Spiked Roses: The Complete Top Shelf Series

by Alta Hensley

  “Sorry,” she said on exhale. “It took me longer than I thought to get everything packed up and cleaned. I didn’t want to leave Marie St. Claire with a mess. It was important to me that she could rent my room without requiring effort on her part.” She glanced at her phone and smiled. “But I made it.”

  I wasn’t amused.

  Not in the slightest.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I was so used to the dolls always being immaculately put together, or if it was my militant father and my upbringing as a general’s son, but the woman standing in front of me worked my last nerve. She was wild, unstable, scattered, and just plain sloppy. Her jeans weren’t pressed, and in my opinion, were too large on her. The white tank top she wore revealed a hot pink bra underneath. I could see the faint pink tone beneath the ribbed fabric of her shirt. Plus, the bra straps were hanging on the edges of her shoulders, and from what I could see from the ragged edges, the bra had seen better days. This woman before me was about as far from one of my dolls in appearance as one could be.

  “First rule with me,” I began as I stood and adjusted my suit jacket, “if you are not ten minutes early, then I consider you late.”

  Her green eyes widened. “You said eight. I got here right on time.”

  “Second rule. Listen, pause, and then react. You didn’t listen to me and pause, but instead you simply reacted.” I took the napkin my glass was on and wiped down the small table I sat at. “I said that if you are not ten minutes early, you are late. Therefore, eight was late.” I pulled out my wallet and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table as a tip for my drink. “Had you been here one minute later, I would have left without you, and you would have just cost yourself two jobs in two days.” I glanced down at her feet and noticed she didn’t have any bags or luggage. “Where are your belongings?”

  “I didn’t want to bring them through the club. So, I left them in the staff room.” Her voice cracked. I could see that I made her nervous.

  Good. Very good. This was a crucial step in the forming of a doll. I needed to break the Ivy Adams who once was, and create the new Ivy Adams… the doll.

  I extended the crook of my arm as a gentleman would and waited until Ivy looped her thin arm through it. Her skin was pale. Maybe too pale. Though the coloring of her flesh could be perfect for a porcelain exhibit. With a bright red lipstick and cherry red-circled cheeks, and maybe a yellow dress—no—a perfectly starched white dress with lace lining and an extra large petticoat underneath. Maybe bloomers…

  “Mr. Drayton?” Ivy asked, snapping me out of my thoughts on how I could transform her into the perfect doll. “The staff room”—she pointed toward the right—“my stuff is in there.” I had been so lost in thought that I was leading us arm in arm straight toward the exit.

  “I’ll go get my driver to help you with your things.”

  She shook her head. “No need. I only have two large bags. I didn’t really have a lot. Since I wore a uniform for work, I didn’t really need a lot of clothing.” She released her hold of my arm. “I got it. I’ll be right back.”

  Before I could say another word, she scurried off to the back room. I watched after her as she walked away. Her hips swayed when she walked, her arms swung too much, and her posture would need a large degree of focused attention to correct. Her long brown hair hung down her back, and even from a distance, I could see that it was in need of a good trim. Spit ends were never acceptable for a Drayton Doll. Luckily, she walked fast because she returned with two large duffle bags, one over each of her shoulders before I had a chance to grow impatient. And since patience was definitely not one of my virtues, that really was saying something.

  I took both bags from her and wondered how old they were. They reminded me of bags used by wrinkly old men with saggy balls in the gym I had attended in the late 90s.

  “You won’t be needing any of your clothes once we arrive at The Dollhouse. We provide all of your clothing while living there. But we’ll keep these in storage for when you are allowed to leave the grounds.”

  “Can I ask what type of clothes I’ll be expected to wear?” she asked as we walked out the door.

  “We start doll training right away. I believe that you have to live and breathe your art. Total immersion. The only way to get you, and the rest of the women, the tools to truly pull off that you are a human doll is by making you become one all the time.”

