Hollow Dolls, The (21 page)

She waved him to come over, and he obliged. She
unzipped his fly and took him in her mouth to make him hard. “Tell me when,”
she said.

Timmy grimaced and groaned. “Now,” he said.

Winnie stood and brought him off with her hand
squirting the cum on her fresh wounds, then sat back down smearing the juices
together.

“White and red,” she moaned and rubbed the
stickiness on herself until she came.

She gave him twenty for another quarter gram rock and
they each filled their lungs from the pipe again.

Inside Winnie came the phantom melancholy. It was
what she shared with Mel. It spoke to her like poetry inside the crackle of the
burning rock and spread out inside her. This time it was a dark love story about
when she was would walk to school alone in Manchester.  The excitement of
freedom and danger would envelop her.

She craved the industrial smell that the factories
sent her way early in those mornings. It felt like a great communion. As she
walked, the dust of an industrial Christ would fill her lungs and flow through
her bloodstream.

It was a compliment to the black coating that had
deflowered the layer of snow all around during the night. The black dust on her
young pink lungs. It was God’s black crack. You didn’t get high, but you were
owned by it just the same. It was his decree that purity had been banished.

God had woken and spoken during the night. Human
virginity was gone. The Lord giveth and the Lord fucking cometh and taketh back.
Guaranteed. Nothing and nobody was exempt.

Winnie loved herself as a fallen being, one of God’s
communal archangels. She’d taken the blood of Christ into her once again.

Timmy ran off, promising to be only a few, and
Winnie changed out of her blood stained off-white communion dress and wandered
out on Hastings Street. The scene looked grungier with each passing block. Faces
were a little more contorted in some nasty way. Men’s eyes more yearning,
darker. She instinctively tugged her skirt down what little she could and
pulled her jacket closed under her folded arms as she walked.

She was coming down. It always felt like,
Already?
It was between dusk and dark and she needed something badly. Winnie connected
in Pigeon Park which was nothing more than a few benches and a bricked wedge of
sidewalk. He said he’d trade a speedball if she put out for him and his friend.

“I can’t wait that long,” said Winnie.

“My room’s right above the Mission.” He pointed to
the building right next to the park.

“Another mission? Okay, let’s hurry.” She pulled him
by the hand. “Where’s your friend?”

“Upstairs.”

They tried to make her suck their cocks after they’d
both fucked her and Winnie said no. His friend pushed her back down on the bed
and Winnie punched him in the balls when he tried to put his cock in her face.
While he groaned like a junkie foetus, Winnie asked for her due.

“Ok, ok.”

“In the park,” said Winnie. “Not around this wanker.”
She smacked him over his ear good and hard with the back of her hand and he
wailed. “Smarten up you sodfucking asshole!” she growled.

 They sat in the park and hit up. It was supposed to
be a regular speedball then the night lights started moving and dancing and he
told her, “Frisco speedball baby doll.” It had LSD too. The heroin doubled her
over and she immediately barfed what little there was in her stomach.

“Don’t worry about Alan, he’s a dick. You’re all
right Winnie, I like you.”

She sat up, leaned over and kissed him.

“Thanks.”

She started feeling a bit of control walking home,
then realized she was going the wrong way when she saw the No. 5 Orange sign.
She stopped for a drink. They wouldn’t let her in. Firstly she was high and
looked like a death child. Secondly, she kept bumping into people. She wished
everything would just hold still for a second. She argued with him and the
bouncer carded her, just to be able to kick her out in a nice way.

She was tossed.

Winnie wandered off barely a block, then exhausted
she had to sit on the sidewalk on Main Street across from the police station. She
looked fresh for the Downtown Eastside. Even though she’d gotten a bit strung
out and looked bad compared to her usual self, most street kids down here her
age had been at if for years and they looked really fucking bad. That meant
rotted teeth, ashen pitted skin, scabs and open sores—the works. Compared to
them, she was fresh meat. It wasn’t long before a dark-skinned girl was leading
her into the alley. Winnie was trying to ask her what for, only the words
didn’t come out right when she spoke. Then a few guys were there too. She couldn’t
resist she was so high from the speedball.  

