Chapter 54

Cricket Davenport very much wanted to get out of her bubble. She found herself having this thought at least once each morning she woke in her sister’s surprisingly spacious Manhattan apartment, particularly when she looked out the window at St. Mark’s Place laid out thirty stories below. The street itself had been an adventure of head shops, tattoo parlors, restaurants with at least three times as many cuisines as she’d ever tasted, and an entire store dedicated to socks. She’d walked the length of that street known as a center of the counterculture twice, marveling at the authenticity of it while fastidiously avoiding any outward sign of being impressed.

When Ainsley had called and suggested Cricket take a gap year before starting Yale, she’d been immediately ready to say yes, but eighteen years of being raised in the Davenport household had taught her not to show any outward sign of enthusiasm until she’d asked a lot of questions and understood exactly what she was getting into. But the phrase that had stuck with her most from Ainsley’s pitch was “It will be a chance to get out of your bubble.”

From a very young age, Cricket had known she was living a curated life. Her activities, associates, and influences were carefully chosen for her by her father. Any desire to deviate from that road map was quashed through ridicule and isolation. If she hadn’t had three older siblings surreptitiously feeding her morsels of perspective over the years, she might well have accepted her father John Aleister Davenport III’s weltanschauung as the way the world was. Or she might have emulated her oldest brother Whittaker and battled with her father throughout her teen years before telling him to get stuffed. Instead, she’d internalized and in her own imagination perfected the strategy her older siblings had gradually improved over time - outwardly appearing dutiful and obedient while quietly planning her escape as soon as she was in a position to do so.

She wasn’t in that position yet, but she was finally in a position to start building the network she would need in order to extricate herself from the life script her father had written for her. Every day in which she woke up with the sense that she wasn’t free yet made her anxious and eager to establish herself as her own person once and for all.

That was probably why sitting in Monroe Masterson-Stone’s borrowed apartment avoiding the early parts of the Seneschal’s Ball was driving her nuts. Not for the first time, she interrupted her conversation with Monroe to say, “Maybe we should go check out some of the events.”

“You can if you want. I’m going to wait for the party to start.” Monroe said, also not for the first time. “I still don’t understand why they’re not waiting for Nick to get back before throwing a party.”

Before Cricket could point out that there would probably be more parties once Nick got back, the door to Monroe’s apartment opened and her brother Dietrich stepped in. “What are y’all doing in here? You’re missing the fun.”

Cricket was inclined to agree with Dietrich and not just because he could make her wet just by looking at her, but Monroe just rolled her eyes. “Did you forget how to knock on the way to New York?”

“To come into your living room?” Dietrich raised an eyebrow. “Your door wasn’t locked.”

“I might have been entertaining.” Monroe pointed out.

“It looks like you are.” Dietrich smiled at Cricket. “Cricket, why aren’t you out at the party? It’s way more entertaining than my sister is.”

“We’re ... waiting for the real party to start.” Cricket echoed weakly. In truth, she thought the minicon might be the most interesting part of the day. But she’d already deeply offended Monroe with an off-handed comment about Saks Fifth Avenue and didn’t want to risk the one friendship she’d managed to successfully build here.

“The party seems pretty good already. I got to play Yahtzee with a Playboy playmate and they’ve got Hodor DJing up on the roof.” said Dietrich. “He’s the fellow from Game of Thrones who doesn’t talk much.”

Monroe looked bored. “But is anybody actually dancing?”

“Not yet. That’s why I came looking for you. There are like a dozen people up on the roof already, but they’re not dancing yet. I thought we could set an example.” said Dietrich.

“Are there any good looking guys up there?” Monroe asked.

“There was one when I went up there.” Dietrich grinned. “But he was so damned good looking, it was hard to notice any other guys while he was around.”

“Very funny.” Monroe shook her head. “Cricket, why don’t you go up there and dance with Dieter for a while? You’re obviously bored here.”

“I’m not!” Cricket lied.

“Would you?” Dietrich asked, looking hopeful. Neither sibling paid her protest any mind.

Cricket looked to Monroe who gave her a go-go gesture with her hands and said, “Have fun, you two.”

