8

8

AN HOUR LATER, Mary Sue and I are in a town car being escorted to headquarters. We are both so exhausted even Mary Sue takes the ride in silence—which is not a natural state of being for her.

I get a strange sense of déjà vu as—for the second time in twenty-four hours—we make our way through the porn warehouse to the secret entrance to the subterranean corridors, and back to the domain of the F.U.C.K.’s.

“See ya in a few, girlfriend!” Mary Sue chirps cheekily, the first words she’s uttered all morning, as we separate into our respective make-over rooms.

I groan audibly when I see that, unlike yesterday, my team of F.U.C.K.’s are all men. I guess they decided to even it out and let Mary Sue have a turn with . . . what was her name? Jenny? Gemma? Geranium? Meh, whatever. Not like it matters.

“Please take it easy on the boobs this time, guys,” I sigh resignedly, and with little hope of being listened to.

Sure enough, all I get in response is a smirk from the le