The next day,
Grace, Stacy, and Beth, were sitting around a table in the main
entrance hall, playing a board game while listing to the “Deep
Dirt” radio program, a brothel favorite boasting “rumors so
soiled in scandal other programs won't touch them.” The current
offering promised a truly appalling revelation regarding the Chief
Brand Officer of Facial Enhancement Treasures and the women snickered
maliciously at the prospect. “Did you know he tried to proposition
me once?” asked Stacy contemptuously. There was a gasp of horror
from the others.
“That company
is really only for four-stars, at best,” sneered Grace.
“Tell me about
it,” cried Stacy, “and he's one of the worse of the lot. CBO?
More like Chief of BO.”
“Doesn't his
company have some kind of special partnership with Labrys Deoderant?”
asked Grace derisively.
“Well clearly,
he's never heard of it.”
“Hush, let's
find out what he did,” Beth cut in, turning up the volume on the
speakers.
“We have it on
the best authority,” the presenter was saying, “that Jeffery CBO
Facial Enhancement Treasures was caught patronizing a woman from a
two-star brothel.” There was a collective gasp of horror. “But
far worse, the transaction involved the use of a pair of handcuffs.”
There was a pause for dramatic effect. “...on him.” Beth
shrieked in a strange blend of aghast amusement while Stacy clapped
her hand over her mouth.
“Well, things
can't very well get worse for him,” said Grace, shaking her head
with derisive disapproval. “When word of this gets out he'll lose
all professional and social credibility.”
“This last
point is so perverse even we are reluctant to share it,” the
announcer went in an ominous voice. “We'll give you a moment to
escort all new hires out of the room. They really shouldn't be
listening to this.” The three women held their breath.
“Come on.
Hurry the fuck up,” Grace snarled as the silence dragged on. “If
my ride shows up before he gets to it, I'm going to be really
pissed.” Beth turned the speaker even louder, although the room
was already completely silent.
“Alright, brace
yourselves,” the announcer said at last. “The handcuffs weren't
even fuzzy.”
“Well damn,”
said Grace into the silence, completely dead pan. And then suddenly
they were all shrieking at once, laughing shrilly, playing up their
contempt to cover the genuine discomfort.
“Now I'm
really, really glad I refused to consider an association with him for
even a second,” Stacy managed at last. “Inevitably, the scandal
would have rubbed off on me and followed me as persistently as his
odor.”
“Where would
you even get something like that?” asked Beth. “Never mind, I
don't want to know.” Gradually, they managed to calm down slightly
and attempted to resume their game. Stacy and Beth were just
relaxing since they had the night off, while Grace was waiting to be
picked up for a night of work. She was particularly pleased because
this would involve a trip to one of the city’s finest restaurants,
located near Tracy's, the famous department store, so she
might be able to persuade her client to take her shopping as well.
Therefore, no one was surprised when the doorbell chimed loudly.
"That's for
me." Grace leaped up and went to the door. However, the person
outside didn't look like someone who had just come from work and
requested a night of companionship to relax, as he neither wore the
appropriate clothes nor looked sufficiently pleased about the
situation, nor did he even look like a personal assistant come to
escort her. As soon as the door was opened, he stepped inside so she
could not shut it on him. "Just who are you and what are you
doing?" yelled Grace in a bit of rage. "You are not
allowed to come in here."
"I am David,
I am here to see Rachel, and I am not leaving until I see her."
"We get to
decide that," snapped Grace, her good mood about the upcoming
evening all but ruined by this unorthodox situation.
"You may
decide but I will stay." Grace turned away in a fury,
swallowing an extra does of “Sir Aaron Armstrong's Special
Reserve,” Kingdom of the Mind's premium pill line where Dave could
not see, as Stacy and Beth quickly scurried away to attempt to make
Rachel more presentable, dashing into her room to find that Alice was
not there and Rachel was sitting on the bed, her ugly colored shawl
pulled up around her head. "David is here to see you so you
should put on some makeup and decent clothes," said Beth.
"He's really
here?" asked Rachel, looking up. "You're telling the
truth?"
"Why would
we lie to you?" asked Stacy with irritation. Rachel did not
answer but leaped from her bed and hurried from the room. "No,
wait," Stacy yelled after her. "You can't go to a man
looking like that."
Rachel did not
respond, didn't even hear Stacy. A great joy had flooded through her
at the news that someone had actually made an effort to come see
her...and not for sex.
