Page 13 of The Pleasure Contract

And with that, Vel’s face drops, and she leaps into action, walking briskly past me but handing me the decorative ball as she goes.

After I carefully put back her Earth artifact, I follow in the direction she’d whisked herself off to.

Now, if walking into an alien’s home to find it looking exactly like a Hobby Lobby time-capsule living room wasn’t weird enough, imagine my surprise when the next room I enter looks like… a corporate office?

The floors are covered in mismatched carpet tiles in various shades of depression-gray. The ceiling seems to mimic the patchwork of the floor with a drop ceiling grid of speckled off-white. There are cubicles – actual fucking office cubicles – with half-built computers from Earth. Only one of the four in total has a wheeled office chair pulled up to the desk, its upholstery the most corporate shade of blue you could imagine. Beyond the block of cubicles all facing one another, there’s a circular table where everyone seems to be sitting on plastic chairs, watching an overhead projector playing a baking competition. On the wall beside the projector screen is a framed poster of a kitten holding onto a branch, telling me to ‘hang in there’.

I’m trying, little kitty. But this whole thing right here is a trip!

“It will be the tallest male, this time, I am sure of it,” one of the Earthophiles confidently predicts.

Vel folds her arms in front of her. “I do not think so,” she says in all seriousness. “He has fallen foul of the soggy bottom violation on his citrus-fruit baked goods.” She reaches over to the round table to grab some kind of snack, shoving it into her mouth and chewing as she continues, “Besides, he has not had the privilege of a handshake, and his icing skills are too inconsistent to be crowned a Star Baker. The judges, in their infinite wisdom, will see this.”

A few of her fellow Earthophiles make murmurings of agreement and nod their heads like Vel’s words had been very sage indeed.

“You guys can get Earth TV here?” I ask out loud, not directing the question at anyone in particular.

Suddenly, all heads whip my way, and I hear someone gasp excitedly, “Oh my! One of the humans!”

A head with large Xaviann horns pops up from behind one of the cubicle dividers, a big smile on his handsome face. “Lady Lois,” Az grins, standing to greet me with a bow. The other Xavianns follow suit.

“What are you doing here?” The question flies out of my mouth, accusing tone and all.

“Can a male not educate himself on his female’s people?”

I’m about to start the same squabble I’ve had with Az ever since I got here – I’m not his female, but I’m interrupted by someone piping up to add, “Prince Az has been attending our meetings for some time now. Come, join us. After this installment of the culinary competition, we are to watch a delightful fable about an aquatic sponge who favors angular clothing.”

Oh boy.

Still with that stupid-handsome smile on his face, Az grabs the only office chair and moves it closer to the table where everyone is gathered. The thing is authentically squeaky, just to top it all off. He gestures to it for me to sit. When I do, I find myself still at the center of attention in the room, like I’d just seated myself on a grand throne. Az was just about to take a seat beside me when a different male quickly slips into the plastic chair instead. He rests his elbow on the table, chin cradled in his hand, as his whole body is angled toward me with interest. “Hello, my name is Elvis Presley,” he says with an excited light behind his eyes. “And I own the largest collection of human adhesive images outside of Earth.”

I blink at him cluelessly. “I’m sorry… Your name is what now?”

“Elvis Presley,” he answers very matter-of-factly. “Would you like to see my adhesive images? I have ones with the substance I believe you call glitter.” He says the last word like the word itself is shrouded in magic and mystery.

I look around the table of Xavianns, all staring back at me with bated breath. Then I look up to Az, who is still standing behind me, scowling. “Elvis Presley wants to show me his sticker collection… I think?”

Az grunts and pulls up another plastic chair. Unable to squeeze himself around the table, instead he sets the seat back a little. But once he’d sat down, he wastes no time in silently reaching forward to hook his hand beneath my chair and dragging me backward to position me next to him instead of… well… Elvis Presley.

I don’t know why, but my cheeks feel warm at that not-so-subtle display of possessiveness. Which is a stupid thing to feel, considering I’ve been telling him not to call me ‘his female’ for weeks now.

“We have all adopted Earth names we like to use for each other while we hold these meetings,” Vel supplies. “I am Jane Doe, then we have Beyoncé Knowles, Sacagawea, Dolly Parton, Anne Boleyn, Harriet Tubman, Greg-from-Accounting, and you’ve already met Elvis Presley. Oh!” she exclaims, signaling to an empty plastic chair. “And we usually have Julius Caesar with us, but he is visiting the Healing Center today. Something about a persistent stabbing pain.”

I sit there, totally stuck in the moment as I let the absurdity of what Vel just said sink in. And, out of all things to ask, the question, “Jane Doe? Do you know what that name means?” comes spilling out of my mouth.

Vel lifts a floral china teacup to her mouth, making sure to extend her pinkie finger as she takes a sip. “Yes,” she answers. “It is the name given to the unknown females who are no longer able to give their proper names, or those too scared to do so when crimes are reported. We have all studied many Earth law-enforcers who investigate death events,” she says, gesturing to the projector screen.

Cop shows. They’ve been watching cop shows.

Vel places her teacup down on a mismatched saucer. “I wanted to honor the human females who are given this name in lieu of their own, so I too am Jane Doe, just like countless others.”

“Okay,” I nod to her very sincere answer. “And… Greg-from-Accounting?” I ask, shifting my focus to the male Xaviann who had taken that name.

The male grins. “The first batch of archived Earth electronic communications I received contained a lengthy discussion about Greg-from-Accounting’s secret romantic feelings for Priya-from-Marketing.” He pauses and glances at Vel. “I found myself feeling a kinship with the male, and so I took his name.”

Nodding my head, I try to hide my smile and not draw attention to how Vel is now fidgeting in her seat, tucking her hair behind her long, elf-like ears.

I turn to Az beside me. “And what about you? Have you got a new name since coming to these meetings?”