Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] (6 page)

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 machine 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.”

Sighing, Jeffrey said, “He was too involved in his own students’ lives rather than mine.” Sipping his lukewarm tea, he said, “The both of you were.”

Shrugging her shoulders, as if the topic had no meaning at all, desensitized from years of “raising” children, Mother, she said, “So, how are you doing?”

The whole time Jeffrey had been married, the relationship with his parents was nonexistent. That first meeting was the most quality talk they’d had in time without end. Jeffrey’s wife had encouraged him to call his folks regularly, saying that they should invite them over for dinner. Or tea. But there was never time.

Swallowing the rest of the peppermint tea, he said, “I’m moving forward every day.” Placing his teacup on the edge of the table, he reached for a napkin and patted his lips. A stained lip impression wetting the napkin’s surface made him smile. The lips reminded him of models who would apply a fresh coat of lipstick and then kiss a letter to their fans.

Jeffrey said, “I have no other choice but to move on.”

His mother, finishing her glass of water, said, “It was a shame what happened to her.”

The truth was that Her death had brought Jeffrey closer to his mother again. And even though they still did not have the relationship that She had wanted for her husband, Jeffrey and Mother were not miles away any longer.

The voice of silver lining reason, it said, “Let’s keep on keeping on.”

Now the question became, did dressing up like a cheerleader doll constitute “having a daughter”?

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Continuing through the corridor of the house, the phone rang. Enduring the march ahead, the message through the machine said, “Hi, honey. Thought maybe you’d like to talk.” Then a beep. The emptiness of the house was iridescently scary. Feeling alone in the oversized dwelling, the setting was both eerie and serene at the same time.

Turning the corner into the bedroom, dragging Emily through the doorway, Brittney kicked the door closed.

Tucked into bed, snug and under the covers, Brittney/Jeffrey’s second wind hit. Emily’s uniform and mask were in a pile on the floor as she slept curled up into a ball. With the mess of scattered clothing, Jeffrey’s body energized, he started to clean. Nobody should see the room in that state.

Kicking underwear under the bed, tossing shirts into dressers, the area slowly came together. Pulling out a broom and dustpan, sweeping around the corners of the room, the pan collected dirt and random flies’ corpses. Cleaning the room put Jeffrey at ease. Bringing it back to how She liked it was always the goal when he cleaned.

Moving around the house, the broom pushed up against the walls, the dust piling into little hills, the widower swept the entire perimeter. Combining the dirt together and brushing them into the dust pan, the filth led him down the staircase.

Each stair, and in between each spindle, was brushed until the debris disappeared into the pan. Working the brush around the main floor’s border, mountains of muck contained dirty piles of hair, random bobby pins, and earring backs from previous heists. Sweeping alone, the house’s appearance improved drastically.

A necklace swept out from underneath the love seat sparkled in the dirt. Stopping to pick it up, holding it up to the lamp’s glow, the charm glass locket blinded Jeffrey.

Blowing off the strands of hair and dust, he placed the necklet on the end table.

Stepping back, Jeffrey howled. “Ahh!” Lifting his foot behind him, an indent in his skin, Jeffrey scanned the floor to see the lost earring back from earlier. He cupped the back in his palm and then continued the task of cleaning the entire house before Emily woke up.

Once he finished with the sweeping, the floor’s coating appeared bland from the broom’s bristles. Grabbing a bucket and filling it with warm water and white vinegar, Jeffrey dropped in a mop to dampen it. Wringing it dry, the water drops playing a melody into the puddle, he stopped short.

Above him, the phone rang until the machine picked up. Jeffrey waited for a voice. “Hey there,” Lena’s disembodied voice said. “I just wanted to see if everything was OK.” There was a slight pause. Jeffrey, walking closer to the voice, heard the message continue. “Anyway, hope all is well. Call me if you want.”

