Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] (12 page)

Arriving at the scene, completely exhausted, Jeffrey bent down to catch his breath. His hand on his thighs, keeled over, saliva falling onto the hot pavement, he said, “This is my car.”

The Corvette, now on the truck’s flatbed, was being straightened as the slide began to incline and level out. Standing upright, his heart pounding out of his chest, Jeffrey said, “Did you hear me?”

Still a couple strides back, Lena watched as Jeffrey and the tow truck driver exchanged words. Animated, pacing back and forth, his arms flailing all around, Jeffrey’s facial expressions went from angry to distraught and then from crying to confused. Floundering around in a circle, body now moving in every direction, Jeffrey pulled his hair. Releasing his hands, pleading to the tow truck driver, the pulled hair on his head remained sticking up in the air.

Reaching the scene, Lena gave the baseball back to Jeffrey.

Explaining the situation, the tow truck driver said, “I’m just doing my job.”

“But I’m right here,” Jeffrey said. His hands up, palms facing the sun, Jeffrey’s elbows were at right angles. Demanding the tow truck driver release his car, he said, “Don’t you have better things to do?”

Staying professional, not letting his curiosity get the best of him, the operator, standing erect in front of Jeffrey, said, “I’ll release your car for two hundred dollars.”

Lena’s mouth dropped. The sticker shock caused her body to collapse.

The voice inside, it was cursing the tow truck driver out.

Erupting out of his skin, Jeffrey said, “That’s ridiculous!”

Red lips on his face, unable to keep composure, the man said, “You know what’s ridiculous? You showing up like Ronald fucking McDonald.”

Offended, her body straightening, Lena jumped to Jeffrey’s side. She said, “I think he looks nice.”

Cocking his head toward the pretty Doll, he said, “And who are you, Mrs. McDonald?”

Getting in between the man and Lena, Jeffrey raised his finger to the operator’s face. “You leave her out of this.”

“I’ll leave you both out of this if you pay me two hundred dollars,” the man said. Eying the baseball in Jeffrey’s hand, he said, “
And
that baseball.”

Stiffening his body, the anger inside brooding, his teeth starting to show as his eyes grew to the size of softballs, Jeffrey said, “What?! I caught this ball fair and square!”

Stomping his feet, hard into the pavement, he screamed, “You can’t take my ball!” Parading around in a circle before them, Jeffrey continued to stomp.

His face collapsing, wrinkles appearing from all angles, Jeffrey started to cry. “He wants to take my ball!” Screaming at the top of his lungs, stomping louder, he said, “My ball!”

Jeffrey folded his arms, close to his chest, protecting his coveted souvenir. Glaring at the man, eyes wet from tears, he said, “I won’t let you take my ball!”

The change in behavior forced the tow truck driver to step back.

Lena, seeing Jeffrey slipping into a dark place, said, “It’s OK.” Rubbing Jeffrey on the shoulder, she whispered, “I’ll take care of this.”

Holding his breath, his face turning as red as his lips, Jeffrey’s body started to tremble.

Whispering to Jeffrey, Lena said, “Just calm down.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. Jeffrey’s body, it was still shaking. “I’ll take care of this.” Looking deeply into Jeffrey’s eyes, she said, “Don’t worry.”

Holding up her finger to the man, Lena walked Jeffrey away from the scene. Coming up to a parking bumper, Lena pointed down at the concrete parking stop. “Can you sit right here?” she said.

Caressing the baseball, hugging it close to him, Jeffrey complied and sat. Leaning into the ball, he whispered, “I won’t let them take you away too.” Jeffrey kissed the ball and then cradled it.

The tow driver leaned in forward to observe the crying Drama Doll. His mouth fallen open, he stared in curiosity at the tearful Jeffrey.

Returning to the truck operator, Lena pleaded with him. “Listen. If you let him keep the ball, I’ll pay you two-fifty for the car.” Looking back at Jeffrey, she said, “He just lost his wife.”

Peeking over Lena, the driver’s expression softening, he said, “I’ll tell you what. Just take care of him. I’ll give the car back. No charge.”

Lena’s body sank in relief. Displaying an endearing look toward the man, Lena smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She extended her frame, standing up on tip toes, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said again.

