The Dollhouse

by Stacia Stone

  “Come for me, Dalea,” he whispered against my mouth. “Come with me.”

  The orgasm shuddered through me, more powerful than any that I had ever experienced before. It left me gasping and trembling against him. I heard his answering groan and his body stiffened as a greater wetness bloomed between my thighs. My body collapsed against his in exhaustion, my forehead falling to his shoulder.

  I was barely conscious of him lowering me to the floor until my feet touched the ground. He continued to help support my weight as I slowly came back to myself.

  He collected himself quickly. The cold mask swiftly descending over his features was apparent even in the dim light. He methodically straightened his clothes — adjusting the crooked bowtie and doing up his tuxedo pants. The jacket lay in a rumpled heap on the floor and he quickly brushed it off before donning it.

  Aside from the stray strand of dark hair that flopped messily over his forehead, he could have come straight from the ballroom. It was as if the last few minutes had never happened.

  Anger swelled in me — irrational, but too powerful to subdue. I knew what would happen next, he would go back as if nothing had happened and leave me here — desperately wanting more — just like he always had before.

  Only instead of the bruises on my body, he had left me with a wet ache to remember him by.

  Because I had finally figured it out. I knew exactly what kind of a doll I was — a marionette. A doll on strings to be posed and danced to the whims of its puppeteer, then cast away in a collapsed pile of limbs until it was needed again.

  Julian must have noticed the change in me because he watched me closely, green eyes bright even in the darkness. “Are you alright.”

  “Of course.” I reached down and pulled up my pants, feeling suddenly dirty.

  “I want to see you again.”

  I gave him a humorless smile as I did up the few buttons that still remained on my shirt. “I’m sure that you do.”

  He adjusted the fold of one of his sleeves, but didn’t take his eyes from me. His calculating gaze reminded me of a predator searching for weakness. “Will I?”

  “I don’t know.” It felt like I was hurtling through space, too fast into a vast unknown. “I guess it depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you’re willing to tell me about your wife.”

  “On whether or not you’re willing to tell me about your wife.”

  I watched his face shut down, a cold mask descending over his features, obscuring any emotion that may have lain underneath.

  For a moment, I wondered if he would answer me at all. His eyes revealed nothing, but I refused to be the one to break the silence.

  “And what do you think there is to tell?”

  “You are married.” It wasn’t a question. Even in the dim light I could see the glint of the wedding ring on his left hand.

  “Yes.”

  It shouldn’t have rocked me — the simple declaration that I already knew to be true — but I felt a cold settle over me. It was as if my heart was gripped by icy fingers, hard enough that I could barely breathe.

  “Is she here tonight?” I asked, proud of my voice for not cracking.

  He hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I could just imagine it: some gorgeous and cultured woman, dressed in a fancy dress to go to a party with all of her friends to honor her husband. I wondered if she sat at one of those front tables and proudly watched him take the stage.

  Did he even finish his speech before running after me?

  A small, dark voice whispered inside of me, flattered at the thought. You see, it said, how much he wants you.

  “And this isn’t the first time, is it?” I wasn’t just asking about this, but about everything — the Dollhouse, all of it. I knew what I was, but I wanted to hear him say it. I was one of probably dozens of girls. Not nameless, but so close as to be nearly interchangeable.

  “No, it’s not.”

  I laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Of course not.”

  He looked at me oddly, like I’d said something that didn’t quite make sense to him. “What do you want from me, Dalea?”

  “Nothing.” At least, nothing that you’re willing to give. The pain of it made me bold. “What does your wife think of you fucking random girls in the stairwell?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you’re cheating piece of shit.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  He advanced on me so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to react. His hand was on my chest, mere inches from my throat, and shoving me hard against the wall.

  I pushed at his hand with both of my mine but it was like trying to move a boulder. My heart beat too fast, not from excitement and desire this time, but from real fear.

  We stared at each other, his angry face only inches from mine. His nostrils flared with each harsh breath that he took.

  Whatever he was planning to say or do, I would never know. Just as his lips parted, the stairwell door was thrown open. A group of loud people in fancy clothes crashed past us, their voices echoing off of the walls.

  Julian’s attention moved away from me and his grip on me loosened. I used his distraction to slip from between him and the wall.

  I managed to make it to the door before he could stop me, but his voice carried over me in the darkness.

  “You can’t run from me, Dalea.”

  10

  “How was the benefit?”

  Miranda’s smiling face was the first thing to greet me when I walked into the diner on Monday for my lunch shift.

  The place was completely empty, save for the two of us, despite the fact that we’d been open for at least an hour. Miranda had offered to open by herself so I could sleep a little later, but I wondered if I should have bothered to come in at all.

  “What?” It took me a minute to parse her words. I’d forgotten that I ever told her about it. “I mean…it was good. Easy money.”

