Dollbaby: A Novel (15 page)

“Right away.” Numa took away the empty glass.

“Did you used to come here a lot?” Ibby asked.

Fannie squinted. “Yes dear, once upon a time. This was your grandfather’s favorite restaurant. He proposed to me at this very table.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Fannie glanced up at the ceiling. “I used to bring Graham and Balfour here on special occasions, too. I ordered you the same thing I used to order for your daddy.”

After a few seconds, Ibby asked, “Who’s Balfour?”

Fannie rubbed her bottom lip with her finger, as if she were trying to decide how to answer the question. “Didn’t your daddy ever mention that he had a brother?”

“No, ma’am,” Ibby said.

Numa returned with the potatoes and appetizers.
“Bon appétit.”

Ibby took a bite of the shrimp as she waited for Fannie to answer.

“He didn’t tell you much about your family, did he? Perhaps that’s for the best.” She took a long drag from her cigarette. “Balfour was your father’s younger brother.”

“Where is he now?”

“There was an accident.” Fannie’s voice drifted off, and she began staring off into the distance.

Rule Number Two. If she talks about her past, don’t ask questions.

Fannie turned to Ibby and looked her squarely in the eye. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like how you got that black eye, for instance.”

“Oh.” Ibby touched her eye lightly.

“Think I hadn’t noticed?” Fannie said. “That makeup Doll smeared on your face isn’t exactly helping.”

They ate in silence, but Ibby could tell Fannie was thinking hard about something. Her eyes had become glassy and distant.

Numa came over to the table and placed a plate topped with a brown paper bag in front of Ibby. Ibby was wondering what on earth Fannie had ordered for her when Numa brought out a knife and slit the bag open. Steam filled the air as he cut away the bag and slid the
fish out onto the plate, butter and crabmeat tumbling out with it. He placed a plate of fish in front of Fannie.

Numa turned to Fannie. “Would Madame like some wine with dinner?”

Fannie stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, never having touched her soup. “Why ever not?”

Just as Ibby picked up her fork, Fannie asked, “So, dear, tell me how you came about that eye.”

Ibby put her fork down, wondering if she should make up a story or just tell the truth. She decided it was time for the truth. “Annabelle punched me.”

“And why did she do that?”

“I accidentally hit her with the swing. She got mad and whacked me in the eye with her fist.”

“And did you fight back?”

Ibby looked down at the fish on her plate. “Yes, ma’am.” She said it quickly, hoping maybe Fannie wouldn’t catch what she said, but the crooked grin on Fannie’s face told her she had.

“That explains Honey Friedrichs’s presence at the house the other day,” she said with a laugh. She patted Ibby’s hand. “I would have done the same thing, dear. Guess we’ll just have to find someone else for you to play with.”

When they finished lunch, Numa cleared their plates and scraped bits of French bread off the tablecloth with a blunt knife. “Coffee for Madame?”

“Yes, lovely,” Fannie said. When Numa was gone, she turned to Ibby. “Let me ask you something, Ibby dear. Your mother told me in no uncertain terms the other day that your father hated me, that I was the reason he moved away from New Orleans. Did he ever mention anything like that to you?”

“Why no, ma’am. I never heard him say that.”

Fannie eyed her a moment. “Did he ever talk about me, or his father perhaps?”

Ibby looked down, trying to figure out how to answer without upsetting Fannie. “Well, no, not really.”

“Whatever do you mean? Either he did or he didn’t.”

Ibby fiddled with her napkin, then looked over at Fannie. “I could tell how he felt about you by the way he looked at your picture.”

“What picture?” Fannie tilted her head.

“The one he used to carry in his wallet.”

“Oh,” Fannie said. “And how was that?”

“In a loving sort of way.” Ibby added, “I think he missed you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, dear.”

Their conversation was cut short when four waiters approached the table with a large silver platter.

“A Baked Alaska for Mademoiselle’s birthday,” one of the waiters said before waving his finger in the air like a baton. “A one, a two, and a three.”

The waiters burst into a barbershop rendition of “Happy Birthday.” All eyes in the restaurant were on Ibby.

“Happy birthday, dear,” Fannie said, holding up her wineglass. In between two meringue doves perched on either end of the domed cake,
Happy Birthday
was sprawled in a swirly script. It was so pretty, it almost looked like a sculpture. Ibby was about to point that out when she noticed tears streaming down Fannie’s face. Fannie was whispering to herself, making no attempt to wipe them away.

“Fannie, are you okay?” Ibby reached over and touched her hand.

Fannie glanced in her direction, but Ibby could tell she was in a place very far away.

D
oll could see Crow staring out the car window as he pulled the car into the driveway. Doll knew that look. It meant Miss Fannie was in trouble.

Queenie came up beside Doll. “Think Crow’s gone need some help getting Miss Fannie inside.”

By the time Doll got to the car, Crow was trying to get Fannie to move, but Fannie just sat there staring straight ahead, stiff and motionless, as if she’d turned to stone. Ibby was sitting next to her in the back-seat.