As they walked past the glassed in rooms that were normally set up for working out, Cricket craned her neck to see what was going on. Three or four men and women she didn’t recognize sat at long folding tables at the top of each room taking questions from a standing-room only audience. When they passed into the main space set up with a dozen folding tables, she listened to the chatter. Cricket’s own experience with board and card games was limited to Monopoly, pinochle, bridge, euchre, and poker, but she was aware that there was a whole world of games she’d never seen. Her own curiosity combined with the knowledge that Nick and his friends enjoyed them made them seem very appealing.

As much as she’d enjoyed her time with the handsome cowboy, Dietrich wasn’t likely to help her establish her independence this year. He was only going to be around for a few weeks and he clearly had a lot of people he wanted to sleep with before he left. Cricket might have been his first hook up in New York, but she already hadn’t been his last. Being asked to dance with him today because his sister had refused was already more of a return engagement than she’d expected.

As they emerged onto the roof and looked around, she thought to ask. “So, you really couldn’t find anybody to dance with but me or your sister today?”

Dietrich gave her a crooked grin. “Well, it might be that I was hoping to get Monroe to come out and play. She hasn’t been herself since we got to New York.”

“Oh.” Cricket looked around the roof. There were about fifteen people up here, all crowded around the bar. Most were college-age, most young women, but there were a couple of men who looked to be in their thirties. And while dance music played, no one was dancing. “I’ve only known her here.”

Dietrich led her towards the dance floor. “Back home, Monroe is apex cowgirl. She had this idea that she was going to come to New York, Nick would fall in love with her, and her life would be set. She didn’t expect anything like what she found when she got here.”

Cricket frowned. “Nick isn’t even here yet.”

“No, but my sister has already figured out it’s not going to be as easy as all that when he shows up. Monroe’s used to being the prettiest girl in the room. You know how that is.” Dietrich said the last part casually, but it made Cricket’s pulse race anyway. “Now she’s surrounded by an awful lot of other women who grew up knowing the same thing. I don’t think Nick’s going to forsake Pilar and Kiki and your sister even for Monroe.”

They were almost to the dance floor, but Cricket stopped dead. “My sister Ainsley?”

“Nick’s pretty lawyer, right?” Dietrich asked and Cricket nodded. “Unless it’s just idle gossip, yeah. I’ve heard it from a couple of people.”

“I didn’t know that, but it makes sense.” Cricket was already assimilating the new information. Part of openly sleeping with Dietrich the night he arrived in New York had been to provoke and resolve any potential conflict with Ainsley over Cricket being a sexually active adult early and not a child anymore. Instead of offering any kind of reprimand, Ainsley’s primary response to Cricket’s revelation was that any time she could justify catching a meal with Nick and his friends at the Loft, she should. In one way, it was a major relief to know sexuality probably wouldn’t be a topic to fight over, but she had to ask, “Nick’s our age, isn’t he?”

“Old enough to be legal, why?” Dietrich asked.

“Just ... seems awfully young for Ainsley. She’s twenty-eight.” Cricket said.

Dietrich laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen that to matter much. Women much older than that have been making passes at me since I was sixteen at least.”

“Well, yeah but...” Cricket started to say, then stopped herself and fought the urge to blush at the compliment she’d been about to pay him. “Maybe we should just dance?”

Dietrich turned out to be a remarkably good dancer. Cricket had more than ten years of ballet, but less than a year of ballroom. Dietrich had enough ballroom to find her level of competence quickly and keep his moves at a level she could follow as long as she paid attention.

They danced for a couple of songs before Dietrich smiled at her and said, “Would you like to head downstairs and play some games now?”

“You don’t want to dance more? I thought we were going to set a good example?” Cricket hoped she didn’t sound needy, but she had been enjoying dancing with Dietrich even if she did want to go see what was going on downstairs.

“I don’t like the look of those guys over by the bar. Maybe it’s just as well nobody’s dancing.” said Dietrich.

Cricket resisted the urge to turn and look. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Just kind of a sixth sense I picked up growing up at a ski resort.” Dietrich gave her a reassuring smile. “Catch me for another dance later?”

