Under the Vulcania

by Maureen Freely

  But it was, as he had predicted, the Unofficial Insemination Centre that perplexed her the most. How to explain the true affection so evident in the three couples sitting with their arms around each other in the TV Room? Why, if these women wanted to know the fathers of their prospective children, didn’t they choose these fathers from their own set of friends or colleagues? Why, if they didn’t want to share the parenting, could they not resign themselves to the anonymity of normal, by-the-book, artificial insemination? As for the argument that Unofficial Insemination was more natural, more personal, and therefore more meaningful – how could these women delude themselves like this when every smile, every caress their partners offered, they offered because they were being paid to do so?

  Raul watched the shadows pass across the lawyer’s face as Pam Killian, the Centre’s manager, gave her a quick tour of the facilities. She could hardly look at the warmly furnished bedrooms, or the bulletin board, covered with photographs of the newborn results of previous unofficial inseminations… when she caught sight of another, smaller bulletin board that featured two or three recent weddings between beaux and former clients, she positively shuddered. ‘And what’s this for?’ she asked, moving quickly into the adjacent lock-up freezer. ‘This is where we store the donor sperm,’ Raul explained. ‘And that’s for blood tests. Given the present technology, it’s our best possible back-up procedure. It serves several purposes, the most urgent of which is, of course, disease control. As you already know, our beaux are routinely tested, as well as being trained to observe the safest possible practices. But you can’t be too careful, especially since there is a three-month lag between the possible time of a virus transmission and a patient showing up HIV positive. So we test our unofficial donors after every session. Although it takes some time for the results to come back, they still do return in time for the receptor to decide what to do about any confirmed pregnancy that may have resulted.’

  ‘And you think that this procedure absolves the management of responsibility in the event that she goes ahead with a high-risk pregnancy?’

  ‘That’s what we’ve been told.’

  ‘How about guaranteed three-month isolation for donors? Or a male chastity belt?’

  ‘That would add considerably to the cost. And you tell me, you’re the expert, but I could see both innovations turning into civil-rights issues.’

  ‘Let’s say I do a double check on that.’ She jotted something down in her notebook, and then looked up and asked, ‘And what about this sperm bank?’

  ‘Yes, well, it frequently happens that a woman who has gone through one successful unofficial insemination will decide two or three years down the line that she wants a sibling. If we’ve banked the first child’s father’s sperm, she’ll be able to have it inseminated artificially in the event that the father is no longer in our employment. Which is generally to be expected after a gap of that size, seeing as most of our beaux are full-time students.’

  Miranda Simpson raised her eyebrows, and then blushed.

  ‘I know it sounds strange, but many of our clients say that they choose this service so that they have a sense of the father’s personality, and a visual memory of his features. And if that is what they want, then there’s no need for any further physical contact. Once is enough, in other words.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I should say that once is certainly enough from a legalistic point of view,’ said Miranda as they headed back down the corridor to the control centre. ‘The possible repercussions are bad enough as it is. I bet you see modern birth technology in your nightmares.’

  Raul felt his eyelids growing heavy as he gave her what he hoped was a polite smile. How to explain to this woman that the problems presented by modern birth technology were nothing, compared with the logistical headaches presented by the numbered cubicles they were now passing, where clients went to enjoy the closest this establishment offered to good, old-fashioned bordello sex? Even here they had to do their best to draw things out with an array of theatricals. If they didn’t, the typical client would be able to run through a normal-length bauble necklace – and put twelve good men temporarily out of commission – in less than half an hour. Almost all the innovations Raul had put into practice since his arrival had been designed to move away from the previous manager’s ruinous system of charging a standard fee per ejaculation, and it was only thanks to these efforts that the Vulcania had gone into profit. He might be a failure as a husband and an aid worker, and a poor excuse for a father, but at least he was good at something…

  But no sooner had he begun to congratulate himself on his professionalism than he saw, seated at the far end of the juice bar, what he first thought could only be a terrible apparition. A woman, dressed in fatigues. A woman, with long black hair and dark angry eyes, who was the picture of his deceased wife, Wilhelmina. The picture of Wilhelmina, that is, that he tried not to remember – when he thought about her, when he talked about her to his four motherless daughters, the image he liked to conjure up was the Wilhelmina of their early, happy days, the days when they had shared the same aspirations and ideals without knowing yet that she had it in her to live up to them, while he didn’t… That early Wilhelmina had a glow to her, and a softness, whereas the Wilhelmina he now thought he saw at the juice bar looked like the woman who had been too angry to say goodbye to him the day she had driven off into the mountains to meet the landmine that would be her death… this apparition now staring at him from behind a tall glass of mango juice had fire in her eyes, and oozed contempt for the sorry specimen he had proved himself to be…

  He slackened his pace as she rose to her feet. As she headed for him, he stopped in his tracks. It was only when she had passed him that he realized that she was neither a ghost nor his wife come back to life. It was just someone who resembled her slightly. Just another rich, bored client pretending to be a freedom fighter…

  Chapter Eleven

  Except that she was not just any client. She was Madeline Magenta, the crazed journalist who was in love with Sonny. After the unfortunate midmorning episode involving La Piñata at the juice bar, Roland had done some damage limitation: he had booked this obsessive an hour’s massage with Sonny at three in the afternoon. But now, as he looked up at the console in the day beau locker room and watched her make her way through the simulated jungle in her army fatigues, he was beginning to have second thoughts. It would not be wise to leave the two of them alone. She could be armed. She could, when no one was watching, attack him with a knife. Roland shuddered, then looked over at Sonny, who was taking himself through a series of casual, confident warm-up exercises as he listened to Roland’s morning rap group for low achievers.

