Pride
Gabrielle smiled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd just hung out with friends. It seemed lifetimes ago that she'd even had girlfriends to hang out with. It was pretty cool.
Technically, this was when they cruised the club and pushed lap dances, but they'd been having too much fun in the dressing room complaining about the customers and just carried their conversation into the corner booth in the club. They'd give someone a lapdance if he was bold enough to come up and ask for it, but tonight's crowd wasn't that enthusiastic.
Anyway, Starr did most of the talking -- it seemed she *always* did most of the talking, a mile a minute. But Gabrielle was happy just to be included. Kat had made her one of the girls here in a way she'd never been at Club Ten.
"God, he was so fat! I mean I've been with fat guys before, but this guy was like *huge*..." Starr made a disgusted face. "It was *so* gross!"
"I gave him a dance too," Kat said. "At least he didn't smell bad; this other guy, I don't know how he got in, I mean, I told Mitch, don't let guys like that in, they scare away the other customers!"
"What about us?" Gabrielle protested.
"I know!" Starr agreed. "I just walked by him, he was, like, *rank*! When he asked me for a dance I thought I was gonna puke; I told him I had to pee; thank God he left."
"You bitch... I actually had to dance for him -- and I *did* hurl, right in his fuckin' lap!"
"It probably improved the smell..."
"You know it!"
"But this fat guy was almost as bad. He like untucked his shirt and kept lifting it up so my hands would go under it. Dude, he was *so* hairy under there!"
"Eww!"
"I like a man with a little hair -- gives me something to grab onto."
"No way, Kat, this was not 'a *little* hair' -- he was like Bigfoot under there!"
"Woah."
"Gab, that's not the gross part. So I kinda hafta be rubbin' his belly and chest and stuff, I mean, it's like obviously what he wants, so -- Kat, you know how you do it like just enough that they don't feel ripped off, but like not so much they like want another dance -- Gab, girl, you won't know what I'm talking about, I swear I've never seen anybody so like into it and out of it at the same time...."
Kat came to Gabrielle's defense. "Come on, Starr, you were probably like that when you started; I know I was... and some guys, that's the only way to do it."
"Maybe if you think you like need 'em or something. But I'm not stayin' anywhere long enough to have regulars, especially guys I *don't* like. As soon as I save up enough money, I'm goin' to Vegas -- they've got these high-roller clubs, even more posh than Club Ten, only the managers aren't so uptight about rules and shit -- then I'll be rollin' in it."
"Yeah, you keep sayin' that, but you're still here."
"I know, but sometimes it's hard to save up."
Everyone knew why, but it was Gabrielle who said something. "Well, maybe if you didn't drink so much, or use so much coke-"
"Shut up, Gab, you're one to talk. Isn't it time for another dose of your 'meds?'"
"Hey, I need that, it's for my anxiety."
"Yeah, right. We all need somethin'. --So anyway, this fat guy, I'm like dragging my nails through his fur, and I've been doin' it for a while so I gotta think up something else, only there's not much I can do 'cuz the guy's so fat, I'm like afraid he'll split me open if I try to straddle him, or my legs'll get like trapped between him and the chair-"
"That happened to me once-"
"Everything's happened to you once, Kat -- except this."
"What?"
"Well shut up and let me finish! So I figure I'll like nuzzle him a little, assuming I can fuckin' *find* anything down there. Anyway, I drop to my knees, hopin' to God he's not gonna like flinch and put his legs together an' like *crush* me, so I go in slow like, slidin' my hands and arms up his thighs kinda slow, leanin' in... And I just get my cheek up against where I think his package should be, and my arms are like wrapped around his waist -- it's like I'm tryin' to blow a giant redwood, I swear-"
The DJ's voice interrupted through the loudspeakers. "Okay, that's enough of a break; if you didn't meet one of our hotties for a *private* one-on-one dance, we're about to give you another taste of what you're missing. Coming up in just two minutes, another round of the hottest girls in the city, right here on our stage, at Hotties!"
"That's our cue," Kat said.
"It's been fifteen minutes already?"
"No, ten, but I think Mitch is pissed 'cuz we're shootin' the shit instead of pressin' the flesh."
"Nobody seems interested."
"You're supposed to *make* 'em interested."
"I tried, Kat, but two different guys said they were waitin' for *Melody*..." Starr's voice dripped with nastiness -- or was it jealousy?
"It seemed like a different crowd tonight..."
"Like you'd notice, Princess Oblivion. Anyway, lemme finish my story!"
"Come on, you can finish it in the back. Cherry is on first, but Gab's next, and she needs a little touch-up."
She did? "Okay..."
They all got up from their "hideout" table in the corner. Starr rushed to finish her story. "So this fat guy, he's like, I'm like on my knees, I've got my arms up around him, only they don't even go halfway 'cuz he's so fat, and I'm nuzzlin' around in the middle only I can't find anything. So he leans forward and like grabs his pelvis to like lift the fat off his dick-"
"Gross!" Gabrielle made a face.
"Nono, that's not the gross part. As he's doin' that he's leanin' forward, and I feel him like grabbing my arms and pinning them to his waist -- only his arms have to be up higher, the way he's liftin' his crotch-roll, only it takes me a couple seconds to figure it out..."
Starr paused dramatically. Gabrielle didn't get it. How was the guy holding down and lifting up at the same time?
"His fat rolled over and trapped my arms! Like his blubber was tryin' to swallow me! Oh, I was *so* grossed out! And I could just see him droppin' his other fat roll right on my head! It was *nasty*!"
"So what'd you do?"
"I pulled the hell back and stood the hell up, that's what I did! I didn't care if he got pissed, I was *done*. Only he wasn't pissed -- he just sat there with this fuckin' grin on his face, like he knew what happened and he *liked* it! Ew!"
Kat was first down the hall; she turned to speak over her shoulder. "That happened to me once. His name was Tupolov."
"Fuck you, Kat, why you always gotta do that?"
"I'm just saying I know how you feel."
"Yeah, well..."
"It's still funny, Starr," Gabrielle said cheerfully. "I hope it doesn't happen to me."
"You're damn right," Starr said, feeling some of the wind return to her sails. "I've seen some weird shit, but never a guy who got off on a girl squishing in his fat."
"Think about it, Starr. Nobody ever touches him there -- that makes it an erogenous zone."
"Ew."
"What? You get turned on when someone tickles you." How did Kat know that? Starr probably told her...
"I guess, but, like, still. Ew. Ew."
Gabrielle was bringing up the rear of the trio; Kat had entered the dressing room, and Starr had just hit the doorway when she said:
"Speaking of Ew."
