Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] (17 page)

“People are complaining about you,” the president said. He said, “Go ahead. Take another day for yourself.”

Jeffrey and his boss had a brief stare down. With neither of the men caving in, Jeffrey said, “You want me to take another day?” Clearing his throat, he said, “Are you sure?”

The boss, staring at the employee who controlled all of the accounting functions for the company, the man who knew down to the cent how much was in the checking account, cash account, what the balance of the accounts payable and accounts receivable were, the person responsible for producing the month end financials for the bank and shareholders, and was now dressed as if a cheerleader got knocked up by a box of crayons, said, “This is an order.”

Crossing his elbows, he said, “Now, go home.”

The stoplight lasted an eternity. Windows were rolled down, the heat was beginning to melt pedestrians. Focusing on the bright red circle in front of him, Jeffrey heard the onslaught of deep bass approaching. The music getting louder, bass heavier, the voices attached to the sound became clearer. A soft hum of tires on pavement came to a halt.

In Jeffrey’s peripheral, a carload of boys crept up to the line. The car’s engine revving. The gas pedal going up and down. A four cylinder sedan imitating a Ferrari.

A clamor of laughter was coming from the back seat. Shotgun was occupied by a teenager wearing a sleeveless shirt. His right arm was covered in tattoos, a sleeve going down from his shoulder to his wrist.

Short blond hair, feathered, it was cut down and parted on the side. The boy, he was clean shaven. His eyebrows invisible.

His bare arm hanging out the window, he was tapping the side of the door. The tap-tapping and the music blaring weren’t complemented. His fingers marching to a different drum.

Louder and louder, the tapping continued. To the point his open hand became a fist. Arm flexed, his forearm defined, he was knocking the door hard.

Turning his head to address the boy, his cartoonish Barbie face in view with the teen’s Ken facade, Jeffrey nodded his head down slow.

Without a reaction, stone cold demeanor, the boy raised his finger and then pointed it down the road. The light still red, on the opposite crosswalk, the countdown at 8, 7, the digitized numbers flashing on the screen, 6...

The sedan, revving until it came to the verge of dying, it sat ready in park. The boys in the back were falling over on themselves in amusement. The driver, he was preparing himself. Both hands gripped on top of the wheel. Eyes straight forward, he was standing by.

Ignoring the challenge, Jeffrey refocused on the red light. To the side, catching the remaining seconds, a woman walked her poodle. A cloud of a dog, shaved on his legs, he pranced alongside his owner.

The blond Ken, he pounded his door again. Short, loud thumps. Flexing his arm, the tattooed sausage of an appendage tightened, showing his triceps.

…5, 4…

The sedan gearing up, engine revving more and more.

…3…

“Hey!” the passenger said out the door. He pointed out to the distance.

…2…

From the backseat, a boy, he said, “He a’int gonna race.”

Craning his head back, the passenger laughed. He said, “Chicken.”

…1…

Flooring it, the light changing from red to green, tires spinning, Jeffrey’s Corvette accelerated through the intersection. There were black tire marks on the road. The sports car fishtailing at first.

Jeffrey eyed the rearview. The car shrinking as he extended the distance. Smaller and smaller it looked like a cinnamon roll in the middle of the road.

The poodle barking at the speeding car crossed the street with his owner.

Laughing out loud, the wind flowing through the Saran and Kanekalon, Jeffrey raced down the main street, heading toward Lena’s. On the radio, Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” escaped from the Corvette’s Bose speakers.

Cruising around the town, taking every side road possible to enjoy the free day off, the sports car handled well. Curving around a neighborhood street, a group of girls was jumping rope together. There was a younger boy sitting on the lawn with a toy truck. He was rolling it into the jump ropers, causing them to stop. A couple times they would chase the boy. Other occasions they would scream at him. He laughed each time.

Across the yard, the sprinkler churning water in every direction, toddlers jumped across the stream while others dodged the wetness. They yelled at the kids across the street, inviting them to come over. While the kids played, their mothers watered plants. Their fathers, they pushed mowers up and down the green grass, stopping to move gutter downspouts that were in the way.

