The Girl They Sold to the Moon (9 page)

“Can I ask her name?”

“What person do you suspect is guilty of striking you down?” Abigail narrowed her eyes through her thick glasses.

“I think it was Candy Evans.”

“Not the one.”

“Was I reported to you by another ward while I was at the carnival?”

“That information is confidential. Reports are anonymous regarding infractions. You do remember your orientation regs?”

“Yes.”

“You're receiving your first demerit slip. It gives me no satisfaction. I do think you show great potential. However, if you persist in collecting slips your work assignment will be changed, along with some basic privileges. In the meantime, you'll be suspended from performing for the next three days.”

Tilly stood up, slip in hand and walked toward the door. Abigail cleared her throat and called out to her before she exited.

“Just a bit of advice off the record, Tilly. I would not cross paths with Candy Evans, if I were you. She is shamelessly competitive, almost to the point of ruthlessness. We have always suspected that she was at the bottom of many unsavory incidents at Tranquility Harbor. Yet we have never found the evidence needed to prosecute her. If you have proof of her misconduct, alert your shop steward, counselor or report directly to me.”

When Tilly arrived at her bunk, she flopped down and rubbed her temples. She felt like breaking something. But that wouldn't solve anything.

“Who goes down there?” asked Dorothy from above. “Why it must be that movie star, dragging herself in from another public appearance and autograph session!” Dorothy leaned her head over the bunk and looked down, an old fashioned paperback novel clutched in her fingers. “Hey, stretchy girl, looks like somebody stepped on your face. You okay?”

Tilly could see that Dorothy's fingers were ravaged by numerous cuts and gouges, victims of the notorious scullery line.

Tilly explained the last two hours of events to her bunk mate. In conclusion, she said, “So I pulled my first demerit slip for frattin' with Buddy.”

“Damn, girl. You keep that up and you'll be working with me on the conveyer. They come down hard on that sort of thing.”

“I catch what you're saying. I've formulating some plans in my little skull right now. Buddy said to fight fire with fire.”

Tilly used up her three-day suspension by exercising in the ward gym, drafting letters to her friends, doing some vintage paperback book reading. Her last stop was taking in one of Candy Cane Evan's headliner acts. She paid the admission and took a back seat in the auditorium, a place reserved for employees. Although the place was crowded and the stage a ways off, she could still see the performer and pick out the details. The first hour showed off her talents as a stripper, where she started off with wearing billowing chiffon of different colors. She stepped dramatically around the stage to the tune of a thumping rock song, heavy on the bass backbeat. She bent and weaved, while the colorful drapes and streamers trailed behind her. Every few minutes, she would discard one of the streamers, and there appeared to be dozens of them. She performed a few cartwheels and hand springs, effortlessly sticking her landings. Catcalls and whistles split the air. Many of the audience members stood up for a better view. A few people took to the aisles and pushed down toward the front rails. She ended the segment by discarding all of her coverings, save for a few pasties and her signature rope bikini bottom. A cheer rose up. Coins and wadded paper bills hit the stage. By this time, she had broken out into a light sweat in spite of the cooler fans directed at her.

After a short break, she sang a number of songs, some of them old love standards, and then a few country western ballads, songs designed to milk tears and melt hearts. Her last half hour was split between a standup comedy routine, reciting jokes and insulting the audience, and a closing question and answer period, where she sipped on an exotic fruit drink and spoke candidly but graphically about her sex life. She came across blunt and sarcastic, but there was just enough innuendo in her delivery to drive the guys wild and turn the female audience members green. Candy did everything that Sue Lin had taught and valued—she took complete control and never relinquished it.

Tilly could understand the woman's appeal, in a raunchy sort of way. Candy had developed an aloofness that enticed and mystified all men, and even women. It brought back memories of the old stage and movie star phenomenon, Mae West. As unattainable as Candy portrayed herself to be, Tilly had a feeling that “Miss Perfect Ten” was getting horizontal with the richest miners behind company eyes. Anyone could only guess how she hid
that
tip money. Candy could have been smuggling funds through some hidden source, under the radar of UWM. If she was smart enough to do that, there was no telling how far she had infiltrated into a system that was meant to be impregnable.

