Mrs Jane Hastings, aged fifty-three, felt nothing but childish envy for Ms. Julia Parkhurst. Ms. Parkhurst’s cardinal sin was being pretty. Very pretty actually. She was (to hell with delicacy) a bosomy, twenty-three-year-old, who’s bright smile and cheerful disposition made the acne encrusted boys of Roverbank Comprehensive grunt with longing.
Still professionalism had to be maintained, because today. something alarming had been brought to Hastings’ attention. And when she called Ms. Parkhurst into her office, (resenting how gracefully the young woman sat down) she coughed and said “Julia, we don’t pry into the staff’s personal lives, it’s just when a sex tape is leaked to the public, you may have to resign.”
Ms. Parkhurst raised one quizzical eyebrow and asked “Sex tape? News to me.”
Hastings fumbled with her phone, before finding the offending film and handing it to Parkhurst, who watched the muted video, somewhat serenely and amused. Strange because it showed her butt naked and riding a beefcake man, moaning and sweating with vigour.
“Interesting,” replied Parkhurst “sure as hell looks like me, although I’d like to think I’m a better actress.”
“Well, do you have an explanation?” Hastings inquired, knowing if this was her, she’d be in tears over her dead career.
“Ever heard of deepfakes? They’ve been making the news recently. Basically, you can use an AI program to plaster your head on anybody’s body and voila, you’re now a porn star.”
“You mean?” Hastings said, “This isn’t you?”
Parkhurst winced.
“Afraid not, for one thing that woman is um…clearly surgically enhanced. And if you want, I’ll let you test my chest for any silicon lumps, but she’s also got a dragon tattoo on her stomach so…”
Parkhurst lifted up her yellow jumper revealing her belly to be spotless and unblemished.
“It’s a fake?” exclaimed Hastings
“Yup,” smiled Parkhurst “I can only guess who made it, but I’ll swear on a stack of bibles, that it isn’t me.”
A brief silence hung for a second or two before it was interrupted by a resounding tap on the door and Mrs. Howard, deputy headmistress craned her neck into the room.
“Sorry Jane, I need to talk to you,” she said before shooting a dirty glance at Ms. Parkhurst and added “Alone.”
So Mrs. Hastings joined her in the outer office and Howard was clearly jittery.
“The video,” Howard began.
Mrs Hastings held up a hand “Oh it’s fake apparently, there’s this new thing called Deepfakes, Julia may have to take some time off work until this cools down…”
“There’s more than one,” Howard coughed “And this latest video shows Julia Parkhurst with a young boy, a student at this school and…”
Ms. Julia Parkhurst had sharper hearing than people knew, thus she could make out most of their frantic whispering. And because she was alone neither Hastings or Howard saw her smile drop and her eyes drift to the floor as if she wanted the earth to swallow her up.
