.This part was MADE for you, Darling!

BY : Keith
Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Gulliver's Travels
Dragon prints: 749
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, based on Gullivers Travels by Jonathan Swift. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental.

More disclaimer: Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). the author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic.

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Max paced the hallway in front of his office. His natural energy bubbled up to a boil when Betty had an appointment.  His secretary, Delphine, was well-used to his ways and ignored him.  He was not nervous or anxious, he just couldn’t help being excited.

Betty Brauding had appeared out of nowhere, nailed her first audition and gone on to a wonderful career in movies and television.  He’d been her agent from the beginning and what a ride it had been.

When she was happy the whole room seemed to sparkle.  When she was mad, her voice literally shook the walls.  She said it was from stage training in the ‘old country.’  Whatever the reason, directors loved her and sound men feared her.

Finally her town car slid into place in front of the building.  Max scurried out to escort Betty inside.

“Well, well, how's my favorite client?" he asked as he eased her into his office.

"I'm fine, Max. How's my latest agent?" Betty Brauding vamped into the office of her representative and carefully arranged herself upon the guest chair.

Max appreciated her artistry.  She was automatically setting herself as a piece of art, using her clothes and the furniture as canvas. Her presentation of The Most Beautiful Star in Hollywood was a practiced one. Practiced over many years, that was the problem.

"Betty, we've got a wonderful opportunity. An offer to star in Lucas' next blockbuster."

"Lucas? What's he doing now?"

Max slid a script over the desk. "He's bringing cutting edge tech to Fairy Tales."

"Ah," she said, flipping through the manuscript. "So, is this like Shrek? I'm the voice of the Queen?"

"No, no, live action," he assured her. Despite her potential, she didn't like voice work, it hid her face from the adoring fans.

"So, so, so, what part am I invited to 'audition' for?" Betty Brauding knew well that if they were in touch with her agent, they'd had a specific desire for her. An 'audition' was barely a formality.

"Well, uh,” Max delayed, “the very last story in the movie is, uh, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves."

"I get to play to seven boyfriends!" she said with glee.

"Not exactly," he said softly. She froze.

"The only other woman in that story is..."

"Yes. They want you to be the Wicked Queen." The silence was long and fraught with tension. "It's just, you're not the hottest young woman in this town, anymore, Betty. But you could really have FUN with this part, I know it.”

She started to fume.  The lip quiver was a tell.  And she was breathing in that way of hers.  Every intake seemed to draw in air from every room of the building.  Max found himself gripping the heavy desk to keep from being sucked in.

“Betty, Betty, Betty!  Think about this?  After all these years as the ingénue, as the lover, the heroine, you can do evil!  Evil is fun, just ask…uh…”

"Do you have any idea what I had to do to get to where I am in this town?" she hissed.

"Betty, darling, I worked with the guy who wrote your autobiography. You left an oppressing regime with a bag of clothes-"

"I left-" she growled with a strange accent, "a place where there no more than two hundred people for performance see!"

"I thought Poland had television..."

"I left Lorbrulgrud and a rowboat and sack of food alone I having!"

"Lorbrulgrud?" Max asked. "Is that near Warsaw? 'Cause we told everyone Warsaw was-"

"I burned the boat for cast the spell and walked naked ashore! Tiny, bereft, and helpless before the 'kindness of strangers' you call it people."

Max saw that she was rising out of her chair.  He hurried around his desk to try to get her seated again.  He had an instant of confusion when he saw that she WAS still seated.  But her head was above his…

That’s when the chair collapsed.  Her lovely butt slammed to the floor in the debris.  Legs splayed and sitting at that level, Betty’s eyes were looking straight across at Max’s.

“What the-?” he started to ask.

She raised to her feet and loomed over the man's desk. Just then, he realized she was growing. Betty Brauding was now nine feet tall.

"Raped in wilderness was, when at time one my assaulters I'd eaten have. RAW!"

Max took a step forward, trying to take her hand. That always soothed her. That put him in motion just as she slammed the ceiling. Plaster and wiring fell in a cloud around him.

He ducked towards the door, sort of remembering an earthquake caution to seek doorways when the building collapsed around you.