  “Be careful of that easy money, baby girl. It always ends up being harder than you think.”

  Her gaze was a little too knowing as she watched me stick my bag in the cubby hole under the register.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, shaking off the feeling of unease. “It was just a one time thing, believe me.”

  Miranda nodded and the heavily hair-sprayed beehive on her head barely quivered. I always wondered if she’d had the crazy hairstyle sewn in place.

  “Whatever you say, sugar.”

  I slid past her to get behind the counter. The black aprons hung on a hook on the wall just like they always did. I wanted to grab them all and fling them across the room. It felt like the walls were closing in on me and I couldn’t escape.

  “Did you have a good weekend?” I asked Miranda, desperate to distract myself.

  “Always.” She gave me a cheeky grin. “Did I tell you, I signed up for some at the community college. Pre-nursing stuff.”

  “That’s great!” I said and meaning it. “Starting in the fall?”

  “Hopefully, if I don’t back out like last time. I still have some placement tests to take.”

  “You’ll do great.”

  “I know I’ll be the oldest one there, but it’s never too late, right?”

  “Of course not.” If anyone deserved something better, it was Miranda. I wished I had a way out that was that clearcut.

  “I got you a catalog, too. You know, if you’re interested.” Miranda gave me a knowing look. “Getting back to school might be good for you.”

  I shook my head and focused on neatly arranging the salt shakers that lined the shelf below the counter. “I don’t have the money to take classes, Miranda. I need to work, you know that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Between grants and maybe a scholarship, you could probably get as much money for going to school as you do working here.”

  I really didn’t like the turn of this conversation. “I don’t have time fo
r classes right now.”

  “You just did so well last time, it seems a shame to let it all go to waste.”

  I would kill to be able to go back to school and graduate. Maybe someday have a job doing something that I could actually be proud of.

  But even if I managed to get enough money in scholarships and loans to pay for the classes, that didn’t do much for getting the rent paid or keeping food on the table. Who was going to pick up the slack for my family while I was out doing something for myself?

  Fucking nobody, that was who.

  “I think most schools frown on you moving your family into your dorm room,” I said, more testily than I intended.

  “No need to get snappy.” Miranda gave me a reproving look. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” I sighed and surveyed the empty dining room. At this rate, even with a lunch rush, I was looking at taking almost nothing home today in tips. “I’ve just been really on edge lately.”

  Miranda dramatically rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve noticed. You’ve been walking around here like you swallowed a porcupine and you’re just waiting for it to come out the other end.”

  The image dragged a laugh out of me. “That’s one way to put it, I guess.”

  Her face grew concerned. “Your mom is still doing better, right?”

  “She is,” I confirmed, wanting to reassure Miranda. “The tumors have shrunk by nearly half and she’s feeling more like herself.”

  “Good. And Luis’s been showing up for all of his shifts and working that cute little tail off. Does he still have a court date coming up?”

  “Yeah, but the public defender is hoping he’ll just get probation.”

  “Even though it’s not his first offense?”

  “That’s what the lawyer said. He’s only been caught for misdemeanors before now and he’s a juvenile.”

  “It sounds like things are better than they could be.” Miranda’s voice was casual and she didn’t look at me as she adjusted the arrangement of silk daisies that sat next to the cash register. “That all sounds like good news to me.”

  I realized then what she was doing. What excuse did I have to be walking around like a storm cloud when things in my life seemed to be turning up?

  “Stop it, Miranda.”

  “What?” She gave me a look of practiced innocence, but I saw right through it. “All I’m saying is that if there’s something else going on in your life that’s got you down, I just wish you would talk to me about it.”

  Her face was so full of understanding that I had to look away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Tell me to butt out of your business, if you want. But don’t lie to me.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I grabbed a stack of napkins and began aggressively folding one on the countertop. “Maybe I’m just going through a phase.”

  Miranda scoffed. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  I grabbed a fork and knife to wrap in the napkin. “Can we please just drop it?”

  “Okay.” She joined me in folding silverware, completing one in half the time that it took me. “But I’m always here to listen when you’re ready to talk.”

  “I know.” I reached out to touch her arm, trying to convey without words that I still needed her support. “I appreciate it. Really.”

  We folded silverware in companionable silence until a large stack had formed between us.

  The bell dinged above the door as it opened and I eagerly looked up, hoping it was a customer.

  Instead, Zach stood in the open doorway with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses in his arms. He held them aloft, a sardonic smile on his face.

  “Special delivery for Dalia Moreno.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” I slammed down the roll of silverware in my hands before coming out from behind the counter. “What are you, stalking me?”

  The cheeky grin he wore didn’t falter. “Someone has a high opinion of themselves.”

  I glared at him. “So you showing up where I work is just a coincidence?”

