Posted by PK on January 02, 2004 at 17:26:58:
What held Jolene's attention was the teeth. There was just too much of the rest of him to
focus on. Scales, claws and what looked like wings. Surely it couldn't fly? She was no
scientist, the education system where she came from made sure of that, but somehow it
didn't seem possible.
"There he is," her host announced proudly. "What do you think?"
Jolene didn't know what to think. "H-he's real nice," she said nervously. "Should we be
standing this close?"
"Ah, don't worry, he won't eat you. Not unless I tell him to." This with a jovial wink and smile.
"You're not under contract yet. Shit, I could get him a dozen girls for what I'd have to pay my
lawyers if he et you before you signed up. Stay still, he's just gettin' your scent."
The Thing sniffed her. She couldn't read anything from its blank golden eyes but her primal
senses screamed 'appetite'. It wants to eat me. Her toes tried to curl inside her cheap shoes.
"Can we go through the - uh - terms again?" she said shakily. Suddenly she wasn't sure this
was a good idea.
"No problem," the man said affably. It wasn't necessary, he knew, but he was in no hurry.
This was part of the fun. "Guess you could do with a drink?"
Jolene nodded dumbly. He gestured and a graceful young blonde in a white shift and elegant
sandals came to take their orders. Their drinks came and they sat by the pool. The big man
seemed totally relaxed.
"You got the payment schedule?" he began. Jolene nodded. It was more a month than she
could earn in ten years, working as a waitress. She'd come here from Dead Squaw, Nowhere
County, generic southern state. Her options there had been permanently pregnant farmer's
wife, whore or teenage runaway. One step up from corpse. She'd come running as soon as
she could to the bright lights in the hope of being a star and had narrowly evaded being
harvested by the usual collection of pimps and pushers that haunted bus stations looking for
fresh meat from the hick country just like her.
"Questions? Cat got your tongue?" He was laughing at her. She pulled herself together.
"Terms of the contract," she said. Jolene knew she was no rocket scientist but she wasn't
dumb either. She had to figure the odds again.
The big man struck a posture, put on a 'classy' accent based on British movie villains. Jolene
wasn't fooled by it. He was a hick like her, just a rich hick. Very rich..
"If you choose to become one of my personal assistants," he began...
One of the harem, Jolene thought. She knew what a 'personal assistant' was. Her parents
definitely would not approve.
He droned on for a bit while he drank and Jolene took it all in. The waiver...
"Once a month, one of you is chosen to feed the dragon...."
She was genuinely curious, now its tongue wasn't down her dress. "How'd you do that? Folks
told me there's no such thing..."
"Got a bunch o' them genetic engineers...look, you don't wanna..want to hear all that..."
He doesn't know himself, Jolene understood. He paid for it, he got it. "Lay it out," she said.
"Um..please, sir."
He shook his head, patronisingly. "Thought you knew the score little lady, okay, I'll lay it out
agin. I got twelve 'personal assistants'. Once a month, we have a little draw. Low card gets to
be chomped. You got a contract goes by three months a time. Work it out yoorself."
One thing she had to ask. How could she put it?
"Why? Why do you do it?"
"Cuz I'm richer'n God so I can," he said. Obviously he'd had one too many. "Since I was a kid
I wanted a dragon, y'know? Wanted to see one eatin' up a lady. Man can only eat three
meals a day. What ya gonna do with it? Now ol' Billy Gates is history an' I follered in his
'lustrious footsteps. Stole ever'thing ah could get my hands on an made a pile...shit, you
know all that. Lookit, y'want the job or not?"
Jolene figured the odds again. Three months contract, at a pay rate she could only dream
about. Once a month, she had a one in twelve chance of getting eaten. In the meantime
she'd be a 'personal assistant', a maid, servant, secretary and whore rolled into one.
She wasn't great at math but it looked liked she had a three in four chance of coming out with
more money than she could earn in years. In fact, any real mathematician could have told
her the odds were 2% better than that, but what's the difference? Well, 2% is what, maybe
nothing, maybe life or death. And what else was there? Stardom? She couldn't kid herself.
Jodie Foster she was not. Shit or get off the pot.
"What ah really like," the Lord and Master droned on reminiscently, "is watchin' a babe get et
after Ah've done her. An' knowin' that while'm doin' it." He stared at her glassily. There was a
glint of savage cunning in his eyes. Jolene knew he had taken the mask off deliberately. He
didn't have to pretend, the rich don't. If she backed out there were a thousand more like her.
A million. She was expendable.
She signed. She was under no illusion about what that meant. Dress it up as fancy as you
like, she was now a prostitute. Her body was available for money. It wasn't the first time she'd
thought about it. She had a good body and she knew there were people who'd pay to use it.
The only thing that mattered was how much she got and what the risks were.
Pro and con, she'd seen all the movies and the cop shows. Most of her education had come
from them. If you get picked by Richard Gere and you look like Julia Roberts you're made.
Fat chance. On the other hand, whores are the victims of choice for serial killers in the USA.
If you see one featured for more than five minutes in any cop show, you can bet she'll be
dead before the second ad break. If the cop is the sensitive kind he'll look a bit sad for a few
seconds before the final gun battle and car chase, before he gets the clean-living virtuous
babe.
Just three months. If she lived, she'd be well set up. Hold on to that. Don't think about the
teeth. Don't think about having to fuck the rich asshole. Think about how good she'd look in
that shift and sandals. That was classy, like one of those old movies about the Romans or
whatever. The old fuck probably hired a designer for that too.
Jolene was escorted to the women's quarters by a gorilla she mentally designated 'Oddjob'.
He didn't have the trick top hat, but he was big, dumb-looking and silent. She didn't even
think about talking to him.
The spec guy nodded, another routine job well done. She'd been processed.
On the way back to the women's quarters, Jolene reflected that it was no different from any
other job. If you work in an office, you get fitted for a suit. If you're a man, you have to wear a
tie. If you're a construction worker, you get the hard hat and the boots. Join the army, shave
and a haircut and the uniform. Etcetera.
Go to prison, you get deloused and the humiliating anal search. Well, things could be worse.
Now she was a conditional slave, a housemaid. Whatever. It felt a bit odd wearing a shift
with no underwear in the daytime, but she'd get used to it.
"Didn't hurt a bit, did it?" Julie said when she re-entered the lounge. Raylene was still glued to
the TV.
"No," Jolene said. It won't hurt until those teeth....
"Told you. Want to see the dorm?"
....crunch me up...don't think about it...
"Dorm?"
"Yeah, takes a while, like I said," Julie nodded. "It's not like a barracks. There's a wing of the
house where we sleep. We all have our own rooms."
That was a relief. "Own beds?" Jolene muttered. She felt a bit lost. To be expected.
"Yup. Lessen De Marster commands you to SERvice him," Julie said, doing a fair shot at
parodying Hollywood's version of a negro slave. "Course, Sam and Nicky like to share, if you
know what I mean."
Nudge nudge, wink wink, Jolene remembered. Classic Python, BBC America on cable. "Ah.."
"Cause they're lesbians," Julie explained. Subtlety was obviously not her strong suit. Jolene
had got the idea. "You know?"
"Yeah," Jolene said. "Where do I sleep?" In the bed of someone who's been eaten or
someone who graduated? Did it matter?