“Oh, I’ve no intention of stopping you,” Lady Finch winked, “but we must first agree upon our terms. Every girl starts on a trial basis. At the start, you take a quarter of the shiners the polishers toss your way. I gauge the passion you inspire. If I judge you to be a looker, I give you half. If the polishers consider you a stunner, then I only take a quarter of your shiners. It’s never difficult to recognize when the polishers see a stunner.”
The woman’s plush lips parted in a slight smile. “Oh, I don’t need any shiners.”
The women at the mirrors traded surprised glances.
Lady Finch shrugged. It was a very rare thing for a girl to walk through that red, back door and claim that whatever thrill she felt dancing before the polishers was payment enough from the Crystal Palace. It was very rare, but that woman was not the first to say she needed no coin to step upon a stage.
“All the same, dear, I insist that you stick to my policy when it comes to earnings. Believe me, sooner or later all the girls expect some kind of payment, and it’s best to work the terms out at the start rather than try to define them later. I have to insist that you take something.”
Lady Finch thought she saw something spark behind the woman’s brown eyes. “I didn’t say I was going to dance for free.”
“Then what will you dance for?”
“I will dance to live forever, and the city will worship me.”
The girls whispered at their mirrors. Lady Finch’s custom was to turn away any dancer who displayed signs of an unstable mind. Polishers sensed what girls’ hearts harbored unease for dancing upon the stage, and the polishers avoided those dancers. Nor did polishers enjoy witnessing the spirit of a dancer crumbled over time. The Palace’s sway upon a polisher’s heart was a very fragile type of magic, and Lady Finch had to insure to protect it.
Only, Lady Finch doubted she had ever seen such a stunner as that woman who had just arrived, unannounced, with the storming and swirling dust. There was no doubt that the woman would drive any polisher wild. Lady Finch needed all the revenue she could gather, for no one could tell how long the dust would sweep over those river shores. Every shiner her Crystal Palace brought her increased her chances of surviving to see the clear sky waiting on the other end of the dust.
Lady Finch nodded. “All the same, I’ll set your shiners aside, just in case you change your mind. All you have to do now is tell me what you want to use for a stage name.”
“A stage name?”
The girls at their mirrors chuckled. Lady Finch smiled. “Oh, darling, do you think any of the polishers care to know your true name? They’re only interested in mirage. They don’t want biography. They don’t want whatever’s real. They want fantasy. So all us girls give them fantasy names.”
The woman considered Lady Finch’s explanation. “I don’t think you’re right. I think all those dusty men climbing all those glass towers crave something very real.”
“Who’s to say?” Lady Finch shrugged. The girls cycled in and out of the Palace, but Lady Finch always remained. What did she have to gain by arguing with strangers who arrived with the dust? “Regardless, we have to call you something.”
“Then call me Satinka.”
“Just Satinka?” Lady Finch raised an eyebrow. “Is there anything else to go with it?”
“Satinka the Magic Dancer if you must have more.”
“Then we’ve settled upon terms.”
Satinka slowly shook her head. “Not just yet. You have to promise me something.”
“I won’t know if I can grant it until I hear it.” Lady Finch sighed. Dancers who needed promises often brought trouble. But that woman who called herself Satinka was such a stunner. She would be a fool not to give Satinka the chance to ask for a promise.
“You must promise that you will never call me down from the stage before I’m ready.” Satinka whispered. “No matter what, no one stops my dance but me.”
New girls at the Palace often spoke bravely before they took the stage. Bravado was easy before stepping in front of the polishers. “Sure thing, honey. I promise. No one will make you step down from that stage until you’re ready to come down. A stage will be ready for you the moment you decide to step through that purple curtain. Any of the girls over your shoulder will be happy to help you with a routine. You just let me know when you feel up to it.”
Satinka didn’t take a second to respond. “I’m ready right now.”
That surprised Lady Finch, and it had become very rare, indeed, for anything to surprise Lady Finch within her Crystal Palace. The dust worked quickly. The dust had delivered Satinka to the Palace’s dressing chamber, and Lady Finch nor any of her girls would have to wait for very long to know for certain if Satinka the Magic Dancer was going to be the kind of stunner to force all of those polishers to take a break from their cleaning to climb down from their glass towers.
* * * * *
Chapter 3 – The Secret of Success
The men of the tight suits and the narrow ties gathered within their conference room perched atop the tallest of the city’s glass spires to conduct their monthly session. As usual, the subject of the day held little real substance. They would hold no debates regarding investment and infrastructure. They would listen to no presentations about fresh products or supplements to already existing revenue streams. Those men gathered in that high place would hear no petitions for patents, nor would they discuss the potential of any crop. Those in the tight suits and narrow ties didn’t care for publication or advertising profits. Just as they did during every monthly meeting, those men would focus their attention upon the projection of their wealth. They would donate their full effort to the preservation of their towers’ gleam and sparkle. Gleam and sparkle composed the bedrock of their towers’ foundations, and those in the tight suits and narrow ties regarded shimmer and mirage as their most precious commodity.
