Fantasies R Us, page 3
“Bad for business if we killed off a hundred-and-fifty-year-old national treasure,” muttered the Technical Control Operator. “Never mind he short-circuited C-7 himself by not keeping his hands to himself.”
Schmuck glowered at her. “You could have kissed your yearly bonus goodbye.”
“What bonus?” groused Kalli. “More worthless company stock?”
“Fantasies R Us stock will be quite valuable once we’ve ridden out this latest downturn in business.”
“You mean if. I should have asked Mr. Dicks for a job when I was doing CPR on him.”
Wolfgang waved off the Tech Con Op. “Business will get better.”
Kalli rolled her eyes. “Not until you fix the glitches in the equipment. This latest one has wasted the energy expense of putting on a presentation for someone who hasn’t the credits to pay for a fantasy.”
Wolfgang’s eyes narrowed, their angle still fixed on the woman framed by Fantasy Facilitator Ninety-Nine’s camera lens. “She said she was a virgin, didn’t she?”
The Tech Con Op sighed. “That’s what the woman said.”
“Loosen up that hair of hers and unbutton a few buttons and she wouldn’t be half-bad.”
“Now what are you plotting, Wolfgang?”
“Give her a weekend,” he said by way of an answer. “She’s got credits enough for that.”
“Setting up a fantasy for just a weekend is hardly worth the cost,” the Tech Con Op said.
“We do short-term fantasies all the time.”
“For high rollers who know what they want—who have their personal sets already stocked,” warned Kalli. “This one’s a virgin. Virgins expect romance and romance requires multiple sets.”
“We can’t afford to turn anyone away these days. Accept her,” ordered Schmuck. “Besides, that little mix-up gave me an idea how to make this profitable for us.”
Chapter Three
What had she been thinking, emptying her savings account and maxing out her credit line for one weekend of fantasy sex? That’s the question Jayne had been debating for the past month since signing Fantasies R Us’ contract. That and the fact she hoped the sex really would be fantastic—that Mr. Blue-Eyes-and-Poet’s-Shirt was everything that sexy voice of his and those words he’d spoken to her promised.
How may I serve you?
She knew how she wanted him to serve her. The answer was in her dreams, the dreams she’d had of him every night since he’d uttered those promising words in his nerve-ruffling voice. She’d dreamed of strong arms holding her, artful lips moving against her mouth, skilled fingers exploring intimate places.
She’d dreamed of promises spoken.
But her dream man wasn’t a real man. He was a cyborg and any promises he made would end when the weekend ended. Then what? Spend the rest of her life warmed by the memory of the perfect affair? How pitiful was that?
Jayne squirmed against the hard seat of the only chair in Fantasies R Us’ private waiting area rereading her copy of the signed contract. Any minute, her fantasy would begin and she still wasn’t sure she wouldn’t rather find a loophole to get herself out of this thing. She’d be paying off this two-day vacation for the next decade of her life if she didn’t.
Or have herself the most amazing sexual experience of her life. Which did she want more, to get out of this financial bind? Or to have herself one fabulous sexual experience?
And it had better be fantastically amazing sex for all she was paying. Perfect, in fact. She reread the guarantee-of-satisfaction clause of the contract in her hands, its edges ragged from all the times she’d reread the thing in the past month searching for loopholes…or reassuring herself of the guarantee-of-satisfaction clause. If this fantasy didn’t live up to her expectations, she wanted a refund. If only she knew what to expect…and would have the gumption to demand that refund if her fantasy didn’t deliver what it promised.
Which was?
The love of her life.
Another wrinkle in this ill-conceived vacation hit her like a light-speed cargo ship. What if her cyborg lover was so perfect she’d be left yearning for a man that wasn’t real, obsessed to the point of turning into a fantasy junky?
She could see herself going from one frantic sexual encounter to the next in a vain search for perfect sex…which of course only a cyborg could deliver. In which case, her obsession would drive her to book another fantasy with her cyborg lover and another and another until she was homeless and living out of recycling bins because her entire income would be going to Fantasies R Us.
