Posted by PK on April 21, 2003 at 17:06:08:
"It's quite easy, really," Gina said. "You just take orders and then serve the table. It's not
really any harder than serving dinner at home." She paused as a thought struck her. "But you
probably had maids to do that, didn't you?" And yet, contrary to her expectations, Tiffany had
managed it despite her background. In the few days she'd worked here she'd become an
excellent waitress, all the customers said so. Before they ate her. "Don't worry," she said
reassurringly, "You'll pick it up."
Petra wasn't looking very reassured. Her pale skin had goosebumps, though it wasn't really
cold. Her expression said 'what the fuck am I doing here?'
Gina caught it. "It was just a bet, Pet. A game. You can back out any time you like. Buy
Mayfair instead." Her tone of voice didn't even hint at contemptuous challenge, it was all the
more obvious by its absence.
Petra's petulant expression changing to defiance told her that she'd struck a nerve. She
hadn't really intended to. Of course not. Her irony was an independent entity, she told herself
ironically. The dark half of my brain just acts on its own. Recursive routines form semi-
autonomous neural nets. Dark Gina.
"I'm not backing out," Petra said defensively. "It's just....." She fought for words. "I have to
wear THIS?" She held out the offending garment, the lower half of a red bikini.
Evasion, denial, routine. Do the dance. "Why not? Suits you." A measured, wry smile.
"It's.....what, nylon?" She pantomimed effete distaste. Overacting as kids do.
Gina wasn't fooled and Petra knew it: her sharp scent and her frigid body language
telegraphed fear. She sighed. "Look," she said, impatiently but not entirely unsympathetically
"I don't have time to babysit you. Are you going to do it or go home? Because if you are,
you'll have to work it out yourself or let me help. If not..." she paused just half a beat..."No
offense, but...
[Beyond the river, over the sea....calling to you
Out in the blue.. Her internal soundtrack started up. She was rarin' to go. ]
"...if not, get the fuck out of here." She didn't have TIME for this...
She really hadn't meant to say that. Not at all. Between one bar and the next as she multi-
tracked she had lost the Petra thread. The rivalry and antagonism between her and the girl
didn't really hold much of her attention, the girl had imagined it and maintained it herself,
Gina only indulged it when she felt she was obliged to. Such is polite society.
"Sorry," Petra said. It hardly registered. "What should I wear? I mean the colour.."
Go naked, Gina thought. Don't kid yourself. Nobody is interested in your fashion sense.
"Green, to match your eyes," she said. Not a halter. Pet's breasts were too small to attract
attention if they were too well covered. The same went for the rest of her. Long, lean thighs..
She dug about in a drawer and found two green ribbons. She looped one around Petra's
torso, shoulder to hip. The other she tied in a bow round her right thigh. She stood back,
hands on hips and surveyed her creation. People in Paris and London got paid for this.
Money for jam. "Perfecto," she said. "It's really YOU."
Chef would love her, she was already shaved. (Who hears the Earth that cries beneath the
burning rain? Gina wondered, not for the first time, if Robert Plant screwed as well as he
sang.) I've got maybe fifty years left. she told herself. Or one hour. One minute. One second.
Actually, the outfit really did suit Petra. The girl looked like first prize in a competition. Damn.
How could she top that?
"What are you going to wear?" the girl challenged.
(With my greased up Levis, baseballs boots above my head...
Selling all my midnight, still broke and living on the ground..
She even took my panpipes and my elixir of life pill / if it wasn't such a tragedy, I might wish
that I was dead...
It was grand to have known her/It was grand to have shown her/I don't need anyone/to dictate
all my fun. )
"Nothing," Gina said. "Well, maybe sandals. Saves time when they have to wash your feet."
Night comes down/Just like a giant umbrella/Slows me down/Got to get it together
Eighth Hussars' manners gush out of my bloodstream, my Queen. Gina considered kneeling
and licking the girl's private parts. No, too forward. She'll probably think I'm gay, she thought.
It's not exactly that...not that at all. Was it?
But...they would taste nice.....
Mmmm...