The sun was shining bright. The day heating up.

Leaving the block, turning down another community, old ladies sat outside on a front porch. Rocking back and forth in chairs, they drank from lemonade glasses. The condensation running down the sides. Ice cubes shrinking in size, melting into the yellow drink.

A fenced in yard kept a dog from running amok. The black lab ran alongside Jeffrey’s car as he drove by. The animal stopped when he could not go any farther. After he finished barking at the fleeing car, the dog stopped, turned around, and ran to the other side of the yard.

Building up speed Jeffrey exited the block, turning onto a main street. Blasting out of the speaker system, Madonna sang about dancing, for inspiration. “Into the Groove” starting on the radio resulted in Jeffrey turning the volume up. Singing along, Jeffrey braked at the next stop.

A car full of young women inched up next to his. Unaware of the audience, Jeffrey singing off key, the volume in his voice increasing, he belted the words to the tune.

The girls joined in. A redhead riding passenger filmed the scene with her phone. On her screen, in between the sing along, she giggled to herself. Her laughing made the phone unsteady. Narrating the video, the ginger said, “Ladies and gentlemen, if Medusa and a clown had a baby.”

Jeffrey’s face, it was covered in colored sweat. Artificial strands of hair intensifying from the humidity. His voice so awful it was summoning demons. A prostitute fetish clown driving a Corvette, belting out Madonna songs. That wasn’t something you saw every day.

Leaning over the passenger seat, her head near the open window, the driver yelled, “You’re sick!”

The redhead, phone still recording, turned to the driver, and said, “Isn’t she fly?”

Singing loudly, Jeffrey’s voice a beagle’s bay, the words came out as a half-bark, half-howl induced a cappella diarrhea.

The freckled videographer laughing, her eyes in tears, she captured the event in high definition. Commenting over the music, she said, “OMG!”

Cars that had the green light passed in front of him. Whizzing through the intersection.

The karaoke escaped Jeffrey’s ‘Vette for those nearby to hear. He could see the owner of a minivan in his rearview. She was falling back into her seat.

The backseat girls next to him, a brunette and blonde, they were screaming in joy. “Woo”-ing as Jeffrey’s voice transitioned into an all-out yell fest. His voice cracking on the high notes.

The song ended. The light changed to green. And Jeffrey, this Drama Doll, was racing through the street crossing.

Sitting on her front steps, wearing a pink tank top, white shorts, and sandals, Lena painted her toe nails. Brushing the final nails, she looked up as Jeffrey pulled into her driveway. Her house, a small ranch with a single attached garage, was all she could afford after the bills were paid from her husband’s death.

Starting over, training herself to be frugal, Lena was unable to find a steady job. She used the life insurance money to downsize. With both her and Jeffrey losing a spouse, the unlikely pair had found solace in each other’s company.

The car sitting in park, the radio low, Jeffrey smiled out the window. His makeup had dried for the tenth time, smeared in all directions. His hair was nappy. Skirt riding up his ass, his lower butt cheeks sticking to the leather, Jeffrey leaned over the passenger seat to open the door. The adhesive compound that fused his skin to the seat made a ripping sound loud enough to cause Lena to flinch.

Entering the car, buckling her belt, she said, “That sounded like it hurt.”

A pained expression on Jeffrey’s face, his mouth frozen open, his eyes squinting in agony, he just sat and breathed heavily. His candy corn nipples had reduced to the size of pencil tips. Sharp number two pieces of lead that could fill in the circles of a Scantron wonderfully. The pain, it was still existent.

Lena said, “You look frazzled.”

Back thighs burning, his face itching, hair stretching in all directions like an octopus’ tentacles, regaining himself, Jeffrey said, “I’m fine. No problems here.” Moisture pouring out of every sweat gland, he said, “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She flashed her fingers at him. “Look at my nails.”

“Beautiful,” Jeffrey said. “Totally.”

