Everyone's Favorite Girl

Everyone's Favorite Girl Page 10

by Steph Sweeney

  After gobbling up a plate of food—Liu obviously wasn’t privy to the restrictions placed upon me because she brought everything I ordered, not just cold gravy and hard biscuits—Flora proved easily distractible. A glass of wine to make her feel like a real grown-up and she was ready to play dress-up in the closet.

  When we emerged, Flora wore a shimmery pearl-colored lingerie top that I insisted was a dress. The back of it rested on her butt, barely covering it when she stood straight. I also put her in white stockings with little bows down the outsides.

  “Elegant,” I said, observing her, but what I meant was, Fuck-tastic.

  She was clearly self-conscious. That’s why I dressed her so early in the day. By eight, hopefully she would shed her reservations and believe she was dressed appropriately. I wanted Mr. Shriver’s and Sean’s jaws to drop. I wanted them elated by the fact that I’d prepared for the show, short of actually rehearsing.

  Next I sat her down at Kate’s vanity and began blow drying, brushing, and curling her hair. To distill the awkwardness she felt for being underdressed, I asked her to tell me everything that happened when Sean came to take them to the warehouse.

  She gave me a concise summary, as though she’d prepared for when I asked:

  “They came right at bedtime, after we’d all changed into our pajamas. We were allowed to take a pillow. Nothing else. Not even a book. And they haven’t given us our belongings since. We were all taken to the lobby, all the girls at once—except the nine-year-olds and under. We stood there waiting while they crammed groups of us in the elevator. I was with the last group, just four of us Floras who couldn’t fit. None of us had any idea where we were going. They took us down to the warehouse. I never even knew there was a warehouse. We’ve been sleeping on the floor in a corner. It’s dirty and cold. They taped off a big square where we sleep, but we sleep and work in shifts, so the girls stuck on the edge have fork lifts driving just a few feet away from their heads. It’s mostly the little ones and the Frog Girls, the ones who couldn’t bully their way to the corner. They make us work all day.”

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “Different things. The Frog Girls are driving forklifts, loading and unloading trucks. We get these big black metal barrels and they have to be hauled back to the elevator and taken upstairs. When they come back down, they’re filled up with water, really heavy. They haven’t started production yet, but they’re making us practice. Some of us have easy jobs. I assign pallets full of barrels to the right shipment, I print labels, I verify quantities. The youngest ones are just kept around to run errands, find things, sweep the floor, clean the bathrooms and the break room, that kind of thing. But a bunch of the girls—most of them—are in the back of the clearing out a space to put in a bunch of new machines.”

  I studied her for a moment in the vanity mirror. Her eyes were lost in that place. She looked exhausted, physically, mentally, and spiritually.

  “You must be glad to get out of there,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Why should I get to leave? I should be with them.”

  I sighed and put my hand on her shoulder.

  “You will be soon.”

  Two hours before show time, I called Liu and asked her to bring me an assortment of flowers. She arrived an hour and a half later and presented me with a bouquet. Tucked into the wrapping I found a business card from a downtown florist and a receipt

  Society hadn’t collapsed after all.

  I smirked when I saw the delivery address on the receipt. Your Favorite Gem. I imagined the florist assembling the bouquet, passing it off to a delivery person who gave it to the new jewelry store clerk who took it to her manager who called upon Bob to retrieve it. Bob probably hand-delivered the bouquet to Liu, just so he could feel like he did something important today. Six hands the flowers passed through, all at my request.

  For some reason, that made me happy.

  I selected white, yellow, and golden flowers to tuck into Flora’s rich, freshly curled hair. Then I got on my knees and pinned a few to the hem of her lingerie top.

  It felt like garnishing an entrée right before serving it to a hungry patron.

  I topped her off with a little clear lip gloss, just for the sheen. Otherwise, applying makeup to Flora’s face was tantamount to painting graffiti on a Rembrandt.

  I had to give it to the evil men at Your Favorite Girl, Incorporated. They sure made one hell of a product.

  “You’re beautiful,” I told her, thinking, With just the right amount of terrified.

  Flora looked down at herself, then back at me. “I feel like I look silly.”

  “Mmm-mmm,” I said. “Far from silly. You look perfect. They’re going to love you.”

  “Who?” she asked. “Are we going somewhere?”

  I chose my words carefully. “Yes, the head of the company is having us up for dinner tonight.”

  “This is what I’m wearing?”

  “Yes.”

  I’d changed into a rather skimpy dress that came close to matching the color of Flora’s top, but she was one flick of a spaghetti strap from being naked, her top so loose I caught glimpses of her nipples all day long.

  “Will Patton be there?” she asked.

  I paused. “Yes.”

  Excitement welled up in her eyes, brightening her blue irises. She was in love with him. She wanted him to see her this way—no one else, of course, but his presence would make it easier for her. Little did Flora know, she was about to get exactly what she wanted.

  Just in the wrong way.

  I’d hoped James would be our escort to Level E. I couldn’t stand not knowing if my Flora was okay. When it came time to go, there was no knock at the door. Kate just barged in, red-faced and scowling.

