Richard had already moved offices twice. His first office had been open to the ocean with windows on three sides, which was nice in theory, but was far too distracting. He'd be gloomily drafting a feed clip for a turret and then movement from outside would catch his eye and he'd be hopelessly distracted. Not so much distracted by a school of terribly average fish or a colossal whale, more distracted by the unnerving fact that he could see these things from outside of his office. This isn't natural, he would ponder, growing increasingly nervous the more he thought about it. He'd think about things like differential pressure and how much water weighed and although the city itself was, for the most part, soundly built, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of disaster.
Inevitable doom or not though, he had a job to do. He had his office moved to a small room with no windows, but that was even worse. The constant groaning and wheezing of the pipes and the vents and the bulkheads were bad enough to distract him from the icy chill that had set into his bad leg. Madness, he thought in a panic one day about a week after moving into his new office. He scrambled out of the room as quickly as he could and went to lunch.
His brother Rolland joined him in the bistro, perhaps hearing office gossip that Richard had stormed out of the office without a word to anyone else. Richard listlessly pushed the fish around on his plate. On the surface he enjoyed fish but here he had grown tired of it.
Rolland had been prattling on for most of lunch about his latest conquest, Joanne, and tried to either impress or brag to Richard about how loose Joanne was. "Gave it up on the second date!" he proudly exclaimed. "She's right ginchy too, redhead you know, creamy skin."
Richard sighed and put his fork down. "I haven't slept with Dorothy since I shipped out," he announced, hoping that his plight would cause Rolland to change the subject. "I can't really get on top because of my leg, and anything else…" Richard frowned. "She just refuses to."
Rolland chortled. "Well no wonder you've been so blue!" he exclaimed mirthfully. "You haven't had a dame gargle your goods in years!" At his off-color comment a pair of lunching ladies turned their heads and shushed him.
Richard rolled his eyes. Rolland's personality was such a stark contrast to his own. But yes, it was true, and he suspected that said lack of goods-gargling was partly responsible for his depression. He would never put it so bluntly though. If he needed to characterize it, Richard had been deprived of required affection. "Damn near seven years," he murmured.
"That Dorothy, she's a snotty bitch," Rolland began, knowing that Richard would not contradict him. Rolland was older and Richard tended to defer to him. "She thinks she's the best broad in this whole rotten bathtub, and she's always been like that. Fanciest little princess, she was, had to catch herself a gorgeous war hero. Didn't work out, did it? Sits around on her skinny little princess bottom all day, thinking about dresses and shoes. But we'll show her, eh? I have a plan to get you back into shape!"
"Rollie, look, I don't know-" Richard tried to protest. Ever since his personal defeat in the war all of the fight had been taken out of him. Maybe if he kept his head down, stayed out of trouble, didn't rock the boat, he could keep his good leg. Richard's reasoning wasn't logical, of course, but he clung to the hope that if he behaved he would be spared further pain and humiliation. And whatever Rolland was about to propose sounded like the beginning step of the confrontation with Dorothy he so direly craved yet was so hesitant to instigate.
Rolland ignored Richard's protest, however, and grinned at him. "Tonight, Richie, tonight at The Seahorse, you'll get back what those Nazis and that bitch took from you!"
Richard groaned inwardly. This wasn't the first time Rolland had tried to drag him along to a gentlemen's club. "I don't find desperation to be an aphrodisiac."
"No, it's not like back home," Rolland argued. "These broads, they come down here to do it. They love it! It's their careers! They're artistic types, you know, bohemians, and if you play your cards right you don't even have to pay them. A lot of them are from Europe. Anything goes over there, they'll do stuff Dorothy could never even think of, much less do."
"I haven't got too many cards to play-"
"Ugh, Richie, quit with your sad act. Yeah, you got a bashed up leg, but you know how you got it?"
"Oh yes, I do, I was there," Richard indignantly added, his dormant personality stirring a tiny amount. "I seem to remember getting shot by a bunch of Nazi shitheads!" He shouted the last part of the sentence, and everyone in the classy little bistro turned their heads and stared for a moment.
"Exactly!" Rolland grinned at Richard. "You're a genuine war hero! You sacrificed your health for freedom. Broads love that kind of stuff, particularly European broads." Rolland leaned forward across the table. "Look, Richie, you got an ace in the hole, you just gotta play it."
Richard laughed bitterly. "Look where we are. These types, they don't care about self-sacrifice and doing things for others, especially for people in foreign lands they'll never meet. I'd be better off saying it did this to my own dumb self while working on a turret, because at least then I'd be rattling my own chain for it, eh?"
"Tell 'em whatever you want, Richie,' ' Rolland conceded. "But you gotta tell 'em something otherwise you're going to wake up an old man one day and realize that you only got to knock boots like what, three or four times in your life?"
Richard scowled. "It was more than that. A lot more."
"Well I certainly hope it was enough to last you for the rest of your life," Rolland smugly replied.
Richard was not exactly enthused about his brother's idea, but it would be a welcome change from going home and having Dorothy ignore him all night or complain how terribly inconvenient it was that her live-in maid had died. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll go."