“Do you guys wanna fuck?” That came out fine.

She always had to push things a little further. It
wasn’t rational. It was just the next obvious thing. Her mind whispered back to
her in a news report voice that she was found dead the next morning. She saw
herself laid out on the ground.

“Chalk marks,” she said. It made her giggle.

 “Wait!” said Winnie, realizing the girl was going
to leave.

The dark chick with them had said something, then someone
else had one arm around Winnie’s waist as they walked down the alley and the
girl left. It was a hand-off.

“Bye-bye,” said Winnie.

The two men dropped her on an old mattress in the
alley.

“Good. I need a blue man,” she said.

The dominant guy unbuttoned himself and pressed his
cock against her lips. “Open wide.”

Winnie teetered over on the mattress.

“I need fucked,” she said, grabbing his cock.

Winnie’s eyes were wide open looking up at the man
as she took him into her mouth. Though her vision was half hallucinations, she recognized
another man hovering over the guy that was pushing his cock in her mouth. Then the
cock pulled out of her mouth, and the guy flew across the alley like a tornado
had struck.

“Go for it,” mumbled Winnie to the second guy, then he
ran off and the big guy came and helped her up.

“There we go,” he said. “That blind date just didn’t
work out, did it?”

 “Santa,” said Winnie. “Claw...” She bent and threw
up again.

 The air going in and out of his lungs sounded like
a warm breeze in the trees as they walked. He took her a few blocks to his
apartment, and she passed out until the middle of the night.

When she woke she startled the man. He fed her
chicken soup, the Lipton’s kind with the tiny noodles, and in between sips and
slurps she explained everything about her self sparing no details.

“Melanie Willow?” said the man.

“She goes by Mel, Melanie right now. She’s fucked
up, not like in a bad way. It’s a long story. Winnie slurped up the last few
spoonfuls. “Good sloop.”

 The man said his name was Walter Willow and that
the girl Winnie knew was his daughter. He wanted to know more about Melanie. Anything
that Winnie could tell him. Winnie didn’t really piece it together in a
shocking revelation kind of way. She knew Melanie was looking for her father and
this man said he was the guy. She felt like she was dreaming or hallucinating.
It seemed impossible and that was how hallucinations went anyway. They chatted
away, Walter telling him his stories about taking care of the girls in the
DTES, and she figured Walter for a super hero. He looked like Santa Claus. He
was a cross between Santa and Superman.

She wanted to return the favor and she’d already
taken to him like a father figure, so she hustled over to her own place at
daybreak and came back with her laptop.

“We’re writing a shared memoir,” said Winnie,
showing him. “It’s called ‘The Man-Rabbit’.” Walter laughed when he heard the
title. She showed him a bunch of things about Melanie then after a time she left.

“You won’t mention this to Melanie,” said Walter.

“Sure Mr. Willow. It’s just between us.” Winnie
still wasn’t sure if he was real.

By that point it was time for her to get high again
anyway. She picked up some rock from Timmy on the way back home. Alejandra
showed up and she had to wait to smoke any of it.

“I see you’ve met Walter,” said Alejandra. “He’s in
with that long eared pest already.”

“How do you just
know
everything?” asked
Winnie, feeling angry about Alejandra interrupting her next high.

Alejandra grabbed Winnie’s neck with both hands.
Winnie listened to the wheezing in her own throat. It occurred to her that she
was hearing a death poem.

“I have an all access pass to The Record. It tells
me everything,” she said.

“Sorry, Mistress.” Winnie barely croaked it out and Alejandra
let her go.

“I know about your little comfort and joy
Winnifred.” Alejandra tapped Winnie’s jeans pocket.

 “It just helps me so I can keep track of Mel.”

Winnie looked at the date on her laptop. June 10. Alejandra
was really here. Winnie massaged her neck where Alejandra had grabbed her.

“Why do you care so much about Melanie anyway?” said
Winnie. She braced herself. Alejandra was preoccupied looking out onto the
alley through the window. 

