The Olive Grove - "Your Pleasure Is Our Pleasure"
14 Nov 2017Jemine Caesar
October 31st, 3303.Eight weeks had passed since the September day when Jemine Caesar had recounted the story of her ill-fated hunt for Katerina von Steuben. Eight weeks since she’d announced that she was abandoning her life as a pilot, in favour of settling down here, on Inara’s Citi Gateway. Eight weeks since she’d sold her Vulture, the Innocent Flower, and used the proceeds to buy The Organ Grinder, a shabby brothel in the starport’s Entertainment District.
Jemine Caesar had returned to her roots.
She’d renamed it The Olive Grove, in honour of the treasured memory of a happy experience in Pegasi. It had been one of very few happy experiences she’d had in that region of space. Afterwards she had gone on to carve out a career as a bounty hunter, though not a particularly good one. But she’d been determined to make a name for herself, and when the lucrative von Steuben contract came within her grasp, the temptation had been too strong to resist. That contract had been handed to Jemine right here, on Citi Gateway, by the so-called pirate queen Marrakech Morgan. Suffice to say it had not ended well for Jemine.
Sam Hodkin, Jemine’s doting boyfriend, hadn’t been wildly enthusiastic over her plans to own and run a pleasure house. He regarded it as a backward step, and told her so. Yet, despite his many misgivings, he’d promised her his whole-hearted support. With Sam at her side, Jemine had overseen the conversion of the dilapidated old brothel into a stylish, welcoming pleasure house. Now, on the eve of its opening, all that remained to be seen was whether or not it would be a success.
It was true that Jemine had no experience of management. Indeed, she’d often bemoaned the fact that she considered she had no head for business whatsoever. Oh, she’d managed to scrape a living as a trader, once she’d got the hang of the basics. But her cargoes had always been rather small-scale affairs, and profit margins had remained thin. The vast fortunes amassed by other traders had eluded her.
The Olive Grove, Jemine had told herself, would be different. It inhabited an industry which supported a profession as old as human history, one with which she was already intimately familiar. Surely, she reasoned, her experience would stand her in good stead.
Listening to her slumbering boyfriend’s rhythmic breathing, Jemine turned over in bed and glanced at the clock. It read 20:35, which meant that she’d now been awake for well over two hours. She and Sam had come to bed at 16:00, having spent the best part of the day at The Olive Grove.
Jemine had wanted to make absolutely certain that everything about the place would be perfect for its opening day. She’d checked every room, switched on every light, opened and closed every door, run every tap, flushed every toilet, watched every holocam, tested every alarm, lain on every bed. And then, when she’d checked the whole of the premises from one end to the other, she’d gone back and checked it all again.
As she had conducted her tour of inspection, memories of a certain other pleasure house had danced grimly in front of her mind’s eye. She couldn’t bring herself to speak its name, but, try as she might, she could not banish it from her thoughts.
Exotica.
But Jemine had vowed that her pleasure house, The Olive Grove, would be the very antithesis of its former Clair Dock counterpart. Despite their profession – or perhaps because of it – her employees would be treated with respect and dignity. They would certainly not be chained up like animals, nor forced to masquerade in agony as human furniture...
Shaking her head to rid it of the sheer misery of that hateful place, Jemine glanced once more at the clock; 20:43. Finally relinquishing all hope of any further sleep, she got out of bed, carefully, so as not to wake Sam. She padded silently out of the bedroom and into the washroom.
After a refreshing shower, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and scrutinised her naked form. The many cuts and bruises she had suffered in Pegasi had now all healed, thanks to medpacks and proper care.
Correction. One scar still remained, nestling in amongst the stretch marks left from the birth of her daughter, Bekka. A small, round, pinkish scar, a reminder of the Gaia-damned device lodged within her womb, forcibly implanted there by a man she had once trusted. The device – Jemine had nicknamed it the hysterectomiser – had been put there to ensure she could never again achieve her dream of conceiving a child of her own. Unless, that was, she first somehow managed to succeed in killing Kat von Steuben.
“Fat fucking chance of that,” Jemine whispered to herself, bitterly.
