The Girl They Sold to the Moon (18 page)

She maneuvered around for a better look, backtracking down the aisle. She still couldn't get a good face profile. She looked both ways, stepped off the yellow-lined carpet and walked swiftly toward the seated man. She got within 30 feet of him before a uniformed body blocked her passage. A security officer laid a sting wand across her neck and backed her up the way she'd come. Once he had her on the ward aisle, he dropped the wand and asked her to remove her I.D. tag.

Tilly handed the tag to the man. “I really didn't mean to disobey the—

“Rules and regulations? Section 44, subsection C, all wards will adhere to prescribed paths throughout the casino and avoid all contact with employees and patrons of Seven Seas Hotel and Casino. Failure to do so can result in a work privilege deduction or fine. Now Ms. Breedlove, S-9, you've just been caught off the prescribed path, and you'll be logged into our system for the infraction. A review board will determine if you're erred or not.”

“I'm really sorry.”

“And I'm really John. H. Brewer, security manager for this floor.” He took a snapshot of her tag with his Omnicomp, then snapped one of Tilly's face. He handed her tag back. “It's almost after hours. Go straight to your room.”

Tilly walked at a fast clip toward the elevator. It was one thing being caught and cited by security, but right now she couldn't get the image out of her mind of her father sitting at a gambling table in the Seven Seas Casino and Hotel. She felt
certain
it was him. She recognized the suit and the oxfords—they amounted to the only decent clothes he'd ever had. And she could not forget the little angel wings on the back of his head. He had never spent the money on a decent haircut in his entire life.

She bypassed the elevator and went straight to Fia's room. When she arrived at the suite, she knocked firmly on the door, hoping she would be inside. Both of their shifts ended at 11:00 PM. Fia answered the door with a towel around her. Once she saw Tilly, she swung the door open wide.

While Fia sat on a divan, ruffling her hair with the towel, Tilly paced, until she stopped and said, “Can you think of any reason why my father would show up at this casino and end up gambling at a baccarat table? I swear to God, Fia, you could ram a dirty stick up me and break it off and I wouldn't feel a thing…I'm so damn pissed!”

Fia dropped the towel. “Now wait just a minute. Are you sure? You actually saw him?”

“I tried to get closer, but from what I saw, that was my dad sitting there.”

“What do you mean you tried?”

“I had to step off the line to get a good look at—”

“Oh, Tilly, don't tell me you broke regs.”

“I had to because I just had to see if it was true.”

“Did you get written up?” Fia rubbed her face.

“Well, yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?”

Fia sighed. “It has a lot to do with everything. They could give you a 30-day work extension for something like that. I've seen it happen. If you keep chalking up demerits, you might as well buy stock in this casino because you'll be living here for the rest of your life, whether you get picked up or not.”

“You still haven't answered my question.”

“I'll answer it with a question first. Does he have a serious gambling problem?”

“He's always had a gambling problem.”

“Does he cater to the casinos and popular gambling Meccas?”

“Those are his favorite places. Always has been. But why come over 3,000 miles across the country to park his ass right here and now?”

“That's the easiest part of it. Whenever new casinos open up, they increase the winning odds in favor of the customers. It's an old ploy, and any professional or recreational gambler knows this. They plant ‘hot' slot machines near the entrances on the most accessible floors. These machines have the loudest bells and brightest lights. When the customers win, their screams reach the boardwalk outside, drawing in potential players.”

“He was at a baccarat table.”

“The table games are no different. The dealers are instructed to lose more than usual, dropping and folding hands here and there. It's all in the name of casino diplomacy. Players start winning hands. Word of mouth gets the tourist engine going, until months later they're operating at full capacity and then wham! They lower the boom, the odds change and the house is in favor again.”

“I'm sure my dad knows that.”