Gabrielle pushed past Starr -- what was she 'ew'ing about? -- and saw them.
A curvacious woman, dressed smartly in a black skirt-suit with a plunging neckline and a *very* short hem, stood in front of a man of unremarkable physicality save the unfocused gaze of sightless eyes. If they took notice of the girls' entrance it did not faze them. The woman reached back for a kiss; her lover reached around for a squeeze.
"Hey!" the woman chided as she broke the embrace. It wasn't much of a protest; she wore quite a smile.
Gabrielle vaguely remembered feeling such playful happiness once.
Kat strutted past them. "Jesus, get a room," she snarled.
Melody never broke her lover's gaze. "I thought we were in one," she said, coolly.
Kat sat down in her corner, but turned to gesture with mock grandeur. "Look, ladies, the great Melody graces us with her presence. I didn't know the red light would be on tonight."
"Oh, Kat. If I'd known you were working, I wouldn't have shown up."
"What's the matter, do I intimidate you?"
"Not hardly. I just prefer sharing the stage with dancers who have some class."
"At least I've been somewhere besides this shithole."
So had Melody -- she'd once been a singer at a posh nightclub -- but she let it go in favor of an insult. "And yet you're here now. Why is that, exactly?"
"Why are *you* here?"
Melody hesitated. "That's a good question. I used to think it was to help people."
"Help? Maybe you used to help them get an erection, but that's about it. And I doubt you even manage that anymore."
"I didn't mean the people out there."
Starr backed Kat. "Yeah, well, nobody wants your help anymore."
"Maybe. Though thanks to Kat you might need it more."
"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" Kat snapped.
"Just that you don't look out for anyone but yourself."
"I think some people here might argue with that."
Melody rolled her eyes. "With any luck they'll come to their senses."
"Big talk from someone who can't do any better than a blind man."
Raoul had been silent, but he spoke now. "Kat! Show some respect or I'll show you the door."
Melody put a restraining hand to Raoul's chest. Her eyes went to him, but she spoke to Kat. "He's a better man than you've had." Her hand rose to stroke his cheek; Gabrielle saw both vulnerability and strength in the woman's affection.
Kat seemed ignorant of such subtleties. "Ha! Kostya was ten times the man your little mascot will ever be."
"Kostya was a good man once, but that man died before you ever met him."
"What would you know about it?"
"You know the tattoo over his heart?"
Kat looked shocked. "What about it?"
"It's not because he's a great music lover."
Kat steamed for a minute, then: "No wonder he's so fucked up."
"So what's your excuse?"
Kat shot a look of death in Melody's direction -- a look Gabrielle recognized and was glad was no longer aimed at her. But the look quickly passed. Kat instead addressed Raoul. "You better tell your old lady to watch it."
"Or what?" Melody taunted. "You'll threaten to kill me? I don't scare so easily, chicky."
The tension was broken when Cherry burst into the room. "Coming through!" The slender girl skittered right between the would-be combatants, her too-tall clear heels mincing her to rapid-staccato steps. She turned briefly toward the mirrors without actually stopping, giving her lips a quick purse and her top a quick tug before shuffling on through the curtain to the sudden hammering of anonymous techno music.
Gabrielle suppressed a giggle.
Kat seemed to know when she'd been upstaged. She turned sharply on her heel, determined to have the last word. "Come on Starr; let's leave her alone to spackle in those wrinkles." Gabrielle thought maybe she should go with them, but Kat told her to stay. "You're on next, and you could stand to loosen up a little." She sniffed sharply to make her meaning clear.
Gabrielle stepped into the suddenly-quiet room -- quiet except for the thumping bass from beyond the stage entrance, which was such a constant that none of the dancers really heard it unless they were performing.
Raoul cleared his throat. "Evening," he greeted, turning his head slightly, his "gaze" off to the corner of the room.
Gabrielle had been following the exchange between Kat and Melody like a spectator at a tennis match. To suddenly be the focus of attention herself was intimidating. Especially when it was Raoul doing the focusing -- because, unlike the way he stared with a gleeful lack of shame at every other girl in the joint, he never quite looked directly at her.
"Hi." She moved quickly to her spot in the corner, partly to escape his off-kilter stare, partly to get to the vial of Glitter that she suddenly very much needed.
"Raoul," he prompted, turning to not-quite-follow her movement. "We met before, remember?"
She remembered meeting Raoul and Melody a couple of nights before, but only just. It was kind of a dark splotchy spot in her memory.
"Yeah."
She had a lot of those spots -- not that she was blacking out, really, just that most of what she did at the club wasn't worth remembering. One night ran into the next, a technicolor bleed of bored semi-consciousness.
"You okay?"
"Yeah I guess."
She just kept her meds up, smiled or giggled or pouted or did whatever people seemed to want from her at the time, and waited things out. Keep a low profile, save as much money as you can, and things will work out. If things were sometimes a little confusing in the meantime, well, it was easier not to think too much.
He still wasn't looking at her.
She remembered why his non-look made her uncomfortable. Why she'd been avoiding him.
Gabrielle flashed back to the first time she'd been to Hotties, as Angela Barrett, a young woman looking for a bookkeeping job. It seemed so long ago -- before Dino, before she'd started dancing, before... well, before a lot of things. She remembered bumping into a blind man outside Hotties. The same man who was in the room now.
His brow furrowed -- curiosity more than concern. "You look... different."
Did he recognize her? It sounded crazy -- a blind man recognizing someone. But he wasn't totally blind. In fact, he seemed to see things that normal people couldn't. He said he could see people's auras. According to the other girls, it meant he could see people based on their feelings -- physical and emotional. Gabrielle wasn't sure what that meant, exactly, but the way Raoul kept not-looking at her, she was afraid he could see her more clearly than anyone else could.
Then a voice came from the overhead speaker. "Raoul, Pandora needs you out front." Raoul gave the two women a quick nod and left.
Gabrielle realized she was still standing. She needed another dose -- Kat was right -- but she didn't really want to do it in front of Melody for some reason. She took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. She wasn't that bad, and it was still pretty early. Then again, she was going on as soon as Cherry finished...
She sat down at her usual spot. The vial was right there next to her foundation, but she avoided reaching for it, instead starting to lotion her legs. The long, smooth motions would hide any unsteadiness in her hands.
Melody sat down next to her, making a show of checking her makeup. In the full light of the makeup table, her age was more apparent -- but so was her beauty. There was an air of embattled confidence about her that reminded Gabrielle of someone: Gladys Barrett.
"It's gonna be a long night," Melody said. Her mascara was perfect, but she improved on it anyway.
