The Dollhouse (4 page)

“No. He told you that you could stay at the condo as long as you needed. You're not homeless.”

“A few months ago, I started having a recurring dream. That I was looking for an apartment in a strange neighborhood I'd never been to, somewhere kind of dangerous. The apartments were dirty, desolate, and I woke up in a total panic. Then I looked around and remembered how safe I was, lying next to Griff, and tried to put it out of my head. I knew. I knew all along.”

“You can always stay with us, you know that. I promise Billy and I won't throw things at each other when you're around.”

Rose smiled at the memory. “That was some New Year's Eve party.”

“Don't worry,” said Maddy. “We make up as hard as we fight.” She waggled her brows.

“That's the difference between you and me. My work life feels crazy enough without having to come home to any madness. Griff and I love each other. Our sex life is great. He makes me laugh, he's so supportive. Calm seas, no drama.”

“Sounds suspect to me.”

“Well, we care about each other.” The words hung in the air.

Maddy gave Rose a sideways glance and swirled the liquid in her glass. “You always have a place to crash. You know that, right?”

“I do. Thank you. Though sometimes I'm convinced I'll end up a deranged old lady wandering around the city, looking through trash cans.”

Panic welled up. This was real, it was happening. Griff was leaving her.

“Please, don't cry. Have another drink.”

“Fuck, Maddy. How am I going to do this?”

“You will manage the way you always have, brilliantly. Look at when
you started working for the network. You were an intern one day, and the next you were reading the news.”

“First of all, that's not quite accurate. And second, every other newscaster on Channel 7 hated me for moving up so fast.” Their catty comments still stung.

“True. But that just made you more determined. And now you've dumped all the stupid hairdos at the network for something more serious. No more talking head. You're running the show.”

“Tyler, the preteen despot, is running the show.”

“For now, but wait until WordMerge is bought by a big fish, which you know is going to happen. Then you'll be right back on top.”

“You're very optimistic. In the meantime, my salary's been cut in half. And you're rewriting history. I got tossed out of network news. I didn't move on voluntarily. I'm thirty-five and all washed-up. In more ways than one.”

“Stop that. I'm going to pee. Don't go anywhere.”

Rose looked around the room. Who were all these people working at jobs they thought were important and then going home to someone they loved and hoped loved them back? How did anyone ever survive it, knowing that their story was just a single beam among millions of flashing lights? That no one mattered much at all, when it came down to it. Rose was unimportant, inconsequential, a face in the crowd. Petals on a wet, black bough, according to Ezra Pound.

Maybe Griff's panic could be contained. The pressure he was under, from the mayor, from Connie, must be intense. He would change his mind, once they talked again. She'd fix this, and everything would go back to normal, a simple blip in a long, loving relationship, one they'd laugh about on their honeymoon.

New York City, 1952

S
tella cornered Darby as she stuck her key into her door. “Where on earth have you been all day? Better get yourself changed, Defiance: We're off to the theater and dinner and you must come.”

Darby had hoped to avoid the gazelles. Earlier that morning, she'd read quietly in her room until they left on yet another outing, and then she slipped out through the lobby without making any eye contact. From there, the day improved. She walked each street between Central Park and York Avenue, going east and then west and then east again, until she reached Fifty-Third Street. She ate a quick bite at a cafeteria, then continued on.

The grid pattern made her feel safe, and as she walked, her shoulders dropped an inch or two. She began looking up at the buildings instead of down at the sidewalk, and eventually a dizzying amazement replaced the buzz of dread.

But now her feet throbbed, her calves ached, and all she wanted was a long bath.

Stella cocked her head. “You look exhausted.”

“I was out walking, seeing the city.”

“Do you feel a little more at home now?”

Darby nodded. “Funnily enough, I do.”

“New York has that effect, doesn't it? I love it now. Can't imagine living anywhere else.”

Darby wasn't quite at that point yet, but she agreed there was a kind of magic to it. “The city makes sense, though not in the way I expected. I studied several maps before I came, but it's different when it's three-dimensional.”

“Huh. You're an odd little bird, aren't you, Darby?” Stella put her hands on her hips. “Anyway, we're one short for a show and dinner afterward, and I need you to come.”

Darby's right eye gave a twitch. There was no saying no to Stella. She'd been far too nice. Plus, her beauty was captivating. Staring at her was a pleasure, and Darby could only imagine the effect she had on men. “I'm not sure. I wouldn't know what to do.”

Stella laughed. “You sit back and enjoy yourself, silly. I'm seeing a boy named Thomas, and he has a friend Walter, and I promised I'd bring someone for Walter tonight. I'd lined up Mary—you haven't met her yet, but you will—but she's come down with a chill and refuses to join me.”

Darby started to shake her head, and Stella quickly continued on. “Don't worry, we're a group of ten, so it's not like a true date. Just some friends going out for a night on the town; won't that be delightful?”

