First Flyght – Chapter 9

Marcelo’s stare is unnerving. Does he do this to all of his clients?

I swallow and tuck my hair behind my ears, then I shoo a chicken from clucking around my feet. Last night, I woke up in my quarters and the duck was sleeping at the foot of my bed next to Frogger. My smile is fleeting, mostly because I hate having to clean up duck poop.

Marcelo folds his hands, one over the other, on the dining table between us, an unexpressed sigh on his lips.

“It’s not often that I take on a client for another client. Usually, the person paying me is the person who is contracting my services, on both sides.”

The common area lights bounce off the top of Marcelo’s dark, shaved head, and he lifts one sculpted eyebrow to question me.

“Fusako Kawabata was insistent that you’re fully committed to building your relationship network —”

Funny how he specifically refuses to call it a ‘harem.’

“— But I’m not seeing… a lot of potential here.”

I close my eyes for a second. This is humiliating.

“I am an A-rated relationship broker, but I can only do so much.”

I concentrate hard on not letting my anger overtake me. It’s been nothing but bumpy roads and setbacks for the last few days, and I can’t let this guy get away. He’s the best of the best, personally found three of Fusako’s husbands for her, and has served some of the most wealthy families in the Duo Systems. I would be a fool to deny working with him just because he’s being a wee tad insulting.

Squeezing my fingers together, I count to five before relaxing and letting them go. I spread my hands out. It’s time to dig deep and find my humility.

“I understand your hesitation. Honestly, I’m nothing special. I’m not my aunt, with a fancy ship and years of experience in the cargo shipping business. My family is now disgraced and has lost its land. My brother is on the run and most likely in some kind of legal trouble.”

None of this is news to Marcelo. His datapad sits on the table in front of him, all of my features and characteristics entered into his database in painstaking detail.

“I’ve been in school for the last six years straight, learning about hydro- and aquaponics and crafting new ways to grow fruits and vegetables. I haven’t been social. I’ve barely shaved my legs in the last year. And I certainly have very little experience in… this.”

Both of Marcelo’s eyebrows rise into his creased forehead. “Are you a virgin? Because that will be… difficult to work with.”

I’m impressed with his restraint. He’s a pauser, someone who considers his words well before he speaks.

I sigh, lean forward, and rest my head on the table. “No. I’ve had sex before. Jesus,” I mumble into the table before lifting my head again.

“I need to make this work. My family needs me now more than ever. I’m willing to be flexible in almost every way possible, though I’d prefer it if my future consorts are all straight. Really. I have no sexual or relationship hang-ups. I’m perfectly boring in that regard. Your biggest hurdle will just be, well, me.” I wave at myself. “I get tongue-tied when I don’t know what to say, and I’m awkward in new situations. I’m not pretty, and I’m taller than most men. My older brother and Skylar inherited the gorgeous genes. I clean up nice, but that’s about it.” I decide in the blink of an eye to lay it all on the table. “I have good taste in clothes and shoes and makeup, but I own only a few of those things. I can cook, I can negotiate a contract, and I can have a conversation about pretty much anything once I’ve had a drink or two. But men, once they get to know me, find me cold and bossy. The last guy I briefly dated — and we’re talking about two lousy dates — left me for someone sweet and naïve, so I don’t have the best track record. If you love a good challenge, I’m the best thing to ever happen to you.”

There you go, Vivian. Really sell it.

He straightens his tie, then his cuffs, and finally his wristlet before he considers me again. Marcelo is all business, always has been. He may or may not remember it, but I saw him once a long time ago. When he walked through the door from his shuttle, I flashed back to being fourteen years old on board the Amagi. He had come back to talk with Aunt Fusako about bringing on one more consort. At that point, though, she was waning on accepting more men into her life. She and Marcelo parted amicably. That day, I had caught sight of him from the door of Skylar’s room. His long legs and muscular build nearly burst out of the business suits he wore, but never in a vulgar way. And his dark skin, full lips, crafted brows, and shaved head always intrigued me.

“Well, Ms. Vivian,” he says, tilting his head and opening his datapad into three connected pieces. He has a soft accent too that I can’t place. Whatever it is, it’s charming and makes the sting of this whole operation lessen a bit. “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are. I owe Fusako for all the families she’s introduced me to over the years, so I’d like to take you on as my main client for an eight-week trial period.”

My hands relax, and I let out a held breath. Eight weeks is better than nothing.

“But I caution you, it will not be easy.” He calls up information on his datapad, and it projects into the air between us. My implant shows me his documents about me, my history, my school records…

“Nothing about my life up to this point has been easy.”

There he goes with the eyebrow again. “If you think school and family life have prepared you for this, you are sorely mistaken.” He clears his throat as my neck begins to sweat. “First things first. We need to clean you up and prepare you to meet people. And whatever we do” — he stops to look me up and down — “we will need to maintain it during the whole engagement process.”

“I will endeavor to maintain strict beauty standards if that’s what you require.”

Marcelo’s lip quirks in a brief smile, the first I’ve seen since he walked on board. “Of course, it will be a lot of work so I’ll hire someone to come and take care of you on a daily basis.”