"Feet?" Telegram from Mars. The girl sounded edgy, her voice high and brittle with tension.
Gina focussed reluctantly, coming halfway out of the rock'n'roll trance high she was
accustomed to working in. Was she really going to go out naked just to top Petra? Probably
not a good idea. She was allowed by the terms of her employment to wear something,
however miniscule, she shouldn't give the right up lightly. People might get ideas.
"We wear shoes partly to keep our feet clean," she explained. "It's not compulsory but the
cooks prefer it." Seeing Petra's eyes widen, she added mildly: "You might feel more
comfortable with something on your feet."
"What, like I'll feel less naked?" Petra's voice rose slightly as she gestured down her body.
Gina shrugged. "Suit yourself." She had almost decided to go with the blue near-skirt she
usually wore when Charlotte crashed through the door in her usual manner.
"How's the new girl do...oh." She regarded Petra critically. "Not bad. Maybe she should wear
a push-up bra. Give her a little cleavage."
"Wouldn't that constitute false advertising?" Gina wondered innocently. "Or an infringement
of the food and drug regs?"
"Nobody's ever complained yet," Charlotte said, deaf to humour. She ran a proprietary hand
down Petra's coltish flank, Gina watched the girl jump and stiffen as she suppressed the
impulse to react angrily. Doing her best to play the game. "Lean. Still, you might be right.."
...lean little lamb. Sweet meat near the bone....echo..
Petra stepped back as soon as the personnel manager removed her hand. She pulled off the
green ribbon Gina had draped around her torso and tied it around her waist at the back,
looping the extra length down behind and up in front, so it covered her cleft like a g-string.
The loose end hung down in front. An improvised micro-loincloth. "How about this?"
Gina was impressed. "That's good," she admitted generously. "It suits you. And it's within the
dress code. Right?" She looked at the older woman.
Charlotte nodded. "Okay, go with that," she said.
Gina backtracked. What to wear? A woman's perennial problem. Memory: [Mercy crashed
back into the room, stripped for work in a pair of the standard microscopic blue bikini briefs.
Her plump breasts bounced in with her, slightly ahead. "Forgot my board," she gasped. "Shit,
who's the fresh pussy meat?"]
Which had been Tiffany, rest her soul. Now Petra. Similar builds. Mercy had gone next, not
long ago. Okay. she'd go with the standard microscopic blue bikini briefs. The ones Mercy
had worn and left on the kitchen floor. Continuity. The tribe pass on their essences. As she
put them on, she met Petra's eyes directly. Contact.
Between one moment and the next, Gina went back, sampling memories with her
hypertrophic recall. The bet had been a consequence, as everything was, of what went
before, there was no real start to anything. Still...
After she had married Anthony (And why not? He was rich, good-looking, polite, and an
animal in bed.) she had elected to continue in her job. "Of course," He murmured. His arm
around her waist, he tickled her belly affectionately. "If that's what you want. Wouldn't dream
of tying you down. Unless, of course..?"
Gina chuckled comfortably. "Maybe next time..." She slipped her hand between his legs and
held his balls, feeling him stir despite his satiation, his penis thicken just a little. Male
gallantry. That was really when she had decided.
Wasn't it?
The picnic, yes. An unusual choice for a reception. Despite the banter at the occasion of their
first meeting, Petra had not in fact been roasted over an open fire. The Family had contented
itself with cucumber sandwiches, pickles, French bread, exotic cheeses (Wensleydale was a
big hit), good wine - and a young Asian girl roasting over an open fire. Wealth hath its
privileges.
With the heedless arrogance of the young and rich after escaping a sticky end by the
customary hair's breadth, not to mention the effects of too much wine, Petra had suggested
again to Anthony that they should have Gina for dinner next week.
"I mean," she cajoled teasingly, "Why not? You ate your last wife." She raised a glass to the
spirit of Aunt Helen mockingly and smiled at Gina. "And if she's still working, somebody's
going to get her sooner or later. Why not us? It's no biggie."
That came seriously close to disrespect for Helen in Gina's mind. Anthony also reacted, and
in an unexpected manner. Was it merely out of annoyance? Did he take umbrage at the
reference to Helen, or was it another game entirely?