Mr. Whitaker leaned forward in his leather chair, placed as always at the head of the polished, conference table. “We seem to have weathered the recent dust storms well. Kudos, Mr. Meredith, for having such a strong response protocol prepared before these disturbances rolled in upon our towers.”
Tears gathered in the corners of Mr. Meredith’s eyes. “Those kind words mean the world to me, Mr. Whitaker. These recent storms have been a very trying time for my family.”
Though Mr. Meredith had never paid a shiner to the lift man, though he had never once lifted a polisher’s brush nor worn a polisher’s slick coat, and though he had never scrubbed a fleck of grime from any of those towers’ glass, all of those men in the tight suits and narrow ties smiled upon Mr. Meredith as if he alone was responsible for defeating the recent dust.
“Wonderful indeed, Mr. Meredith,” Mr. Forsyth agreed. “The sun has blessed us with its return today, and all that sunlight sparkles so majestically upon the entire height of our spires. A factory somewhere in the Shri Apur province has this morning already inquired concerning a loan for some start-up capital.”
Mr. Undertow grinned. “What are they planning to produce?”
Many at the table swallowed a laugh. Mr. Forsyth shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“No. I suppose it never does,” and Mr. Undertow chuckled softly at his own silly question. “I suppose I let curiosity get the better of my judgment. All that matters is that somewhere in a province named Shri Apur there is an enterprise with ultimate faith in our towers. No matter the dust. We all have Mr. Meredith to thank for it.”
The room joined together to give Mr. Meredith a thundering round of applause. Not all of the monthly gatherings conducted atop the glass towers progressed so smoothly, but rarely did they ever turn bitter or sour. For the city of those glass towers had been built by the effort of generations that remained as lost as it remained venerated. For generations, that city had offered nothing new to the world’s coffers – nothing new except those tall towers sheathed in glass that glistened in the sun. But all of those men of the tight suits and the narrow tires beli
eved the towers were enough. For as long as the rest of the globe believed that those towers brimmed with silver and gold, then the hungry and the enterprising would always bow to their gleaming glass.
Mr. Whitaker held up a hand, and his colleagues turned quiet and still.
“I’ve no reason to doubt that our towers will continue to attract faith. But just as I do each month, I open the floor to anyone who feels the need to voice any concern to the contrary.”
Mr. Stewart swallowed to gather his courage before slowly raising his hand. His peers frowned. They regarded Mr. Stewart to be born from good stock, and so they had reserved a place at their table for him. Yet Mr. Stewart remained very young, and the young sometimes failed to adequately appreciate the tradition upon which every one of those glass towers was built.
Mr. Whitaker nodded. “Go ahead, son, but be brief and succinct.”
“We lost another polisher yesterday,” Mr. Stewart flinched, for he feared his words fled too quickly from his tongue.
The men in the tight suits and narrow ties looked perplexed.
“And what does that have to do with anything?” Mr. Meredith asked.
Mr. Stewart hesitated a breath before answering. “I worry we might be failing to see a trend working behind our recent losses of polishers. We’ve lost twenty-three of them this month alone.”
Mr. Meredith scowled. “Are you suggesting that I’ve cut any corners concerning the scaffolding or safety equipment? I guarantee to everyone at this table that I have not. I guarantee that I hold the life of any polisher in its just regard. And I resent any implication that I do not.”
Mr. Stewart stammered. “That’s not at all what I meant.”
“Then why bring up the loss of those polishers at all?” pressed Mr. Forsyth.
“Well, the dust storms had to have been hard on the polishers,” Mr. Stewart answered. “None of those polishers we’ve lost this month slipped or fell off of their scaffolds. The wind did not blow them off of their perches, nor did the sunlight blind them into a lethal misstep. Everyone one of those twenty-three polishers simply jumped away from our glass towers to their deaths of their own volition.”
The men seated around the table mumbled. They failed to understand why Mr. Stewart felt the need to invest their valuable time considering suicidal polishers. It was not their fault that some of the polishers suffered mental deficiencies. New polishers would quickly and easily be procured. Even a colleague as proficient and efficient as Mr. Meredith couldn’t be expected to screen every troubled polisher out of the hiring process.
Mr. Forsyth peeked at the ceiling. “You can’t know they jumped from the ledges, Mr. Stewart. Not really. Who’s to say for certain what happened to those men who fell from our towers?”