  “I hope that’s what you’re wearing because I am not waiting around,” she said. “I don’t even know why they’re doing this stupid shit.”

  Jealousy evokes so much rage the two are almost one and the same emotion.

  “It’s just a formality,” I said, meeting her at the door and beckoning Flora with the wave of a hand. All the sheepishness I’d sheared from her grew back in the time it took her to walk across the room. Kate’s smirking, judgmental face didn’t help matters.

  “It’s stupid,” Kate said. “And they’re stupid to believe you’ve changed.”

  “I have.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I grabbed Flora by the wrist and led her past Kate. “We don’t have time to argue. They’re expecting us.”

  We started up the hall, but suddenly I felt fingernails digging into my bicep, two cold hands pulling me back. I spun around and delivered the hardest slap I could muster to Kate’s face. For a moment she just stood there, stunned, cheek flashing white and then filling up with deep red. Her face contorted into a sobbing grimace.

  I leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t make me show you just how much I’ve changed.”

  Then I walked away, leading Flora out to the lobby, where we waited by the elevator for Kate to finally dawdle over.

  She said nothing on the elevator ride, but when we stepped out onto Level E, a barely audible “What the fuck?” escaped her lips.

  There were men in suits everywhere.

  A full-blown party was underway. There had to be a hundred people in attendance. Most of them wore suits fit for politicians, but a handful wore black suits with black sunglasses and black Bluetooth devices in one ear. These men stood together in groups on the outskirts of Mr. Shriver’s big lounge. Straight-backed, arms crossed at the wrists, covering their crotches, they looked like more sophisticated versions of Sean’s guards.

  They had to be Secret Service, meaning the more sociable peo
ple in attendance had to be important members of the U.S. government.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked, not speaking to anyone in particular.

  “They didn’t tell me,” Kate said.

  We wandered into the crowd like children lost in the woods, Flora clinging to my arm, humiliated. Men were already staring at her, raising their glasses, smiles widening as their dicks hardened in their pants.

  Weaving through clusters of conversation, I kept hearing them addressing each other as Congressman This, Senator That, Councilman Such-and-Such, with an occasional mysterious Your Honor.

  As I neared the circle of high-back leather chairs where murder liked to take place, I thought I overheard, “Good evening, Mr. Secretary.”

  Secretary of State? The Treasury?

  Defense?

  I went on, eager to find someone I knew—Patton, James, even Sean—and get some answers.

  Laughter exploded just as I pushed my way to the circle. It was mostly clear, like a meadow in a thick forest—or the eye of a hurricane. I felt relieved to have some elbow room, but it only lasted a moment. In the middle of the circle stood the platform where Sean killed the first Flora and later I killed Brian, only the stripper pole had been replaced with a round bed, fitted only with a white sheet.

  This was the centerpiece of the party. We, to be exact. Patton, Flora, and me. Standing in this open circle, I no longer felt relief. On the contrary, I felt like I’d just stepped in front of a firing squad.

  A few men—one of them Sean, I realized—crowded around two of the chairs. This was where the laughter came from.

  Kate noticed Sean and stormed over to him. She began to berate him, but Sean shook his head and pointed a finger into the group. Kate fell silent. I watched her disappear into the group.

  I led Flora over to the bed and instructed her to plant her ass and not move.

  Then I approached the group, walking the perimeter twice before an opening formed through which I could squeeze.

  “Melissa!” Mr. Shriver called out, so drunk he slurped his way through the “s” sound.

  My heart stopped when I found him sitting in one of the chairs, gesturing for me to come closer.

  Seated next to him, looking equally drunk, was the President of the United States.

  Our introduction was brief and muted by an even larger explosion of laughter, and then Mr. Shriver shooed me away, shouting above the roar, “Show starts in an hour! Go have a drink and mingle!”

  I was happy to oblige, but first I scooped Flora off the bed and dragged her with me to the bar, where two men stood in heated, hushed debate.

  “Another shot?”

  It was the same bartender from the first party. The one I’d felt guilty for snapping at until he started drooling over the promised Favorite Girl show that never happened.

  “Two,” I said with a sigh.

  “Still bourbon, right?”

  “Sure.”

  He glanced at Flora. “Is she legal drin—” Then he did a double take, turning back to me with an open mouth. “She’s a Flora.”

  “The shots,” I repeated, “and some sodas to chase with. Pick up your tongue.”

  The bartender made our drinks quickly and then went back to studying every exposed inch of Flora’s body.

  “Oh my God,” he said, so flustered it was almost comical. “What I wouldn’t give to just…” He began to reach out to her.

  “Touch her and I’ll have Sean cut your hand off.”

  He retracted it like he’d touched a hot stove burner.

  I picked up the shots and handed one to Flora.

  “Do it fast or you might gag.”

  I threw back my shot, swallowing despite the burning sensation, and slammed my shot glass down on the bar top.

  “That’s how you take a shot,” one of the arguing men said. Their grievances had naturally resolved when they caught sight of Flora. Now they stared along with the bartender.

  When I turned to Flora, she flinched, downed her shot, and immediately fell into a coughing fit, spraying a mist of bourbon on my face and chest.

  Normally a party foul like this would inspire laughter. For Flora, these men actually moaned, “Aww.”

