Furrowing her lips at the eyesore, Lena said, “I bet these houses cost a lot of money to restore.” The windows on the second floor were missing shutters; however those inside the porch area were still intact. The shutters still hanging were chipped and rotting.
Barb, she said, “You’d easily dump a couple hundred grand.”
Her feet propped up on the dashboard, above the glove compartment, ankle pain receding from not having weight on it, Brittney leaned her head back on the headrest. Her hair was blowing from the air coming in the open window. The warm breeze squirting into the small holes of the mask.
Reaching her hand over toward Brittney, Lena cupped the resting cheerleader’s kneecap and began massaging it.
Finishing the block of Second Empires was an asymmetrical mansard on top of a wooden house’s left side. The way the house was positioned on the corner closed the block perfectly. A painted beauty, chrome yellow with Venetian red window trim running up and down the exterior, caused Lena to say, “Wow!”
Barb, leaning up to the window to see the entire house, said, “Looks like a Victorian McDonald’s.”
The inner voice, whispering into Brittney’s ear in Victorian slang, said, “I would like fries in my sauce-box.”
Turning the corner, Barb’s body shifted toward the middle of the car, shoving a bag of jewels into the passed out Drama Doll. “Easy on the turns,” Barb said to Lena.
Rotating her head, addressing Barb, Lena said, “Oops.”
Barb cut a look to Brittney’s propped up legs. Following her stare, Lena quickly released her hand from the kneecap. Hands returning to the wheel, the car rolled through the remaining historic block.
The architectural neighborhoods finished with an aesthetic block of Richardsonian Romanesque style homes. Combining characteristics from French, Spanish, and Italian Romanesque charms, the castle-like mansions, mostly made from stone, were throwbacks to medieval Europe.
“These works of art were named after the architect Henry Hobson Richardson,” Brittney said. Her head cocked at an angle, observing the row of houses, she said, “These are the cream of the crop.”
Each house, comparable in design, had short, unusually shaped columns, feudal type arches, and cylindrical towers, which were the main focal points. Pointing up toward a Richardsonian success, Brittney said, “The architect was very eccentric. He had an eye for individuality.” Various gabled roofs - side gables, front gables, and cross gables - were typical for the houses.
“Incredible,” Lena said, the neighborhood passing by in a flash. When they passed a stretch of Victorian houses intermingled with Colonial Revivals, Prairie, Foursquare, and Neo-Gothic type abodes, the Drama Dolls knew they were getting close to their drop off point – Brittney’s house.
Wrought iron fences passed by. Their individual posts made Brittney dizzy. Fences on top of retaining walls. The blocks in the wall spanning the house. Cracks in the blocks, they were as long as the wall itself.
Detached garages doubling up as the car drove passed, Brittney’s vision became cloudy. Square garage doors zipping by, all the same size, each complemented a house.
The voice of intoxicated reason said, “You are acting like you’re half-rats.”
Her eyes closing to a squint, the streetlights shined their laser beam lights into Brittney’s pupils as her head began to spin. Everything slowed down, her life going back to the first birthday after losing Her.
----------
A change in venue altered the guest list. No longer at the ritzy country club, invitations went out to those who knew Jeffrey before the wedding. Those he felt comfortable around. Those who genuinely knew him.
Comprised accordingly, the party hosted a few couples, married friends, and those who’d disappeared a half-year into their marriage.
The cake was rerouted to an old stomping ground. A bar and grill, one of many pre-marriage hangouts that had disappeared after the nuptials. A few bartenders recognized the name on the reservation. Anticipation building, stepping into the establishment was like he’d never left at all.
“Jeffrey!”
The back room displayed a sign made from cardboard letters. The words HAPPY BIRTHDAY! intertwining together, the sign was sagging like a hammock. Purchased at a party store, the juvenile decorations made Jeffrey feel youthful.
Jeffrey’s body lifted at the familiarity of the bar. When he saw bartenders from his past, his face brightened up. The setup was still how he remembered it. Tube televisions replaced with flat screens were the only noticeable change. The same beer lights hanging overhead, jukebox with antiquated selections, and bar stools fraying at the edges all made him feel comfortable. They made him forget Her momentarily.
