The Olive Grove - "The Growing Is The Hardest Part"
27 Jan 2018Jemine Caesar
Jemine Caesar lay on top of the bed in room number eight, naked, alone and smiling to herself.The Olive Grove’s very first client, Max, had proven to be an enthusiastic lover, though somewhat lacking in technique. Despite his earlier bravado, the eighteen-year-old had admitted to Jemine that she was the first woman he’d ever had sex with. So she’d been gentle with him, guiding, instructing and coaxing him through some of the intricacies and delights of lovemaking. Jemine idly wondered as to what highly embellished version of events Max would tell to his friends. No doubt it would be powered by vain adolescent male ego, a brash tale of ripe sexual prowess and domination. Not that it mattered to Jemine in the slightest, of course. Max was just a client. He had departed satisfied with his conquest, albeit being an eye-watering amount of credits poorer for the experience. Jemine would share the money out amongst her employees, naturally. It wouldn’t be right for her, as the club’s owner, to keep such a large sum.
She rolled off the bed onto her feet and got dressed, then left the bedroom and walked to her office at the end of the central corridor. Once inside, she tapped her desktop into holographic life, bringing up an array of status reports for the pleasure house. Two of the bedrooms showed green lights, which meant that at least two of her girls were busy making money. She knew that both of them would have managed to negotiate a good price for their services; all her employees were very experienced in the ways of The Life. The Galaxy’s Oldest Profession.
Prostitution.
Jemine turned her attention to the client appointments diary. There were still no advance bookings, but then it was early days. She was certain that the bookings would come, once The Olive Grove’s reputation began to spread. It was simply a matter of time and of being patient.
Next, Jemine checked her inbox, and found several new messages. The first was from a ship’s commander by the name of Phelbore, asking if The Olive Grove would be interested in running pleasure cruises. “My Beluga,” he said, “would make a great working vacation for your employees, and my customers are already used to paying top credit.”
Smiling at the confidently hopeful tone of the request, Jemine began to record her response.
“That's a very generous offer, Commander Phelbore, but I hope you'll understand if I decline. The safety and wellbeing of my employees is my prime concern; I can't look after them if they're being taken for a ride across the bubble, now can I? And besides, my girls and boys are free to take a holiday whenever they like, within reason. I don't keep my people in chains.”
Phelbore probably won’t understand the significance of that last remark, Jemine thought as she hit the button to send the k-cast. Unless he’s been to bloody Exotica, of course...
Even as she shrugged off the memory of that place, a reminder of it came with the very next message.
“Congratulations and good luck with your new venture, Mlle Jemine.”
The greeting was from Apollonia Purduto, personal assistant to Marrakech Morgan.
Something's wrong, Jemine thought. This isn't like her at all.
She reflected on her last meeting with Apollonia in Pegasi, during the ill-fated hunt for Kat von Steuben. That meeting had been an emotional one. The pale-skinned waif had risked everything by divulging the one thing that could hurt her- the truth. Jemine's head spun with memories of Apollonia's final, desperate kiss and of her plea for Jemine to remember that she — Apollonia — was not Morgan. Jemine recalled the sweet touch of her lips, the quiet urgency in her voice, the unmistakeable look of longing in her eyes...
And now came this greeting that carried all the warmth of a hotel reservation? It simply didn’t tally at all.
“Thank you, Apollonia,” Jemine replied. “I don't know what your travel plans are, but if you should chance to be in Inara at any time, please do come and pay me a visit. I’ll give you a personal tour.”
Make of that what you will, she thought. But if you need help, you know where to find me.
As she was about to open another message, the comms panel beeped an incoming call. It was Kyla Emmerich. The previous day had been Kyla’s birthday, and Jemine had sent her friend a greeting-fac, in which she’d told Kyla about The Olive Grove. Jemine had also bemoaned the cancelled delivery of bed linen from Lhou Mans.
“Leave that to me,” said Kyla. “Just send me the details. I can drop by there tomorrow and pick it up for you myself.”
Jemine happily accepted Kyla’s offer, promising to show her friend around The Olive Grove when she arrived. Kyla’s only condition was that Jemine should not try to offer her a job.
“Don’t worry,” Jemine replied. “I wouldn’t dream of doing that. Unless you’re harbouring any secret desire for a change of career, of course!”
Kyla assured Jemine that she was quite happy being a smuggler, thank you very much, and signed off.
The next message in the k-cast stream was from a woman named Penelope Richman. It was short and to the point; “Honey, you looking to hire?”
Most of the employees of The Organ Grinder, the name by which the brothel had been known prior to Jemine taking ownership, had made the transfer to The Olive Grove. Most, but not all. Jemine’s carefully constructed rota of eight hour shifts had some gaps in it which urgently needed filling. Miss Richman’s k-cast included contact details, which showed she was currently residing on Citi Gateway. Jemine sent her a message.
