02. The Shadow Dancers (26 page)

By the end of January, I'd undergone some radical changes that at the time I was only partly aware of. My body was lean and muscular, the best it probably could ever be. I could run for miles and hardly work up a sweat. If I flexed all my muscles, I looked like one of them female bodybuilders, and I think I could bench press more than Sam ever could. They paired Brandy Two and me in a duo strip and sex act as The Double Brandys, of course, and slowly my skin was goin' back to its normal tone, which was her tone, and my hair was gettin' all woolly and curly as it used to be. Whatever tricks the Center had pulled was bein' undone. By spring, we figured a trim for her and we would be so identical that even we couldn't tell each other apart. Only our dialects and our relative educations told any difference. We even had the exact tastes in perfumes, lipsticks, and cosmetics of all kinds, even toothpaste.

Mentally, it was strange. On the one hand, you lived for that glorious hour of the juice, and you spent part of the time tryin' to recapture it, push it just a little. You did that by followin' your impulses, which was guided by the juice itself. The normal physical things that brought intense pleasure, like orgasms, produced much more intense feelin's of pleasure, so you went for 'em.

Kinky was normal. We'd take walks in the afternoon wearin' only the shoes and coats and think nothin' of it, and not be cold, and we'd window shop or even go into stores and look over fashions and mentally dress each other, sometimes try on things. I didn't feel no sense of right and wrong when it came to me. We didn't steal stuff we liked only 'cause we understood that gettin' caught and goin' to jail was a death sentence with no juice. No guilt, no shame. When we saw somethin' we wanted, we had to beg and plead like little kids and hope they'd buy it for us, and we didn't care. If you wanted to do it and it wouldn't cause
punishment or death, you did it. When I was workin' freelance on the street I always felt guilty 'cause of Sam. Now I had no guilt, no shame, no conscience, no pride, neither.

And that was the other crazy thing, 'cause I thought about Sam a lot. Not just Sam, but
especially
Sam. I still loved him, wanted him, and cared for him. I still remembered it all.

And I still wanted to solve this damned puzzle if I could. That was part of me, part of my nature, as much a pleasure giver as the rest and also in my best interests. I don't know if they thought of that or not, or if they cared. Whether or not I could bring myself to deliver that solution wrapped and sealed to Aldrath or Bill Markham even if I got the chance I didn't know-I really did love the juice most of all. Deep down, I didn't know if there was any way I could consciously and deliberately cut it off on my own. Bill was kiddin' himself with his thirty doses; you didn't
want
to get to the Center even if they gave you a complete cure, 'cause you could never feel that intense pleasure again. That's what hung up Donna and some of the others in the end. Even if physically cured, they couldn't forget the yen for that feelin' and recapturin' even a slice of it meant everything to them.

Fact was, I wanted to solve it all not to bring nobody to justice or stop no plot but 'cause these folks had pulled out before and left those on the juice to die in agony. What they done to others they could do to me, anytime, anyplace. The only fear I had was fear of not gettin' the juice.

I wanted to be this way forever.

8.

Unravelling Threads

Brandy Two was as fascinated by me as I was by her. The idea that I'd taken over the agency, educated myself, and married a white guy she found both incredible and unbelievable, but Fast Eddie's respect for the old me was more than enough testimony. The problem was, she'd gone wrong even earlier than me. Mama died even younger in her world, and Daddy stuck her-as he almost did me-with a couple of cousins who didn't give a damn. She'd been into drugs early, maybe in grammar school, and she was even wilder as a teen than I had been. She'd been caught stealin' when she was only fourteen, and when Daddy threw a fit she'd run away all the way to Washington-which existed in her world as in mine-and had run the streets. By sixteen she had a habit and was in the string of one of them pimps with the fancy coats and Superfly image. Daddy had tried to find her, of course, but considerin' how hard it is to find runaway kids who want to be found, it's pure luck if you find one that don't.

