Chapter 1

“She’s a killer queen,
gunpowder, gelatine.
Dynamite with a laser beam.
Guaranteed to blow your mind.
ANYTIME!
Recommended at the price,
insatiable in appetites.
WANNA TRY?”
-Queen, “Killer Queen“
Lords of Acid’s “Lover Boy/Lover Girl“ blasted from inside the club. Julie Andrews, no relation to the actress of the same name, stood outside; watching everyone get turned away while smoking and tapping her foot. She snorted as she inhaled, contemplating taking another hit from the coke bullet in her pocket, but decided against it. She’d promised herself that she’d save the rest to do with Helena. If the fucking cunt ever got here.

A cab pulled up at that moment, and a purple-haired Helena Parker stepped out.

“Keep the change.” Helena told the cabbie in French, tossing a $500 chip from the Casino Monte Carlo over her shoulder at him as she stepped out, meeting Julie’s eyes with a predator’s glare.

Julie opened her mouth to ask her girlfriend where the fuck she’d been when the could’ve-been track star quickly closed the distance between them and was upon her, placing her own mouth over Julie’s and pinning the slightly-taller girl to the wall; her tongue playfully darting at Julie’s still-miffed tongue until it relented and accepted Helena’s invitation to dance.

“Hey, Girl.” Helena said to Julie. She gave the kind of short, quick snort that Julie had been doing herself while waiting. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, Also Girl.” Julie responded, licking her lips, and noticing with the predatory look in Helena’s eyes replaced by happiness, that they were a bit glassy; making her realize her own probably were as well. “I was gonna ask what kept you, but I can still taste him.” She smiled and reached into her purse. “If my eyes look like yours, it’s shades time.”

“This one deserved it.” Helena responded, her own purse rattling as she searched it. “We had a great run at the tables on his dime, and he was good boy about being generous with the split, after.” She winked at that. “Sent a quarter back home for Troy to invest and a quarter for any medical bills Propappou’s got; or if I’ve taken care of those, something nice for himself. Cashed the third quarter.”

They produced purple-tinted sunglasses, each held by one stem, flicked their wrists to extend the other, and put them on with one hand simultaneously, snickering as the cocaine made it extra funny, and she continued.

“I had twenty of these things left after that.” She rattled her purse for emphasis. “So, I went ‘Eh, what the fuck? This weekend, I’ll be the biggest tipper Monte Carlo’s seen until the next one!’”

She took Julie’s cigarette while Julie fished the coke bullet out of her purse. Julie slipped it into Helena’s hand when she took the cigarette back. Helena took an unsubtle snort and passed it back to Julie. Julie took a more ladylike hit and put it back in her purse.

“Ok.” Helena said. “What’re we after?”

“Before we begin, I should remind you of the rule: No breaking people up.”

“Once!” Helen said with a playful shove, causing Julie to drop the cigarette. She crushed it out under the sole of her heel. “That happened once, and we made them forget and get back together!”

“Do you want to have that talk with Troy again?” Julie asked. “No, me either. So it’s worth repeating.”

“Ok, ok. Everyone gets to live happily ever after; got it, Princess Mesmera. Now, what’s your flavor tonight?”

Julie thought for a moment. Like Helen didn’t know what the answer would be, now that Troy Medina’s name had been said twice.

“Greek.” Julie said, almost without thinking. The shades concealed Helen’s eye-roll. “Or Italian. You know, something Eastern Mediterranean for the guy. Surprise me on the girl. And Mistress’ choice of fucktoys for the evening?”

“Oh, you need a special challenge, I think.”

Helena put an arm around her girlfriend’s waist and they started walking toward the door. Julie did the same with her own arm as they approached; watching the doorman make an English brunette their age work at flirting with him and to get in with her friends.

“I find myself in the giving vein, Princess Mesmera. That one there? He’s not letting her in because she’s ‘cute and sweet,’ but not what the Eurotrash inside would call ‘hot.’ Little Tin God, that one. But he’ll keep letting her try. Because he knows that she just might get desperate enough to blow him, and he still won’t let her in afterwards. Another story for the boys for him, a shameful memory to come back to for the rest of her life for her. Let’s fix that.

“Bring her in and go find her friends. If that one’s ‘the cutie,’ there’s a wolf pack of richboys circling ‘the hottie’ and the others already. Pair them up or don’t as you see fit. But that one and the hottest guy come back to the suite with us, Mistress. And, well, anyone else you see fit. Let’s make this A Holiday to Remember for her.”

“Or A Holiday to Forget.” Julie replied with the overly-loud laugh of someone clearly high. They separated when they reached the door. Julie went for the girl, and Helena went for the doorman.

“She’s with us,” Helena commanded the doorman in French. “And every time you try to make a woman debase herself for you to get into this shithole, you’re going to have a very embarrassing premature ejaculation on the spot; and let her in, apologizing. Forget that I made you do this. Work out the association on your own. Now let us in, we’re obviously VIPs.”