Gray on his beard, his face showing more wrinkles, Henry had tended bar his entire adult life. Cartons of cigarette smoke, late night shifts, and buckets of shots had caught up to him. “Thought that could’ve been you,” he said. His face dry, the white powdery skin was cracking around his mouth. Henry said, “Had we been certain, would’ve gave you a hard time with the decorating.”
“Oh yeah,” Jeffrey said. “What would it have read?” A man walked up behind him, a five dollar bill in his hand.
Henry, biting on his lip, holding in a smile, said, “Happy birthday, dickhead!” He laughed to himself, his arm reaching out to tap his old friend’s shoulder. “We missed you around here.” His teeth over his bottom lip, Henry grabbed a Coors for the man holding out cash.
The customer said, “Keep the change,” and then returned to his table of friends.
Nodding, the birthday boy extended for a handshake.
Henry’s hairline was receding to the top of his head. Reaching toward Jeffrey, Henry said, “Good to see you again, my friend.”
A dark chocolate cake, made by Jeffrey’s colleague, displayed a waxy four and zero on top. White numbers outlined in a bright yellow, they stood bold atop the icing. The co-worker, she’d insisted on baking. “Really, it’s no big deal,” Kelly said. “You have enough on your mind.” Careful with her words, showing her front teeth as she paused, she said, “It must be hard to lose a spouse.”
An accounting clerk, her job consisted of payroll, accounts payable, and accounts receivable. A rounded woman, single for all of her life. Lived in a studio apartment. She walked to work no matter the temperature. No siblings. Every night she liked to read. Always nice in the office, giving only tidbits of her life as if they were code words to decipher, Kelly was the perfect employee.
Framing the cake with her hands, admiring her work, she said, “This was so easy to make.” Her lips squeezed, Kelly bobbed her head. “Yeah,” she said. “Really easy to make.”
Standing over the empty cafeteria style table, realizing no one was paying attention, Kelly’s eyes found the wall. She looked around the joint, slowly nodding her head as she appreciated the sports art hanging above.
In one setting, Mark Twain was photographed shooting billiards. A black and white picture enclosed in a wooden frame, the author was wearing a white suit with black bowtie. His hair was long. A cigar was extending from his mouth. Leaning over the table, the novelist was aiming the cue ball off the canvas.
Another was an autographed football jersey hanging under glass. Its owner was a local high school All-American. The football star during his tenure, he now owned his own insurance agency.
“You used to hang out here?” she said to Jeffrey.
Oblivious, managing the floor, Jeffrey played every angle of guests, standing center in the bar making eye contact, smiling, and saying hello. Guests around him were holding beers and munching on chips. They were engaging themselves in superficial conversation.
Above the shuffleboard table, a pair of scantily dressed women advertised beer. A brunette holding a beer mug. She was wearing a one piece bathing suit over her hourglass figure. The blonde pouring the beer from a pitcher. Dressed in a bikini, her abs revealed a six-pack missing a can. The poster, it publicized the upcoming Chicago Cubs schedu
le.
Jeffrey’s sole responsibility was to be available. After standing still became boring, he made his rounds. Maneuvering around each guest, weaving in and out of conversations, Jeffrey rejoined Kelly. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “No, seriously. Water, cocoa powder, flour, baking soda, uh…” Eyebrows lowering, Kelly took a glimpse toward the ceiling. Deep in thought, her head returning back to the cake to jog her memory, she said, “Oh yeah, powder, salt, butter, sugar, eggs, and vanilla extract.”
All the while, the inner voice of bitterness was saying, “Why Her? Why couldn’t it have been Kelly?”
Married couple friends sympathizing over the death attended over guilt. A couple months removed from dinner parties and social gatherings. And now they were scarce. Strangers. Only appearing at the birthday party because She had invited them.
Attempting to avoid the awkwardness, showing his “friends” that he still cared, Jeffrey said, “A new house? That’s wonderful.” Feigning intrigue, he said, “Whereabouts?”
