The Rise of Rachel Price T-Girl Pt. 30

After the failure in Boston, they returned to California and the Asylum. The long-hoped-for return to normality didn't accompany it as much as Rachel felt she deserved. It was wonderful being back, seeing people, and sleeping in her own bed. The only thing that had changed was everyone talking about a new singer called Emily Stonefield. Rachel felt cheated, as she knew half of the Stonefield tracks from the clubs in Ibiza.

Rachel still felt tightly corseted by Levant's suspicions. She felt watched, and outside the Asylum, she couldn't move without the flock of private detectives following her. Then she realized she had been Rachel every second of every hour of every day for months now.

She had started wearing the prosthetic pants in bed, even when Levant wasn't around. Charlie and Peter were beyond reach, and her only real sex partner was the English Dildo. It was slightly wider and much more powerful than the French dildo. It was like being fucked by a jackhammer with a mind of its own. It could grind into her and make her cum quite hard. She called it Fedex as it always delivered, there was always a dribble of cum coming out of her cyber-clit at the end. Rachel worried in case Levant got jealous of a lump of black British plastic. The word "erection" was now an idea lost in myth and fragmentary legend. If she was honest, she didn't miss it.

Now back home, Rachel was free to surf the web but had the feeling that, behind the occasional glitches, she was still under surveillance. She avoided the news and opened up tabs for things she thought might make Levant feel she was being a good girl. So, she still had no idea what Hunter was up to.

Among the sites she visited, the most significant was a website linked to the movie industry, which specialized in creating nearly invisible prosthetics. They employed the same techniques used in special effects makeup to achieve natural-looking skin and seamless transitions. The same skills that transformed Karen Gillan into the bald Nebula could potentially transform Denver into Rachel. The result was almost disturbingly real, as the skin perfectly matched, and the edges were as difficult to see as the lost end of a sticking tape on a roll. The body cast was uncomfortable, and the only challenge was the need for body glue, which meant it took an hour for Rachel and Mimi to put it on. The pants were breathable and could withstand a shower, allowing her to wear them for two or three days at a time. Rachel had grown accustomed to using a catheter for urination, so the only problem was the lack of a separate rear passage for Levant's enjoyment. This meant that the original desert "gaff" still had its uses.

The "second skin," as Rachel sometimes called the movie prosthesis, was very realistic and photogenic. Rachel found that she could make some explicit shots of herself in bed, bordering on the pornographic. Sometimes Rachel would simply open her legs and capture Douglas's ultimate reaction shot. Along with a fake orgasm that would put "When Harry Met Sally" to shame, these tactics kept Rachel in Douglas's good books.

They had even enjoyed a congenial time going to the shipyard to witness the relaunch of his super yacht after the engine refit. Poseidon's Playground was once again capable of world travel, and Lucy had already booked an expensive berth in Monaco, France, which coincided with the height of the Grand Prix next summer. The prospect of motor racing and the casinos in the south of France sounded like a lot of fun for the upcoming year. Meanwhile, the yacht would undergo sea trials and was anchored offshore to one of the defunct wind turbine pillars within sight of the Asylum.

It was nice being back at the Asylum. Mimi, in Rachel's absence had effectively become house keeper and most of the staff referred to her as Mrs Mimi or Madam Mimi if they were feeling very bitchy. The only minor irritation was the stories of wild gay sex orgies regularly being held in the staff wing. Rachel, no longer feeling she had the moral high ground over them, told Mimi that they were to be discreet given Levant's political ambitions and that they could only go ahead if she had been invited.

After that, Rachel was absorbed by Devlin, Lucy, and stylist Kim into running a number of pre-campaign dinners at the Aslym. Spurred by Lucy's shame over her perceived lack of usefulness, Rachel spent too much of her time organizing them. Levant pulled some of his best chefs from his hotels to come and cook, but this meant spending more time going through menu after menu. Rachel felt that, through sheer force of reading menus, she was gaining a basic grasp of French and Italian. To create a fake sense of intimacy for the right people, Rachel also had to pretend to cook for guests sometimes on the large kitchen island in the main hall of the Asylum. For important guests, Rachel had to look her best, which meant more lavish dresses, giving her a good excuse to visit Samantha in her shop. While the dinner parties and barbecues were primarily political events, Rachel was able to invite some people, like Katie, whom she sat next to a wealthy fintech investor named Jake. It was a weekend event, and Mimi mentioned that Jake's bed had not been slept in, but Katie's definitely needed clean sheets.

