Posted by PK on April 23, 2003 at 16:59:23:
And though it seems they smile with glee
I know in truth they envy me
Skip
Me, I'm just a lawnmower
You can tell me by the way I walk
Gina slipped down.
"The odds are good, right"
Gina surfaced. Getting better in your wardrobe.
"Five twelfths of Heaven," Gina said. Broke surface. Petra wasn't asleep.
"I mean, three days."
Wake up, left hemisphere. What were the odds? Three days. How many waitresses? Say
thirteen. Assuming one gets chopped every day, what are the odds that waitress x will
survive? Okay, twelve chances in thirteen of surviving eack day. Twelve thirteenths to the
third power. But not every day a waitress got chopped. So factor in the probability that
anybody gets it in any given day. And was it thirteen? Gina counted waitresses jumping over
a fence and tried to name them. Then gave up. It was too fucking late. Gina adopted the
Crocodile Dundee solution.
"Better than even," she said. "Go to sleep."
Petra grunted.
Gina sighed. "Come here," she said and embraced the girl as she rolled over. She let Petra
rest her head on her shoulder and stroked her hair. "Go to sleep, kid."
Petra slept. Gina stayed awake a little longer. The pulse in the girl's body was a new factor
and had to be assimilated, made familiar. I know what I like and I like what I know. The
rhythms finally synchronised, or at least reached an amicable settlement. Gina slipped down
again. Not to awake until a heart of many carrots.
"What do you think?" Petra asked, holding up two garments for inspection. One was a pair of
green bikini briefs designed to cover nothing they didn't absolutely have to, the other a short
and half-transparent slip in flesh tones.
Gina couldn't have worn the briefs, she still had pubic hair. A bikini trim wasn't enough for
that little item. "The pussy pouch," she said. "Goes with your eyes."
"I don't know," Petra mused. "The slip's kinda slinky."
"They're both nice," Gina said. "Toss a coin. We're out next."
"Did you ever stop to think that what you put on now might be the last thing you ever wear?"
"That's true every day, technically. You might get hit by a bus. Struck by lightning..."
"Yeah, but it's not very likely. And if I do I won't be displaying myself to a roomful of people in
whatever it is."
"If you get it here, the last thing you ever wear will be whatever the cooks baste you with,"
Gina pointed out.
Petra gave her an odd look. "Did you ever stop to think that you might be totally insane?"
Gina pantomimed a frown of consideration. "Now you mention it, yes. Frequently. Now get
dressed. We're on now. And I still think the green suits you."
Ellie crashed back in. She was naked. "Fucking animals out there," she said. "Somebody's
gonna get it tonight."
"You always say that," Petra said defensively.
"Some asshole tore my pants off," Ellie went on. "The guys had to bounce him." She noticed
what Petra was holding. "You wanna pick one? I'll take the other. C'mon, I got a table to
wait."
Petra went with the briefs, Ellie snatched the wispy top and shucked it on as she was going
through the door.
Ellie was right again, as it happened. Somebody got it. It was her. She went out amongst the
animals fearlessly - once more unto the breach - and guess what happened? They ate her.
The wispy shift she had on, the one Petra had been about to wear, was sent back to the
dressing room. Petra stole it when she was dressing to go home. Two to go. Two more days.
"Ate her up," she said dreamily, half to herself, as she walked out with Gina. "There she was,
and then they just ate her all up. Do you think she knew?"
Gina had seen the expression on Ellie's face as they had ordered her. She doubted it. "Who
knows?" she said.
"I mean, she was wearing the slip. I could have been in it. Do you think it was that? Like, if I'd
been wearing it..."
Superstition. Common to all people in combat or life and death situations. Soldiers,
chessplayers, actors, anyone who lived by their wits, took chances, who walked a tightrope.
There are no atheists in foxholes. Gina had worn the garments of girls who had gone before.
Tribute or protection? Lightning not striking twice? She could never decide whether she was
avoiding the thunderbolt or inviting it, and beyond that, rational Gina didn't believe any of it.
However off the wall you are, whatever your mental kink, it's easy to perceive those of others
as irrational. First cast out the beam in thine own eye and all that. Gina had her own fetishes
and superstitions, the only difference was that she didn't believe them herself. Most of the
time, anyway.
"They probably had her picked out before. Maybe when she had her panties torn off. It's a
powerful image."
