The Girl They Sold to the Moon (12 page)

After 26 days on the scullery line and one station down from Dorothy, Tilly still hadn't mastered the speed and dexterity required to pick out all of the saucers from the swift moving conveyor belt, rinse them with an overhead spray gun, rack them and then push them into a large auto-washer. Luckily the racks were disgorged at the other end and sped along another beltway to the serving kitchens. Stoop, pick, rack, spray, shove became so repetitive that she'd found herself duplicating the movements in her sleep. Plates, cups, glasses, silverware, it was all the same. The handling of silverware took some deft coordination and resulted in the most bloodletting injures. Even the butter knives were serrated and cut through the plastic gloves. If she thrust her hand too quickly or forcefully into the moving pile, the forks caught her between the fingers. Her fingernails looked like tree bark. At times the rinse water ran pink with her blood.

“How do you think you're doing tonight?” Dorothy asked over the kitchen noise.

The question was one they'd shared every shift. It had nothing to do with their present work assignment. It had everything to do with Tilly's performance on the Amazon stage.

Abigail Rogers had correctly termed her future performances “virtual.” Since every act and show had been recorded since day one, it was a simple task to run the shows in full 3-D Holoview. The images of the dancers were so clear and life-like that the miners, who were often sloshed to the point of unconsciousness, could not tell the difference between the live and virtual performances. She had heard that her acts had even been cut and spliced to show variation—mixing up the song and dance routines. That's why her billboards, banner signs, and posters had not been removed from the walls or walkways. As far as Tranquility Harbor was concerned, Sunshine S9555365 had never left the stage.

Tilly racked four saucers with her left hand, four with the right. “Oh, I don't know. I suppose they're running a “best of” edition tonight since it's the end of the week. You would think somebody would catch on after throwing a coin right through a dancer's body. Maybe they figured a way around that too.”

“The audience probably doesn't care if it's the real you or not; they're just lovin' the routine.” Dorothy brightened. “Hey, what a racket! You can take on a real job while you send your doppelganger off to work some other place. Heck, you could ghost yourself out for six different acts in six different lounges while kicking up your heels at home, sipping cognac and eating caviar. Girl, we are in the wrong damn business. Here we are instead; I'm
plates
and you're
saucers
. It just ain't right.”

“Tell me about it. You have to hand it to Abigail. She might be prehistoric but she's got her head screwed into twenty-first century tech. If mine or Candy's fan base has gone up, the Entertainment Division could be making more per show. Imagine that. Being upstaged by your own phony self. There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm too bushed to figure it out.”

Stoop, pick, rack, spray and shove. At least Tilly could think while she worked. Her time away from Buddy picked at her heartstrings. She'd seen him about a half dozen times over the past three weeks. It had been a mouthed “hi” and wave type of passing. He was scheduled for release soon. Abigail had not docked Buddy for any privileges or taken him from the stage, but she had told him to keep his distance from Tilly. He was not allowed within 50 feet of her.

It hurt. It hurt them both.

“Maybe when we get out of this racket,” said Dorothy, “we can set ourselves up as virtual whores and start our own business. Damn, that would mean I would have to be talented. Virtual people can't wash real dishes.”

“Hah, you wouldn't have to have any more talent than Candy. She's proof that hacks can make a killing at a lunar lounge.”

“I always try to see the positive side of things. Except for this kitchen.”

When their shift ended, both girls walked to the foot tram, backs aching and hands numb. Tilly would have given anything to sit down on the ride but seats were not provided. The tram sailed by a few of her posters, prominently displayed on the walls. Tilly gave them a sarcastic salute. “I hope your back is doing better than mine, girl,” she said to her likeness.

Back at the dorm, Tilly pulled her suit off, flipped it over a crossbar and donned a shift. Stretching out never felt so good. She closed her eyes, but a joyful voice snapped them open.

“What are you slackers up to?” said Fia, tossing her handbag up on the top bunk.

“Recovering,” said Tilly. “Recovering from a whole shift of saucers. I broke about fifteen tonight, plus sprained my pinky. If you see my evil, famous twin, tell her to get her ass back in this bunk and stop slutting around like she owns the joint.”