Their response, it was going in one ear and out the other. Jeffrey’s attention faded quickly.
Others attended to see how he was holding up. A couple was dressed for a classy gathering. The mister, he wore a black suit and tie over a red buttoned down shirt. And the misses, she wore a V-neck Chiffon floor length dress. Their calculated getaway before the cake was served. “I’m sorry, but we must get going.” Their excuses, they were pre-planned on the drive.
There were rounds of drinks circulating the room. Guests who were friends with Her disappearing one by one. Using the restroom and then making a quick exit. Excuses to leave were flying out of people’s mouths. “The babysitter has to get home,” and “I had a long day,” and “Well, we better get going.”
“Yeah, you better get going!” it said. The voice of defensive reason influencing Jeffrey’s life. Protecting him.
Kelly stayed until the cake was served. Then she walked home. No excuse given.
“Jeffrey!”
By the time the cake was half eaten the crowd consisted of old buddies from the bar scene. Huddled around the bar, Henry behind serving drinks, they all were cautious about Jeffrey’s life, hearing only pieces of information from the folks who had better places to be. Or excuses to be made.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“God, that blows.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Henry poured a round on the house for the remaining guests. Topping off the middle-aged pal’s glass, the bartender slid the drink back toward Jeffrey.
“It’s getting better. Each day is a challenge,” Jeffrey said, offering up his life in segments. Avoiding sudden outbursts, dodging eye contact allowed the solemn topic to transition into other subjects. Holding in the emotion, Jeffrey said, “I miss Her every day. But I have to move on. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy.”
Mocking internally, his brain, it said, “Otherwise I’ll go crazy.” It said, “Yeah, you’ll go crazy!”
Sipping from his beer bottle, Michael said, “It’s amazing to see you so normal after something like that.” Shaking his head, a television commercial distracted him from the conversation. Balding men finding a spray on cure for only one hundred and fifty dollars. Michael chuckled. “Guaranteed or your money back,” the advertisement spit out. Watching until it changed over, he held up his drink and said, “Cheers.”
The gang crowding around the bar, catching up with their lives-
----------
“Jeffrey!” He had recognized the voice but couldn’t find the owner. “Jeffrey!” Feeling his shoulder nudged, Jeffrey/Brittney sharply opened her eyes.
An artificial expression, the smell of plastic in the air, Lena said, “You OK?” Concerned, her arm extended out toward Brittney’s lap.
Blinking repeatedly, Lena’s face was a ghost becoming less translucent. Surrounded by darkness, the whiteness of her thermosoftening plastic skin frightened Brittney. Looking down at Lena’s hand, Brittney shook her head. Staring up at Lena’s perfect manmade smile, Brittney’s vision came into focus. The image was now crystal clear.
“Are you OK?” Lena said again.
Nodding slowly, her throat filled with saliva, Brittney Doll swallowed.
“Are you sure?” Lena said, her face scrunched up as if in pain. Brittney nodded her head again. Assured that Brittney was conscious and alert in the moment, Lena said, “We’re here.”
Pulling into the driveway, the door sliding up the rails, Lena cut the car’s lights and rolled into the garage. Coasting to a stop, the garage door closed behind them. Parked in the middle of the two car unit, the group sat until the bay was completely dark.
Without an uttered word for nearly an eternity, Barb, sitting in the middle of the backseat with her head encroaching into the front, said, “Ready?”
Lena nodded. “Ready,” she said.
“Let’s do it.”
The Drama Dolls got to work. Stepping out of the car, one by one by one, they pulled out the bags. The only light escaping from the car’s interior. A constant beeping from the door being open.
An assembly line setup, Barb removed the pillowcases from the car, handed them off to Lena, and ended with Brittney tossing them into the house. Some were heavier than the others. Lena prepared Brittney when to expect the weightier bags by her body movements.
Escape vehicle not quite as full, the doors were wide open. As the automobile emptied, Brittney knew what was coming next. Slithering around Lena, sliding up behind Barb, who was looking into the backseat, Brittney cleared her throat.
