The Girl They Sold to the Moon (17 page)

“I've used Sunshine.”

“I suppose you can keep it.”

“Just relax, dear,” said Abigail. “Your term is just about up. This should be a breeze.”

“Thank you. I'm glad to see you here, Ms. Rogers. I thought that…” Tilly let it trail off, not wanting to bring up anything related to the Tranquility Harbor tragedy.

“The feeling is mutual.”

Tilly got up and left through an exit door. When she arrived at her room, she sat on the bed and studied the map of the casino interior. It had three wings, with four major levels that catered to entertainment and gambling. Davy Jones Locker was located in the south wing, on the first floor near the corner of the building. A few minutes later, Dorothy walked into the room, holding an identical casino map. She sat on the bed, looking flustered. Tilly asked her about her job assignment and location.

“Well,” she puffed, “I got the dinger. The Atlantis Arena. Or should I say kitchen? It just happens to be the largest headliner dinner-show in the whole casino—seating capacity of nine grand. I'll be on the scullery line, naturally. At one time they were thinking about automating the whole wash system but dropped the idea when they found out it would be too expensive to install the automechs.”

“Aw, nuts. I'm sorry to hear that. That which does not kill you gives you a really soft bed to collapse on after work.”

“At
least
.”

Tilly took a quick shower, combed her hair out and brushed her teeth. There wasn't much else she could do to herself, given the limited supplies they had furnished her. She didn't see a problem with getting an early start, especially with a new coach. She headed out the door, following the map. An elevator ride to the first floor brought her to one of the largest gambling areas. Employees and wards were required to follow marked yellow aisles. She stayed precisely on those paths. She passed by a huge elevated half-moon stage bisected with purple drapes. The motif waxed nautical, displaying mermaid statues, treasures chests, palm trees and ship's masts. A neon marquis announced the stage as Davy Jones Locker. She found rehearsal room 24 behind a left wing of the stage. She pushed through the swing door and paused to admire the interior.

The room was oval; makeup and wardrobe took up the right wall, props and scenery filled the rear wall, while the left wall side was equipped with a practice dance floor, workout area and mirrors. She recognized a few coaches, since they wore matching blue trunks and sweat tops. Each had a whistle around their neck and an Omnicomp on their wrist. Tilly moved toward the wardrobe racks, familiarizing herself with the pieces. They had a nice, organized selection of everything ranging from Bronze Age peasant clothes, to contemporary fluff. Several display cases held costume jewelry, watches, hats and eyeglasses.

At the end of an aisle, Tilly froze in place to look at a clothes rack. She saw bikini thongs fashioned from rope, looped through snip hangers. Any notion that Candy Evans was not on Seven Seas property vanished in a nanosecond. In fact, they'd processed her before Tilly, since her costumes were laid out and ready to go. So, her act would follow Candy's act?

“You gonna knock ‘em dead?” a voice asked over her shoulder.

Tilly turned. Sue Lin stood in the aisle, dressed in a coach's outfit and wearing a neck brace. Tilly thought she could die of happiness right then and there. She resisted the urge to pounce on her coach. She answered with a wide grin, “I'm gonna rip their hearts out.”

“Who's the gawd damned sugar shack queen in this place?”

“I am!”

Sue Lin pumped a fist in the air. “How hot are you?”

“I'm nuclear hot.”

“That's what I want to hear!”

Tilly stepped up to her and, mindful of her injury, hugged her affectionately. She couldn't keep the tears from flowing. “Oh, Sue Lin, for a long time I didn't think there was any hope. How did you manage to get out of it?”

“I got as many as I could to the shelters before I got short on breath. I had just enough time to make it to a utility airlock before I passed out. Hit my damn head on the way in. They found me three days later and put me on a medi-vac shuttle to Earth. I spent a day in the hospital then demanded to be assigned to my group. They put up a fuss, but I put up a bigger one.”

“I guess you can't keep a Japanese nightingale caged for long.”

“You've got that right. I heard about your dormitory. Hard luck. Leona Billings bit the big one.”