“Hello, Miss Richman. I do happen to have a couple of vacancies, as a matter of fact. Come around tomorrow at 19:00 GST, and we can discuss it over a latte.”
A short time later Jemine received a brief response from Penelope; “Great. See you then.”
Jemine smiled, sat back in her chair and looked around the office. Her office. The idea still seemed very strange. Buying and renovating The Olive Grove had taken up so much of her attention for the past several weeks, and during that time she’d thought of little else but colour schemes, furniture, bedding, floor plans, publicity and contracts. Now that all the hard work was done, the pleasure house proprietress suddenly realised that she actually had very little to do.
It was an unsettling feeling, and not helped by the fact that the next few hours saw very little in the way of clients. By the time the first shift ended at oh-eight hundred, a total of just seven men and two women had entered the Olive Grove. Only three of the seven men, including Max the birthday boy, had made it as far as the bedroom. Man Four didn’t even make it to the bar, apparently having had second thoughts about the whole idea before reaching the reception podium. Man Five and Man Six just sat in the bar, drinking and talking about their ships. And Man Seven merely lingered in the bar, alone and sucking on a single Old Sol for an hour and a half. Unfortunately for him it was just long enough for his irate wife to track him down and haul him out, yelling obscenities at a calmly smiling Suki on the way.
The second woman, slim and leggy with long, jet black hair, simply sat in the bar for well over two hours. She didn’t order any drinks. She didn’t seem at all interested in having sex. She just sat, staring at the bar counter until she finally got up and left without so much as a word to anyone.
Jemine frowned as she reviewed the first shift’s statistics on her desktop. Bar takings were good, but that was little consolation to Jemine. “Gaia’s armpits!” she said in exasperation. “What's with all the drinking? Don’t these people know I’m trying to run a brothel here?”
“Do not worry, Miss Jemine,” said Suki as she was about to leave. “It will get better. You will see.”
“Oh, I hope so. This place is a fresh start for me, in more ways than one. I can’t afford for this to fail, too.”
Suki gave Jemine a comforting smile. “It will not fail. The Olive Grove is new. It is small. It needs to take root and grow, like the olive tree. But it must be nurtured before we can sit in its shade and taste the olives. The growing, Miss Jemine. The growing is the hardest part.”
Jemine nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And thank you for what you’ve done for me so far. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I shall return at sixteen hundred,” replied Suki. “Tanya is unwell, and cannot come in today. I am taking her shift on reception.”
“Oh, Suki! I can’t let you work two shifts in one day!”
“It is my choice, Miss Jemine. It is my choice and my pleasure. And besides, you have planned to be here for the whole day yourself.”
“That’s different,” said Jemine. “I’m the boss.”
“Hai,” agreed Suki. “And a good one. I shall see you at sixteen hundred.”
* * * * *
The second eight hours fared little better than the first. Man Seven made another appearance, having apparently escaped from his foul-mouthed wife for a second try. This time, however, he wasted none of his time in the bar, but proceeded instead to the main event with Gynger, one of The Olive Grove’s most experienced girls.
Man Seven was not the only one to pay a second visit, however; the woman with jet-black hair also returned, her arrival captured by the security cam footage relayed to Jemine’s office. As before, the woman sat in the bar, ordered nothing, stayed for over an hour and then left without speaking to anyone.
Jemine, as she had done for the two previous shifts, made sure she was at the staff entrance to welcome her employees as they arrived shortly before sixteen hundred. Suki was first through the door, moving swiftly to take her position at the reception podium. She was followed by a tall, hazel-eyed blonde, with a slim waist and long, slender legs that were shown off to full effect by a very tight white blouse and a very short green skirt.
“Hello, Miss Jemine!” said the blonde. “Sure an’ it’s right good to be finally back to work, so it is. I’ve been looking forward to it, an’ no mistake.”
“Hello, Monagh,” replied Jemine. “Yes, we’re off and running. Or at least we will be, once the clients start appearing in larger numbers.”
“Ah, a slow start, is it?” said Monagh. “That’s mebbe to be expected, what with it bein’ new an’ all. But don’t you be worryin’ yourself about it. This place’ll be heavin’ with punters in next to no time, so it will.”
Jemine grinned, her spirits immediately boosted by Monagh’s infectiously bright personality. She just hoped the woman’s confident prediction was correct.
The third shift soon produced more punters than the previous two put together, much to Jemine’s relief. All the girls were able to hook at least one client each, with Monagh managing to grab three in quick succession. Jemine hadn’t anticipated the possibility of there being more clients on the four-til-twelve shift. She wondered if she should introduce a rotating working pattern to even things out for her employees. She made her mind up to ask Suki later.
Nineteen hours in, Jemine began to feel the day catching up with her, so she took a Wakey-Wakey pill to see her past midnight. Then, after having a wander around the bar to flirt with the waiting clients, she sat at her desk and opened the mail.
