Mimicking its owner, the voice of sympathetic reason laughed.
Lena’s heart-shaped face – high cheekbones with full lips, and strong jaw – it was a permanent mask itself. Her skin was porcelain. She was a picturesque beauty. Almond shaped eyes looking up to the ceiling, Lena’s body calmed. The laughter subsided.
Brittney had met Lena at a bereavement group for those who had lost loved ones suddenly. Married to a white-collar executive, Lena spent the majority of her day shopping online. Credit card number here, shipping address same as billing, click for overnight delivery. Comparing products and reading reader reviews were a full-time job.
For Lena, cardboard boxes appeared on the front steps. Everything from clothes, workout shoes, Yoga mats, and watches, they only required a signature for acceptance. Lena’s favorite purchase was jewelry. The reason she enjoyed the burglaries so much. She had an equal opportunity relationship with carcanets, chokers, and torcs, or neck rings. Lena acquired armlets, bangles, and chatelaines. Anything that caught her eyes, she bought.
A trophy wife, her role was to be arm candy for her husband at company events. And to be arm candy, you had to look the part.
An unlimited budget to keep her happy while her husband traveled and worked late. Vacuuming on her own schedule, if at all. When she did, Lena used a low noise, 1200 watt vacuum valued at eight hundred dollars.
Cleaning the kitchen while the daytime talk shows dished out advice, Lena lived her life the way she wanted. Chores that ran into next week, there was not ever accountability. Looking pretty had its advantages. Being sexually available had its perks.
While steaming vegetables, a phone call from a corporate lawyer relayed the accident in short sentences. Words easy to comprehend. Non-lawyer speak.
“And just like that,” she said, speaking to the circle of the bereavement group’s unnamed chairs, “I found myself alone.”
The support group, a meeting place for victims to connect, each of the members consoled her. “Sorry for your loss.” Then, “Welcome to the group.” The members all had something in common. They all had lost someone.
“All the expensive things I had couldn’t cure my loneliness,” Lena said.
Regular people joined by a common link. Death, it affected all people, all occupations. Accountants, cooks, realtors, secretaries. A support group for all to grieve. Doctors, the unemployed, teenagers. Dying could happen to anyone.
Some of the grievers were strangers, only seeing each other anonymously. Others, they gathered regularly for coffee, online chats, or in Brittney/Jeffrey and Lena’s case, burglaries.
Breathing deeply, Lena continued. “The first few months were emotional. I broke down for no reason. Different times of the day.” Watching commercials with couples, Lena wept. “I couldn’t control myself,” she said. Everything was a trigger for Lena.
To expedite the healing process, Lena decided to remove herself from her husband’s memory. She donated sentimental items to secondhand stores. Items from her wedding; wine glasses given as gifts, unused kitchen appliances, her dress to a costume store. Replacing living room sets with brand new pieces, she maxed out her credit cards with miscellaneous purchases. Her sleep schedule got disrupted; sleeping for only a movie’s length at night only to pace the house in the darkness. Cat naps throughout the day left no time for life. Acting out in unusual ways, Lena felt lost. Finding a friend in Jeffrey, she recharged her batteries. A sense of belonging brushing over her.
“That was how you dealt with your husband’s loss,” the group leader said. “That’s perfectly natural. We all deal with grief differently.” The group leader said, “The only thing that will cure you is time. So, please,” he said, “occupy your time with distractions.”
Once reality hit, Lena comprehended that she wasn’t special after all. That her life had little value, if any at all. “Nobody would hire me,” she said. “Didn’t realize that not having skills would be the end of me.” Sulking into her chair, she said, “Prettiness doesn’t pay the bills.”
A real estate agent, her twin brother died in a car accident. Falling asleep behind the wheel, his car drifting across the yellow line, he never woke up. “This may sound weird,” the realtor said, “but I felt him die.” Waking up in the middle of the night, body sweating, stiff and fully alert, she said her body felt as if collapsed inside. “Like something was pushing my head into my kidneys.” She was compressing like an accordion. Crying, her story becoming more dynamic with each word, she said, “My head, caving into my body with brute force.”
