by Carol Caiton
"I'm sorry, Ms. Matheson, but I can't afford something like that."
Surprisingly, the other woman smiled without the accompanying sympathy Nina expected. "Let me explain how it works," she said. "You have options. To begin the process, however, we'll ask you to fill out an application as though you intend to join. The entire form is computerized, but be prepared to spend a full day here because it takes approximately eight hours to complete."
"Eight? Hours?"
"A minimum of eight. Most people take a little more, and some have needed nine or ten. Of course, you'll be able to save your progress and take breaks. We have a small bistro in the building. But it's a time-consuming and deeply personal application, and it's to your advantage to take your time and answer the questions as honestly as possible. Doing so will ensure you'll enjoy each experience here to its fullest."
"Is there an application fee?"
"Yes. We charge a forty-five-dollar processing fee. Each time you answer a question, the computer applies your response to a variety of categories. When you reach the end of the application, if you've passed all the markers, you'll qualify for membership, which makes you eligible to have the required breast enhancement at no cost. But with one condition."
"I knew there had to be a catch."
"There always is, isn't there?" The other woman smiled. "But in this case, it's something you've already decided you want. You'll have to qualify for the resident package in order to have the procedure, but you won't be under an obligation to join. When the enhancement procedure is completed and you've reached the required cup size, if you follow through at that point and sign a membership contract, the cost of the procedure will be waived."
"And if I change my mind?"
"If you decide not to join, then RUSH will work together with you on a payment plan."
Nina nodded. "I see. Can you tell me about the procedure? Is it done with implants?"
"No, no implants. Injections. They're done in stages, so you'll have time to adjust." She smiled. "The required cup size for an R-link is considerable."
Nina considered all she'd been told. If she did this, there would be no going back, no changing her mind after the procedure was completed. It wouldn't be possible to stretch her paycheck to include a payment plan.
Knowing that, she wrote out a check for the forty-five-dollar fee she couldn't afford and began the time-consuming application process directly afterward.
It was a good thing she'd arrived as early as she had because Cybil Matheson was right. It took hours and hours, answering hundreds of questions that went on and on. Nearly all of them required careful self-examination, but the most difficult to answer were those that focused on intimate sexual fantasies. Fortunately, almost every question on the application came with multiple choice answers and boxes to click on, so she didn't have to think up a lot of wildly erotic scenarios on her own. But she vacillated between embarrassment and a throbbing warmth in private places as she visualized those incredibly sensual scenes. By the time she clicked on the last Submit button and slumped back in her chair, she felt as though she'd put in a marathon day at work.
At home that evening, unable to keep the news to herself, she tried coaxing Lydia to her bedroom where they could talk. "I want to tell you about my day."
But Lydia was still mad and avoiding her. Nina hadn't noticed it at first. It had taken until Wednesday to figure it out. This time, though, she wasn't going to be put off. It was because of Lydia in the first place that she'd even gone to RUSH. "Come back to my room," she said as they finished up the dishes.
"I'm tired tonight," her sister answered. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Nina knew perfectly well that Lydia planned to spend the following day with a group of friends from work. So she sidestepped over to the doorway and blocked the exit until her sister looked up, one dark brow raised imperiously.
Nina didn't budge. "We need to talk."
"So talk."
"In my room, Lyd."
Her sister raised the other brow. Then, with an exaggerated huff, she gave an ungracious, "Fine. You've got two minutes."
But Nina had her now and she knew it. Smiling all the way down the hall, she plopped onto her bed and waited for Lydia to wheel herself inside. "Close the door."
Clicking her tongue with attitude, her sister turned and pushed the door closed.
Nina smirked. "Stop being such a brat."
"Then quit ordering me around." Spinning back to face the bed, she offered up a bored expression and said, "So tell me already."
Nina bit down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling, rolled over onto her stomach, and said, "I went to RUSH today," utterly deadpan, as though RUSH had been a store she'd stopped by on the way home.
She had the immense satisfaction of watching her sister's mouth fall open as her eyes flew wide.
"Tell me!" Lydia grabbed the push rims of her wheelchair and jerked herself forward.
Unable to hold back now, Nina grinned. Then she reminded herself to guard what she said. "I can't tell you much—"
"What do you mean you can't tell me much? You were gone all day. And that's where you were, isn't it?"
"Yes, but—"
"Look, I know you didn't just— God! You actually went! Tell me everything."
"I signed a nondisclosure form, Lyd. I can tell you a little. A least I think I can. But I'm not supposed to talk about being there with anyone who isn't a member."
"I don't believe this! I'm your sister. What do they think I'm going to do? Oh, never mind. Just tell me what you can."
Nina described the grounds, the mysterious narrow pathways, the lush jungle, the fountains and flowers and landscaping. She told Lydia about the guard who accompanied her on the tour, mentioned a little about the venues and that she'd been allowed to sit in on a class.
She refrained from describing with too much detail, but she painted a verbal picture, rich in color, that adequately described the serenity, the appeal, and the obvious wealth that had gone into the planning. "It's the most beautiful place I've ever been to, Lyd. It was as though I'd driven my car right into one of those vacation spots for the rich and famous."