  “So, we wear doll dresses every day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And those large eyelashes?”

  “Yes.”

  I motioned for the driver, who got out of the town car to greet us, to go ahead and get back inside as we exited Spiked Roses. Opening the door for Ivy myself, I allowed her to crawl in and position herself comfortably before I closed the door behind her. I then opened the front door, made eye contact with the driver, and tossed her duffle bags onto the front seat.

  Climbing in next to her on the other side of the car, I said, “Seatbelt.”

  She seemed surprised by my command, but I didn’t care.

  As the car started, and we began our two-hour journey to The Dollhouse, I said, “Our next show is in Milan. You’ve come at a good time as we have just started the choreography. You should be able to pick up what’s needed for that show fairly easily. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to cast you. As for the Japan show, I’m not sure yet. That one will require an extensive level of dance experience and training. But we’ll see.”

  “I don’t really know how to dance,” she said timidly.

  “You’ll learn.” I looked directly at her. “I don’t accept excuses. It’s best you understand that now.”

  “Can I ask a question that might upset you?”

  I kept my stare focused on her eyes that kept averting toward the floor. “Go ahead.”

  “There are a bunch of rumors about The Dollhouse and what’s expected of the dolls.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Are they true?” She looked up and her green eyes locked with mine as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

  “I’m sure most are. But with all rumors, some may be exaggerated.”

  “So the rumor about the anal dildos… Is that rumor exaggerated?”

  I smirked. I couldn’t help but find Ivy’s honesty refreshing. She didn’t care what I thought about her or was trying to impress me by being someone she wasn’t. I was always pretty good at reading people, though some were harder than others. Ivy, on the other hand, seemed very simple. You got what you saw. She needed polish, to learn grace, and tutelage on proper form and behavior, though I believed there truly was a gem beneath all the grime. I could see it. I could feel it. With a little attention, I could already see she would fit my artistic vision of the perfect doll.

  “The rumor about the dildos is not exaggerated at all. We require them as part of the art show.”

  I could hear her breath hitch. “Why?”

  “For many reasons. One being, it helps keep focus. Helps you stay stiff, keep your posture, and helps you concentrate while you remain in your pose. The other reason is it’s part of the art. The dolls are so perfect, so innocent, so childlike. Yet the invasive, taboo, sexual toy inserted into such an intimate place adds to the dynamic. The dark perfection. The cloaked secrets. You’ll see in the many different exhibits I set up for each gallery, that I play off the nightmares disguised as fairy tales. I’ll have delicate little dolls with ribboned braids, surrounded by black demons with flames flickering around the dolls dressed in white. Or in another exhibit, I will have dolls bent over, showing the way the dildo stretches their anus to an almost grotesque level, only to have the rest of the exhibit be lollipops and rainbows. It’s about the contrast. The art is about the light and dark, the good and bad, and the innocence and tainted.”

  “And people come to see all this?”

  I smiled again. It was easy to see Ivy didn’t mean for her words to come off as an insult; she was simply being open and raw. Exposed. Again, I was growing to
like this woman very much for those qualities.

  “Yes,” I said as I nodded. “People come from all around the world and pay a great deal of money for a coveted ticket to one of my art exhibits. Drayton’s Dolls are in demand by every gallery in the world.”

  I didn’t like to brag, and even saying the words made me feel uncomfortable, but since Ivy was being candid in her questions, I felt I owed her the same level of respect.

  Ivy looked out the window for several moments, watching the Louisiana night landscape pass us by at a rapid speed. Not looking away, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “The Dollhouse is about two hours from Spiked Roses. It’s remote, which I like. An old Southern plantation house once owned by an old sea captain who built his fortune smuggling jewels and artifacts from Europe. There’s a lot of history in the large house. It nearly burnt down in 1943, but I’ve since rebuilt it to its former glory. A perfect dollhouse in my opinion.”

  “How many dolls do you have?”

  “Twenty right now. Including you.”