"What about a wager?" he had suggested. Maybe he just wanted to put the matter to rest. He
looked at Petra. "If you win, we order Gina next week....assuming she's still working there,
that's up to her."
Gina's heart skipped a little. She hadn't quite expected to be the stake in a game at this
party, but she trusted her new husband. He wouldn't dispose of her thus lightly at this stage of
their relationship, surely? The sex was too good, he'd want to keep her a little longer. She
was still warm and fuzzy from the afterglow of the last session. He could have eaten her raw
after that one and she wouldn't have minded.
"Sounds good to me," Petra said, grinning at Gina.
"And if you lose you walk a mile in her shoes." Anthony smiled mildly. Crocodiles would flee
in terror.
Petra looked blank. "Whuh?"
"Work a week where she does. Just one week. The odds are, you'll make it." Unless, of
course, we decide to order you, he didn't say. "Fair?"
"Showtime," Charlotte said as Gina tucked herself into Mercy's briefs. Why do I do that? she
asked herself, not expecting herself to answer. "Get out there, girls."
Nothing shows as we're shedding our clothes,
But then I suppose.....Heaven knows, anything goes..
Dancing on my own. And that's the key, Gina knew.
"I have to keep my own life," she had told Tony as she cuddled up to him the first night.
Gonna dance until I drop.
And I don't care if I die/I'm going to do it again/ I'm going to do it once more...
Petra took Gina's arm anxiously as they walked out. "Look, I didn't mean it...the whole bet
thing..."
"Yes you did," Gina said. "You wanted to see me get killed and eaten. Don't bullshit me now,
you were doing so well. I was almost starting to like you."
"I was drunk, dammit!"
"I know," Gina said, "Or you'd never have taken the bet. Not with that penalty. That doesn't
alter anything. Or are you going to tell me you wouldn't have wanted Anthony to go through
with it if you'd won?"
"It wasn't fair," Petra protested, evading the charge rather than denying it. "You don't have to
work here!"
"Neither do you. Muck or nettles, kid. As the British say." Petra looked blank again. "It
means...well..."
Everybody small with no lips to play the trumpet/Everybody living inside a giant deaf
aid/Everybody's eyes crucified to the tapestry/ Woven by the giant with the solid silver
genie/who plays the trumpet.
"...tough choices. Grasp the nettle...stiff upper lip...something like that. Untranslatable. Try
'get in or get out.'" She really was trying to help, but she wasn't going to sugar coat it. "You
lost. You pay the wager or you lose face. You choose." She pushed open the door to the
restaurant. The magic started with the scents. The noise level, aural and visual, slammed
into her like a tidal wave, rising from her feet. You could drown in the atmosphere. "Welcome
to my world," she murmured. She watched Petra take the hit and flinch, then stiffen.
"How do you...."
"Later." Gina was adjusting to the sensation of wearing something that covered her cunt. She
had to absorb it, take the essence of Mercy into herself. The girl had never displayed any
great intellect but she did have an earthy vitality that Gina could use. Cannibalism or
necromancy? Was there a difference, apart from the methodology? She hadn't actually eaten
any of Mercy's body after she got roasted whole, but her last item of clothing should do. Gina
tuned in, seeking her. Hey, you there? Memory:
"There but for the grace of God," Mercy rattled on. "I mean, with tits like mine...." She
flaunted them. "I could be next."
You were next but one, Gina told her. They roasted you. You're dead. I assume you. In or
out?
Uh? Mercy responded. What do you expect from a recently deceased bimbo?
They loved your tits, Gina reassured her.
Cool. What the fuck, I'm in, Mercy said.
"How do you get through this?" Petra insisted.
"You just do it," Gina said. She slapped Petra on her tight backside. "Make it through tonight
and we'll talk, okay?" It wasn't enough, she thought relenting. She kissed the girl on the nose.
"And have a ball. Party on." Her smile was wicked. The chela would have to seek Gina-guru
through ordeal. Well, just hit me on the head with a begging bowl, Gina-cynic said.
