Tilly had been called in twice for suspected pranks, but lacking proof of misconduct, Abigail Rogers had no grounds to issue further demerit slips. Candy caught a slip for deliberately tripping Tilly on one of the foot trams. Witnesses and security footage made the claim stick. Then a brief time elapsed when nothing had happened.
Dorothy walked into the dormitory just as Tilly opened a file on her Omnicomp, revealing her father’s second letter to her. Tilly patted the seat next to her and began to read.
“Dearest Tilly,
I hope this electric mail message finds you well, happy and fit. I still have no idea where they’re hiding you. I’ve tried some different channels in the hope that I might know where you ended up. That means I just asked around. Nothing illegal, mind you.”
“He had to say that because of the sensors,” said Tilly.
Dorothy nodded. Tilly resumed:
“Quite a few of your chums have come by and asked about you. I stuck to our plan and told them about the finishing school and the rich uncle. They seemed satisfied with that, so I don’t think your cover is blown. I told you I’d cover your tracks.
“Anyway, things are looking very good with the investments. I’m showing some decent profit already. These products are very groundbreaking and ahead of their time. Just recently, I’ve checked into exporting large shipments of these goods to some of the larger corporations in Europe and Asia. My financial manager is lining up some of these deals. Yes, I said I had a manager! Can you believe it? If it wasn’t for his low commission, I don’t think I would have ever taken him on. He’s worth every penny of it, offers great advice and seems to really care that we turn this venture into a whopping enterprise. The sky is the limit, they say. Maybe we could have a little piece of the sky too. I’ve had Hawaii on my mind for the past month. But I won’t say why, hee, hee.
“I’ll shut up for now. I have a board meeting coming up. Keep it tight—keep it right, princess.
Love,
Dad.”
Dorothy gave Tilly a hug and said, “Imagine that? It sounds like you’ll be going home to fame and fortune! Gosh, did you ever think it would end like this? Just imagine the opportunities that will open up to you. And Hawaii! The most I’ve ever seen of Hawaii is on the Universal Internet and a few old post cards. You have to promise me that when my term is served, you’ll invite me to your new home. I’ll bet the beaches are loaded with hunky surfers.”
Tilly smiled and hugged her back. “That’s a promise. When I move you’re invited to stay for as long as you like. Hawaii wouldn’t be any fun at all if I couldn’t share it with a best friend.”
“Aw, you’re just saying that. But I’ll take you up on it!”
Tilly did not tell Dorothy what she thought her real chances were of landing on the shores of Hawaii. Her father had never had a head for business, especially high finance that involved huge corporations and overseas transactions. She had doubts that he had discovered some revolutionary new product that was going to take the world by storm. Not in this economy, where every businessman and investor was gun shy about making profits and there wasn’t enough money circulating through the banking sector to set up a hotdog stand. Never mind consumer optimism, which was at an all time low. This letter was padded, punched up to make her feel like they had the world by the balls. False promises and bullshit lies. Tilly could feel it down to the marrow of her bones. But she could not let on. Doing so would be like taking a sharp stick and poking it in Dorothy’s eyes—eyes that saw only hope.
Tilly suggested they shower and go to the park, since Tilly had the day off and Dorothy had picked up two days of sick leave for a sprained wrist. Stripped down, they entered the large tiled shower room, taking separate stalls. Tilly lathered up, still thinking about her father’s letter, listening to Dorothy talk about something over the water spray. She heard a “Hey, there!” behind her, and turned.
Fia ruffled up her blond mane with a towel, still wet from exiting the shower. “What’s doing, girl?”
“Talking to shop steward, Fia, at the moment. What’s up?”
“Just finished up the beauty treatment and headin’ on out of here for a ward hearing.”
“You look great.”
“Don’t kid yourself; I’m only trying to keep this sack of meat from turning a sickly gray color. Age is a bitch. Sure ain’t anything in my reflection to admire anymore. By the way, that’s a cute tattoo on your left cheek. What the heck is it?”