“Promise?” Cricket asked.

Dietrich gave her a smile worthy of launching a thousand ships. “I figure I’ll be good to dance at least until Hodor goes home. Come find me.”

Cricket was having a hard time keeping her expectations with Dietrich at zero where they belonged. Everything he said and did indicated he was going to spend his time in New York having sex with as many people as he could and it seemed like every woman in the Loft was angling for a shot at him. Even hoping for a return engagement seemed like a recipe for disappointment, but she couldn’t help wanting what she wanted.

Down on the third floor, she looked around the room with all the game tables. People were milling around holding printed tickets. Cricket looked around for anyone she knew and spotted a familiar head of strawberry blonde hair. She made her way over, “Hey, Arwen.”

Arwen looked Cricket over, her face going from a smile to carefully neutral. “Hey, Reagan. What’s up?”

Cricket didn’t miss the reservation in the other young woman’s voice. She’d been getting it from Arwen, Lev, and Max since they were all introduced. Knowing she would have to overcome it at some point if she was going to make friends here, she chose to ignore it. “I was hoping to try a game I haven’t played before. Any recommendations?”

Arwen frowned. “What have you played?”

“Probably nothing here.” Cricket looked around at the names of games. “Oh, wait. I have played Yahtzee before, but not in years.”

“Ok, what looks good to you?” Arwen asked.

“I have no idea. What are you playing?” Cricket decided to try the frontal approach.

“I was planning to play Munchkin with a D&G model.” said Arwen after a moment’s consideration. “He’s got the shortest line and he looks kind of lonely.”

“Lonely male model and Munchkin it is, then. Lead the way.”

Even with the shortest line, they had to take tickets and wait for the next round to start. As they stood waiting, Cricket reviewed every conversation the two of them had been a part of for something to talk about. They’d only really had one with any substance. “Are you and Lev still planning to go explore Brooklyn this weekend?”

“We thought we might. Max and Lev have something to do tomorrow in the morning, but maybe after that or Sunday. We’d like to see the Brooklyn Museum and the Botanical Garden.”

“That sounds like fun. Are you planning to bring a group or just the two of you?” Cricket asked, getting as close as she was comfortable to inviting herself along.

“We hadn’t really decided. If we bring people from work, does it become a work event?” Arwen challenged.

“You’d have to ask Ainsley for a definitive answer, but not from where I’m standing. I just ... got the impression you might want to hang out some time.” Cricket offered, bracing herself for rejection.

“Cricket seemed like she’d be fun to hang out with some time.” Arwen admitted. “How much of her was real, Reagan?”

Cricket sighed. “I’m Cricket and I’m all real. Reagan is a little bit of artifice where I pretend I know what I’m doing at work.”

Arwen looked her over like she was evaluating something Cricket couldn’t see. Finally, she said, “You understand why we might feel a little set up, don’t you?”

“I didn’t come here looking to be the sexual harassment killjoy. Ainsley set us all up.” Cricket said.

Arwen closed her eyes and nodded. “That does sound like her.” After a long moment, she added, “Do you know how to shop ... like for clothes and girl stuff?”

“I’ve got the basics down, I think.” Cricket said.

“I could really use a shopping friend.” Arwen admitted.

Seeing a chance to cement two friendships at once, Cricket said, “Monroe and I have been learning a lot about shopping in New York City from each other. Maybe we call all go together some time soon?”

Connie Carlyle had always known dimly in the back of her mind that some people were fans of her one foray into feature films, Starfall. When Eddie Coyle had claimed to be one of them, she’d joked that he must be the only one, but had largely been kidding on the square. If she’d been asked to guess how many fans the movie had out there, she would have thought they could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

She definitely wouldn’t have imagined they could fill a converted dance studio bigger than her first apartment in New York had been. When Max had booked her to sit on a panel about the movie, she’d called him a sucker and said he would be paying her to sit in an empty room for an hour. This room was the opposite of empty. The standing room only crowd had to be at least seventy people. As she sat at the panelist table up front, she turned to Hall Dunford, “Is something good happening here after we talk?”