Crow touched Fannie’s elbow. “Come on now, Miss Fannie. Time to go inside. I know you can hear me. Let’s go on in the house.”

“Time to have cake and give Miss Ibby her birthday present. Ain’t that so, Miss Fannie?” Doll’s eyes met Crow’s.

Crow went around to the other side of the car and opened the door. “Let’s go on inside, Miss Ibby. Miss Fannie’ll be just a minute.”

Crow escorted Ibby to the back steps, where Queenie was waiting.

She took Ibby inside. “Go have a seat at the dining room table. We got a surprise for you.” Then she whispered to Crow, “What’s going on?”

“No need to whisper, Mama. I can hear you all the way out here,” Doll said. She had managed to get one of Fannie’s legs out of the car. At this rate, Doll thought, it would be tomorrow before she got Fannie inside.

“All I know, the whole way back from the restaurant, Miss Fannie kept talking about getting Master Balfour a birthday present, like he was in the car with us,” Crow said to Queenie.

“Balfour? Why she going on about Master Balfour? She hasn’t mentioned his name in at least ten years,” Queenie said.

Crow removed his cap and scratched his head. “Far as I can tell, Miss Fannie and Miss Ibby were talking about Master Balfour over lunch.”

“Oh, dear Lawd.” Queenie glanced over at Doll. “Better go on over there and help Doll get Miss Fannie into the house. Then we can decide what to do with her.”

Crow and Doll tussled with Fannie a good fifteen minutes before they finally got her out of the car. They led her inside, each supporting an elbow.

“Afternoon, Miss Fannie,” Queenie said as they came through the back door.

Fannie eyed the cake on the kitchen table. “Whose birthday is it?”

“Why, Miss Fannie, you remember. It’s your granddaughter Ibby’s birthday. She’s sitting at the dining room table now. And Doll here is gone bring down the present she made for her. Was your idea, remember?”

Crow had Fannie trudging along in a slow shuffle toward the dining room. “We getting there, sure enough.”

“I’ll be right back.” As Doll slipped past her daddy and up the stairs, she didn’t have a good feeling.

When Doll returned, Fannie was in her chair, and the candles on the cake were lit.

“Come on now. Let’s all sing ‘Happy Birthday,’” Queenie said.

As soon as Ibby blew the candles out, Doll presented her with a life-size rag doll with brown yarn hair, a stitched-on face, and clothes that were an exact replica of the clothes Ibby had on, down to the Mary Jane shoes. Fannie, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly turned and pointed at Ibby. “That doll looks just like the little girl,” she said.

“Supposed to, Miss Fannie,” Queenie said.

Ibby stared at the doll with the oddest expression Doll had ever seen. After a few moments, Ibby leaned over and gave Fannie a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Grandma.”

Ibby put the doll on the chair next to her, sneaking furtive glances as she ate her cake.

Doll motioned for Crow and Queenie to follow her into the kitchen. As soon as the door swung closed, she said, “She don’t like it, Mama. I can tell.”

“You done a mighty fine job on that doll. Looks just like her,” Crow said.

“Don’t make no difference,” Doll said. “Those weren’t happy-to-see-my-new-doll sort of eyes.”

“Oh, she gone like it,” Queenie said. “She just don’t know it yet.”

No sooner had the door closed than they heard a crash. Queenie and Doll rushed back into the room to find Fannie sprawled on the floor, holding her stomach and laughing. One of the cut-crystal water glasses lay shattered next to her.

Queenie motioned to Crow. “Come help get her up, then go and fetch the broom.”

“What happened?” Doll asked Ibby.

“Fannie knocked the glass over with her hand,” Ibby said. “Then she just sort of rolled out of the chair onto the floor and started laughing.”

Doll grabbed Fannie by the arm and tried to pull her up. “Come on, Miss Fannie. You’ve had a long day. We best get you to bed.”

Queenie took Fannie’s other arm, waving Crow and Doll away. “I’ll do it.”

“Need help getting her to her room?” Crow asked.

“We’ll manage just fine, won’t we, Miss Fannie?” Queenie said in a small voice, talking to Fannie as if she were a child.

Doll looked at her watch as her father went into the kitchen to get the broom. “Five o’clock. Lawd Almighty, how did it get so late?”

Crow returned with the broom and handed it to Doll. “That broom about worn out. Best pick up a new one soon ’cause you know it’s bad luck to buy a broom in August.”

Doll swept the glass into a dustpan. “This rate, Daddy, best buy two.”

“So what you gone call her?” Doll asked Ibby, hoping to distract her from all the commotion in the bedroom.

“Who?” Ibby asked.

“Your new friend here.” Doll nodded toward the doll in the chair.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Ibby shrugged, staring down at the remnants of the cake on her plate.

“Been a long day. Why don’t you run on upstairs? I’ll be up in a minute.”

After Ibby left, Doll scraped up the last of the glass shards. When she got back to the kitchen, she found Crow digging into a piece of cake he’d cut for himself.