"I guess." Gabrielle put down the lotion and went for some body glitter. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Finally the silence got to her. She didn't want Melody to think she hated her or anything. Her brain grabbed the first thought that hadn't slipped into the fog of its own accord and asked a question.
"What did Kat mean by the red light?"
"What? Oh. Because of my stage name -- Roxanne." Eyeliner hovered, looking for flaws to correct and finding none.
"I don't get it."
"It's a reference to a song by The Police. 'Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light.' I keep forgetting you kids weren't even born then. Heck, I barely remember when it came out myself."
"Oh yeah, I know that song. My mom used to listen to it. Late at night, when she thought I was asleep. It's kinda sad. Is that why you picked that name?"
"I guess." A careful brush of blush further highlighted already-flawless cheekbones.
"Why not just go with Melody?"
"When I started, there was already another girl using that name. Anyway, 'Roxanne' was suitably melodramatic, if a bit of a cliche."
"Do you...?" She didn't finish the sentence, but they both knew the song's lyrics were about prostitution.
Melody's reply was sharp. "Did Kat tell you to ask me that?"
"No... I just..."
"That bitch never quits. Look, I've done a lot of things, but unlike some people I'm okay with it."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that... well, Kat does it, and I guess most of the other girls are doing something extra, and-"
"Forget it." She changed the subject. "How'd you get *your* name?"
"Mitch."
"Figures. No imagination. With your look I would have gone with something like Angel. Especially considering your real name."
Her heart skipped a beat; she had to remind herself that her 'real' name was Gabrielle.
She reached for lipstick, leaning forward on her elbows to get better light -- and to steady herself, just in case.
Melody caught Gabrielle off-guard. "So do you know Raoul from somewhere?"
Huh? "Just here." True enough...
"I've seen the way he looks at you. Or, rather, doesn't look at you."
"I didn't notice."
Melody lowered her own lipstick and looked at Gabrielle in the mirror. "Don't lie. You're not very good at it. I saw you blush."
"I don't know why he looks at me that way." It was true; she didn't know. Did he recognize her? He said she was different. What did he mean?
"I asked him. He denies it. He's a lousy liar, too."
Gabrielle didn't know what to say.
Melody sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a while since I had anything to be jealous of."
"You have nothing to be jealous of." If she had any idea...
Of course Melody didn't. "You won't be saying that when you're my age surrounded by twentysomethings. But it's him I'm jealous of. I wish I could see things the way he sees them. Then maybe I'd understand him."
It was an unexpected moment of vulnerability.
Melody quickly went back to the mirror, picking up lipliner. Gabrielle followed suit, but she was having trouble...
"You're shaking."
"Yeah. I need my meds." She put down the lipliner and picked up the vial with forced nonchalance.
"Meds."
"It's for anxiety," Gabrielle defended.
"So, what, your doctor said take two snorts and call him in the morning?"
"I used to be on... something else, but I didn't like what it did to me."
"Hey, whatever."
For some reason, it was important to Gabrielle that Melody understand. It wasn't for kicks -- she needed it.
"I don't use it because I want to," she explained. "It's just... it makes things easier. Since my mom died."
"Some things aren't supposed to be easy."
"You don't understand. It was kind of my fault."
"So you deal with your guilt by sucking shit up your nose? Kinda fucked up, dontcha think?"
But it's not as simple as that. You don't know what I've been through.
Melody signed again. "Look, I'm not trying to preach. I'm no angel. Do whatever you want. I stopped trying to save people from themselves a long time ago."
She stood up and shucked her jacket. The skirt went next. Gabrielle couldn't help but look; Melody had the kind of old-Hollywood-through-modern-lenses look -- long legs, wide hips, narrow waist, big high-set breasts that were too firm to be natural but too natural to be implants, and just a hint of ribs and muscle.
"Wow," Gabrielle breathed.
"It ought to be, with how much time and money I spend on it. And it ain't gettin' any easier." Melody reached back to the rack, deftly slipping a silk slipdress off a hanger and just as deftly slipping it over her head.
"Sorry I bit your head off," she said softly. "And sorry about the lecture. I'm not usually like that. I shouldn't let Kat get to me."
"It's okay."
"But seriously, if you have to do that stuff to work here, then maybe you shouldn't be working here. And if you keep getting as messed up as you were the last time I was here, you're gonna end up somewhere you don't wanna be, doing something you don't wanna be doing."
Gabrielle looked at the vial in her fingers. Her tremble made the tiny sparkling crystals shimmer.
Melody's warning came far too late. Her whole life was in a place she didn't want to be doing things she didn't want to do. And Glitter was the only thing that could get her through it.
"Hey, wake up."
No. Sleep.
"I gotta leave for a while. Carl's still sleeping in the other room. He's cool -- don't freak out on him."
"Mmm."
The front door slammed.
Angela woke. She felt... dried up.
The Glitter was wearing off. If Glitter had become liquid acceptance of the world around her, the aftermath was arid rebuttal.
She opened her eyes. The room was dark. Was it nighttime? No; maybe late afternoon, judging from the blue-gray light eking in from the bedroom.
What time was it? Angela looked up to the clock on the wall...
Oh. The Glitter wasn't completely done with her. The good part was gone, but her vision was still blurred. It was doing that lately. But it was okay; she wasn't going anywhere for a while.
She had an itch to go -- anywhere, just out of this depressing place -- but it hurt to move. It hurt *not* to move, too, just not as much. Her limbs felt like someone was trying to stretch them, pulling on her bones.
She wanted another dose. But the Glitter was starting to get weird -- and she had to take more of it more often to get through work. She didn't want to get, well, addicted or anything. She had to save it for when she really needed it.
But she needed something. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the pain.
Angela managed to roll over and lean over the side of the couch. Her sapphires were down there somewhere. She was never far from them. And she needed them now. They seemed to help her get over the hump. Or maybe they just distracted her. Either way, she needed some help.
The shoes weren't there -- maybe down by the other end, under last night's dress -- but she found the wristbands under her bag. Quivering fingers slipped past one and then the other; almost immediately, Angela felt better. Everything still hurt, but it was like tucking herself into fresh sheets when she was really sick -- a comforting full-body contact.
Angela thought about reaching further to find her shoes, but she was getting a head rush leaned over like this and there was enough pressure up there already. Anyway, just two of the stones would be enough. Actually, the gems seemed to bring out the hallucinations more, so just two was probably better. With great effort she pushed herself back up and flopped over, taking a few moments to catch her breath.