“Wait,” I say, reaching across the table and almost touching his datapad. I snap my hand back. “You want to hire someone to come in and primp me every day?” When he doesn’t answer, I shake my head. “No. Just, um, send me to a spa for a day or two, get it all tidied up, and I’ll take care of things until it’s time for me to go back.”

“Ms. Vivian…” He starts, exasperated.

“Look,” I blurt out, interrupting him. “I don’t want to put on a false facade for a bunch of men who may or may not want to spend the rest of their lives with me. I am a low maintenance woman, something I’ve been kind of proud of my entire life. I don’t want to appear to be something I’m not. I’m happy to clean myself up, but I’m not okay with some servant primping and powdering and massaging me every day.”

My back muscles decide to protest. They would love to be massaged every day.

Marcelo thinks for a moment. “I’m willing to compromise on this and take your lead. You’re not the first ‘low maintenance’ woman I’ve worked with.” His fingers flick through his projection, making appointments and notes about our arrangement. “You have an interview at Flyght in two days. That should be enough time to get you in and out of the best spa I know of on Palo Alto. I’m reserving a hotel for you in the Japantown district of Concord City. I think you’ll be comfortable there. Your aunt loved it, so I’m sure you will.”

I’m already at ease. I miss speaking Japanese every day. I never feel as comfortable in English, Portuguese, or Spanish as I do in the language I was raised on.

“You can come with me aboard my shuttle and I’ll take you down. Tonight, we will shop for new clothes for you. These will be for parties or dates. When men come aboard to meet you, you can dress more comfortably, though I ask that we replace your current wardrobe with something a little more flattering.”

We stand up to get moving, and his eyes narrow on the old cardigan I’m wearing right now. My trusty cardigan has been with me since Year Two of my primary degree. There’s nothing worse than cold libraries without something to keep the chill away.

“Okay,” I mutter, properly admonished.

“I have also asked Ms. Skylar to start a workout routine with you.”

“I hate exercising!” I whine and then regret it because I sound like a four-year-old. “Can’t you find me men who like a soft woman?” I’m soft, but I have a fast metabolism for all the junk food and overeating I do.

Which reminds me, I could really go for a big bowl of rice and fish right now.

I wonder…

“Ms. Vivian, most men who agree to these relationships are hoping for off-spring, daughters who will support them into old age. They want a fit and healthy spouse, especially if she’ll be juggling several consorts. You will exercise and eat well, or our business will be through.”

I huff and look down at my shoes. “All right.”

Ugh. Marcelo is worse than my own father!

“Now,” he says, resting his hand on my lower back and ushering me towards the crew quarters. “While you’re going through your spa treatments later, I want you to produce two lists for me. On one list, I want to hear about any sexual likes and dislikes. I want to know about hard noes and enthusiastic yeses. Do not hold back. This is the most important list you will make. I don’t want to pair you up with anyone who will regret going into the bedroom with you or you with him.”

If my face could be any hotter, I could power an entire city. We enter into the crew hallway and pass Carlos, and he’s as embarrassed as I am, having overheard everything. He keeps his eyes locked on the floor as he blazes past us. Thank God Lia isn’t around. She’s probably in the cargo hold with the animals.

“On the other list, I want to hear about what you like in a man. Get very specific. Hair color and length. Eye color. Race and ethnicity. Do you like accents? Facial hair? Hairy chests, arms, or legs? What about body types? Do you prefer experienced men or not? Funny or suave?”

My head swims. I’ve never thought about what kind of man was my type before. Shit. This will be hard to figure out.

I’m about to admit to Marcelo that I’m totally clueless when I hear my name screamed from somewhere in the ship.

“Vivian!” Skylar calls out, climbing the ladder from the lower deck and then running down the hall. “Viv! I have the most amazing news.” She screams as she clutches my arms. “Your mom just called. Guess what?”

“What?” Suddenly, my heart is in a wild race through my chest, and I’m hoping she says my brother has returned. That this was all a stupid joke, and the money’s not really gone. That I can go back to my life.

“Summa. Cum. Laude.” She throws her hands up in the air before throwing herself at me and smothering me in a hug. I’m too confused to hug her back.

“You did it, Viv. Your mom was just contacted by the university. You’re going to graduate summa cum laude. Congratulations! It’s exactly what you wanted, what you worked so hard for.”

Skylar smiles and dances in a little circle, but my heart has died in my chest.

I did it. I graduated almost at the top of my class.

But I’ll never walk in my graduation. I’ll never take photos with my favorite professors or wear a cap and gown. It may even be months before I make it home to collect my diploma, the one piece of paper that most people cherish nowadays when almost everything else is digital.

No. Don’t cry in front of Marcelo, Vivian. Don’t do it.

Marcelo squeezes my arm briefly. “Congratulations. I’m sure this will benefit us if it’s any consolation.”

Skylar launches forward and cradles my cheeks in her hands. “I’m so proud of you. We’ll go out and celebrate real soon. I promise.” She gives me a big kiss on the cheek before running back to her post. She turns around as she ascends the ladder. “I told you this trip was going to be awesome.”

Marcelo jerks his head in the direction of the shuttle airlock. “I’ll go wait for you onboard. Pack a bag, and we’ll get going.”

He leaves, but I lean against the wall outside of my quarters for a long moment, just processing this news.

“Congratulations, Vivian,” I whisper to myself.

Then I wipe away my tears and move on.