The implant was evidently doing its work, for she’d already missed a period. Any attempt to remove the hysterectomiser – what a stupid nickname – would only result in a torturous, lingering death.
Covering her nakedness with a polysatinester dressing gown, Jemine sat down to apply her makeup and brush her hair, styling it into gentle waves and letting it fall carelessly about her shoulders. She sprayed her fingernails with Manichroma gel, and then tapped each one with a Cuti-Colour wand to paint them scarlet. Being a permanent resident on Citi Gateway meant she no longer had to squeeze her hands into the tight gloves of a remlock suit, so she had allowed her nails to grow long and shapely.
Jemine sauntered back through to the living area. She no longer limped from the injuries she had sustained in Pegasi, though there was a residual stiffness in her right hip. She sat on the sofa and picked up her dataslate, and flicked through social media sites. There were a few ribald comments about dock-knockers and pleasure houses. Jemine, unable to resist the opportunity to promote The Olive Grove, tapped in her own message. She was soon rewarded with numerous responses, mostly positive, some lewd or even downright offensive. Jemine smiled at the comments and tapped her ‘slate into sleep mode, then went back into the bedroom to get dressed.
Sam had woken up, though still lay in bed.
“Well, my love,” he said, “the big day approaches. Won’t be long now.”
Jemine nodded, and stepped over to open her wardrobe.
“You don’t need to remind me,” she said, slipping off her dressing gown and putting on a black bra and panties. “I’ve hardly slept a wink just thinking about it. I suppose I ought to have taken some Nite-Nite, as you suggested.”
“Yes,” said Sam. “I’m not normally an advocate of sleeping pills, but you do have quite a busy day ahead of you. A proper sleep would have done you the power of good.”
“I know,” Jemine replied, fastening a suspender belt around her hips. “But don’t worry, Sam. The Wakey-Wakey will get me through it.”
Sam shook his head.
“Are you sure you should take that stuff? I still shudder at the memory of what happened the last time.”
“That was totally different,” said Jemine, pulling on a pair of black stockings. “I’d been strapped into a cargo canister by a serial killer. She drip-fed me with Wakey-Wakey and deprived me of sleep for eighty hours straight. I hardly had any choice in the matter, as you well know.”
She took a scarlet pencil skirt from her wardrobe, and put it on.
“It’s The Olive Grove’s first day, Sam. It’s an important day for me personally. I want to see it all.”
Sam held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. He knew better than to argue with Jemine once she’d made up her mind. Instead he watched her admiringly as she slipped into a black lace top and a fashionably styled scarlet jacket. With the addition of a pair of black stiletto shoes, earrings, a necklace and a spray of perfume, Jemine declared herself ready.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” replied Sam. “As always.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She glanced at the clock. “But not just now. I’d better be going. I want to make one last inspection before we open the doors at midnight.”
“You’ll find that the bar is fully stocked and ready for thirsty patrons,” said Sam. “I saw to it myself. All the most popular drinks are there; Old Sol, Lavian Brandy, Pegasi Moon, and so on... there’s also some Toolfa Gin, and a good supply of Hodkin Special Ale. And the jars of olives are in the— “
“— in the storage compartment to the left of the peanuts,” finished Jemine, picking up her handbag. “I know, Sam. I was there, remember?”
Sam nodded, and gave Jemine an apologetic smile.
“Listen,” he said, “about that ‘special lemonade' you sourced... Are you sure it’s entirely legal?”
In reply, Jemine gave Sam a coquettish grin and lifted a forefinger to her lips. Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“I really must be going,” said Jemine. She bent down and gave Sam a peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry I snapped at you about the olives. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done to help me.”
“My pleasure,” replied Sam. “I love you.”
Jemine smiled. “I love you, too.”
* * * * *
It was almost 23:00 when Jemine arrived at The Olive Grove. She stood for a few minutes in front of the main entrance on Second Avenue. The new facade bore no resemblance to the cold shabbiness that had typified The Organ Grinder. It was now bright, warm and inviting.
Above the main entrance was a green neon sign, as yet unlit, which spelt out the new name of the pleasure house, and above that was The Olive Grove’s logo; three olive trees in a row.
“Hey, Toots,” said a male voice behind her. “You available?”