  “I signed all the paperwork you gave me, and read through the packet.”

  “Good. Did you have any questions?”

  She turned to look at me. I noticed she fidgeted her fingers and picked at her cuticle. A habit we would for sure have to break. “You mentioned that after three years, you help start the dolls on a path for their future. The papers didn’t specify what that means really.”

  “That’s because it’s different for every doll. Many choose college, which is easy for me. Others don’t want school but have a dream of owning a business or following their dream of being an artist or dancer. Whatever they want, I will help them get there. I don’t give it to them. I help. They have to still fight for what they want.” She continued to pick at that damn cuticle until I saw specks of blood form on her thumb. I reached over and placed my hand on hers to calm her nerves. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. “What’s your dream, Ivy?”

  It was almost as if she stopped breathing. She looked away and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I don’t really consider myself a college girl. I barely got my GED, and I hated every moment of it.”

  “What’s your passion?” I still kept my palm on hers, finding that I enjoyed the warmth. It wasn’t appropriate and not proper in the slightest, at least not until we reached The Dollhouse where all bets were off, and the dolls were at my complete mercy, but I didn’t really care.

  “That’s a good question. I don’t know.”

  “You have no aspirations?”

  She shook her head. “No. None. I have no skills or hobbies. I’m just a trailer girl from Mississippi who knows how to waitress.”

  “Mississippi? How did you end up in New Orleans?”

  She looked at me with raised eyebrows and a wicked smirk. “Have you been to Traverse, Mississippi? I bet you haven’t even heard of it because no one even feels it’s worth mentioning.”

  I couldn’t hold back the laugh that came out in the most undignified way. The tone in her voice, the expression on her face… I was soon realizing that Ivy had some hidden charm underneath her raw exterior.

  “All right then. Fair enough. But I have a feeling that after three years under my employment, traveling all over the world, participating in elaborate art exhibits, and meeting fascinating people, you are bound to develop a dream for something better than waitressing. I’m sure we can find that passion that’s locked inside of you.”

  She nodded but appeared sad as she looked back out the window. I felt as if my hand on hers had overstayed its welcome, so I pulled it away and placed it back on my lap.

  Pulling out my phone, I said, “I have some emails to return. I hope you won’t find it rude for me to finish up some work for the remainder of the trip.”

  I didn’t wait for an answer, but did as I pleased. I was used to doing what I wanted anyway. Bringing another doll into the mix wasn’t going to change who I was or how I acted. Glancing at Ivy staring out the window appearing lost in her own mind, I did wonder what was beneath that outer shell. I could see there was something… but I couldn’t quite figure it out. I would, however. I would study, learn, and eventually cast Ivy Adams in the perfect role as a Drayton Doll. What type of doll she was, was still a mystery. But I would figure it out. I had no doubt of that fact.

  Chapter Four

  Ivy

  The sound of shoes striking against the marble slab of the room woke me from my sleep. I wasn’t sure if I had dreamt it, or if I truly was inside The Dollhouse. A quick glance around at the elegant room with the four-poster bed, antique furniture appearing to cost more than most people’s first homes, proved my dream was, in fact, a reality. We had arrived at the charming house in the cloak of pitch darkness. The moon was concealed by a thick layer of clouds, and with the house being so remote, there were no nearby lights anywhere in sight. I knew as I had walked up the stairs to the front porch that, indeed, the house was an old Southern plantation mansion like Victor had told me it would be, but I couldn’t quite make out all the details. Even inside, I hadn’t had a chance to check out the entire house. Victor had led me directly to my room at a rapid speed and told me that I would see the house and be introduced to the dolls in the morning. I was all but ordered to go to bed as a father would command a child. I had started to come to the realization that Victor Drayton was a very militant, and direct man. I already knew he was highly dominant, no nonsense, and composed at all times from just serving him drinks at Spiked Roses and hearing the other staff talk, but now, having an up close and personal connection, I could see he was far more of a powerful presence than I had expected. He damn near terrified me.