“Of course, Mademoiselle.” he said, holding the door open as Julie let their new friend past the velvet rope. “Welcome.”

“Hi,” Julie said with the sweetest of smiles. “I’m your new friend, Julie. That’s your other new friend, Helena. What’s our new friend’s name?”

“Me ... Melanie.” She stammered. The look on her face turned from stunned surprise to happy recognition as her smile began to match that of her new friend, Julie. “Oh, Hi, Julie. Hey, Helena.”

Julie took Melanie by the hand and led her in as the doorman held the door for the three of them. She took Helena’s hand in her other while they walked.

“Helena’s going to go do her own thing once we get inside, Melanie.” Julie began raising her voice as they approached the inner door and the music got louder. “Why don’t we find your friends, and then you can introduce them to their new friend, too?”

Melanie nodded happily. She couldn’t wait to introduce Julie to the other girls.

The three of them entered the darkened dance club. Julie Andrews and Helena Parker kissed deeply before parting to find each other’s targets. Helena headed for the dance floor, and Julie took Melanie’s hand and led her toward the bar.

“Let’s stop here, Melanie!” Julie shouted over the music. She led her to a pair of stools that freed up on Julie’s request. She and Melanie sat down and flagged the bartender over. Julie saw someone drinking something blue and pointed at them.

“Two of whatever that is!” Julie said in French. He went to mix them and she turned back to Melanie.

“So, Melanie, my new friend.” Julie said with the same smile, a bit further away from the speakers here, so she didn’t have to shout. “Are you with anybody? Besides your friends, I mean. Like a guy. Or a girl? We’re the kind of friends that you feel like you’ve known us forever. The kind that you know you can share anything with.”

Melanie beamed at how well she was clicking with her new friends. Julie cared so much, and wanted to know about her. Of course they should know everything.

“No, and, er, he’d be a he. I mean, there’s a guy back at uni, but I don’t think he’s interested.”

“Well, he’s a dumbass. You’re beautiful, Melanie. And so damn lucky, because your new friends are ... well, we like to play...” She looked Melanie up and down, appraisingly. Melanie noticed how expressive her new friend’s face was, and found the look of approval on Julie’s pleasing. “Ok, you don’t need a fairy godmother, so let’s call us ‘genies.’ And we want to help you, Melanie, have the best night ever! Helena and I know about a better party than this one, and I just KNOW you and all your friends will want to go when I tell you all about it. How many are you?”

“Five including me.” Melanie replied, pointing to the table.

Julie signaled to the bartender that they’d want four more for the table. The look on her face conveyed the message “when you can get around to it.” She then looked at the table and saw Melanie’s friends who were able to get past the creep at the door without their aid. They looked like they could be persuaded to be a fun bunch.

“Whichever guy you’re most attracted to tonight, he’s yours. Don’t care who he is, it’s happening. So, you be really choosy here. But you, lady, are getting laid by the man ... or men if you want, of your pick. Helena and I will be happy to help there.”

“Wow!” Melanie said, amazed by how great Julie’s offer was.

Julie pulled closer to her, bending down to accent her cleavage, and spoke in her ear at as close to a whisper as the techno would allow.

“You see, Melanie, Helena and I are THAT kind of friends. That sounds like something you’d want to try too, doesn’t it? I mean, nothing counts on holiday, right?”

Melanie’s smile took on a lustful tone, as she realized that yes, the thought of Julie and Helena being such good friends, and wanting so nicely to be hers too, sounded really hot. She was right. Nothing counted on holiday. And she could have any guy, too?

“That sounds amazing!” Melanie breathed back into Julie’s ear, trembling now.

“I’m glad you think so.” Julie said as the bartender brought the tray. She set 200 euros on the bar and grabbed the tray, having a little difficulty with it, until Melanie helped. “Now let’s go make your friends think so, too.”

“We’re here, Contessa.” Ernst, the pilot, said into the headset.

In the back of the helicopter, Contessa Helena de San Finzione awoke with a start. She looked down at the lush, tropical jungle of the island below against the blue backdrop of the Bahamas.

A Fincantieri cigarette boat and an old motorboat were moored at the single dock on the beach. From the beach, a trail led to a well-kept lawn in front of a large house with a satellite dish. Riding a mower around the lawn was a tall, bald man with an AK-47 strapped to his back, looking up with a smile on his face. La Contessa pointed to a spot on the lawn big enough to land. They descended and cut the engines as the man drove across the lawn to meet them.

“Oi! You’re trespassin’ on my lawn, Your Countessness!” Nigel Mander yelled in an East London accent over the helicopter engines powering down.

She started to speak, realized it was still pretty loud, and waited for the engine noise to die down before replying.

