Bitterness it didn’t seem practical ol’ Joan shared. “From the stories circulating, that John fellow said you whored plenty.”
“Yeah, well John is a lying sack of shit.”
“You’re not the first girl brought here by their beau. Just be glad you’re not chained down in the engine room like he is. He’ll have to slog at least six months before he’s given an option to win tickets. You get all of this.” Gesturing around the tiny bathroom and the adjacent cubicle with the twin bed, Joan knew the same thing Eugenia did. This was actually… fine living these days.
A shower, a mattress, the world’s sluttiest outfit—and that was not an exaggeration. The world did not make clothes like that anymore. As far as where these men scrounged up lace panties, Eugenia could not even begin to guess. “What are tickets? I thought you said no one got paid.”
Tiny scissors snipping through overgrown hair, Joan went from detangling to barbering. “Consider them currency. Men win or trade for tickets that get them up to Level 15, to enjoy the company of ladies.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. A raffle for pussy. And I will be getting paid. So… back to the statement where I refuse to whore.”
“There are rules, missy.” Apparently, her sass wasn’t as funny as it had been. Barking at the guard to move doors, Joan pocketed the safety razor. A razor Eugenia strongly suspected all the women shared.
Which had to be commented upon. “Sharing that razor could lead to a spread of hepatitis just so pits and legs might be smooth for some greased-up dirtbag. It’s a tiny virus and only takes one nick. But hey, were all just slaves here.”
“Don’t want to slave? Earn your ransom. It’s the only way any female steps off this boat.”
So there were more options than attempting an escape out of the ship’s only exit... several floors down, through man-infested halls? “How many tickets? How do I get them?”
“How many is up to the captain. Each girl has a different price. As far as earning those slips of paper, you trade for them.” The woman dared shove lacy panties and the slutty Halloween costume right into Eugenia’s chest. “You trade the one commodity you got.”
Incentive for a slave to think she might actually buy her way out. The psychological mind fuck was… epic. But Eugenia had not planned to specialize in psychiatry. “And let me guess. The price goes up with each offence.”
That earned her a snide smirk. “You are as smart as you seem.”
“Anyone ever paid it?” Because there was no way the game wasn’t horribly rigged.
Pride shown in an honest smile. The pride of a free woman who lived in luxury. “I did.”
Jaw hanging, Eugenia shook her head. “But… you’re still here.”
“By choice. I can walk out that door anytime I wish, take a walk by the lake. Visit City.”
Growing angry, feeling her color rise, Eugenia grit it out again. “But you’re still here!”
The indomitable Joan madamed by choice. For air conditioning and comfort. “The ship is a haven, but we all must do our part.”
“Such as try to convince the new girl to shave her public hair.”
“I let you keep it. Don’t think it will keep them off you. You’re a novelty for now. Expect lots of offers. Earn your tickets while you can. Exuberance is always encouraging.” And with that final statement, Joan put a hand to the guard’s back and shut the door.
The lock clicked, Eugenia standing wrapped in a white towel, holding lacy sin.
***
“Every girl is assigned a table.”
“Every woman,” Eugenia corrected, gnawing her cuticle as she inspected the ship's festive version of the lido deck. A striped awning covered six cushioned booths. Booths which would each seat five men—two ladies assigned to entertain the table with witty banter and smiles. Other ladies serving food. All women on rotation each night.
That meant thirty men out of three hundred had the opportunity to be entertained by sixteen women each night. Oh, and there were no nights off. Not unless one began to menstruate, in which case they were given the length of their womb’s monthly cleansing to rest.
How gallant the captain’s rules were.
Wearing a different though equally inappropriate costume, the woman who’d been assigned Table #2, Brooke, threw Eugenia a look. It was anything but mean. More of an I get it; believe me, I do look. “Every night before dinner is served, a game is set up to entertain our guests in the hall. The winner pulls the ball that decides which women are selected for the end-of-dinner cleanup.”
“Which means?” Because scrubbing the floor didn’t sound half bad.
“It means that the girls from that table have to stand still as the men dump all their uneaten food and leftover beer on us while they laugh and we… take it.”
“You’re joking…” Not only was the concept of uneaten food beyond grasping, but why on God’s green earth dump it on poor, captive women?
With a sigh, her tablemate tossed glossy, dark hair over her shoulder. The pin-straight strands swung, as she continued, “As you’re new, the game will be rigged. They’re going to call #2, and you and I will be tonight’s dumpster.”
“None of this is making sense to me.”
“It will. There’s a reason for all of it. I’m two-hundred thousand tickets away from getting out of here, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cause trouble and up my price.” Pretty, Korean-American, petite, and perfect, Brooke plumped her breasts and adjusted her skirt.
“Jesus.”
“You nailed it.” Brown eyes far too old in a face so young held hers. “We didn’t pick this world, but we’re stuck in it. But us girls should stick together.”
Eugenia opened her mouth, only for the petite beauty to interject. “If you correct me one more time, newbie, you’ll lose the only ally you have tonight. Girl? Woman? It doesn’t matter. All that matters to me is getting off this boat.”
“I’m sorry.” And she truly was. It seemed no one was here by choice, save Joan. And Brooke had already worked this life for over a year. “I won’t cause you trouble.”
“Thank you.” Brown eyes darting side to side, Brooke leaned closer to whisper, “Which is why I’m going to warn you there will be glass shards in your food. Don’t eat it.”
“What?” Swallowing shards of glass might puncture the stomach and require immediate surgery that did not exist in the shithole new world! “You’re joking, right?”
“Not all the girls are happy you’re here. More competition for tickets, favors, comforts… you know?”
And though she’d had three days to think it over, to recall how close she had been to the reaper on that stone bridge, Eugenia felt reality sink deeper than any witty tenacity. “I’m going to die on this boat.”
“Probably. So make the best of things. Lift up your skirt and just take it, as many as you can before they are bored of you.” And with that final proclamation, the doors opened, and the guests arrived.
Boisterous and loud, they poured in. The cleanest group of men Eugenia had seen since the bombs fell. Hair combed, shirts pressed. Scrubbed, smiling, and aware of the system, they found their seats with little trouble—their prize for saving and hard work achieved.