Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (17 page)

“I hope you're right,” she said.

“Well, you've got company. I hope so too.” He paused. “Now
I
have a question to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I thought I wasn't moving in until I showed you how to work the card and rig the books.”

“I did a lot of thinking about that, Harry,” replied the Madonna. “It boils down to this: either I'm going to have to start trusting you or I'm not. I don't know anything about accounting or skeleton cards; nothing you show me might work when the time comes. So either I'm with you from the start of this enterprise, or I'm not.” She sighed. “I don't know if I've decided to trust you because I want so badly to believe in you, or because you've convinced me you're telling the truth.” She stared at him and shrugged. “I suppose it doesn't really make any difference in the long run. I want to be with you, and I want to protect my ship, and if it turns out you're lying again I'll just have to face that when I come to it.”

There was a long silence.

“Would you like me to get you your present now?” he asked at last.

“In a little while,” she said. “Would you like to look around first, now that you're going to be living here?”

“I assumed it was just like all the other suites.”

She smiled. “The madam gets special privileges.”

“How many rooms do you have?”

“Five. Six, counting this one.”

“What do you do with them all?” he asked.

“I live in them. I haven't set foot off the
Comet
in more than five years.” They stood up, and she walked over and took his arm. “Which room would you like to see first?”

“The bedroom.”

“Not the library?” she asked with a smile.

“Later.”

“Or the dining room?”

“Some other time.”

“But bedrooms all look pretty much alike.”

“This one won't,” he said. “
You'll
be in it.”

She led him through a door at the back of the office, down a corridor, and into her bedroom, a huge room that was decorated with opulent, if traditional, furniture, and filled with some of her more valuable
objets d'art.

“Welcome home, Harry,” she said, as he began unfastening his tunic.

When Redwine awoke, the Leather Madonna was no longer in bed with him. He tried three closets before he found the one that held his clothes. He pulled out one of his gray business outfits, then changed his mind and decided to wear something a little more colorful instead, and discovered to his surprise that he didn't
own
any colorful clothing. He made a mental note to stop by one of the shops in the Mall and purchase something that would put a little life in his wardrobe, then set his chosen outfit on the bed while he shaved and showered.

After getting dressed he made a quick tour of the apartment, and wasn't especially surprised to find that the Madonna was gone, probably off solving another of the daily problems that never seemed to diminish in frequency. He found a container of coffee warming in the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and finally went to the office to see if he could discover her whereabouts with the computer, and possibly join her.

He was four steps into the room when he noticed the chess set. He had given it to her just before they had gone to sleep, and she had seemed quite overwhelmed by it—but it wasn't until now, when he saw that she had actually taken the opposing forces out of their ornate container and set them up on the table, that he was convinced that she liked them as much as she had said she did. She had re-polished each piece before leaving the apartment—though they certainly didn't need it—and he had to admit to himself that they looked
right
in their new setting.

He walked over to the table, sat down on one of the chairs, and spent the next few minutes once again admiring the thirty-two pieces. He still didn't know what they had cost him, but if they made her happy they were worth it whatever the price.

He was still sitting there, sipping his coffee and re-examining one of the knights, an intricate sculpture of an armored warrior on a charging stallion, lance at the ready, the horse's mane and tail whipping in an imaginary wind, when a beeping sound told him someone was at the door. He commanded it to open.

“Where's the Madonna?” asked Suma, entering the office as the door slid shut behind her.

Redwine shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea.”

“Then what are
you
doing here?”

“Drinking coffee,” he replied. “What about you?”

“I have to talk to her.” Suma stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “You've moved in with her, haven't you?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Your taste hasn't improved any,” she said with barely concealed contempt. “Of all the whores on the
Comet
, why
her
?”

“I don't see that it's any of your business,” replied Redwine irritably.

“Is it because she's the madam?” persisted Suma.

Redwine merely stared at her without answering.

“It sure as hell isn't because she's the best in bed—or have you forgotten already?”

“She's good enough for me,” said Redwine, surprised that he felt as defensive as he sounded.

“You're a stupid man, Harry.”

“Perhaps.”

“You're not a very attractive one, either,” continued Suma. “So why did she
let
you move in?”

“Maybe
I'm
good enough for
her
.”

Suma shook her head. “Swans swim with swans; ducks swim with ducks.”

“Why don't you just let
us
worry about it?” suggested Redwine, hoping to change the subject.

“Because I don't trust anything that runs contrary to my experience,” she answered.

“Your experience is limited to staring at every ceiling on this ship.”

“It has to be that she's the madam,” said Suma, ignoring his remark. “That was dumb, Harry. She's not going to be the madam forever ... and
then
what will you do?”

“Who's going to replace her?” asked Redwine with a harsh smile. “
You
?”

“Eventually,” was her confident answer.

“You're sure of that, are you?”

“I'm the best there is, so why shouldn't I have the best job?”

“Modest, too,” commented Redwine dryly.

“The next modest whore you meet will be the first,” replied Suma. She paused. “I'm the only one who ever outlasted the Demolition Team.”

“Is that good?”

“Your Madonna couldn't have done it,” said Suma proudly.

“I sincerely hope not,” agreed Redwine.

Suma looked at him and sighed. “You're a fool, Harry.”

“So you've told me.”

“You probably even think she does a good job running the
Comet
.”

“You don't?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Of course not. She's got no imagination, no flair.”

“What would you do differently?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

Suma walked over to the metal lounge chair and sat down.

“Do you really want to know?”

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.”

“All right,” she said. “First of all, I'd double the rent of every shop in the Mall as quick as their leases came up for renewal.”

“That's a lot of money,” commented Redwine.