In a way it was good that it hurt. It kept her still -- kept the nervousness from making her do anything. Her brain was too... tired to run off into panic; she just lay there feeling a crummy blankness. Eventually that too would wear down, and then maybe she could think about doing something tonight. Was it still Tuesday? She had Tuesday off. If she'd slept through to Wednesday, she'd have to go to work in a few hours. That would suck.
Angela took a deep breath. She needed to go back to sleep, or the depression would get to her. She didn't want to think about life right now. Maybe if she slept long enough, and just kept taking Glitter in between to get through work and stuff, maybe eventually things would work themselves out and she could get back to a normal life.
Yeah. Sleep it off.
But she was still a little... antsy. Maybe if she just rested her hand a little closer to... mmm.
Not really playing, just kind of slow idle stroking... soothing, really... bringing out the... *therapeutic* energy of the sapphires... Mmmmm...
Angela heard someone take a deep breath. She didn't think it was her.
"Hi." A man's voice. Angela froze. Who? Oh, right. Kat's guy.
She half-groaned, half-sighed in response.
The bathroom door closed; she heard vomiting.
She gradually felt his presence in the chair across the room. She must have drifted off for a second... maybe if she just ignored him he'd figure she was still sleeping and he'd leave her alone...
"Awfully fancy jewelry for just lounging around the house."
She stiffened -- and her sore bones made her regret it immediately. "Wearing them cheers me up," she said dismissively. "They're just glass," she added, in case he was getting any ideas...
"There's a glass of water on the table there." Her eyes blinked and squinted, making out a squat shifting reflective blob on top of the flat tilting blob that was the coffee table. She *was* thirsty... Her hand reached for and found it; before trying to drink it, Angela shifted up on her other elbow, trying not to wince at the effort. The first sip wound up mostly on her chest; the second, mostly coughed out; the rest went down in a parched guzzle.
"Thanks," she said.
"What's your name?"
"An- Gabrielle." The name was long and drawn out, suddenly foreign.
"That your real name?"
"Of course. Who are you?" It came out sounding rude, especially since she still hadn't moved from her reclined position on the couch. Hey, he was the uninvited guest.
"Cole Temple." He said it like he'd just made it up. In fact, Gabrielle wasn't sure she hadn't heard "cold temple."
"You a friend of Kat's?" Nice going -- admit you were too out of it to notice him come in with her last night.
"You mean the woman you live with? No."
So, a 'customer' then. And not trying to hide it. Any second now he'd be asking her if she was 'available' or 'liked to party' or something... gotta make conversation, say something... anything... But her mind blanked completely.
And silence dragged on for several seconds. The expected question didn't come. Instead, he just seemed to be sitting there. Angela's vision cleared -- well, a little bit. Enough to make out some colored shapes. He had kind of dark skin, and... blonde hair?
The distinct sound of high heels approached the apartment.
Angela collapsed back to a supine position, partly out of discomfort, partly because she didn't want Kat thinking anything was going on. Angela knew from experience that Kat's jealous streak was a mile wide.
And apparently this guy knew it too; she thought she heard him mutter, "shit."
Keys thunked the deadbolt open. The old doorknob rattled, and then the door scraped clear of the jamb and squaked open.
Kat greeted her roomie. "Hi honey, I'm home."
"Hey," Angela replied, trying to sound bored.
"I see you found the water. You all right? You did an awful lot of stuff last night."
Angela straightened up, a physical denial that she might have used too much Glitter. "Yeah, I'm fine." Words disagreed with the stiff grimace and aborted stretch.
"I barely got you up here."
She wondered if Kat had undressed her, or maybe even changed her clothes. She didn't remember wearing this top last night... it wasn't even a top. Some kind of babydoll chemise thing, a lot like what she'd wear as Sapphire, only even shorter and more frilly... Kat was taking liberties. Angela frowned; what else had Kat done last night?
Angela looked over to the chair, expecting Kat's guy to be enjoying the show -- but he wasn't there.
What the...?
She looked around. Had she blacked out for a second or something? Must have. Maybe she *did* need to chill out on the Glitter a little.
He probably went to the bathroom, maybe to puke again. Or maybe he was getting dressed.
"I'm fine," Angela said again, more to convince herself than anything. She slumped back against the couch, letting her head loll forward. Hands stiffly picked at the hem of the babydoll, trying to remember something from last night. She didn't *think* anything happened, but... everything from her last dance to this morning -- afternoon? -- was a black smear. And trying to concentrate just made her head hurt more.
Kat's voice came from the bedroom doorway. "I see Carl's still out cold." The door latched quietly.
"He said his name was Cole."
"Yeah, right. In between snores?"
"We were just talking a minute ago." At least, she *thought* it was just a minute ago...
"Honey, *Carl* hasn't moved." Angela heard Kat either dressing or undressing.
"He got me a glass of water-"
"*I* left you the water." Shoes clattered.
"Well, I was talking to *someone*. And he said his name was Cole... Temple."
Kat padded over to the couch; Angela looked up to see her standing there, naked.
Does she have to do that? It's like she wants me to stare. Like I don't see it enough at work.
Kat let out a low whistle. "You really are fucked up."
"Shut up." Don't act surprised -- after all, you obviously played Dress-Up Doll with me last night, and who knows what else...
Angela tried not to think about the pleasant warmth the sapphires were spreading over her chest... She considered covering up, somehow, but she didn't want to give Kat the satisfaction, and anyway, that would require movement.
Kat noticed Angela's wristbands. "Did I put those on you last night? Hmh." Fortunately, she didn't dwell on them. She walked nonchalantly toward the bathroom and peeked inside. "Carl's out cold, and there's nobody else here, babe." Kat giggled. "You're imagining things."
"I'm not, I swear."
"I didn't say you were lying, but with as much Glisten as you had last night, I'm surprised it was just a man you were talking to and not a three-headed walking dildo monster."
Angela thought she heard Kat say Glisten instead of Glitter. She really was messed up. "I'm not making it up. There was somebody here. Maybe he just left. Did you see anybody in the hall?"
"No..."
Angela started to rise, to conduct her own search. She got halfway up, knees on the couch, before the world cocked sideways; she steadied herself by leaning into the back of the couch, slowly turning around so she could see Kat. The room wasn't as blurry as it was before, but edges of stuff still smeared around.
"Sweetie, relax. It's normal. Hallucinations. Most people, that's why they take the stuff. Expands the mind." Kat ducked back into the bathroom, turning on the shower.
"Kat, I know about that. This is different. I mean, I'm not really..." she didn't like saying 'high', it sounded like she was a druggie or something, "it's not really affecting me right now, except my vision's a little blurry."