Several messages awaited her. The first, from an anonymous sender, was merely a vitriolic attack on prostitution in general and on The Olive Grove in particular. “Slut”, “Harlot”, “Whore” and “Bimbo” were among the more polite insults aimed at Jemine personally. She’d heard them all many times before, back home on LHS 3447-A5. Her mama had told her to ignore the name-calling. “Water off a duck’s back, Jemine,” she’d say, even though Jemine hadn’t then known what a duck was. Jemine deleted the message and moved on.
The next one was a little more cheery; it was from a ship commander by the name of Firethorn, who had heard about The Olive Grove on social media. “I'm sure some of my exploration crew would enjoy it,” he said. “I'll be sure to stop by Citi Gateway more often between expeditions.” Jemine took some comfort from this; it was an indication that The Olive Grove’s reputation was indeed taking root and growing, just as Suki had assured her it would.
Jemine flicked through the remaining messages, some supportive, others not so much. The well-wishers were replied to with a grateful acknowledgement, whilst the others were simply deleted out of hand. Having dealt with all the messages, Jemine turned her attention to the footage from the security cams. The reception was quiet, with only the alert figure of Suki Hai in view at the podium. The bar, whilst not exactly busy, was doing some trade, with several men dotted around the room at separate tables and cradling various drinks. Oh, and one woman...
The woman with jet-black hair had returned, too.
Jemine’s curiosity was piqued. She called through to Suki on the internal comms.
“Suki, the woman in the bar. Long black hair, brown leather jacket... Who is she? What name did she give?”
“One moment, onegai,” came the reply. There was a brief pause as Suki checked the screen on her podium. “She did not give a name, Miss Jemine. Only an initial. The letter C.”
Jemine frowned. “C? All right, Suki. Thank you.”
She cut the link. It was hardly unusual for a visitor to a brothel to give a fake name, Jemine reasoned. After all, her own employees did the same thing for reasons of self-preservation. And as long as the black-haired woman was causing no trouble...
Her thoughts were interrupted by a beep from the comms panel, signalling an incoming message. The contents were enough to take Jemine’s mind off the black-haired mystery woman in the bar completely.
“The Olive Grove, eh?” the message read. “Interesting...”
The message was from Marrakech Morgan.
* * * * *
November the First drew to a close, and with it the end of The Olive Grove's first day. After handing over the podium to Kit, a lissom woman in her early twenties with auburn hair, Suki made her way towards the staff exit. Jemine met her in the corridor.
“Suki,” she said, “I just wanted to thank you again for all you’ve done today. It was very good of you to take on two shifts like that. It was above and beyond.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Jemine. And I think it has surely been a longer day for you. You will be looking forward to going to your home for a proper rest.”
“You’re right,” replied Jemine. “Though I don’t feel tired just yet, thanks to the Wakey-Wakey I took earlier. I daresay you’ll soon be heading for your own bed, too.”
“Later,” agreed Suki. “First I go to the gym.”
Jemine blinked in surprise. She was aware that many pilots spent some time in the gym to counteract the effects of long-term zero gravity on muscle tissue. She had not expected it from the demure Suki Hai.
“So... what do you do at the gym? Lift weights? Run a treadmill?”
Suki paused before giving her answer. “I practice a martial art.”
“Martial art?” repeated Jemine. “I don’t...”
“Tensatsuken,” explains Suki, “is a form of hand to hand combat. It borrows from Karate, Ninjutsu, and Kenjutsu.”
Jemine blinked again. “You... fight?”
“I do not fight. I practice the techniques.”
“I understand. And this tansukas— “
“Tensatsuken,” corrected Suki.
“Yes, that... how long did it take you to learn it?
“I began my training when I was a small girl. The basic moves are varied but simple, and can be acquired by a diligent student within weeks. Mastery of the art, however, takes much longer. And there is always something new to learn.”
“Of course,” said Jemine. “So, how much time do you spend practicing?”
“Two hours.”
“Two hours every week?”
“Two hours every day. Sometimes more. I have no sparring partner, so practice can be... a challenge. But I do practice. And I meditate.”
“Meditate?”
“Hai,” said Suki. “Tensatsuken develops our bodies. We balance that with passive meditation from Yoga and Zen Buddhism to develop our mind and spirit.”
“I see. And are you good at it? The tensatsuken, I mean.”
Suki lowered her eyes. “I am competent.”
Jemine took the answer to be a yes. She thought back to the weeks she’d spent with Kat von Steuben, and in particular to those moments when even a rudimentary knowledge of hand to hand combat would have come in very handy indeed.
It still could come in handy, she thought, the face of Marrakech Morgan floating into her mind’s eye. Someday...
“I want to learn tensatsuken," Jemine said. "Would... would you teach me? Please?”
Suki gave Jemine a deep, formal bow. “It would give me the greatest honour to be your sensei, Miss Jemine.”
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Author's Note
My special thank you to commanders Phelbore and Apex Firethorn for their contributions to this log.
An extra special thank you to Jubei Himura for his help with the backstory of Suki Hai