He had broken convention for her sake once, had spat on all
propriety to treat her as a person. No, he had done it by
treating her as a person. She wanted to laugh and dance. This would
put Elissa in a snit for weeks. But Rachel was not sure she would be
able to enjoy said snit properly since she would have so many other
things to be happy about. As she came running into the entrance hall
with her ragged shawl flying around her, Grace stepped back in shock
but Dave came forward, a look of joy on his face. "You don't
look sick," he said.
"I wasn't
physically sick. I was heartsick," she replied. She bristled
even as she spoke, not at him but at Grace and at the world. “Of
course, they wouldn't have told you that because it’s shameful for
the brothel.” Her voice was heavy with bitterness. But then she
looked in his face and saw the simple happiness of seeing her again,
her as a person, and that filled her with a joy that almost
washed her clean of all her bitter, vengeful thoughts. "But
you've done a lot to cure me of that," she said smiling back at
him.
He smiled more
fully than she had ever seen before. "Brought something to cheer
you up," he said, opening up his trapah. "Now we can play
Animal Wars." Rachel nodded happily in response and they
took their seats at the table, moving the game board. As they sat
down, Rachel became aware that Dave was looking at her face intently.
Suddenly, she realized she was not wearing any makeup and felt
momentarily embarrassed. Then, it was gone as they launched
themselves into the fun of the game.
“I really do
appreciate that you came to see me,” Rachel said as they took a
rest after the tenth round or so. She paused for a moment and then
frowned, “But I'm surprised that you managed it. I thought you
would be at work at this time. I know you're a Libertus,” she went
on quickly seeing that Dave looked annoyed. Hopefully, he wasn't
about to show his true colors and say he didn't want to talk about
his work. “But I assumed, with all the projects you do that you
still have a very full schedule.”
“Sure, I was
working.” Dave made a face. “But I was working in my house.
It's much easier to concentrate when I'm not expected to wear stupid,
uncomfortable clothes and constantly interrupt my work to make small
talk with nosy people.” Rachel felt a smile twist the corner of
her mouth. Disregard for and open hostility to the conventions of
networking was not as serious a social crime as emotional display but
it was certainly up there. She knew some of the other women had to
be listening at the doors and peeping through the cracks to observe
this unusual situation and she could imagine them gasping in horror
at the scandal, but Dave's money from his non-networking dependent
job was too tempting and they had to allow it. Her grin became
broader. “Is something funny?” he asked uncertainly.
“Not funny,
delightful,” she said. “I feel the same way.” She shrugged
her shoulder where the old shawl still half draped across it, though,
by now, it had mostly slid to the back of the chair and then lifted
her bare foot and wiggled the toes. Dave looked confused. “No
heels,” she whispered eagerly, leaning in to share the
conspiratorial secret.
He looked even
more confused. “I though all women liked wearing heels. I mean
you all wear them all the time. Now that I think about it, I don't
think I've ever seen a woman's bare foot before.” Ironic,
considering all the things that he, or anyone who had attended more
than a handful of parties, would have seen simply due to the fact of
being there. Of course, even when posing nude, frequently even while
having sex, women left their shoes on. Even if it wasn't
specifically mandated, it was so second nature to them.
“I do
like wearing them some of the time,” cried Rachel in exasperation.
Being confronted head-on with the successful illusion of women's
status as flawless, almost mechanical sex objects, which, after all,
the brothels worked tirelessly to maintain, was jarring in the
extreme. “But I don't like never being able to take them off.
Even in the house, we aren't supposed to. For practice,” she
finished sourly in response to his questioning look.
“What's wrong
with them?” he asked uncertainly.
“They hurt,”
said Rachel sourly. “And when you...” Her words were drowned
out by the sound of the door being opened, with a great deal more
sticking and scraping than she ever remembered it having before, and
Mary came through, her heels clicking loudly on the floor,
carrying a tray of food with all the plates and glasses rattling
stridently.
“We though you
might like some cocktails and canapes,” said Mary in a sugary
voice.
“We didn't
request any food,” snapped Rachel, as Mary set down the tray.
Again, the
sickeningly sweet tone. “But we must always do our best to
anticipate the wishes of our valued clients.” Rachel was fuming.
It was very clear to her that the whole production of bringing in the
food had been a pretext to stop her from divulging information that
would shatter brothel illusions, a supposition that was only
confirmed when Mary did not leave the room after setting down the
tray but continued to hang about, helpfully volunteering information
about the items on the tray, which did not actually seem particularly
high class, a sign it had been desperately assembled in a hurry,
while Dave continued to stare at it blankly. When she started
explaining the chips and salsa, citing the brand names and specific
flavor profiles, he finally shook himself.
“What I wish
for right now,” he said uncomfortably, “is quiet and privacy,
much more than food.”
©Amanda RR Hamlin 2025