Her first impulse was to make up an excuse, any excuse, to avoid going out with the gazelles and their beaux. But then she imagined the letter she'd write to Mother tomorrow, providing all the details of what they ate and where they went, the witty conversation that flowed back and forth. Mother would be so proud. Sometimes you have to push through your fears, she'd advised, just as Darby had done today walking about the city.

She changed into the umbrella dress and combed her hair. Stella had given her ten minutes to get ready and meet them in the lobby. Darby chatted with the elevator girl the entire way down, explaining that she was going out to the theater and dinner with her girlfriends.

Her heart sank, though, as soon as she spied Stella and the other girls. They wore fancy evening frocks, jewel-toned dresses made from taffeta and silk. Stella looked like a princess, in a sequined, black lace bodice over a bouffant skirt made of tulle, so airy and light it seemed as if she might float off at any moment. Darby was a farm girl in comparison.

Before she could turn to run back upstairs and hide beneath her bed, Stella swooped her up and planted her in a taxi, and then they were funneled into the theater lobby. There was no time for introductions with the boys, as they were all running late, and the curtain rose as soon as they took their seats. The musical was wonderful, and for a giddy moment Darby was transported to old Siam, where women with hoop skirts waltzed with exotic foreigners. After, they walked as a group to the Café Brittany on Ninth Avenue. Darby didn't speak much, but she didn't have to, for the boys were all trying to outdo one another with jokes and teasing.

“Darby, this is Walter.” Outside the restaurant, Stella dragged over a slightly pudgy boy whose cheeks were dotted with red spots. He looked her up and down, then reached out his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Darby.”

Darby held up a gloved hand and gave him a firm but elegant shake, just as Daddy had taught her.

Walter laughed. “You're a spirited girl, I can see that. Where are you from?” He held the door open as she walked through into the foyer.

“Defiance, Ohio.”

“Well, look at that. I'm an Ohio boy myself. From Cleveland.”

He smiled broadly, exposing pink gums. She liked the way his almond-shaped eyes lent him an air of mischievousness. He must've been a sweet-looking little boy, before the acne ravaged his skin.

They sat down next to each other at a large, round table covered with a red-checked tablecloth. Darby tried to catch Stella's eye, but her friend's body was angled toward Thomas, the tall, blond boy sitting next to her. Thomas laughed at something Stella said, then draped his arm on the back of her chair, curving his hand around her bare shoulder. Stella moved in closer. When Darby finally caught her eye, she winked.

Walter ordered their meals, which was a relief. The first course, escargot, was slippery and rich.

“Oh my.”

“Too much for you? I'm disappointed—I thought you'd enjoy it.”

“We don't have this kind of thing where I'm from. But there's something compelling about the taste. I'm not certain whether I love it or loathe it, to tell you the truth.”

He laughed. “I like you, Darby; you have a unique perspective on the world.”

She'd have to remember that for the letter tomorrow. “Well, thanks.”

“And how do you like living in the Dollhouse?”

“The what?”

“That's what we boys like to call it.” He gestured around the table. “The Barbizon Hotel for Women, packed to the rafters with pretty little dolls. Just like you.”

Darby glanced at the other girls. She didn't look like them, not even close. He was trying to be kind. Not that he was a movie star himself, by any means.

She swallowed the last snail and turned to him the way Stella had done to Thomas. “And what are you doing here in New York City?”

“I'm working as a sales representative for International Mutoscope.”

“Sounds like you're a spy.”

He grinned, pleased. “No, nothing of the sort. We make the Voice-O-Graph. You may have seen it in Times Square.”

She shook her head.

“It looks like a telephone booth. You pick up the phone inside, put in your money, and record whatever you want: jokes, a story, whatever. You wait a couple of minutes and then a record pops out, of whatever you've said. The thing's wild, I tell you; it's going to change everything.”

In his excitement, a drop of spittle had landed on her arm. She stayed still, not wanting to embarrass him. “How will it do that?”

“It's your actual voice. Why send a letter or a card anymore when you can make a recording and mail it off to your grandmother for her
birthday? Or let your family know how you're getting on? They can replay it whenever they like. It's like sending along a piece of yourself.”

“What an interesting job you have. I wonder if they'll be hiring secretaries by the time I'm done with my course.”

“If so, I'll put in a good word, I promise you that.”

She'd hardly been there for two days and she already had a potential job referral. Imagine that! She'd include that in the letter as well.

After dinner, they wandered up Broadway to the edge of Central Park. Even though the hour was late, people streamed along the sidewalks, women clutching the arms of their husbands, clacking along on high heels. Carriages drawn by patient, bored-looking horses lined Central Park South. One of the animals snorted as they walked by and Stella jumped.

They were lagging behind the rest of the group, but Thomas pulled Stella closer to the horse and insisted she pet its nose.

“No, I can't!”

Darby stepped in. “It's nothing, really. They're lovely and feel like velvet. Here.”