“Our business has tripled in the last five years, and their rents have only gone up sixty percent. They'll pay.” She paused. “Next, I'd get rid of the blackjack tables. They only give the house a three percent break. I'd replace them with some alien game, probably
jabob
that the Dabihs play out on the frontier worlds. I'd get rid of half the fantasy rooms, replace them with more suites, and triple the price on the fantasy rooms that remain.”

“I thought they were pretty popular,” said Redwine, fascinated and just a little uneasy about all the thought she had obviously put into this.

“They are—but we have too many of them. Anyone who spends a weekend here is likely to be able to use one. If we make them harder to come by, we can charge more, and do more business in the extra suites. I'd start selling drugs—which the Madonna absolutely refuses to do, despite the fact that anyone who wants them can get them in the Mall; that costs us perhaps two hundred thousand credits a week.”

“It sounds like you've given it a lot of consideration,” commented Redwine noncommittally.

“This ship is my life, Harry,” she replied seriously. “And someday I'm going to run it. I plan to know what to do when that time comes. You want more?”

“Absolutely.”

“I'd get rid of the tramway.”

“You were the one who told me how convenient it is,” noted Redwine.

“It is—but it means most of the prostitutes don't walk by the Mall very often. The whores on this ship make good money, Harry—based on what they tell me, the lowest contract we've got is for a third of a million credits a year.”

“You're not paid—uh—piecework?”

“I thought you were auditing the books,” she said, looking at him sharply. “How come you don't know?”

“I haven't gotten to the payroll yet,” he replied.

“Well, we're not. Most of the people who work here have developed expensive tastes, and they've got very little to spend their money on. I'd make them take the slidewalk every day.”

“Makes sense,” he agreed.

“And there's one more thing.” She paused. “You've seen the Gemini Twins?”

He nodded.

“
That's
what I would do!”

“I don't think I follow you.”

“They were surgically altered to appear identical,” she said, irritated that he seemed unable to jump to the proper conclusion.

“So what?” asked Redwine. “Are you saying that you would encourage more of the men to look like them?”

Suma shook her head impatiently. “Who's the most popular whore on the
Comet
?”

“Let me take a wild shot in the dark and say that you are.”

“And the most beautiful?”

“You're suggesting that someone become a surgical twin of yourself ?” he asked, puzzled. “That you want to work the way the Gemini Twins do?”

“No!” she almost shouted, her face taking on the glow of a fanatic as her mask finally dropped all the way off. “I'm talking about a whole ship filled with copies of myself! We'll call them the Suma Girls, and I'll select and train them myself. No more Gemini Twins, no more male whores at all. We wouldn't need them. Men would come from all over the galaxy to sample the Suma Girls.”

“Have I already mentioned that modesty isn't among your strong points?” inquired Redwine wryly.

“You think it won't work?”

“What about the man who craves a little variety?”

“He won't—not once he's had the best.”

“
I
did.”

“Yes, but you're not a man, Harry—you're a sniveling toad who thinks he can get special treatment by shacking up with the madam. We'll get along just fine without customers like you.”

“From now on, you're going to have to—and the word is
patrons."

“Are you telling me how to be a whore, Harry?” she asked with a smile.

“I don't think
anyone
could tell you how to be a whore,” he replied truthfully. “But what are your female customers going to say when you bar the doors to them?”

“Not much. We'll start a sister ship for them. I've already chosen a name for it. Want to hear it?”

“I can't stand the suspense.”

“The
Satin Comet
,” she said proudly.

“Have you discussed any of these plans with the Madonna?” he asked her.

“She doesn't like them.” She flashed him a smile. “Especially the part about the Suma Girls.”

“I can't imagine why.”

“Because it's in her best interest to keep the
status quo
,” replied Suma. “After all, she's responsible for it.”

“And just how are you going to get rid of her?”

Suma laughed. “You don't really think I'm going to tell you, do you, Harry?”

“Why not?” he persisted.

“You're her new houseboy.” She paused. “I still don't know why, though. You're nowhere near as pretty as Adonis.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I have other advantages.”

She grinned. “I could straighten him out in two days.”

“He's probably the way he is because he
spent
two days with someone like you.”

“There
isn't
anyone like me.”

“Yet,” he said.

“Yet,” she agreed. She paused. “You're not being very nice, Harry.”

“I'm just a guy who's trying to drink his coffee and mind his own business.”

“I thought your business was to audit the books, not to screw the Madonna.”

“When
your
business is to tell me how to run my own, I'll take your opinion under advisement.”

“It may not be that far off, Harry.” Suddenly she smiled. “You were much nicer to me in bed. Perhaps I ought to seduce you again.”

“I don't think that would be a very good idea.”

“I could, you know,” she said confidently, as she shifted her position on the chair to better display her jutting breasts. “What do you think the Madonna would say if she came in and saw us tumbling around together?”

“She's not going to, so your question is academic.”

“This may be your last chance, Harry.”

“I sure as hell hope so,” he said devoutly.

“She'd never even have to know,” persisted Suma, amused by his discomfort.

“Why would you want to,
except
to have her know?” he asked.

“I told you that the last time: I don't like being rejected.”

“Then don't ask me, and you won't be.”

She stared at him. “It's funny,” she said at last. “You don't
look
dumber than Gamble.”

“Ask Gamble if he can do double-entry bookkeeping sometime,” replied Redwine.

“She's not keeping you around for your wit, that's for sure.” Suma looked at the chess set. “Did you buy her that?”

“Yes.”

“How much did it cost?”

“I'm afraid that's none of your business.”

She walked over to get a closer look. “Ugly queen,” she commented. “Skinny and flat-chested.”

“Well, not everyone can look like you,” he said. “Until you become the madam, anyway.” He stood up.