The man put his hands up in surrender. Taking one last look at the vulnerable cheerleader, he said, “Seriously. Take care of him.” He cringed and then jumped into his truck.

The tow truck receding into the distance, Lena plopped down next to Jeffrey and put her arm around his waist. Swaying left to right, a calming motion as if she was trying to put a baby asleep, Lena finally turned to Jeffrey.

Cradling the ball close, his eyes red from crying, Jeffrey smiled at the ball.

Sitting on the parking stoop was an eternity. Stretching her legs out in front of her, Lena leaned her body back and looked up to the clear sky. There was not a cloud around, only a straight shot to Heaven. Both her spouse and Jeffrey’s looking down at them. Lena, she wondered if the two had met. If they, also, had bereavement groups for losing someone. Was Heaven one big baseball game to attend? These thoughts and more passed through her mind.

A soothing breeze picked up, blowing her hair into her face. Opening her eyes, her vision focusing on the pale blue backdrop in between strands of hair, Lena exhaled softly out of her nose.

Staring into the ground in front of her, she said, “Are you OK?”

Nodding his head, Jeffrey said, “Yeah.” His voice, it was innocent and soft. The ball was warm and sticky from the heat. The smell of leather in his nose, he said, “We can go.”

He looked around to see that the tow truck driver was gone. “Where’s—”

“I took care of it,” Lena said.

The pair stood and entered the Corvette. Starting the car, the radio’s volume turned up, Jeffrey shifted into drive.

A circle of light led Barb and Brittney up the staircase toward the bedrooms. Leading the heist, gripping the flashlight with one hand, Barb took each step with caution. Brittney followed behind. Pillowcases slung around their shoulders, the dynamic duo stopped on the landing that joined the bedrooms of the house.

Mask situated, cheerleader uniform freshly washed, Brittney struck a pose. Her fist on one hip while her other arm extended into the air. Legs straight and flexed, the Drama Doll’s skirt was just above her bare knees.

Her lower legs shaved and smooth, her ankle socks the same length, Brittney muffled the words, “Ready? OK!” This time around Brittney’s wig hair was tied back into a pony tail.

The mask pulled down tight over Brittney’s chin, Barb could tell that she had pride in her appearance.

Sighing, reluctant to participate, Barb gave Brittney a look.

Brittney didn’t budge. Her body still stiff in posture. Flexing her limbs, Brittney’s legs began to shake.

Staring at the cheerleader as her body trembled with each second that passed, Barb rolled her eyes. Giving in, mirroring the pose, opposite hand on her hip, free hand lifting up her mask, Barb said, “OK.” Pulling down the mask over her face, she extended her hand into the air.

Brittney, pumping her open fist, she cheered, “Dee, ar, ay, em, ay, what’re we gonna do today? We’re gonna rob, we’re gonna thieve, we’re take this shit then leave; We’re gonna run, we’re gonna hide, we’re gonna sort this shit inside; My house, my house, as quiet as a mouse.”

Barb stared as Brittney announced the anthem.

“Dee, oh, el, el, es, we’ll be out in thirty or less; We’re gonna dress, as our best, we’re gonna wear high skirts and breasts; We’re gonna cheer, we’re gonna play, Drama Dolls are here to stay!”

Standing like a statue, waiting for the conclusion, Barb dropped her head to her chest.

Finishing the cheer, Brittney said, “Drama Dolls!”

The cheerleaders broke position, and then went to work. Inside the master, the flashlight stationed on the drawer to give them light, the masculine cheerleaders assessed the situation. The Victorian homes’ ceilings were tall to give them open space. Having gone through the house with the realtor reduced the time to get in and out.

Walking toward a closet, Brittney said, “You take the drawers.” A hollow expression from Barb, Brittney opened a walk-in and stepped inside. In a row on the shelf above the clothing rods were designer shoes, boots, and sandals. Women’s shoes galore. Jimmy Choo, Sam Edelman, TOMS Wedge Booties, Vince Camuto, and Dolce Vita. The boots were by Munro and Paul Green.

Pulling down shoes into her case, the bag began to fill up quickly. Once the shelf was clear, Brittney looked down at the clothing rod.