  They were all new boys just coming out of their honeymoon period. The level of aggravation was high enough for Roland to have decided to bend the rules a little and permit them a shared joint. The most distraught new boy had just finished his first three-hour stint as a beau confessor. He had been deeply disturbed by the fantasies the clients had confessed to him. Two had involved sex with animals – a goat with horns and a baby donkey. Another three had involved incest – with daughters as well as sons. And a good five had culminated in castration – by truncheon, by scissors, by teeth, by hanging, and through the agency of a hungry giraffe.

  ‘It’s horrible, but you get used to it,’ Sonny assured him. ‘After a while you realize that it’s nothing but talk, and after that you stop listening.’

  Another, who had been having the usual problems performing straight cubicle intercourse, interjected here to say, ‘I just can’t deal with the games they play. The double binds. You know, I go in there and they tell me they want me to take control, but then, if I do, they resent it, they start yelling at me, and calling me all these names, and telling me to stop…’

  ‘And then, if you do stop,’ said another boy, ‘they threaten to report you!’

  ‘I know. It’s perverse,’ Sonny agreed. ‘But after a while you figure out ways to get around it…’
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  ‘I’ve figured out plenty of ways around it,’ said a third boy. ‘The problem is, my dick’s not impressed. I can be acting my head off, but if I can’t get a hard-on…’

  ‘That’s another thing that you learn with time,’ Sonny told them.

  ‘I can’t believe it. Maybe with the younger ones, but with the…’

  ‘The client’s appearance becomes less and less important,’ Sonny explained to them. ‘What you learn to do is to turn yourself on by thinking how sexy you yourself look. You learn to turn yourself on, and, you know, think of yourself as God’s most amazing gift to women…’

  ‘How the hell do you do that?’

  ‘Easy. You pamper yourself between sessions. Get Roland here to do a little massage. Admire yourself in the mirror. A few organic chemicals don’t hurt,’ Sonny said, as he reached out for the nearest beau to pass him the joint…

  It was almost a reflex for Roland to glance up at the console to make sure their privacy was not about to be invaded.

  He was glad he did.

  ‘Your lunch guests are here,’ Roland informed Raul when he joined him in the middle office five minutes later.

  ‘What do you mean guests?’ Raul asked. ‘I was expecting one. Leonie.’

  ‘Well, she’s brought her best friend.’

  ‘Terrific. That’s just what I needed to round off my morning. Well, they’re going to have to wait a few minutes. There’s no way around it.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Roland. ‘I gave them our new catalogues and they’re thoroughly engrossed. Although, if you ask me, it’s an elaborate cover. They’re hot for each other. I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on them.’

  ‘Well, then, let’s leave them to it, OK? In the meantime, there are some major disasters you and I have to figure out how to deal with or else. Let’s start with Showroom Five,’ he said, tapping the monitors. ‘I thought we were agreed that we were only going to use soft bondage materials with that particular fourposter bed.’

  ‘That’s what we agreed, yes.’

  ‘Well, this morning someone used handcuffs, and they made gouges in the wood that are going to cost us a fortune to repair.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who the culprit is?’

  ‘It’s either Andy or Simon. I’d appreciate it if you would speak to both.’

  ‘Righteo,’ said Roland. He swung over to the computer and typed himself out a note.

  ‘And so on to disaster number two. That Neanderthal. George. Apparently he had unprotected sex this morning. It was very embarrassing. When he came in here to talk to me about it, I still had the lawyer whatshername in here taking notes on the paternity suit.’

  ‘Oh my God. Did she work out what the problem was?’

  ‘I understand he spoke to you about it first,’ said Raul.

  ‘Yes,’ said Roland. ‘He came to me as soon as the wicked deed was done. He claims the client wanted it that way. He was very surprised when I explained that his protection was as important to us as her protection. He doesn’t have this STD thing worked out at all.’

  ‘You’ve put him on probation, of course.’

  ‘Yes, for three months, and pending tests.’

  ‘If he turns out to be a financial hardship case, you can put him on eunuch duty.’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth, I already did, but as we both know, he doesn’t have very much upstairs and… he misunderstood me. I mean, it was a classic. He actually screamed and cupped his hands over his privates and jumped back, saying, “I’m not that desperate!” The poor guy actually thought I was going to chop his dick off!’ Roland laughed at the memory. Raul tried but did not succeeding in joining in.

