Thursday morning the three girls got to the chapel early. Bernie almost didn't go to confession; what if the priest was some sort of awful liberal type? What if he told her it wasn't a sin to…?
She had to go, she had to confess, however bad it was and whatever the outcome. She lifted the green baize curtain and went into the confessional.
She knelt down and crossed herself. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; my last confession was…Monday…"
"But today is only Thursday; you're not obliged to go to confession every day," the priest behind the screen said gently in a calm young voice.
"In this town you have to."
"Not unless you've learned how to handle it. But go on."
She confessed to being short-tempered with Phila, to telling a so-called white lie in a fit of nerves, "And, Father…I…uh…I've started to feel…I'm beginning to have…" She gulped.
"Spit it out, it might choke you," the priest said, humorously. "Nothing can shock me; I've been in this town too long."
"Imattractedtoamechawhosaprostitute." There, she'd said it.
"Is it male or female?"
"Male, Father."
"And how old are you?"
"Twenty-one, Father."
"You're quite young. Have you ever felt attraction to or been attracted to a young man before?"
"N-no, Father, n-not like this."
"It's nothing grave in and of itself, but what you do with these feelings could be right or wrong. But I can tell you wouldn't act on these feelings to take advantage of them, or else you wouldn't be here now. I can tell you're trying to do your best. Don't let these feelings bother you, because that's all they are. But if they come back, don't fight them hard: just set them aside gently."
He gave her a simple penance: an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a Glory Be. Bernie inwardly decided to supplement this with a decade of the rosary. He absolved her and dismissed her gently.
"Go now in the peace of Christ. God bless you and don't fall down."
"Thank you so much, Father; God bless you too."
She prayed her penance and went out to the street.
Phila had gone already, most likely going to check about the car, or she'd simply gone back to the Graceley. Cecie stood on the pavement, her back to the door, talking with a tall figure in black. Bernie stepped up behind her and started to clear her throat, but the dark figure shifted its position and looked over Cecie's shoulder.
No, not those green eyes! Not that smile!
Bernie turned around and went back into the chapel, back to the sacristy. The confessional was already occupied, but as soon as the penitent had finished, she went in again.
"Bless me, Father, I've done it again…"
He saw the priest's shadow get up. The curtain lifted aside.
He stood before her, a small young man in his early thirties, built slender with an ascetically thin, pale face and pallid blue eyes. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow scruples in the confessional."
"How did you know? Did you recognize my voice?"
"It wasn't that, it's just a gift I have," he said. He gently took her arm and escorted her out to the street.
Thank heaven he was nowhere to be seen when she found Cecie waiting for her on the sidewalk.
Late that afternoon as evening came on, Phila went to the lower level to check on how the repairs on the cruiser were coming along.
"The parts just came in this morning; we'll start work first thing tomorrow morning," the auburn-haired mechanic they had met the first night told her.
"Can't you start work on it tonight?" she asked.
"It's getting late, I've got a few other repair jobs that have to be finished by tonight, before I punch out and go home."
She checked her credit book. "If I paid you twice what it will cost, would you do it tonight?"
He should his head. "I would, but not for the money. I can tell by the look on your face you can't wait to get out of this town. But I gotta run home and cook supper for my mother who isn't well, plus I got my cousin Mat coming in to visit her and I."
"I'm sorry to hear she isn't well. I'll pray an extra rosary for her." She bit her tongue, but he looked at her with gratitude.
"She'd appreciate that; I'll tell her."
"Are you Catholic?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. He reached into the front of his gray jumpsuit and drew out a large, somewhat gaudy enameled Miraculous Medal on a heavy chain.
"Then what are you doing in a place like this?"
He wagged his head. "Living, praying, fixing cars and the occasional Mecha that needs a weld job."
"I mean why don't you go live somewhere less…immoral."
"Well, I'm just trying to be one of the handful of just men that could save Sodom come the judgment day."
She pondered this as she headed home. She must have still been pondering it as she stepped off the escalator. Her preoccupation led her to take a wrong turn and she ended up on an unfamiliar boulevard leading to an unfamiliar plaza. She tried to retrace her steps, but she only went deeper and deeper into the jungle of neon and gyrating figures visible in the windows of the clubs. She cut along an alleyway, hoping it was a short cut.
"Hey, where you think you're goin' dressed like that?" a husky voice called after her.
"You tryin' to hide?" another rough voice cried.
"What's yah name, chicky?"
She looked over her shoulder. A group of broad-shouldered young men strode towards her. In the shadows, she could see that some of them wore artfully ripped shirts over their tight pants. One or two were shirtless. She turned away and walked faster.
"Hey, no one walks away from us like that!" one called.
"Especially without telling us their name."
"Or telling us what they're hidin' under them loose rags."
Just as she got to the end of the alleyway, one of the bravos shoved ahead of the rest and got in front of her, planting himself there. The others closed in from the rear. The one who'd got ahead grabbed her by the front of her jacket. She looked about for any police or security guards.
