Nolan folded his and tied it around his forehead. “How do I look?” His eyes searched my face as he strode closer to me. Army-green face paint covered my blushing cheeks, concealing my attraction to him. My whole body flushed with intense heat at the prospect of him being around me all day. Close to his freshly showered body. His tall, muscular, and lean body. Shirtless. Body.
My mind drew a blank. “Wh-what was the question again?”
He breathed every word. “How. Do. I. Look?”
I swallowed hard. How did he look? Was “mouthwatering” a way to describe a person?
Before I could answer, Asher said, “I’d do you, bro.”
Nolan coughed as I barked out an uncomfortable laugh.
Wil put his bandanna around his neck, going for the cowboy look. I handed them both ammunition belts and gun holsters, which they put on gleefully. Wow, they were ENJOYING this. Meanwhile, as they transformed into sexified hotties, I looked like a fucking doomsday loon. But if the talent was happy, that made me happy.
Wil asked, “So what exactly are we supposed to do again?”
Nolan chimed in. “Besides look hot and studly?”
“Yes, besides that,” Wil snorted.
“I need you two to scan the badges of anyone who even looks remotely interested in our game. Or anyone you manage to speak with. We need to collect names for our launch newsletter.”
Asher tapped me on the shoulder. “Boss, we have a problem. Our internet isn’t working so we can’t get the trailers to display on the monitors.” I looked over at Damon, our IT guru, who sat there texting and avoiding eye contact. Not really the problem-solving, roll-up-your-sleeves type.
Asher added, “Damon said he tried everything and claims it’s the TV monitor, not the connection. But the monitors worked in the office when we tested them last night.”
Nolan came over. “We had these same monitors the last place I worked. Let me fiddle with them.” There was nothing more distracting than watching a brainy stripper fix my mechanical problems.
Wil joined him and after a few minutes of troubleshooting together, they came back over to me with a solution. Nolan asked, “Does anyone have a spare Ethernet cable? The Wi-Fi adapter isn’t working right, but the monitor has an Ethernet port, and that might do it.”
I walkie-talkied Asher, who had gone MIA for a short while, and asked him to see if the show’s equipment vendors had an Ethernet cord we could rent. He came back shortly with a thirty-foot cord. Wil flicked on the monitor and the trailer appeared on the screen, perfectly clear. We all hugged and high-fived one another, like they did in all those NASA movies when they successfully land a space shuttle after a major equipment malfunction.
“Thank you,” I managed to say to Nolan.
He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “All’s forgiven in the coffee mug war, right?”
Electricity from his touch rippled down my shoulder and through my arm. “You’re debt-free. And now I owe YOU,” I said with a smirk.
“Great.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together, his prickling warmth still imprinted on my shoulder.
“Oh shit. Here they come.” Wil’s eyes widened.
I looked behind me to see what spooked him. A tidal wave of gamer geeks headed our way, flowing in the direction toward our booth.
“Ready?” I asked Asher.
“Yup.”
The first wave of gaming enthusiasts appeared and immediately clamored for demos. Wil and Nolan soon became the crowd favorite of college girls who took selfies with them and posted the pictures on social media. I mean, it made sense. Who wouldn’t want a picture with two cosplaying strippers? That was the whole point of having them there.
After a short while, pitching our game wasn’t even necessary. Barraged with an unending flow of questions from members of the press and general admission game enthusiasts, our frontline team kept the answers rolling.
“Is this the game that people wanted to cancel?”
“Didn’t they get enough signatures on the petition to fire you?”
“Can I get an autograph and a picture?”
“What swag do you have?”
And of course, the most popular question, “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”
As we scanned badges, gave out branded Nerf guns, and took swigs of water from talking so much, the crowds just kept coming. As it neared lunchtime, though, the flow finally began to die down as the showgoers left the building to get food truck fare.
Asher said, “Hey, I really need to go take a piss. Sorry, I mean go to the bathroom. Wow, it’s already been a long day, and it’s only noon. I’ll tap out our dynamic stripper duo to take their bio break when I get back.”
Wil and Nolan were still killing it on the floor, even with the lunchtime intermission. Anyone who walked by, both men and women, young and old, looked on with curiosity. Somehow, at some point, both of them ended up with body glitter all over their chests. Their pecs glistened in the indoor light as they spoke to various gaming constituents about the merits of the game.
