Hollow Dolls, The (19 page)

Frank and Marty left Walter’s room and made their way down the stairs.

“That was fortunate cookie,” said Frank.

“We place Denton on the scene and add the blood bank break-in...”

“Ka-ching,” said Frank.

The boys stopped down on the street.

“That’ll be enough for a warrant. Once we sweat him with an eye
witness placing him at the scene we could even charge him for tampering with a
murder scene. Leaving Willow’s blood behind from that break-in.”

“He’s just a rich kid, he’ll crack like a stale biscuit,” said
Frank.

“Peter,” said Walter.

“Pretty Peter, Pretty Peter,” cawed the budgie.

Walter made kisses at the edge of the cage.

“Pretty Peter, Pretty Peter,” said the budgie, and then added a
single budgie caw.

Walter did an air fist bump at the side of the cage.

Billie and the girls at The No.5 worked it like a pit stop crew.

The moment Billie filled the tray with drinks, it was up floating
through the room perched on a waitress’ fingers. The love and death Saturday
night cocktail hour in the Downtown Eastside. People were either getting fucked
or slipping one foot into a body bag. The buzz in the air made you thirsty.

Melanie and Winnie sat at the bar in a room full of impatient,
loud-talking men, waiting for the next dancer to come on.

“Alejandra took me places,” said Winnie, loudly over the din.

Her eyes were big and innocent like a teen talking about summer
vacation. Then they changed to deep, dark killer’s eyes. Melanie was sure she
had real love for this girl. She pictured Emma Watson doing Bride of Chucky.

“We went to a forest. More than once,” said Winnie.

“What’s happening to us? Are we on some kind of trip?”

 “Activation by Ixchel,’ said Winnie.

“Ixchel? You mean the stone woman?”

“Yeah her. Jack’s real, Ixchel is...different.”

“How do you know Jack is real?”

“Alejandra told me.”

“You have the Ixchel carving in your pack,” said Winnie. She
groaned, reached over and pulled it out of the pouch on Melanie’s back. “See?
White Rabbit,” she said, holding it up. “And Man-Rabbit with Ixchel. Okay?” She
set them side-by-side on the table.

“I saw Ixchel with the Man-Rabbit in my hypno session,” said
Melanie. She began to fall deeper into her dreamtime map... Winnie interrupted.

 “See, you’re remembering some things already.”

“Georgy gave me this carving,” said Melanie, picking it up. “Who’s
Georgy?” she said.

“We need another drink,” said Winnie.

The dancer finally came on and after the initial brouhaha, the
room settled to all eyes on the Las Vegas ‘too good to be real’ type on the
stage.

A young man wearing a tan sport coat and jeans walked over to the
bar. He spoke to Billie then looked their way. Melanie noticed his light brown
GQ Harvard locks and medium build. He walked with confidence, strong but not
stiff. It was smooth flow, like a guy who didn’t care much about acting tough.

“Hi, I’m Scott Ferguson, Billie mentioned you.”

“I’m Melanie, this is my friend, Winnie.”

 “Winnie Hayes.” She shook hands then moved over to the next stool
to let him sit in between.

“Billie mentioned that you’re looking to dance, Mel.”

“I go by Melanie”

“You bet.”

“What about experience, anything local?”

“I just moved. Well, we came over from London.” She looked at
Winnie with wide eyes.

“She started work at a private club,” said Winnie, following
Melanie’s cue. “After she ran away from home. Underage too!”  said Winnie, grinning
all proud and looking at Melanie.

“God love the survivors.” Scott signalled Billie and she poured
him a shot. “I go by the audition anyway,” said Scott.  He knocked it back.

“You’re quiet,” he said, looking at Melanie.

With her heart pounding and mouth dry, Melanie forced a smile and
scrambled for a response. Why did Winnie say underage? Scott didn’t take his
eyes off her.

“You are nineteen aren’t you?”

“Twenty on October seventeenth,” said Melanie.  God she remembered
her own birthday somehow. And she sounded proud. Shit!