"Yeah, that's why you can't even get up off the couch."
Angela wanted to get up, just so Kat would take her seriously, but she wasn't sure she could pull it off. "Well... yeah, that's because it's not working anymore. I know what it feels like, Kat." I know what... *withdrawal* feels like. The shaking, the anxiety, the aches all over... it was so bad I had to put on my sapphires... Oh. Right. They brought back some of the visions and stuff while they softened the blow. Never mind. "I guess, maybe... it could have been. Just me," she trailed off.
But it was so weird.
Kat poked her head out of the bathroom. "So what'd he look like?"
She never actually saw him, really. "I don't know. I just remember his voice was very... soothing." Kind of like Dino's, kind of like Ricky's.
"Like your dad or something, right?" Well, actually she didn't know what her dad sounded like; he was gone before she was old enough to remember anything. "Yeah, that's the Glisten talking. Remember couple nights ago, I caught you talking to the coat rack?"
Vaguely... "Yeah, okay. Is it... normal?"
"Well, everybody sees different stuff. I mean, it hasn't been out that long, so it's hard to say, but some people say it's less out-there than LSD, I mean, it's not like anybody jumps off the roof thinking they can fly." Funny Kat should use that particular example. "It's more like... it taps emotional connections in your brain and changes stuff around a little or adds things here and there to what's happening around you so it better reflects your mood. It's like redecorating your life."
"Oh." Redecorating your life.
"Yeah. It fills in what's missing -- gives you what you want. Apparently you want a smooth-talking man." Kat said it with a little disappointment. "Anyway, I gotta get ready." She closed the bathroom door behind her.
Angela was confused. She knew she'd started seeing things a little... different when she switched from the pills to the powder, but that was just adding a weird shimmery glow to stuff. Full-blown hallucinations, like seeing and hearing people who weren't there, that was a whole different thing.
Was this some kind of cumulative effect? Was the drug doing some kind of *damage*? If that was true, she'd have to stop taking it. But she couldn't just stop taking it; not the way things were going in her life right now...
She stewed on it until Kat got out of the shower. Kat had more experience with... well, *drugs* than Angela did.
"Glitter didn't used to work this way."
"What?" Kat was in the bedroom now, snapping dresser drawers open and shut.
Angela waited a minute. "I said, Glitter didn't used to work this way."
Kat popped out of the bedroom; she had a lacy bra on but no top. "Did you say Glitter?" She dropped a pair of shoes to the floor and worked her feet into them, getting taller as she did so. "Is that what you were on that first night? No wonder you were all hyper and bitchy. No, baby, you've been taking Glisten. It's way better than Glitter for what we do." A tiny bit of fabric stretched impossibly over Kat's head and shoulders to become like a second skin over her chest and arms; the bra was obvious beneath it. Kat had a gift for pulling up just an inch shy of Slut -- that one inch that made her unpretentious and approachable instead of dirty and intimidating. "God, Glitter!? That stuff's dangerous. This guy I'm seeing's sister got addicted to it and overdosed and had a heart attack."
Woah. Scary.
But... "So what's Glisten?"
Kat grabbed a couple of items from the bathroom; that mirror was probably too fogged to do her makeup, so she used the little mirror next to the front door. "It's Glitter without the edge. It comes from Glitter, but it's designed to bring out less of the physical effects and more of the mental ones." Base, eyeliner, shadow, mascara, blush, lipstick -- just her "day mask" as she called it, but still she was incredibly quick. Essential job skill. "You were taking it for anxiety, right? Glisten's perfect for that. That's what they made it for, stuff like that." Kat stopped her preening to give Angela a serious look. "You're lucky I refilled you when I did." A couple of puffs to the hair and Kat was ready to go again. "Listen, now that you know it can happen, you shouldn't have any trouble separating what's real from what's not. It's just window dressing. Just let it happen, enjoy it."
Enjoy it. Enjoy having some guy appear out of nowhere and just stare at me. Right. Like I don't get enough of that at work. Figures I'd find a way to ruin it.
"Oh, hey, Gabrielle." The name almost didn't sound strange anymore. "I got you a gig."
Angela's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" She thought she'd made it clear that Kat could do whatever she wanted, but Angela was not a hoo-... an escort.
"God, you're so touchy. It's a modeling job. Remember the guy in the turtleneck last night?" No. "He's a photographer -- an artist. He had an exhibit at the museum of modern art last year. He's working on a new commission, something about hands. He wanted me to do it, but I said he should use you. --You're welcome. Here's his card, I'll just leave it on the bar here. He wants to see you tonight at 9 -- he likes to work at night. So you've got a little time to eat something and get yourself sorted out -- but don't do too much."
"Thanks, Kat."
"Oh yeah, if you come home tonight," why wouldn't she? "don't make too much noise. Frank's coming over again, and if he hears you... well, I know you're not interested, so don't tempt him."
"What about...?" Angela nodded toward the bedroom.
"Do whatever you want with him, I don't care."
That's not what I meant...
But Kat was out the door; high-heeled clicks faded down the hall.
Angela's vision was good enough to make out the hands on the kitchen clock. It was either ten after ten or ten till two. She was betting on afternoon. But she still had lots of time to kill.
Maybe a bath.
But she didn't want Kat's guy -- she didn't want *Carl* walking in on her, doing his business while she soaked.
The bath could wait until he left.
Maybe just a nap.
Maybe something a little more. After all, the sapphires' diffuse glow was still caressing her...
Angela relaxed on the couch, slinking down low. Her fingers began tracing up and down, slowly, lightly, nothing too intense, just a little self-massage here, a little self-tickling there... mmmmMMmmmm.
"Is that all you're going to do?"
Well, that killed the mood.
She let her head loll to one side.
He was back.
She looked back up at the ceiling, dismissive. "I have a modeling gig tonight."
"I didn't just mean today."
Angela sighed. "Whatever." She brought her hands to her chest, one hand fondly stroking the large gently-glowing sapphire nestled to the fabric band around her other wrist. The stones' diffuse energy at once soothed and irritated; Angela just knew her conscience was going to give her crap about not putting them to good use, but... it just wasn't safe. Not when Miguel knew she was Sapphire. Not when the Russian Mafiya was looking for a million dollars worth of payback. Especially not when Chris Cogan could...
He interrupted her rationalization. "You're awfully casual about those gems."
"What? Nobody's here to see 'em."
"Kat saw them."
"She's cool."
"So she knows?"
"Well, no. Not everything. But as far as she knows they're just costume jewelry."
"What about the guy in the bedroom? Is he cool?"