“This would be the perfect place to make some fast cash. It's not easy. You still have to have a head for it. At worst, he might break even. He'll have to be skilled to beat the game. He'll have to know the good tables before he busts out and loses everything he has.” Fia rubbed her temples. “Gosh damn it. If it is your dad, then I'm so sorry he's doing this, and everything he said in those letters was a huge pile. On the other hand, he just might have made that huge profit he was talking about and he's playing around with surplus. Have you considered that?”

“I'm hoping you're right, Fia. It's just so strange. I wonder if he knows I'm here.”

“Well, your marquis is about the size of a postage stamp. All it has on it is your stage name. So I doubt it.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“Do yourself a favor and don't agonize over this.” Fia started to slip into her suit. “I was just headed to the commissary. Care to come along?”

“No thanks.”

Tilly didn't feel like doing anything at the moment. She left Fia's suite and took the elevator to her floor. She entered her room to find Dorothy on the bed, her head tucked under a pillow, shoulders shaking. Dorothy held a demerit slip in one of her hands.

“Awe, Cripes.” Tilly sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dorothy shook her head. The bed wobbled.

Tilly stroked Dorothy's arm. “Don't feel bad. I think I just earned a slip myself.”

Dorothy peeked her head out, her eyes redrimmed. “You did?”

“Sure did.” Tilly explained the situation.

Dorothy wiped her nose. “That blows. I'm real sorry about that.” She sat up. “Me and Ben were caught on break. It wasn't the cameras or anything like that. Another kitchen worker, Tina, ratted me off. Security came marching into the pump room and took us out by our ears. Ben went one way; I went to a counselor's office. They read me the frat rules and then tagged me with a slip.”

“Your first slip, too. I didn't want to say anything, but you were tempting fate, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know. But that isn't the worst of it.” She burst into a new flood of tears and tossed the demerit slip on the floor.

“There's more?”

Dorothy balled a fist. “They're going to take Ben away from me. He's being transferred to the West wing. I'll never see him again!”

“Aw, that's hard luck, honey.” Tilly knew the grip that young love could have on a soul. She'd been close to it with Buddy Bell, right up until the time he'd disappeared from her life. She'd give anything to see him again, even for a day.

Tilly stayed up with Dorothy into the early morning hours. At some time before the sun came up, they fell asleep sprawled across the bed. The last thing Tilly heard was Dorothy's whimper, before she fell asleep.

Everything was coming apart at the seams. Dorothy walked around their room zombie-like and mute before and after her work shift. What moments they'd shared as best friends had degenerated into indifference and solitude Tilly hadn't received a scrap of mail from her father, and just last week she had gone before a review board who had scolded her for veering from assigned ward walkways and presented her with her second demerit slip. Then, after chasing the ghost of her father again and stepping off the yellow path, she pulled another demerit slip. The third slip earned her a 30-day extension on the work program. Now she had 33 days to go until the end of her term. That was provided her father paid the loan and picked her up.

Fia's labor auction was today. One of the largest banquet rooms had been reserved for the eligible applicants. Twenty four applicants were presently employed at Seven Seas. Fia Bluestone was one of them. Family Trade and Loan held the auction every year, sending district managers to their multiple locations to hold the live auctions over the air wave feeds. Fia had told Tilly that it resembled a cattle call, where each applicant had their bio-history and work resume read aloud, then a live interview process was conducted by hopeful employers who chose the best candidates. Having been rejected at her last auction, Fia had remarked that her chances seemed much improved this time and she expected to be granted a position.

Tilly followed the directions on her laminated map until she came to a wide hallway and a set of double doors. A placard read BANQUET ROOM 5—AUCTION--CLOSED SESSION. About ten people loitered around the entrance, most of them wards. Tilly assumed they were friends of the applicants, the way they paced and occasionally looked at the door. A few perked up when they saw Tilly. She didn't feel especially talkative at the moment, but she wouldn't spurn a friendly “hello” or “how ya doing.” She happened to look down at the floor. The tiles were waxed to bedazzlement. She could see her suit riding up her crotch—could feel the irritation too. Why was she being negative about everything, especially on a day like to today? But that's what FTALC did; it bred the cynical.