“It’s all about Lilly,” said Alejandra.  

Winnie was surprised by Alejandra’s good-natured tone.
She sounded like a real person with feelings.

“Lilly is insanely protective of Mel. She won’t let
anyone near her. Meanwhile she’s only half... Well, Cara hates Lilly doting
over Mel. It’s wrong mostly because she was a late comer. We are her real
daughters.”

Alejandra was pacing around the room talking as though
Winnie weren’t there.

“I’m doing Melanie a favor. If she could only see
that! Once I have Kim Li with Melanie we will all be able to do what we want.”

Alejandra looked around and discovered Winnie was
there.

“You!” She pinched Winnie’s chin and lifted. “My
little blood queen. You keep me informed,” said Alejandra. She whisked out the
door like a vapour.

Winnie started writing Walter into “The Man-Rabbit”
story right after she smoked a pipe full. As she typed, she took sips of rye
whiskey and coke, and it occurred to her that Alejandra might actually care.

Winnie still had problems organizing the inventory
of her physical world. Not that she couldn’t remember things. She had a perfect
memory. She just had difficulty proving back to herself whether or not things
existed. She’d have to take a picture of Alejandra next time. She lit a
Marlborough and teetered back on her chair.

It was so exciting! Not only that Walter was Mel’s
father, alive and well. Winnie had found him and Melanie didn’t even know! It
was a dirty little secret. But she was a dirty little girl, n'est-ce pas?

The
entry ended abruptly with no sign-off. Melanie wrote Winnie back right away.

Winnie!
What’s going on? Is this TRUE? Is he really my father? Please tell me what that
address is now. Call me. M.

Melanie
entered the back door of The No.5 and headed for the bar. Billie was busy
setting up for the 11:30 opening.

“Hi Billie, remember me?”

“Course I do hun. Scott called to cancel. He apologized—some last
minute thing.”

“I was set to audition today at eleven.”

“You know you’re already in baby doll.” said Billie. “Might as
well have a go on the stage and get a feel for it.”

Melanie passed her the music. “Thanks.”

She felt distant from herself. The dancer Melanie. She’d chosen an
outfit from the suitcase along with the music. The top was a white Playboy
bunny tank with the plain black logo. The edges at the bottom were cut ragged
and ended mid belly. Melanie set the iPhone up on a table by the front row to
record and jumped up on stage by the pole. As soon as she gripped the pole,
things changed. It felt like a weapon. Like she was holding a gun. Billie
turned the sound on.

Billie watched the title roll by on the player’s display in green
digital font. ‘Ludacris - My Chick Bad ft. Nicki Minaj’. The song started and
Melanie went into the routine she didn’t really know.

After watching from the bar Billie came by the stage to work the
camera for the ending. Melanie slid down the pole naked, her legs above
gripping it tight and moved into her floor routine. Billie walked around the
stage shooting and then climbed up for some close-up shots.

“All white top, all white belt, and all white jeans, body looking
like milk.”

As the song came to the end, Billie stood on her tip toes for an
overhead shot. Melanie finished with a hip hop backspin and came out of it
lying on her side with her head propped on her elbow. Melanie’s eyes were
looking right into the lens. She did a ‘mwah’ for the camera.

“Perfect!” howled Billie. “You are an awesome babe!”

Melanie got up and started dressing.  It wasn’t that good. Billie
was being nice. Winnie was cuter than her really. She probably even danced
better. Melanie continued thinking about her looks as she pulled her red boots
up over her fishnet stockings. She was the girl next door. Guys probably dug
her because of it though. Maybe it was a ‘fuck your sister’ thing or that
slightly homophobic guy getting in on with a boyish girl. She couldn’t remember
being with a lot of guys. Most guys were into the prettier femme girls. She was
just different. She looked into the mirrored wall behind the stage. Who
had
she been with? She tried to remember then smacked her own ass and left the
stage.

“See ya Billie.”

Billie handed Melanie back her Cd.