  Flora was working hard trying to apologize, but each time a sound escaped her lips, she coughed again.

  “How about two cosmos this time?” I asked the bartender.

  I swear he made both drinks without taking his eyes off Flora. An immense yet unnerving display of talent.

  “You know,” he said while shaking vodka in ice, “since the last time we met I’ve seen all the Favorite Girls.”

  “I was there, remember?” I said. “They had them all on display.”

  “But I’ve seen them up close,” he said, a subtle menace in his voice. “Sean killed most of them, but he kept a few Glows, a few Giggles, one Vampire, and three or four Floras. He won’t let us see the Floras, but he started a company brothel with the rest. An hour with a Favorite Girl costs a week’s paycheck, no matter your pay grade. The only downside is we’re not allowed to push the button. One of the lab techs pushed the button last week and no one’s seen him since.”

  I was astounded this guy knew so much—and that he was talking openly about it with government officials listening a few feet away.

  Flora finally got her coughing under control, had a few sips of her soda, and was able to speak again.

  I didn’t know she was crying until she spoke.

  “Those are my sisters you’re talking about,” she squeaked out, voice getting louder with each word. I felt quite a few eyes hone in on us. “I don’t understand why someone would hurt them.” She dropped her head, then her shoulders, and stood there teetering and sobbing.

  Enough was enough.

  If Mr. Shriver wanted a demented show, I wanted to get it over with.

  I ran my thumb up Flora’s forearm until I felt the indention of her childhood surgery scar. There I felt the device’s button, like a deep cyst.

  I pushed it, counted to two, and pushed it again, removing contact with her skin before the Libido and Love Drugs soaked through.

  Flora stopped crying. Lifting her head, she took in a deep breath, placed her hands delicately across her lower abdomen, just above the hem of her lingerie top, and exhaled with a smile.

  “I feel okay,” she said. “All of a sudden. I feel better. Just like that. Wham-bam. Isn’t that weird?” She ended her question with a laugh, and it resounded in manly chuckles all around me. I’d started something here, and I couldn’t stop now.

  Because I knew she would receive it well, and because I knew I needed to absorb some Libido and get on her level, I stepped forward and gave Flora a slow, moist kiss, rendering our side of the room silent.

  We carried on for a few seconds. I liked the feel of her tongue just as much as my Flora’s. They felt and tasted the same, and for a moment the sensation of being with her came back to me. This Flora could easily be my Flora. Only the freshness of their scars gave them away.

  Right now, at least.

  I ran my index finger down Flora’s breast, her stomach, and finally to the seam of her panties, grabbing them into a clump and leading her away from the bar this way.

  Halfway to the circle of chairs, I stopped in a thicket of men. They crowded around us, leaving us less than an arm’s length of room.

  Flora looked mildly embarrassed, unsure of herself, but I could still see lust in her eyes, if mixed with confusion. When I slid her panties down her legs, she stepped out of them willfully.

  I stood and kissed her again as I pulled her spaghetti straps down her shoulders, letting her loose top glide down her body. Then I put my arms around her and closed my eyes.

  When a han
d touched the small of my back, I didn’t react.

  Again when another grabbed my butt.

  Before long, hands were groping and petting us each all over. One even dared to slip a finger inside me. From the change in Flora’s breathing and her growing intensity, I gathered that someone else was doing the same to her.

  “Hey!” someone called from across the room. “Hey, what’s going on over there? Everyone STOP!”

  Suddenly every single hand retracted and I felt a cool wave of air as all the men backed away from us. They kept going until every invited guest stood within six feet of a wall, clearing the floor almost entirely.

  In the middle of the floor stood Flora, stark naked and heaving, and me. Not five steps away, I saw Patton. Sean, James, Kate, and Mr. Shriver stood in the circle of chairs. Everyone else—including the president—had instantly obeyed Mr. Shriver’s command.

  They were all drugged. I could see it now. Despite being barked an order, these powerful men suffered no loss of pride or cheerfulness. The party raged on, only now in a narrow, congested film around the room.

  It was quieter now, though. I could hear the piano, some classical piece to which I do not know the name. The sound of it filled me with an aching joy.

  My Flora. She was in this room.

  Only it was too late to see her. The show had begun ahead of schedule. I could tell Mr. Shriver was annoyed, but he couldn’t mask his intrigue. Here he was with the entire U.S. government at his command, and he watched me like I was the final piece to some intricate jigsaw puzzle wiggling myself into place.

  Leading Flora between two chairs and into the circle, I pressed her button again and pushed her down on the bed. She landed on her back, legs spread and bent at the knees—a position fit for the Showcase Hall.

  Now the men inched forward, drawing the gap closed. Before they engulfed Patton, who still stood motionless in the middle of the room, and went over, took his hand, and led him to the bed.

  We stood face-to-face. He was shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking right through me, like I wasn’t even there. It dawned on me that he believed I’d been brainwashed, too. Whatever James had told him to make the swap of Floras successful, he must have left out that part. It made sense. To James, I’d only expressed distrust in Patton. As my loyal, brainwashed servant, he naturally adopted my thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

 

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