  ‘He’s clear now about what you meant, though, I take it?’ Raul asked. ‘We don’t want him selling his misunderstanding to the papers.’

  ‘You can rest assured that ever since that other misunderstanding last winter, I’ve been doubly careful when dealing with pea-brains.’

  ‘Not to mention customers with imaginations too large for their constitutions. On the subject of which,’ Raul said, tapping another monitor, ‘I’d like to arrange for a pulse and blood pressure check for La Piñata, who, as you will see if you come over to look at this screen, would appear to have passed out. She’s in the Country Club Maze right now. And she is, I understand, expected for lunch by a friend on the Beltway starting approximately five minutes ago.’ Again, Raul was careful to control his modulation, so as to appear as distant, as unconcerned, as he would for any other customer. ‘A bona fide emergency would, of course, require the services of Matron, but I don’t like sending her down there unnecessarily. She just doesn’t blend into the scenery. Try and get her to send one of her nurses – appropriately dressed, of course, or else she’ll faint, too. Remember, the temperature near the tennis courts is over ninety.’ Raul looked at his watch. ‘And now quickly. Tell me your disasters.’

  ‘Well, first of all, there’s this woman who’s tracking Sonny…’

  ‘Assign her a video tracer,’ said Raul. ‘Otherwise, let Sonny handle it. He’s cool in an emergency. We can trust him.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I hope you’re right. In the meantime, we also have one very freaked-out beau confessor, but when I left the locker room, he seemed to be getting the support he needs to pull himself together. I sure hope so, because the rest of my disasters can all be summarized by the term “booking dilemma”. Or, to put it differently, I’m short more than a few good men. Louis I’ve had to send home. He got badly grazed this morning by an IUD. Eddy is in a panic because I assigned him to a client who turned out to be his ex-girlfriend’s mother. If I hadn’t been short already, I would have sent him home after that, but with things being as they are, I thought I had to force him to see the day to a close. This has turned out to be a bad move, because he hasn’t been able to get it up. This has meant two more disgruntled clients who have further drained my manpower reserves by demanding Retreads.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds worrying. In addition to which, you have the three who had exams or alleged dental appointments. Any chance you might tempt them in for a few hours this morning with promises of overtime?’

  ‘I could try that, yes.’

  ‘Just to be on the safe side, you might also check to find out which of the trainees have had medical clearance. They’re not quite tame yet, but they might be just what your disgruntled customers are pining for.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Roland, typing out these last instructions.

  ‘But first…’ Raul’s voice cracked.

  Roland looked up and nodded – a bit too knowingly, Raul thought. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said to Raul. ‘The damsel in distress.’

  Could he tell? Raul wondered. It wasn’t exactly worry, it was more… professional concern about… what she could withstand physically and… whether or not he had the right to act on… he supposed he could call it… privileged information. Had he gone too far? Intruded too much with his personal agenda? These were the thoughts that clouded his smile as he walked into his inner office to greet Leonie and Sandra, his two off-duty policewomen.

  There they were, ogling the new catalogue, so engrossed, in fact, that – Raul now saw – he could have spent the entire afternoon in consultation with his deputy. It was only with the greatest effort that they were able to tear their eyes away from it long enough to greet him.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering up an assortment of salads and sandwiches which are laid out for us on the observation deck. But before we proceed – I take it that you are both planning to stay on afterwards for a few hours of amusement?’

  ‘Oh, gosh, yes, if there are any beaux free.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Let me just go check.’

  Returning to the middle office, Raul informed his deputy of the new scheduling headache. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But as you know only too well, this is important.’

  ‘But they’re only really interested in each other. Thi
s request for beaux is just a cover.’

  ‘Then arrange the appropriate melodrama, why don’t you? Be creative. If you put your mind to it, you could even draw upon the acting abilities of all those beaux you were telling me about who can’t get it up today. Teach them they can pretend about some things, anyway, for God’s sake. You’ll be doing them a favour.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Roland, suppressing a laugh. ‘In the meantime, you might be glad to know we have eight trainees in the clear, and that the damsel in distress is in recovery. Check out monitor number two.’

  Feeling his heart begin to pound faster, Raul tried not to move across the room too quickly. There, on the screen, he saw Fiona sitting in front of a mirror in the Roman Baths, while a female attendant brushed her thick, curly hair. She had just had a shower. Her skin was a glowing pink. Her eyes were clear and as distant as ever. For all she gave away, this woman could have spent the morning having a pedicure.

  She had recognized nothing… asked no questions, demanded no explanations… she was ice… beyond redemption… beyond his reach… no amount of artistry, of manipulation, could break through the hard, smooth surface of her calm… Why was she here? To prove to herself, to him that she desired nothing… As his fingers fell to the keyboard, he felt a fireball of hatred roll through him. Running through the instructions for her afternoon entertainment, he saw they were not sufficient for the task at hand. Far too tame! In any event it was a matter of pride – or so he told himself, as he resolved to make a number of changes to her programme that were, even he had to admit it, not quite… not a hundred per cent… professional.