"So, did you join? Please tell me you joined."
The sparkle Nina always hoped to see was there in Lydia's eyes and a mixture of bittersweet pleasure filled her. "Yes. I filled out an application."
Lydia let out a small squeal. Then she cut it short. "For a resident membership?"
Sighing, Nina nodded. "Yes."
Lydia burst into tears. "Oh, Nina, you're going to love it! I'm so envious! God, I'm so envious!"
"Lyd—"
"Don't you dare say anything to Mom and Dad!" she interrupted. Swiping at the tears on her face, she stared at Nina with a ferocious expression. "I mean it, Nina. Not a word."
"I have to tell them something. I can't just pack my things one day and tell them I've decided to move out."
"Oh, yes you can."
"That's awful! They'll need time to—"
"No. You're a softie, Nina. You've always been a softie. We've had a lot of overtime open up at work so I'll take on as much as I can right away. But if you say anything about leaving to Mom and Dad, I'll never forgive you. I mean that."
So Nina had said nothing, adding another layer of guilt to the rest. And now she was alone. Alone and scared. She didn't have the thrill-seeking wild streak her sister had been born with. She wasn't like Lydia at all.
CHAPTER 7
The main entrance into RUSH from International Drive was the one used by the majority of clients because of its proximity to the entertainment sector. The parking garage at that entrance emptied into Member Services and Checkpoint 1 where security sensors identified each visitor by the microchip implanted in his or her wrist. Or, in the case of non-member guests when no signal was present, a uniformed guard stood ready to lend assistance.
In addition to identification, once detected, the chip performed a variety of functions. During the time it took to w
alk midway through the checkpoint, a hematology scan was transmitted to three locations. One of those locations was Medical Services, a white stucco building on the west side of the property that housed five practices and a pharmacy. The scan was sent as well to a small lab inside the checkpoint where an on-duty technician stood by to administer monthly birth control shots as needed. And last, the scan was transmitted to Security Central, located directly above the checkpoint, where a team of guards oversaw the safety of each client and the smooth running of the entire operation.
Issues that could be detected in the blood such as illness, the presence of medications, and critical concerns such as STDs and pregnancy raised a red flag at all three locations. The use of illegal drugs could not be camouflaged by herbal remedies. A pregnancy couldn't go undetected, or knowledge of it withheld and later used in a lawsuit against the corporation. Irregularities were recorded and promptly addressed and, to date, all had been dismissed as a legitimate use of antihistamines during hay fever season, or the residual evidence of an OTC remedy.
Lesser known, but used by the R-links and the majority of RUSH's employees was the north entrance at Treeline Drive. It too was guarded by an identical twelve-foot-high gate and the accompanying guardhouse. And the aesthetically appealing entrance was identical to the one on I-Drive with swaying palms and carefully chosen shrubbery.
Just beyond the gates of the north entrance, however, the roadway branched off in two directions. One led to the tunnels beneath RUSH where delivery trucks unloaded merchandise and supplies to the various venues. The other continued on to another parking garage and Checkpoint 2, complete with its own lab and on-duty technician. At both entrances, each client's handprint was a door key. As soon as his or her palm was pressed to a biometric scanner, identification was processed and locks were released—or not—depending on the information transmitted by the microchip.
Today, the sun wasn't yet high enough to cast shadows as Nina pulled up to the guardhouse at the north entrance. After today she wouldn't have to stop. The microchip about to be implanted in her wrist would be detected, allowing her to pass through the gates unchecked. But for now she had to pause and face the guard.
So she wiped her cheeks with the crumbling strip of bathroom tissue, slipped on her sunglasses to hide as much of her blotchy skin as possible, and stared at the brass plate mounted on a pillar beside the gate. Subtle. Elegant. The simple, polished oval made a quiet statement.
RUSH, Inc.
"Good morning, Miss Millering. You're early today."
The security guard approaching her car was the same one who had checked her in so often during the past months. Considering the number of visits she'd made to Medical Services, it wasn't surprising he now knew her name without the need to see identification. He usually recognized her little green car on sight.
"Good morning," she said, reaching for her purse so he could scan her driver's license. He might know who she was, but there were still procedures to follow.
"I see you have assigned parking now," he said. "Do you know where to find it?"
She placed her wallet on the passenger seat. "Yes. Number 32. Along the wall near the R-link complex."
"That's the one." He swiped her license, then held the tablet PC so she could press her palm onto the scanner. "When you get to the checkpoint someone will be waiting to escort you."
Another security guard. That was something else that would change when her microchip was in place. After this morning an escort would no longer be required. So no one would be there to watch her transfer all those Wal-Mart bags from her car to her new apartment. And when she was finished, she could sit down in the privacy of her new home and cry until she was all cried out. God, she was a mess. She needed to find a way to get out of this.
"Thank you," she told the guard when he returned her license.
He gave a single nod and stepped back. A few seconds later the gate glided open.
She removed her sunglasses as she drove through. But the enchantment she always felt when she passed into the lush, secluded jungle didn't move her this time. She scarcely saw the flowers and exotic foliage. Banana trees drifted by unnoticed and weighty coconuts, clustered amid swaying palm fronds, were nothing special.
