“Of course it was hard,” said Mewsy, luxuriating in the gentleman’s tongue, “But compared to the louche world of Cabaret anything would be.”
The stately adulteress was seated on a chaise longue between two exotic gal pals while a fella from the club went to work on her Extremity.
“But honey, whatever FOR?” said Ginger Gently in her sexy nurse voice, “Why there’s not a man alive or dead who’d make a Sister out of me!”
“Oh, Ginge, it wasn’t the woofter; he barely got in. But his words went deeper than any man could.” [Then to herself: “Well, almost any…”]
With earnestness foreign to their airy female talk, Mewsy met the stripteaseuse’s frank gaze and said, “Haven’t you ever felt… empty?”
(The horror of remembered hollowness drove Mewsy to mush herself even more energetically against Big Piercey Pierpont’s stubbly jowl.)
“You’re speakin’ my language,” came Gams Gálor’s thick Eastern accents, “But if ever I feel that way I just dig out my silicone Substitute.”
The three worldly dames all had a good chuckle at that. “Anyway, it’s moot,” Mewsy concluded. They pulled languidly on their Virginia Slims.
“Anna, pushkin,” – it was Finch-Marie Fung’s no-nonsense voice calling through the beaded drapes – “Would you come in here for a moment?”
Mewsy sighed extravagantly and arose, saying, “Sorry, Piercey, I’ll have to take a raincheque.” The galoot lumbered back to his door duties.
“Gosh but it does feel good to get my thighs scratched after all the nuns’ necks I settled for,” she said, entering the office, “What’s up?”
“Now that you’re settled,” Finch said, glancing at her hickeys, “You ought to know we’ve restructured since your mishap with Mr. Agopolos.”
“Futkas!” Mewsy spat on the shag carpet. “Apologies, Finchie, but that man is the limit.” She dabbed at the wet spot with a hair extension.
Fung shuffled through some vaj shots scattered across her desk. “Yes, well, he owns us now,” she said, feigning scrutiny of a set of labia.
“What!” Mewsy sat aghast. Finch sighed, “Agopolos is as powerful as he is gorgeous. He saw red when you denied him. Things turned judicial.”
“We would’ve lost everything; no Sluttery can stand up under the Iron Gaze of the Law. So we cut a deal: he got the deed, we kept the keys.”
“The settlement put forth one strict condition -” she went on in queer monotone, “That, upon its return, THIS be devoted entirely unto him.”
Fung held up a document. Mewsy stared at it uncomprehendingly for several seconds before she threw back her head, shrieked, and collapsed.
Finch-Marie regarded the prostrate prosty and let out a long, defeated sigh. Then in burst Big PP and it was all hubbub and smelling salts.
“I won’t do it!” Mewsy raged, semi-prone. She snatched up that familiar photo of her own handsome intimates and tore it to gingery shreds.
“She’s got a temp’,” said Big Piercey, cradling her head in his appropriately-sized lap. “She’s spoilt and overwrought,” Finch said gruffly.
“You can’t make me!” our girl fumed on, “It’s immoral, it’s indecent, it’s illegal…!” She stopped as Fung rose slowly, towering over her.
“I’m an honourable woman, Mewsy Stone,” she said gravely, “Are you?” She focused on the hole where her lover and Mewsy had become one flesh.
“Is there honour in slavemongering?” Mewsy hissed. “There’s the door,” Fung said, indicating the curtain, “If you could live with yourself.”
Mewsy’s jaw set. “You’re ruthless, Finch Fung. Aren’t you lucky my heartstrings are cut. What’s the difference? Bring on your devil’s deal.”
Finch turned. Was it a tear she flicked away? “Piercey,” she ordered, “Fetch Lazy Baker. And Anna, peaches – go and get yourself together.”