The Girl They Sold to the Moon

by Chris Stevenson

“Glaaargh,” Candy slurred, back peddled and sat on the toilet with a heavy plop. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Blood ran between her fingers, dropping on the upper arch of her breasts and disappearing into her cleavage.

  Tilly cocked her head, wondering if that was the end of it. Outweighing her by 30 pounds and possessing the muscularity of a thoroughbred horse, Candy had gone down surprisingly easy. Or given up. She just sat there, her shoulders heaving with mournful sobs. To staunch the flow of blood, Candy tore off wads of toilet tissue and pressed them to her face. The pitiful moans became unbearable. Tilly wadded up some towels, soaked them in cold water and applied a compress to Candy’s forehead.

  “Tilt your head back,” said Tilly. “Breathe through your mouth.”

  Candy exhaled. “I’m practically bleeding to death.”

  “You’ve got a bloody nose, nothing more. Stop bitching about it.”

  “You hammered on me. Why?”

  Tilly expected something like that. It’s all your fault; how could you be so cruel? “I was always willing to share the spotlight with you. You were the one that couldn’t stand the sight of me or respect my talent. I only asked to be left alone.”

  Candy sniffed. “I think you broke one of my implants.”

  “Sorry, can’t help you there. You shouldn’t have had them out in front like that then.” Tilly realized how ridiculous her comment was, but what else could she say? “I mean, they’re pretty big and impressive. Kind of hard to miss.”

  “Do you think so?” Candy’s red-rimmed eyes drifted upward.

  “They’re okay, I guess…if you go for that sort of thing. They sure didn’t help you out tonight.”

  Candy pushed up from the toilet seat and held the walls for support. The compress still adhered to her forehead. She blinked. “Well, it looks like I can’t even beat you in a fight. Shit. What’s the use, anyway?”

  Tilly helped her to the counter. A frantic knock came to the bathroom door. “Go away.” said Tilly. “We’re busy in here.”

  Candy splashed some water on her face, wiped her neck and suit off. Next, she palpated her left breast, grimacing as she did so. “Well, the dam’s not burst but it’ll be blue tomorrow.” She checked her nose, touching it lightly. “It doesn’t look broken does it?”

  Tilly rolled her eyes. “I didn’t hit you that hard. Just hard enough to keep you from ringing my neck. Maybe you’ll think twice about starting a fight when there’s no need for one.”

  Candy shrugged, blew a sigh. “I guess it doesn’t get us anywhere…look, I don’t know how to tell you this, but maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I get crazy-headed sometimes, and maybe a little jealous.”

  “How about a whole lot jealous?” Tilly huffed. “You haven’t let up since I’ve known you. Why the hatred? All this poison in your system. For what?”

  Candy leaned her head back and inhaled through her nose. “Well I’ve never seen anybody like you before. So what did you expect? It was bad enough landing in this FTALC rat hole, but when I climbed to the top I expected to stay there. With an 18-month term, I wasn’t going to let anybody upstage me. It’s in my genes—I’m a competitor—I’m not used to losing. Losing is bad for my health. I get ulcers. My nervous system goes out of whack, and then my bipolar disorder starts acting up…” She paused, shook her head. “When I lose, a part of me dies.”

  A voice came from outside the door. “Open this up or we’ll call security!”

  “Get lost!” said Candy. “It’s a private discussion.”

  Tilly checked herself in the mirror, noticing she had a scratch across her cheek. “I’ve got a better idea for your high-strung attitude. Why don’t you compete with yourself instead of another person? Try to better your routine by ramping up your act. Be true to yourself. Don’t judge your ability by what you see around you. Concentrate on what makes you special and improve on that.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “All the time. Judging myself by what you do is a waste of my time. I concentrate on me.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it that way.” Candy stepped up to Tilly and extended a hand. “I guess I can call a truce for now. This didn’t get me anywhere.”

  Tilly took the proffered handshake, relieved somewhat. “Apology accepted, if you’re sure. Just remember we have the same goals. We’re alike in a lot of ways.”