"Like I did?" (Petra had frozen. Memory : ("Sir?" "Let's see it.." The ape's paw pulled at the
lacy wisp adorning her loins. It broke, it wasn't meant for that kind of stress.) "Maybe they just
didn't fancy me..."
Gina smiled. "Gosh, don't tell me you're miffed. Well, two more days, maybe you'll find
somebody who wants you."
"That's not what I meant. I didn't want..." to get killed. I was scared. (This wasn't in the rule
book, Petra hadn't known what to do. The shreds of her beautiful lingerie slid down her legs.
She tried to control her bladder.)
"Whatever." Gina hadn't decided whether to go back to her pigpen or to Anthony's house. Not
her house. Not her home. Which way was home? Tony would fuck her if he was still awake.
He had that morning and Gina had known at a glance that he wasn't screwing his secretary.
She also knew that his secretary wanted him to. The envy on the woman's face as she went
in was transparent. Did Tony know that? Of course he did, it probably amused him. "Coming
back for a drink?"
Petra didn't want to go home alone. Her apartment was far better than Gina's. It was empty, it
didn't even have her in it. Not even when she was there. Gina pervaded her surroundings,
she could sleep under a hedge and it would be her place. "I thought you were going back...?"
"Got laid this morning. I'll hold for a while."
Show me that I'm everywhere
And get me home for tea...
It's all too much.
Petra passed the joint back. It seemed to be about ten years later. But her beer was still
unfinished She was naked but for the slip that Ellie had worn before she got chopped. She
was sitting cross-legged which meant her cunt was visible. Displayed, even. When had that
happened?
"Got a call to make," Gina said. She took a pull at the joint and held it until she got a reply on
the phone. Petra wanted the joint back, she watched it burn down. "Tony? Yeah, me. Can't
make it tonight. Tomorrow? Okay. No. Yes. No, it doesn't...I know you're not..why don't you?"
Long pause. "Put her out of her misery. Oh come on, don't tell me you...what? Yeah, she's
here." Pause. Socrates himself is particularly missed, A lovely little thinker but a bugger
when he's pissed, she thought. "He wants to talk to you." She tossed the phone to Petra.
Petra caught it. Her right hand just did it on its own . She wasn't sure she knew how to stand
up unaided but her limbs had a life of their own when she wasn't watching them. "Yeah?"
"How are you, Petra?" Anthony asked.
I'm sitting ninety percent naked on the floor of your wife's hovel, drunk and waiting for next
hit. Good music, though. "Fine," she said. "Nice of you to ask."
"Dear me, do I detect a soupcon of bitterness?"
Petra held out her hand for the joint, took a drag. Part of her wanted to know what Tony's
plans for her were. She handed the joint back and considered strategies. Why on Earth would
I be bitter, she replied. Nope. A thousand options flew across her mind. None of them held
any particular appeal. "Fuck off, Tony," she said and put the phone down. And I'll never go to
Nashville any more. I'm out here on the edge. I can't go back.
"I know what's going to happen," she told Gina.
"You do? You're ahead of me."
Petra doubted that but she wasn't sure. "They're going to eat one of us this week. You or me.
Probably me."
"It's a possibility," Gina said. Obviously. Was it true? Not unlikely. She backtracked. "They?"
"The Family. Tony's family. You."
The wolfpack. Am I in or out? "Not you?"
Petra came to a full stop. Me? A member of the Family? Not any more. "No." But if she
wasn't, then Gina would have to eat her, and where had THAT come from?
The wispy shift Ellie had worn, the one Petra had been about to wear, had been sent back to
the dressing room. Petra had stolen it when she was dressing to go home. She wanted to feel
it against her skin, she wanted to wear it alone while she imagined what had happened to
Ellie, while she masturbated. She could see the customers eating her, piece by piece.
Gina the mindreader said, "She didn't know."
"What?"
"Ellie didn't believe it. I saw her face, she was shocked and terrified. She didn't know."
"How could she not?" But Petra more than half knew already. Gina told her anyway.
"Like the old joke, you don't have to be crazy to work here, but it helps. You've said it
yourself. To do a job like ours you have to be a little nuts. Some of us get off on it. Some of
us - the Asian girls probably - are fatalists. They know they aren't likely to survive, they've
accepted it. The others pretend it will never be them. Belief in your own luck against all logic,
the gamblers' disease. Ellie didn't really believe she'd lose until her number came up. She
died of willful self delusion."
Petra flinched a little at the coldness of the assessment. "So, no sympathy, huh?"