“You'd be proud of you,” said Fia. “You did Thriller tonight. Had ‘em on their feet from the first note. You followed that up with one of your headliner acts. The director really mixed it up. I don't think anybody can tell what's going on.”

Tilly laughed. “I'm glad somebody's having fun. Another 30 more days of this and I'll end up looking like Abigail Rogers.”

“Hey, I object to that,” said Dorothy, popping her head over the bunk. “Look how long I've been doing it, and I'm still gorgeous.”

“By the way,” said Fia, “Buddy says hi and misses you.”

“Same back to him, then,” said Tilly.

Fia took Tilly's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her next words came with a nervous waver. “I've been meaning to ask you something, Tilly. Would you mind if I saw that birthmark again? When we were in the shower a while back I noticed something that struck me as odd.”

Tilly cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “Uh, you don't fly that way, do you?”

Fia smiled. “Hah, with the amount of times I've been married? No, strictly dickly and I don't intend on going over to the dark side.”

Tilly lifted her shift, showing the birthmark. Fia's grip tightened, then relaxed. “Okay, I was afraid of that. Jesus.”

“Jesus what?”

Fia took a deep breath. “It all fits. Music in the womb…the natural blond hair and blue eyes…and now the birthmark. I just can't believe it. It's too impossible.” Fia raised her voice. “You're sworn to secrecy, Dorothy.
None of this
gets out.”

Tilly sat up, straightening her back. “What's too impossible?”

Dorothy leaned over the bunk. A paperback book slipped from her hand and hit the floor. “Uh, okay.”

“If I'm right,” said Fia, “you were born in Chicago, Illinois, and given up for adoption August 7
^th
, 2018. You…” Fia tried to contain her emotions. “You were given up for adoption in Gary, Indiana, at the age of two.”

Tilly blinked. ‘How did you know that?”

“Because that's when I lost someone very precious to me. She was born on a cool, misty morning just as the sun came up in Merced County Hospital. That's why I named her Dawn. Dawn Ann. Of course, your adoptive parents gave you a name change.”

Tilly shook her head. “I saw the certificate. I was given up for adoption by a single mother named Sophia Ann Millhouse. Your last is Bluestone.”

“Millhouse was my name in marriage to Tom Hamilton Millhouse. My maiden name is Bluestone. Sophia was shortened to Fia, dropping the P and adding the F to the front of it. Kind of like a nickname. I used to rock you to sleep with a music player over my stomach. I used to sing to you, and dance around the room with you. I'll bet you've never had vertigo in your life. But the most striking thing about you was the swan-shaped birthmark on your butt cheek. It's still there. Only larger.”

Tilly tried to sort through everything said to her. The whole revelation was just too much to swallow all at once. The only thing she could think of was: “Mom?” She could see the likeness in her mother's eyes, now. The small cleft in the chin, the tall, slender build, the hair. It all came together.

Tilly gave Fia a trembling but soulful hug, letting the tears flow--mother and daughter reunited. Having lost her adoptive mother through a terminal illness, it seemed fate had re-sewn the bond that had been torn away so long ago.

Fia smoothed Tilly's face. “I know what you're thinking, sweetheart. It's a long story, and it'll take some time to get it all out in the open. I had to be sure. That's why I waited.”

Tilly really didn't care about the story. Having just met her true birth mother was enough. She just bawled.

The day her suspension ended, Tilly took her closest friends to the carnival for a small party, compliments of Fia and Dorothy, who pitched in to share the expense. The only one missing was Buddy. The party, bittersweet without him, reminded her of the time they'd spent together on the rides. She couldn't get the image of his mischievous grin out of her mind, the joyful expressions on his face and way he looked at her. She assumed he had been picked up, as his five-month term had ended. She imagined that he would revive his old magical act again, possibly in his mother's rescued casino.

