“You there,” Galatea called to a passing Rylean businessman returning from lunch. “Should you desire to engage in an encounter of a sexual nature with me, dire circumstances would force me to acquiesce in exchange for sufficient remuneration!”
“Hey!” yelled a voice, shrill and cracked, as the man sped on past with his gaze riveted pointedly ahead. Galatea turned to see a woman in a skirt and halter top that were so small and tight they wouldn’t have covered much more if they hadn’t been completely transparent, with ostentatiously long, pointed silver fingernails to match the long, slender heels of her silver thigh-high boots. She was completely hairless, with rhinestone-like studs implanted in a line that started at the top of her head and continued to just above her mons pubis.
“You get your own piece of rock to walk,” the brazen figure said. “This one’s mine.”
“Pardon me?” Galatea
“You heard me,” she said. “This here’s my beat… so unless you want me to gouge out your eyes and piss in the sockets, you better trot.”
“Excuse me, but… did you actually just threaten me?” Galatea asked, more affronted than afraid, to be so accosted by a streetwalker so rudely attired.
“What?” the streetwalker asked, sounding just as offended. “No! I didn’t threaten you! That’s what I do for a living… it’s my specialty.”
“What?” Galatea asked, appalled.
“In this business, you have to have a gimmick if you want to get anywhere,” she said. “That’s mine. Men–well, mostly men–pay me to scratch their eyes out and take a piss in the sockets.”
“How can you make a living like that?” Galatea asked.
“Well, I don’t get a lot of repeat business, obviously,” the hooker replied. “Though I do have some regulars, guys well off enough to get their eyes cloned. One of them only gets new eyes when he wants to call on me. I saw a shot of his wife once… I think he’s made the right decision.”
“This may be the single most revolting thing I’ve ever heard,” Galatea said, her face contorted in a mask of disgust. “And considering the company I’ve kept of late, that is saying something indeed! How much for just the urination?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t do that freaky shit,” the hooker said. “You’ve got to go downtown for that. Way downtown.”
“That’s awfully judgmental for a whore,” Galatea said.
“I am not a whore! I’m an erotic artist,” she said. “And my work makes a statement. Peeing on people’s just nasty.”
“You could just sort of scratch at my eyes,” Galatea said.
“Look, I don’t compromise my art for no one,” the erotic artist said.
“Certainly any art form has room for interpretation,” Galatea said.
“You couldn’t afford me even if I would do it. Weren’t you trying to hustle your own ass a minute ago?”
“I happen to be a highly trained professional computer operator,” Galatea said. “The wages of sin were meant to pay for… something else.”
“Look, you better show me your credline if you want this negotiation to continue… wait, hold on a sec,” she said, as her glittering, talon-like fingernails began to vibrate. She held her hand up to her ear. “Vioronicka’s Oculectomurolagnia, LLC… Vioronicka speaking,” she said cheerfully. “What? Yeah, no… she’s taking a va-cay. Next week. You didn’t… no, she told you. Yes, yes, she did. She did, Marie. Look, I’m already arguing with one crazy woman, so… cover her gig? We went over this. I got my thing, she’s got hers, so unless her angel’s looking to get his orbs popped… he wants what? Hey, wait. Give me a sec here.” She wrapped her other hand around the fingers with the implants and whispered at Galatea. “Hey, you want a gig, dummy?”
“What?” Galatea asked.
“A gig,” the erotic artist said. “Braindead appointment manager scheduled my roommate to do a fantasy scenario for some scumbag uptown.”
“What exactly does this entail?”
“It’s scenario #43371242: sexy tech support,” Vioronicka said. “You show up at his place and say the I.T. company sent you, and then you go in and fiddle with his computer for a bit… with all the appropriate noise, you know, ’show me your unit.’ Then you insist you must remove all your clothes in order to prevent a dangerous static discharge…”
“My garment is thoroughly proofed against static,” Galatea said.
“That’s not all it’s proof against,” Vioronicka said. “We’ll swing by my pad and get you something more suitable. Of course, a fee for the use of the clothes will have to be added to my share.”
“Which is?” Galatea asked.
“Fifty percent,” Vioronicka said. “Look, that’s standard. Industry wide. I’d tell you to ask around and see if you can get a better deal, but you’re not even going to get another offer. I’m in a spot… you can help me while helping yourself.”
“Well… if it is indeed the standard,” Galatea said. “I suppose I have no reason to doubt the word of a professional.”
“Great!” Vioronicka said. “Let me just call my scooter and we’ll get you set up… I’ll give you the rest of the script on the way.”
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