Chapter Six

“Excuse me, Miss. Would you be willing to sign for this delivery?”

Georgia popped out her headphones, pausing the recorded lecture. It was her GNSE 12114 Feminist Ethics course and she was currently playing catch up with the study material. She looked at the nervous man in the tan gray UPS uniform then down at the digital tablet and stylus he held out towards her.

“A delivery… for me?” She asked in some confusion. Georgia wasn’t expecting anything worth signing for.

The guy was big. Built tall and bulky as though he could cart whole Santa sacks worth of weighty packages around all day and tomorrow besides. But he looked skittish as a dormouse as his nostrils flared and his eyes darted about the small lobby with an anxious look on his broad face.

“Not unless your name is Vincent Powell.” He said, looking nervous. “Listen lady, I just need someone to sign for this and I can leave. You’d be doing me a solid, alright?

Georgia’s eyes drifted to a square stack of familiar cardboard boxes, each the size of a tissue box, all wrapped up together in clear packing tape with apartment 10a on the shipping label. There had to be three dozen of them with a few loose extras stacked haphazardly atop the strapped up block of parcel post.

Then she remembered the last time she had met Vince down here by the mail boxes.

“Sure thing.” She said, grabbing the tablet and scribbling an illegible squiggle in the signature window. “Leave it with me.”

“Thanks a bunch, Miss.” The delivery man whooshed out a big sigh of relief. “I really appreciate it. This place sets my teeth on edge, though I couldn’t rightly say why.”

“I know what you mean.” Georgia muttered to herself as the UPS guy scampered away. “Why do you get so much mail, Mister 10a?”

Knowing that she shouldn’t, Georgia picked one of the identical packages at random and gently shook it beside her ear. It had a little heft to it and something solid rattled about inside the brown cardboard box.

The sound of keys in the lobby door startled her. Shoving the parcel into her book bag, Georgia darted for the stairs.

---

“You can still put it back, Georgie.” Linh whined, she looked distressed. “Messing with the mail is, like, a federal crime or something.”

Georgia was in the middle of washing down her evening antibiotic with a glass of faintly rust flavored tap water. She swallowed hard, fought down her gag reflex and looked back at her roommate.

Linh was sitting on their second hand couch and staring at the stolen package as though it were a viper that might strike her. She had no makeup on and was dressed in baggy sweatpants with a loose fitting shirt obscuring her lithe figure. She didn’t look happy about it either but at least the near constant tail wagging had settled down.

Even if she did keep touching the corners of her almond eyes as though to confirm they were still cosmetic free.

“I haven’t opened it… yet.” Georgia hedged, even as she fished a kitchen knife out of the drawer.

“Then don’t.” The anxious Asian coed insisted. “We could take it back up to Vince together and say it was delivered to the wrong address. I’m sure he will be pleased to have it returned…”

Georgia grimaced.

Last night was rough. Every time she had convinced Linh to accept that her recent behaviors were atypical and the result of some external influence, the aforementioned influence would make one the Pierre ladies scream their voices hoarse with ecstasy and put Georgia back to square one again.

Today was better though. Without the elated wails and wet slapping of hot flesh against flesh emptying her roommates brain of rational thought every few minutes Georgia was finally making progress.

“No. We stay away from Vince. That’s final.” Georgia said, picking the parcel up from the old coffee table and turning it over in her hands. “At least until we know what we are dealing with.”

“Georgie…”

Linh’s whimper turned into a gasp when Georgia neatly sliced through the tape and upturned the box onto the couch cushions. Off white packing beads that smelled mildly of popcorn cascaded everywhere and a small glass bottle dropped into their midst on the seat.

It looked like… perfume?

Linh had cringed away at first but now leaned in curiously as Georgia bent down to take a closer look at the mystery object. It was a pink glass spray bottle, rectangular in shape with a silver foil label on it covered in unfamiliar lettering.

“That looks like Cyrillic…” She observed. “Is Vince ordering perfume from the old Soviet block?”

“Well, that’s a bust.” Linh said with evident relief. “Nothing to see here. Just some cheap foreign aftershave. We should probably get ready for our shift, Sammy wanted us in early today.”

Georgia wasn’t so sure.

“Why do you say it’s aftershave, and what is he doing with so much of it? There had to have been over thirty more boxes exactly like this one downstairs."

"Maybe it's a direct marketing scheme?" Linh suggested, carefully picking up the bottle and giving the spray nozzle a gentle sniff. "It kinda smells a bit like aftershave."

“Kinda… a bit like?” Georgia prompted, hoping for a little more clarity. She hadn’t been able to smell her toast burning this morning.

“Well, it’s hard to say with the bottle sealed…” Her roommate said, gripping the cap and giving it a twist.

“Don’t open it!”

Linh froze then blinked as Georgia snatched the glass bottle from her hands. She inspected it closely. The twist had popped the spray mechanism up into the ready position but that was all.

