The Girl They Sold to the Moon (21 page)

Her first show went well enough. Although her heart wasn't completely in her routine, it did not seem to matter to the audience. From what she could see past the foot lights, the packed house bustled with energy and excitement. Some stood in the aisles, while others approached the stage for a better view. She knew her act was off; she over-rotated, stumbled and missed some cues. She began to think that the crowd was so liquored up they would have applauded an orangutan reciting Shakespeare, while whacking off on the front row. She took her requisite bow, nevertheless. Back at the makeup table, she slumped in her chair while Sue Lin removed the cosmetic feathers.

“Even at your worst,” said Sue Lin, “you have appeal. Nobody can pull them in and hold them like you. You might try smiling; it won't crack your face in half.”

“They're just so drunk they can't see straight.”

Candy passed behind Tilly's chair. Their eyes met in the mirror. Once again, bitter resentment showed in both of their expressions.

“You two will either kill each other or become best friends,” said Sue Lin.

“Kill each other? That's likely. Best friends? Not until the next ice age.” Tilly gave it some thought. What kept them from being friends was competition. Actually, they had a lot more in common than they had in opposition. As professionals, they both tried to give the best performance humanly possible. They cared about their looks, their reputations, their records and profiles. As far as degrees of separation, they both originated from the same root. They wanted the same things. They loved the craft. They both dedicated themselves to the pursuit of perfection. How were they so really different? Truth be told, she was fed up with the tit for tat sabotage of their careers. The demerit slips had cost her extended service, with the last one draining her account. How was that productive? There had to be another answer.

Ten minutes before the second show Sue Lin had removed the feathers and glued several balloons to Tilly's body. She covered the most sensitive areas, three balloons covering each breast and the groin area, then added some to the legs and abdomen. Underneath, Tilly wore a shear thong and two pasties, her most daring outfit. Her right index finger was equipped with a ring from which protruded a sharp pin.

When her music queued, an assistant opened the curtain for her. Tilly strutted across the stage. As before, she felt mildly uninspired--until she recognized a familiar face in the crowd. Buddy sat front-row-center at a single table, a drink at his elbow and a wide smile plastered across this face. She couldn't believe how he'd arranged the ticket, since he was obviously underage. The mere sight of him propelled her into a new mindset and energy boost.

She spent most of her routine dancing directly in front of him, dedicating the routine to him and him alone. She felt and heard the music again, found the rhythm, nailed the back-beat. Her eyes never left his. She popped the balloons, pausing, striking provocative poses until she came to the end of her routine. Her last balloons were reserved for him, as she moved to the end of the stage and towered over him. From a wide-legged stance, she crouched and snapped the three remaining balloons, then fell on her back, legs spread. The audience roared. Buddy lurched to his feet and applauded. He also gave her a nod that she suspected did not have anything to do with the act.

Tilly did a back roll into a standing position and jabbed a finger at Buddy. She mouthed
I want you
, then exited the stage, doing an exaggerated runway strut through the curtains. She heard the whistles behind her. When she reached the wing, she found her coach holding a towel and her eyebrows cocked up to her hairline.

Sue Lin draped the towel around Tilly's shoulder and walked back to the rehearsal room with her. “I'm surprised you didn't jump off the stage and grind that boy into his seat,” said Sue Lin. “He's the same one, isn't he?”

“Yeah, it's Buddy. He lives here in Henderson.” She spun around in a circle. “He's just what I needed tonight!”

“I'll say. If you're going to pump it up like that, remind me to get him free tickets from here on out.”

Tilly turned on her. “You're not kidding?”

“Well, I was at first. If it's that important to you, maybe I can arrange something with the division.”

“That would be awesome. Put him right down there in front where I can spin his head.”

“Fine. But don't be so obvious next time. Even the audience knew what you were doing.”

“Fuck ‘em. It's not for them anymore.” She meant it.

The trip back to her room went without incident or Buddy sightings. She was tired but hopeful when she opened the door. Fia lay on her stomach, writing on a sketch pad. Without looking up she said, “Welcome home. How'd it go?”