Hall’s microphone was live and picked up her words. The audience laughed as Hall shook his head, “It’s just us. These are all Starfall fans.” That brought a cheer from the crowd.

Surprised, but willing to milk the moment, Connie leaned in to the mike and said more clearly. “You heard that right? It’s not Star Wars. It’s Starfall.”

The cheers got louder and sank into a low rumble of conversation that lasted until the moderator, a young woman with green hair and a nose ring, started speaking. From her opening statement, Connie learned that there were plans afoot to release a twentieth anniversary remaster of the movie in 2016, that Hall had been a huge fan of the movie growing up and that the third panelist was an actress named Gina Natera who’d written her senior thesis in high school about Starfall and was also a huge fan. Once she’d been introduced, Connie remembered answering a couple of long e-mails from Gina, but hadn’t thought much about it at the time.

She also learned that she’d apparently been in a much better movie than she realized or, to be completely honest with herself, a movie she’d always thought was much better than it got credit for, but been too embarrassed to defend too vigorously after its commercial cratering. The film about a mutiny aboard a ship whose commander is ready to commit genocide in order to avoid commercial ruin had been panned as “too complicated” and “too talky” by critics, but as far as Connie could tell, its only real sin was to come out on the same weekend as Independence Day.

The moderator’s first question to the panel was, “Connie, you seem surprised to see this many fans here.”

“I’m pretty sure there are more people in this room than saw the movie on its opening weekend.” Connie admitted, only worrying after she’d said it that it might not be the best idea to diss the film to its fans. But she got a good laugh from the crowd.

The next few questions involved technical details of the production that Connie had long since forgotten, but which Hall and Gina were ready to answer. The next question that came directly to Connie was, “Davis Farber who played Commander Wallace passed away a couple of years ago from lung cancer. Were you two in touch at all after you finished filming?”

“No, not really. I heard when he died, but we didn’t get along when working together. I thought Davis was a fantastic actor, but he was very particular about how he wanted things to go. And because we were playing two characters at loggerheads, neither one of us saw much point in getting to like each other better.” said Connie.

“There’s a climactic scene where you slap the commander after he whispers something in your ear. In the script, he whispers ‘you bitch.’ Davis claimed he whispered something else to get the reaction you gave him, but always said we’d have to ask you what he said. Do you remember what it was?” the moderator asked.

Connie gave a sharp bark of laughter and tilted her head to her fellow panelist. “I told Gina the answer to this one years ago. She knows.”

“I didn’t think it was my question to answer.” Gina looked amused.

Connie nodded. “All right. Just as a little background, we’d done that scene at least a half dozen times and I just couldn’t bring myself to really slap him like I was supposed to. Finally, I asked him to say something offensive enough for me to really want to unload on him. He did and I hit him so hard they had to rearrange the shooting schedule to wait for the swelling to go down. When I say we didn’t particularly like each other, we were still very professional and cordial. He was never cruel, just exacting.”

“But what did he say?” the moderator pressed.

“He said, ‘If they were going to make me work with a model, couldn’t they have found one with some tits?’” Connie said. After the mixed reaction of shocked laughter, she added. “That’s probably not even on the top twenty list of the meanest things I’ve heard at work, but he really sold it.”

Shortly after that, the moderator opened the floor to questions from the audience. The very first one came from an earnest-looking woman in her thirties: “Was Persephone Allistair a lesbian?”

The room got very still as Connie considered her answer carefully. No one had asked her this question before, not even Gina who’d asked about everything. Finally, Connie said, “In the original shooting script, there was a romantic subplot between Persephone and Jason Garvey’s character. Davis, Jason, and I all agreed that it felt tacked on and got the director to drop it. In my mind, the strongest relationship in Starfall was between Persephone and Talia.”

When the silence after that statement started to stretch, Hall leaned forward like he was going to fill it, but Connie knew she’d dodged the question. She said, “There was nothing in the script that described Persephone as straight or gay, so I just played her the way I felt - open to falling in love with anyone regardless of gender. I remember thinking, ‘This is set so far in the future, are we as a species really going to be hung up on gender at that point?’”

