Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (18 page)

“Where are you going?”

“To get another cup of coffee, if you've no strenuous objections. Can I get you one?”

“No,” she replied. “I really have to speak to the Madonna about a scheduling conflict tomorrow night.”

She picked up a bishop and examined it. “Maybe I'll take one of these pieces with me. The Madonna doesn't play anyway, and it would look nice in my room.” She grinned at him and waited for a reaction.

“You do,” he replied seriously, “and I'll come after you and break your arm.”

“Can't you think of anything you'd rather do to me?” she asked with a seductive smile.

“Truthfully? Not at this minute,” he replied, going to the kitchen. When he returned to the office she was gone.

The first thing he did was check the chess set to make sure all the pieces were there. The second thing he did was sit down on the lounge chair and allow himself to feel a moment of genuine pity for Gamble DeWitt. And the third thing he did was decide to take the morning off, since so much of it had been wasted already.

The Madonna returned half an hour later, walked over to where he was still sitting, and kissed him.

“Good morning, Harry.”

“Hi,” he said. “You had a visitor.”

“I know,” smiled the Madonna. “I met her in the reception foyer. She told me you tried to seduce her.”

“She did
what
?” he said incredulously.

The Madonna laughed. “First of all, I can't believe you'd have the energy after last night. And second, as far as seducing Suma is concerned, I don't think
anyone
has ever tried and failed.”

“She thinks she's going to replace you,” said Redwine.

“I know. She's not exactly unambitious.”

“She's given it a lot of thought,” he continued. “She knows exactly how she's going to run things.”

“Like raising the rents and changing the casino?” replied the Madonna.

“Yes.”

“It won't work. Half of the stores will pull out; they're only here as prestige showcases anyway. And by the time you explained how one of those alien games works to a patron, his vacation would be over.”

“Has she mentioned her Suma Girls to you?” he asked.

“They'd probably make a lot of money,” commented the Madonna. “Still, one Suma at a time is about all I can keep tabs on.”

“You know she's taken over Gamble DeWitt as her own personal project.”

“Poor son of a bitch,” she said. “He'll never be the same.”

“I keep wondering if she hasn't got something special in mind for him.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “A bodyguard?” he suggested.

The Madonna smiled. “Her body's never still long enough to guard it.”

“A hit man, then?”

“You're letting your imagination run away with you, Harry.”

“Maybe, but I think we should tell Rasputin to keep an eye on him.”

“Rasputin's already keeping an eye on him. That's his job.”

“Just the same...”

She sighed. “I already spoke to him about it yesterday.”

“You did?” he said, surprised.

“Harry, I didn't get to this position because they drew my name out of a hat. You're good at protecting yourself when you're working; well, so am I.”

“I guess you are at that,” he said admiringly.

“Well,
that's
taken care of,” she said briskly. “Now I have a special favor to ask.”

He smiled. “I thought I wasn't supposed to have the energy.”

“Oh, you'll have the energy for this,” she replied, walking over to the table and seating herself at one of the chairs. “Show me how to play chess.”

“You mean it?”

She nodded, picking up a bishop and holding it up to the light. “I've waited seven years for a chess set that was worthy of this table. It seems a shame not to know how to use it. Will you teach me?”

He got up, crossed the room, and sat down opposite her.

“I'd be honored,” he replied.

The next three weeks were the happiest Redwine had ever spent. Thanks to Victor Bonhomme and his unknown employer he had occasionally felt needed, but this was the first time in his life that he actually felt
wanted
.

He woke up happy each morning, went off to the auxiliary office to continue going through the motions of rigging the books, began taking time off for some rather unambitious daily exercise in the gym, and even resolved to go on a diet, though he carefully placed the date for it sometime in the nebulous future. Each night he and the Madonna would eat at one of the
Comet
's array of fabulous restaurants, and then would return to her apartment, where they would talk, or read, or play chess, or make love.

It was an idyllic twenty-one days. Flaming Lorelei had gone over his work and had been unable to spot what he was doing, Rasputin had stopped trying to pry the details of his mission from him, and the Madonna, after learning how to manipulate the skeleton card, finally believed that he was telling her the truth. Indeed, the only bad news came when he found out how much he had paid for the chess set, and even that didn't bother him very much, considering how much pleasure it gave the Madonna.

He slept late on the morning of the twenty-second day. On a ship where there were no days or nights, and even the official time was pretty much of an arbitrary convenience, he had taken to working in odd shifts, trying to match his hours to the Madonna's.

She was already dressed in a black, patent-leather jumpsuit and silver boots and gauntlets when he finally got out of bed. He shaved and showered, donned one of the flashy new outfits he had purchased in the Mall, and wandered into the kitchen to get some coffee. Then, cup in hand, he walked into the office.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting down on one of the sofas.

“Aren't you running a little late today?” she asked him, looking up from the day's schedule, which was listed on the small computer inside her fruitwood cabinet.

“Let ‘em take it out of my pay,” he replied with a smile.

“The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back,” she said in persuasive tones.

“Maybe I'll take the day off.”

“Don't be silly, Harry,” she said. “I'll see you later.”

“You sound like you're trying to get rid of me.”

“Of course not. I just have a lot of work to do.”

He leaned back and put his feet up on the chrome table. “Let me just finish my coffee.”

“Harry, I wish you wouldn't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your feet,” she noted irritably. “They're on my computer's communications screen.”

He took them off and stared at her. “Are you sure you're all right?” he asked. “You seem kind of touchy this morning.”

“I'm fine,” she responded with a smile. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“Is there anything I can bring back from the Mall to cheer you up?”

“Just yourself.”

The tabletop flickered to life, and a young man's face appeared.

“Madonna.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“We've got a holograph problem in the ski lodge.”