Barb glanced toward the slouching Doll, her curiosity getting to her. Finger extending toward her, moving closer for examination. The sleeping Doll was shadowed from her position in the backseat. There was no movement, breathing or otherwise that Barb could detect. “What—”
Cutting her off, Brittney said, “Let her sleep. She’ll be fine out here.” Grabbing Barb’s arm and pulling it back, the paranoid cheerleader’s heartbeat began to increase.
Inside, the voice echoing to remain calm.
Tension building, the two stared at each other. A mystery in Barb’s eyes; a secret in Brittney’s. Behind them, Lena, she said, “C’mon!”
Lena entered the house with Barb following. Alone in the garage, brightened just slightly, Brittney watched the dead-weighted cheerleader sleep.
“Brittney!”
Cocking her head toward the voice, Brittney stared into the house. After a brief pause, she slowly returned to observe the unconscious doll. Snaking her body into the car, Brittney leaned in for a kiss.
“Are you coming?” Lena screamed from afar.
Entering the living room, Brittney sat on the floor and joined in on what would be the best part of the heists. Barb and Lena emptying the contents, the pillowcases collapsing to the floor. The sounds of the heist were raindrops on roof shingles. Little thumps on the area rug dying to a halt upon impact. Chain links sounding like rolling thunder.
Shaking the bags to ensure all the contents escaped, gems fell everywhere and on everything. The sofa was covered in jewelry. Bracelets were sliding in between the couch cushions. Bouncing under the love seat, stud earrings lost their partners. Some of the backs flew in different directions. A future pinch on Brittney’s toe.
Trinkets speckled around the living room. Empty bags stashed in the corner behind the radiators. The room was the dumping ground for the burglaries. Sitting in a triangle, their bodies equidistant, the bulk of the jewels gathered in the center, the Drama Dolls began sorting through the contents confiscated from the breakins. The area rug’s floral design made it difficult to separate. Colors and outlines blending in with the gems. Carpeted roses now had pierced pedals. Thorns wearing charm bracelets. The rug’s border bedazzled with stud earrings.
Lena skimmed her palm across the floor rug, collecting gems in the process. She tossed the finds in her other hand. Fanning out her fingers, her hand was a windshield wiper, gliding left to right, cupping the score in the process.
Barb tossed a lariat-style necklace. The knot loosening to extend the length, it elongated the closer it got to Brittney. A charm bracelet flew toward Lena, causing her to flinch. “Matches your shirt,” Barb said, laughing. The calmest part of the heists was discovering what they had stolen. Each of them was in a relaxed state. The excitement overwhelming. It was having a secret only to themselves.
Brittney’s inner voice, it was ecstatic. This was its favorite part. The nostalgia, it allowed Brittney inside to temporarily be distracted.
Pointing down to a stack near her, Barb said, “Bracelets over here in this pile.” She recoiled when Lena returned the favor.
Rotating her arm like a catapult, Lena took aim and then fired. Shiny circles soared through the air. Bangles zipping by, each with a higher velocity. A variety of chain bracelets, they caused Barb to duck.
Bead, mesh, rolo, wheat, and byzantine chains directed toward Barb. Scale-like snake chain bracelets pinched her skin from the narrowly held links.
A gem fight was ensuing.
Brittney retrieved the jewelry pieces as Lena threw them, returning them back into the piles.
“Ow!” Barb said, turning her face away from the assault. A lobster clasp from a bracelet hurling through the air, it scuffed Barb’s mask. Arms in the air, surrendering, she said, “I give up!”
Lena celebrated by seat dancing on the floor. Arms in ninety degree angles, fists closed, her shoulders bobbed up and down. She swayed left to right to a rhythm only she could hear. Lena’s dancing made Brittney smile.
“Beautiful!” Brittney said.
Returning to posture, Barb said, “Dangerous! But totally beautiful.”
After the dance, Lena flung her mask. A slow-motion, wrinkled face with a muted expression zipped toward Brittney. It hit her square in the nose. A hint of Chance Eau Tendre burning Brittney’s nostrils.
Lena fell back in laughter. Adjusting her disguise, Brittney began to laugh as well.
Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] Page 3