"He's still asleep."
"And he's the only guy Kat ever brings over?"
"No, but... it's not like I flaunt 'em. This is the first time."
"That you can remember."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Nice outfit."
Angela's eyes narrowed -- low blow -- but she played it cool. "It's Kat's."
"You always let her dress you?"
"So she's... theatrical in her choices sometimes."
"Her choices. Like what drugs you're taking?"
"I don't need this now. Kat's my friend. She was there when I needed help. She got me a job. She helped me get a new identity. She helped me get rid of my car. She took me in. I couldn't have done it without her."
"Done what?"
"Gotten away from Miguel, and Moroshkin. Kept the sapphires safe."
"You'd be safer on your own."
"I'd be lost on my own."
"You're not lost now?"
"You're not helping."
"You're not listening."
"You're not *real*."
Angela let out an exasperated sigh as she rolled over, turning away from her conscience, or hallucination, or whatever it was. She just wanted to sleep...
And she knew what it would take to get there.
Where's my vial? In my bag...
"What are you doing?"
"Shutting you up."
"Well, that's ironic."
Whatever. Angela just knew the visions and stuff were worse when she was coming down from Glitter -- Glisten -- whatever! -- or at least she was more aware of them then. So dosing wouldn't just let her escape reality, it'd let her escape her own nagging conscience.
Conscience. Wasn't that why she hadn't felt anxious and depressed and scared all the time? Wasn't it all just internal? Maybe if she just learned to let go and not worry so much she'd see everything turn out okay. Or maybe it wasn't that simple, but she knew she didn't want to think about any of that stuff right now...
Don't panic, there's plenty of time. Do it right. Don't waste it. Get the cutting board. Razor from the bathroom. Just like Kat did the first night. Relax, it's coming soon. There's the little hill, now go skiing, slide and slide and slide and slide, look at those pretty little lines, almost there. Which one's the new bill? There, nice and crispy, roll it up, roll it up, tighter and tighter and tigher and tighter... there. Don't lose it... Aim... and...
Oh. Oh! Yes...
And again... Woah! Mmm...
Yes!
Yeah.
Yeah...
Gabrielle floated back to the couch. Boing! She bounced once before "falling" backwards, letting one leg hang over the end, the other propped up on the back. She looked at her bare feet. Her pretty feet. Kat had given her a nice pedicure with French nails. Manicure too. Kat was a good friend, except that sometimes she seemed just a little *too* friendly. But that was kind of okay...
Angela had been living in a fog lately -- one thing at a time, one day at a time, giving no thought to the future and little thought to the past. It was actually nice -- simple. Kat told her when it was time to eat, when she needed to get ready for work, what she should wear, whether her makeup looked okay, who the big tippers were, who was good for a private dance, when she was getting a little jittery and needed another dose of Glitter, or Glisten, or whatever...
It was almost like living at home with mom again. Only without the threat of a lecture.
And she really didn't need a lecture.
Especially from her own conscience.
Which had picked a really lousy time to assert itself.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"Please just leave me alone. Things are bad enough already without you piling on."
"But I worked so hard to find you."
Like it'd been so long since she'd stopped beating herself up over every little thing -- really only since she'd started hanging out with Kat. It hadn't been long enough.
"So I can run from the police and the Russians, but I can't hide from my own conscience, is that it?"
"Well, somebody has to keep you out of trouble, and Kat's obviously not doing it."
The voice of her conscience -- Cole's voice -- was stern, but tinny and distant. She thought about maybe saying something back, something smartass, but body and mind were too preoccupied with Glisten's rushing liquidity to marshall any kind of response.
"Can't you feel what that stuff is doing to you?"
"That's the point," she managed.
"But it... it *changes* you. I can taste it; it's disgusting."
In her fast-slipping state, that statement confused and repulsed her. But she got over it.
His voice was far away now. "This is a waste of time. I'm outta here."
Gabrielle felt him leave. She let go with a relieved sigh, feeling the wonderful thick fluid helplessness of Glisten sweep over her sapphires and wash all thought away.
There he was. Billy. Miguel couldn't remember his last name. Billy probably couldn't most of the time either.
He looked like a rabbit caught out of his hole.
"Hey, Billy, how you doin'?"
"Oh no no no I didn't do nothin' lately..."
Aside from petty theft and getting high, the well-dressed-but-dirty twentysomething was probably telling the truth. After all, if he had done anything, he would have admitted it already. The guy either had a hair-trigger conscience or a pathological fear of authority -- maybe both. Whatever, he was useful.
As was Miguel's gift, he'd originally found Billy by accident. Six months ago he'd stormed into the wrong apartment on a tip about a murder suspect -- and found Billy happily drilling away with a young-looking girl. The startled Billy thought the intrusion had been intentional, and spewed explanation: "It's not what it looks like! She's my cousin! She ran away from home!" He would have dug himself to China if the girl hadn't told him to shut up.
"Relax, Billy, I know. I'm not here about that." He was never here about "that" -- he actually thought that Billy and Janey were good for each other -- but that first day he'd used that to leverage Billy into working for him, and Billy was so afraid of Miguel sending his cousin to a home that it was always the junkie's first thought. "I need a favor."
Billy had first been useful because of his association with a local gun dealer. Miguel had recognized Billy from some surveillance he'd done for one of Murphy's cases. Miguel hadn't made any major busts from Billy's work, but some small-time stuff moved him through a couple of layers of sales and management, and now Miguel had an ear to the ground on local weapons traffic. But thanks to Billy's attendant drug habit and the company he kept, his real utility was as a conduit of basic information.
"Aw, man, why you always... -Gotta be axing me favors?" The 'G' came only with great effort, like it was too big to come out of the junkie's mouth. It was a good sign. It meant Billy was between doses of Glitter.
"What's the matter, don't you need the money?"
"Well, yeah, but... -L-l-lass time you Axed me a favor they found out about it an' they wouldn't sell me nothin' for two whole weeks, man."
"That's because you talk too much, Billy."
"I... I... -D... I -Didn't say nothin' man."
"You sound bad, Billy."
"I'm t-tryin' to cut back. -C-Cole says I shouldn't be takin' so much."
Cole was the name Billy had given to his more lucid hallucinations.
"That's ironic, isn't it, Billy? Since you only see Cole when you're high." High on Glisten, the latest variant of Glitter. Far more hallucinogenic, and far more narcotic. Glisten was like cocaine with a heroin-LSD chaser. Miguel hated the stuff -- this was the third informant who was being ruined by it. It made its users passive -- they didn't give a shit about anything. Straight Glitter was hardly a free ride, but at least when they were on it they were motivated, focused, and productive.