Candy had to have a soft spot somewhere—an Achilles heel. She couldn't cover all her bases. Candy might have been methodical in covering her tracks and protecting herself, but there had to be something she hadn't thought of. Something basic, overlooked. Then Tilly remembered how scant the girl's costume was after stripping down. She wore barely enough to cover her private areas.

Tilly had less than an hour before she had to clock in. This shift had her going on stage right before Candy. She opened her hygiene bag and retrieved her pain medication. She studied the pills. The capsules were the quick dissolving type. She had a tube of muscle ointment that Sue Lin had given her called Dragon Balm. The lotion delivered a searing heat to the skin and penetrated into the muscles—a pain reliever. She pulled a small Q-tip out of a package and looked at the three items. She emptied the contents of three capsules, making sure she didn't break the gel containers. She dabbed ointment in each capsule, sealed them and then wrapped them in paper. She put them in small paper sack and pushed off her bunk. Fia had just entered the dormitory and headed in her direction.

Tilly smiled at her. “I'm going in a little early. Maybe I'll see you later tonight.”

“Sure, kiddo. I'll be there with bells on.”

Tilly rushed to her clock-in station and went straight to wardrobe. She made her way through the racks toward the end of the makeup counter. Candy had her own personalized beauty station at the end of a makeup counter, and kept her change-out costumes only a few feet away on three apparel racks. From what Tilly had seen, Candy picked her costumes for each show by pulling them in sequence for each change-out. The first rack held the rope thongs and other scant underwear and bikini bottoms. The second rack held all of her burlesque and stripping outfits. The third held her formal gowns, cocktail dresses and some street clothes.

Tilly ducked and slid under the first rack. She plucked one of the capsules from her sack, reached up and parted the fine braid in the first rope thong. She slid the capsule inside the braid, and then smoothed the threads back in place. Then she duck-walked under the rack and stepped inside the shadows behind the makeup counter. When she emerged, she cornered the makeup counter to stand in front of Candy's chair, primping her hair in the mirror. She saw the thimble pasties on the counter, and what luck it was to notice that several of them were lined up according to days of the week. Today was Tuesday. Tilly palmed the objects and stepped back into the main aisle, and then headed for her changing area. While hiding behind her own racks, she wedged a capsule into each of the pasties by opening a slit in the thin backing material. She closed them up and walked back to Candy's table, where she placed them in the appropriate spot. Sure she hadn't been spotted, she strode back to her racks and began to collect her first change-out clothes.

Buddy popped his head up from the other side of the aisle. “Boo!”

Startled, Tilly dropped a suit jacket on the floor. “God damn it, Buddy,” she huffed. “Stop sneaking around like that!”

“I thought I'd get your adrenalin running—pump you up for your act.” He gave her that sly grin.

Tilly picked up the dropped suit. “I think I'm pumped enough right now.” If she was any more pumped, she would explode.

She began to slither out of her suit, and then paused. “I'm trying to get ready, Buddy. If you don't mind…”

“Oh, yeah! I have a lot of things to do anyway. See you in between acts, kay?”

“Yeah,
kay
.”

That's just about all I need right now; flash a male ward and pick up another demerit slip
. But there were change-out stalls provided for the entertainers, so it was her fault for not using one. She finished dressing. When her time came she burst through the curtains and onto the stage. She hadn't done her famous “Thriller” routine for some time so she chose it as her opening act. Having nearly healed completely from her accident, she performed her routine with an added vigor. The auditorium seats were nearly filled to capacity. Her finale did not go without profuse cheers and applause. Buddy gave her the thumbs up when he passed her on the stage.

She'd chosen a little something different for her second set. Dressed in a white, three-piece suit with vest, she hammered out a long version of a disco hit, “Staying Alive,” from the old musical standard
Saturday
Night Fever
. The crowd soaked it up. A few of the audience members danced in the aisles, while the rest rocked in their seats. She closed out with a back flip into the splits, tossing her hat into the audience. The coins rained. They audience yelled encore.

