The talking heads continued to make snide commentary about the state of business on Neptune, but she heard none of it. The news program itself ended and a truly horrible dating show began, and she was oblivious.
Spike's alive!?
Without any desire to do so on her part, her teeth began to grind. It was just like him, wasn't it? After all, he had never seen fit to give a damn about her when he was actually around. And to think, she had spent so much time trying not to fall in love with him, and then spent so much chastising herself for being cruel to him, and then spent so much time finding reasons to adore him, and naturally just when she was ready to give up and give in and give herself to him completely, the stupid bastard up and died. And not for her sake, mind you, for another woman. And she couldn't accept that – doesn't love conquer all? – and she spent more money than she had ever had and more energy than she could afford searching, searching and just when she had given up at last and told herself 'no more' and finally made a rational decision to actually reciprocate the feelings of the only man in her life who hadn't treated her like a habitual nuisance and truly wanted her around, just when, just when, just FUCKING WHEN –
She bawled. And Jet slept on.
When the storm passed over, she found herself with a pen in hand, hovering over a convenient sticky-pad. A Dear John. Sweet lord, how low have I sunk? But arguing to herself that it really was the only way to be fair, she gamely set to work.
'Dear Jet, Saw Spike. Going to say 'hi'. Be back soon.' That was callous, even for me. Thinking, she tried again.'Dear Jet. I think that what we did was a mistake and – ' and I initiated it. Just great. 'Dear Jet, I need some time to think about where we're headed…' No.
She racked her brains a little further before scribbling something down – she hardly knew what, she couldn't see for the tears – and slinking out of the apartment. She knew just where the Redtail was in proximity, and staring straight ahead lest she be tempted to return out of guilt, she left. It was for Spike, after all. What harm could there be in just looking to make sure?
Jet finally woke up in the late afternoon, watching the dim twilight just beginning to paint the sky with its extensive palette. He noticed the deadly silence in the apartment as well as the missing bed buddy, and his heart sank, but he resisted calling after her. He had expected it, after all. She just wanted a roll in the hay to work off some tension, right? He wasn't there to hold her down.
The note that she left hurt all the same, though.
Dear Jet,
I think that I saw Spike on Neptune. I just want to make sure one way or the other. I'll be in touch.
f
'In touch'. "To tell me you're not coming back?" he muttered and picking up the phone, dialed.
"Saltwater Cowboys. This is Hector."
"Jet, Hector."
"He's not here right now, sir. May I help you?"
Jet rolled his eyes. Hector was a competent kitchen manager, but by no means was he suited for the front of the house…"This is Jet, Hector."
"Oh!...You want Mak?"
"Please."
An electronic beep later, he heard the line connect and buzz. Two rings later, Mak answered. "Hey, you."
"She's gone."
"Really?" The office door shut in the background. "When?"
"After I slept with her."
"You WHAT?" He almost grinned, imagining the expression of consternation on her face. Almost. "I'll be damned. I think you've just beat Hector for 'biggest damn fool working here'. Were you that bad, you had to run her out afterwards?"
"She thinks she's seen my dead partner on Neptune."
An exasperated sigh. "How'd she get that impression?"
"Judging from what she was watching on telly, I'd say she got it from KNET 82."
"Couldn't she had just looked in the company directory?"
"My sentiments precisely, but she's not that kind of girl. She's more the 'trial and error' type. Look, will you beep the girls and let them know that I'm here? Keep me preoccupied."
"Sure thing. Hey…" her voice grew soft, "you all right?"
"Truthfully? No."
The girls would gradually began to drift in without knocking, a direct result of their pagers going off with the code 8888. The gatehouse knew better than to question them, sometimes even ferrying them to building M in the company golf cart.
Jet knew which ones would come first; Kelly, Merise, Prudence, and Zara worked out of their stylish homes in Neon's residential district, counting on him to keep them out of the law's hands and their illegal activities out of the press. Hannah, Julianne, Kaeli, Georgy, Chrissy, Elliana, and Trace worked near the dividing border. They would head his way in about an hour, assuming that they didn't get any customers in the interim. Rochelle, Xandria, Patty, Lucy, Tiffani, Daisy, Elise, and Shandra all worked deep in Sunset and would come last of all.
The first one to show up was the ironically named Prudence, wearing a cap that hid her ash-blonde hair and sunglasses to conceal her clear blue eyes. She talked with Jet for a few minutes about her various johns, declined going to the clinic, and left shortly thereafter. Kelly was next, clearly coming from class and in a rush. She hurriedly told Jet about a customer who was becoming a little too close for comfort before dashing off again. He took notes.