She took Stella's wrist and guided it up to the horse's face, between its eyes. “My grandfather had horses, and they like to be stroked.”

Stella's date nudged Walter in the ribs and guffawed.

“Stop it, you two,” Stella demanded.

“Hey, step away from there.” The driver came out from behind the carriage. “He's a biter.”

Before he'd finished the sentence, the horse tossed its head. Stella leapt away and narrowly missed being nipped on the soft skin of her forearm.

“He'll chomp off your hand, girly. Don't you know to ask first?”

A blush of shame fell over Darby. She'd been showing off and had almost gotten Stella hurt.

Stella rubbed her arm, and Thomas was immediately at her side, fuming. He turned to Darby. “You're a lucky one. If Stella'd been bitten, she wouldn't be able to work next week. You need to think before you do something so rash.” He rubbed the inside of Stella's arm gently.

Darby didn't bother to point out that it was his idea in the first place.

“Sorry, Stella.”

“Don't be silly. I'm fine.”

“It's nearly curfew; we should be heading back.”

“We don't want to get you ladies home late.” Even though Thomas spoke in a mocking tone, Darby was relieved by his words. Until he added, “Let's cut through the park.”

“Do you think that's wise?” Darby hated the sound of her voice, so plaintive. But Mrs. Eustis had advised against venturing in after the sun had set.

“Walter and I have the situation well in hand.”

Walter offered Darby his arm and she took it. They headed in at Seventh Avenue and followed the street as it curved east.

“The path that lets out onto Fifth Avenue isn't far,” Walter offered. “We'll be back out in civilization in no time. Don't be nervous.”

The sound of the wind rattled in the trees, and the dim lamplight illuminated a small circle of road at a time.

“Hopefully, we'll outnumber any marauders,” Darby joked.

“That's my girl.”

Thomas moved toward a rocky outcropping on their left, pulling Stella along with him. “We're going to climb to the top so I can show Stella the view. You can come up if you like.”

“No, thanks.” She didn't want to be climbing anywhere right now. She wanted to be back at the Barbizon.

Stella took off her shoes and handed them to Darby. “Hold these for me. I'll be right back.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea? You might cut your feet.”

“Thomas says the view is gorgeous.” She winked and clambered up after him.

Walter shrugged. “I guess they needed some time alone. Hope you don't mind. We can sit here and wait. Or head back now.”

She couldn't imagine leaving Stella behind. Walter took off his jacket and laid it down on a nearby boulder, gesturing for her to sit.

“Thank you.” She shoved her hands under her legs, tightening the dress around her like a mermaid's tail.

Walter's side touched hers and she shivered. “Would you rather wear my jacket?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.”

In the darkness, his breathing quickened and she heard him lick his lips.

“Thomas is desperately in love with Stella; she's all he talks about.”

“She seems quite taken with him as well.”

“So tell me about yourself, Darby.”

“Not much to tell. I have two dogs, Judy and Josephine. They're chocolate Labs. I live with my mother and her husband.”

“What happened to your father?”

Strange. Most people avoided asking the question outright. No one in Defiance ever asked about Daddy, even before he'd died, when he'd been terribly ill for months and months. After the private funeral, Mr. Saunders had not tolerated any talk of the man who'd come before him. In a way, it had been a relief.

“He passed away. Cancer.”

“Sorry to hear about that.” Walter stared at her, his eyes glassy in the darkness. “My mother died. When I was born.”

“My sympathies, Walter.” Words were inadequate; Darby knew that much. “Did your father ever remarry?”

“No. It's been just me and my two older brothers. I hate both of them.”

“My stepfather's fairly difficult as well.”

“Has he ever broken your arm? That's what my older brother did. On purpose.” An edge had crept into his voice, one that unnerved her.

“No, no broken bones. He's just a bully, I suppose.”

“Hey, what do you say I kiss you?” He licked his lips again.

When she spoke, her pitch came out higher than normal. “We don't really know each other yet, Walter.”

“Come on, just one kiss.”

“No, thank you.”

“Do you want to know how he did it?”

“How who did what?”

Walter took one of her arms and bent it behind her back. “How he broke it. Like this.” He leaned in close and his breath was on her cheek. “Kiss me or I'll break it.”

Darby tried to pull away, but the twisted arm prevented her from putting any distance between them. “Walter. Stop, that hurts.”

“They always fix me up with the ugly one, but they really pulled a mean trick on me this time.”

“What?” Darby's heart beat wildly. His tone reminded her of Mr. Saunders, menacing and whiny at the same time. “Please, stop.”

He pulled her arm a little more and she yelped.

“I'll break it, I swear. The least you could do is to kiss me. It's dark enough that you don't have to see me and I don't have to look at you. The two freaks.”

“I'm not a freak. You're not a freak, Walter.” He was going to kill her, rape her. Would Stella hear her if she cried out?