Gowns from Aidan Mattox and Adam Lippes were hung by color. Lined up like they had been placed in a particular order, Brittney stepped back to admire the clothing. Jaw dropping, her lips curled into a smile.

In the mix were sleeveless crewneck crepe gowns, beaded bodice full-skirt gowns, and half-sleeve gowns with bow shoulders. Squeezing them together with her hands, Brittney pulled them down from the rack and threw them out onto the floor.

Empty shoe boxes lined the wall. She kicked them over to make sure nothing was inside. Tumbling over, the cardboard boxes fell onto each other, making a Stonehenge-like stack in the corner.

Startled by the falling boxes, cutting Brittney a look, Barb said, “What was that?”

Stepping out, Brittney was shaking her head. She said, “Nothing.” Turning the flashlight so it pointed to the vanity, she grabbed an empty pillowcase and began pulling out drawers.

Before Brittney’s eyes was a huge collection of cosmetics. Some used and others never having been opened. Foundation bottles, brand new, the caps tightly sealed, were thrown into the bag.

Eyeliner, blush, lipstick, the score provoked Brittney into stealing makeup for herself.

Mascara, eye shadow, fingernail polish, they were all taken from their drawer slots. Pulling out each item, reading the label as she went, Brittney tossed the individual pieces into her bag.

Closing each drawer, returning it to position, the cheerleader stepped back and looked at the vanity. During the tour, the group had not been allowed to enter the master, so admiring the piece of furniture was a first. “Beautiful,” she said.

The hand-carved cabriolet legs on the dressing table were classy. The smooth curves made for a great piece. In the beveled mirror, Barb’s reflection poured through dresser drawers. Separating T-shirts and socks, Barb felt her hand along the drawer’s inside and up and down the corners.

“What’re you doing?” Brittney said to the mirrored image.

Through the glass, Barb’s reflection turned toward Brittney. Her cardboard breasts uneven underneath the sweater, she said, “Sometimes people stash valuables in the back of dressers.” Never having had to justify her actions before, Barb said, “Why?”

“Oh.” Brittney answered with a shrug. She said, “Just asking.”

Instead of continuing on the vanity, Brittney watched Barb move to each drawer. The way she moved, it was as if she was gliding on air. Barb had studied the movement of gymnasts and ballet dancers so that she could incorporate the graceful motion into her secret identity. Sliding on the wood floor, elegantly rearranging the articles of clothing, Barb stylishly maneuvered through the fabric.

The next drawer, filled with shorts and yoga pants, also came up empty. Closing the drawer shut, Barb pulled at the next bin. The wood sticking together, expanded from the humidity, the Drama Doll yanked it out. The frustration caused the wooden drawer to fall down to the floor.

Articles of clothing went everywhere. Spread out around Barb as she moved away from the fallen drawer.

Scattered amongst the sweatpants and workout clothes was a gun. A black semiautomatic. Single stack. A holy-fuck-you-just-found-a-gun!

Stepping back, the nosy Doll craned her neck toward Brittney. Returning to the weapon, Barb kneeled to collect the piece. She held up the gun in plain view, spinning it around slowly to examine it.

Brittney’s eyes bulged underneath her mask. The scene unfolding through the mirror’s reflection.

The voice of scared shitless reason said, “Oh my God, oh my God! She’s got a gun. She’s got a gun!”

Brittney dropped her pillowcase. The makeup containers crashed, some opening. The foundation glass bottles were loud on the hardwood. One bottle cracked, causing it to spill inside the bag. A peach colored spot formed on the pillowcase.

Through the mirrored image, Barb was inspecting the firearm closely. Twisting it around, she observed the hammer, magazine, and the grip. Groping the piece, Barb felt the slide and barrel under her fingertips. She pointed it at Brittney, her arm extended out. A flick of her wrist, the gun going up toward the ceiling, acting as if she was pulling the trigger.

In the mirror, the muzzle pointed at Brittney’s back. Raising her hands in slow motion, Brittney played the part of victim. The reverse-imaged Barb released her position.

Turning around, Brittney walked toward her counterpart. Together, the two stared at the semiautomatic, their phony smiles close to the gun. Brittney leaned in closer until the thermoplastic polymer was touching. Pulling back, Brittney removed the mask, her mouth dropping open.