Merise and Zara came at the same time. Zara graciously offered to go last and headed into the bathroom, leaving Merise alone with Jet to voice her concern that she had caught something.
"Are you using the rubbers?"
"Some guys don't like them," she confessed, shamefaced.
"Merise," he rumbled, "this is your health we're talking about. If they don't like to use, tell 'em to fuck the hell off."
"I know," she said, slumping. "But I only work one day a week – and sometimes I haven't made enough –"
"But you lose money by needing treatment." He reached for the phone. "Go see Doc, he knows you're coming."
"Alright," she answered meekly. He hugged her thin shoulders by way of consolation. "Go to the store and get a meal, too."
Zara reemerged once the front door shut, clad in a woolen suit. She sat across from him very primly and answered his polite queries with candor.
Once he had asked her, "Why do you do this?"
And innocently, she asked, "What?"
"Sell yourself. You've got a master's degree. You teach college level courses to gifted high school students. You have a home and a husband. Why whore around?"
She fixed him with a glare. "Because despite all you just mentioned, I happen to enjoy sex. And my husband doesn't, which I didn't know because we were virgins when we married each other. And he told me, quite distinctly one night, that if I was so determined to be an oversexed bitch, that as far as he was concerned I could go get it in the streets. And I did."
"Alright,' he said. And they never mentioned it again.
Trace showed up with a black eye. Wincing on her behalf, Jet touched up the broken skin with some ointment and carefully cut a piece of flesh-colored gauze to surround the swollen eye. She sat quite still, even though she was clearly in pain. Finally, he was done. "You should go see Doc."
"I just need some ice. And some aspirin. Those cunts on Poseidon think the whole damn street belongs to them, and it don't. Can't you talk to their pimp? I don't mind fighting, but not every day, y'know?"
He shook his head and patted her arm, which was covered in scratches, either from someone's nails or the pavement. "Why don't you knock off. Go home, get a bath, go see Doc."
"Fine." She picked up her purse and walked out. Jet dialed a number again.
'Doc' was the informal honorary for a man that Jet had met long ago. He claimed to be a medical student who had to quit school because of a gambling habit. It might have been true. It might have been true, as well, that he was a con man. However, Jet trusted him, and Jet generally didn't trust. His was the sole infirmary that Jet sent his women to, discretion being a key element of the business; more than one girl working under him still had a reputation to lose.
Doc operated out of Sunset, in an unremarkable warehouse, behind an inconspicuous door marked 'Public Clinic'. The initial offer that Jet had made him to 'take care of a few friends' enabled him to rent the place and keep the lights on, but it wasn't quite enough to buy medication and pay salaries of any nurses desperate enough to sign on.
Thus, neatly caught between a rock and a hard place if he actually wanted to continue practicing medicine, he gladly accepted seven thousand dollars monthly to see the whores as often as they needed to be seen, which turned out to be fairly frequently. Though a net salary of fifty grand annually was hardly 'making it' by a doctor's standard, it was more than enough to keep him afloat in Sunset, and the threat of having it taken away proved sufficient guard against any temptation to take up dice again. He might have had a gambling habit at some point, but the keen intelligence that he had developed as a doctor definitely taught him how to tell when the bread was buttered on his side.
"Doc, please."
"Yes, sir."
After a short pause, a gruff voice answered. "Jet, sir? I've seen two ladies today. Any more coming by?"
"You'll know when I know. Mind staying put for another hour and a half?"
"Not at all."
Jet hung up, letting his head drop back with a groan. Was he even doing any good? Sure, Hannah was getting through medical school with Bs, and Rochelle, a grandmother at 33, was able to stay off the pipe since she actually had the money to pay bills at this point, and Patty had been able to leave an abusive situation because she had enough money to move out and get her own place. But what about Chrissy, Julianne, Xandria and Patty, who were all still using despite everything he had done to keep them straight? What about Merise, who had so little common sense that she was willing to risk her health – really, her life – to squeeze in two more men? Or Zara, staying in a loveless marriage to keep up appearances and risking public exposure and the loss of her job at any time?
You've done all you could. Apart from going into the streets with them – and wiping their asses while you're at it – there's only so much you can do. Go have a drink or eat something and stop thinking so much.
He came across the same pretentious food that Faye had, with pretty much the same reaction. A call to the guardhouse was in order.
"Yes, sir?"
"Would you mind giving Daily's a call and having them deliver the usual?"
"Not a problem, Mr. Black. Would you like us to bring to you, or will you come down and get it?"
