isis was never a natural blonde. She was brunette but dyed her hair blonde. A little bird told me that all three of these girls were naturally blonde, but had their roots professionally dyed slightly brown to make it look bleached. They’d all done that.

And so the process went on for several hours. I measured their nipples. All came within the same tenth of a millimetre in diameter. Same colouration. I took a tape measure to everything that could be measured. I took a dental impression in a piece of rubber. Those teeth must’ve hurt to get installed. Nothing. No deviations in the slightest. Counted folds in their asshole. Nothing.

‘Meeting adjourned,’ I said, ‘Come back the same time tomorrow when I’ve got some more ideas.’

*****

The first of the three girls stopped me before I even got out of the building.

‘Hey,’ she said, ‘Surely there are lots of things you’d like to do to the real Aeran Isis, superfan.’

Like I hadn’t heard that one before. The only thing of note about this instance was the irony of her propositioning me fully clothed when I’d seen her naked about ten minutes ago. I ignored her.

‘Alright,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you later.’

I got in my car and drove home. I was pretty happy with my place, a well-furnished apartment in a good part of town. The judging job filled my monetary needs for a year over the course of just a few days, so I had all the time in the world to become a leading expert on the specifics of Aeran Isis. I was always trying to find something that the candidates for Aeran Isis couldn’t get adjusted to fit, so I had a book open on my desk about the subtleties of hair follicle and pore placement. I’d just picked it up and started reading when I heard a knock at my door.

I opened the door on the chain, and one of the Aerans was standing there, in a double-breasted trench coat, clutching a briefcase.

‘What do you want?’ I said.

‘I brought money,’ she said, and opened up the briefcase. Sure enough, it had what looked like at least one hundred thousand dollars in it.

‘I don’t need it,’ I said, ‘And I don’t take bribes.’

I closed the door in her face.

‘Alright,’ she said faintly, ‘I’ll see you later.’

I read for about an hour, then went to sleep. I was awoken by someone knocking on my door. Begrudgingly, I got up and looked through the peephole. Standing there, swinging a briefcase from side to side like a pendulum, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, and wearing a double-breasted trench coat was one of the Aereans.

‘I brought more money,’ she said, ‘Are you gonna let me in?’

I opened the door so I could look her in the face.

‘I thought I told you-’ I started to speak, but she cut me off. She’d shoved a stun gun in my abdomen – it felt like my very bones were vibrating. I fell to the floor and blacked out.

*****

When I woke up, I was in my own kitchen, tied to one of my own chairs. Presumably not with my own rope, as I didn’t keep any in the house. Standing in front of me was one of the Aerans, naked. I started wondering if this was a sex thing, but then realised I hadn’t been stripped.

‘Why are you naked?’ was the only thing I could think of to say.

‘Those clothes weren’t mine,’ the Aeran replied, ‘so I didn’t want to get any blood on them.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Just make me the real Aeran Isis and you’ll go free,’ she said, taking out a large cordless power drill from the duffle bag and spinning it. ‘If not, well, you’ll see.’

‘You don’t have the balls,’ I said.

‘Oh yeah?’ she replied, ‘Just nod when you’re willing to talk.’

She stuffed a handkerchief into my mouth to gag me, then spun the drill and pushed the tip directly into my leg. I instinctively tried to scream in pain, but couldn’t. I nodded my head frantically, knowing it was about to hit bone. She pulled the tip out and then my gag.

‘In the desk drawer, there’s a contract,’ I said, ‘Both of us need to sign it.’

She brought it to me and gave me a pen. I signed, and so did she. She packed up her things, untied me, then covered herself in the trench coat.

‘Just come to the office tomorrow and you’ll be made next in line,’ I said, nursing my leg wound.

‘Alright,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you later.’