The Olive Grove - "What It Takes"
03 Feb 2018Jemine Caesar
With The Olive Grove’s first twenty four hours of trading behind her, Jemine Caesar was able to relax. The day hadn’t gone fantastically well from a financial point of view, but on the other hand it hadn’t been a total disaster either. Clients had come, clients had gone, and more clients had come in their place. Credits had changed hands in reasonable amounts, and satisfaction had been expressed for services rendered. Advance bookings had begun to be made, and the reputation of The Olive Grove had begun to grow. Yes, the pleasure house proprietress could finally relax.Except that she couldn’t.
Such was her determination to see out the whole day for herself, she’d got herself through it on excitement and Wakey-Wakey pills. She’d been on hand to sort out unforeseen problems, take decisions, make notes and adjust plans. But she couldn’t be there all the time, and that distressed her. Jemine’s boyfriend, Sam, naturally did his best to reassure her.
“The Olive Grove will be fine, my love,” he said. “Gynger and Dominika are both capable deputies, from what you tell me of them. You need to trust them to look after things in your absence.”
“I know,” replied Jemine with a shrug. “But it’s just proving difficult for me to switch off. I daresay I’ll get used to it in time.”
It was with no small relief that she returned to The Olive Grove at sixteen hundred hours. After hearing a trouble-free update from Dominika, Jemine felt more content and settled herself in her office to get on with her work. Not that she had very much to get on with as yet. There was a report from the Citi Securiti company to read, a financial forecast to ponder over, and a slew of marketing literature from companies to sift through and, in most cases, delete.
There were, of course, two urgent matters of business for Jemine to attend to. The first was an interview with Penelope Richman, the woman who had contacted The Olive Grove just the day before to ask if there were any vacancies. Miss Richman (“Please, call me Penny”) arrived punctually for her nineteen hundred hours appointment, and turned out to be a very amiable young woman. Jemine had never carried out a job interview before, so she’d prepared as best she could by gleaning hints and advice from various social media sites.
Although from an affluent background, Penny had been treated rather callously by her now-deceased father. A wealthy businessman, he had bequeathed the entire company to Penny’s brother, Paul. To Penny he had merely left a ‘rusted bucket of a ship’, and a note telling her to make something of her life.
"I've tried,” Penny told Jemine. “I really have tried, but nothing has gone right. I'm at the end of my rope."
Penny certainly seemed to have had a privileged upbringing; privately educated, winner of several beauty pageants, expensive vacations on Earth and Capitol, the finest clothes. For a woman of her background to seek employment at a brothel was, Jemine thought, an indication of how desperate she’d become.
"I like you, Penny," said Jemine. " You're a personable and very attractive girl. You gave me some good, honest and revealing answers to my questions. But you have absolutely no experience of The Life. I don't know if you've got what it takes to work in a broth- I mean, in a pleasure house."
Jemine leaned forward and tapped her desktop. A document appeared on an inlaid holopad in front of Penny.
"So here's what I'll do,” continued Jemine. I'll take you on one month's trial. I'll assign Gynger to be your mentor. Gynger's very experienced, she'll show you the ropes. I think the two of you will get along nicely. You'll work eight hour shifts, five days a week. Don't be alarmed, that's really not as onerous as it sounds, and you can work longer if you want to. Some of the time you'll be working the poles or tending bar. You'll negotiate your own fees with your clients. You get to keep fifty percent, so don't be afraid to charge high, especially if they're fighter jocks. Most of them have more credits than they know what to do with anyway."
Penny was understandably hesitant about signing the contract, and asked questions about what her working conditions would be like. Jemine assured her that no one worked at The Olive Grove against their will. Personal safety was catered for by hidden security cameras in the club's common areas, with a voice-activated panic alarm system in each of the bedrooms. Paid-for medical scans every three months ensured the health and well-being of each and every employee.
“And remember,” said Jemine, “you don't have to accept any client who falls short in the hygiene department themselves. Gynger will give you a few tips on ways of handling them."
Satisfied, Penny authorised the contract. Jemine smiled at her new employee, shaking her hand in welcome.
"We're all on first name terms here,” she said, “though everyone refers to me as 'Miss Jemine' as a mark of respect. It'd be good if you'd adopt the same tradition. Speaking of names, you might like to think up one for yourself. Most of the girls and boys use a pseudonym for work."
The young woman leaned forward. "Hmm... How about Candi, with an I?"
Jemine considers for a moment, and then nods approvingly.
"Candi," she says. "Yes. It suits you. Now, we operate a three shift system; midnight to 0800, 0800 to 1600, and 1600 to midnight. Gynger works the middle shift, so I'd like you to do the same. You'll probably need to get yourself some new clothes, too. You'll find that your clients have certain, ah, expectations in that regard. Ask Gynger to help you out."