"I'll be down for it. Call me when it's there." Walking back into the living room, he threw himself on the divan and waited for the door to open again.
He was in the middle of comforting a shaken Shandra (she had been not only screamed at, but actually chased down the street by a religious fundamentalist) when the phone rang. Deciding against answering immediately, he let the answering machine pick it up.
"Mr. Black?" Walt's voice was rendered tinny by the machinery. "Your groceries are here, sir. And there's a young lady here to see you. I don't recognize her, but she insists that she's with you. I'll escort her up, sir, and if you don't want to see her, I'll be more than happy to remove her from the premises."
Jet thought little of the message. It was probably Elise; she had started just four days ago and had never come by yet. The guards naturally wouldn't recognize her.
A few minutes later, he answered, "Come in," to the rap on the door.
Walt stood in the door, laden with several bags. "Sir. And…?" He stepped aside to reveal Faye Valentine.
Jet stared at her.
She stared right back at him. And well might she stare: Shandra was sitting in Jet's lap, weeping into his neck. For his part, he had both arms around her. Honestly, he was only commiserating, but it looked awfully suspicious at first glance. She did the most natural thing to do under such circumstances. She snarled.
"Sir?" Walt said again, all but forgotten.
"It's fine, Walter. Um…" Carefully setting the girl down, he pulled out his wallet and gave the man all the cash he had on him, a paltry fifteen dollars. "Sorry."
"Oh, sir, this is totally unnecessary."
"Take it anyway, then."
"Yes, sir. And…if I may make so bold, your car…?"
Damn it! Jet smacked his head. "I'd forgotten. Would you mind taking it to Poffrey's? Tell them to bill me." He rummaged in his pockets before finding his target, the spare key. "Can you request next day, if they have it available?"
"Of course." The older man bobbed politely. "I'll take it right now. I should be able to get it in before they close. Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight." Jet shut the door, resting his head against it for a minute to gather strength before turning to face the scene behind him.
Grocery bags on the floor, check.
Sniffling Shandra, check. Shandra wasn't looking at him, though; she was nervously eyeing the angry Faye.
Angry Faye. Check.
Oh, bloody hell.
He chose the wisest thing to do under the circumstances, putting the groceries away. Faye followed him into the kitchen, silent, brooding. Glaring at him. At him?! Shouldn't it be the other way around? He brushed past her in an attempt to exit. "Excuse me, please."
"You've got some explaining to do," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"As do you, miss. Now pardon me for a moment, I need to say goodbye to my guest."
As soon as Shandra was safely out of the door, Jet turned around with a longsuffering expression on his face. "That wasn't what you thought."
"How do you know what I thought?" Faye asked, voice deadly calm.
"Because you have the world's worst poker face. Look, you do recall that I've put myself in a position to be obliged to these women, right?"
"Right," she snapped. "By letting them sit in your lap while you fondle them."
"Oh, for god's sake…" He nearly slammed the refrigerator door, but decided not to; he would just break it and they were too difficult to replace quickly. "Maybe if you bothered to get the whole story instead of jumping to conclusions –"
"Oh, let's hear it," she said, in a tone laced with bitterness. "Please explain to me, Jet Black, that I didn't just walk in to see you with one of your whores in your lap and your hands all over her."
"She was, " he growled back at her. "And what business is it of yours if she was?"
Tears made her burning red cheeks shine. "You bastard," she said, voice trembling. "You held me just like that, not six hours ago. Did you get the chance to tell her to get her ass in your bed? Or did I come in too early and ruin your big scene?"
Jet felt his entire body go limp as his argument fled without a trace. Oh, hell. Is that what she thought was going on? Oh, hell. Oh…hell. "Faye –"
"Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!!!" Too drained to reach out to her, he allowed her to lock herself in the bedroom and could do nothing but listen as she sobbed, feeling wretched.
Sometime later – it was quite certainly dead of night – Faye found herself waking up with the sheets glued to her face. Grimacing as she ripped them off, she slowly examined her surroundings, rendered ghostly by frosty moonlight. This bed felt strange, and yet familiar. The room itself was full of aromas and scents that she couldn't quite place. Where the hell was she? And then she smelled the faintest metallic odor in the linen, and it all came back with a sickening jolt.
She cautiously opened the door, figuring that as long as she was awake, she might as well go out front even if it meant another unpleasant surprise. The light was on, and the hallway was equally permeated with good smells. Jet had obviously been cooking.
Jet…
He was watching television with his back to her, but looked up immediately as she emerged from the hallway, face unreadable. "You hungry?"
