“Something familiar would be great. I’d hate to have to bail on today’s appointment because something fun and delicious didn’t wind up agreeing with me.” Iwantto see Mooralan today.
“Sure. You can save the fun stuff for dinner. There’s a cafe that serves Earth food about three levels down. We’ll go there.”
“As long as they can make me a latte, it’ll be my favorite place in the universe.”
Feather chuckles as she leads the way out of the room and down the hall.
She guides me through the station, wide eyed and with my jaw on the floor.
I knew it was huge. I knew that every kind of alien, shop, restaurant and other delight would probably be on offer, but IthinkI could get lost here for weeks and still have not seen everything.
But the diner Feather finally pulls me into issoEarthlike, I don’t notice the anachronisms at first.
The decor isalmostright and also not at the same time.
“Is that a velvet painting of Elvis riding a dragon with Michael Jordan?”
“Yes. The history might be wrong—Phantom won’t let anyone know where Earth is—but the food, they get right.”
When I get my latte and a stack of fluffy pancakes, I can’t argue.
Pearl has French toast that’s absolutelysmotheredin powdered sugar and a London fog tea.
“You’ve been working at the club for almost a year now, haven’t you?” she asks.
I nod, because my mouth is thankfully full. It gives me the needed time to think out my answer. “Off and on, yeah. I was thinking about doing longer stays now that I’m used to the actual flow of things.”
“That’s great. But this is your first time in a one-on-one appointment?”
“It is… should I be worried?”
She pauses with her fork halfway to her lips and sugar falls from the triangle of bread like snow. “No, of course not! I’m not here as a warning or anything like that. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“The women who live here have lives here, so I haven’t really gotten to know any of them. And the ones who don’t live here tend to be day trippers.”
“Like me.”
She nods. “So breakfast is a rare treat.”
“That sounds like a lonely two weeks.”
She shrugs and chews.
“It is and it isn’t.” She glances out the window at a man leaning against the opposite bulkhead. “That’s Kicker. He’s essentially my bodyguard.”
“You need a bodyguard?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I have a… fan base that I don’t recommend cultivating.”
Someone mentioned—months ago—that Feather was one of the first women Phantom brought to their club.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“About seven years? I just danced at first… before Phantom added the booth to their options for fuckery. The stage is where I wound up with my less desirable fans.”
“Oh… Is that why we’re not allowed to work the regular club floor?”