Jemine turned to see a young man; he was obviously a spacer, still wearing his remlock, fresh off his ship and looking for fun. Jemine guessed he must have been all of eighteen years old.
“No,” she told him. “I’m not available. But stick around. We’ll be opening in about an hour from now. You’ll be able to take your pick.”
The young man shrugged. “Then I’ll be sure to pick you.”
Jemine smiled. “We’ll see. Come back in an hour. What’s your name?”
“Max,” came the reply.
“Come back in an hour, Max.”
Max gave Jemine a smirk of anticipation, and then shuffled off to sit on a nearby bench. Jemine allowed herself a brief chuckle, and made her way along the service alley to The Olive Grove’s staff entrance. Once inside, she deactivated the intruder alarm and set the door for retina-and-voiceprint access only. All her employees had been in during the previous week to sign their new contracts, and their access prints had been recorded at the same time.
A pale light illumined the short corridor in which Jemine now stood. She took four paces towards an inner door, her stiletto heels clacking on the metal deck.
She opened the door and stepped through into a longer, door-lined corridor, the floor of which was covered with soft green carpet. Behind each of the doors were the rooms in which the main business of The Olive Grove would be conducted. Immediately to Jemine’s right was the door to her private office. To her left, the green-carpeted corridor stretched out towards the main entrance. The air carried the delicate scent of olive blossom.
Jemine took a deep breath, opened the door to the office – her office – and stepped inside.
The office was compact without being small, softly lit, and also fragranced with olive blossom. Dominating the centre of the room was a large desk made of what looked like mahogany; its top surface consisted of an inlaid holopanel, rather like the dashboard of a ship. Behind the desk stood a high-backed swivel chair of cream coloured leather. In front of the desk was another swivel chair, also of cream leather but somewhat smaller. On the desktop stood two framed holo-images; one was of Jemine's daughter, Bekka, aged ten, and the other was of Sam. In one corner of the room was a comfortable-looking cream fabric sofa for two. A holoscreen was mounted on the opposite bulkhead. On the wall behind the desk was a large picture window which displayed a strikingly realistic three dimensional view of a planetary landscape, with grassy plains and distant mountains under a clear blue sky.
Jemine sat down in her chair and tapped the desktop. The holopanel immediately sprang to life at her touch, displaying an appointments diary, a personal k-cast interface, and links to several social media sites. The diary was currently devoid of appointments, but Jemine could see that three messages awaited her in the k-cast stream.
The first was from Sam; “Ay up, my love. Good luck on your first day. All my love, Sam.”
The second message bore the logo of Citi Gateway’s InGaBa; “Greetings, Miss Caesar, and my best wishes to you on your venture. Kind regards, R.T.”
Jemine’s eyes widened in surprise. The owner of the InGaBa, known to the public only by the letters ‘R.T.’, was famous throughout Inara for being something of a mystery. No one Jemine had spoken to on Citi Gateway seemed to know him, or even knew what he looked or sounded like. For that matter, no one knew even whether R.T. was male or female. In just a few short years, R.T. had built the InGaBa into one of, if not the, most successful businesses in the system. Indeed, the bar’s popularity had soared to new heights since the advent of Inara Nexus, still only several months old but gaining rapidly in influence. The faction’s credo of tolerance and respect had drawn tenuous comparisons with the relaxed, inclusive appeal of the InGaBa. This, coupled with the well-known fact that the faction leader preferred to maintain an anonymous presence, had led some of Inara’s more sensationalist newsfeed commentators to speculate that the InGaBa owner and the Inara Nexus chairman were actually one and the same person.
After tapping out thank-you replies to both of her well-wishers, Jemine turned her attention to the third k-cast. It was from Jaykob Ashbeigh, a trader pilot whom Jemine had contracted to bring a canister of bedding from Lhou Mans. Ashbeigh’s message was brief and to the point; “Can’t make it. Other plans. Ashbeigh.”
Jemine shook her head angrily. The bedding wasn’t vital, but Ashbeigh's ‘other plans’ had presented her with a minor hiccup that she found vexing. She’d just have to ask Sam to go and pick up the cargo. Either that, or she would post a new mission on the board at Lhou Mans and then wait for another pilot to take it on.