While Rachel kept careful secret notes on who attended, she managed to convince herself that Americans couldn't fall for Volk & Mel's manipulations. Most people dismissed Levant's chances, and Rachel convinced herself that it was impossible for Volk & Mel's machines to elect a candidate with absolutely no prior knowledge of politics. There had to be some limits to the machine, it couldn't powerful enough to vote an three-legged ermine into office. Perhaps Hunter had realized that, while unethical, it wasn't strictly illegal. Or if it was illegal, it was only illegal after the event. Like no one could be arrested for thinking about robbing a bank. She convinced herself that Hunter's absence meant he was deliberately keeping out of sight to protect her. Secretly she worried that he had taken what she told him seriously. She was very busy seeing friends, and it was easy for her not to worry, especially given her mother's positive response to treatment.

Announcement day came, and Levant naturally wanted to use the Thornbury as the stage for his announcement.

Rachel had spent the last two days being coached on how to respond to most questions. She was dismissive of most of Levant's politics. He came from money and had money, and he didn't know what it was like to have nothing. He was being sponsored by some extreme backers, so he now spoused things he didn't agree with himself. Devlin said there was a line to follow--a line she had to follow too. The line was further right than the Republicans; he was running as an independent. Charlie had described it as wanting a theocracy, similar to Iran, where religion held a higher position than the government. Samantha said his message was worrying, but in truth, his chances of beating the Republicans or the Democrats were zero. Many fringe candidates attempted to get elected as governor in California. He was nowhere in the polls. The Sam-Spade in the newspaper, some mean-spirited blogs and YouTube videos claimed Levant was running to prevent the Feds from investigating his tax problems. Apparently, to maintain political neutrality, the Feds held off on pursuing matters like tax fraud for candidates, creating a temporary shield of immunity for him. Charlie said it was, in fact, an elaborate way of promoting Levant's brand and raising the profile of the hotel chain. They had already seen a 1% increase in bookings, she proudly announced.

Today Rachel and Levant held hands as they descended in the elevator to an Emily Stonefield song called Freedom they didn't have clearance to play. People clapped as they slowly descended. The elevator reached its destination, and Rachel stepped out just behind Levant, who was waving. Her mind was filled with all the stock answers. She didn't agree with any of them, but she knew that if she spoiled the opening, Levant knew where her family lived. It wouldn't take much to ruin things for her. The hardest part was that some of the answers she had to memorize were contradictory.

Given the crowds, Rachel looked around, worried about Zeitgeist. She could believe that the French or Italians could be manipulated by a machine, but she somehow felt that Americans were too independent to fall for it. In America, democracy was a religion, not a hobby. She didn't think people would be taken in. Even if they did, Hunter would expose it. After conducting some research and having another conversation with Mel, she had figured out that this might be technically legal. People would still vote as they normally would, thinking they had free will. In that sense, it wasn't any different from advertising. However, this advertising was more 100% effective.

Levant's launch attracted a huge crowd of people. The upper-level balconies were mostly filled with Thornbury staff who had been bussed in from the state. Devlin was working on parts of Levant's speech until ten minutes before they left for the elevator. The staff dressed up in their normal attire, held pre-printed signs, and appeared to be supporters. Rachel was learning the blurred line between politics and theater.

There was tape on the ground indicating where she should stand. Rachel's job was to look supportive. Her makeup and appearance had been carefully reviewed. So she tried to maintain a "supportive" expression while Levant delivered a short speech.

"No one loves this state more than I do." He began, "That's why I am here today, announcing my candidacy for the Governor of the great state of California in the next election," Levant concluded, receiving a tremendous round of applause from the crowd.