Gina shook her head. "That's not what I meant. I'm just saying, don't make the same mistake.
You could lose. You're not special, not divinely destined to win. In two days you could be
dead. The odds are you won't be, but..." she spread her hands.
"The odds are I won't be unless I'm supposed to be," Petra said.
"Right. It wouldn't surprise me if you're right, some kind of denouement is coming up. I just
don't know what it is. I can't prove it, Pet, but I'm not holding out on you, I really don't know."
Petra nodded. "I believe you. Got any more smoke?"
Gina rolled another while Petra rummaged in her music collection. She lit up and passed
Petra another beer. "So, you still going in tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"I don't suppose there's much point asking why?"
Petra shrugged. "I have to do it. Until I can't anymore. I don't know. I just don't want to cut
and run." She thought for a minute. "I can handle one more day, I guess. If the family - Tony
- is setting me up they'll probably wait 'til the last day. Shit, I don't know, maybe I am crazy.
What's your excuse? What kind of nut job are you?"
It was a good question. Gina couldn't answer it even for herself. "I am but mad North by
Northwest," she said. "When the wind's in the South I know a hawk from a handsaw."
"Shakespeare again, right?"
"Right."
"I'm sorry, you can't," Petra informed the customer patiently. "If you just want a thigh steak,
you can have one of those we have in stock." The customer was not very drunk, just enough
to make him difficult. His hand was creeping up Petra's leg and she debated whether to call
in the bouncers. Not yet, better not to make a fuss unless she had to.
"Why not?" he said. "I thought you - ah - ladies were all fair game. On the menu. Am I right
or is this a fucking con?"
"Watch your language please," Petra said. "And please remove your hand." I'm not your
meat yet. To her surprise, he did. "I am on the menu, yes. But I can't be ordered in parts until
somebody orders my prime cuts." Something worth chopping me up for.
"What, tits and pussy?" The customer, a man of forty-something, appeared to consider. He
blinked at the menu on the table. "Sorry, madam, 'filet and breast.'"
"Correct, Sir." Well, this is going nicely, Petra thought. Any minute now he'll order my pussy
on a plate. He's got a really good view of it from where he's sitting. But at least I've taught
him to order it politely. Yup, he's having a good look.
"Looks juicy," the man said in a tone probably meant to be suggestive.
"Kind of you to say so, Sir," Petra said. Fuck, I'd really prefer to be eaten by somebody a bit
better looking. The wind's North by Northwest, right. Still, won't Tony be pissed? Hooray for
me. All his plans thwarted. The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley. Robert
Burns, Gina. I do read. Memory-Gina thumbed her nose. "Do you wish to order it?"
"How much?"
Petra told him.
The man shook his head. "Maybe when I get promoted...." He smiled. "Look, just get me a
gir..a thigh steak, outta stock. You know? And, no offense or anything, but if anybody gets
your puss....filet..."
"If I'm ordered, I'll come back and tell you what's available," Petra said. Situation defused.
Diplomacy. I should be with the UN.
Gina caught up with her in the ladies' room, leaning over a toilet bowl and trying to throw up.
She ran her hand up the girl's bare back and squeezed her shoulder. "You okay?"
Petra looked up at her friend.
Silver horses
Ran down moonbeams
In her dark eyes
Now my heart's drowned....
"I'll be fine," she said. She pushed herself away from the bowl.
"It's just reaction," Gina said, helping her up. "I've been there."
"That close, Gina," Petra said. "Sorry. I'm not handling this very well." She went over to a
washbasin and splashed her face.
"Crap," Gina said. "You're handling it very well."
Petra looked at her. "What, like you? Look at you, it doesn't bother you at all. I'm throwing up
and you might as well be at a fancy dress party. You don't even fucking sweat."
"I'm riding it, Pet. I'm waving, you're drowning."
"Oh, right, you're mad again."
"North by Northwest. You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."
"From far, from Eve and Morning," Petra remembered.
"And from yon twelve-winded sky...feeling better yet? Ready to dance the night away?"
Petra breathed. The air tasted good. "Let's dance," she said. "Will you, won't you, will you,
won't you, won't you join the dance?" Her blood was humming and her heart high. Coming
up.
"It's always difficult crossing over," Gina said.