A pharmacist whose son was murdered closed her eyes and inhaled. “When your life hits rock bottom,” she said, clutching the crucifix around her neck, “you have to find the strength to move on.” She looked up to the ceiling, through the roof and into the heavens. “God has shown me the way.” Locking her gaze onto the realtor, she said, “And He will show you the way too.”
Lena reminded Jeffrey of his wife. Physically the characteristics were scary. Nearly the same build, Lena was more athletic. Thighs toned from working out regularly. Hair down to her back, blonde with a trace of sandy brown. Dimples up and down her cheeks. She had pear shaped breasts as far as Jeffrey/Brittney could tell. A similar sense of humor and when they laughed, their noses would crinkle the same way. When she laughed, her eyes disappeared under her eyelids.
While Lena rolled around on the living room floor, Barb sorted the jewelry into orderly piles. Barb’s mask, creased in between her crossed legs, as she picked and placed accordingly.
“What a night!” Lena said, lying in corpse pose. Her arms and legs flat on the floor.
There were five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. When She passed, for Jeffrey, for Brittney, the five stages were a laundry cycle of emotions. All coming together, at different intervals, mixing together at various periods. After Brittney had heard of the death, the hours succeeding were forever and an hour of disdain toward anything or anyone who was not grieving.
Memories flashing through in no particular order, Brittney attempted to hold on to Her as long as possible. Recollections sparked by a couple holding hands, they appeared without warning.
Sitting alone organizing necklaces and bracelets, Brittney’s body deflated. The inner Brittney, feeling sorry for itself, started singing Eric Carmen’s “All By Myself.” Building up to a cry, Brittney crouched in her spot, never allowing herself to ruin the other Dolls’ fun.
The night, it got away from them. Fatigue was approaching. Brittney wanted them to leave. She wanted to check on Emily. She excused herself from the scene to find her, to find Emily.
Barb eyed Brittney out. Her smile disappearing without hesitation. Her behavior, it shifted from elation to anger. Fuming inside as her nostrils breathed heavily in and out. Waiting until Brittney disappeared completely from the room, Barb pointed her finger toward Lena. In an accusing manner, she said, “What the fuck?”
Rolling up into a sitting position, Lena said, “What?”
Cutting a look to where she last saw Brittney, Barb slowly turned her head toward Lena, and said, “This crazy nut job bringing that freak show?”
Her head sinking, the side of her mouth curling upward, Lena said, “Are you joking?”
Picking up her mask in one swift motion, Barb slammed the plastic accessory down to the floor. Her eyebrows lowering, her front teeth showing, Barb’s eyes began to squint. She said, “Does it look like I’m fucking joking?”
Offended, her mouth dropping open, Lena said, “Emily.” Enunciating each word clearly, she said, “Her name is Emily.”
“Whatever!” Barb said, her teeth clenching.
A brief staredown led to an awkward silence. The sound of a door slamming in the garage disrupted the tension and forced both burglar Dolls to regain focus.
“And then he introduced us to each other?” Rubbing the top row of teeth with her tongue, Barb’s lips puckered. Her hands in front of her, fingers spread out, Barb said, “This
is getting out of hand!”
A door latching in the distance, Barb and Lena could tell Brittney was close to returning. Lena leaned in close to Barb and said, “It’s not for you to decide.”
The room was filled to the ceiling with stolen goods. Piles as high as their upper torsos. An inventory of bad deeds.
“You need to fucking stop,” Lena said. Her voice, going from soft to a whisper/scream, she said, “This is not about you. This is about Jeffrey.” Straightening a stack of bracelets that had fallen over, Lena said, “His fucking wife just died!”
Sitting between empty pillowcases, surrounded by a bathtub worth of jewels, the two had a brief staredown. Without either person budging and before Brittney could return, Barb curled the side of her lip upward. A cold expression, a feeling of defeat, she said, “Fine!”
Calming the situation, Lena’s voice softening, she said, “Just give him some time.” A glazed look on Barb’s face appeared. Lena said, “Think about when you first met him. You two were a lot alike.”
