Partner Games
Page 41
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“That’s it?” I gaped at him. “That’s unfair! Four hours and they’re still going to be ahead of us because we can’t get anywhere without money.”
He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, ladies.” He put away his phone and shouldered his camera again.
“What about those Red Hat ladies? They were in on it.”
“I was told only a penalty for the green team,” he said, and hit the record button again, then gestured. “You’re back on.”
I looked at my twin, frustrated. “We’re screwed without any money.”
“I’m not willing to give up,” Georgie said, glancing around the busy airport. We were still near the taxi stand, but our driver was long gone. “There has to be something we can do.”
“Well, we need money.”
“Yes, but how much?”
I drummed my fingers on my lips, thinking. We’d need enough to pay a taxi to take us out to the hammam – whatever it was – and then we’d need additional money for food and drink. We were low on both, and our packs probably only had one power bar between the two of them. Also? It was hot as hell in Marrakech and we were wearing long sleeves and long pants. We were going to need water.
As I thought, a man slowed his steps, walking past us. I frowned to myself, watching him. I’d seen him pass by twice now. What was the deal? “I think that guy is staring at us,” I told Georgie.
She glanced over and didn’t seem concerned. “We’re two Americans standing in front of a camera. Of course he’s going to wonder what’s going on.”
A moment later, the man approached. He held out his cellphone. “Georgie Price?” he asked in accented English. “It is you, yes?”
Ah. A fan. The idea wheel began to turn in my mind as Georgie greeted the man, signed an autograph, and listened to him fawn over her with a patient smile on her face. She let him take a selfie with her, sucking in her cheeks and giving her best ‘model’ bitchface. As he shook her hand, an idea crept inside my head and wouldn’t go away.
We could totally make money. Georgie was just money waiting to happen.
The man thanked my twin profusely and the moment he left, I grabbed her hand. “Are you on any recent magazines?”
Her brow wrinkled a little. “I…I don’t know. I think there was a Vogue shoot from a few months ago–”
“Come on,” I said, and dragged her back into the airport.
~~ * * * ~~
An hour and a half later, the gift shop had sold out of every copy of the French version of Vogue, which featured a six-month-old picture of Georgie on the cover. We’d appealed first to the gift shop owner, who was ecstatic to meet Georgie, and insisted on having a signed copy for himself, along with several pictures taken.
I was in charge of the panhandling. I tugged on people’s arms and entreated them to come into the gift shop, where famous model Georgie Price was signing autographs for the next half hour only! I disguised it as a meet and greet, and people were allowed to take their photo with Georgie for a five dollar donation. The cameraman rolling film just helped add to the authenticity of our staged meeting, and by the time I decided we had enough money, we had a mob of men waiting to meet Georgie.
We couldn’t spend all day here, though. We were in a race. So I dragged my twin out of the gift shop as she blew kisses at her adoring fans and made apologies, and then we raced back to the taxi stand, got into the nearest cab, and were off to the hammam.
“That was so much fun,” Georgie said breathlessly, wiping sweat from her brow and then taking a sip out of a cold water bottle that we’d been given by our new friend at the shop. “I like meeting people.”
“I’m glad one of us does,” I told her as I counted out money. “A hundred and thirty American dollars,” I told her. “And some guy slipped us a weird bill, whatever that is.” I squinted at the foreign money and then shrugged. “I think we’re good for now.”
“Maybe we should have stayed longer?” Georgie asked, concerned. “Gotten a bit more money?”
I shook my head and peered out the window. “It’s a race and we’re already almost two hours behind the others. It doesn’t matter how much we have if we come in last place. Or second to last,” I added after a moment, thinking of this leg’s twist. “Two teams are going to be eliminated, remember?”
“The green team now has a four hour penalty,” Georgie mused. “They must have banked on us falling so far behind that we wouldn’t be able to catch up. Fuckers.”
“I just don’t get why they’re being such dicks to us for working with Team One Percent? The Doctor Moms and the Red Hat ladies work together, too, and you don’t see anyone going after them.”