The No.5 sat right on the south west corner of the intersection at
Powell and Main in the Downtown Eastside. After her audition Melanie stood
outside the bar and looked down Hastings Street to the West. People were milling
about. Some on alley corners, like flies buzzing around the dealers. People trickled
in and out of Henry’s. That was a general store if there ever was one. They
sold everything from full hot entrees to ammunition. Henry was a second
generation child of Korean immigrants. His father had bought the store through
his connections in Canada and slowly brought the entire family across the
Pacific in the forties.

Another half block down, in the same direction, was a man with a
baggy overcoat who pulled a wagon behind him. His movements were slow, with an
air of grace. Melanie crossed the street from the bar and walked down half a
block to the police station. Inside she inquired with the duty officer about
the name she’d seen on the Vancouver Police internet pages. The officer typed
‘Walter Willow’ into the database query.

“I’m sorry. We can’t give out information. These are appeals to
the public on active cases. Basically that means you need to be him to find out
anything about this.  Anyway...” He leaned on the counter, closer to Melanie
and donned a familiar persona, the one he always used to pickup chicks.

“Walter Willow, this item has been delisted. That could mean the
case is closed or any number of things.”

“I’ve been trying to locate him. I think he’s my father.”

“In that case, I’d recommend making a Freedom of Information
request. FOI requests are made through Information and Privacy Coordinator over
on East Hastings. Here’s the address, and here...” He reached into a file
cabinet and pulled a form. “...is the paperwork for the request.” 
Smoothie.

The duty officer couldn’t take his eyes off of the opening next to
the gold buttons on the girl’s raincoat.

“Thanks, you’ve been helpful,” said Melanie.

He blushed a little as his eyes darted back toward her. Not a bad
wolf
.

“My pleasure Miss.”

Melanie dropped the form in a street waste bin. She called Holmes at
the thinnest building. He began following up the lead through a friend who had
access to police records. He’d call her back.

Attached to the station above the door outside, a weatherproof CCTV
camera’s servo motor hummed as the it panned across Main Street. A light rain
fell. The lens zoomed in on the woman who’d just exited the building. She
crossed Hastings Street against the red light which was an infraction of the
Motor Vehicle Act.

The men on the other end of the camera made a joke about arresting
her for jaywalking. One man gently manipulated the CCTV controller joystick to
tilt the camera down. The lens auto-focussed on her black fishnet scissoring
legs. Flashes of red Louboutin boots left a trail of shimmery dreams on the wet
pavement with every stride.

The woman made her way a few blocks down to Portside Park, dubbed ‘Crab
Park’ by the locals. Another weatherproof camera mounted on a pole by the
walkway followed the woman who’d just made an inquiry at the station. A few
people strolled with umbrellas. The woman passed a lone grove of trees, looking
into them with such interest that the men on the other end of the camera assumed
something was happening in there. Then she turned to look at the seawall sign
that read ‘Off Leash Area’. The men seemed enthralled by her every move as if
she were a famous actress and for a few, The Madonna. The shadow woman.

Rain drizzled on a granite rock framed by white pine fronds. It
was a shrine, with numerous photos and flowers set in an array around it. 

A man stepped up to view the memorial beside Melanie. He was far
enough away, that in such a situation they maintained privacy. She finished
reading the inscription and turned to leave.

 “It’s such a tragedy, isn’t it?” said the man.

Melanie turned back. Too many bad wolves. She turned.

It was him.

They both looked back to the rock in silence.

“Hi, I’m Vic, Vic Denton,” he said and reached out his hand.

As she turned, her raincoat opened against the intentions of the
snugged belt around her waist. The cotton playboy shirt clung to her breasts
and rubbed against her nipples.

 She wanted him that close.

“Melanie Willow.”

“I’ve just been out looking for an older man who collects things
around the neighborhood,’ said Vic. “Maybe you’ve seen him...towing a wagon?”

Melanie remembered the man she’d just seen.

“Sorry, I’m not from around here.”

“He had an antique birdcage on his wagon one day and I really want
to find him again.”

 “Well, good luck. I should really go.”

Melanie began to step past and he spoke again so she stopped right
next to him.  

“I mean, I was going to say...”

He stepped closer.