  Candy swallowed hard. “Is there any way I can make it right? I feel like a rotten scunt.”

  Tilly considered the offer for a moment. “You just might be able to do something for me later. I could use your help with a little plan. We’ll talk about it.”

  “That sounds good to me. It would make me feel a whole lot better.”

  “That’s the idea—it’ll make us feel better about ourselves.”

  A voice shrilled through the door. “Security is on their way, you bitches!”

  Candy and Tilly laughed.

  Chapter 17

  After assuring the guards that the bathroom incident was nothing more than one girl helping out another after a slip and fall, Tilly was released to her room. When she arrived late, Fia expressed her concern that Tilly had been caught for an infraction or delayed by the authorities.

  “It wasn’t anything like that,” Tilly explained. “I literally had a head-to-head meeting with Candy Evans in the rehearsal hall bathroom.” She described the goading that lead to a fight and the outcome of the tussle. She ended by saying, “So we shook on a truce. She even offered to make up for the hard feelings by doing something for me.”

  Fia looked dubious. “You have faith that a rattlesnake is not going to do what comes naturally to it. Is that what you’re telling me? I don’t understand how you believed a word she said. I especially wouldn’t tell her anything about our plan.”

  “Oh, I’m not that stupid.” Tilly walked to the dinette and sat down. She pulled Buddy’s note from her suit top and flattened it out. “Let’s hope this is good news.”

  Fia hurried to the table and sat down. She rubbed her hands. “His response?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Tilly read the letter aloud:

  “Dear Tilly,

  Man, I had to read your letter three times before it sank in. Are you kidding? I guess you’re not, or you wouldn’t have said what you did.

  First off, yeah, I heard about Dorothy through a news wire. God damn it, that’s tough. I know what she meant to you. I didn’t know her that well, but she seemed like a decent gal and a great friend. I blame the system for that—plain and simple. FTALC can make anybody lose their mind and commit acts like that. My prayers are with her.

  As for the other, of course I’ll help. Let me know what your ideas are. You’ll need money. You’ll forfeit everything if you do this. That includes your tip pool proceeds. Luckily I have mine saved, so that won’t be a problem. I have my own transportation. You’ll probably need a change of clothes. I can arrange that. Maybe I can work up some identification documents.

  Question: How in the hell are you going to exit the property with your leg chips? I hope that’s the first thing you thought of!

  To our success.

  Love,

  Buddy”

  Fia read it over again, so they would remember his words. She then used a lighter to burn the note to ashes, like Tilly had done before. “Good. That part of it is taken care of,” said Fia. “I’ve thought of some other ways to exit the casino without being seen, but I keep coming back to that blue door. I think that going through the tennis court then out to the parking lot is our best chance. See if you can find something in wardrobe department we can use as disguises. We’ll have to blend in somehow. How about some wigs?”

  “I can find those easily enough and smuggle them out in my uniform. If I pack them in my bag, I stand the chance of being searched. It wouldn’t look good to be caught with those things.”

  “Cameras. What do we do about surveillance on the outside? The courts and parking lot are sure to be co
vered. I’m not saying they’ll discover our absence right away. But you know that’ll eventually happen once we don’t show up for work. I’m just thinking about buying us enough time to clear the property, and hopefully the state. We’re talking about some needed hours.”

  “I’ll make a note to ask Buddy where the cameras are and what we can do about it. I never thought about the money issue until he brought it up. I’ll bet FTALC will freeze our accounts.”

  “They’ve already made a shit pot from us with their cut.”

  “How does that work in our favor?”

  “Think about it. If we skip out, they’ll automatically claim and have legal rights to any earnings in our tip coffers. That’s written in the contract. I’m just saying we might not be the most important fugitives on their list—just a write-off. Why send an army of detectives after a couple of gals who’ve left them with golden eggs?”

  “Unless they want more golden eggs.”

  “With the turnover they have? They’re lining up the next big stars for the future as we speak. There will always be a never-ending supply of entertainers. The next Sunshine and Candy Cane Evans are probably on their way here now.”

