Chapter 187

“Fame you’ll be famous, as famous as can be,
with everyone watching you win on TV,
Except when they don’t
because sometimes they won’t.”
—Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

REMAS SETTLED DOWN after a few orgasms, as Desi suggested she would. She was still undecided and we didn’t pressure her. We just pleasured her. I was buried deep in her when Livy got to the apartment. Rachel took care of presenting her ring to her. We didn’t stay up screwing all night, but we were all pretty satisfied when we tumbled into two beds and went to sleep.

I was up early Saturday and went for a run. I no longer felt like I needed to pound out miles of frustration over being used by the commission and the president. I should consider it an honor. We believed in what she was doing. She hadn’t tried to tell people we were her support team. She’d just used a few phrases we used. What’s the big deal?

By the time I got back to the apartment, I was feeling pretty good and started making breakfast. Today was Beca’s test. The Capital Testing Center was only half a dozen blocks away and I figured we’d all walk over there together and wait for Beca to finish. We had another appointment after the test.

“Right here on my left cheek,” Beca said, pulling her jeans down and pointing at her butt. Chantelle, the tattoo artist, looked at the drawing Joan had made for Beca and ran a hand over Beca’s butt.

“Nice,” she whispered. I wasn’t sure if she was commenting on the artwork or on Beca’s butt. I had a feeling it was the latter. “Stretch out here with that cute butt in the air.” Beca lay down on the paper-covered table and I knelt in front of her to give her a little kiss.

“Excited?” I asked.

“Yesss!”

“As long as it’s just us girls, why don’t you take down the panties, too,” Chantelle said. “It will make it easier to get this in the right position.” Beca giggled and gave me another smooch as she pushed her panties down below her butt ledge.

“I want to make sure she gets it in the right position,” she whispered. Remas giggled next to me and Beca kissed her, too. I saw Desi, Livy, and Rachel reached out to pet Beca’s backside as Chantelle went to retrieve the transfer from her printer.

“I don’t know if I could ever convince myself to do this,” Remas said. “I’ve looked at the others’ tats and trace them every time we make love, but I just don’t know if I could mark my own skin like that. Needles scare me.”

“We didn’t make a law that said everyone has to have a tattoo,” I said. “Sophie won’t get one because she doesn’t want her body marked for dance. I don’t know if Cindy will ever go that far. I kind of doubt it. We’ll be a year in National Service before she’s even legal to get one.”

“And I know certain cultures feel differently about tattoos,” Beca said. “Oh! That tickles!” Chantelle was rubbing the design onto her butt.

“Right position?” Chantelle asked, handing Beca a mirror. Beca craned her neck around and then pushed me to go check it. I stood with my other girlfriends and took a moment just to stare at Beca’s ass. Chantelle sighed but didn’t rush us.

“It’s good.”

I returned to Beca’s head with Remas. Rachel knelt with us and we continued our conversation.

“Anyway, if your family would be upset, that’s a valid reason not to get a tattoo,” Beca said. We heard the buzz of the needle and Beca caught her breath as it touched her delicate skin. “The shit just got real,” she breathed. She panted through continuing to talk. “My mother isn’t happy about it, but there isn’t much she can say. My sister has a dozen tats and is happiest when she’s showing them all off.”

“My parents don’t have any problem with tattoos. They’re gypsies. You should see the artwork on my mother’s back. It’s an entire dance scene. My dad’s got full sleeves and a chest tattoo. It’s just ... I guess I’m too wishy-washy about my level of commitment. I love you guys so much but I still feel so ... separate.”

“Livy’s dad talked to me about it a couple of years ago,” I said. “I guess I understand. We grew together through a common environment, school, and set of circumstances. We learned each other through daily contact. Even Nanette saw us most of us every day. Donna was a teacher in our school. Sophie taught us all to dance and, of course, is Britt’s aunt. We gathered at the lunch table together. Em drove some of us on dates. We have a lot of common ground,” I sighed.

“Dirt,” Remas laughed.

“What?”

“You are all Indiana born and raised. You’ve been living on the same soil. I was raised in Georgia. I have a different color dirt under my nails. All the time I’ve ever spent in Indiana was with you guys. You’ve never even met my parents. You don’t know what redneck gypsies are like,” she said.

“It boggles the imagination,” Rachel giggled.

“I haven’t said no,” Remas said, kissing Rachel and lingering there for a minute while I petted Beca’s hair and she kept deep breathing as Chantelle worked on her butt. Livy and Desi were watching intently and massaging Beca’s shoulders. “I might just need a longer engagement, you know?”

On Sunday, we decided to pretend we were buying a house for our pod. Well, if all went according to plan, we’d all be moving here this summer and need a place to live, so we wanted to find out where the ‘affordable’ neighborhoods were. We toured Chevy Chase, Silver Spring, Fort Totten, and all the way out to East Corner. Everywhere we went, we had one of us looking on Zillow for property for sale and one looking on Rent.com for rentals.