“Well, the lift men clearly state that the polishers jumped.”
Mr. Whitaker rolled his eyes. “And why should we care, or trust, anything the lift men have to say, Mr. Stewart?”
“Because the lift men can’t keep their mouths shut,” the snarl in his voice surprised Mr. Stewart. “All of us at this table work too hard to keep all this polish and gleam clean and sparkling. Gentlemen, you all mistake me if you think my heart bleeds for the polishers. I’m trying to protect our towers. I’m trying to get you all to think about the blemish that might ooze upon the glass if anyone thinks there’s polisher blood dripping down any of it.”
None of the other men in their tight suits and narrow ties had considered that perspective. They quickly realized that Mr. Stewart was indeed very savvy to keep the towers’ polish in the forefront of everyone’s mind. Mr. Stewart had reminded them that they could never forget about their towers’ frailty, not even when they applauded and celebrated their success in face of the rolling dust. It would be so easy for them to drop their guard, until before they realized it, the world lost its faith in their towers of glass. Those men at that table could never allow that to happen.
“Any ideas, Mr. Meredith?” Mr. Whitaker faced his friend.
Mr. Meredith scribbled his pen across his notebook. “We’ll pressure the union. That’ll help keep the lift men quiet. We’ll clamp down on their toll collections if we must. As for the polishers, I agree the recent string of storms and dust must’ve taken a toll upon them. They’ve worked long hours. I suppose it must tax a polisher’s spirit to work so hard all day to clean the glass, only to wake up the next morning to see it all gathered again. Perhaps we could give the polishers a bit of a holiday. Give them a chance to recharge their batteries.”
Mr. Forsyth slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. What if the dust returns while all our polishers are on vacation? Could we afford it if that happened?”
“Let’s give the polishers a day. Maybe two.” Mr. Whitaker leaned back into his leather chair. “The sky across the river looks bright and clear. I think we will be fine so long as we immediately gift the polishers a brief vacation.”
Mr. Stewart had only one more question. “And should it be a paid vacation like the Workers Holiday?”
Mr. Whitaker grunted. “Could we afford to pay the polishers for it, Mr. Forsyth?”
Mr. Forsyth shook his head. “We don’t possess enough shiners. I fear we cannot.”
Mr. Whitaker nodded. He hoped those in that province named Shri Apur never learned of that weakness. “It’s settled. An unpaid holiday for the polishers while the sky remains clear of the dust.”
The men around the table all agreed. Thus business was concluded for one month more, and the men in the tight suits and narrow ties hurried back to the glass towers each of them possessed. There, they stared out of their high, glass walls for the remainder of their day, their eyes drifting towards that sky that hovered over the wild lands beyond the river’s other shore. Their stomachs refused to sit easily, for they brooded and worried what might happen if the dust should rise to threaten their glass towers when the polishers were not present to immediately swipe away the grime.
* * * * *
Chapter 4 – Glass Wielded as a Weapon
“But, Lady Finch, we’ve still got a few hours before the Palace is teeming with the polishers. That gives us a little time to find somebody to help Tarence bounce at the main door.”
Lady Finch saw that Vivian Vixen’s knees were shaking. Lady Finch didn’t fault the petite redhead for it. The polishers had been crowding the Palace all week since Satinka started twirling on the stages, and that magic dancer proved to be more of a stunner in the eyes of the polishers than even Lady Finch had hoped. Lady Finch had never seen a girl dance with such a shape, and she had never seen a figure driver the polishers into such frenzies. The polishers rushed to Satinka’s stage whenever that new dancer appeared from behind the purple curtain, and it didn’t take long for the other girls to realize it was futile to climb upon a side stage whenever Satinka performed at the Palace’s heart. It only took a couple of nights before the Crystal Palace learned to organize its entire schedule around Satinka’s dancing.
Satinka quickly claimed whatever shiners the polishers brought to the Palace. Unlike custom, the polishers refused to leave the Palace after tossing their shiners to Satinka. The polishers at the front of the stage refused to leave their seats, regardless if their pockets were empty, to make room for the polishers who stood behind their backs, eager to watch Satinka’s repeated performances from a closer position. Lady Finch would never have believed it possible until Satinka’s arrival during that fateful dust storm, but polishers suddenly displayed fire in their usually cold and timid souls. Fisticuffs often erupted around Satinka’s stage. And though Lady Finch had never known a dull polisher to harbor any fury in their hearts before that magic dancer twirled on her stages, she started to fear that the polishers would soon bring weapons into the Palace along with their coin.
Polish, Dust and Sparkle Page 3