  As Victor entered the room without even knocking, I watched him walk over to a round table with two chairs in the corner. He sat down without saying a word. A woman dressed like a doll with two braids tied in ribbons, a short pink dress with polka-dot bloomers, those ridiculously large eyelashes, and shiny shoes followed with a tray of tea and pastries. She quickly left as soon as she placed the tray on the table without even looking at me once.

  “Good morning. I hope you slept well. Please come and join me.” Victor motioned to the seat across from him.

  I stood up, slightly self-conscious of my appearance. I wore a white silk nightgown that had been left on the edge of my bed last night for me to wear. It covered the majority of my body, but I still felt like I shouldn’t be in my nightclothes as I met with my new employer. Victor had taken my duffle bags and told me they would go to storage until I needed them, so I really didn’t have a choice considering my new situation. I also had no doubt my hair was a complete mess, but there was nothing I could do about it at this point either. Not wanting to keep Victor waiting, I padded in my bare feet across the floor to do as he asked. As I approached the chair, he stood and pulled it out for me. No one had ever done such a thing for me before. As crazy as that sounded, I’d never had a true gentleman in my life with anyone I dated or even hung out with. White trash attracted white trash, I guess you could say.

  I stared at the austere man, intrigued that it seemed so second nature to him to be so classy and proper. “Thank you.”

  He placed a pastry on a plate, poured some tea into a delicate teacup, and sat it in front of me. “Please, help yourself to the sugar for the tea, if you like. There’s cream here too.”

  I gratefully accepted his generosity as my mouth felt as if I had swallowed sand and daggers at the same time. My hand shook as I brought the fine china cup to my lips. This wasn’t the typical breakfast spread I was used to, and I worried I would drop the china and make a complete fool of myself. Although attempting to be graceful, I knew I appeared out of my element as he watched my shaky and awkward movements. I had worked so hard when serving at Spiked Roses to not come across as a hillbilly girl from the backwoods of Mississippi, but sitting here having a perfect little tea party with a man in a three-piece suit was a sure way to make me feel like my worth was less than a pen
ny.

  “If you want to be part of The Dollhouse, there are expectations as I’m sure you can understand,” Victor stated in a businesslike tone. “You’ll have to pass a medical inspection since we only accept dolls free of STDs and who are not pregnant. After that, you’ll have to go through extensive training.”

  He leaned back in his lavishly carved chair. The dark wood table and chairs had Japanese warriors engaged in battle carved into the arms and legs. I couldn’t keep my eyes from the delicate and intricate design. He noted my fascination.

  “The furniture was imported from Japan—a place I visit often. It’s very rare, but endures well, and the artisan who created the furniture did an excellent job capturing the history of some of Japan’s darkest times in history.” He smoothed his palm over the armrest with a look of admiration and pride etched on his face. “I love when time is taken to make something perfect. Mediocrity should never be accepted.” His stormy dark eyes met mine. “My expectations are high. In all regards. I’m not an easy boss, and I’m a perfectionist when it comes to my art.”

  I swallowed a bite of pastry before speaking. “Yes, Mr. Drayton. I understand.” Even though I said the words, I wasn’t really sure I did. “I want to assure you that I am willing to go through whatever training you have in mind. I’m aware of what’s expected, and I’m committed to work really hard.”

  His brow rose with interest. “First, you can call me Victor for the most part. Unless we are in front of formal clients, or art patrons, I don’t require you to be formal at all times.” He cleared his throat. “So, do you feel as if you truly understand what a Drayton Doll does and what it is that I expect from you to live and work here?”

  “I believe so. Now that I am part of The Dollhouse, my job is to learn how to be one of your dolls and be part of your exhibits. Though I have no experience in art or performing, I’m willing to learn.”

  He smiled, continuing to rub his palm over the wood. I noted his hands—big, capable, firm. I needed to sip my tea to calm my growing nerves.