She was a whore 'cause she'd been one all her adult life and didn't know how to be, or imagine she could be, nothin' else. It all went into the body, the looks, the moves. She had always been dependent for everything, and the mind was the one thing in her kinda life that it was better off not payin' much attention to. She didn't read and had no knowledge of or interest in the world. The fact that I'd come from the same start and I'd made somethin' of myself gave her somethin' of a feelin' of worth by association, but it was too late for her to change, she thought, and what was the use anyway? We was both stuck in the same groove. In a real way, she was less my twin than my shadow; she looked like me, but there was nothin' left down there.

The problem was, as time rolled on, I was becomin' more and more like her. On the road, we was even further removed from Small and Siegel and all that lay behind 'em. We slept, ate, exercised, had as much sex as we could with anybody, worked out new routines for the act, and for fun went to stores and tried on all sorts of clothes to make us look even sexier, experimented with new cosmetics and perfumes, and spent a long time in mirrors gettin' it right. The future was the next jolt of juice.

The only thing that tempted me durin' that time was tryin' to go thirty hours between juice jolts. They generally gave us a week's supply at a time, since you couldn't overdose on it and even with a week you wasn't goin' nowheres. I figured at the end of a week I'd have an extra, and then maybe I'd go over to Lindy Crockett's place some afternoon, hold her down, and give her a taste of the stuff. I never did, though. It's the curse of an addiction that you never give it away or delay gettin' it when you got it and it's due.

We went back down to Atlantic City at the beginnin' of May to get ready for the high season at the club there, and for the first time I was back in the same town as Small and Siegel. By now it was clear that I was stuck and that I couldn't do or learn much more than I did unless things was taken out of my hands and moved from a different source. My big worry was that Aldrath would get itchy after all them faked reports from me and nothin' really happenin' and decide to come snatch me. I didn't want to be snatched or cured, no matter what the price. What I wanted was a way to be independent of the beck and call of the bastards who doled it out.

I mean, name me a girl over thirty, or a guy, either, who suddenly had the body of their dreams and found keepin' it that way a pleasure? Who couldn't get sick if they stood all day in the wind and rain. Who had been an old thirty-two and now looked a young twenty-five. Add to that an absence of hangups, of any guilt, second thoughts, regrets for anything you done from that point on, and a high, charged-up energy level that kept you always active, always feelin' good, never feelin' bored or down in the dumps, and just a little bit playfully high all the time. The only real problem was the man who doled out the juice. You had to dance to
whatever tune he played or it all came crashin' in, and you was never secure he just wouldn't end it someday.

"Get all your things packed up," Fast Eddie told us. "You're goin' for a little ride."

I was shocked and surprised, but you don't ask no questions in Fast Eddie's string. Pack up for what? And where? Another club, another city? It was just gettin' real nice and warm in Atlantic City and the crowds was startin' to pick up, at least on the weekends. I put on my metallic blue dress that was real short and super-revealin', as was almost all my stuff, with matchin' shoes and made myself up to go. Then I packed the rest in this big steamer trunk, all I had in this world, closed it, and took it downstairs. It was awkward goin', but even though the trunk musta weighed a hundred pounds or more packed, I had no trouble movin' and partly carryin' it. I was damned strong and proud of it.

I was relieved to see that my twin also had her marchin' orders. I no longer was surprised that we'd independently picked the same clothes and even jewelry and makeup. On the basic conversation level we didn't even have to talk much; each of us kinda knew what the other was thinkin'. Not mind readin'-just the same tastes and likes and thought patterns. I looked at her and she shrugged and I knew she didn't have no more warning nor inklin' of what was goin' on than I did.

Fast Eddie rarely paid direct, individual attention to nobody, but he was there now. A huge black car pulled up just outside, and the driver got out, opened the trunk, then waited.

"Okay, girls, there's your ride," Small told us. "Sorry to lose you but the Boss wanted some fresh faces."

The Boss-Siegel? I wasn't too sure I liked this, but he was the man from whom all juice flowed, so there wasn't no way out. We got our trunks barely in the "boot" of the big car, then got in the backseat. The driver and one of Small's henchmen got in the front, and off we went, south and out of town. I figured we had to be headin' for Siegel's place on the ocean, and I was right.