“Eh.” Georgie studied our clue again. “They’re jealous. Not only is Team One Percent in the lead, but they’re also getting laid. Drew’s still mad that I won’t suck his dick.”
I stared at my twin, aghast. “What? He asked you to suck his dick?” My voice rose a shrill octave, and the cab driver stared at us with a frown.
Georgie waved a hand at me, trying to shush me. She looked at the camera and then back at me, and spoke. “Yeah, he hit on me at one of the pit stops. Everyone thinks because you’re pretty and you’re famous, you’re automatically a whore.” Her mouth thinned, and I knew she was thinking about her past with modeling, where her agent had treated her just like that. “I told him no,” she added after a moment. Then she looked at the camera again and wiggled her pinky at it. “He’s got a tiny nubbin, world. Don’t waste your time on him. I know I didn’t.”
I snorted. I doubted she’d even seen his dick if she was joking about it, but I didn’t mind her casting a few insults in his direction. They were jerks and they deserved whatever they got. “Maybe we can catch up at this hammam thing.”
“I don’t even know what a hammam is,” Georgie said. She leaned forward and got the cab driver’s attention. “Excuse me, sir? Do you know what a hammam is?”
He spoke in Arabic, and then switched to French, and Georgie nodded. “It’s a bath, Clemmy! Hot dog, we’re getting massages! Maybe something this day is finally going to go our way.”
~~ * * * ~~
When we arrived at the Hammam de la Rose, we had to step inside to get the clue. A woman waited there for us, a white fluffy towel wrapped around her head and wearing a floor length, equally fluffy bathrobe. She held out the disk for us and smiled, and her hands were covered in mehndi designs. The place smelled like steam and perfume and Georgie gave a happy little squeal. “This is so awesome!”
I pulled out my broken glasses and used one lens like a monocle, reading the clue. “Racers must now experience a traditional Moroccan hammam treatment. Female racers will be given the full hammam experience and then will have the henna design of their choice painted on their bodies. Male racers will also experience the full hammam treatment, and must undergo a shave and haircut. Once you have completed your tasks, your attendant will give you your next clue.”
Georgie bounced, excited. “We’re gonna get massaaaaages,” she singsonged. “Moroccan massaaaaaages.”
He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, ladies.” He put away his phone and shouldered his camera again.
“What about those Red Hat ladies? They were in on it.”
“I was told only a penalty for the green team,” he said, and hit the record button again, then gestured. “You’re back on.”
I looked at my twin, frustrated. “We’re screwed without any money.”
“I’m not willing to give up,” Georgie said, glancing around the busy airport. We were still near the taxi stand, but our driver was long gone. “There has to be something we can do.”
“Well, we need money.”
“Yes, but how much?”
I drummed my fingers on my lips, thinking. We’d need enough to pay a taxi to take us out to the hammam – whatever it was – and then we’d need additional money for food and drink. We were low on both, and our packs probably only had one power bar between the two of them. Also? It was hot as hell in Marrakech and we were wearing long sleeves and long pants. We were going to need water.
As I thought, a man slowed his steps, walking past us. I frowned to myself, watching him. I’d seen him pass by twice now. What was the deal? “I think that guy is staring at us,” I told Georgie.
She glanced over and didn’t seem concerned. “We’re two Americans standing in front of a camera. Of course he’s going to wonder what’s going on.”
A moment later, the man approached. He held out his cellphone. “Georgie Price?” he asked in accented English. “It is you, yes?”
Ah. A fan. The idea wheel began to turn in my mind as Georgie greeted the man, signed an autograph, and listened to him fawn over her with a patient smile on her face. She let him take a selfie with her, sucking in her cheeks and giving her best ‘model’ bitchface. As he shook her hand, an idea crept inside my head and wouldn’t go away.
We could totally make money. Georgie was just money waiting to happen.
The man thanked my twin profusely and the moment he left, I grabbed her hand. “Are you on any recent magazines?”
Her brow wrinkled a little. “I…I don’t know. I think there was a Vogue shoot from a few months ago–”
“Come on,” I said, and dragged her back into the airport.