Was their neighbour fucking everyone up with his strange cologne? That seemed pretty far fetched, the stuff of science fiction pulp. Certainly nothing Georgia could take to the authorities without earning herself an honorary tin foil hat. She needed something more concrete by way of evidence.

“I still think we should give it back to Vince.” Linh mumbled, starting to shimmy her butt on the couch again before stopping herself with a visible effort.

“No. This gets hidden away somewhere safe.” Georgia said, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. “At least until we decide it isn’t dangerous. But yeah… we can’t be late for work. Sammy’s been getting weird about timekeeping.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Linh said, perking up visibly. “I’m going to wear these super cute pair of little daisy dukes I picked out yesterday.”

Georgia’s skinny shoulders slumped in defeat.

---

“What the actual fuck?”

It was an hour before regular Saturday night… Well, “rush” wasn’t a word usually associated with the First Edition. The Saturday night dawdle? Mosy? But whatever the usual apathetic trickle of penniless drunks and edgy college kids was called, this certainly wasn’t it.

The dive bar was alive with activity and noise. Bodies bustled back and forth wielding mops, dust rags and armloads of trash. If that wasn’t an foreign enough sight in the dingy smoke stained space then the overtly feminine qualities of those same bodies was.

“Who are all these girls and what the hell are they doing to the bar?” Linh asked, rubbernecking furiously as her dark makeup free eyes widened in shock.

“Never mind that. What are they wearing?”

The question was largely rhetorical and the answer was unanimous; not a lot.

Nearly a dozen young women were scrubbing stains off the floor, buffing the olive patina off brass fixtures and polishing the scarred walnut bar top to a mirror sheen. More were pulling the moth eaten decorations off the walls, dusting the hanging light shades and chasing the spiderwebs out of long forgotten corners.

Some of those arachnids probably had squatters rights given the length of their occupancy.

And every single one of the industrious females was performing the grimy chores in her underwear.

Again, just for accuracy, Georgia corrected herself. Underwear was a stretch because the tiny undergarments actually stretched over the variety of barely clad womanly figures were obscenely objectifying and they were definitely performing in them.

For whom? Georgia had a sneaking suspicion.

The mildly familiar redhead wiping down the booth seats wasn’t merely cleaning the faded vinyl. The fiery haired strumpet was doing so in strappy heeled sandals with her long smooth legs crossed at the ankles and her full toned behind thrust up in the air as she bent invitingly at the waist.

Her blemishless pale butt cheeks were unobscured by the dental floss thong riding high over supple wiggling hips and her impressively globular breasts swayed within a racy red demi-bra at each circular sweep of the rag upon the shiny seat-back.

The shameless tart wasn’t cleaning like a normal person but more like some sultry late night television advertisement trying to sell the idea of domestic housework to dumb, horny male viewers.

She wasn’t the only one either.

A glossy brunette in scraps of snowy lace that clung to her substantial tanned curves was buffing the brass knob at the end of the bar rail in a decidedly suggestive fashion.

She knelt before it, the high heels of her matching white pumps dimpling her cushiony ass, stroking an oily cloth along the length of the gleaming support before swirling it over the spherical end with her painted ruby lips parted inched away and the tip of her moist pink tongue flickering out.

Even the dusky skinned beauty dusting the corners in a lavender chemise and frilly hipster panties did so by arching her slender back and rising up onto her tiny toes. As though to best present an immaculately lean honed physique that befitted a gymnast. Her long midnight hair tickling the top of her taut derriere as she swished alluringly from side to side with the movements of her ridiculous feather duster.

"Can you two stop blocking the doorway? Some of us have work to do, you know."

Georgia almost didn't recognise the porcelain pale figure scowling up at her and Linh, clutching a musty stack of sombreros to her modest chest. It might have been the streaks of dirt on her cheeks or the ebony corset, panty and garter belt combo the inky haired coed was salaciously sporting but eventually…

"Emily?" She gasped, eyeing the under-dressed Bronte sister incredulously. Where were the torn jeans and floral grandma blouses? Where was the Boho beanie and ironically chic flannel? "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Who's Emily? My name’s Rebecca and I've got to dispose of all this crap before opening time." Emily, nay, Rebecca replied curtly. "So if you don't mind…"

“Ah, Linh. Georgie. You girls are right on time.” Sammy called from a door behind the bar. “Please, let the young ladies get back to work and meet me in my office.”

Georgia pushed past the barely dressed hipster, nearly knocking the armload of hats from her grasp, as she stormed across the bar to confront her boss. Linh trailing in her wake, looking a bit stunned.

They ducked under the end of the bar and Georgia all but kicked the door to Sammy's tiny cluttered office open in her outrage.

"Alright, where is he–" She began then stopped dead in her tracks. "Sammy… what happened to you?"

The blonde manager was just sliding her desk drawer closed and fanning at the air as Linh squeezed into the confined space behind Georgia.

"Where is who, dear?" Sammy asked politely as she leaned against the cracked timber desktop and folded her hands patiently in her lap.

Sammy looked… different.