At 23:30 a notification on the desktop display alerted Jemine to the arrival of the guards from Citi Securiti Services. She had agreed to carry over the contract with the private company from the pleasure house’s previous owners. However, that contract was due to end on December 31st, so Jemine would soon have to think about inviting other companies to submit tenders for the work.
Jemine rose from her chair, crossed the office and opened the door, just as the CSS guards entered the corridor from the staff entrance. She genially greeted each one by their first name, receiving polite nods and somewhat bemused salutes from them in return.
A few minutes later the girls began to arrive, to prepare themselves for the opening at midnight. Once again, Jemine ensured that she warmly welcomed each and every one with a quick hug, wishing them luck for the inaugural shift that lay ahead.
Feeling happier now that she was no longer alone, Jemine set out to perform one final inspection of The Olive Grove. She’d examined everything the previous day, of course, but couldn’t resist the urge to make absolutely sure now. Everything had to be perfect.
First she checked the bedrooms. Each room was similarly furnished with a large bed against one wall. The bulkheads were variously decorated in pleasing pastel shades of soft peach, dusky pink, deep lilac and, of course, olive green. The angularity of the rooms was relieved by swathes of loosely gathered chiffon in complementary colours, and bathed in a romantic glow by cleverly concealed lighting. As elsewhere, the air in the bedrooms was perfumed with olive blossom, but with one subtle difference; sex pheromone had been added to help raise the client's enthusiasm.
Next, Jemine checked the Costume Shop. Aware that a lot of clients liked to indulge in a bit of roleplay at pleasure houses, Jemine had arranged for a dressing-up room to be part of The Olive Grove. The mirrored room was filled with racks of colourful costumes and uniforms, both male and female. There was also a large assortment of hats, shoes, wigs and accessories of various types. And, for clients who enjoyed a more animalistic approach to sex, there was a separate rack of one-piece suits covered in fur, with appropriate masks to accompany them.
Satisfied, Jemine left the Costume Shop and entered the bar. Though not large, it was spacious enough; at one end was the bar counter, behind which was a reasonable stock of popular drinks. Bowls of complimentary olives and peanuts had been placed on the bar counter and on the round tables which furnished the room. Behind the bar stood Ronique, a tall, beautiful girl of twenty-seven with long pink hair. All the girls would work a shift on the bar in a rota, and Ronique was first on the list. Alongside the bar was a cage, inside which was a dance-pole. A holo-screen was mounted above the bar, and speakers around the room, now silent, would soon be alive with pulsating music.
It was now six minutes to midnight. Satisfied once more that things were just as they ought to be, Jemine made her way to the reception area. She wanted to be on hand to personally greet The Olive Grove’s first clients.
Assuming, that was, there were any clients at all.
A feeling of panic surged up within Jemine’s chest. What if no one came? What if her brave new venture was about to crumble about her? What if she’d made a terrible mistake?
She took a long, slow, deep breath, and pushed thoughts of failure from her head. She reminded herself that the girls and boys she now employed were all experienced at The Life. If worse came to worst, they would simply head out into the malls to tout for business in the time-honoured way.
She turned to see the demure form of Suki, her senior Meet-and-Greeter, standing in readiness at the reception podium. Like most of Jemine’s employees, Suki had previously worked in The Organ Grinder, but, unlike the others, her expertise had lain in administration rather than sex. Her former employers had roundly praised her skills as a receptionist. Suki had been delighted when Jemine bought out the old brothel, and doubly delighted with its subsequent transformation. Suki would normally work 16:00 until midnight, but had asked Jemine if she could take the first shift of the first day. Like her new employer, Suki wanted to be in at the start.
“It is time, Miss Jemine,” said Suki, brushing a lock of black hair behind her left ear. “It is twelve.”
“Indeed it is, Suki,” replied Jemine as she confidently stepped forward to unlock the main door. “Please switch on the neon sign, would you? The Olive Grove is now open for pleasure.”
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Author's OOC Note:
A big double thank you to Artie for his support in the introduction of The Olive Grove to Inara, and for giving his approval to the creation of the "mysterious R.T."