“Waiting for a friend, are you?” asked a slender boy of about twenty.

“Yeah, she's up today.”

“Don't worry. There's a good chance she'll make it.”

“Oh, I know that.”

The doors flung open. A girl skipped out, waving a certificate. “I made it!” she told the hallway. Two people embraced her. The threesome ran down the hallway, disappearing around the corner with joyful shouts. Ten minutes later the scene was repeated. This time an elderly man walked out briskly, a wide smile on his face. No one greeted him. It didn't seem to matter much. He held a certificate to his chest.

Fia exited the doors 15 minutes later. Her hands were empty.

“
Oh, my God
,” Tilly said, with a heaving breath. “Don't tell me.”

“I'm telling you.”

“You weren't even considered. Are they blind? Brain dead?”

“Oh, they looked me over real good, considered my app and all. I just didn't have the platform. That's what they said, anyway.
Platform
. What's one more maitress out of hundreds in the system?” She started walking.

Tilly skipped to catch up. What could she possibly say that would ease the pain, knowing that her birth mother had just been sentenced to another year of servitude at FTALC?

Fia walked into the commissary, and after buying a cup of coffee and a Danish, sat down at a table. Tilly took the opposite seat.

Fia sipped from her cup. “I know there's a five-year moratorium if I never make another auction. But I don't think I can wait that long. I'm just so fed up with it all. In the years I've spent here, I can't remember a happy moment except for finding you. Now I'll lose you, too.”

“You'll never lose me, Mom.” Tilly let the word slip on purpose. “I haven't spent as much time loaned out as you have, but I know what you're saying. I've missed so much. I miss casual clothes—never mind dressing up. I miss animals. I swear I'd kill for a dog or cat right now. Even a lab rat. How about real green trees, waterfalls that don't use pumps, the crash of the surf and beach sand between my toes? I can't even look cross-eyed at the opposite sex without somebody getting in my face about it. This is a terrible place for anybody. Talk about trampling on our constitutional rights.”

“Yep. And that's why I'm thinking about getting out of here.”

“You're not talking about running away.”

“Talk's cheap. I've been
planning
it. I know a few who made it out and vanished. It's not easy, but it can be done.”

“Fia, do you know what you're saying? Have you thought of the consequences?”

“Over and over again,” she said through the Danish. “If I don't try it, I'll burn out for sure. You wouldn't want to see an old broad like me going through a mind bender. Not a pretty sight.”

“You haven't got that long before you've served the maximum default. I'm mean, it's torture, sure. But it beats putting everything on the line and making a run for it. I read that family Trade and Loan have special detective squads that hunt down runners. It just isn't worth it. I could lose you. Forever!”

“Not if you come with me.”

Tilly shook her head. “I can't believe you would ask me that. I know it's tough. At least stop and think about what you're saying.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” She looked past her toward the exit. “You probably have something to do. I don't want to keep you away from it.”

Tilly got up from the table and walked out of the exit. Following the carpet lines on the way through the casino, she spotted a young man walking towards her at a fast clip. When he got closer, she could see that it was Buddy, wearing a wide smile and civilian clothes. She couldn't believe her eyes. He waggled his hand, prompting her to look there. He had a folded note between his fingers. She smiled at him, lowered her arm, and as casually as she could she swept the note from his hand when they crossed paths. She looked over her shoulder just once, and caught him doing the same. He mouthed some words but she didn't catch the message. She resisted the urge to read the note right then, but waited until she had reached her floor and opened the door. Dorothy had a book to her face, reclining on her bed.

“Hi, sport,” said Tilly. “Does it have a plot?”

“I guess so…and it just
had
to have a love story,” Dorothy said listlessly.

If Tilly had any thoughts of reading the contents of her letter to Dorothy, they just flew out the window. It would be like rubbing it in. She went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. She let the water run as she read the handwritten scroll.