She flashed her teeth, her lips curled upward. “Thank you,” Lena said, holding out her hands in front of her to admire her work.

The car idling, the weather at its hottest, Jeffrey said, “What do you want to do today?”

Lena’s smile slowly vanished. Sharply looking down at Jeffrey’s chest, avoiding eye contact, she said, “We should talk.”

The air between them became thick. The tension was starting to build. Turning the car off, Jeffrey said, “About what?” His voice, it became serious. His itchy nose irritated him. The lipstick tasted like paper. Swallowing hard, Jeffrey said, “What’s this about?”

Adjusting her body to face him, Lena said, “I’m concerned about you.”

“Why?” Jeffrey asked playfully, softening the conversation. Jeffrey’s face was a spectrum of colors, soiled in every direction, mixing together to create new shades.

“Well,” she said, her eyes open wide, “You look like you fell asleep in a bag of Skittles.” A confused expression formed on Jeffrey. He was quiet. Waiting for a reaction, Lena frowned. She said, “William is concerned—”

“Fuck him,” Jeffrey said, interjecting. “He doesn’t want us to take Emily anymore.”

A look outside, toward her neighbor’s house, then up to the gutters on her own house, Lena, she was avoiding her friend.

Picking up on the gesture, Jeffrey said, “You don’t want me to take her either, do you?”

She shrugged, her body pouting from the conversation. “Just think about it,” she said.

“There’s nothing to think about. Emily is a part of the Drama Dolls.” Stiffening in his seat, entering fight mode, Jeffrey said, “What has she done to him? What has she done to you?”

Defensive, Jeffrey raised his hands up in front of him. His palms facing upward. “My wife just died for Christ’s sake.”

A crooked smile on her lips, Lena said, “I know she did.” Reaching her arm out, Lena brushed her hand through Jeffrey’s wig. The stickiness from the heat made it difficult to run fingers through so after trying a couple times, Lena pulled back her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Jeffrey, his voice soft like a child’s, said, “Can we still take her?”

Slow nodding in agreement, her eyes locking gaze with his, she said, “Of course we can.” Seeing Jeffrey’s face light up, Lena smiled. “You’re right. She didn’t do anything to us.”

A change in attitude forced her to nod more sternly. Wiggling her toes, she said, “Look at my toenails.”

Jeffrey and Lena had an afternoon’s worth of time before meeting William for the evening’s burglary. The two had decided to visit their loved ones’ graves. But before that, Lena convinced Jeffrey to shower. She said, “You don’t want your wife seeing you like this.” Sniffing in his direction, she said, “Or, smelling like this.”

Parking in front of Jeffrey’s house, the cheerleaders walked up the flight of stairs to the Victorian. Next door, a Pontiac was parked in the street. The radio was playing and, inside, there were two bodies sitting in the front seat.

Looking into the side mirror, the shorter boy, smoking a joint, made eye contact with Jeffrey and nodded. Jeffrey nodded subtly, not wanting Lena to discover Jeffrey’s joyride with the boys. In the passenger’s seat, sticking his hand out the window, the neighbor boy flashed devil horns to the Drama Doll.

Lena, seeing the two fingers pointed to the sky, waved back.

“What’re you doing?” Jeffrey said.

Lena, a dumbfounded expression on her face, said, “I don’t know. He waved so I waved back.”

Explaining the difference between a wave and devil horns, Jeffrey demonstrated. “This is a wave.” Jeffrey put his hand up, widened his fingers, and moved it from left to right. “What the neighbor boy did was devil horns.” His hand still in the air, Jeffrey bent down his two inside fingers, leaving just the pointer and pinky fingers extended. Thumb curled out away from the fingers, Jeffrey raised his hand and then head banged.

Sitting in the parked car, passing back and forth a joint to his friend, watching the demonstration in the side mirror, Alex said, “I told you he was fucking weird.”

The shorter boy, inhaling on the drug, said, “Did you know he dressed up as a cheerleader for Insane Clown Posse?” Passing the joint to Alex, the shorter boy exhaled out the window.