“She don’t like it.” Doll dumped the glass into the trash can.

“If I recall,” Crow said, “you and your mama were going on the other day about how Miss Ibby say Miss Vidrine don’t believe in birthdays. Could be no one ever gave her a doll before. Ever think of that?”

Doll said, “Maybe you right. Think I better go check on Miss Ibby.”

She was making her way down the hall when she noticed the doll still sitting in the chair where Ibby had left it. As Doll tucked it under her arm, she could hear Queenie in the bedroom, trying to calm Miss Fannie down. After all these years, listening to Miss Fannie when she got this way hadn’t gotten any easier. Doll wondered how a person could become so broken.

When she opened the door to Ibby’s room, Ibby was sitting on her bed.

“You forgot this.” Doll sat down next to her and handed her the doll.

“Oh, I guess I did,” Ibby said, setting it off to the side.

“Don’t you like it?” Doll said.

“It is supposed to look like me?”

“Yeah, supposed to.”

“Do I really look like that, with stringy hair and eyes that never close?”

Doll laughed. “No, baby. Fannie thought you might like someone to keep you company up here, that’s all. Don’t worry what it looks like. Was a silly idea, I guess.”

“Doll?”

“Yes, child?”

“I think I broke Rule Number Two at lunch today. I asked her who Balfour was when she brought up his name.”

Doll stroked Ibby’s hair. “Now listen, them rules just something my mama made up. You’ll learn soon enough there ain’t no rules as far as Fannie is concerned. Just got to roll with the punches. Now listen, before I go, did you find something?”

“What do you mean? Like what?”

“Look under your pillow.”

Ibby reached under the pillow and pulled out a rectangular package wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine. She looked at Doll. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

When Ibby slipped off the twine, the paper fell away to reveal a small transistor radio.

“That’s from Queenie and me,” Doll said. “I know how you like music. Music makes everything better, don’t you think?”

Ibby stood up and hugged Doll around the neck. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. It’s the best birthday present ever.”

“Here, hand it to me. Let me see if I can find a station for you. Hard to get reception up here sometimes.” She fiddled with the dial until she found one. “There you go.” She set the radio down on the table next to the bed.

“Up next,” the announcer said, “a hit song by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, one we all love to sing along with, called ‘Rag Doll.’”

Doll grabbed the doll and started dancing around with it as the song played, then grabbed Ibby and got her up and dancing, too. When the song was over, they both collapsed onto the bed, giggling hysterically.

“See what I told you? Music makes everything better.” She kissed Ibby on the forehead. “Now I got to go. I’m sure Queenie’s downstairs waiting on me.”

“Doll?”

Doll stopped on the threshold. “Yes, Miss Ibby?”

“Is Fannie going to be all right?”

Doll scratched her head with her fingernail, trying to figure out how to answer. “Sure she is. She gone be fine. Just one of those days.”

Ibby was staring at Doll as if trying to decide whether to believe her.
She got the same eyes as Miss Fannie,
Doll was thinking.

“Now you get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning,” Doll said.

As she went down the stairs, a thought occurred to Doll.
What if Miss Ibby is like her grandmother? What if she got that crazy gene, too? Like Mama say, you can pick a fight, but you can’t pick your family.

Sometimes that was the part that hurt the most.

When Doll and Queenie arrived at the house the next morning, there was a low whimpering coming from inside the house.

“What is it?” Queenie asked.

“Miss Fannie. I can hear her—she’s in the bedroom,” Doll said.

“I best go check on her.”

Doll followed Queenie to Fannie’s room. Queenie twisted the knob, but the door was locked. They could hear banging on the other side.

“Miss Fannie. It’s Queenie. Open the door.”

There was no answer. Queenie went to the kitchen and returned with a key. When she opened the door, Doll let out a gasp. It looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the room. The dressing table
was turned over and the mirror broken, pieces of glass were scattered over the floor, and the photos that had once stood on the dresser were ripped from their frames and strewn about. A white slip dangled from one of the arms of the ceiling fan and was swinging around in circles like a flag. Fannie had a mirror shard in her hand and was brandishing it like a knife as blood dripped onto the floor.

“Now calm yourself, Miss Fannie.” Queenie held her hand out in a conciliatory fashion. “Why don’t you drop that piece of glass and come in the bathroom and let me get you cleaned up?”

Fannie swung the shard around in the air as if she were looking for something to stab.

“Miss Fannie, ain’t no use getting all worked up.” Queenie took a step closer.

Fannie jabbed the glass in Queenie’s direction. Then she began to laugh. A few short laughs at first. Then she threw her head back and began to spin around in circles, her nightgown billowing out around her, her whole body shaking as her laughter grew manic. The dagger of glass fell from her hand. Queenie rushed up and kicked it aside, then grabbed Fannie around the waist and pulled her away from the broken glass on the floor. Fannie collapsed into her arms as if all the life had been stolen from her.