Mannequin: A short story by Susan Helene Gottfried This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons or places found in real life is mere coincidence. All rights reserved. Copyright ©2011 by Susan Helene Gottfried Cover concept by Scott Edghill Smashwords Edition Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Visit Susan's Smashwords page at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/WestofMars Mannequin "Now, Lynnie, the thing about fashion is…" her dad would say as they walked down the street toward Elite Threads, his favorite clothing store. Lynne loved these excursions to Elite Threads, where nothing cost under five hundred dollars, not even the socks. To Lynne, that was a fortune. Five hundred dollars could buy a lot of Barbies. And clothes. Barbies without clothes were pointless, even if they made her dad blush whenever he encountered one abandoned on the floor somewhere. It wasn't the clothing that made Lynne excited about these shopping trips. It wasn't even the precious time spent with him, or that he'd hold her hand and make her feel special. It was the mannequin in the window. He looked like Mom's Ken doll, the one who was never allowed out of his display case to play with any of Lynne's Barbies. This mannequin's hair wasn't brown plastic waves like Ken's. It looked real. It was longish, too. Sometimes. Sometimes it was short. And it always changed colors. Sometimes it was red, sometimes copper, sometimes black. No matter how hard she tried, she could never guess what color it would be until they got there and she saw it for herself. "Let's go see what Ken's up to today," Lynne's dad would say to her, putting his hand on the back of her head. It was supposed to be a gesture of affection, but the real love came from the way Lynne's dad called the mannequin Ken. The first thing Lynne's dad did every time they got to the store was try on whatever Ken was wearing. While he did that, Lynne would sit at Ken's feet and dream about what the mannequin would be like if he was real. His shoulders were broad and square, unlike her dad's, so that meant he was an athlete. Lynne's dad was always saying that the people who weren't naturally athletic, like himself, were doomed to struggle more than the men with those great talents. That's why, he'd say, he needed to dress right. Clothes make the man, he'd say. They make up for what God didn't give a guy, even more than the hours spent getting sweaty at Fit Riverview, eight great locations to serve you. Lynne didn't care about any of that. All she cared about was Ken. How he had the right body, the one her dad couldn't have, no matter how hard he tried. She spent hours sitting at Ken's feet and dreaming: he'd hold her as she learned to swim. He'd take the stupid plastic guitar away from Ian and make sure Lynne got a turn at Rock Band. He'd make sure they went places and did things. Like picnics. And amusement parks. He'd do all those things that dads were supposed to do, only Lynne's dad was too busy earning a living to turn off the computer and actually do them. Ken wouldn't use a computer. He'd know how to build a campfire, and how to do laundry without turning everything pink or leaving it in the washer so long, it started to smell bad. All his tools on his workbench in the garage would be organized and easy to find. He'd be kind and patient, and for him, Lynne would care about her grades more. She'd try to make her teachers proud because he'd be proud of her first, and praise encourages effort -- or so Ken would say as he grinned down at her, his white teeth shining so bright, he'd laugh when Lynne put on sunglasses to look at him. But mostly, Ken would pay attention to her. Well, more attention than visits to Elite Threads, where she sat under Ken's feet and daydreamed about someone who wasn't even real. It wasn't like Lynne's dad talked much to her while they were in the shop. Just on the way there and back home again, and even then, he mostly talked about clothes while she stared out the window and pretended to listen. Lynne's dad came out of the dressing room, dressed like Ken in plaid shorts and a banana yellow shirt that would have clung if Lynne's dad was built like the athlete he wanted to be. Instead, it hung in the hollow space between his shoulders. And draped over his belly. He didn't look rich. Or successful. He was sort of embarrassing. "What do you think, Lynnie?" He held his arms out. It was Lynne's cue to tell him he looked great, but he didn't. His knees were knobby, his legs were like sticks. They didn't swell like Ken's did at the calves. The hair was sparse, not thick. It didn't lay smooth. "I think," she