Later, after the panel had broken up and Connie was mingling with her newly-discovered fans, one young man stepped to the front, holding up his phone to record. He said his name and the name of a website that ended in dot-com, but she didn’t catch either. When Connie looked at him, he asked, “Did you come out today as a publicity stunt?”

Over the angry muttering, Connie said, “Of course. Everything I do in public these days is for publicity.”

Looking like he’d scored some major rhetorical victory, her questioner let himself be crowded out of Connie’s immediate vicinity. Connie wasn’t sure what that had all been about but decided to shrug it off. The young woman who’d asked her the question about her character’s sexuality fell into step with her and offered her a card. “I would love to buy you a drink some time. Persephone Allistair and Susan Ivanova were two of my biggest role models growing up.”

“Sure.” Connie looked the woman over and decided impulsively to give back one of her own. “I’ve still got work to do tonight, but call me.”

Then she went off to find Max, knowing she owed him big thanks for having set up the panel for her, but still undecided on whether or not he’d pulled a dirty trick by not warning her how big her fandom actually was.

“Get up.”

Emily blinked sleep out of her eyes. She’d dozed off in bed with Nick and Pilar, but woke with Pilar standing over her and Nick nowhere in sight. A quick glance at her alarm clock said it was almost five in the morning. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on, mistress?” Pilar corrected her.

When Emily had asked to be a slave, she’d been thinking in terms of letting her lovers do and demand whatever wicked sexual acts came to mind with her. She hadn’t considered that any of them would want to wake her up in the middle of the night to play. She debated objecting, but decided to play along, rolling to look at Pilar. “Forgive me. What’s going on, Mistress?”

“Nick and Tanvi are preparing for your ceremony in the garden.” said Pilar. “Get up.”

Something about the word “ceremony” sent a little frisson up Emily’s spine. She sat up. “What ceremony?”

“Your enslavement.” Pilar offered her a hand up.

Emily rose, but couldn’t fight down a smirk. “I feel pretty well enslaved already.”

“What you feel is well-fucked,” Pilar corrected her. “If you were well enslaved, you wouldn’t give me so much back-talk.”

“Back-talk?” Emily raised an eyebrow and smiled at Pilar, but when Pilar didn’t smile back, she hung her head. “Forgive me, Mistress. I’m new to this.”

“So are we all.” Pilar reached up and stroked Emily’s cheek. “Thus the ceremony. Follow me.”

Emily leaned into the touch. Pilar, Nick, and Tanvi hadn’t left her bed so long ago that she couldn’t still feel where they’d touched and stroked and invaded her flesh. In the course of a single day, she’d gone from trying to figure out how to be alone with Nick because she was afraid she wouldn’t know what to do in bed with more than one person at a time to craving the sensory overload that came from so much intimate attention. If a ceremony could get her more of the same, she was willing to go along with it. “May I dress first, Mistress?”

“No. We prefer you naked.” Pilar turned to leave the room.

Emily followed, a little thrill going through her. There was no reason not to be naked in this house. Everyone staying here had already seen her naked and done far more, but Pilar led her out into the ancient garden. Modeling had given her a healthy paranoia about drones, telephoto lenses, and the like. A quick glance at the empty night sky reminded her of a promise she’d made to herself after leaving Clive - that she would get pictures of her own beautiful, naked body out into the world before someone got a hold of less flattering ones and did it for her. She’d thought about that promise a number of times in recent months, but it always seemed to come at an inopportune time like when she was in the middle of her own enslavement ceremony.

Rather than worrying about voyeurs, Emily focused on putting one foot in front of the other on the uneven garden path. She hadn’t even thought to put on sandals before following Pilar out here. For herself, Pilar had chosen a black silk camisole, matching pants, and a cloak. Had she honestly been traveling with a cloak this whole time, waiting for an appropriate ceremonial opportunity? Pilar was un-fucking-believable.

As she suspected, the path Pilar led her along wound back to the fountain where Nick had finally claimed her. Just remembering the urgency and the need with which he’d taken her was enough to set her nerves humming. In her time with Clive, she’d rarely thought of sucking cock as a particularly erotic act. Too often it had been an unrewarding last-ditch effort to restart a sex act that had stalled. But Nick had started hard and stayed hard throughout. There was no doubt that he wanted her and, as such, Nick’s cock had tasted like victory.