There had to be a way out of this contract!
Jayne jumped to her feet and reached for the exit door, hoping it wouldn’t malfunction like Fantasies R Us’ front door had on her first visit. But before her fingers even touched the pressure pad opener, a trio of the little projector orbs dropped from the ceiling and her dream man materialized at her side.
He gave her a heart-stopping smile, the eyes blue as a morning sky sparkled with the promise of things to come and the words carried on a plush velvet voice made her forget about contrary doors and contract loopholes.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.
Jayne’s bones melted into gelatin and she swayed toward her dream lover. His lips parted. He tilted his face toward hers. She lifted hers toward him and…
The door in the opposite wall slid open before Jayne’s puckered lips touched nothing but holographic air or, worse, got shocked by one of the image projectors.
“I see your soon-to-be lover has snuck a little pre-fantasy visit with you,” Ninety-Nine said through a crooked smile as she strode into the room.
Jayne rocked back on her heels, blushing.
Ninety-Nine wagged a finger at the holographic stud and his image zipped back into the balls which then whirred back to the ceiling. Jayne stared at the tiny trio of projectors that had seconds ago been the man she’d fallen in love with the moment she’d seen him. That was the problem. She’d fallen in love with a hologram, a cyborg…a dream—a fantasy…which she was bound by contract to honor.
“Miss Applegate, are you ready for your fantasy?”
“No,” Jayne said, jerking her attention from the projector balls to the fantasy facilitator. “I mean, yes.”
But she really was thinking “no” as the body-perfect facilitator led her down a richly carpeted hall. What was she doing spending half a year’s income for one weekend of love? She wasn’t in the same league as the people who could afford Fantasies R Us fantasies. She felt gauche in her imitation leather flats, knee-length navy blue pleated skirt and buttoned-up white blouse. If her family could see her now, they’d laugh their uptight asses off.
Ninety-Nine directed her into a room with a single beautician’s chair. Jayne eyed the lone chair. Story of her life, that chair. Seating for one. Table for one. Ticket for one.
A cynical laugh escaped her and the question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “What’s with this single chair to a room business? Just a little reminder of reality before we spinsters start our fantasies?”
“Hardly, Miss Applegate. It’s about privacy. Our clients never meet other clients. Hence, there is no need for more than one chair in a room.”
“Oh.” Jayne winced. Leave it to her to show even a hologram how pathetically lonely her life was.
“Unless the clients come as a couple or a group,” Ninety-Nine amended. “Then we add chairs.”
Jayne peered apprehensively at the holographic fantasy facilitator. “A group?”
Ninety-Nine smiled indulgently. “Group sex is a favorite fantasy. Though most clients prefer indulging that fantasy with cyborgs who never tell.”
Cyborg love. Back to that…which was all she was going to get out of this. Never mind those incredible eyes of her dream prince, that courtly manner he had or the fact that he was guaranteed to serve her every need. Well, not her every need. He wouldn’t truly be able to love her. He wouldn’t be able to leave Fantasies R Us for her.
He wouldn’t be hers for any longer than a weekend.
A glitch not covered by the satisfaction-guaranteed clause of her contract. A fact she’d known before she’d signed that binding document. Binding unless she wasn’t satisfied. So, what could go wrong?
The memory of how she’d bumped into the holographic cyborgs’ projection balls causing them to spin out of control flashed inside her head. With her, there was plenty that could go wrong.
“Are you ready, Miss Applegate?” Ninety-Nine said in her modulated voice.
“One question before we start?” Jayne said. “What do I do if something should go amiss during my fantasy?”
“Fantasies are perfect, Miss Applegate. Nothing can go wrong in a fantasy.”
“But the first day I was here and trying to get out the jammed front door, didn’t you say that I’d have to wait for maintenance to fix the door because maintenance was busy dealing with more technical problems?”