“It’s a blob with a curved neck that looks like a swan. It’s a birthmark.”
“Oh, really. I…thought it was a tat.”
“Fia, where I come from, I couldn’t afford to get a real tattoo.”
Fia gave her a curious look. “Funny, neither could I. I’ll see you.”
“Yeah, later. Hey, we were going to take a walk to the park and thought you…” Tilly let her words trail off once she realized Fia had left. She sang a few stanzas from a new song she was working on. She heard Dorothy rattling on about something, asking questions and giving herself answers. When they finished showering, they changed out. Refreshed, they stepped out into the corridor, walked up a ramp and mounted a foot tram.
Arriving at the rotunda, they began to walk through the maze of shops and businesses. Not surprisingly, most of the people recognized Tilly and stopped her with conversation or autograph requests. Many of the franchise owners did not work for United Western Mining, but they had seen her act during their off hours. The new headliner behaved with a gracious reserve, attempting to accommodate their wishes. But she had to break it off since she really wanted to visit the park. Several people offered to give her and Dorothy rides but Tilly refused the offers. They continued on their way.
“I’ve never had this much attention before,” said Dorothy. “It’s all because of you, and I don’t mind that at all.”
“I’m beginning to see the downsides.”
“Ignore the downsides. Soak up the good stuff.”
Dorothy, a never-ending supply of optimism, began to make sense and offer Tilly a different view of what she’d been feeling and seeing lately. After landing in a negative situation, she had to admit that not only had things improved for her, but they had surpassed all expectations. She’d never dreamed of being rewarded so handsomely for something she enjoyed doing. Yet she possessed the underlying feeling that FTALC and the mining company were still enemies and not to be trusted.
After a long walk, the park came into view, showing walnut trees, some elms and a few oaks. The trees and root systems had been packaged and transported on board the large transport freighters. Gray slate walkways meandered through the interior. The park sat near the geographic center of the main rotunda, small by normal standards, occupying less than nine acres. It had a large pond stocked with bluegill and carp—the heartiest fishes that could survive in such an environment. “NO FISHING” signs warned those who thought about casting a line in the water. The lawn, which had suffered from repeated foot traffic, grew stubby in irregular patches. At least the lawn was organic.
The capacity of the park seemed overcrowded, in Tilly’s opinion. Nearly all of the benches and picnic tables were occupied by every type of employee at Tranquility Harbor. The miners dominated most of the seats and benches. They played cards, drank, lounged and snoozed under the trees. A rumor said that over 50 cardinals and blue jays flew amongst the treetops, having been imported by the company. Tilly had not seen any birds, and supposed they might have flown to some other part of the complex or had been sucked into the massive air intakes.
A small group of people left a table. Dorothy took Tilly’s hand and ran to it. They sat down on the thin bench seats and looked around, admiring the view. Tilly saw a large group of men surrounding a table. She wondered what they were looking at, unable to see between or over them. A few of the men turned and made eye contact with her, and then peeled off from the group. They headed in Tilly’s direction, which made her frown. “There goes the peace and quiet.”
>
“Not such a bad thing,” said Dorothy. “At least we’re stealing Candy’s thunder. That’ll nip her in the ass real good.”
“What do you mean we’re stealing Candy’s…” Then Tilly saw the reason for the crowd. Candy knelt on a table, twisting in provocative poses for several cameras.
“Hey, look, it’s Sunshine!” cried a crowd member.
A few more admirers left Candy’s circle, headed in Tilly’s direction. After a few minutes, it became a mass exodus except for a few diehard Candy Evans groupies.
A miner with a crooked handlebar mustache said, “Yo, honey, what brings your little doodletwat to this neck of the woods? Mind if we join y’all?”
“I’m a leg man, myself,” proclaimed another, licking his lips.