His client continued to rant and grow as he cowered under the lintel. Dust rose and walls fell as she excoriated the film industry, the fans, the audiences, the executives and parking.

Everyone else working in the building had assumed it was an actual earthquake and exited.  Max grabbed the door frame and wished it was only the San Andreas.

Beside him, Betty’s belt was disappearing into the ceiling.  He wondered why her clothing was growing with her.  Then he wondered why that was a concern.  Why was BETTY growing?

Even as he asked, there was an oddly extended popping sound.  Before his eyes her nylons stretched terminally and split.  They drifted down to gather at her ankles.

“And the waiters!  The waiters you hating.  But they you loving, too!” she was shouting.  She punched at the floor in front of her.  That was Bickman’s office.  Contracts fluttered down like butterflies escaping.

Bits of desk and chair fell more prosaically, shattering further under Betty’s feet as she moved forward.

“They your autograph want, the menu on, for framing suitable and on eBay selling.  They your…”  There was a pause as a particularly resilient beam impeded her progress.  She had to hit it a second time.

From the sounds of the creaking walls, it was load-bearing Max thought.  Had been load bearing, that was.

“They you to read their scripts want, for you’ve done shows and you never will done shows.” It was textbook Brauding Rant.  She delivered it on sound stages and from motorcars.  Once she’d rented the Blimp to harangue a quarterback that had pissed her off somehow.

Deep in Max’s heart, he’d always thought it deserved to be surrounded by actual destruction.  As she burst out of the front of his building, he was both terrified and gratified.  If only there’d been cameras.

Betty stepped onto the front lawn and vented her frustration on her own automobile.  Her foot was as big as the engine she crushed under it.  A few more stamps flattened it completely.  She also destroyed her boots against the metal.  They popped and fell away. 

Then she seemed to have calmed a bit.  Through the destruction he could see her feet as she stood, still and quiet but looming up out of sight.  He took a deep breath.  Then another.  Then surveyed the remains of his wet bar.  There was a single bottle of Stoli untouched.

Finally, he picked his way carefully out of what used to be Maximilian's Giant Talent Agency to find himself at the foot of an actual 30-foot tall giantess. Bits of her clothing were at her scale, tatters had popped off.  They were torn by the rebar or just stopped growing with her.

There was probably a story behind that, but Max was an agent, not a writer.  He moved to the front of the woman’s feet and waved for attention.

“So, Betty?” he called up.  “What the hell is going on?  And what are you going to do next?”

"Back to Brobdingrag!" she shouted down at him. "Where by their skills they stars measure, and by their age cheeses! Good riddance, little minds in little people!" And she strode off, still keeping her steps and gestures theatrical. Max watched her until she was out of sight. She was still growing if he was any judge. 

He eased himself onto a piece of the rubble as sirens approached. "Told you, you'd have fun with the role," he muttered.  He ignored the approaching cops as he stepped to the sidewalk.  A quick muster verified that no one was missing or hurt.

Delphine intercepted the first officer to actually start asking questions.  She said something about aliens and special effects gone wrong.  Max listened with half an ear as Shelly cried on his shoulder.

The fact that the cop was nodding along would have been funny if he wasn’t standing on half of a Monet.

No one noticed the unmarked car slip to the curb.  A nondescript man stepped carefully around the wreck and went directly towards Maximilian.

“Mister Swift?” he said softly.  Max turned to face him slowly.  The world seemed to be packed in cotton and Max was beginning to suspect shock.  Everyone around him was in shock.  Even this young man in a very severe suit.

“You should sit down,” Max said gently.  With one arm around his accountant he offered a shoulder and a hug to the severe man.  “Quickly, before you faint.”  He looked around for a flat piece of rubble that would fit all three of them.

“No, sir, I’m fine.  You need to come with me.”

“What studio are you with?” Shelly asked.  Max thought it was a piercingly insightful question.

“I’m with the government, ma’am.  Sir, a woman that vaguely resembles your most famous client is causing destruction at the cruise terminal.  We need you to help talk her down.”

“Talk her down,” Max repeated.  “She’s, what, forty feet tall?  You want me to talk her down?  Talk is what put her up there!”  He started to giggle.  “Talk her up, that’s what I did.  Wind her up, rile her up, fuck her up.  I fucked up.”  The laughter was starting to interfere with his breathing but he couldn’t stop.