“I said that in a company such as Fantasies R Us that relies heavily on technology, maintenance is constantly in demand and a jammed door is low on the priority list.”
“So maintenance is always busy fixing fantasy problems.”
“Maintenance maintains the technology of Fantasies R Us.”
“Does that mean, if something goes wrong in the middle of my fantasy, maintenance men are going to come barging in?”
Ninety-Nine smiled indulgently. “Should you find your fantasy getting out of control, you will find each venue equipped with a panic button. Just press it and I will appear to assist you.”
“But you are a hologram. What could you possibly do to help me?”
“Assess the situation and direct the problem to the proper source. Should the problem require physical maintenance personnel, you will have the opportunity to exit the venue discreetly.”
Jayne processed the information. Fantasies R Us certainly seemed to be on top of any problem…except that jammed front door from her first visit. Though she still wasn’t entirely convinced that wasn’t part of the company’s sales methods.
“Ready?” asked Ninety-Nine.
“I guess so.”
“Please hold your arms out to your sides and stand still,” intoned Ninety-Nine.
“Hold my arms out?” Jayne queried even as she did as ordered.
A series of the golf ball-shaped projectors dropped from the ceiling. But this time, no holograms appeared. The cameras zipped around her, buzzing in a most disconcerting way.
“What are they doing?” Jayne asked.
“Evaluating and measuring you.”
“Oh.” Jayne wished she could cross her arms over her modest bosom.
“Please remove your glasses.”
“Why?” Jayne asked cautiously as she again complied.
“Our optometrist is going to fit you for contacts.”
Jayne brightened. “Contacts? I’ve always wanted contacts. But I’ve always believed they’d be a waste of money on plain me.”
“You won’t be plain much longer, Miss Applegate.”
Jayne’s chin came up a few notches. “Really? Truly?”
Ninety-Nine gave her one of her reassuring smiles. “Really and truly, Miss Applegate. Now look straight forward and please and do not blink.”
Two balls hovered in front of her eyes, their little shutters snapping away. Then, just as suddenly as they’d dropped around her, the cameras zipped back to the ceiling. At least she’d have contacts to take away from her vacation. Maybe even the memory of one great love affair to warm her heart.
A door in the inner wall of the room slid open and a quartet of purple-smocked women strode into the space and stopped beside the beauty parlor chair.
“The Lavender Ladies will see to your manicure, pedicure, facial, makeup and hair-styling.”
“How will they manage that?”
Panels along the wall popped open, revealing a wash sink, pedicure and manicure tubs and trays of brushes, oils, lotions and makeup, and Ninety-Nine chimed, “The usual way.”
“But I thought holograms couldn’t handle material things.”
Ninety-Nine gave her yet another indulgent smile. “The Lavender Ladies aren’t holograms. They’re human.”
“Oh.” Jayne looked at the lavender-smocked women. The quartet gave her smiles that seemed forced and she finished in a small voice, “They’re real.”
“Yes. But not to worry. Their discretion is bound by the privacy statements they had to sign before being hired.”
The lavender-coated quartet looked even glummer. It was quite a contrast to the perky and very busty receptionist she’d first encountered or the ever-optimistic Ninety-Nine who hovered beside her assuring, “By the time the Lavenders are through with you, our seamstress will have your evening gown finished.”
“Evening gown?” Jayne gasped, her attention jumping from the glum quartet to the fantasy facilitator.
Yet again, Ninety-Nine smiled that indulgent smile of hers. “Cinderella goes to a ball tonight.”
Jayne smiled broadly, her apprehensions all but forgotten. “Of course.”
“I’ll catch up to you there and give you your final instructions. Then it’ll just be to pop in your contacts and send you off to meet your prince.”
“What, no fairy godmother?” Jayne said through a lighthearted chuckle.
“With an abbreviated Cinderella fantasy, we decided it would be best to bypass a few things. Think of me as your fairy godmother.”