The press eagerly absorbed everything he had to say. So it was a huge disappointment when, despite all her preparation, the only question Rachel received was, "Miss Price, how do you feel about your husband running for Governor? Do you think he could become President someday?"

Rachel responded with the stock answer, "I believe he can achieve anything he sets his mind to." And that was disappointingly all there was to it. She didn't even get to say she wasn't even his betrothed.

After the press had taken their shots, Levant went off to do some interviews. This left Rachel with Samantha and Charlie. Charlie departed to handle the waiting press and oversee the general management of Thornbury.

"Thanks for showing up," Rachel said to Samantha.

"Thanks for wearing my collection on the campaign trail," Samantha replied, straightening Rachel's new outfit. This visit was a significant favor as Samantha had recently opened two additional shops, one of them in LA. Her business was expanding.

"Miss Price?" a young man approached Rachel. He appeared to be in his twenties, dressed fairly formally in what seemed to be his best and only suit.

"Yes?" Rachel responded, looking around for the director of communications or Devlin.

"Can I ask you a question?" the man asked.

"Not without a publicist present," Rachel replied, following the playbook. "Unless, of course, you're asking for the time. In that case, I'll need two publicists present--one to tell you the time and the other to keep an eye on the first dangerous intellectual."

Samantha let out a slight snigger.

"It's okay. I'm from a publisher. We noticed that you share some lines of your poetry on Twitter," the man said, smiling.

"Not all words are created equal," Rachel remarked, referring to her current "series."

Rachel maintained the pretense of being a poet on Twitter. It was listed in her profile, and she carried notebooks mostly filled with her attempts at rap lyrics. She had even started scanning some poetry books, amusing herself by creating pretentious-sounding verses that clearly weren't genuine poetry. It was Charlie's and Samantha's bad influence. A year ago, she hadn't heard of the word "pretentious," let alone its meaning.

"That's it," the man said. "Look, we believe there is a significant market for a book of your work. I mean, taking bits from Twitter and curating them into a book."

Rachel didn't know what to say. She didn't think any of her poems were any good. Sometimes she would go out with Samantha to a poetry slam or something when Levant was away. It would inspire her to put lines together and they would both laugh about it. Sharing them on Twitter was fun, and she found the likes to be thrilling. Her words would often get retweeted a fair amount. She only pursued poetry to maintain her cover, but she liked that someone saw something in it. Rachel felt she was merely playing with words like a child playing with legos--finding great pleasure in it but lacking solemn gravitas. She found it amusing that no one had recognized her poetry was fake. How could no one clock she wasn't the prodigy they thought she was?

"Like, 'And you loved me...'" Rachel began.

The man interrupted, saying, " 'like I was the answer and not the question.' Yes, that."

Rachel was impressed that he remembered it. To be honest, she was even more impressed that he had read it.

"A book," Rachel said.

"Yes, a book. From your tweets. Unless you have any other unpublished words that you might want to share," the man replied. He produced a business card and handed it over. "I should have introduced myself. I'm Yan Crammer from Chronicle Books."

Rachel took the card, feeling its firm and reliable texture, much like Yan's fingers. It carried a faint scent of a remote pine forest.

"Okay, I think I can accept a card without permission in triplicate," Rachel said. "I'll have someone get back to you."

Within a week, Rachel had her own book contract.

************************************************

A Fitting Encounter.

Rachel found herself ascending the spiral staircase, her anticipation growing with each step, as she made her way to Samantha's enchanting workshop nestled within her Re store. The air was infused with the faint scent of fabric and creativity, creating an ambiance of artistic inspiration.

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, Rachel stepped into a world of vibrant colors, bustling mannequins, and shelves adorned with bolts of luxurious fabrics. The walls were adorned with sketches, mood boards, and swatches, reflecting Samantha's creative process and eclectic influences. The soft glow of natural light spilled through large windows, illuminating the room and casting a warm glow on the meticulously organized workstations.

Samantha's workshop was a symphony of creativity and craftsmanship, with sewing machines humming and scissors delicately slicing through rich textiles. The sound of clicking heels echoed on the polished wooden floor as assistants hurriedly carried garments in various stages of completion. Patterns, pins, and measuring tapes were scattered across the tables, testifying to the meticulous attention to detail that went into every piece.

