PodCastle

* Author : Teresa Milbrodt
* Narrator : Summer Fletcher
* Host : Sofía Barker
* Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh
*
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Originally published in Pleiades: Literature in Context.


Rated PG-13
White as Soap
By Teresa Milbrodt
I’m not sure what to think when the people from the soap company call and ask about filming a commercial at my unicorn ranch.  They want to feature unicorns wild and free and running across the open prairie and all that other romantic shit.
“Unicorns have a great universal appeal,” says the director.  “They’re mythic and romantic.  That’s the sort of thing that will sell soap.”
“Oh,” I say because I sell unicorns and not soap.  After raising unicorns for twenty years I’ve learned that there is nothing romantic about them.  I also have a vague notion that doing a commercial could be classified as selling out, but I’ve also been told that the kind of people who talk about “selling out” are the kind of people who can’t sell anything.  What matters is if you can live with yourself in the morning.
I’m not worried about being able to live with myself, as my primary morning concern is if the unicorns will get fed, not only on that morning but on subsequent mornings.  People aren’t buying unicorns like they used to.  They’re considered a luxury item, even though I argue strongly against that idea.  Most people overlook the practical uses of unicorns as work animals–a unicorn is no more expensive than a good horse, and just as strong.  Unicorns owners and breeders simply have to be aware of unicorn biology and certain medical concerns like horn rot.  But I digress.
In the end it comes down to having more food for the blessing versus less food for the blessing, so I say yes.  The director says she and a camera crew will be out in two weeks.  She doesn’t sound pleased when I tell her that the nearest airport is four hours away, but this is Wyoming so what do you expect?
I say she and her crew should schedule three days to be around before they start shooting.
“Do you really need three days?” she says.
“It takes the unicorns a while to get used to new people,” I say.  “Some of them will be curious and some will be scared.”  By the time the camera crew arrives I will have selected the unis that would be good candidates for the commercial, but I’ll need to see their reactions to the crew and their equipment to be certain.
The director agrees but sounds a bit grudging about it.
“These are domesticated unicorns,” I say, “but they’re not used to cameras.  If you need trained unis, I can tell you who to call.”  I’ve sold a few unicorns to wranglers who train animals for the movies.  I’ve saddle broken a few of my unis, but I don’t have time for much beyond that.
The director says she wants to use the “wild backdrop” of Wyoming and so my untrained unis will be fine.  I figure she’s probably working on the cheap and doesn’t want to shoulder the cost of more expensive animals and handlers.
She says she’ll get my contract and all the necessary forms in the mail to me this afternoon.
I explain the arrangement to my ranch hand Orrin when we eat lunch in the farmhouse.  He nods like he’s not excited about the idea.  I’m not surprised at his reaction, but pretend that I am.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
“Nothing,” he says.
“You’re worried,” I say.