He looked at Winnie. “And you’re?”

“Nineteen.” ...
in five weeks
, thought Winnie
.

Scott looked at her a bit doubtful. Nineteen was legal drinking
age.

“Did I say that out loud?” said Winnie.

“What?” said Scott.

“Nothing.” Winnie sipped her drink and stared straight ahead.

“Are you looking to dance as well?”

“Me?” she said, feeling like Scott was a sexy airhead.

“Uh-uh. No poles for me,” said Winnie. “Just pens, I’m a writer.”

Scott smiled and put his elbow on the bar, facing Winnie.

“And I play drums,” she said. Now Winnie was getting turned on.

“What do you write about?” said Scott.

“Right now, about her.” She made eyes across at Melanie.

Billie the mother hen was checking the levels of the bottles in
the speed rack right in front of them.

“Hey Scott.” She gave him a discerning look, seeing that he had
become more than distracted by Winnie, leaving Melanie hanging.

Scott turned back to Melanie.

“Good, let’s go fill out an application.”

Scott lead the way to his office.

Winnie followed behind them and slipped into a stall in the
washroom with her pipe.

“Have you met any of the girls?” said Scott. He pushed the double
doors open and turned toward the office and Melanie followed.

“I saw Tifa’s act. Is she on today?”

“You’ll have to check the schedule.”

Melanie stood by the desk in the office. She inched toward him as
he fished through one of those beat-up file cabinets that looked like a garage
sale item. Scott had broad shoulders and a long lean frame. She imagined
rubbing balloons on her head and sticking them on his naked body. He turned to hand
her the application.

“Here, it should only take a minute.”

She was right behind him.

Like dancers who’d lost track of what song was playing, long lost
lovers back at it for the first time, Scott dropped the form and they were tangled
up—hands and arms and lips, feeling their way over to the couch with their
feet. Who knew what crazy Western song God had on right now?

A long fifteen minutes later they walked up to the bar. Billie
eyeballed Scott while they spoke like two professionals.

“I tell you what,” said Scott. “Come in Wednesday at eleven. That’s
when I usually do auditions.”

“Thanks.”

They shook hands.

“See you on Wednesday then,” said Scott, and he retreated to his
office.

Melanie sat down with Winnie.

“That took a while. So did you pass the audition?” said Winnie.

Melanie smiled.

“Your face is all strawberries and... Did you?”

Melanie smiled way too much.

“Jesus!” whined Winnie.

She got up and headed for the door.

Melanie followed.

Back at The Sandman, the package from Georgy had arrived.

“That’s dope. Pills from Georgy in London,” said Winnie. “You
asked him to send them.”

“Pills?”

Winnie gave Melanie a water. “Don’t forget, Georgy says drink
waters to keep stable. Here.” Winnie handed Melanie’s Ritalin over. “You’re
always taking these. Two or three at a time.”

 Melanie swallowed a few ritalin.

Winnie buried herself in the couch, shooting bad guys on
COD
Black Ops
while Melanie paced around. She ripped open the letter from Georgy.

Dear Mel,

I’m glad you’re benefitting from the sessions. I have no
recollection of Jack or Alejandra in your hypnosis from other sessions. I’m
afraid I don’t know everyone you work with at Club Lick either, so I can’t
respond to the dramas that occurred there for you previously. Be sure to take
your medications. And make sure you drink bottled water. Contact me for another
Skype session.

Regards,

Georgy

Melanie paced around the room. “There’s no way to describe it. Winnie,
I’m going crazy over Scott.”

“Mel, you’re just fooling yourself,” said Winnie. Her eyes were
glued to the screen with the automatic weapons blasting.

“How?”

Winnie took out two guys in fatigues with her sniper rifle and
paused. 

“You can’t love Mel, you’re not capable. Neither of us are. Remember?
The island, all the things the Man-Rabbit showed us? You haven’t changed a bit.”

Melanie looked at Winnie. It rang true inside her. Winnie was
right. The letter slipped out of her hand as she dropped her arms to her sides.