Penny smiled and stood to leave. “Thank you for this opportunity, Miss Jemine, and for making me feel right at home. I think I’m going to be very happy here.”
Jemine felt quite pleased with herself. The interview had gone well, and Penny— that is, Candi— would no doubt prove to be a popular attraction with the clients. Jemine hoped that her new recruit would not have too much difficulty in adapting to a very different way of life from that to which she was accustomed.
Jemine’s second bit of urgent business was to meet with her friend, Kyla Emmerich. Kyla had kindly agreed to collect a cargo can of bedding from Lhou Mans, following the cancellation of Jemine’s contract by an unreliable trader. Jemine ushered Kyla into her office.
“Well,” said Jemine, “what do you think?”
Kyla took a seat on the cream leather sofa and looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the picture window of the planetary landscape behind Jemine’s desk.
"Well, I think you have really expensive taste." She sniffs at the air. "And what's that scent? It's kind of familiar..."
There was a mischievous gleam in Jemine's eye.
"The scent is olive blossom... though in the bar and the bedrooms we mix in a little sex pheromone to help our clients raise their, ah, enthusiasm. It's subtle, but it works."
She turned to gaze at the holographic picture window of the planetary landscape, and sighed softly.
"I noticed you were admiring this. It's my homeworld, in LHS 3447. So realistic, it's like looking out of a window onto the actual plain itself. From time to time you can even see the trees moving in the wind. That's the spot where I gave birth to my daughter, Bekka."
Keeping her promise to give Kyla a guided tour of The Olive Grove, Jemine brought her friend up to date with what had happened to her since they last met. Kyla asked Jemine if she thought she’d miss being a spacer. Jemine's eyes became misty.
"No. No, I don't think I'll miss it at all. I feel happy here, Kyla. I'm finally facing up to my past, and embracing it instead of pushing it away. I may be just a brothel madam, one more nobody in a galaxy full of nobodies. But, in my own small way, I like to think I'm making a difference. I truly feel that this is where I belong. This is who I am now. I don't see myself ever piloting a ship again.”
After the tour, which naturally included a couple of Toolfa Gins in the bar, the two women returned to Jemine’s office for coffee. Kyla freely admitted she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about the Galaxy’s Oldest Profession, but she offered Jemine moral support nonetheless. She raised her cup.
"To the lonely pilots who will make Jem Jem rich!"
Jemine shook her head. If she’d simply wanted to be rich, she could have lived quite comfortably off the money she made on the sale of her Vulture.
"It's not about the credits, Kyla,” she said, pacing the floor. “You remember me telling you and Sam about the Exotica club at Tjakiri? The people who worked there were forced to endure agony every day of their lives. The woman who ran Exotica is a heartless, sadistic, manipulative bitch who cares nothing for anyone but herself. She and I couldn't be more unalike. My girls will be treated as human beings, not animals. They'll work here because they want to, with their hope and dignity intact."
Her eyes flashing with intense determination, Jemine folded her arms and turned to face Kyla.
"That is why I opened The Olive Grove."
Kyla fell silent, seemingly aware that she’d struck a nerve. Jemine gave her a sheepish grin and sat down beside her on the sofa.
"Sorry," she said. "I oughtn't to have launched off into a rant. You know, it wasn't too long ago when all I wanted to do was to prove myself as a bounty hunter. It caused a big fallout between me and my mo-- my grandmother. But I rather stubbornly persisted in my ambition, convinced I could make a difference in the galaxy. And for a while it seemed to be working out. I had a few successes with my contracts, and my combat rating was increasing nicely."
Jemine sat back and took a sip of coffee before continuing.
"And then the doubts began to creep in. With each success, I started to fret about the lives I was taking, and about the families who would be grieving because of what I'd done."
Kyla shook her head. "I guess in that line of work you have to learn to turn off empathy, which I could never see you doing. That seems to be your strong point, your empathy. As for my smuggling, who knows how that might affect people?"
"I'd imagine very few die because of smuggling," said Jemine, with a shrug. "But you're right about the empathy thing. About turning it off, I mean. Someone gave me pretty much the same advice a few months ago, as a matter of fact. It was a pilot I met whilst I was doing merc work in Ross 720. I remarked to him how uneasy I was about the killing, and he told me to either get used to it or go home."
Jemine looked around her office, and smiled happily.
"It took a while, but that's what I've done. I've come home."
I only hope I’ve got what it takes, she thought.
=======================================================================================================
Author's Note
Thank you to the owners of Penelope Richman and Kyla Emmerich for their contributions to this entry.