"Please let me go!" she insisted. The passersby she saw were too drugged with their own pleasures or concerns to notice. A few paused to watch what happened, but no one came forward to intervene.
"Not before you show us what's under that sack yah got on!" the largest ruffian sneered, reaching for the hem of her skirt.
She was about to scream for help when someone stepped out of the shadows.
"Come, can none of you see the young lady has no desire for your brand of attention?" said a gentle voice with a gracious British accent. "Virgins prefer gentlemen."
"Hey, Joe, whaddya know—yer on the wrong block!" said the tough holding her, his grip tightening. The other hustlers stepped aside, admitting into their midst a slender, jaunty figure.
"I had a call that brought me into your territory. It seems there are others in this part of town who prefer their men gentle," the stranger said. Any one of the toughs that surrounded her easily out-bulked him by at least half his size, but they moved away from him, their movements almost too precise. Mecha, she realized.
"Get off our turf, pretty-boy, and we'll let her go," the big one snarled.
"Let her go and I will leave your turf," the stranger replied.
"You programmed to steal other men's women, Joe?" the big one grumbled, but he released his grip on Phila's jacket so suddenly, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
"No more than you are," Joe replied, calmly. Phila felt someone take one of her hands in his; with his other hand supporting her back, he helped her up. She looked around. As suddenly and silently as they came, the rowdies had gone and she stood alone with the gentle stranger. He led her out into the light.
She immediately recognized him as the stranger who had followed them that first night.
"Oh, it's you," she said, shaking her arm free of his. "You must be Cecie's friend the infamous Joe."
"They call me that for short. It's Gigolo Joe, at your service." He bowed to her decorously.
Don't look him in the eye, she warned herself. "Could you just guide me back to the Hotel Graceley?" she said."I couldn't just guide you back to the Graceley, but I could escort you there," he replied.
"Whatever," she muttered. He tried to take her arm as they walked, but she pulled it away from him
"Are you uncomfortable with the likes of me, besides the crude types?"
"Of course I am. Wait, how did you know I'm a virgin?"
"I knew that because no woman who has known man looks at men the way you do."
"How do I look at them?"
"Before you look away from them so coldly, your eyes betray curiosity."
Good grief, my eyes don't even look modest when I cast them down, she thought.
"Look, don't try to talk to me, I'm not interested in whatever you think you can do for me."
"As you wish, but if you cannot lift your eyes from the ground, you would do well to take my arm or risk our being separated in the crowds."
She decided she could do less damage to her soul by this gesture than by looking up. She let him take her arm as he led the way.
But just touching his arm made her wish she hadn't crossed paths with…him. She probably could have got away form those rowdies somehow…or could she?
"I understand from Cecie Martin that you are a dear friend of hers?" he ventured.
"Yes," she replied perfunctorily. "And I said no talking." If her father could see her now, walking the streets of this city of sin with one of those Mechas.
"I gather you haven't been in Rouge for very long," he said after a few blocks. They had arrived at Main Plaza and she almost separated from him then and there to find her way back alone, but she decided otherwise, in case those rowdies had decided to follow her.
"We've been here longer than we care to, thank you. We had been on our way to St. Louis."
"Ah, may I ask what brings you there?"
"My cousin and I are going to visit a convent to discern our vocation."
He made no immediate reply, so she guessed it had gone over his mechanical brain or whatever he had under his scalp.
"So, how long have you known Cecie?" he asked.
"Since childhood. We grew up on the same street in the same town. We even went through college together."
"Then you are old friends. That is interesting."
"What makes you say that?" How would you know?
"Because your personalities differ so greatly. Cecie possesses a certain warmth about her nature, which you, I truly regret to say, could do well to emulate."
She darted a glance at her escort. "And I suppose you'd be more than happy to help me warm up?"
There was a seductive smile to his voice as he replied, "Only if you desire it."
"Which I don't; I just told you I'm on my way to a convent." For some reason she thought of the young mechanic at the service station; what was his name? Did she even let herself find out?
At long last, they arrived at the Graceley. She shook herself free of his arm and quick-walked to the door with a perfunctory "Thank you."
Joe stood for a moment where she had left him. His processors worked over the girl's reaction, trying to find where he went wrong. He'd only observed that she needed to be more polite, to show more warmth. No longer needed, he went looking for someone who would react more satisfactorily.
Phila seemed relieved to be back in the suite, but Cecie noticed something else about her friend.
"How are the repairs coming?" Cecie asked over the top of her datascriber; Bernie sat curled up on the couch, reading a paper copy of an ancient novel by a pre-warming writer.
"They got the parts in, but they haven't started the work yet," Phila replied, rummaging in the tiny fridge for the orange juice.
"Something happened out there, didn't it?" Cecie observed.
Phila almost threw the plastic pitcher into the sink. "What is it with this screwy town? Is everybody a mind reader?!" she screamed. Bernie glanced up.
"Something did happen," Cecie said, saving her work.
"I ran into your wretched friend the Mecha, and he started making these impertinent observations about how I must be a virgin because of the way I look at him."
