FRENCHY II : Having a Blast

by George Olney

  Frenchy shook her head with a grin. "Nope. For us. Grae drills in combat handling on a regular basis and I handle the ship's weapons while he pilots. Believe me, I'm always glad to get the practice.

  "Speaking of which," she continued, "Dallas, if you say this is so much like a Navy ship, you must have spent some time on one. Fess up, babe. Tell me more about the Marines."

  The two women settled into plump settees in what Frenchy called the ship's wardroom, a comfortably masculine sort of furnished deck a step down from the ship's command deck. Justa, bored with the proceedings, drifted off to find something to do.

  After a while, Justa wandered out of the ship's library to check on the situation. Frenchy and Dallas were still happily engaged in conversation. Walking to the galley, she found Grae alone, drinking what looked like the "coffee" he and Frenchy seemed so fond of imbibing at any opportunity. On reflection, she decided this might be a good chance to try her hand again. After all, Frenchy seemed occupied for a while.

  Grae was sitting quietly, sipping his coffee and waiting for Justa to make up her mind to do whatever it was she was thinking about doing. He knew exactly where she was and what she was doing, even though she was standing behind him, thanks to the sensor he had in place of his lost eye. Being able to know in exact detail what, or who, was behind him was a literal lifesaver, proven a number of times in his highly active past. Originally, his purpose in sitting in the galley was quiet reflection on what to do, once he brought his golden women and her pair of strays to Lycanth. Now, he gave a philosophical mental shrug. The question was moot until the stray standing behind him got on with whatever she was planning to try.

  He didn't have to wait long.

  "Hi." Justa's normally firm voice was soft and furry. "Mind if I join you?"

  "No."

  Justa slipped past him in a smooth, sensual motion and slid gracefully into the chair opposite his at the galley table. "Thought you might like some company."

  Grae looked at her with an ironic smile. "Company for conversation, fine. Company for anything else, girl, is something in which I have no interest. If you are lucky, one day you will understand that."

  Justa reared back as though she'd been slapped, glared at him for a moment, then stormed out. Grae heard the hatch shut on the compartment she shared with Dallas. The ship's construction didn't allow for hatches to be slammed by furious passengers. Sighing with resignation, he calmly said into the air, "Frenchy."

  The reply came back, transmitted by the ship's com system. "Yes?"

  "Mistress, come to the galley. I think we, or maybe just I, have a problem with our youngest passenger."

  The reply was immediate. "Coming."

  In a few seconds, Frenchy came storming into the galley. Dallas was right behind her, wearing a little smile. Meanwhile Grae noted that his wife was starting to steam up. "Just what did that little so-and-so do this time?" she demanded.

  "Sit down, mistress," Grae said calmly. "She's just being a normal tribal girl. I need your help to try and figure out what to do about it."

  Frenchy shot up from the seat she was about to take. "Damn it! So she did try and make a pass at you! I'll..."

  "Do absolutely nothing," Grae's dry voice interrupted her. "She's just being herself. In a way, that's going to become a pain in the ass if it's not dealt with. It's up to us to deal with it."

  He looked Frenchy square in the eyes, carefully noting the way those eyes were flashing. "And without damage to her or the ship.

  "The ship's important," he grunted.

  Dallas's giggle broke into Frenchy's anger. She turned to glare at her friend, but Dallas only grinned. Dallas always got amused when Frenchy blew up over minor things. "Oh, come on," she said. "We ought to be able to settle her down.

  "...And take her down a few notches, too," Dallas finished thoughtfully. "Look, I've got an idea."

  She leaned forward over the galley table conspiratorially, and the other two leaned forward to hear her. Shortly, the galley rang with uncontrolled laughter.

  Not very long thereafter, the hatch to Justa and Dallas's compartment opened quietly, as computer controlled hatches are wont to do, and Justa looked up from where she was sitting on her bed in a funk to see Dallas entering. Frenchy saw the girl's expression becoming highly apprehensive when she realized who was following Dallas into the compartment. "You, know, Dallas," Frenchy commented, "that must have been interesting, being in the Mediterranean in the Sixth Fleet and all. I've always wanted to see Greece."