"A little," she admitted before remembering that she was supposed to be angry with him. Damn it…
"I made Waldorf salad. The green pan is with chicken; the clear pan is without." He turned back to watch the bubbly blonde offer an automated vacuum cleaner for only four hundred wulongs in eight easy payments with shipping and handling.
She took a saucer and got a little of each, and naturally it was delicious. Trying not to eat too ravenously, she forewent sitting at the table and placed herself in the easy chair directly perpendicular to Jet, challenging him with her eyes.
He flipped to the Nature Channel.
So we're back to the stoic philosopher…by now she had ideas on how to get under that unflappable façade. Licking the creamy dressing from her fork, she asked, casually, "So, how was she?"
"Who?" His voice didn't betray him, but she noticed that imperceptible flinch.
"Y'know, what's her name…Candy, Chandra, Chocolate, whoever." It was a taunting sort of thrust.
He looked her way, eyes hard. "She was fine once I explained to her that she couldn't always pay attention to crazy women who ran up to her on the street waving a religious book. She thought she was going to be physically attacked. I gave her some pepper spray."
Stopped dead in her tracks, Faye ate in silence.
Jet turned to the Game Show Network, watching reruns of 'Ye Olde Pig Farm'. After a few minutes, he looked at her. "You find Spike?"
She scowled. "I turned back once I got to Uranus."
"Why's that? You wanted to know, didn't you?"
"Apparently not badly enough."
He spared her a glance. "What's that mean?"
Sighing, she tried her best to explain. "When I saw him on the news, my heart just sank, and then, somehow, it started beating so hard. And I thought – I thought that if I could just see him one last time, I could just spill my guts to him, and walk away with a clean break. But the closer I got to Neptune, the more scared I got. And I started thinking, 'What if he's got someone else that he's living for now?' And I just couldn't – couldn't stand to be told that I was second best again."
"So you never actually saw him. You thought you saw him on the news, but you didn't quite go to see him in person."
"Yes."
"Let me ask you something." He readjusted his legs before raising a scornful eyebrow at her. "Let's say you found him. What makes you think that you have any right to dump your baggage on him and then just run away like you planned to do? What if he had something to say in return?"
"I…don't know," she answered weakly.
"Furthermore, let's say not only did you find him, but you then told him everything that had been on your mind and how you truly felt about him. Why are you so certain that you'd be able to then just 'walk away' with no more entanglements?"
"I don't know!" she shouted, jumping out of the chair, face ablaze. "And why do you think that you have this…right to judge me?"
"Because you're irrational," he replied with that insufferable poise. "You've been irrational since I met you in a toilet, and you've never changed. Look." He reached out for the laptop that sat on the coffee table, ignored. Or so she thought until he turned it around. "You saw the news program on KNET 82, right? The station website has an archive that dates back over three months. Here's your story and the companies involved." He pointed with the mouse. "Now, all you had to do was go to their links, and scrolled through their employee databases for either a name or a matching physical description. Companies are required to make that information public now, you know. 'Truth in Hiring Demographics', ratified on Venus six years ago, set as precedent throughout the Solar System four years later. And see?" He displayed the matches. "Is this who you saw and thought was Spike?"
Faye stared, disbelieving. The man on the scene was a near physical match…except for the eyes, surrounded by scar tissue and giving them an air of perpetual squintiness. From a distance, the mistake would have been an easy one to make, but confronted by such damning evidence to the contrary…"I can't believe it. It could be him with scars. Is that so hard to believe?"
Jet sat back and sighed. "Didn't I just tell you that you're irrational? If there was a chance in hell that he was alive somewhere, do you think I'd let it go on something as malleable as physical appearance? I actually called a few old friends in ICCP and asked for more extensive proof and guess what? No blood or saliva matches, no fingerprint matches, no DNA matches. It's not him, Faye."
She sunk to the floor, her body becoming dead weight. And neither of them spoke anymore for a while.
A/N: Whew. I've been working on this, off and on,since 4 p.m.Thursday afternoon. It is now 1:15 Friday morning. Marathons drain the life out of me. Anyway. Thanks for your patience, folks. I had some of this written a while ago, but my computer went blooey and refused to connect to the Internet, no way, no how. It took a whole new computer and a lull in the grind of senior level classes to allow me to start serious updates. But now that I've retrieved most of my work from online (yay for 's backup system!) I can actually work steadily. ChapterTitle iscourtesy ofFrankie B. I have no clue who he is. But the song itself is nice, if sad.
Oh yeah, review or something.