“To keep The Law and The Taxman off your back; Mander Island is, on paper anyway, a territory of San Finzione. Technically, this rather nice lawn is on San Finzione soil. La Contessa is welcome everywhere in San Finzione; so, legally, I’m actually incapable of trespassing here.”

“So, what’s ‘at mean really?”

“In reality,” Helena replied, lighting a cigarette and smiling. “Don’t kill anybody who doesn’t deserve it and don’t hurt women or kids and do whatever the fuck else you want. It’s some kind of conservatorship deal, that’s why San Finzione sends you a little check every month.”

“And ‘ere I thought ya just kep’ me on ‘cause ya picked up some weird fantasy about Uongo, and some day, ya’d call, wanting blindfolded, gagged, and driven to the middle of nowhere by me again.”

Helena gave her sweetest smile.

“Well, dammit, now that you’ve put it in my head, the possibility can never again be ignored. I don’t know all the details. It helps that I have an ex who doesn’t ask questions when I call him with stuff like,” She mimed a telephone and raised the pitch of her voice. “‘Hey, Boy. How do I launder an island?’”

Mander grinned at that. Helena waved for her pilot to feel free to get out and stretch his legs.

“Well, then,” Mander said, nodding his agreement that yes, he’d been joking, and it was ok for the pilot to get out of the helicopter. “Wish ya’d given me time to run to the big island; buy a red carpet to lay out for ya.”

Helena looked down at the grass.

“I’m used to seeing green everywhere I go, anyway. This is nice. Weren’t there palm trees here before?”

“Yeah. But I figured I’ve got plenty of ‘em. Never ‘ad a lawn, though. It’s nice. Saw ya on the tele, a bit back. You’ve ‘ealed well. ‘ow’s Lady Maria doin’?”

The ash of her cigarette fell onto Mander’s lawn. Helen gave him a slightly sheepish look. Mander smiled it away, and she replied.

“Thanks. Good. She’s still Contessa-In-Reggenza until I come back from some personal business, following my injury, and resume power. I think this little taste of what she’s got to look forward to, down the road, is turning out well for her. I may leave her in charge again once in a while, especially if I get...” Helena thought for a second. “ ... now and then.” She changed the subject. “Hey, and I thought Limeys were supposed to be all about gardens, not lawns.”

“Nah, bit sissy for me.” He patted the mower. “‘Sides, tried it. Only get to use one o’ these babies once wit’ flowers, then you’ve gotta wait three months to do it again. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of ‘er Countessness’ visit?”

“Some personal business.” Helena responded looking up to the house. “And to make sure you’re keeping your word about not stocking Budweiser.”

“If I thought I could get somethin’ past ya, I sure as fuck wouldn’t risk it on that one. All right, let’s take this in the bar.”

As they walked, Helena noticed three red dots roaming Mander’s back. She stopped and turned around and shook her head, mouthing “no,” while making an odd motion with her arms meant to convey both “don’t shoot” and “stand down” at the same time. The dots disappeared before Mander stopped and turned around.

“Sorry,” Helen smiled sheepishly. “The Ultimados got here three hours before me. They’ve been on edge since the incident. They’re not happy about the AK. I told them you’re a geezer, but you know.” She yelled to the trees. “We talked about this! He’s OK! This is not the first time this man has been armed in my presence, remember? Some of you guys met him in Africa.”

He stood up on the mower and waved to the trees as well.

“Oi! You remember me, right? All right if I hang it up inside?”

They gave no response.

“Callin’ that a yes! C’mon in fer a pint if ya want. Bar’s open. Nice to not see you gents again!”

At his home in Federal Way, Washington, Troy Equals walked into the house, carrying his phone, a bag of donuts, and two coffees in a cardboard holder. He walked through the living room and into the room that had once served as their library, but was now Julie Equal, his wife’s, home art studio.

She sat in an office chair, with her back to the door; wearing a painter’s smock and nothing else, expecting to have the house to herself for the day. She’d been looking at a blank canvas.

That wasn’t true. The canvas already had the crowd scene at Pike Place Market the last time she’d been there on it, she was just figuring out where to make the first mark, so that she could start bringing it out. She jumped a little when the donut bag crinkled as Troy set it on a table. She then turned and smiled in relief at the sight of her life-long best friend bearing life essentials.

“Thought you’d left for class, Master.” She said, rolling the chair over to the desk and grabbing her coffee.

“Almost got to the freeway, Mistress, before I got the message that classes have been cancelled for the week because of Helen’s thing.”

“Hmm,” Julie hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. It was just what she would have ordered. She expected no less of the man who knew her better than anyone. Just like the chocolate-covered old-fashioned donut she knew would be in the bag when she reached inside. “Helena’s coming to Seattle some time today, and all of a sudden, you get the week off school. Why do I get the feeling that these two things are connected?”

“Well, the text said nothing about UW being bought out by Società Finzione; it feels more like a consequence of Helen, rather than something she orchestrated.”