“That’s what people will have to do, now.  Fuck up at her.  Way up.  Up and at ‘er, boys!  Bedroom stepladders and don’t tear her nylons!”  Two EMT’s lowered him gently down to sit on the sidewalk and put a mask over his face.  The air just fanned the flames of his laughter.  “Makes a whole new sport of mountain climbing, what?  Climb up and PLANT THE FLAG as it were!” 

Delphine knelt to the ground beside him.  That’s when he realized he was laying down.  She leaned over and held both of his cheeks in her hands.  A sad smile showed as she moved to bring her face right up beside his.

“Mr. Swift, people are in trouble and you’re still the only person Miss Betty has ever actually listened to.  So knock off the shit and face your responsibilities.”

He stared.  Delphine never swore.   Ever.  It was better than a bucket of cold water.  He took one last, cleansing breath of pure oxygen.  Then he sat up, removed the mask and nodded thanks to the EMTs.

“Okay.  Alright.  We need to make some calls.”  He looked up at the Federal officer.  “I hope someone in your organization has some pull.  We need to get around some answering services.”

-----

In the end, it was easier than that.  No one was accepting Max’s calls because they were all trying to reach him.  He just sat in the mobile command center, picking and choosing. 

News filtered past him as he made his little list.

Betty was ripping up the deck of a smaller cruise liner.  The destruction frightened the city officials but Max understood.  “It’s okay,” he assured them.  “She’s not going to go on a giant-monster tear through the city.  She’s just fixing up a little rowboat to take her home.”  They didn’t look reassured.

Then they were in the helicopter.  He was strapped in and watching the ground go by.  Betty’s path was clear if you knew what to look for.  The smoking ruins were subtle hints.

At the wharf there was a pile of torn metal.  Betty stood knee-deep in the water, scooping out the hull of one of the smaller liners.  Experts had estimated her growth at 70 feet.  She also appeared to have finally stopped growing.

Her last vestige of clothing had been lost somewhere along the way.   And while she wasn’t a spring chicken any more, she certainly had nothing to be ashamed of under the California sun.

Betty was muttering under her breath as she tore out a swimming pool and tossed it aside.  Max gave directions to the pilot and picked up a bullhorn.

“Betty, Baby, are you getting paid for this?” he shouted.  She looked up at him and growled.  “Seriously! You’ve never done nudity for a paid contract, now you’re giving it away?  Where’s the sense in that, babe?”

“Go home, Max.  That’s doing am I.”

“Spielberg!” he shouted back.  “Lucas!”

“What?  For part of old lady film?  Be I can maybe the crone? That for fuck I think.”

“No, no, no,” he assured her.  “Forget fairy tales.  I packaged you, Betty! Norse myth!  A modern day Thor goes off to find and fight the frost giants, you’re his love interest.”

“Lucas you say did?” She looked thoughtful.  He gestured for the pilot to take them in closer. 

“Lucas, Spielberg pooling their talents to direct and provide special effects.  Your approval on writers and scripts.  Your approval on costumes and props.  Honey, this movie is literally being MADE for YOU!”

“Who’s Thor?” she finally asked.

“Up to you.  But Craig, Pitt, Clooney and that guy you like in the underwear commercials have all expressed interest.”  He laughed.  “Hell, Betty EVERYONE has expressed an interest.”

She tapped a hand against her thigh.  He started describing the number of hair dressers he’d demanded, the number of costumers they’d been promised.  The dress designer she’d always loved working with.

“Well, maybe,” she said.  Then she looked down at the devastation around her.  “Uh…”

“We can afford it,” he promised her.  “You’re a violent love interest, we’ll call it advance publicity.”

“Okay,” she finally told him.  “It I do will!  Okay!”

“In that case,” he said, standing and pushing on the volume dial, “HIDE THE MERCHANDISE!”  He pointed to the ocean.  “Swim out until sunset.  Come out at Cher’s beach, we’ll have some canvas, get you home.  Save the booty for the big screen, okay?” 

She smiled up at him, turned and waded out to sea.

“Okay,” he muttered.  “Hard part’s done.  Let’s go home, boys, and find the lady a bra.”



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