The secret was no secret at all, but like all initiations it couldn't be explained beforehand. She
watched Petra walk stiffly away. Nice butt, she told Tony. His presence in her mind was
sketchy, just developing, but she addressed the simulacrum anyway. He/it agreed with her
but there were levels there she hadn't assimilated, so his/her imagined response contained
no clues as to his/its motivations and future plans. Gina dismissed it.
"Nice nips," Mercy said. "Mine were okay, but my tits were too big. I mean, they didn't stand
out. You know? Yours ....I'd die for puppies like that..."
"No offense," Gina said, "But you really should meet Helen...." But her nipples responded
anyway. The power took her. Can this voodoo shit, Erzulie, Aphrodite, whatever, rational
Gina said. Cue flashback:
(No sorcery involved, it's just a memory)
"She'll come back grown up," Anthony had said. "One way or another. Actions have
consequences. It's a lesson she's never learned."
Jerry's wife had qualms, despite herself. "She might not come back at all." She didn't really
like her daughter very much, but she felt she had to say something.
Anthony had smiled at her, Gina remembered. "There's only one way to be sure."
I can't believe I'm doing this I can't believe I'm doing this I can't believe I'm doing this I can't
believe I'm doing this, Petra hummed to herself like a defensive mantra. She was still stiff
with tension but (and she was oddly proud of this) not quite panicking. The near-nudity didn't
bother her that much despite her earlier half-hearted protest, at least not in the usual way.
Prudishness was not amongst her faults, and though her breasts were rather too small for the
American ideal she was not uncomfortable with her appearance. The implications of that
nudity did; the sense of vulnerability it engendered was, in this context, all too palpably real.
"Can I take your order, Sir?" she heard herself say. Not me. Please not me. Her vision was
fuzzy, her chest was tight and everything seemed a little unreal.
It wasn't her. The punter eyed her up, but ordered from the standard menu. With a shock,
she realised that she hadn't asked if the specials were on today. The waitresses weren't
available on the menu every day - Gina had told her that and she remembered that she
should have known it anyway, Uncle Tony had mentioned it when choosing which day to eat
here. Did the other waitresses know? Were the customers notified in advance? She had no
idea, she hadn't done the background work.
And Auntie Gina didn't bother to tell me, the bitch, she thought, but her reflexive anger was a
kneejerk response, lacking in real venom. Why should she? she admitted to herself. She'd
have told me if I'd asked. Okay, work out the odds. It's not every night anybody gets it - not
one of us anyway - girlmeat is expensive even when it's just imported stuff. Odds are high I'll
get through tonight.
"Thai girl thigh steak, rare, sauteed mushrooms," she repeated, scribbling on her pad. Her
handwriting was spidery from her stiff, clumsy fingers, she'd never be able to read it. No
matter, she could remember. "Excellent choice." She'd heard waiters say that, it filled a
space. "Anything else?"
Anything else was a wine order. Somehow, she conveyed it all to the kitchen and the wine
waiter. Only when she'd finished did she notice that her heart rate had steadied and she
could breathe more easily. The rest of the shift passed off without incident until the drunk
came in. By this time, Petra felt she'd been working here all her life. Adrianne got pawed
before the bouncers, two large gentlemen in suits, threw the asshole out. Petra wanted to
cheer.
By the time she returned to the dressing room, a lifetime after she'd left it, Gina was waiting
for her, fully dressed, smiling. It was a shock. Suddenly, she felt naked again. I'm dressed in
a piece of green ribbon almost long enough to wrap around a Christmas present, she
realised. As she hurriedly put her clothes on, she met Gina's eyes directly. Contact.
"Not bad, kid, for a first night," Gina said.
Despite herself, Petra felt an embarrassing flush of gratification at the faint praise, with its
implication of unexpected approval. How dare the bitch patronise her? Fuck her
anyway....oh, fuck that.
"Thanks," she said, and caught herself. "Didn't think I could do it, did you?" It was meant to
be defiant. She was afraid it came out just a touch whiny, like a punk rock band parading
their inadequacies like decorations for valour.