Surrounded by a wall of smelly, obnoxious flesh, Tilly saw no way out of the predicament. Two men sat down, hemming her in between them. Three sat opposite her, expelling Dorothy from her seat. Everybody spoke at the same time, rolling over each other’s words. A man with yellow teeth and eyes pinched Tilly’s upper arm and said, “Looks lean but it feels mean.”
“It’s really nice that you’re all here and everything,” Tilly tried, “but I just came to the park to be alone with my girlfriend.”
“Now don’t be telling us you swing that way,” said an obese man, wearing smelly coveralls. “We know better than that, ’specially the way you swing that can in our faces.”
Tilly did not need a confrontation right now. For that matter, she didn’t need a full-out sexual assault either. These men regarded her as a tease, not the willing sexual toy that Candy portrayed herself to be. For the first time since her arrival there came a sense of immediate danger. There wasn’t a security cop in sight.
Tilly had not protested when the man had pinched her arm. It sent a signal to the others that touching might be okay. She felt the stroke of her hair from behind. A hand landed on her thigh. Tilly lurched up, just missing a lunge for her breasts. Surrounded, she stepped up on the table top, prepared to kick the next man in the face who tried to grope or grab. Dorothy squeezed through the crowd and tried to shove the men away from the table. They pushed her outside their ring. Tilly watched Dorothy run toward the business district, leaving her alone and surrounded.
“I don’t want any trouble,” warned Tilly, bracing herself for a rush. She noticed someone smaller, fighting their way through the crowd.
Buddy squeezed through the wall of flesh and hopped up on the table. He glared at the rowdy assembly. “What the hell’s going on here?” he demanded and then turned to Tilly. “Fia told me you were going to the park. Looks like I didn’t get here soon enough.”
Ordinarily, Tilly would have told Buddy that it was none of his business. This was not one of those times. She heard a husky female voice over the rabble of the men. “I’d like to know what the hell’s going on here too!” Candy did not have to push through the crowd. It parted like Moses’ Red Sea. Candy brought a foot down on the bench seat. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, scum guts? This ain’t your carnival.”
A man egged her on. “That’s telling the bitch.”
“Not your carnival either,” said Tilly, red-faced.
Candy spit at her feet. “We’ll see about that!”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” said a miner and gave Tilly a brusque shove.
Buddy went after the guy who shoved Tilly, locking his arms around his neck.
Tilly jumped high in the air. She came down on the grass in a crouch. Candy dove at her, getting her hands around her neck, shaking, squeezing. There were no affordable handholds in the fabric of the tight company suits. So Tilly grabbed the other by the hair, yanked forward, head-butting her.
“Cat fight!” The words rang out.
Candy’s head rocked back, her eyes crossed. Then she hissed and flailed her arms in a desperate windmill fashion. Tilly reared back, but not before sharp nails racked her face. Meanwhile, Buddy rode one of the miner’s backs while the others tried to dislodge him. Then something unexpected happened. Miners began fighting other miners, throwing devastating punches and kicks. Somewhere out of Tilly’s sight she heard lumber break.
Candy ran toward Tilly with her fist cocked. Tilly spun around and mule-kicked her in the midriff. The large breasted girl keeled over and dropped to a knee. But when Tilly came in to deliver the knockout punch, Candy gave her an upper cut to the jaw. Tilly’s teeth pierced her tongue. Fighting off the pain, she dove on Candy and took her to the ground. They fought there, in a tangle of arms and legs, swapping punches, scratching, gouging eyes.
A short, stout miner picked buddy up and pitched him through the air like a paper glider. He landed on his chest, the wind knocked out of him.
A security patrol didn’t arrive for a full five minutes during the worst of the fight. Sting wands and riot shields finally subdued twenty-five men, who’d engaged in an all-out donnybrook. The three wards, Tilly, Candy and Buddy were given on-the-spot first aid. Tilly’s tongue bled like an open sluice gate. Staunching it took a strong coagulant. They used alcohol on the face scratches. Candy had two puffy eyes which required cold packs. They treated Buddy for a broken nose and, strangely enough, they had to use pliers to remove wads of beard hair from his teeth.