Had she got extensions? Because her usually shoulder length golden hair fell in long voluminous tresses down past the middle of her back. A back bared by a small crochet bralette top that pushed up her full breasts just as her taut midriff and toned thighs were exposed by a high waisted pair of ivory cut-off jean shorts.

This wasn’t Sammy. This vivacious figure with a knowing little smirk on her full strawberry lips who lounged on her boss’s desk. Sammy wore business-like blouses, midi skirts and practical footwear. Those kitten heeled white cowboy boots belonged to a woman looking to spend a night on her back, not on her feet running a bar.

Georgia shook her head, trying to clear it. The tiny office felt stuffy and her pale skin tingled in the warm, close air.

“Vince!” She demanded, “He’s here somewhere, isn’t he? Do I need to check that goddamn bathroom for–”

“Calm down, dear.” Sammy clucked her tongue with a small shake of her head, giving off an air of maternal disappointment that made Georgia want to scream. “It’s only us girls here. Though I think you need to closely examine this infatuation you have with young Vincent. It doesn’t sound entirely healthy.”

Georgia gaped at the preening blonde and turned to Linh for support. The cute Asian coed didn’t catch her eyes, instead she was looking around the tight space as if expecting to find something that wasn’t there. Her dainty hands clenched together beneath her pert bosom and her nostrils twitching.

No help from that corner.

“Then how do you explain what’s going on out there?” Georgia insisted, pointing back at the door. It was closed and she blinked at that unexpected revelation. She hadn’t closed it.

“Simply some long overdue spring cleaning and redecorating.” Her boss said in a weary tone used to soothe upset children. “The girls outside are prospective new hires. Think of today as their auditions for a job here at the First Edition. Frankly, we need the extra hands given how busy we’ve been lately.”

“They’re not wearing anything, it’s indecent!”

“They’re cleaning, dear. Nobody wants to get all that dust and grime on their new uniforms.” Sammy explained as though it were the most rational statement in the world. “Besides, many of them are wearing significantly more now than at their previous place of employment.”

Sammy’s eyes fixed on Linh for a moment then with a nearly imperceptible nod of satisfaction she turned back to Georgia with a more concerned look. “Are you feeling any better today, dear?”

“Stop calling me that!” Georgia wanted to tear out her own hair in frustration. “You can’t tell me that… that man isn’t behind all of this. Just look around and ask yourself if this all seems like normal behavior.”

“Georgie…” The blonde bar owner let out a long, suffering sigh and got up to approach her, drawing in close to place a hand on her shoulder. “I will admit that I spoke briefly with Vincent earlier today to offer him a part-time position working the door and checking IDs.”

“I knew it!”

“...which he politely declined and excused himself to head off to his day job. I had to work very hard to persuade him to help us out in the evenings. That was the entire interaction, Vince was here for less than fifteen minutes.” Sammy said calmly, looking into Georgia’s eyes with a kind, if searching expression. “I know you have been unwell and are struggling with all the sudden changes but this business has been riding on a knife's edge for months now. We need to adapt to a new paradigm or close our doors forever.”

“Wait… so Vince is going to be working here now?” Linh asked, her voice sounded hopeful, excited. Her slender hips began to gyrate minutely in her tight denim daisy dukes.

“I can’t. I just can’t…” Georgia whined, shaking her head and feeling a tight clench of anxiety deep in her gut.

“Why don’t you head home, dear? One of the other girls will be more than happy to cover your shift.” Sammy said kindly, stroking a lacquered fingernail down her cheek affectionately. “Rest up and come back to us when you are feeling well. Everything will be fine, better than fine, you’ll see.”

“O–Okay…” Georgia’s head was spinning and the office felt terribly claustrophobic, the fight seemed to drain right out of her. Was she finally smelling something? She rallied heroically, “But this isn’t over.”

“Of course not, dear.” Her boss crooned, opening the door for her and gently ushering her out into the bustling bar full of lingerie clad beauties feverishly working in a pornographic parody of cleaning. “Get well soon and come back to us, ‘kay?”

Georgia turned to fire off one last retort but couldn’t find the words. Her head felt stuffed full of cotton candy. Sweet, cloying, sticky.

“Did you say something about new uniforms?” Linh asked eagerly, bouncing in place beside the coffee-stained desk. “We never had uniforms before.”

“I did. Come see.” Sammy said with a pleased grin as she reached into a large cardboard box marked ‘same day delivery’ in big blocky letters stamped on the side. “It’s nothing special but it’s a start…”

Georgia saw her hold up a slinky black tube top with the ‘The First Edition’ printed in gold lettering across the front. There couldn’t have been more than six square inches of elasticated fabric to the entire garment.

“O.M.G! That looks super hot but… do you have any makeup I can borrow? I want to make my eyes really pop before my shift starts.”

“Of course, dear.” Sammy replied, and Georgia saw her boss reaching into her desk drawer before the office door swung closed on its rusty hinges.

She fled with Linh’s squeal of delight echoing in her ears.

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