It was real isolated, like I said, with a big gate and high fence around the whole forty acres that kept any spy in' down. The fences was masked on the ground side by a
twelve-foot-high hedge wall, then went right down into the beach and about to the low tide point, gettin' a little lower as they went. Way out in the water was a squared-off stone breakwater that kept things mostly calm inside the house and discouraged spyin' from the sea. At the end was a pier and slip at which was a big and fancy-lookin' wooden yacht as well as a couple of smaller boats. The yacht was moored in line with the beach, so it kinda blocked a straight view in. You could spy on Arnie Siegel's place from the sea, but you had to be pretty damned obvious about it. The grounds was green and landscaped, with lotsa trees and bushes and low hedges. A staff spent a lot of time in the spring and summer and fall keepin' it that way.

The house itself was enormous; part brick, part wood, maybe three stories tall and a city block around and all covered with ivy. Back before all this, when I was checkin' Siegel out, I learned that the house was the former official summer residence of the Governor General of America, the guy who represented the King in this country. This was supposed to be some place, and you could bet with bein' able to tap into some of the Company's technology it was near impossible for anybody in this world to get into or out of or learn much. There weren't no soldiers or nothin' like that, but I couldn't shake the funniest feelin' that I was goin' back to Vogel's castle.

"You goils ain't here to gawk, you're here to woik," snapped Marty, the Fast Eddie man who'd come with us. He had a real New Yauk accent. He wasn't, however, no man with the juice.

"Work at what?" I asked him. "Looks like he got 'nuff folks here to run this place."

Marty gave this sneering smile, like he got when he was pickin' wings off flies. "You'll see."

A young man in casual dress came out of the side entrance-we was goin' in the servant's entrance, of course -and he was one of the most gorgeous hunks you ever could see. One of them super musclemen, well over six feet, blond, blue-eyed. I never saw no man looked that good who wasn't gay.

"You two follow me," he ordered in this boomin' voice that still had a trace of gentle lisp in it.
I
knew it,
I
thought.

We went in and down a narrow flight of stairs, then
walked down this hall past storerooms and stuff to near the end, then entered one room that had no windows. It was almost surely built as another storeroom, but it had been made over. The walls was paneled, the floor was smooth polished wood so glossy you could see your reflection in it, and there was half a wall of free-standin' closets and dressers and a vanity with mirror as well as a full-length mirror which proved to be a slidin' door leadin' to a tiled bathroom with toilet, sink, and a shower big enough for two, but no tub. The main room had two chairs, one at the vanity, the other in a corner, and a queen-sized bed. But the thing you noticed most was the ceilin', which was low and completely covered with mirror squares. The light came from floor and table lamps, all of which seemed to have soft pink-colored bulbs in them. It was some kinda room, 'cept it woulda been nice with some windows and if it still didn't have a damp cellar kinda feel and smell to it.

"I am Alan Nordstrom, the manager of Mr. Siegel's estate," he told us. "Mr. Siegel is a rich and powerful man, and the only one who can give you what you need. He gives it to me and I give it to you, so you obey either one of us. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," we both responded in unison.

"Now, men like Mr. Siegel aren't like ordinary men. He has everything he needs and he can buy anything he wants, so he tends to get turned on by the few things nobody else can have. There's precious art all over-you don't touch it. There's original sculpture all over. You don't touch that, either. That's all you two are to him-part of his collection, for his personal use and enjoyment. When he's here and wants you, you're his, to do whatever he commands and take whatever he gives. Other times you're subject to every other person in this house from me down to the gardener. If they order you or I order you to do something, you do it. Anybody wants your body, that's fine, too. There's a speaker over there in the vanity so you can be called any time of the day or night. You get called, you come running.

"Anything you want to do, you ask permission. You go back down that hall, up those stairs, and see whoever's in the first room on the right. That's the security manager, and there's always somebody on. You use this bathroom and only this bathroom. You never use the pool or enter the
main house unless ordered. The grounds and the ocean are okay if you're free and ask permission and get it, but the water's still pretty cold right now. You always smile and you always say 'sir' or 'ma'am' and 'please' and 'thank you' to any white folks. And unless you're ordered to do otherwise, while you're here, inside and out, you'll wear nothing. Nothing at all, except panties when you do your monthly bleeding. You pick up your meals from the kitchen after everybody else eats, and you take it out and bring it down here, then clean up the mess and bring it back. Now-
strip!"