“We’re still hollow dolls,” said Winnie.

“I’m trying to be what the Man-Rabbit wants,” said Melanie. She paused
and tried to understand what she’d just said.

“It’s just sex Mel, not love!” Winnie tossed the wireless controller
onto her chair.

“You’ve hardly said two words to me since I got here Melanie. I’m supposed
to be your best friend!”

“Jealous,” said Melanie. She nudged Winnie’s shoulder against her
own, thinking this was still friendly.

Winnie grabbed Melanie.

“You didn’t even notice.” Winnie’s face was in close to Melanie’s.
Winnie wanted sex with Melanie right now because of the jealousy. “It could
have been me in the office with him, if Billie didn’t interrupt,” said Winnie.
“He’s just another hungry wolf—probably a bad wolf.”

Their eyes locked.

“What the fuck!!” shrieked Melanie.

She pulled away from Winnie and stormed toward the bedroom. With
some amount of control she slammed the door. Winnie was a bitch. That woman
Alejandra had infected her with something.  

Melanie surfed around on the internet for a while then found some
pills in her suitcase. A blue bag and a green bag. There was the picture of
Jack. The man she knew but didn’t. The Man-Rabbit. That was him. From the
island. More puzzle pieces here and there regrouped in her memory. She took one
of each type of pill. She remembered the names ‘Canines’ and ‘Abbys’.

Her nerves began to settle.

She should change her stage name from Bad Bunny. It was  too
cliché. Melanie surfed around on the internet and found an exotic dancer name
generator. She entered Melanie, pressed the ‘Gimme’ button and there in kiddie
font it said ‘Bunny.’ Melanie laughed as she picked up her laptop and brought
it out to the living room.

“Check this out Winnie.”

Winnie was passed out and next to her on the coffee table was the Darth
Vader Pez dispenser beside a few beer can empties. Good, that girl needed a
rest.

She sat on the end of the couch, touched Winnie’s feet and
realized that inside she felt so good and realized how much she wanted her
little body.

She turned her mind away, thinking of what she’d learned about her
father from the note pad in her suitcase. She got back on the internet and
searched ‘Walter Willow’. A return popped up from a Vancouver Police page
looking for witnesses and missing persons. There was his name, ‘Walter Willow’
on the list.

That wasn’t so tough. Maybe she’d find him tomorrow. She didn’t
feel any real thrill arise in her since she had no solid recollection of her
family at all. Not even Peter or Marlene. Plus, she was getting pretty wasted
on oxys.

Oxys.

Melanie flashed back to the tub and cutting herself. The darkness
opened up inside her. All of the truth she knew and felt about her abused past
infected her in a moment.

It closed up just as quickly.

It was a jolt of something inside her that came out in a word on
her lips. “Damaged,” she said aloud. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling as
though it were a screen that had just run her entire history past her in a
second.

She was so softened by the meds that she closed her eyes and it
passed.

With her head on the pillow at the other end of the couch, she
stuffed her feet under the blanket along side Winnie’s. She couldn’t remember
much more about her past now.

Her legs next to Winnie’s felt good. Better than good. There was
some electricity. Melanie touched herself feeling around where her rings were.
She fantasized about the girl on the other end of the couch and she came
quickly.

She was playing.

Back and forth between two worlds.

The darkness took her.

~*~

Melanie
stood outside the barn, looking between the slats. A man with a frilled white
shirt, half-unbuttoned spilling out from under his burgundy jacket stood on a wide
round of sawed wood holding on to a rope hanging from a beam overhead. He
leaned down to inspect another man who had his pants down and was on top of
Cloe. All over her dark skin Melanie could see the deep dull red of bruises in
the lamp light. Blood and sweat were mixed on top of her skin all over. They
were going to kill her.

“Harder!
The blood must spill,” he slurred. “God, cleanse this beast.”

Dripping
with sweat, his ruddy red face wrinkled up into a macabre mask. He lifted a
bottle to his lips. The back of
Melanie
’s head tingled in recognition.
The Massa looked like Vic Denton!