Page 87 of Melinda's Choice

She makes a snorting sound. “Enough.”

I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, so I answer her original question. “Yes, that’s Melinda, my wife. Technically, my ex-wife, but I’m hoping to change that.”

She checks out Mel in the photo again. “She is good looking. Nice small boobies, just the way I like.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. It is good when I can hold a booby inside my hand and squeeze. Not like these.”

She cups her substantial breasts to make her point. My eyes goggle, unable to look away from the movement of her hands on her chest. She sees my stupefied expression and smiles. “I like females. Males too, occasionally, when I need some cock. But let us talk business.” With that, she walks smartly ahead toward the open door of my study. “In here?”

“Yes,” I manage to say.

She finds a seat and settles herself on it, stretching her legs out and taking a long, satisfied gulp of her drink. She puts it down on the coffee table and says, “So, first I hear you are needing transport to Krovatia. Now, the story has changed, and you want transport for a large group of people? Explain.”

“I have a business proposition.”

“Yes?”

“I have set up the Interstellar Arts Company. We shall be performing shows on Krovatia, Ven, Driskia and any planet that will have us, showcasing the richness and variety of the arts on Earth. There will be dance, drama productions, musical concerts, art exhibits—all showcasing our diverse cultures and heritage. My plan is to put together different programs of entertainment throughout the year. We will travel and perform them for up to two months then return to Earth and organize the next program. I don’t want to cut myself off from my ties with family and friends here, so a business like this will enable me to both see Melinda and return home regularly.”

“And where is the profit in that for me?”

“I am willing to pay a reasonable fee for our transport and we can negotiate a share of the profits from the shows we put on.”

“You think other species will be interested in seeing your art?”

“Yes, I do. If someone on your planet told you there was a dance show called a ballet, featuring beautiful, graceful and acrobatic performers from Earth, would you buy a ticket to see it?”

“It would depend on the price.”

“Naturally. It would need to be affordable, but also high enough to cover our costs and profits.”

“You would need permission to perform on different planets.”

“I already have a permit from Krantor himself to perform my shows on Ven, and I am expecting a response any day from Krovatia to the application which Pravol submitted on my behalf. Both he and Martha Reynolds have vouched for me with the Krovatian authorities.”

She sits forward, elbows on her knees. “And you wish my ship to act as your transport, shuttling you from planet to planet then back to Earth?”

“Yes.”

“Wyatt, I make my money from the shipment of cargo, not the transportation of Humans.”

I eye her coolly. “Rivlor, you can do both.”

She sits back, giving a disgusted snort. “Ha!”

“I am willing to bet the humans you transport do not take up all the space on your ship, and you may still be able to fit a substantial amount of cargo. While we stay on a planet for two or three weeks for our performances, you are free to make some cargo runs of your own. It is simply a matter of working around our schedule and making some adjustments.”

“And why would I make adjustments to my existing cargo runs which are already profitable enough?”

“Because this will be equally, if not more profitable, and crucially, it will be something that has never been done before. Think of how new and exciting it will be.”

She laughs, a cackling sound in the back of her throat. “Of course, I will make great changes to my long established business all so that I can have more excitement in my life!”

Abruptly, she stops laughing and narrows her eyes. “Wyatt, there is one and only one reason why I run my cargo business. It is to make profit so I can sell up and retire within the next decade. I have plans to buy a stretch of land along the beach on the western shores of Lirisor, and spend the rest of my days eating good fresh food, swimming in the crystal clear waters, fucking beautiful young females—of which there are plenty on that island—and reading many stories; perhaps also writing some. Then, I will be at leisure to experience all the excitement I want in my life.”

I stare at her. “That sounds like paradise to me.”

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