The atmosphere was filled with an electric energy, a blend of focused concentration and boundless imagination. It was here that Samantha's visions came to life, her designs taking shape and evolving into exquisite garments that would grace the runways and captivate fashion enthusiasts around the world.

Rachel stood in awe, marveling at the creative oasis before her. She could sense the passion and dedication that filled the space, and it only deepened her appreciation for Samantha's artistry. It was in this workshop, amidst the tapestries of fabric and the symphony of creation, that Samantha's unique style and vision truly flourished, leaving an indelible mark on the world of fashion.

A thin, spectacled assistant with a lithe body came up. "Grace, make sure Miss Price and I are not disturbed. Understood?" Samantha said.

"Sam, Saks Fifth Avenue called again," Grace began, looking up from a notepad. "They want another order of the Announcement Dresses for Friday. What should I tell them?"

"Tell them the official response is, 'Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.' Literally and flatly say 'Ha,'" Samantha replied. "Then, check if any of the seamstresses are available or if they know someone. If that fails, warm up a machine yourself. Okay, no interruptions. That includes fire, acts of God, or even a very cute cat on YouTube."

They left Grace behind and ascended again.

"Listen to me, I'm even starting to sound like you," Samantha said, pulling herself up on the railing of the iron spiral staircase.

"Grace is cute," Rachel said.

"Is she?" Samantha wondered, unlocking her door. "That's the problem when you start hiring straight people. I've met her boyfriend, yuck." Samantha added, opening her mouth and gesturing as if she were about to vomit." that's also the problem being the boss, I'm not allowed to harass people anymore." She went up the stairs again to what had been her flat but had been remodeled as Samantha's escape space slash design studio. They entered, and Samantha locked the door to ensure everyone got the message.

They proceeded to Samantha's fitting room on the third floor of her store. The room had large windows that allowed light to pour in from two sides. It was surrounded by all the paraphernalia of a fashionista: a desk covered in drawings and a small chorus of mannequins in the corner, each in different states of undress. Samantha had received commissions from several patrons, including one for a wedding dress in the style of a corset designed for someone with a wonderful figure, possibly a Kardashian.

"Nice dress," Rachel commented as she glanced at it.

"Special job for a big client. Don't ask me who the client is, or I'll have to kill you," Samantha replied.

All the mannequins had been pushed into a corner, resembling a small motionless audience of onlookers. Beside them were a couple of full-length mirrors. On the floor, sheets of template paper lay discarded from the busy designing process. To one side was a bare brick wall, adorned with a crazy collection of pinned-up dress designs. To its left was a large purple sofa, in front of which sat a table with some day-old Chinese takeout on it.

Rachel had to persuade Levant with her hands pretty regularly before he relented and allowed her to go out alone. This was the first time she found herself in a space without a bodyguard like James listening.

"Try the dress on. Lucy emailed me and said I was also supposed to design an inauguration outfit for you. What are the chances of that coming off?" Samantha said, her back turned to Rachel as she pulled a light curtain across to block the morning light from burning through the window.

"Slim to nothing if you look at the polls," Rachel replied casually as she undressed. "Most people think it's a weird publicity grab. They wouldn't be wrong."

Rachel had deliberately left her phone downstairs, and now with her clothes off, it was unlikely that anyone had a way of actually hearing what they were talking about. Samantha was rather protective of her designs, claiming it was a fashion thing, so eavesdroppers wouldn't have been able to infiltrate and leave a bug. It was a relief to finally be in a place so private that Rachel could freely speak her mind.

Samantha turned around and let out a loud "What the fuck?" as she looked at Rachel's hips. Rachel was now completely naked except for her bra. Samantha's gaze shifted to Rachel's crotch.

"The look on your face right now, priceless," Rachel said, laughing as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Samantha moved closer, her curiosity piqued. "That's not for real, is it? For a second, I thought you had your trip to the Unicorn."

Samantha moved even closer, and she managed to notice some changes in skin texture.