Everything in her routine felt synchronized and running with precision, like a Swiss clock. She knew she owned the audience now. Nothing could stop her. She also felt giddy about what the next hour would bring. Candy would be going on stage in 15 minutes.

Sue Lin met Tilly at the bottom of the lift. Throwing her arm around Tilly's shoulder, her instructor said, “Outstanding. You mixed it up and tossed in that disco number. You don't have to get up so high for the back flip. You nearly over rotated. You don't want to tear a quad.”

“I'll remember that. What about my spins and heel turns?”

“Too fast. You could slow them down. You don't want to get ahead of the back-beat.”

Tilly changed into her company suit, thanking some of the girls that came up to congratulate her. Surprisingly, one of the dancers asked her for an autograph. Tilly obliged. When everyone had left her, she turned to Sue Lin. “Is there any way I could watch the next act? I'm interested in checking out my competition.”

“Back row seats only for the wards; you might not be close enough to see her clearly. Sorry, rules.

“Damn. I wanted to get up close and personal. What a waste.” Tilly chewed her lips.

“Well, we do have a control room two stories up that the officials use sometimes. It's sealed off, with piped-in music--private booth.”

“I don't suppose we could…”

Sue Lin narrowed her eyes. “Anything you could learn from her would be in a back alley, drunk on your ass and kneeling before some slob. But if that's what you want, I can accommodate.”

Sue Lin led her into the lift room and stepped behind a huge compressor. They followed an old metal staircase up to a second level. Sue Lin unlocked a door that opened onto a small rectangular room, equipped with a row of seats and a small beverage counter. A large viewing window took up the space of one wall, offering a bird's eye view of the stage. Sue Lin explained that it was a one-way viewing window. Tilly wondered why she had not seen it before while performing, but knew she'd never had a reason to look up there.

It felt a little funny, gazing down upon Buddy, as though she were some private eye in the sky. He had just pulled a bouquet of flowers from his top hat. Not so impressive, she thought, until he tossed the bouquet in the air, where it disappeared. She started to applaud but realized where she sat.

“Fast and flawless is what we like to see with the magicians,” said Sue Lin. “He's been a welcome addition to our troupe.”

Buddy's act abruptly ended. The stage lights dimmed. An announcer's voice broke the silence. “You all know her; you all love her. She's our dream queen—the teen scream of shock and roll…the gorgeous Aphrodite…our crowning jewel, the mighty Candy Cane Evans!”

Even through the small intercom system, the welcome sounded like loud, white static. The audience members rose to their feet in one solid wave and put their hands together. Candy broke from the curtain, bounding with a runway strut to the tune of “Bandolero.” She moved with a lithe grace, in perfect command of her body. When she broke into her moves, the men swayed in their seats. Tilly had two concerns: whether the dance number had enough high energy to cause a sweat, and if Candy wore the exact items that Tilly had tampered with. Time would tell.

After 15 minutes it was still not evident that things were going according to plan. After 30 minutes it began to look like a total bust. But at the 45-minute mark something bizarre happened that was not scripted into the routine. Candy had just shed her veils and was down to her loin rope and pastes.

“She has the shake and bake,” said Sue Lin. “Notice she includes some belly dancing moves into her…” Her words dropped off.

Candy stumbled in the middle of a twirl and nearly went down. She recovered quickly, but grabbed the top of her breasts, a look of anguish appearing on her face. She grimaced once and bent over, grabbing hold of her ankles. She straightened up with her mouth agape, an expression of horror on her face. The audience members cheered her on, believing it was part of the act. But that notion took wing when Candy began to bunny hop across the stage, holding her crotch.

“What in the name of disaster is happening?” asked Sue Lin.

Tilly kept her face straight. She watched the spastic gesticulations worsen.
See how it feels to be up to your neck in shit with no way out, Ms. High and Mighty
.