“I hope we’ll meet again.”

She was caught by his smile and his eyes. She smiled back. Melanie
couldn’t help herself. It was her and Nigreda.

 “Do you think we could have a drink sometime?” said Vic.

 “Perhaps,” she said.

She turned her head slightly as if she could just leave then
turned back. Vic made his eyes gentle and he got inside her even more. He
slowly leaned in. They kissed hungrily and in moments Melanie grabbed his hand
and pulled.

The camera panned, following them into the small stand of
cottonwoods she’d spotted earlier. Melanie opened her coat. It slid off of her
shoulders and dropped to the ground. Their cold hands touched one another’s
skin. Vic lifted up the bunny shirt and gorged himself. He imagined opening her
belly with his shiny blade. Melanie’s head pressed back against the tree while
his mouth moved over her nipples. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head
away. Unbuckling his jeans, she took him in her mouth making him wet and even
harder. She wanted to know this bad wolf. Melanie stood and leaned back against
the tree parted her legs in offering. Vic lifted her leg and entered her. He
pressing her back to the tree with each thrust and Melanie went to the viscera
wherever she could with Nigreda.

A slight moan escaped. “Scott.” Then Vic was gone.

Melanie’s mind coexisted in different places and times. First she
was in the barn and saw the old man’s face on top of Cloe. As Vic pounded her
body it vibrated with a dark rapture. Her body knew who the old man was and it
knew who was inside her now. The two became connected. She felt his dark blood
trying to hurt her against this tree as she was part Melanie and part Cloe. The
bark dug into her back the way Cloe’s did the floor of the barn.

Melanie came back completely to the stand of trees. She came along
with Vic. Inside her Nigreda said “Good girl!”

Melanie exited the stand of trees first while Vic zipped up.
Tapping the cottonwood tree as he left, Vic turned to look at his old hangout
spot.

“Hope you liked the show Lynxie.”

He caught up to Melanie and they walked out of the park looking like
a couple taking a stroll.

“Let’s have that drink sometime,” said Melanie.

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and turned away.

“For sure, let’s.”

And that was all.

The munchkin trinkets shook for a moment then steadied as the
giant armatures began to turn the wheel. It was the clockwork of the hollow
doll.

The park felt end-of-the-world quiet as Melanie walked. She heard
the servo motor of the camera on the pole. She glanced and noticed it follow
her, panning with her movement. They were always watching. Them, who were they?
The men at the police station?

Not one of the men of the police unit who’d become preoccupied
watching the girl from the other end understood their feelings. A few, the
‘Maddona’ ones, turned away feeling ashamed when she’d looked directly at the
camera.

Not a one would ever confess. Not to the mixture of jealous anger
they’d felt toward the girl.

Not to the dark misogyny that bubbled under their skin. Not to
their desires to be in that stand of trees with the blonde bitch taking turns
on her. She deserved to be fucked hard by all of them.

She was a slut.They were not on trial.

The men all put their hats and coats on and went back into their real
lives over the rainbow. And the pretty young woman with the Playboy shirt was arm
in arm with Cloe. Falling into the ether real. Geometry was gone. Were they waving
hello? Good-bye. No postcards coming.

Don’t wait up.

Melanie’s hands were numb from the damp cold. With the engine
running, she pulled back Darth’s head and dropped two bars in her mouth, trying
to work up enough saliva to get them down. Then she remembered the water in her
purse. She drank it down. Flicking on the heat she rubbed her fingers together
like two sticks in front of the dashboard vent. She cupped her hands and blew
hard. The warm air raised his scent from her fingers.

She idled her way out of the Chinatown parkade.  On the meandering
drive along the waterfront down the back road along Coal Harbour, the buildings
gave some relief. It was inanimate geometry. Urban. Familiar harmless city
shapes. She pieced it together; a usable form of reality. Coming out of Stanley
Park, she felt herself slipping away and pulled over by the Sylvia Hotel on
Pacific Avenue. She began to shake and struggled for control. The people
walking by on the sidewalk faded to black, Melanie gripped the wheel hard and held
on.