A block away from Jeffrey’s house, sitting in her car in a gas station parking lot, Lena stared at the outgoing phone call to her friend. The call register blinked at thirty seconds, the duration of the call going to voicemail. Worried that William was right, she justified her action by relating her own experience with losing a spouse.

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After the truth hit Lena, her venture into the real world was challenging. Unable to find a job that paid enough to support her lifestyle, she phoned a financial advisor to talk about her options. Losing her husband was tough, but living through the aftermath was a harsher reality.

Waiting on tables for less than a meal’s tip, she could not afford the life she had built with her husband. Parts of her felt worthless for even letting her life get to that point. But, as the group leader of bereavement once told her, “Something drastic always has to happen for you to change your habits.” Lena just did not believe that her husband’s death was the drastic event looming around the corner.

Dropping her head down to her chest, dressed head to toe in cheerleading attire, she began to feel sorry for herself. Meeting Jeffrey had allowed her to move on. Jeffrey meeting William had allowed him to move on. They all needed each other to save themselves from being alone, being discarded again from the “normalcy” of society.

A cop tapping the car window with his knuckle startled Lena back to reality.

The green glow of the shelter above the gas pumps blinding her, she rolled down the window to address the officer.

The flashlight shining in her face, she squinted from the circle of light.

“Ma’am,” the police official said. “The gas station’s clerk called and wanted someone to check up on you.” Spinning the flashlight’s glow into the car’s interior, the officer leaned in closer to Lena.

His eyebrows lowering, his bottom lip dropping open, he said, “Are you wearing a cheerleader uniform?”

In the backseat were pom-poms. The accessories’ feathers fanned out like a peacock to show their full form. Stuffed into the space behind Lena’s seat, on the floor mat, were empty bags crumple stacked on top of each other.

Her eyes bulging, shifting rapidly left to right, Lena, quick thinking, said, “Yes. I coach cheerleading for a local high school squad that is competing in a national championship.”

The cop pulled his head back. The flashlight swirled around the automobile. Using the overhead alien glow as guidance, the police officer moved his head left to right to see into the car.

Channeling her inner cheerleader, Lena said, “Back to back champs.”

Eyebrows furrowing, the cop, waving the cheerleader out of the car, said, “Ma’am, please step out of the automobile.”

Stepping out of the car, Lena struck a pose.

Alarmed, the officer reached for his gun in its holster, ready for action.

Arranged to begin a routine, she put her finger up, signaling the public servant to wait. “Hang on,” she said. “Don’t shoot.”

Reaching for her pom-poms, her body half in the car, Lena grabbed the accessories and then slid back out. Standing erect, holding a pom-pom in each hand, she returned to form. Her legs spread, feet even with her waist, she raised one arm out. Stretching her closed fist out high, her other arm rested on her hip. Lena said, “This is known as the ‘go’ pose.”

Backing up slowly, one step at a time, the police officer stayed prepared, pointing the flashlight toward Lena while his free hand stayed close to his gun.

Inside the gas station, the clerk working the register watched the entire ordeal. He laughed behind the glass, jerking his head down and shaking his head at the sight.

The cop slowly craned his neck toward the lighted store window and then back toward the posing cheerer.

“Ready?” Lena said, body straightening, her arms falling to the side. “OK.”

Shaking the pom-poms in front of her, her arms straight and parallel to the pavement, Lena cheered. “Who’s the best squad in the whole wide world?” The peppy cheerer twisted her hips to the right. Her left leg kicked up. Her raised knee bending. Lena’s arms shot up into a high “V” and then fell back down to the front of her body. Holding the pom-poms stiff, the plastic feathers shook from the movement.

Pulling down her leg, returning to her body’s original “ready” pose, Lena screamed, “Bayside High! Bayside High!” She clapped in rhythm as she continued screaming, “Bayside High, Bayside High!”

With the police officer stunned back into his heels, Lena proceeded into a stretch of cheerleader poses she’d practiced with Jeffrey.