The Girl They Sold to the Moon by Chris Stevenson Page B

Tilly.
    Sue Lin took that one. “Headliners get a full two hours on stage doing whatever they want. It’s usually a combo act, prancing, tweeting, telling jokes, modeling, and fielding questions. Whatever they feel like doing. They get a larger tip percentage and private suites. They’re the money makers for us.” Sue Lin looked at Candy’s table again and raised her voice. “But some of those bitches got their heads stuck up their twattles because that’s where their minds are at.”
    Tilly now understood the reason for the muffin in the face. Candy was inhumanly attractive, with a typical European face, light green eyes and stylized red hair. She had heavy, thick brows and cheek bones to die for. Her bust could have been synthetic, but that was doubtful since points were deducted for artificiality. She
had
to be a ten. She looked young enough for the Sunflower class but she might have been a very young Carnation—twenty or twenty-one.
    Tilly looked at Candy, making eye contact and offered her a neutral expression. In response, the girl flipped her the three-finger—a brash insult. Tilly’s group couldn’t avoid the other curious stares. Yet, all Sue Lin had to do was stare back at them to turn their heads away. The girls plainly feared the wrath of the coach.
    Buddy leaned close to the side of Tilly’s face and whispered, “You wanna go smoke a real cigarette with me later?”
    Tilly glanced at him. “What do you want with me? You know about the frat rules. What’s the story with you?”
    Buddy fell back into this seat, threw his legs out and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m glad you asked that. I’ve been here for five months, with four more left to serve. They call me Buddy ‘Gunner’ Bell because I’m a crack shot with a rifle or pistol. I won four cyber-shooting championships when I—”
    â€œHey, we’ve got time to browse the rotunda before our shifts start,” said Fia. “Let’s wear out some shoe plastic.”
    â€œThat’s a great idea,” said Tilly, and stood up with the others.
    â€œâ€¦when I was 15, 16, 17, and 18,” Buddy went on. “But I always had a thing for Houdini and started collecting props and magic tricks during that time…”
    Tilly and the others walked to the exit and headed up to the foot tram. Buddy followed.
    â€œâ€¦Mom was head of the household and the major breadwinner,” Buddy went on. “She owned her own casino in Henderson, Nevada, and used to let me star in my own stage act. I got pretty good at card tricks and sleight of hand, making a pretty decent wage until a bunch of business guys showed up, claiming to the be the rightful owners of my mom’s casino. Come to find out…”
    The foot tram sped them toward the main rotunda. Tilly tried reading all of the advertisement placards on the walls, catching names and products while Buddy droned on.
    â€œâ€¦that dad had forged a bill of sale and sold Mom’s business, lock, stock and barrel to a petroleum consortium. I can tell you Mom hit the roof like a NASA launch. She had to hire a bank of lawyers to dig her out of the mess and prove ownership. The trial proceedings went on for months. She kicked dad out of the house, but one of the lawyers put him up and worked for him pro bono. I couldn’t let Mom go…”
    The tram stopped at the rotunda entrance. A huge lighted marquis, featuring the “Astounding Candy Cane Evans”, who was headlining at the Amazon main lounge, drew Tilly’s attention. The marquis listed her measurements, muscular index and fat percentage. Bold block letters proclaimed she was a “Perfect 10.” A window opened up to show a running video of one of her most memorable performances. Her breasts were prominently displayed, nipples covered by two plastic thimbles. Her bikini bottom was designed from a single strand of