“A million and a half?” Livy said. “My housing allowance is only $300 a month. How are we supposed to afford that?”

“This rental is $7,000 a month!” Beca said. “And it looks like shit. This doesn’t even look like the same property that’s in the pictures!”

“Um ... you guys ... what’s the big deal?” Remas said.

“Money,” Rachel answered, deadpan.

“Yeah, but like you could probably pay cash for that house.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t sit and examine your books, but you’ve been drawing in $100,000 a month for the past six months. You’ve got another six months before you enter service. That’s $1.2 million,” she said. Crap! Were we making that much? “Of course, you’ve got expenses and all, but surely you’ve got some savings out of all that.”

“Taxes,” Desi said. “But still, we need to have a general pod meeting about our financial condition and what we need in the way of housing. What can we really afford?”

“Well, let’s make a list of the things we think we need to house a dozen or thirteen people, including musicians, athletes, and artists.”

“We’re never going to find a twelve-bedroom house,” Beca said.

“Six-bedroom is doable,” Remas said. “How many bedrooms do you really need?”

“We need more bathrooms than bedrooms,” I said. “Or rooms for putting on makeup and clothes.”

“Closets, speaking of clothes,” Desi said. “Remember, I grew up in a house that was half closet. A girl needs her clothes.”

“Costumes,” Livy snorted. “We don’t need a house; we need a theater.”

“There’s a thought,” Beca said.

“Big kitchen and a stove with at least six burners and two ovens. And counterspace and an industrial quality dishwasher,” Rachel said. “I don’t even cook much and even I know how important the kitchen is at the farm.”

“I think square footage is more important than number of bedrooms,” Remas said, getting into the swing. “I mean, we go to bedrooms to screw and sleep. There’s hardly ever less than three in a bed. Even at the apartment, Rachel and I have two bedrooms but we seldom sleep apart unless one of us isn’t feeling well. I really miss her if we don’t sleep together.”

“Me, too,” I said. “But I think you’re right. We need more common space than we need private space. Nine-tenths of the time at the farm we’re in the sunroom or breakfast room. Has anyone even used the living room? Or the dining room other than at Thanksgiving when we have thirty people?”

“We need to all move in,” Beca said. “Donna said we’re supposed to start considering the farm as home. You four live there now. When we move four more in full-time, it might change how we use the space.”

“We have so much to figure out,” I sighed.

“Jacob and Rebeca, I’d like you to meet Simon Moran and Jo Wilson,” Dr. D said. “Simon and Jo, Jacob is half of the Marvel and Hopkins team we are planning to put in action by September. Jacob, Simon and Jo manage our deputation program. I think you should talk over the goals and how you see things shaping up this year. And Rebeca, if you could focus your part on how to position and message the program through websites and social media, that would be very helpful in your future role.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we answered.

“Oh, I’ll be back for lunch and then Will would like some time with you this afternoon before you leave.” Dr. D left the four of us to face each other.

“I don’t know exactly what we’re supposed to do during this time,” I said. “You want to lead?”

“Sure,” Jo answered. She looked like she was in her thirties, professionally put together like most Washington movers. She was a dark brunette with her hair pulled up in back. With her gray business suit, she reminded me of the typical uptight Washington jerk. Simon looked pretty much the role of a male counterpart. Gray suit, short-cropped hair, glasses. They were the kind you could easily pass by on the street and not know they’d been there. “We actually know quite a bit about you. We were given web addresses, watched several of your performances, and have the transcripts of your testimony before the commission. I wish I’d started at your age. You make me feel like I wasted half my life.”

“But, you’re a successful member of the Office of Civilian Service,” I said. “I’m just shooting from the hip.”

“I suppose that would be a good place for us to start the discussion,” Jo said. “Simon and I started this department last week. It’s a little early to say we’re successful. We’re counting on you for a lot of that. No pressure. Our first objective is to define the scope of our deputation program, its goals, and methods. We have to come up with a budget and way of scheduling things. We’ve got a start, but anything you can add from the perspective of the talent would be greatly appreciated.”

“What kind of background do you guys have?” Beca asked.

“Mine’s in marketing,” Simon said. “My main concern is actually getting people to book you and listen to you. In order to find the right audience for you, we need to know what kind of audience we’re looking for. It’s not like we’re sending a new rock band out.”

“Which makes me wonder why you aren’t,” I said. “There has to be groups with broader appeal than Marvel and Hopkins.”

“And Company,” Jo added. “We hope we’ll be able to book all of you together, but there will be times when it looks like just you and Cynthia Marvel on the road together. And maybe one of us or someone to act as your road manager. By the way, my background is event planning. Once Simon identifies a market, I’ll be working on appropriate venues, logistics, and ticketing.”