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William was just as screwed up as Jeffrey. The problems were different but the results were the same. The lack of self-confidence from being overweight and physically unattractive was so strong that William found prettiness in a bag. An adult cheerleader costume purchased at a Halloween store started the fetish. Paintable white masks encouraged William to experiment with applying various combinations of makeup, color schemes that worked. Once he became a pro at this, William turned to hair.
The crop of hair falling out on his own head, William noticed a horseshoe pattern forming on his scalp. Using cloth tape to measure the hairline from the base of his neck up to the hairline on his forehead, William envisioned a full head of hair again. The cloth tape extending from his forehead over the crown of his scalp and down toward his nape, William concluded by measuring from ear to ear.
Transferring the dimensions to a wig block, pushing in cotton ribbons to the wooden head stump, William’s new hair was within reach. Applying wet cotton lace and stitching it into the ribbons, the final step was for William to select hair. Deciding against using real hair, William recalled the little girl at the park combing her Barbie Doll’s mane. How pretty and shiny it was. How brushing it drew the biggest smile on the young child’s face.
The insecure man settled on Saran and Kanekalon, the same material found on plastic Dolls, hoping to transfer that exact same happiness to himself. The notion of having a multitude of colors fascinated William. From light platinum blonde to an amber coppery blonde and from a chocolate brown to a basic black, there was not ever a day where William was at a loss for colors.
Playing dress-up boosted his self-esteem. His confidence high, William began taking care of himself, working out, and staying positive.
When he met Jeffrey, Jeffrey allowed him to be beautiful.
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Empathizing with Jeffrey/Brittney relaxed her. Barb’s demeanor changed. She was now curious, engaging Lena to discuss her own loss. Emotions subsiding, Barb’s heart slowed its pace. Staring into Lena’s eyes, she said, “How long did it take for you to get over your husband?”
Recognizing the change in Barb’s attitude, Lena smiled. She said, “Longer than this.”
Barb nodded her head in agreement. Her eyes drifted toward the floor. She was beginning to understand where Lena was coming from.
“Let’s just give him some time,” Lena said. Picking up random necklaces and holding them up in front of her, she said, “No matter how ridiculous things get.”
Pursing her lips, Barb said, “OK.”
Cupping an item in her palm, Lena said, “Just remember, he’s not thinking clearly.”
To soften the mood, Lena flung a byzantine chain necklace in the direction of Barb. The thick accessory spun toward the unsuspecting cheerleader.
Ducking, her shoulders propping up and her head dropping south, Barb said, “Hey!”
Throwing expensive jewelry around was something Lena had grown accustomed to. The 14k gold, 6.50mm byzantine chain necklace valued at five grand was no exception. She had worn items twice the value for her husband.
Guarding her body from flying objects, Barb said, “I surrender. I surrender.”
Brittney pulled Emily into the living room. Her arms locked under the comatose Drama Doll’s shoulders. Emily’s legs dragged through a stack of bracelets. Rows of circles, piled high like poker chips, falling over from the contact.
Barb rolled her eyes.
Lena shot the discouraging cheerleader a glare. Her eyes piercing, the death stare non-verbally reminded Barb of their conversation.
“Sorry,” Brittney said. Parting the stacks into sections with Emily’s frame, Brittney heaved the unconscious doll onto the couch.
Lena stared at the scene; her peppy attitude slowly deflating.
The thrust from the throw had forced Brittney’s mask to slide off center. Shaking her head, whipping it sharply, the plastic expression fell to the ground.
Lena’s eyes moved from left to right. A look toward Barb, then to the resting Drama Doll, Lena said, “Well, we should probably get going.”
Crouched with knees bent, Brittney adjusted Emily’s dead weight on the couch. Never acknowledging the fact that she had company, live conscious company, Brittney did not hear Barb and Lena leave.
The room now quiet, Brittney and her obsession were alone. The fully uniformed doll was sleeping on the couch. Her mask facing up, Emily looked like a mannequin waiting to be placed in the store. She was a ghostly cheerleader.
Inside, the little voice, whispering into Brittney’s eardrum, it said, “What about your wife?”