"He is programmed to pick up nuances of human behavior so he can adjust his approach and response to each person and their personality. I suppose I'm like that, too, since I'm a writer; I do the same thing so I can have raw material for new stories.
"So that's why you two make such good friends," Bernie noted in a low voice. Only Cecie noted this remark.
"What happened out there?" Cecie asked.
"I was walking back her and I took a wrong turn coming through the upper level. I ended up in some rough section. A bunch of tough guys—I guess they were guys—came up to me and started pushing me around. Your friend came along and extricated me. I even let it show me the way back here."
"See, he's not what you think."
"He's a machine."
"He's a thinking machine with a few crude proto-emotions."
"Especially the crude part."
"He protected you from embarrassment, if not some injury. The least you could do is give him a little respect where respect is due."
"He's programmed to do these sort of things to get around you and separate you from your morals."
"You don't get it. He has a highly complex brain simulacrum. He's designed to monitor behavior and response so he doesn't do anything out of line given the circumstances. He knows I don't want anything more than a casual friendship, so his overrides kick in and keep his behavior within the parameters defined by my profile, as he knows it. He won't do anything he shouldn't unless I let him. Those thugs that accosted you out there don't have such complicated overrides. Consider yourself blessed that he came along at the right time."
"You see to know an awful lot about how these things work."
Cecie shrugged. "I know because I've lived among these beings for so long."
Phila stared at her. "I think you're beginning to get like them."
Cecie laughed. "That's highly unlikely."
After supper, Cecie went out "for a breath of fresh air."
She didn't despise Phila and Bernie, but their views suffered from tunnel vision. Catholic meant universal, both in the uppercase and the lowercase, and while they were fair enough (uppercase) Catholics, if you could overlook the rigidity, they were often not the best (lowercase) catholics, not like what she tried to be. She wished they could be a little more openhearted, the way she'd learned to be. She'd gone through her own rigid period in her teens, which she at times gently blamed Phila and Bernie's father for. Thank heaven she'd outgrown the rigidity with her passions civilized yet intact.
She let herself get swept along by the crowd on Main Plaza, until she came up before the chapel. She went in and sat down on the floor in front of the sanctuary to offer a few words of supplication for her friends.
They shouldn't have to fall flat, no one should have to go through that, but if they could just loosen up the corsets that have been put on their spirits, they'd be able to know life as it is, yes, a moral battle, but the lines aren't always drawn into white-hat/black-hat, that sometimes the worst sinners have insights and objectivities into things that the self-proclaimed saints just refuse to learn or acknowledge, especially that they too are frail and can tumble, sometimes the worst moral pitfalls are right in your own soul…it's only me saying it, Lord, You know better…Can't they see that they are no better and no worse than half the women who come to Rouge every day, that they too have it in them to go all the way, so do I, but for Your grace, I'd have gone horizontal with Joe a very long time ago and wrecked a perfectly good friendship…Don't they know if you block out the capacity to know pain you block out the capacity to know pleasure, or do they know and thus have they chosen to drug themselves on being in pain through fear all the time, so they won't know pleasure, which is it?…Don't give them what they need when they think they need it, help them feel something besides the cold chills every time they see something male-shaped for a change and let 'em know it's just as normal as pain, if not moreso.
She got up, feeling purged, genuflected and went out.
Sure enough, Joe stood in his usual place, posed with decorous sensuousness where the light could catch on his face and figure.
"Hey, Joe, whaddya know?" Cecie said.
"I'm afraid your friend Philomena needs a few lessons in manners," he said.
"Tell me about it. She lit into me after she got home."
"In that case, at least misery provides companionship for us both. I have rendered protection to each of them, and each has rebuffed my attentions."
"They won't be around to torment you much longer: their cruiser should be fixed after tomorrow."
"Then we have but one day to help them cut loose the cords that bind their spirits."
"I'm afraid so. I'll think of some way to get them out."
"The elder, taller one, Philomena, is utterly immune to whatever I offer, but I believe the younger, prettier one, Bernadette, who dropped into my arms, may be easier to unbind."
"You're right on that one: I've seen Bernie peeking around, looking for you when Phila isn't looking."
"So she is the one then! Those ties that bind her are but silken threads, not iron chains, no, not yet. May your God or whatever orders the universe permit me to be the one to unbind the chains of her virginity, so that she will cry out to the stars, 'Oh joy! Oh bliss! Oh freedom!'" He danced with something like gleeful anticipation.
"Uh, Joe, that's not the point here. The point is trying to loosen her up, not mess her up."
He turned back to her, eyes still snapping with anticipation. "Ah, yes! Better still: to tantalize her, to give her a taste of what ecstasy love can provide, but only the slightest whiff of that richest perfume. Can't let her breathe too deeply too soon, or she may suffocate from surfeit."
"Exactly."
"How fortunate for them that their cruiser broke down here and not," he gestured toward the concealed horizon, "Out there in the wasteland."
"In more ways than one. I'll keep you posted if something should come up."
"I shall be counting the seconds till the moment I may unbind your young friend."
To be continued…