~~ * * * ~~
An hour and a half later, the gift shop had sold out of every copy of the French version of Vogue, which featured a six-month-old picture of Georgie on the cover. We’d appealed first to the gift shop owner, who was ecstatic to meet Georgie, and insisted on having a signed copy for himself, along with several pictures taken.
I was in charge of the panhandling. I tugged on people’s arms and entreated them to come into the gift shop, where famous model Georgie Price was signing autographs for the next half hour only! I disguised it as a meet and greet, and people were allowed to take their photo with Georgie for a five dollar donation. The cameraman rolling film just helped add to the authenticity of our staged meeting, and by the time I decided we had enough money, we had a mob of men waiting to meet Georgie.
We couldn’t spend all day here, though. We were in a race. So I dragged my twin out of the gift shop as she blew kisses at her adoring fans and made apologies, and then we raced back to the taxi stand, got into the nearest cab, and were off to the hammam.
“That was so much fun,” Georgie said breathlessly, wiping sweat from her brow and then taking a sip out of a cold water bottle that we’d been given by our new friend at the shop. “I like meeting people.”
“I’m glad one of us does,” I told her as I counted out money. “A hundred and thirty American dollars,” I told her. “And some guy slipped us a weird bill, whatever that is.” I squinted at the foreign money and then shrugged. “I think we’re good for now.”
“Maybe we should have stayed longer?” Georgie asked, concerned. “Gotten a bit more money?”
I shook my head and peered out the window. “It’s a race and we’re already almost two hours behind the others. It doesn’t matter how much we have if we come in last place. Or second to last,” I added after a moment, thinking of this leg’s twist. “Two teams are going to be eliminated, remember?”
“The green team now has a four hour penalty,” Georgie mused. “They must have banked on us falling so far behind that we wouldn’t be able to catch up. Fuckers.”
“I just don’t get why they’re being such dicks to us for working with Team One Percent? The Doctor Moms and the Red Hat ladies work together, too, and you don’t see anyone going after them.”
“Eh.” Georgie studied our clue again. “They’re jealous. Not only is Team One Percent in the lead, but they’re also getting laid. Drew’s still mad that I won’t suck his dick.”
I stared at my twin, aghast. “What? He asked you to suck his dick?” My voice rose a shrill octave, and the cab driver stared at us with a frown.
Georgie waved a hand at me, trying to shush me. She looked at the camera and then back at me, and spoke. “Yeah, he hit on me at one of the pit stops. Everyone thinks because you’re pretty and you’re famous, you’re automatically a whore.” Her mouth thinned, and I knew she was thinking about her past with modeling, where her agent had treated her just like that. “I told him no,” she added after a moment. Then she looked at the camera again and wiggled her pinky at it. “He’s got a tiny nubbin, world. Don’t waste your time on him. I know I didn’t.”
I snorted. I doubted she’d even seen his dick if she was joking about it, but I didn’t mind her casting a few insults in his direction. They were jerks and they deserved whatever they got. “Maybe we can catch up at this hammam thing.”
“I don’t even know what a hammam is,” Georgie said. She leaned forward and got the cab driver’s attention. “Excuse me, sir? Do you know what a hammam is?”
He spoke in Arabic, and then switched to French, and Georgie nodded. “It’s a bath, Clemmy! Hot dog, we’re getting massages! Maybe something this day is finally going to go our way.”
~~ * * * ~~
When we arrived at the Hammam de la Rose, we had to step inside to get the clue. A woman waited there for us, a white fluffy towel wrapped around her head and wearing a floor length, equally fluffy bathrobe. She held out the disk for us and smiled, and her hands were covered in mehndi designs. The place smelled like steam and perfume and Georgie gave a happy little squeal. “This is so awesome!”
I pulled out my broken glasses and used one lens like a monocle, reading the clue. “Racers must now experience a traditional Moroccan hammam treatment. Female racers will be given the full hammam experience and then will have the henna design of their choice painted on their bodies. Male racers will also experience the full hammam treatment, and must undergo a shave and haircut. Once you have completed your tasks, your attendant will give you your next clue.”
Georgie bounced, excited. “We’re gonna get massaaaaages,” she singsonged. “Moroccan massaaaaaages.”