While I took a water break, I glanced over a few times at Nolan. At one point he caught me staring and grinned at me. I smiled and hastily walked a loop around the booth, mortified that I’d been looking at him so long that he witnessed it.
Stay focused on work, Melody. No distractions.
When I came back around, a group of white, young male vid bloggers walked up to Wil and asked, “What do you do?”
He answered, “You mean, what does the character do? Or like, in real life, what job do I have?”
The goatee guy rolled his eyes. “Like, what’s your signature thing in your game? Like, roundhouse kicking? Nunchucks? Samurai swords?”
Wil smiled but replied tersely, “Well, in the game I’d use a crossbow, my weapon of choice. In real life, I do boxing. Given my mood, I could probably pummel a few heads into a bloody pulp.”
Goatee guy sidekicked the air and yelled, “Ha-yah!” and then karate-chopped his friend. The group laughed and walked away with some of our swag bags.
Cringing, Nolan asked, “What kind of racist shit was that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, welcome to our world. I get those racist remarks plus the sexist ones. Pretend those same guys had stared at your chest the whole time while saying those horrible things and then walked away mumbling explicit remarks.”
Wil’s and Nolan’s mouths fell open. Nolan stammered, “Oh, that’s just . . . I . . . I’m sorry.”
A curious onlooker walked up to me with a small spiral notepad full of notes. “I’ve never seen a game like this. Male strippers as protagonists? Women wearing combat gear instead of fishnets with a bulletproof camo bikini? This is all so curious and odd.” I’d seen him circling the booth a few minutes, waiting for the right time to engage. This fiftyish-year-old man wasn’t anywhere near my target demographic, as UA skewed twenties and female, but maybe he was someone’s dad or something. He continued firing off questions about the origins of the game and asked for one of our mobile devices so he could play the first level. He had mad skills: he cleared the level faster than I’d seen anyone do that day.
He grabbed some branded swag and asked, “Did you know that your game has already gotten over a hundred reviews on IGN?”
I searched IGN on my phone and found an Ultimate Apocalypse game overview link, along with the average rating of 1.5 stars out of 5. These sham reviewers were undoubtedly the same trolls who had nothing better to do than write bogus reviews or trash me on various message boards. Skimming the one-star reviews, these insightful gamers really demonstrated their knowledge and expertise with thoughtful comments such as “I like your tits,” “I’m gonna beat you down with my giant cock,” “I’d rather play Mass Effect: Andromeda than this game garbage,” and my favorite, “I would rather eat my own big butt than buy this game” (um, WTF).
Blinking back hot tears, I blew out a slow exhale and tried to think of ways to handle this disaster. Because of the restrictions placed on me by my company’s legal team, I couldn’t go on the counterattack. But also, it wouldn’t make a difference. These trolls were everywhere I looked, like disgusting cicadas during their hatching season, or a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.
As I fought back tears, my mind wandered in despair. Quitting my job, curling up in front of the television, and crying into my bowl of ice cream was an easy way out, and oh so tempting. I could go back to my old job, bored to tears, feeling unaccomplished and unsatisfied. I had known breaking into the game industry would be challenging, and here I was, living what I thought was my dream. How would I know if it was really my dream if I didn’t see this to the end?
No way was I going to give up now. I’d made a promise to myself that I would get this game launched, no matter what it took. I thought about my team and how far we’d come. These asshole bullies wouldn’t defeat Melody Joo. Fuck them, and their big butts, right?
A food vendor came by with a display of sandwiches, chips, and bottles of water, and I bought lunch for everyone. We all wolfed down our food in silence: talking nonstop and standing for several hours had wiped us all out. Wil and Nolan finished their food first. “Back to the grind!” Wil said as he pulled Nolan up off the floor. They jumped back into stripper cosplay mode just as the wave of postlunch traffic hit our booth. By 3 P.M. the booth crowds began to die down again, so the stripper duo walked the floor with the badge scanners, asking for newsletter sign-ups. By late afternoon we had real-time results on how many email addresses they had gotten for us. Four thousand new email addresses! Go, strippers, go!