Tilly bounced on her bed. “Better than I thought it would. Buddy came to see my act tonight. He sat right in the front. Either he sneaked in or bribed somebody.”

Fia gave her a sly wink. “Looks like you've got a groupie or an honest to God boyfriend. Good for you.”

“You must have just got in. Whatcha writing?”

“Yep, a few minutes ago. Just putting some cryptic notes together that'll help with our little plan—mostly diagrams and time lines. You're still interested, right?”

“Totally. I think I have our outside help lined up.”

“Buddy?”

“Uh, huh. Don't worry. We can trust him. He knows the city.” Tilly fell back on the bed and pulled the air pillow into her chest. With any luck, she thought she might dream of Buddy that night. Buddy and freedom.

After a quick breakfast at the commissary, Fia walked Tilly through the casino until they came upon a single blue door hidden behind two easel-mounted advertising signs. One sign announced, THE PEARL CHEST. The other sign read OPENING SOON. They were at the extreme end of the northern casino wing. Here, the traffic was sparse. The casino floor had dozens of slot machines lined up, but were still wrapped in their shipping plastic. Bare wiring and conduit lay strewn across the floor. The nearest overhead security camera was stationed over a hundred feet away; its large bulb also wrapped in plastic.

Fia whispered, “This is the door I stumbled on. It leads outside.”

Tilly nodded.

The door had no number or identification marks on it, much less an overhead exit sign. Yet a yellow and red carpet line ran under the bottom of it, evidence that there was a hallway or room on the other side. The red line signified an emergency exit route. Some casinos had nondescript secret corridors and escape routes. Tilly wondered if this qualified as one, and if it was included on the schematic map.

Fia looked around, took Tilly's hand and pushed the door open. Both women hurried inside, letting the door click shut behind them. They entered a single corridor, its walls painted a light blue. The smell of fresh polyurethane was still noticeable. The carpet looked laid only hours ago, with strips of cut pile lying near the base boards. Fia took the lead, speaking over her shoulder. “Hardly any traffic in here. They haven't even run the vacuums.”

“How did you find it?”

“I bent over to adjust my shoe one day. I saw the door under the ad sign. I decided to investigate.'

They walked almost to the end of the corridor. Straight ahead, Tilly saw a fire door with an exit sign which presumably led to the outside. But a left turn led down another long corridor which had two doors on the right side of the hallway. One was marked
Men
, and other
Women
.

“The bathrooms I was talking about,” said Fia. “They're open, but haven't been stocked with anything yet except toilet paper.” To prove it, Fia shoved the women's side open. Tilly stepped inside, looked around at the typical four-stall bathroom, equipped with a counter top and mirror. Tilly saw no supplies. The soap dispensers were empty—paper rolls and towels absent.

They exited, Fia in the lead. She approached the exit door, a push-handle type with a digital exit sign over the top frame. But it was not lit. Fia pointed to two box-like objects bolted to each side of the door jam. “Those are the sensor mechanisms,” said Fia. “They're chip activated—I've seen them on all the doors. A security guard once told me that every piece of hardware inside the casino has a chip implant. It guards against theft. I'm sure our body chips are programmed into that database too.”

Fia stepped up to the exit door. “This has no handle on the outside. It locks automatically. But there's no locking mechanism on the inside. It's a safety feature of all fire doors.”

Fia gave the door a stark shove. It swung open, revealing a high chain link fence surrounding several tennis courts. Tilly saw several players swatting balls back and forth. The spring-operated door closed slowly and clicked in a lock position.

Tilly's face brightened. “Wow. You picked a good one. It still doesn't explain how we're going to past the sensor.”

Fia giggled. “Don't worry about that. That's the least of it.”

They followed their route back to the single door. Fia made sure the coast was clear before she opened it and stepped out. They followed the carpet line back into the casino area. Tilly kept her eyes open for her father, doubtful that she would see him. When they made it back to their room, they sat at the small dinette table. Fia placed her small diagram on the table so Tilly could see their exact escape route. Small notes accompanied the diagram; one of them was marked
Disguises.