* * * * *
The Lavender Ladies had pretty much talked among themselves as they’d tended her, which had suited Jayne just fine. She didn’t want to make small talk with anyone today. She just wanted to get through the process of her transformation and see herself. The one thing her fantasy mini-spa didn’t sport was a mirror.
The adjoining dressing room didn’t have one either. Just a changing screen behind which she’d changed into the most beautiful lace panties and bra she’d ever handled.
“Do I get to keep these?” she asked of the slim, dark-haired woman stationed beside a draped dressmaker’s dummy.
“But of course, my dear,” Madame Amour replied, her thick French accent making her sound much warmer than her black, tailored skirt and jacket ensemble and pulled back portrayed. “Provided your lover does not rip them off your body.”
“Huh?” Jayne squeaked out from around the surprise balling up in her throat.
The dressmaker smiled a crooked smile at her. “But den, perhaps all de better a souvenir if your fantasy man has such passion.”
“Aah, yeah,” Jayne allowed, trying not to sound so innocent.
“Are you ready to see your dress?”
Jayne smoothed the second thigh-high nylon up her leg, straightened and peered over the top of the screen. “Yes. More than ready.”
With a flourish, Madame Amour pulled the drape from the dress form and…
“It-it’s the red dress from Pretty Woman,” Jayne gasped, forgetting her modesty and dashing out from behind the screen.
“What is dis Pretty Woman?”
“Just an old movie based on the Pygmalion story,” Jayne murmured as she circled the dress.
“Pygmalion?”
“An even older story,” Jayne recited, her focus on the details of the red dress. “The hero takes a low-class woman and transforms her into a lady.”
“Tres bien,” puckered the dressmaker. “Very good.”
Jayne stopped circling the dress and lifted her gaze to the dressmaker. “Very good except I couldn’t possibly fill out that dress.”
The dressmaker frowned. “I do not understand. The dress form was constructed from your measurements.”
Jayne eyed the dressmaker’s form with its narrow waist and full bosom and shook her head. “There’s been a mistake. That’s not my body.”
The dressmaker gave Jayne’s body an appraising look and laughed. “Just put on de dress, ma chérie. It will fit.”
“But—” Jayne protested, feeling her face grow hot beneath the makeup the Lavender Ladies had applied.
The dressmaker, with the help of two dressers, managed to coax Jayne into the dress. She was surprised when they zipped it up and it didn’t bind in the waist or sag away from her chest. Maybe it was being without her glasses that had distorted the figure that dress had been fit to.
“Is-is it all right?” Jayne asked tentatively.
Madame Amour surveyed her handiwork with a smile of satisfaction before intoning, “Perfection.”
The dress yes, but certainly not her. Not that it would matter to her cyborg prince. He’d be programmed to look at her as though she were beauty personified. If only she could feel beautiful.
Just then, a sliding panel opened in the wall and a man in white lab coat entered carrying a small plastic case. She’d have been heartened by the way his eyebrows rose at her if that look couldn’t have been interpreted in more than one way. The man was probably wondering who she thought she was trying to fool.
He halted in front of her, all but clicking his heels together, and opened the tiny white box. If the lenses hadn’t been ever so slightly tinted, she wouldn’t have been able to see them floating in the clear liquid.
“Your contacts, miss,” the optometrist needlessly announced. “Shall I insert them for you?”
There was an innuendo to his words that made Jayne’s skin crawl. Madame Amour apparently heard the same thing as she frowned at the man and scolded, “You are disgusting, Kristof.” And she held out her hand. “Leave the contacts and get out of my fitting room.”
“Thank you,” said Jayne when the optometrist had left.
The dressmaker smiled at Jayne and held the little case up to her. “Do you need help inserting the lenses?”
Jayne shook her head and took the case from Madame Amour. Instantly, a dresser draped her bodice with a protective towel as Jayne put in her contacts, removing it just as quickly when Jayne was finished. Jayne smiled at the dressmaker and her two dressers and the trio smiled back at her.
“Now for de finishing touches,” Madame Amour said, snapping her fingers.