She found slot 32 with no trouble, turned into it, then shut off the engine. But she didn't get out of the car. Instead, she stayed where she was, fingers wrapped around the upper arc of the steering wheel, and dropped her chin to her chest.
She could still change her mind. It wasn't too late. Cybil Matheson would arrange a meeting for her with someone who would draft a payment plan. But what would the monthly installment amount to on so many thousands of dollars? Two hundred? Three hundred? Five? She didn't even have a job now. And why was she bothering to think about it at all since she had nowhere else to go? The few relatives she had couldn't help. Her grandparents on her father's side lived somewhere in Michigan, not far from their daughter. But Nina hardly knew that part of the family. She wouldn't recognize them if they stood right in front of her. And her maternal grandmother lived in Jacksonville. But Gran had moved into an assisted living facility a few months ago so she couldn't look for help there.
Wiping her fingers across the dry, tender skin of her face, she sighed, lifted her head, and stared at the graceful ferns growing from the flower box in front of her car. Slot 32 meant she was RUSH's thirty-second resident female. Her membership fee covered the rent on her apartment, the required R-link classes, and a wardrobe specifically designed to attract the attention of RUSH's male clients and keep them coming back. It covered the required daily spa appointments and, of course, use of the database three days of each week. It allowed her free access to every amenity on property, except those that were exclusively male. And just in case that wasn't enough, it provided for custom-formulated beauty products, the cost of her lab work, her monthly birth control shots, and a comprehensive medical plan after an unbelievable five-dollar co-pay. The exorbitant fee, Ms. Matheson had assure her, would be easily affordable when she began taking on modeling assignments.
Fortunately, Juliette of Orlando was quick to represent RUSH's R-links. Assignments might include regular spreads in Natural Abundance—a catalog featuring clothing and undergarments for women with curves—or in men's magazines such as VEx—an acronym for Voluptuous & Exotic, which was based right in downtown Orlando—as well as ad campaigns for Jezebella's Body Jewelry and Intimate Underthings—both of which would be opening stores in RUSH's new shopping mall.
Unfortunately, Juliette of Orlando would drop her in a flash if she decided to leave RUSH. The agency had no contract affiliation with the corporation, but it only accepted non-professional models on its referral. While here, her income would amount to five or six times her yearly gross as a bookkeeper, but only as long as she maintained an R-link membership.
One by one, every alternative she could think of was struck down as soon as it occurred to her. She was trapped here. Her life was a one-way street without a turn-off lane.
For a few minutes she sat listening to the soft, syncopated tick of the car's engine as it began to cool. RUSH was no longer an adventure. The impact of what she'd done had struck her the moment her father's hand connected with her face. She'd never be able to recapture the excitement or the magic she'd felt just the day before.
Over the next couple of hours, though, she had to focus on the positive reasons she'd conjured up for joining. There were too many people with whom she had to meet, too much that required her attention right now. A security guard was waiting to escort her to Medical Services and until she was able to come up with some way to get out of this, she should keep in mind that she had a roof over her head and the expectation of employment. At least she wasn't out on the street.
Pulling her keys from the ignition, she glanced in the rearview mirror and waited while three women who appeared to be spa employees judging by their white attire, disappeared into the checkpoint. When they were out of sight, she reached for her
purse and opened the car door. She needed to freshen up. She wasn't one of those women who cried prettily and the side of her face felt swollen where her father had hit her.
Slipping on her sunglasses, she stepped out of the car and looked around for one of the restrooms she'd spotted during previous visits. It took a few seconds to orient herself since she usually parked in the guest area. The dark lenses didn't help, either. But there were security cameras at every turn so she didn't want to take them off.
When she found the ladies' room, she decided it could have been located in the lobby of a five-star hotel. Lustrous, cream colored marble, sparkling gold fixtures, flowers . . . . Pausing, she sniffed the air. For heaven sake, they were real flowers—in a parking garage restroom. She stared at the tall, fluted vase and the oriental-style, black lacquered table on which it sat. Beside it stood a chair, upholstered in the rich, vibrant colors of a kimono. Who would decorate a parking garage restroom in such splendor? Weren't they afraid of theft? No, probably not. The security cameras took care of that possibility.
Farther in, off to the right, a large circular alcove, bigger than her entire bedroom at home, appeared to be wasted, empty space. Then she realized it wasn't wasted at all. It had been designed that way to allow for a three-hundred-sixty-degree reflection in the floor-to-ceiling, wrap-around mirror that curved seamlessly around the wall.
Walking over to the row of sinks, her sneakers scritched on the pale marble floor. It was a conspicuous sound in such elegant surroundings. Individually framed mirrors had been mounted above each sink and she stopped in front of one, removed her sunglasses, and drew a sharp breath when she saw her reflection.
Her cheek was definitely swollen. More than just a little. And her eyes were puffy. The rest of her face was splotchy and even her ponytail had slipped off center.
Gingerly she ran her fingertips over the area where her head had struck the wall. The skin was slightly tender, but she didn't feel a knot. So she turned on the cold water tap, pushed up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, and spent several minutes splashing her face with the cool, soothing water.