Gina shrugged faintly. "I wasn't sure," she said. "One never knows." She paused. "Okay,
you're half right. Honestly, I didn't think you'd get this far. Want to come for a drink?"
Normally, Petra wouldn't even have considered going for a social beverage with Gina. There
were a lot of things she wouldn't have considered in her previous life. After the last few hours
the prospect of going to some sleazy bar frequented by the lower orders of society seemed
less than daunting.
"Yeah, why not?" she said.
Gina was her Anubis, guiding her through the paths of the dead or doomed. Not that Petra
recognised that on a conscious level. She wanted white wine, she got it. It was awful.
Gina noted her distaste. "Don't feel bad," she said, "The beer is even worse. It's a public bar,
not a a wine tasting, not a formal dinner. It's for getting drunk in. Get it down, I'll get you
another. If you don't like the wine, try spirits. It's just ethyl alcohol in solution, when it's over
40% nobody can tell the difference after the second shot. Or if you can, you're missing the
point."
Petra nearly gave in. Not quite yet. She had a credit card and lots of money. She stood up
without a word and went to the bar. Gina watched her in bemusement. There seemed to be
an argument going on. To her surprise, Petra emerged from the melee carrying a tray with
bottles on it. One of tequila, one of a passable Californian wine, and four British and German
bottled beers. "I may not live out the week," she said, "Until then, I don't intend to drink piss."
Gina picked up a bottle of Marstons from Burton-on-Trent. She stared at Petra, impressed.
"How the f...oh, never mind." She poured the beer carefully while Petra sloshed tequila into
her glass and took a hearty gulp of it. She waited patiently for the gasping and choking to
subside. "Cheers," she said. She sipped appreciatively. The girl did have a point. One has to
maintain certain standards. For a long moment, nothing was said.
"You said we'd talk," Petra said at last.
"I did. I don't know what to tell you," Gina responded. The beer warmed her, she didn't really
feel like proselytising. "What do you want to know?"
"How you get through it. Why you're still here...there...you know..."
This was going to be a problem, Gina saw. The problem was that the solution was part of the
problem. Recursion again, or a vicious circle? Otherwise known in cybernetic circles as an
unstable loop. This was really good beer.
"Which first?"
The spoiled brat Petra was gone, at least temporarily subdued. Whatever was left spoke. "I
don't think I can do this again. I really don't. I know the odds, I should be okay but...."
What to say? Where to start? There was no real start to anything. Still...Gina cut through
several possible lines of future conversation. "If you don't stick it out, what happens? You
forfeit on the bet, big deal." She shrugged.
"I can't do that," Petra said stubbornly. There was a touch of flint in her green eyes.
"Okay, here it is," Gina said. "Tomorrow specials are on. Chances are, it won't be you. It
might not be anybody. If it is you, you're meat. Deal with it. The girls you ate had to."
Petra ignored the dig. "How?" She took another drink.
"You won't make it through the week unless you start to enjoy it," Gina said bluntly. "Nobody
does unless they're just too stupid to know they could be next. I'm not, and neither are you."
The bet had been a consequence, as everything was, of what went before, there was no real
start to anything. Still...
The arena: Anthony had suggested chess. Petra had declined.
In bed, some hours later (Gina had made her way home three parts drunk) Anthony helped
her pull her clothes off.
"How did it go?" he asked casually.
Several possible answers presented themselves for inspection. "Depends on your point of
view," she murmured as Tony removed her knickers and started to nuzzle her furry bits.
"Care to bet?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Tony enunciated as best he could while tickling her clitoris with his
tongue tip. "I'm sure you'll win. One way or another."
Gina had nothing more to say about it. Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more
questions about it, so she turned to the Mock Turtle and said, "What else had you to learn?"
"Well, there was Mystery," the Mock Turtle replied, counting off the subjects on his flappers,
"Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography: then Drawling. The Drawling Master was an
old conger-eel that used to come once a week, he taught us Drawling, Stretching and
Fainting in Coils."
Gina/Alice was in the sea, waving, she hoped, not drowning. Fainting in Coils. She screamed
as the tidal wave broke on the shore.