Billy's eyes narrowed. "I th-think Cole's... -Got a new friend."
"Well, cheer up, Billy. You don't need Cole as a friend. You've got lots of other friends. Like me."
Billy looked away. "Yeah." He was starting to shake.
"Damn, Billy, you're really fucked up. Here." Miguel dipped into his coat pocket and pulled out a small baggie. It was just a couple of doses, part of the stash he'd skimmed from a recent bust, but it would be enough to lubricate Billy's brain a bit.
Billy tried not to look like a kid at Christmas as he took the bag. "Is this the good stuff?" He lifted it close to his eyes, as if inspecting each individual grain.
"You won't be seeing Cole."
"Oh." Billy seemed disappointed.
"But it's free, and it'll smooth you out."
"I know. But Glitter makes me think I can get my shit together."
"You can."
"If I could I wouldn't be talkin' to you."
Billy's eyes darted up and down the street. "Come on back here, -Sh-shield me so nobody sees me do it. I don't need the guys knowin' I scored." Like the change in his behavior wouldn't be noticed.
Billy was a shooter. When Miguel had first met him, he was just a recreational snorter, but hanging out full-time with gun-running Glitter fiends tended to accelerate one's habit. Billy said he couldn't feel his nose anymore.
A lot of people were uncomfortable watching someone shoot up, but Miguel always watched with interest. Like any habitual behavior, the way it was conducted could reveal things about the user. Watching Billy get out his tools, Miguel could already tell that his boy would work hard for him. The pace was quick, but more efficient than desperate, like he wanted to get the fixing over with so they could discuss the business that would help keep him fixed.
It was amazing how functional a junkie became when he was preparing a fix. Intricate choreography learned through observation, refined through experience, and executed with precision long after far more basic human maintenance activities were abandoned. It was amazing what someone could overcome when they were properly motivated.
Dose prepared, Billy tightened up and tapped out a vein. Billy had a long way yet to fall. His arms were still pretty clean -- no shortage of needle-marks, but no serious infections. The cache of unused needles he'd scored was apparently still secure.
Soon the dose was done, the equipment was "cleaned" and stored, and Billy was ready and able to take orders.
"Listen carefully, Billy. This one's gonna be a little weird."
"This one's going to seem a little weird."
The smooth British accent put Gabrielle at ease. Or maybe it was the Glisten.
Gabrielle was still a little peeved at Kat about that. Switching her meds without warning her. Even if Kat was right -- Gabrielle was a lot less hyper on Glisten than she'd been on Glitter. It was easier to just go with the flow, not try to fix everything -- which kept her out of trouble.
Anyway, Kat *had* gotten her this modeling gig. With a famous art photographer. Leading her around the set, his authoritative-yet-comforting voice describing how he would transform the surreal-looking set into a dramatic statement on the societal forces that held back Woman's self-determination or something, Gabrielle felt her nervous excitement slip beneath Glisten's surface to become sweet passive enthusiasm.
He seemed to stop in mid-sentence, turning suddenly and staring into her eyes. For an instant Gabrielle thought he looked at her not as a person but as a thing. Hazard of the profession? Hands clapped sharply above his head. "Okay, people, it's time, let's do this."
Gabrielle looked around as people started scurrying about with renewed frenzy. She never thought there had to be so many people around just to take pictures... most of them were dressed in black. The short awkward-looking one took her elbow and guided her toward the set.
The set was a featureless bright-white room with two walls removed, surrounded by haphazardly-arranged boxes and spindly metal stands holding up different objects -- lights, an umbrella, and a big glowing box that looked ready to fall over. The assistant pointed out a nest of thick cables so she wouldn't trip; she noticed these ran all around the set, snaking into and out of the boxes and up the stands to the lights. They reminded her of the web of cables and wires hung throughout the convention center -- the ones that almost seemed to come alive as they entangled her, restrained her, enveloped her, groped her, aroused her...
Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut to rid her of the memory. It had been a terrifying and humiliating experience, and even through Glisten's soft-focus soothing it unsettled her.
At center-stage stood a large, high table covered loosely with rippling deep-blue velvet. She was guided to a stepladder next to it. "Up onto the table; that's it. Now lie down, with your head on the pillow at that end; there you go. --How's that, Nigel?"
"She's a little crooked. Scoot your hips a little to your left, sweetie."
The voice came from above her; she saw a vague shifting there, a shape cradled at the top of a shiny ladder-thing, but couldn't make out any detail -- the Glisten was already blurring her vision. But that was okay; she wasn't here to see, but to *be* seen.
"That's it," the photographer said. "Lovely. Just lovely."
She smiled. This was going to be so cool.
The velvet felt really good on her skin. It kind of tickled.
She was almost naked, but she didn't mind that much. It wasn't like at the club. These people were all professionals. And they were working together to make art. And they wanted *her* because she was beautiful. When people saw the photographs of her like this, it would be in a museum, and they would be whispering about striking imagery or bold statements or evoking feelings or whatever, or they might just study it silently... study *her*. Because she was beautiful.
Voices faded in and out.
"Her bottoms are crooked."
"Does that matter?"
"Of course it matters. Left side up." She felt a gentle tug.
They told her it was a bikini, but it felt too flimsy for that. One of the assistants, a tall woman who was surely a model herself, had spent ten minutes untying and retying the spaghetti strings top and bottom to get the pieces to fit and lay just right. Gabrielle sighed now as she felt yet more adjustments being made.
"She's really out of it. --Okay, sweetie, look at me."
Flash.
Is he talking to me?
Gabrielle opens her eyes slowly, looking up at the blurry smiling man leaning over her. Her lips part slowly into a happy smile. The lights pop a couple more times, but they're so brief her eyes don't have time to react.
"Places, everyone."
Rustling. The table quivers a little bit.
She feels something. The velvet shifts around her.
Something warm touches her shoulder; she cringes.
Flash.
"Relax, darling. It's all right."
It's a hand; it rests gently on her shoulder, fingers rhythmically curling and straightening, curling and straightening, not soft enough to tickle, not hard enough to rub, just a calming shifting sliding...
Flash.
There are more hands -- on her arm, next to her foot, brushing her hip, inside her knee, along her neck, at her side -- now *that* tickles a little -- all soft, caressing, all reassuring.
Flash. Flash.
The hands begin to move around more. She looks down; she can just see them, hands and wrists and forearms peeking up through the velvet table, attending to her, stroking her...
Flash.
She begins to shift her body, moving toward this hand, away from that hand, encouraging some touches, shying away from others...
Flash.