Candy Evans had her own party in full swing at the park. Rumor had it that she would be modeling the latest swimsuit apparel, posing for snapshots at the waterfall for a bevy of photographers, friends and fans. Tilly didn't care if Candy took over the entire park. The fact that she played up to the crowds over a hundred yards away gave Tilly great satisfaction. She did not want to cross paths with that woman ever again, for any reason. Sunshine, one of the hottest tickets at Tranquility Harbor, would be giving her last performance in 30 days. A lot could go wrong within that time period.

Tilly's relationship with her birth mother had given her a sense of comfort and relief, solving one of the biggest mysteries of her life. They enjoyed the rides together, hand in hand and laughing aloud. Like two inseparable girlfriends, they couldn't get enough time to rejoice and discover each other. They spent every available minute together, talking about their past lives, loves and passions. Fia filled Tilly in on the numerous relationships she'd had, which were many. Three marriages had ended in divorce. Fia admitted to less than rational judgment when it came to picking life partners of the opposite sex—a choice in men that left disaster in her wake. Tilly confided that her first relationship with a guy came from meeting Buddy.

Sue Lin and Dorothy, although having fun, had refused to go on the more thrilling rides. Her instructor had said that she was too old to be thrown about on such antiquated machinery. Dorothy feared that she would become ill and spew chunks on fellow passengers.

They all agreed that the Ferris wheel served as the best compromise for all of them to ride together. Tilly and Fia took one car, while Sue Lin and Dorothy followed in the next. The ride up was slow, due to the loading.

“You have a month left before your term is up,” said Fia. “Have you made any plans for your future?”

“Well, if I can bank some tip money, I think I'd like to continue college, or maybe one of the nicer dancing schools. I know I want entertainment, so the choice isn't going to be hard one. I love the stage and everything that goes with it. But I know that a dancing career can go bust real fast. I could pick something up in the food industry at first.” She also knew her father could sabotage her dreams, and decided if she got out she would make a break for it and cut the father-daughter bond. That's if she ever
got
out.

“Tilly, don't make the same mistakes I did. Set your sights high. You have loads of potential. The food industry is a dead-end occupation that requires no more brains than a chimpanzee. You could always start with dance. If you busted out, for whatever reason, then maybe you could become an entertainment scout or even a coach or choreographer—a related field. You're not a bad singer, either. Maybe a recording contract is in your future.”

Tilly looked across the breadth of the rotunda. “I don't want to get too far ahead of myself.”

“Then you think there's a possibility that your father might default? I'm not the best judge of character, God knows, but those letters to you seemed positive and uplifting.”

Tilly looked at her with narrowed eyes. “That's just it. They were
too
perfect, too uplifting and positive. The rosier the picture, the more phony he is. Dad went through mom's death benefits in a few months while we were in California. He hit the casinos. I know it, because I followed him several times.”

“Ah, then the medical bills, plus the back taxes landed you on the Public Assistance Program. That's when you moved to the projects in Long Island.”

“Yeah, they were major expenses. California Public Assistance didn't have immediate housing. We had to move to Long Island. We even had to get a pay voucher for the move!”

“How could he have screwed it up so badly?”

“They gave him easy installment plans for the medical bills. That wasn't the real problem. He'd been dodging his taxes for years and covering up for it. It finally caught up with him in the last year. You know the IRS. They don't take kindly to being lied to.”

Their ride car moved up another position. Fia kept quiet for a moment before she spoke. “I should have known from my own experience that once you're in the FTALC system, you're here for a pretty damn bad reason, and it can get worse. I'm proof of that. Honey, I wish with all my heart that you leave this place and never come back. Once you're independent and head of your own household nobody can touch you.”

“Hey, this isn't so bad,” said Dorothy from below. “I don't think I'll spew my guts on this one.”

Tilly laughed, calling down to her. “It hasn't even started yet. It goes around in a big circle.”

“Gads, I
know
that.”

The cart moved up, stopping just past the top. Tilly and Fia leaned back and gazed up at the stars through the dome ceiling. In the vacuum of space and lacking an atmosphere, the stars and nebulae shown with crystal clear definition. Colors burst forth in even the weakest points of light, showing reds, greens and yellows.