  Dallas shrugged. "Not that I saw very much of Greece or anywhere else. We got liberty, all right, but I didn't get to do much touring. Who wants to be hit on by a bunch of horny sailors the second your foot hits the dock?"

  Frenchy shrugged. "Well, if a girl's just as horny..."

  Dallas favored Justa with a sympathetic look. "Like poor Justa here?"

  Justa's expression got even more apprehensive.

  Frenchy nodded, also giving Justa a sympathetic look. "Exactly. Justa, darling, Grae told me you were trying to get him to play and struck out."

  Justa looked ready to bolt, but the hatch was closed. She suddenly realized there was no place to run to on the ship.

  Frenchy waved her hand and continued, "Oh, relax, girl. If you think Dallas and I don't understand about that, you're sadly mistaken. We're both ex-strippers and, of all people, strippers understand about a girl's needs. And what to do for them."

  Justa was slowly starting to relax. It looked as though Frenchy wasn't going to try to tear her limb from limb for a perfectly natural attempt, albeit an unsuccessful attempt, at a little romp. Custom condoned it, after all. Then she got uneasy again when she remembered that Custom didn't necessarily condone a little romp when the man in question was married, especially when the man in question was married to a woman that was four inches taller and thirty or so pounds heavier than her, and none of it was fat.

  Then Frenchy started doing something that made her even more apprehensive.

  She began taking off her jeans.

  "You know," Frenchy said to Dallas, "I never wore anything on board the ship. The first time, because Grae wouldn't let me. Every other time, I guess, because it was more comfortable and I enjoyed the freedom. Besides, Grae liked it."

  Dallas twinkled. "I imagine he did. I've told you before, babe, your attitude about dressing up for company is silly. It's not like we've never seen each other in the altogether. Besides, Justa here doesn't wear anything. So why bother?"

  She also began removing her jeans and T-shirt.

  In the back of Justa's mind, an Awful Suspicion began to grow. But they weren't, were they? Frenchy was married to Grae and enjoyed it, didn't she? Dallas made no bones about liking men, didn't she? Then she noticed Dallas giving her a speculative, predatory look.

  Dallas sat down next to her, her bare hip pressed close. Frenchy sat on the bed opposite Justa and placed a tender hand on her thigh. Under ordinary circumstances, neither action would have bothered Justa. Given the circumstances, Awful Suspicion began to get Awful Bigger, and Justa's skin began to crawl. As she looked into Frenchy's eyes, she saw nothing in them but sympathetic tenderness, but she still felt paralyzed. Dallas put a warm, tender arm around her shoulder and hugged her close.

  "Oh, we understand, Justa," Dallas murmured tenderly. "Girls have needs, just like men. I just want you to know I'm here if you need me. I'm good, too. I never used to work with men. The guys in the sex business were all jerks, anyhow. I only worked with girls. You know, I really prefer men, but I know my way around a woman's body. If you're really hot, I can make it good for you. And you're certainly nice enough for me to enjoy it."

  Dallas began to nuzzle Justa's neck, to Frenchy's obvious approval. Again, Dallas murmured, "If you're really, really hot..."

  With Dallas's nuzzling Justa underwent a miracle cure for her paralysis. Not even moving her arms, she hip-scooted away from Dallas with a speed that amounted to teleportation, meanwhile crying in one long drum r
oll, "I'mnot!I'mnot!I'mnot!I'mnot!!!"

  Frenchy leaned over and patted Justa's thigh tenderly. "Are you really certain, dear?"

  Justa nodded emphatically. "Yes!" It came out more as a frantic yip than a calm statement.

  Dallas regarded the girl, her expression regretful. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry, actually," she said. "I really am into guys, but I'll make a sacrifice for you because you're a friend. Remember, I'll be available to you if you ever need help."

  Wide-eyed, Justa nodded rapidly. She didn't speak.

  With tender smiles directed at Justa, both women gathered up their clothing and slowly departed the compartment. As the hatch shut behind them, they sprinted for the other sleeping cabin. Grae happened to be inside, and he was treated to the sight of his wife and her best friend diving belly down and buck naked onto the bed, smothering howling gales of hysterical laughter with separate pillows.