A security supervisor dismissed half of the men since they had superficial injuries and seemed to be the most cooperative. Which left the seriously injured men, who were the most inebriated and combative. The supervisor stabbed his finger at the remaining participants, who were mostly miners, and said, “How in the hell did this get started?” He waved several broken cigarettes at the men. “I don’t even want to talk about these, but we’ll get to it.”
There came a lot of “she started it” accusations. The supervisor had trouble understanding which she had instigated the fight, since the responses were mixed between Candy and Tilly. Half of them declared that Tilly started the brawl because of her jealously toward Candy. The Tilly defenders called Candy a “fat skunt.” When the supervisor asked the miners why they fought each other, they offered no reasonable explanations other than “because” and “I don’t know.”
Candy said, “I swear, Sunshine, if I could see you I’d rip your face off.”
Tilly couldn’t speak through the wad of cotton in her mouth but she thought, and if I could use my mouth I’d tear your throat out, and she willed it with all her mind to sink that image into the brain of that ditsy, no-brained fraud.
“That’s enough!” said the supervisor, who then turned to Dorothy for an explanation. But Dorothy hadn’t seen what actually prompted the violence, only the lead up to it.
Buddy offered his version. “One of the Dogs put his hands on Tilly Breedlove and threw her into the crowd like a Christian to the lions. Then that Candy what’s-her-face started throwing punches.”
The supervisor let out a gale force sigh. “As for you Dogs, you’re staying here until we find out who is responsible for the fight and the contraband. As for you three…we’ll just let God sort you out.”
“Whoo ithsss Gud?” Tilly slurred.
“Abigail Rogers.”
Chapter 8
The president of the Entertainment and Leisure division paced across the floor, stopped and retraced her steps. Abigail Rogers leveled her eyes like daggers on Tilly, Buddy and Candy.
“I cannot believe the three of you are sitting here,” she said. “I am appalled that wards in my division are capable of causing such anarchy.”
Abigail looked at Buddy. “What’s was your part in this?”
Buddy gave Candy a scathing glance. “Defending the honor of a lady, ma’am.”
“Which one?”
“There’s only one in this room, ma’am.” He quickly added, “I mean, two, counting you, ma’am.”
If Tilly’s mouth had worked properly she would have kissed Buddy right then and there. Right now, the bandage would not allow it.
“Just point, then,” said Abigail.
Buddy
pointed to Tilly. “She’s innocent. I saw the whole thing.”
“You couldn’t have seen the whole thing,” huffed Abigail, “when you were fighting right along with them. Perhaps you took pictures?” Her voice rose with sarcasm. “From one of the many hand-held personal cameras found broken and scattered on the ground?”
“I don’t own a personal camera. The Dogs were taking pictures of Candy.”
“Then you were just fighting. Defending Tilly’s honor. It might have had nothing to do with you, but you thought that your assistance was needed.”
“I guess so.”
Candy tried to keep her face pointed toward the sound of Abigail’s shoe strikes, since she sat at the far end of the room, her eyes swollen to slits.
Abigail stopped and whirled on Candy. “Miss Evans, you look like a god damned raccoon. Of the three of you here, you have seniority. You should have known better. One question: Why?”
“She’s been harassing me and spreading rumors, Ms. Rogers.”
“One does not attack another with the intent to kill over such trifles. You could have come to me with the complaint. I want the real reason.”
“Okay, she put burn cream in my twaddle, Ms. Rogers.”
Abigail titled her head. “Did she? And what finger did she use to accomplish this?”
“Well, it wasn’t a finger thing but a…uh.”
“But a what?” Abigail pressed.
“I don’t know when or how she did it, but I just know she did. It happened months ago.”
“You just know…and am I supposed to just know and take that as concrete evidence? I’ll tell you what I do know. I’ve seen the security tapes. You were the one who marched over to engage Miss Breedlove in a confrontation. Would you like me to roll the video?”
The Girl They Sold to the Moon Page 8