“Yeah. But Fia and Dorothy are fine.”

“That's good to know. Now what do you say we get your program set up. I've got a few others to line up, but we'll get you squared away quickly. You've got two one-hour segments. How about four routines apiece? We'll cut and splice. They have a music library here, larger than the last one.”

“I'll get busy.”

Sue Lin stabbed some buttons on her wrist comp. “I just logged you in—that's how it works here. “Oh, in case you didn't know; little miss hot pants is going on before you. Luck of the draw.”

“I know. I'll make the best of it.”

Tilly remembered her opening act at Tranquility Harbor. With some tweaking, she could open her show with those intro numbers and dazzle the crowd. Hopefully. This was Vegas-Henderson clientele, a culmination of dignitaries, socialites, gamblers and high-income attendees comprised of both sexes. What's the worst they could do to her if she flopped? Bust her down to backup dancer and throw her in some pit?

She gathered all of the outfits that came close to the style and cut she had worn before and organized them on a rack. When Sue Lin finished with her other clients, she checked Tilly's outfit inventory and took her to the sound room, where they programmed her music and lighting effects. Sue Lin gave the stagehands the selections for the props and scenery. Back in the rehearsal room, they ran through several dry runs, sans music, getting Tilly's rhythm and timing down. Tilly met her fill-in act, Ron, who juggled and breathed fire.

Tilly's first show would begin in few minutes, and felt the familiar butterflies in the stomach. Tilly heard the applause from the rehearsal room. When Candy entered the backroom and sat at her makeup table, one of her groupies toweled her shoulders off with a cool rag. Dressed in full makeup and costume, Tilly walked behind Candy's chair and saw the girl's dagger eyes in the reflection of the makeup mirror. “Break a leg, bitch,” said Candy.

I know whose leg I'd like to break
, thought Tilly, as she stepped around the corner, ready to part the drapes. There was no fanfare in calling her act. An announcer's voice simply called out, “And now, Sunshine!” She burst onto to stage and began her walking strut. She sidled up to the edge of the stage, making eye contact with individual dinner guests. With the tilt of her hat and a swagger, she stomped a foot and pushed off for a spin. Her driving foot went out from underneath her, sending her straight up in the air. She came down on her butt with a jarring thud, the wind leaving her lungs with a whoosh. For a moment, she couldn't see, couldn't hear, and couldn't breathe. Trying to push herself up, her palms slipped in an oily substance on the floor. She tried to scream, but gagged. She felt the sensation of being dragged from the stage, sliding across the oil-smeared floor like some broken rag doll.

The first sounds Tilly heard from her new audience were boos and hisses. She'd managed to humiliate herself within 30 seconds of her opening act in front of God and everybody, her most horrendous debut in memory.

They didn't take Tilly to the hospital. She didn't have the extra insurance policy provided by FTALC for special treatment. The Seven Seas Hotel and Casino doctor gave her a cursory examination and kept her overnight in the hotel infirmary. He released her with the stipulation that she could go back to work in one day. She had bruised hips and had the wind knocked out of her. Her report read “Accidental Fall—Minor Injuries.”

On her way out of the infirmary, Tilly ran into Fia in the waiting room. They walked out together into the hall. Fia looked more depressed than Tilly about the incident, the anguish showing on her face.

“Promise me you're not going to get mad and go off on a rampage,” said Fia.

“That depends,” said Tilly. “What are you trying to say?”

“That was no accident last night. Well, maybe it might have been…but it seemed all too coincidental.”

“I'm not promising anything, but I'm listening.”

“Sue Lin said there was more than a quart of coconut oil all over the stage floor--a lot of it up by the front rail, right where you were dancing. Candy uses it in her act to make her skin glisten. Anyway, that's what we figure happened. If she really wanted to sabotage you, she picked the right means and the perfect time to do it.”

“That rotten scunt!”

“Now there's no reason to get worked up over this. We all know she's a pig. You're too close to the end of your term to do anything foolish. You want a clean record. How about some good news now?”

“I'm ready for anything.”