Would you kindly imagine a pagebreak here?
She looks so pretty, Lupe thought with a twinge of jealousy as Helena rushed up to greet her as soon as her bathysphere surfaced. Helena's dark green dress was tight and silky and her make-up was boldly fashionable. Lupe walked up the platform, feeling a bit like an old hen in a gray cardigan and knee-length dark blue plaid skirt.
"Lupe! Oh, I'm so happy to see you," Helena gushed as she hugged her.
"Me too! You look so good!" Lupe said back. It felt good to have someone, anyone, care about her in this soulless city.
Helena smiled widely and hugged her again. "Don't worry, I have a plan," she whispered into Lupe's ear so that no one else on the platform would hear. "We're getting out of here."
Helena led Lupe through a forest of glowing neon, shining marble, and twinkling gold trim. "How about a drink?" Helena suggested.
"Helena, I can't really," Lupe said, shocked that Helena would even ask. They both kept their purses tightly shut, lest they succumb to the hopelessness of their situation. As long as they saved towards their gallery fees, they reasoned, they were still artists.
"Tsk, you can't think like that anymore," Helena lightly scolded her. "That dream is over, right?"
Lupe sighed heavily. "Yeah." It pained her to admit, pained her on so many levels, but for her own sake she had to accept the fact that she had failed.
"Good girl. Besides, my treat. I'm making lots of money already," Helena informed her with a secret smile.
"What are you doing? You're making money already?" Lupe questioned, eager to learn of her plan. She felt as though she couldn't face another night in the stinking and loud dormitory. That morning she had taken an icy cold shower and the chill still lingered on her flesh; she hadn't felt warm all day, hence the cardigan.
"Mmm-hmm," Helena informed as they climbed up a short flight of stairs, brushing past a crowd lining up for a movie.
"So soon? How did you do this?"
"One of the ladies who came in for a breast enlargement wasn't the usual type, you know. A working gal, like us," Helena began to explain, but Lupe immediately saw holes in her story.
"Wait, what? How can someone like us afford to have her breasts done?" Lupe asked, suspicious of exactly what Helena meant by working gal.
Helena suddenly took hold of Lupe's hand and squeezed. "I don't want to die down here," she breathed and glanced around her to make sure no one else had heard. "I don't want to die in the darkness."
"Neither do I," Lupe muttered, distracted by the sudden realization of what a dear price she may have to pay to get back. She had dug, or rather sunk, herself into a very deep hole.
"Alright, like I said, she's one of us. Joanna's her name, I met her a few months ago. She's real sweet, she wants out too. She came down here to be an actress, but, well, you know the story. She dances now at The Seahorse and-"
"Goodness!" Lupe exclaimed in horror. "Oh, saints preserve us!"
"Hush. Do you want to get home or not?" Helena interrupted Lupe's righteous indignation.
"But, but-" Lupe gasped, at a loss for anything other than shock at her options.
"Yes, I know, I know, but it's not like you haven't slept with a man, right?" Helena pointed out. "Anthony and Fernando and Luis and-"
"But that was different! I did it because I wanted to!" Lupe protested. She had told Helena many times about her experiences in New York when she was trying to get her big break.
"And you want to get out," Helena argued. "I already have, twice, and it really isn't so bad." Helena wasn't directly looking at Lupe, however, and instead was pulling her forward. "It's usually quick, and…" Helena trailed off. "Well, quick anyway."
Lupe slowly shook her head. "How will that even get us out of here?"
"Joanna, she's got it all figured out. They might be able to grow food and cotton and such down here, but there's just some things you can make, no matter how much you believe in the free market. Chemical elements for their science projects, the neon that lights up this hell, even rubber for bicycle tires, they've got to get that from the surface. There's a submarine to get these things. Once a month it goes up. Ryan Industries owns the whole operation, of course, they're the only ones allowed to have any contact with the surface. But capitalism, it's a marvelous thing, isn't it? You'd think Ryan would pay the workers who have contact with the surface a bit better, wouldn't you? Not a fortune, but enough to stop them from collecting bribes," Helena explained in a roundabout way. It was clear to Lupe that Helena was just as uncomfortable with the situation as Lupe was, but she was just as if not more determined to escape.
"I don't know," Lupe said carefully. "There has to be another way."
"Can you think of a way to earn twenty-thousand dollars before you're old and gray?" Helena interjected curtly. "I'm sorry Lupe, I really am, I know this isn't ideal, but I promised myself I'd leave Rapture and I am willing to do whatever it takes. If you don't want to sell your body, I understand. But I hope you won't judge me for it."
"Oh, Helena, of course I don't," Lupe rushed to amend. "I understand, I just don't know if I can. I wish I was brave like you." Lupe did wish that she was bolder and more proactive. Helena could summon up the wherewithal to brazenly fight for her freedom.
"Come with me to The Seahorse and just have a look at what happens," Helena suggested. "It's not as if you'll be walking the streets. I'll show you what I do. I just sit there and a man approaches me and we make some conversation. He'll bring up what he wants to do, we'll negotiate a price, and then, before you know it, it's done and over and you're one step closer to home and your family."