When Emily wasn’t passed out, she was a work of art. Blackish straight hair pulled down tight on the sides of her face. Olive colored eyes the shape of water droplets. A triangular nose above her diamond molded lips, Emily, like Lena, did not need a mask to be beautiful.
Her skin was silky smooth, the color of white caramel.
Dimensionally, Emily’s body was textbook. Her bust measured thirty-two inches. Torso curving down into a twenty-four-inch waist, and rounding out into thirty-three-inch hips. A size two dress with size seven shoes made her a goddess to be worshipped.
Brittney fought every urge to respect Her, never saying inappropriate remarks or attempting to come on to Emily. After tying Emily’s right shoe, Brittney sat in the broken stacks of the heist and closed her eyes.
Unaccompanied, in the darkness of the room, the only light emanated from underneath the lampshade on the end table. Brittney’s body shuddered. The tears had enveloped her face since dusk. Drops fell freely; they were a leaky faucet waiting to be turned off. Body shaking, crying in the middle of the floor, Brittney reached for her mask so that Emily would not see her that way.
Stone still, a hollow expression on the outside. Inside, Brittney was a lost soul hoping to be saved.
The evening drawing to a close, Brittney picked up Emily and headed for the long flight upstairs.
Hanging from Brittney’s back, the dead-weight arms were wrapped around Brittney’s neck. Her legs were around Brittney’s waist. Feet were kicking each stair that she passed.
Carrying dead weight was good for Brittney’s thighs. Soon, she would have legs like both Barb and Lena.
The voice of reason, though, it was out of breath.
Halfway up, the heaviness causing her legs to burn, Brittney stopped for air. Her heart was racing. Chest pounding, the trek to the bedroom continued. Emily’s foot caught the lip of a stair, pulling the struggling Brittney back, almost tumbling downward.
Rising up on her toes, the force from the thrust caused Emily’s foot to fly forward into Brittney’s calf. Falling off balance, Brittney grabbed the staircase railing and pulled herself straight. Rocking back and forth, the weight of the passed out cheerleader on her back, Brittney reclaimed her posture.
Exhaling quick, short breaths, Emily in tow, the journey continued forward.
The phone mac
hine blinked. There were unheard messages waiting to be listened to. Phone calls needing to be returned. Brittney/Jeffrey’s parents had called during each cup of coffee since his wife’s death. When they didn’t reach their son, the phone calls extended to brunch, then dinner, and then finally to all hours.
Single-line sentences such as, “Are you OK?” and “We’re worried about you,” and “Let us know if you need us.” These messages vibrated off the empty house’s walls.
Brittney’s life hadn’t always been that of a cheerleader. Jeffrey’s life hadn’t always been that of Brittney.
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“Your father wanted a girl,” his mother said over lunch. This was the first get together since Her death. Jeffrey’s mother sipped her water, patting down her lips with a napkin. Mother’s round wire-rim glasses sliding down the tip of her nose as she raised the glass to her face. Her skin wrinkled from the sun, makeup covering the sunspots that filled her cheeks. She said, “We tried after you but it just wasn’t in God’s plan.”
The only child of two teachers, Jeffrey’s importance was shuffled in with various students throughout his parents’ tenures. After-school was spent contending for quality time while his mother graded papers. Competing with Jennifer, Sarah, Everett, Kyle the Teacher’s Pet, the Redheaded Boy with Freckles, and Braces became a challenge. He competed with Logan, Ashley, the Hearing Impaired Boy, Half-Asian, and No-Neck Nathan. Jeffrey, he started acting out to get the educators’ attention. Detention after school for skipping class. Minor thefts led to vandalism led to underage drinking. All to gain his parents’ love.
His parents were forced to address the concern. Meetings with school officials turned to the recommendation of therapy visits. Although the attention was negative, Jeffrey outshined his competitors. Not that it was difficult. Jennifer never stayed after school, Kyle the Teacher’s Pet could only suck up during the day, and Braces had his own issues with flossing.
Pushing her empty plate to the side of the table, Mother said, “It’s probably why your relationship with him wasn’t that great.”
Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] Page 4