  It was late in the sleep period when Frenchy woke up. At first, she couldn't figure out what had woken her, then she realized. Yelen was talking to her. She lay quietly and concentrated, trying to understand what was bothering her sister. It was difficult, but Frenchy began to get a sensing. Yelen was worried about Justa. Oh, Yelen felt the gag she and Dallas had pulled on Justa was fully justified, and appropriate, but Yelen was still worried about the girl. There wasn't anything that could be pinned down, just a general sense of worry.

  Because of that, Frenchy also found herself concerned about the girl. Tribal girls were violent, over sexed (by Frenchy's way of thinking), and totally bullheaded about a lot of things. On the other hand, they had a lot of blind spots where they were incredibly vulnerable to someone more sophisticated. In some ways, they were almost innocent, if that was the right term to apply to someone that would happily jump in bed with any guy that caught their fancy or calmly blow away any man or monster they felt was a threat.

  She had to think about this.

  Leaving Grae sleeping, Frenchy slipped out of bed and padded quietly towards the wardroom, intending to spend some time curled in her favorite chair, pondering. The lights were on in the wardroom, and someone was already there. It was Justa. She was sitting on one of the couches, her knees pulled up under her chin, hugging her ankles, a pensive scowl on her face. Frenchy recognized the symptoms. Right after Grae took her, she'd spent a lot of time in just that posture. Her thoughts towards the girl softened with the realization.

  Frenchy opened contact. She walked quietly into the wardroom and sat in her favorite chair, then said, "Thinking?"

  The glare Justa gave her told the whole story. "You and Dallas were making a fool of me, weren't you?"

  Frenchy nodded. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me you didn't deserve it?"

  Justa flushed. "I guess not. I guess I shouldn't have made a play for him, should I? You told me not to.

  "But did you have to make a fool of me?!" Justa burst out crying.

  "Oh, honey," Frenchy said tenderly, then crossed over to sit on the couch and held the crying girl until she got it out of her system. This was it. This was what Yelen was worried about. Honor and dignity were everything to Tribal women, and this girl's dignity was in tatters, thanks to Frenchy. Justa felt her honor was intact, or she'd have killed herself, but her self-image was about zero, right now.

  After Justa slowly cried herself out, Frenchy let her go for a moment, went in back and returned with several tissues. Tenderly, she swabbed the tear tracks from the girl's face like she would a child. Because of the extended life spans resulting from Galactic longevity treatments, Justa was probably close to Frenchy's age or older, but she felt like the girl's mother at the moment. "Here, baby," she said softly, "let me clean you up. It wasn't as bad as all that. You'll live. You'll see."

  Justa looked her in the eye. "I never expected sympathy from you."

  Settling back, Frenchy said softly, "There was many a time in my life when I needed someone to hold me. Grae did and didn't want anything in return. I guess that's one reason I love him, but that's also the reason I won't turn away from anyone that needs a little human tenderness, either."

  Justa turned her face away and went back to hugging her legs, obviously thinking hard. Frenchy could almost see her world view shifting. "I guess," she said finally, "if I had a man and loved him like you love Grae, I'd be upset with someone trying to make a play for him."

  Frenchy nodded silently, wondering where Justa was heading.

  "You and Dallas aren't from Galactic society, I know that. What I didn't understand, and I should have, is how that made you think. I ought to know these things. After all, I'm an anthropologist."

  "Your ego's coming back on you, Justa," Frenchy said firmly. "That's what got you into trouble before. You need to stop thinking you're smarter than everyone else. Your attitude left you wide open for us to jerk your chain. Now, you need to get your feet on the ground and realize there's a lot more people in the universe than just you and to them what they want is just as important as what you want."

  For a few seconds, Justa looked like a child being scolded then she flushed and looked away. When she looked back, Frenchy sensed something else in her, a new maturity starting to emerge. "Sorry," she said, "I guess I deserved that, too."

  Frenchy smiled at her. "Maybe. But if you have the guts to face yourself, you might just be worth saving."

  Frenchy leaned over and, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders, hugged her again. "You're fortunate, baby, trust me on that. Dallas and I have both had a hell of a lot harder life than you have, even with that asshole Vandemos enslaving you. If we hadn't saved you that night, you would have found out just how hard life can get. Believe me, I know."