  Fia had a point. Family Trade and Loan was a business—a huge meat market that profited off the hard work and talents of others. She’d love to see the whole thing implode, wiping out all of the sad memories. She would never forget the tragedy on the Moon and the death of Dorothy Prospect. She kept Dorothy’s I.D. tag tucked in her left breast cup above her heart.

  Before she turned in that night, Tilly wrote a note to Buddy. She would let Fia change or edit it after she’d read it.

  Dear Buddy,

  We think our chances are good to great that we can pull this off—a lot better odds than this casino gives its gamblers.

  Now, there’s a tennis court just outside the north casino wing. We figure on leaving through a blue fire door that leads to it. Just to make sure you find the right one, I’ll leave an X on the pavement at the bottom just outside the door. I’ll use lipstick. Look for it. Fia says there’s a camera directly above it and more around the tennis court and parking lot. It would be great to have them blinded somehow. We don’t expect miracles, but maybe you have some ideas. We won’t need them taken out until the very last minute. I’ll let you know the exact day and time.

  Fia has the chip problem solved. I think she’s trying to keep me in suspense because she hasn’t told me how she’s figured it out. Hah! I trust her judgment.

  Destroy this note after reading it. No leads or traces. I look forward to your next letter.

  Love and kisses,

  Tilly

  Tilly went to bed, hugging her air pillow. She hoped for dreams of Buddy and freedom.

  The next day Tilly deviated from her regular course to end up in the north wing of the casino, in the abandoned gambling room. She saw a few technicians stripping the plastic from some slot machines. Both had their backs to her. She ducked down around the large ad sign and crawled to the blue door. She pushed it open and entered. From there, she ran down the hall to end, pulling a lipstick tube from her suit top. She cracked the fire door open and scribbled an X on the pavement outside, careful that her torso did not pass through the sensor field. She retraced her steps, entering the blue door. Making sure she would not be seen, she cornered the sign and walked swiftly down the aisle past her drop-off point, found a water fountain and waited. She looked around, nonchalant.

  The guards responsible for patrolling certain areas, seemed to be evenly placed around the casino. She watched them for a while. It wasn’t difficult to determine their patterns; they all seemed to walk in a zigzag fashion, covering a square block of casino floor. After doing so, they doubled back and performed the same sweeping maneuver. Supervisors occupied key locations, usually next to large aisle intersections. From her vantage point, she counted seven roving guards and two stationary supervisors. There were many more, but she couldn’t see them over the tops of the machines and decorations.

  Buddy appeared right on schedule. They timed it perfectly, passing each other just under the palms. She quickened her pace and arrived at the rehearsal hall, her heart pounding. She wasted no time in going to the large wig rack that displayed over 200 styles and colors. Every conceivable wig-length and cut sat on the Styrofoam heads, arranged on shelving units from the floor to arm’s length overhead. Only a dozen or so wigs were missing from the display. The brown and black wigs got her attention. Since she and Fia had blond hair, it seemed reasonable that going darker would aid in the disguise. She found two wigs sitting next to each other, one of them a medium cut French flip in black, and the other a pageboy in dark brown. Their inventory numbers denoted them as numbers 78 and 79. Tilly used an eyebrow pencil taken from the makeup counter to write the numbers down on the inside of her forearm. She would tell Fia about the wigs when she got back to the room.

  “Thinking about a costume change?” asked Sue Lin, coming up unexpectedly behind her.

  “Well, I was thinking about a hair change.”

  “You want to ruin your brand? Nothing doing, girlie. Keep what works.”

  “You know, I shouldn’t even question that.”

  “That’s why I’m the coach. Let’s get you dolled up.”

  The biggest surprise came when Candy, having just finished her first show, stopped in the wing to greet Tilly with a hug and few words. “I hope you knock ‘em dead,” said Candy. “You look fabulous tonight.”

  “Thanks, Candy. Although I didn’t see it, I’ll bet you just had them for dinner.”

