Chapter 8: Preparations

“Stop fidgeting, Jasmine,” says Ellen, my dormitory’s assigned helper from the collection of city-born volunteers for the Argonaut. “You need to look your best this afternoon.”

It’s a message Ellen has constantly repeated. Along with the forty-nine other hopefuls, I will be paraded in front of the television cameras this afternoon. What’s worse, ten of us must endure a five minute interview with Darrian, one of the obnoxious hosts of the televised segments of the Argonaut. None of us will know which ten of us are to be interviewed until we are on-air. I can honestly say that I am dreading it. The only benefit in being selected for an interview is the opportunity it provides to improve my chances of winning. Only a few contestants will be declared the eventual winners of the Argonaut, but that won’t be until the final session on Sunday. Of course, fluffing an interview would be disastrous for my chances.

I sigh as I add the finishing touches to my dress. When I picked it from the studio’s wardrobe I thought it to be a beautiful dress. Now I’m not so sure. I’m grateful for Ellen’s valiant efforts to make me look my best, even if I don’t see the purpose of this afternoon’s charade.

“How do you feel?” asks Ellen when she is satisfied with her work.

“It’s a beautiful dress. Thank you,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster ... which isn’t much, given my lingering dislike for this cattle market in the first place. But I had few other options open to me when I accepted the belated offer from an anonymous benefactor to sponsor me for this event. And winning the Argonaut will at least mean that my family can benefit as well.

“Yes, I know how you look in it, Jasmine. But how do you feel?” persists Ellen.

“How should I feel?” I reply, slightly surprised by her question.

“Jasmine! You ungrateful girl!” snaps Ellen. “I am trying to help you.”

“I know, and despite what you think, I appreciate your efforts,” I reply. “But I feel like a marionette; all dressed up to please an audience who simply want to ogle pretty young men and women desperate enough to parade about for the entertainment of our so-called betters. Aren’t we just fifty puppets, each performing to the studio’s script?”

“Your image is important, Jasmine,” says Ellen. “Most of those in the audience will be deciding their vote on how attractive you are. Harper will advise you what to say when you have your session with him later. Impress the audience tonight, even if you aren’t interviewed, and someone watching may help you to gain a work permit. If you don’t, then they will favour one of your rivals.”

I’ve heard this speech from Ellen at least twice already this morning, and it isn’t even ten o’clock yet. I know she believes in what she is saying, but somehow I can’t buy into the rotten arrangement. It’s true that several previous winners of the Argonaut owe their career success to the timely arrival of a sponsor’s helping hand. But nothing in our world comes for free. Some contestants may be naïve enough to believe that sponsors give their generous help through the kindness of their hearts, but I’m not one of them. If a contestant is lucky, their sponsor is only interested in winning a high stakes bet. But lurking in the background are those sponsors whose help comes with unsavoury conditions that enslave their victim for life. The alternative is to fail, and live out your life as a serf in your settlement, but you don’t need a sponsor’s help to do that.

“You asked me how I feel, and I gave you my answer,” I snap. “Don’t worry, I won’t disgrace you this afternoon by picking my nose in front of the cameras. I’ll read Harper’s script as you demand.”

“Will someone try talking some sense into her,” says Ellen to nobody in particular, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation.

“I’m sorry, Ellen,” I say when it becomes apparent that she isn’t about to launch into another lecture. “I really do like the dress. But there’s nothing of the real me in this outfit.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. I should have realised what is missing before. You need some jewellery to complete your outfit. I have a good collection. You can borrow a few items. I’ll go and pick out a few suitable things for you.”

“No, Ellen,” interrupts Vincent, a contestant from Tudor who shares this dormitory. “Jasmine must be allowed to choose her own jewellery. At the moment she is merely the wearer of that studio dress. You should let her transform it into an outfit of her own.”

Ellen and I look at Vincent in surprise. For my part, I’m amazed by Vincent’s understanding of my needs ... even though I don’t fully understand them myself. When I look at Ellen I begin to worry in case she might refuse. It’s one thing to lend me a ring or a necklace of her choice; it is something else entirely to let me rummage through her private jewellery collection.

“Yes, yes, OK,” says Ellen after a few moments hesitation. “I’m not certain many of my pieces are suitable for a young woman, but I will allow Jasmine to look through what I have. Follow me, Jasmine.”