  Justa looked at her curiously. Frenchy continued, "I was on the street trying to survive when I was seventeen. You're an anthropologist, and that takes a lot of schooling. Well, I never finished what you would call secondary school. The first time in my life I ever graduated from something was when I became an Enforcement Arm agent."

  Justa looked surprised. "You're serious, aren't you? But, you have everything! You're very beautiful, and a great dancer, and Grae's just about every girl's dream lover! You're even an Arm agent, and that's exciting! I'd give anything to be like you."

  It was Frenchy's turn to flush and shake her head. "I don't know about all that. If, as you say, I have it all then I went through hell to get it. Back home, we say everything has a price. Well, if I could have less and have paid less for it, I'd be happy, as long as Grae was part of the bargain."

  Justa said, "What Dallas was saying - about making love to me. She's not a left-hander. I'm sure of that now, but I don't understand a lot of the things she was saying about 'movies' and 'strippers'. Was that part of what you are talking about? She wasn't really serious about having sex with me, was she?"

  Hooo, boy, Frenchy thought to herself. Now how do you explain this? As far as she knew, Rembaud didn't even have a word for pornography and, she knew from past experience, the concept of a girl stripping for a living was hard for a tribal girl to grasp. They lived in a culture where nudity was normal, natural, and unremarkable. Sex to them was simply another activity of life. The whole concept of sex as a business was alien to them. As far as Frenchy was concerned, even given her career in the sex business, that was healthy.

  Oh, well.

  "Justa, honey, you say you're an anthropologist. Well, I want you to take what I have to say as something that an anthropologist would find out in studying Earth.

  "Dallas was perfectly serious when she said she knew how to make love to a woman, because she's done it. Not because she particularly felt attracted, but because she was paid for it. Paid well. Where we come from, for whatever reason, sex isn't just an aspect of a relationship, like it is out here. It's big business. Our culture tells everyone it's upright and moral then uses sex to do everything including sell products."

  Listen to me, Frenchy thought. I sound like some kind of high blown philosopher. That's not me, is it? Well, maybe I've grown
up and developed a good bit in the last year, myself. Now, if I could only return the favor for this little ego tripper next to me.

  Justa's face didn't show any shock. Her expression was puzzled and a little uncomprehending.

  Frenchy settled herself further on the couch. "You say I am a good dancer. Well, I am and so is Dallas. We were both trained professionally to dance on the stage, what we call legitimate theater. We went from that to becoming strippers. It paid a whole lot better."

  "There's that term again," Justa said. "What does it mean?"

  "In terms you'd understand, we took off our clothing on a stage in front of men and performed sexually enticing dances to excite them."

  "Why? To attract a partner?"

  Frenchy shook her head with a little chuckle. She'd had this conversation before, with another tribal girl. And gotten the same replies. "No, dear, for money. The men gave us money if we were good at it, and that was how we made a living, because we were good at it.

  "There were other forms of that kind of activity. A 'movie' is what you would term recorded visual entertainment. Some of them featured sex in just about any form you could imagine, and several forms I'm sure you couldn't. Both of us did that, and a lot of other things, all in the same line.

  "Dallas did a lot more movies than I did. I didn't like it. She really didn't either, but she had more contacts than I did. Movies pay well. But, like she said, all the guys in that business were jerks, some of them with sexually transmitted diseases. She found a way around it by only working with girls, no guys. Oh, she's firmly heterosexual. But as she says, that's why it's called acting. She was acting when you thought she was trying to seduce you, but that doesn't mean she is ignorant of the whole process."

  Justa appeared slightly outraged. "B-b-but, she's your friend! How could you condone her having sex with another woman? That's a wrongness!"

  It said a lot for Frenchy's mindset that Justa's declaration didn't upset her, even mildly. "Yes, she's my friend, and, no, I don't consider it a wrongness. Maybe in the Tribes, but not in the life Dallas and I led. A lot of girls despised men. You get that way if you strip for a while. I despised men, at least until I met Grae. I hated the fact that all they thought about was my body. Most girls like that turned to the girl-girl thing. I never did, but I don't fault them for doing it.