Fia waited until they entered Tilly's room before she divulged her news. Dorothy lay stretched out on the bed, a cold pack on her head. She pushed upright when the two entered. “Hi, guys,” said Dorothy. “Hope you're all right, Tilly.”

“I'll survive,” said Tilly, and sat on her bed. “That filthy
slut
bucket!”

Fia gave Dorothy a recap of the events leading up to Tilly's injuries.

“Now, as far as the good news,” Fia began, “I'm up for the annual labor auction that's coming up next week. There's a good chance I'll be picked up this time. Abigail wrote a good recommendation for me, with some of the highest accolades and testimonials.”

Tilly forgot about her own problems. “That's great news. That means a minimum security job with a civilian family, your own room, decent food, maybe your own scooter and the freedom to come and go as you please. No more damn locator chips. One year, and poof! Freedom!”

“Outstanding,” said Dorothy. “Do you have any plans?”

“Well, if Tilly doesn't mind. I'd like to be near enough to visit and spend some time with her. She'll be out soon enough.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Tilly. “We still have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Since we're on the subject of good news,” said Dorothy, “I thought I would mention mine. I met a boy.”

Tilly stood up. “No kidding. Where?”

“He works in the kitchen. Pots and pans. His name is Ben. He has brown hair, green eyes and he's really tall. We took a break together in a utility closet. We even shared a real cigarette. I got dizzy.”

Fia frowned. “You better be careful. They have video surveillance
everywhere
.”

Dorothy rubbed her hands. “Don't worry. We took precautions. There wasn't a spy eye within a mile of us. What's one demerit slip anyway?”

Tilly didn't feel like busting the girl's bubble by talking about demerit slips. Dorothy needed all the positive reinforcement she could get. But breaking the rules and reckless behavior could bring serious heat down on her.

Fia softened her expression. “After all we've been through, maybe the light at the end of the tunnel is beginning to shine through.”

Tilly hoped that the light didn't belong to an oncoming magbus barreling down the road.

Tilly's plea for a transfer to a different lounge went unheeded. She was stuck at Davy Jones. The first show of her second appearance did not go well. She opened it with her Thriller act, stretching it to 15 minutes, then filled the remaining 45 minutes with additional pop tunes. The audience was not impressed. She received lackluster applause and a few whistles. She didn't hear the clink of one coin. Her second show went no better. She had the feeling the audience had seen it before, perhaps by a different performer in a different style. She did manage to stay out of Candy's way, exchanging only a few choice words with her between sets.

Sue Lin put an arm over her shoulder in the rehearsal room. “They busted our balls. Fair enough. It's a discriminating crowd. What you need to do is freshen up your act with some original material. Maybe some tumbling—some acrobatic moves—something with some flesh.”

“You mean a little more
eye Candy
.”

“If that's what it takes. The tips are put on the dinner tabs. It doesn't look so good from what I'm hearing. We have customers leaving in mid-show.”

Tilly felt like telling her that the customers could go straight to hell but she didn't dare insult Sue Lin's dedication and loyalty. Her coach had watched over her and promoted her through the worst of times. This situation wasn't any different.

Sue Lin waved a finger at her. “Don't slip and lose your confidence. You want to go out with a bang, not a whimper. I've got one more late night stage act to watch. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Tilly watched her leave, and then stepped out of her stage costume and hung it up. She donned her suit and wiped her makeup off. Picking up her small hygiene bag, she headed for the exit. She walked down the aisle, watching the gamblers toss coins in the slot machines, the poker players stack chips on losing hands, the dizzying spin of the roulette wheel, the eager patrons standing near. She followed the aisle on the edge of the casino wall, the one the wards called the “yellow brick road.” Just before she arrived at the elevator, she stopped and looked between a bank of slot machines

What she saw took her breath away. What she
thought
she saw, rather. The man faced away from her, sitting at a baccarat table. His light brown hair curled up in the back in little wisps. He wore a charcoal gray suit, with fancy cuffs and white oxford shoes. The edge of his cheek showed a ruddy complexion. She would bet her life on it that she was looking at her father.