  “Not like you will.”

  Tilly felt better for the kindly exchange, but her spirits dampened when she noticed that Buddy was not in the audience when she began her routine. She pressed on, realizing that he couldn’t be there every night just for her.

  “You were off tonight,” said Sue Lin at the makeup counter. “Looks like you were missing that special somebody.”

  “Only you would know that,” Tilly confessed. “What can I say; he gives me that extra little spark. I’m not dancing for them anymore.”

  Tilly had little in the way of rest. Her mind filled with anticipation; she couldn’t think of anything other than her and Fia’s breakout plan. And Buddy. She also became more nervous by the prospect. She hadn’t deliberately broken any laws in her life. Her mother and father had instilled in her a confidence and belief in the laws and justice system. Only her father had had problems in the past years, bringing shame to himself by trampling those ideals.

  She went to work that night, Buddy’s unread note hidden in her belongings. She would read it later when her mind was more clear and relaxed. She went through her first show, glancing often at the audience seats. Buddy remained absent again, and she tried to keep it from detracting from the quality of her routine. Whatever his reason for not attending, it was beginning to worry her.

  During her last show, she saw something that caught her attention. Sitting in a private booth off to the left of the stage, four people toasted each other, reveling in some type of accomplishment. Not so unusual, but they were all wearing white tennis apparel, unlike the rest of crowd who wore casual to formal dinner clothes. It could only mean that the group possessed special privileges outside and above the dress code, which wasn’t significant in itself. But it did mean that the tennis courts were open for night play, and Tilly or Fia hadn’t considered that. It spawned an idea.

  When Tilly arrived at her room, Fia was sitting at the dinette table studying some items. Fia waved her over. “Take a look at these and tell me what you think.”

  Tilly saw two documents; both of them were Arizona state I.D. cards, belonging to two females. Both were brunettes, one younger, one older. As far as the physical description and ethnicity, Tilly could never have imagined a better match. The younger of the females was 21 years-old. The frontal face shots were not even close.

  Tilly gave her a triumphant grin. “How in the hell did you manage that?”

&
nbsp; “Believe me, I searched during my whole shift for them. When I found two gals sitting at a table by themselves, I asked for extra identification, in order to accept their credit wafer. I also questioned the younger girl’s drinking age. They literally dumped the contents of their purses on the table. I pretended to read them and toss them back in the pile. Instead, I palmed them.”

  “They didn’t notice?”

  “It was during the second show. They were so drunk they couldn’t have seen their hands in front of their faces. Trust me, it was a clean snatch.”

  “Hmm…they don’t look so much like us. You did remember the hair, though.”

  “Easily solved.” Fia pulled a postcard from the top of her suit and set in on the table. It was a tourist card featuring a line of six burlesque dancers. One of the faces was an obvious cutout, and it belonged to Fia.

  “Where did you get that taken?” Tilly asked.

  “Right outside Nemo’s Lounge. Look at them side by side. Notice how precise the face dimension is next to the state I.D. It’s perfect. A little cut and splice, some glue and a second lamination will complete the illusion. You’ll have to get one.”

  “I didn’t know they allowed us to buy those.” She would have to tell Buddy that the ID problem was solved unless he had something extra.

  “They don’t allow wards to send them in the mail, but you’re allowed to keep it on the property.”

  Tilly pulled out Buddy’s note and took a seat. She read it slowly aloud.

  “Dear Tilly,

  Sorry I haven’t been to watch your shows, but I’ve been busy scoping out the back end of the casino. I found the blue fire door—X marks the spot. Real easy. I stood watch for about four hours to see if anyone used the door. No traffic. It’s pretty isolated. Two other main traffic doors open up to the tennis courts and a small refreshment stand. Those are used by the guests. Counting the camera above the blue door, I found a total five that are line-of-sight to the parking lot. That includes one at the parking lot exit. Once off the property, we end up on a small lane which has sparse traffic. I think it’s reserved for the card-carrying members of the tennis club. No guards stationed in that area.