Tilly asked, “So we've got to figure out some way to change our looks?”

“That would be best.”

“I have a whole prop room to choose from. Let me think about it. I'm sure I can come up with something.”

“That'd be wicked-lovely.”

Buddy made the pass right on time. Tilly kept moving at a swift pace until she reached the rehearsal hall. She resisted the urge to read the letter—thinking it safer to read it in the confines of her room. She ditched it in her hygiene bag and went looking for Sue Lin. She found her coach arguing with an entertainer in the workout area. She waited for her to finish the reprimand, then approached her.

Sue Lin brightened upon seeing Tilly. “Finally, somebody who knows how to act and prance. I'm surrounded by amateurs. Let's get you started.”

They used the same feathers and balloons routine. Buddy sat in the audience, almost in the exact seat as before. Sue Lin had kept her word about reserving a seat for him. Tilly danced both shows with complete abandon. Although the performance was meant for Buddy, she kept her distance from him and made her expressions and gesture less obvious, as Sue Lin suggested. At the end of the 10:00 PM show, Tilly couldn't wait to get undressed and back to her room. The minute after she donned her ward suit, and Sue Lin had left to attend to other performers, Candy stepped up to the makeup counter, hovering over Tilly, who had just finished wiping her face and brushing her hair out.

Candy spoke to Tilly's reflection in the mirror. “You think you're pretty smart, don't you, Sunshit.”

Tilly turned in her chair. “What are you doing here? Your show ended an hour ago. You should be in your room.”

“You should be retired. You're a loser and a fraud.”

Now it was fighting words. “You wouldn't be saying that unless you were threatened. What's the matter? Too much heat?”

“You're not enough heat for me.” She spat on the makeup table.

Tilly reared to her feet and doubled her fists. She didn't need a fight out in the open. Another demerit slip could have back in the kitchen again. She had a better idea. “Step into my office and we'll settle this once and for all.”

Tilly walked off, looking back to see if Candy followed. She did. She led her to the girl's bathroom. Once inside, Tilly locked the door, disallowing entry. She braced her legs and brought her arms up in a boxing pose. “Anytime you're ready, you tub of lard.”

Candy grinned and curled her fingers into claws. She might have been gracefully eloquent on the stage floor, but when she launched herself at Tilly she did so with heavy, plodding steps. Tilly sidestepped out of her way; Candy's heavier frame nearly carried her into the counter. The larger girl spun around, advanced again with her arms swinging in a peculiar windmill fashion. Tilly performed a perfect front snap kick, catching the girl just above the groin. Candy howled and then dove at her, catching her by the hair. Both went to the floor in a tangled knot.

“I'm going to kill you!” Candy promised.

Tilly squirmed out of Candy's grasp and jumped to her feet. She gripped the counter with both hands, watching Candy stagger to her feet and stumble toward her. Tilly leapt in the air and mule-kicked Candy in the breasts. The large girl flew backward into a bathroom stall, hitting the wall and collapsing on the floor next to the toilet. Candy got up, gasping for air, her face flushed crimson. She stormed out of the stall, but ran into Tilly's well-placed right cross, the punch landing on the flat of her nose.

“Glaaargh,” Candy slurred, back peddled and sat on the toilet with a heavy plop. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Blood ran between her fingers, dropping on the upper arch of her breasts and disappearing into her cleavage.

Tilly cocked her head, wondering if that was the end of it. Outweighing her by 30 pounds and possessing the muscularity of a thoroughbred horse, Candy had gone down surprisingly easy. Or given up. She just sat there, her shoulders heaving with mournful sobs. To staunch the flow of blood, Candy tore off wads of toilet tissue and pressed them to her face. The pitiful moans became unbearable. Tilly wadded up some towels, soaked them in cold water and applied a compress to Candy's forehead.

“Tilt your head back,” said Tilly. “Breathe through your mouth.”

Candy exhaled. “I'm practically bleeding to death.”

“You've got a bloody nose, nothing more. Stop bitching about it.”