The thought made her smile and, even when they stepped into the grove where Nick and Tanvi were waiting for them. Tanvi was dressed in a black and silver saree, Nick in a similarly colored nehru jacket and matching pants. It wasn’t a look she’d seen on Nick before, but it did give a sense of ceremony that was only partially spoiled by his returning her smile in acknowledgement of the absurdity of the whole situation.

“Kneel.” Pilar said as Emily came to stand in front of Nick. Someone had thoughtfully placed a tatami-style mat on the ground for her. Emily knelt and looked up at Nick, her smile slipping into full smirk. They’d been together in this very position only a few hours earlier. Nick’s smile didn’t follow but faded to something both thoughtful and covetous. Emily would have described the look he gave her as undressing her with his eyes if she hadn’t already been fully nude.

Tanvi spoke formally. “Emily King, we have gathered here before the dawn to enslave you and to imbue you with the servilia of your office. Do you come before us of your own free will?”

Emily looked back and forth among her lovers. They were watching her with an intensity that made Tanvi’s words seem like more than an idle question or a game. Having just been awakened from a deep sleep added an air of unreality to what already seemed like an unreal situation. She nodded her head. “I do.”

“We have three artifacts to present to you. You may accept or reject each of them in turn. May we present the artifacts?” Tanvi asked.

“Please do.” Emily said.

“Extend your right arm.” Tanvi turned to a table behind her as Emily did what she’d been told. From the table, she took a black velvet box, presented it to Nick, and clicked it open. Nick lifted a bracelet that looked at first glance like it was made entirely out of precious gems, diamonds interspersed with bright blue sapphires.

With Pilar’s help, Nick attached the bracelet to Emily’s wrist. Emily’s eyes widened to feel the weight of what was easily the most extravagant gift she’d ever received. Nick intoned, “This symbolizes our affection to you. I provide it; Pilar chose it; Tanvi acquired it. Do you accept this token and the affection it represents?”

The solidity of the bracelet dispersed the cloud of unreality and gave Emily pause. When Pilar had suggested the word “slave” for what Emily wanted, it had sounded perfect, but now she wondered what she’d gotten herself into. Would Nick and the others behave like she was their property? Clive had done that and spent most of the time taking her for granted. It had been so hard to break away from Clive, how much harder would it be to get away from a billionaire who thought he owned her? She cleared her throat, “Can I ask a question?”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Is it about our affection?”

Emily shook her head. “No, it’s about the whole ‘slave’ thing.”

Nick smiled. “You can ask now if you like, but I promise there will be a more appropriate time soon. Will you wait?”

Finding them suddenly dry, Emily licked her lips. “All right.”

“In that case, do you accept this token and the affection it represents?” Nick asked again.

“Yes, thank you. It’s beautiful.” Emily held up her wrist to admire the jewelry again.

Pilar accepted a ring box from Tanvi, snapped it open, and displayed it so that Emily could see the grid of tiny diamonds across its surface. She said solemnly. “This is a Jezebel ring. It represents the sex goddess we know you’ll become when you let go of what holds you back. Will you accept it as a symbol of our belief in you?”

“It looks like an engagement ring.” Emily pointed out.

Pilar looked to Nick who said. “It certainly does - enough so that if you wear it on the appropriate finger, it will signal that someone has a claim on you. Where you wear it is up to you.”

Emily pouted at the ring. “You shouldn’t tease a girl like that, Nick.”

Nick smirked. “This would be a hell of a proposal story, wouldn’t it?”

Emily smiled at the image and lowered her head for a moment. Pilar repeated. “Do you accept this symbol and our belief in you?”

Emily felt like she should protest that their belief was misplaced, but she didn’t want to further sidetrack the conversation. “I do.”

With some negotiation, Pilar slid the ring on the middle finger of Emily’s right hand. As she did, she intoned. “This is your Jezebel ring. When we see you wear it, we will know you want your inner goddess to be uninhibited and free. If at any time you wish to disavow the mantle of the jezebel, you may return the ring or simply cease to wear it.”