It's feeling really good; the Glisten makes every sensation a smooth delicious flow.
But then the hands assert themselves. Firmer touch, stronger grip. She tries to pull away, but they hold her.
And the touching becomes more overt. More direct. More --oh!
She pins the hand between her thighs, but it's too late: fingers reach the front panel of her panties, leaning into her, brushing along her, tickling and teasing...
Hands on her hips.
Tugging at her panties.
Tugging on the hip ties.
She feels the knots loosen.
Hands encircle her now, grabbing, stroking, tickling neck, arms, breasts, tummy . . .
It's turning her on.
I'm ruining his beautiful art. He'll get mad.
The flashes come faster, more steadily.
Why isn't he getting mad?
They're doing it on purpose!
Is this what he wanted all along?
It's supposed to be art, not... this. Not... sex.
It's supposed to be better than dancing. But dancing isn't real, even private dancing is just playing. Even when she gets worked up, it's not like this. It's not like this because when she's dancing she's in control.
Here, now, with hands holding her down, she's not in control. And it doesn't just scare her; it thrills her. The old feelings are back. The old fears. The old *weakness*.
The hand between her legs presses upward again, just one finger, pressing into her lips, shushing her, holding the slight fabric there, finger pressing harder against, between the folds of her sex, pressing upward, searching for *it*... touching *it*!
The finger holds still, but she can't, slumping, hips flexing downward, pushing herself hard against it. Knuckles of the other fingers dig at the junction of pubis and inner thigh, thumb flexing inward, threatening to push deeper...
And then the index finger flexes, stroking down, and she bucks once, then quivers, the now-slickened fabric inched down, side ties wiggling and tickling their retreat from her hips toward her center. Then the thumb draws down and out, unbunching the wet satin and drawing it again taut across her rift.
Flex, and the garment rests in a useless puddle between her thighs.
Everything is so foggy, but she knows she's been captured. She's been stripped. She's been drugged. She's being held by too many of them to get away.
And now they're doing whatever they please with her. To her.
And what they're doing pleases her.
The hands are openly groping, rubbing -- pinching!
The hand between her legs is different again. They're taking turns touching her, entering her, driving her.
Controlling her.
Taking her.
Her body shivers and spasms. Glistens.
Endless nervous energy builds up, finds direction, rushes to her center, gripping, tensing, holding...
Erupting.
She screamed when the climax hit her. Nails dug reflexively into flesh; her partner tensed but didn't pull away.
It took a moment to resume breathing.
"Sorry about that; I got a little carried away."
Blaring guitars and drums faded as the CD on the stereo ended. The muscled stud straddling her began to catch his breath and backed off the bed, leaving a smiling Erin luxuriating in his slick-sticky tribute. Her fingers gradually left her slit to trace up through his trails and settle on her mouth.
"Damn, Artie, she's great," the stud beamed.
"Mmmmm, you're pretty good yourself, tiger. Maybe next time we'll leave it in." She reached out for his softening trunk; he pulled back further to deny her.
"Sorry, babe, I got another appointment." He grabbed a robe and padded off toward the dressing room.
Artie began putting away his cameras.
Erin simply continued to bask in the triumph of her orgasm. This shoot would send subscriptions through the roof. Bianca Bristow would be so jealous -- not that Erin really cared.
"You were right, Artie. Shooting with a guy can be fun."
"Maybe next time we'll try two?"
"I don't know. I'm gettin' kinda bored with all this straight stuff."
"Huh? This is the first one you've done with a guy. I thought you said it was fun."
"That's not what I mean. I mean just gettin' naked and havin' sex. I wanna do something a little more... involved."
Artie made a That Sounds Expensive face. "Like what?"
"Like... fantasy stuff. A little more set, more costume, more story."
"That's not really your image. It's important to give the customers what they want."
"I'll decide what is or isn't my image. And trust me, there's lots of guys that want what I'm gonna do."
Artie didn't miss the "gonna" -- and he knew better than to protest. "So what am I shooting?"
"A story of crime and punishment."
As Artie packed up his stuff, Erin reached for the stereo remote and restarted the CD. As the hammering guitars and crashing cymbals shook the room, the petite porn princess fell back on the bed, reveling in her boundless self-determination.
Now has come the day that I take the lead and I make you follow.
Toast the champagne cause I came for greed and not for tomorrow.
If it feels good then it feels good and I do it all day.
You want me to play you best bring your brain,
you best bring your money.
Make me a superstar!
No matter who you are.
Vadim moved to knock, but Kostya was impatient; he grabbed the knob in his thick hand and pushed through.
The room was shadowed, lit only by the glow of a computer screen. Kostya leaned to fumble for a light switch; Vadim saw on the screen a photo of a young woman sprawled out on a bed, naked and arched and caught in mid-gasp. Rhythmic grunting punctuated the hum of equipment.
"Jacob," Kostya growled warmly, "are you here?"
Flick -- the room lit up.
And Jacob suddenly straightened up in his chair.
"Uncle! Knock first!"
Kostya wasn't embarassed -- just disappointed. He surged across the room to confront the wayward family member. "Jacob -- women line to be with you, and still you take matters into your own hands?"
"Relax," Jacob huffed, struggling to get his fly zipped, "I was just checking out the new talent."
Vadim took his time joining them at the computer.
Kostya's focus shifted from his relative disappointement to the business at hand. "Who is this?"
"Erin Jones," Jacob answered sharply. "Artie found her -- or rather she found him. Just walked in off the street."
"Did you check her references?"
"Yeah. She's from a small town outside Seattle. Joined her boyfriend on a relief mission to Guatemala, came back without him six months later."
"Relatives?"
"Foster homes since age six." Jacob gave his uncle a nod. "She lied about having an aunt in Sacramento."
"I see. Are we taking good care of her?"
"She wants her own site. Artie's giving it to her."
"Already?" Kostya's brow furrowed.
"She shot eight sets in two days."
"Means nothing if they do not pull."
"Artie put up a sample set on the teens site -- members went nuts. Highest downloads in months."
Kostya was clearly impressed. His fingers tented thoughtfully. "Tell Mr. Hooks to slow down -- we do not want her to burn out. What about the VIP Area?"
Jacob turned away from the screen for the first time, embarassment forgotten, fixing his uncle and boss with a questioning look. "I was waiting to see what you thought."
"Post what you have and see if there is any interest."
The computer chimed. Jacob shot forward in his chair and clicked on another window. Vadim blinked when the girl's image was covered; he'd been staring at her this whole time.
"Fuck me," Jacob gushed. "We got an offer already. From Doug."