“Again?” She frowned. “All right. Close it up for the next two days and make sure that the techies fix it right this time.” She paused. “And see that everyone who's scheduled for it gets a full refund.”

“Ski lodge?” asked Redwine when the connection had been broken.

“One of our fantasy rooms,” she explained. “It resembles a section of a huge ski lodge atop a mountain on Mirzam X. It has lovely oak and leather furniture, a roaring fireplace, a bar that specializes in hot buttered rum, and a fabulous view of the mountains—except that right now it looks like a storage room with a couple of chairs and a bar. The holograph projector keeps breaking down.” She shook her head. “This is the fourth time this month. I don't know why the hell they can't fix it right the first time.”

Redwine sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Maybe I should take a look at it myself.”

She laughed. “What do you know about holograms, Harry?”

“Not a damned thing,” he admitted. “But I know a lot about how to make the ship's computer jump through hoops. Maybe I can get it to analyze the problem.”

“That's just what
they
do,” she pointed out.

“Yeah—but I do it better.”

“All right, Harry,” she said with a smile. “If they screw it up again, maybe I'll unleash you.”

The screen lit up again.

“One of those mornings, huh?” he remarked.

“It's starting to look like it,” she replied.

The face of the black woman Redwine had seen in the shower appeared.

“Yes?” said the Madonna.

“Peter Brennard is due to leave in about three hours,” announced the woman. “He wants to say good-bye to you.”

The Madonna glanced at Redwine, then looked at the screen again. “Where is he now?” she asked.

“In the casino,” came the reply. “He says he'll be there for another twenty minutes or so.”

“All right,” said the Madonna, breaking the connection.

“What's
that
all about?” asked Redwine. “Have you taken to wishing godspeed to all your patrons?”

“No. Just some of our special ones.”

“Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I can do with another cup of coffee.”

He got up, walked to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and returned to the office.

“Are you still here?” he said, surprised.

“Of course.”

“But I thought this Brennard guy was only going to be in the casino for a few more minutes.”

She turned to him.

“Harry, I'm not meeting him in the casino,” she said softly.

He looked puzzled. “I thought you said —”

“I'm meeting him in his suite.”

“
What
?” he exploded.

She sighed. “Do you remember the first day we were together, when I was showing you the ship, and you asked me if I still serviced any patrons?” She paused. “I explained to you that I occasionally serviced an old and cherished one. Well, Peter Brennard is one of the men I was talking about.”

“That was before you met me, damn it!” he snapped.

“I know,” she said soothingly. “But this is my job, Harry.”

“Your job is running this damned place, not jumping in the sack with every guy who comes along!”

“That was crude, Harry,” she replied severely. “Peter Brennard has been coming here since before I was hired, and he's spent over two hundred million credits on the brothel and the casino.” She paused. “He's a very good, very old friend.”

“If he's such a goddamned good friend, why did it take him until just before he leaves to remember that he wants to sleep with you?” demanded Redwine.

“It didn't, Harry.”

“You mean you've slept with him since I moved in?”

“He's been here eight days,” she replied with a calm that seemed to enrage him further. “This is the third time he's requested me.”

“You've been with him twice and didn't tell me?” he yelled, pacing back and forth.

“I knew it would upset you,” she explained reasonably.

“I had a feeling that he would ask for me again today. That's why I was trying to rush you out of here.”

He muttered an obscenity. “And all this time I thought the onus of proving we could have an honest relationship was on
me
!”

“Harry, this is just a job,” she said, her expression a cross between irritation and exasperation. “I don't feel anything toward him.”

“Except that he's a cherished old friend!” Redwine shot back.

“I have many old friends,” she continued, forcing herself to remain calm. “I only love one person.”

“Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!” he snapped, still pacing.

“Harry, you came here to sabotage my ship and destroy me personally. If I didn't love you, why the hell would I have let you move in with me?” She shook her head wearily. “I should have
made
you leave before. I
knew
you were going to react like this.”

“How the hell did you expect me to react? Be glad that the woman I love is hopping right out of
my
bed and into the bed of any old friend who asks?”

“Harry,” she said patiently, “I've only known you for a month. I've been a prostitute for twenty years. Did you really expect me to tell a patron whose business we value that I'm no longer available?”

“I've only known
you
a month, and I'm putting my fucking life on the line for you! The least you can do is offend an occasional customer for me!”

“Patron,” she said mechanically.

“Patron, customer, what the hell's the difference? It's what you're
doing
with him that's important!”

She stared silently at him for a moment. “It means that much to you?” she said at last.

“What do you think?”

She sighed. “All right. I'll tell him I can't make it.”

“You will?”

“I never meant to hurt you, Harry,” said the Madonna. “I hope you believe me.”

“I know,” he said, suddenly ashamed of his outburst. “I've been ranting like a jealous schoolboy—but damn it, I
feel
like a jealous schoolboy. I know sex is just a commodity to be bartered up here, but I can't get myself to look at it that way. Not with you.”

They fell silent for a few minutes.

“Well, I'd better let him know before he gets back to his room,” said the Madonna at last. She activated the screen. “Casino.”

The computer scanned the huge casino until the Madonna ordered it to stop at the roulette table.

“
That's
Brennard?” asked Redwine. “The bald one with the six chins and the runny nose?”

“No,” she replied. “The one standing just to his left.”

“
Him
?” demanded Redwine, staring at a very handsome man in his early thirties. “
He's
your cherished old friend?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it! He looks like a clone of Adonis!”

“Are you saying you wouldn't have minded it as much if I had gone to bed with the man standing next him?” asked the Madonna, genuinely curious.

“I don't know,” he muttered. “But I sure as hell didn't think you were sneaking off to screw a guy who looks like he ought to be working here!”

She smiled. “Harry, if all I cared about was how a man looked, do you really think I would have let you move in with me?”