I took another deep swig. “How's your boyfriend?”
“Which one?”
“There's more than one?”
“Ian doesn't own me, officer.”
“And he's okay with that?”
A playful smile flickered across her face. “You want me to call and ask him?”
“No. I think you're well aware of the fact that I don't want him knowing I'm here.”
“He's very frustrated with you, you know. He doesn't like being suckered.”
“It serves him right.”
“For what?”
“For being an asshole.”
She grinned despite herself. “He can be a real asshole, can't he?”
“I don't understand why you stay with him.”
“He's a good man. Deep down he is.” She added the “deep down” part when she realized how ridiculous her first statement sounded.
“No, he's not,” I said. “He's a sadistic bastard.”
“That's not true.”
“Does he hurt you?”
“No. Never. He loves me. You don't know him like I do. Don't shake your head like that,” she said a tad miffed. “I know he has a good heart.”
“And how do you know that?”
“He used to be so sweet. He was always so gentle.”
“That was before he turned into a pit bull. You see the soft side of him anymore?”
“Sometimes,” she said shakily. I caught a flash of the real her again: an innocent, vulnerable little girl, confused about the ways of the world. And then it was gone. It had lasted for barely a second. She changed the subject. “How about you tell me about your enforcer days?”
“Actually, I'd prefer to learn a little more about you first.”
“Like what?” She dipped her finger in her brandy and put it in her mouth, pulling it out seductively slow. I was amazed at how fast she could shift her moods.
“Let's start with your name,” I said.
“My name's Liz.”
“Liz Lagarto?” I studied her reaction and found it impossible to read.
“You've seen my movies?”
I nodded.
“My name is Liz. ”
“But that's just a stage name.”
“It's my name.”
“Why won't you just tell me your real name?”
“Why won't you tell me about your enforcer days?”
“Because I'm ashamed,” I said with a sudden honesty that surprised me.
“Well, maybe I'm ashamed of my real name.”
“Fair enough,” I managed. “How about you tell me about your movies?”
“Which ones did you see?”
“Can't you just answer a question without asking another one?”
“Why? Does that bother you?”
She was trying to get under my skin, and that impish look on her face said she knew she was succeeding. I could feel my face flushing in frustration. “Cut the shit, Liz, and tell me about your movies.”
“Ah, now there's the Juno Mozambe I've been hearing so much about. Is that how you used to talk when you were trying to get a confession out of some perp?”
This was suddenly going all wrong.
She laughed and shimmied up to me. “I'm sorry I upset you, Juno, really I am. I just wanted to see the angry side of you, that's all. Please don't be cross.”
She was pressed up against me, her breasts pressed into my chest and her hair tickling my nose with a scent of jasmine. I was feeling hot, the kind of hot that makes you so uncomfortable that you want to step out of your skin. I stepped away from her, away from the window and out of Maggie's view.
“What was your favorite scene?” she asked as she vamped my way.
“I didn't have one,” I said as my mind flashed through a salacious slide show.
“I don't believe you. Tell me what your favorite scene was, and we can watch it together.”
“I have to go,” I stammered. “I shouldn't have come.”
“Please don't go,” she said as she laughed. “I'll tell you about the movies. Really. I'll be good. C'mon, Juno, I was just teasing you, okay? I'll be good. I promise.”
“Start talking.”
“At least sit down for a minute. Jesus, you look like you're about to blow.”
I took a seat on the sofa, and she sat across from me. I tried to get my scattering emotions under control, very wary of the fact that Maggie couldn't see me-I was swimming without a lifeline. “Talk. Start with Yuri Kiper.”
“Yuri's the director. I know he doesn't look like much, but he's a genius. A true artist.”
“He makes porn, ” I rebutted, making it clear with my tone of voice that porn and art didn't mix.
“He's an artist, Juno, probably the most talented filmmaker in the system.”
“Film? You call that smut film?”
“Think whatever you want,” she said curtly.
Now it was me who was getting under her skin. I resisted asking another question and stayed silent, knowing she wouldn't let it drop that easily.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” she said. “If Yuri was an offworlder, he'd be directing major pictures. He has to make do with second-rate, no, third-rate equipment, and he doesn't have a whole staff of people working for him. He does it all by himself. He's a magician. He can make anything look real.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lots of filmmakers can generate false footage with holos, but I can always tell the difference. Can't you?”
“I don't watch many movies.”
She gave me a what's-wrong-with-you look. “What they do is they film live actors in order to generate high-quality holos, and then they use the holos for the stunt work and the action sequences. But when they're filming close-ups and emotional scenes they still use live actors most of the time. Holos are great in a lot of ways-you can make them jump, or fight, or fly, but they're no good for the dramatic work. Some low-budget filmmakers use them for everything, but they come off stiff. It's hard to capture nuanced emotion with holos. They're always superhappy or supersad. They look real, but they don't act real. They're always a little off, just enough that they don't seem human.”
“Are you saying that all your movies were fakes?”
“Not the early ones we made. Yuri didn't have the money to buy computer time at the beginning. But once the movies started selling, he was able to start incorporating more holographic elements.”
“How many movies do you sell?”
“I don't keep track.”
“Who does?”
She didn't answer.
“Who funds the pictures?”
“Horst.”
“Why is a travel agent making porn?”
“It helps business.”
“How?”
She sipped her brandy. “Horst sells the vids offworld. He uses them as advertisements.”
“Most tour companies show pictures of the hotel, maybe a pool.”
She shrugged.
“Does Horst organize sex tours?”
She shrugged again and gave me a look that said next question.
“So tell me what was fake.”
“Did you see Liz Lagarto Gets Licked?”
“Was that the one where you were wearing the tiger skin?”
“That's the one. I still have that costume, you know. Maybe I'll model it for you.”
Again I was flushing, and again she was enjoying it. I took a sip of my brandy and wasn't surprised to see it was almost gone.
She pulled her legs up under her and reclined into the chair's cushions. “Do you remember the scene where the jungle girl has sex with the rich plantation owner?”
I said, “Yes,” even though I didn't remember it specifically. In my mind the movies had all mingled together into an all-out orgy of pumping skin.
“That entire scene was holographic. That was Yuri's first all-holo work. It was the kind of thing any hack could do-there's not much need for nuanced human emotion in pornography-but it was still an achievement for somebody with no formal training.”
“What else has he done?”
“He can't afford any serious computer time, so he mostly makes shorts. You know, little five-minute movies, but if you saw them, you'd swear they were real. He did one with a married couple in a restaurant, and it starts with the woman asking for a divorce. You can see the emotions running through her husband: surprise, anger, sadness