Balot switched the car heater on and attached the sleeves to her top. As if she were binding herself up.
“If you wrap yourself up too tight you might break the equilibrium in your cortex as it tries to repair itself. It’ll also put strain on your internal organs.”
–But I feel safer this way.
So saying, she stared at the glove. Her eyes were more focused than before, and she perceived Oeufcoque’s existence more keenly than ever.
–So you don’t think I’m crazy?
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
–Hey, Oeufcoque?
“Yeah?”
–Have you ever seen a video? One with kids like me in it, I mean?
“A few times. In experiments to determine my sex drive. I didn’t really get what all the fuss was about.”
–Do you know what S&M is? And fetishes, that sort of thing?
“A little, not in detail—what about them?”
–One of the favorites at the house where I worked—she was called Queen Bee. She told me that I wasn’t suited for S&M. Clients who liked that sort of thing wanted their girls to be kicking and screaming, whereas my selling point was playing dead. I really liked that girl. Even though she was the cause of the last place I worked going bankrupt, no one had a bad word to say about her.
“Hmm.”
–Once I saw a Show where she appeared as the star. Alongside a number of M girls —masochists who received the punishment she dished out. She trussed them up, spanked them, whipped them, that sort of thing. Everyone in the Show was very pretty. One of the M girls liked needles, so she had these needles stuck crosswise through her nipples while she was tied up. “These are disposable syringes,” Queen Bee said. No one else had used them previously, so there was no chance of catching any diseases. Also, normal needles actually have quite serrated edges, so they’d be unnecessarily painful. That’s why disposable needles were best.
“I see. And then?” Oeufcoque spoke in a serious tone that encouraged Balot to continue with her monologue.
–After the needles were removed she was tied up tighter, with blood pouring from her nipples. She was such a pale-skinned girl that she looked incredibly beautiful just then, as if her nipples were weeping blood. I think the reason that it seemed so beautiful was that Queen Bee acted the way she did. The M girl said so too. As the M girl was bound tighter she said it was like being held by someone who loved her. No one else could make her feel that way, only Queen Bee. Queen Bee made the ropes feel like the arms of her mother and father. She didn’t like being tied up roughly by men, though, she told me after the Show. She said they didn’t understand.
“And that’s why you wear your clothes so tight?”
–Maybe. I remembered what the girl said back then at the Show. “It’s like being embraced.” Oh, by the way, she died in the end, that girl—some time after Queen Bee was arrested. The M girl was on drugs, getting paid to be tied up by this guy. He was high and strangled her to death. There was a trial then, too, even though they ended up deciding that the man hadn’t done anything wrong.
“And were you there at that trial?”
–Yup. The manager of the brothel—the woman who gave me my name—brought the prosecution, but in the end she lost her case. As a result the Broilerhouse put a mark on us, and the Hunters came and arrested all the clients on our books, that’s what she told me. Those people—and that shop—weren’t really that bad. There were plenty of places that were much worse. In particular the video work—there was a guy who could film it really well—and everyone was clean and gentle. I heard of plenty of places that were terrible, but no one the manager introduced us to was that bad. I was even told that if I could remember how to smile I could become a legitimate actress, a real star. Well, that production company went bankrupt, but still…and have you seen any of the videos that I was in?
“No.”
–Would you like to?
“I’m not sure… I don’t really know. But let’s go back a little—you said arrested? Why was Queen Bee arrested?”
–Flashbacks.
Balot stopped to think for a moment. About how she could best explain the gravity of this word.
–We’re talking about a girl who earned a thousand, two thousand a night. Very beautiful—in face and body. She could do anything and would let anyone do anything to her. She never sold herself short, but on those rare occasions when she did have to go cheap she did so cheerfully, without fuss. Even though most people are very worried, both before and after the deed. Do you understand? Yet this girl ended up killing one of her customers. With a concealed gun. Premeditated. After tying him up she shot him over thirty times, apparently. In a soundproof room, the sort you often get in specialist hotels. She kept on firing rounds into him long after he was dead.
“Why?”
–Flashbacks. That’s what she told them when she was in the holding cells, anyway. She didn’t say anything at the trial. I watched Queen Bee’s trial. With the rest of the girls. And after that we watched the trial of the M girl case I was talking about earlier. Neither trial went on for long. Nothing to them. Just men working for pride and money. Really pathetic. A lousy Show. That’s what all the girls were saying. I thought so too. No one found out why Queen Bee flipped out. The men just kept arguing with each other. Queen Bee was grinning and laughing all through her trial. Flashbacks. The men tried desperately to ask if something had happened when she was younger, but Queen Bee wouldn’t tell them anything. At the end the manager gave Queen Bee a kiss and said, “I’m really sorry.” Queen Bee replied, “That’s okay, love you.” And, “Goodbye.”
“First degree murder…so it was a life sentence for premeditated homicide, I suppose? The women were lovers, were they?”
–Queen Bee and the manager weren’t an item, if that’s what you mean. Not a lesbian couple. They loved each other like family. I sometimes yearn to see the girls from back then myself. As if they were family. In the end, everyone drifted out of town and ended up here in Mardock City. ’Cause this is the city where you can earn the most. But also the cruelest city. I don’t know what’s happened to the girls who escaped from the institute with me, but I’d like to see them again too.
“And you’ll be able to. You can see them as much as you want once this case is resolved.”
–But I bet if I did go and see them I’d only get jealous—or be envied myself. We’ll end up competing to see who is the most beloved. So it might be better that I don’t go and see them after all.
“Most beloved?”
–By a partner, a man, in a same-sex relationship, anything. Even by God or by fate. Whether we are loved, or not. The worst thing of all is to die without. But in the end, I think most of us will end up dying precisely because we aren’t loved.
Eventually the car pulled off the road that was taking them toward South Street and veered toward the city center. Toward the place—the vast space—where the multitude of different streets and townscapes came together.
Oeufcoque seemed to be thinking hard about Balot’s words.
–Hey, Oeufcoque.
“Uh-huh?”
–Do you think they’ll ask me about my father at the trial? About my flashbacks?
“Hard to tell. If the counsel for the defense comes across your background and decides that it’s to their advantage to destabilize you emotionally by asking you questions about him, then, yes, they probably will.”