Petra danced the night away. She grew bunny ears and a fluffy tail and went down the rabbit
hole. In her spare time she pondered deep questions like: Am I Alice or the White Rabbit? In
her darkest moments she wondered if she was only the Mock Turtle. Memory:
"Oh, your pussy of course, for starters," Gina had responded blithely. "I mean, it's like
caviare, isn't it? A rare delicacy. I'd have to try it if I got the chance. Anyway, yours is cute.
All plump and perky. Juicy too, I'd bet."
And it hadn't offended her at all when Gina had said that. She had been flatterered and -
admit it - pleased. The awful truth struck her. Denial, Gina was right again, though not in the
way she'd intended. Okay, she conceded. I have a thing about Gina. I like sleeping with her.
I'd rather she ate me than someone I don't know. Nothing wrong with that, it doesn't mean I'm
gay or I'm in love with her or anything heavy like that. I didn't fuck her, Daddy, I just wanted
to eat her. It's only fair if she eats me. That's all right, isn't it?
Nobody got ordered that night. Nobody on staff, anyway, the customers got through as much
imported girlflesh as usual. Since specials had been on every day, the attrition rate had been
higher than normal. There was almost a party atmosphere in the locker room at closing time.
"I'm quitting," Rosie announced. "It's just getting too much around here. Somebody gets it
nearly every night now. Some day soon, it'll be me. I'm not sticking around to find out when."
For some reason, Rosie's announcement disquieted Petra. "Why now?" she asked, not
entirely sure why it bothered her. "I mean, nothing bad happened. Besides, if they want..."
she stopped. If they wanted someone of her body type, her race...
"What, if they want gook they can get the real Asian girls cheaper?" Rosie teased.
Petra didn't know what to say. "I suppose. Sorry." For what? She hadn't said 'gook'.
Rosie shrugged. "For what? I thought the same thing. I'm legally American but I look just like
them. It doesn't matter. Nobody knows who'll be next or why. Maybe some guy with a hard on
for redheads comes in next and then it's you. I've had enough, that's all. I must have been
mad to work here but I made a good few dollars and I got away with it. I'm cashing in my
chips and getting out. This country is bloody mad."
"Where to?" somebody asked.
"Somewhere civilised. My folks came here from Hong Kong colony before it went to the
Chinks, when I was a kid. Maybe Australia."
That explains her accent, Petra realised. Almost standard American but a little British under
it.
"What, they don't eat people there?" Gina, her tone amused.
Rosie shrugged. "It's legal, but they're not crazy about it. They don't worship money like you
Yanks do."
This aroused a stir of patriotic protest that accompanied them all the way to the bar where
Rosie's impending departure was the excuse for an impromptu sending off party. Nobody
worried much about the gibe except Petra, or so it seemed to her. In her mind, it struck a
chord in a way that Rosie had probably not intended. She was born of the American
aristocracy, the rich. And the rich are different. F. Scott Fitzgerald. She looked at Gina and
said 'I want to go' without words.
"I'll make you a deal," Petra said back at Gina's place. "I'll do the last day if you promise me
you'll get out when my week is up."
"I knew I shouldn't have given you that joint," Gina said. "You do realise that made no sense
at all?"
Petra tried to work it out and failed. "Why not?" If in doubt, ask innocently. Socrates, God
bless him. Socrates himself is particularly missed, A lovely little thinker but a bugger when
he's pissed, she thought. Where had that come from? She stared suspiciously at Gina.
"I don't care if you don't do the last day," Gina explained patiently. "I've been trying to tell you
that all week. If I don't want it, it's not a very good bargaining chip, is it?"
Petra put the other operation into motion. "Okay. I won't do the last day if you promise me
you'll get out after that." Not sophisticated logic, but she was getting there in small steps.
I don't care that much, Gina almost said. It wasn't true, not quite. She cared, but not enough
to be blackmailed about it. "You'll do it if you choose to," she said. "It has nothing to do with
me. I'll do what I choose to do." Petra looked away, like a puppy that's been smacked on the
nose. Gina veered between impatience and sympathy. The girl had been trying to help. What
could she say?
"They're coming tomorrow," was what she said.
Petra looked up. "The family?"
"On your last day, yes. You got that right."
Petra remembered: "They're going to eat one of us this week. You or me. Probably me."
"Possibly," Gina said and Petra realised that she had remembered aloud, or Gina was
reading her mind. The distinction didn't seem terribly important. "Why probably you?"
"Why else on my last day?"
Gina pictured it, played scenarios in her mind. "Graduation," she said.