  He pointed to the tag on his shirt, where the words Fifth Street Flowers was embroidered on the fabric. “Catering doesn’t pay all the bills.”

  “Oh.”

  “I saw the name on the delivery slip and wondered if it was the same girl.” The smile he wore was openly mocking me. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”

  I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and never come out. “I just assumed—“

  “They were from me?” He asked, eyebrows raised. “I mean, you’re a cute girl and all. But I don’t really get down on following the ladies around like a dog looking for scraps. Nobody’s worth fighting the traffic downtown.”

  “I got it,” I said sharply. “Just give them to me and go.”

  “What, no tip?”

  “Nope.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Miranda asked, coming up behind me.

  “He’s not my friend, just a delivery boy,” I said quickly. “And now he’s leaving.”

  “You’re breaking my heart,” Zack said and handed me the bouquet.

  Miranda leaned forward to give him a few dollars. “Thank you.”

  Zach accepted the tip with an exaggerated bow. “I’ve heard the peach pie here is amazing. I’d love a slice.”

  “Of course.” Miranda rushed back to the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.

  “I hope you’re getting that pie to go.” I said, as soon as she was out of earshot.

  “Or I could hang around for awhile.” He went to one of the tables and collapsed into a chair. “Haven’t you missed me?”

  “Not really.” I turned to set the roses on the countertop, hesitating to admire the perfect shape of each bloom. “No one’s ever sent me flowers before.”

  “I didn’t figure you for the roses and rich guy type, but I guess I was wrong.”

  I turned to glare at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I saw you run off at the benefit and I saw that guy — the suit — go after you.”

  I kept my face neutral, careful to give nothing away. “Is that it?”

  “Is there more?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “Just a friendly warning.” He shrugged casually but the look in his eyes betrayed his seriousness. “For a guy like that, you’re an easy type of girl to take advantage of.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You don’t know what kind of girl that I am.”

  “You’d be surprised what I know.” Zach stood from the chair. “But I got to run, we’ll finish this conversation next time.”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time.”

  “Something tells me there’s more where that came from.” He nodded toward the bouquet. “Check the card. Guess I’m not the only stalker in town.”

  I glared at him as he left. The bell clanged over the door as it closed behind him, just as Miranda came back into the dining room with a plate of pie in her hand.

  “Do you want some ice cream, too…” She trailed off, noticing I was alone. “Where did your friend go?”

  “He’s not my friend,” I reminded her. “Off to another delivery, I guess. Who cares?”

  “Well, I can see why he left if that’s how you were treating him.” She set the pie down on the counter next to the roses. “He seemed like a nice boy and these are such pretty flowers.”

  “Not that nice.”

  “You’re never going to find a boyfriend, acting like that.”

  The door dinged and a young couple with a stroller came into the diner.

  “You take this one,” I said, hoping to distract her.

  She gave me a knowing look but grabbed two menus off of the stack. “Make sure you put those roses in some water before they wilt.”

  I gathered the roses up in my arms, petals soft as they brushed against my skin. As I looked closer, I realized that the roses weren’t just red. The bright crimson was only at
the tips. At their centers the blossoms were a yellow so bright that it looked nearly like gold.

  My fingers tipped open the little card that nestled between two buds. A simple message was written on it in slanting script.

  You can’t run.

  -J

  “Dalea, get those tamales off of they stove before they burn.”

  I rushed to comply with Momma’s instructions, carefully laying the corn husks on a clean dishtowel that sat on the counter to cool. Today was the first day in weeks that Momma felt good enough to be out of bed for more than a few minutes.

  She was making use of the time by cooking a huge family dinner for all of us and had enlisted me to help her. If it weren’t for the little oxygen tank that had to be wheeled around behind her, this would have felt just like old times.

  “Did Luis say what time he would be home?” she asked.

  I glanced at the clock. “He’s just working the lunch shift, so maybe another hour or so.”

  She opened the oven a scant distance and peeked inside before closing it. “Empanadas are still his favorite, right?”

  I knew what she was trying to do. “Everything will be fine tomorrow. The public defender nearly promised that Luis won’t be locked up.”

  Momma shook her head, dislodging the plastic piece in her nose that delivered the oxygen. “That’s what they always say, until they don’t.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Momma.”

  She inspected the tamales, giving a little grunt of approval. “At least he’ll get one more good meal at home, no matter what happens.”

  Lucy flew into the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Dinner weady?”

  “Not yet,” Momma said, sinking down into a chair at the table, looking tired. “Go watch TV.”

  Lucy peeked around me to look at the stove. “But I’m hungry.”

  “No, Lucy!” Momma said, sharply enough that my sister jumped.

  “Not until Luis gets home, okay.” I went to the refrigerator and poured her a glass of milk. “Take this and go finish your show.”