said slowly, "you look better in black." He frowned. "Successful people don't wear black." They both looked at the door as it opened and a man walked in. He wore black tennis shoes, black jeans, and a black t-shirt that said DEVIATED SOUL in letters that had once been silver but had faded to grey. He paused right inside the door as he took off his sunglasses. Once they were off, he looked around, taking it all in. Lynne thought that each time he breathed in, some of what he was seeing went inside him, too. She didn't think he kept it all in there; he probably breathed out the stuff he didn't want. He looked like the sort who was picky. Lynne wondered if he kept her inside or if he breathed her out. She hoped she was good enough to be kept, but part of her doubted she was. She was just a kid. This guy didn't look like he'd be into kids. "Hey, Gordo, you called?" the guy said and tossed his hair over his shoulder. Lynne stared at it, fascinated. It should have been white, but she could see gold and brown in it. She wanted to touch it; it was better than anything she'd ever seen Ken wear. But if she couldn't touch Ken's hair, she couldn't touch this guy's, either. This guy was real. Maybe the realest person she'd ever seen. He had those shoulders Ken had. The kind her Dad didn't. And a solid, flat chest and belly, just like Ken. His jeans covered his legs, but Lynne bet they'd be like Ken's, too. Maybe this guy was the model they'd used to make Ken. Maybe not; Ken didn't have the same air. Like the whole world was his and everyone was there to make him happy. Lynne's dad looked at the guy in black and then down at himself. Lynne watched as he slunk off to the dressing room, as if embarrassed to let the new guy see him in Ken's clothes. As if Lynne's dad knew those clothes didn't make him into any sort of a man. While Lynne watched, the guy in black took the shirt from the shopkeeper. "It's purple?" the guy said, then shrugged and, standing right there in the middle of the store, he pulled his black t-shirt off over his head. The shirt caught his hair until it slid free and tumbled down the back of his neck and over his shoulders. Lynne tried to keep from staring. At his chest. At his hair. At the easy way he moved, like those natural athletes Lynne's dad so desperately wanted to be. Lynne sometimes thought her dad was apologizing for taking up space. This guy in front of her took all he wanted and never thought about saying sorry. As Lynne's dad came out of the dressing room, the guy put the purple shirt on and started buttoning. He made an ugly face as he watched himself work from bottom to top, and Lynne wondered what he'd be like if he was her dad, how he'd react if she said the purple shirt looked good on him. He didn't agree; he stood in front of the mirror and made more ugly faces at himself. Even from where she sat at Ken's feet, she could tell his attention was focused entirely on the shirt. Not even on how he looked inside of it. Just on the shirt. It was those ugly faces, Lynne thought. They meant he'd be a yucky dad. Nothing would be good enough for him. He'd probably even like making his face all dark and miserable, just to watch her quiver and wish she could run away. Lynne's dad was looking around the shop, pushing at shirts on their racks, but Lynne could tell he was waiting to see what the guy in black would do with the purple shirt. The guy shook his head. "Sorry, Gordo," he said and started unbuttoning. "It's just not me." Gordo motioned to Lynne's dad, who shook his head. "Go on, Dad," she said softly, hoping he would be the only one who heard her. The now-shirtless guy looked over at her. His frown melted away. "Think this would look good on him?" he asked, waving the shirt at her, then over at her dad. She bit her lower lip and nodded. Maybe she'd been wrong about what this man would be like. His voice was deep, but not deep like a frog's. There was something in it that sounded like music. And his eyes made her feel like he was glad to be looking at her. Like he'd kept her when he'd breathed in, after all. It only lasted a second and then he was looking at Lynne's dad and offering the shirt. "Let's see it," the man said. Again, Lynne heard the music in his voice. She wondered if she'd been wrong about how he'd use his ugly faces. Lynne's dad hesitated and looked back at the dressing room he'd been using. Then he snatched the shirt and scurried away. The guy in black tossed his t-shirt over his suntanned shoulder and whistled some song Lynne had never heard. The man who worked in the store started flipping through the same racks Lynne's dad had been looking at, pulling out a few and holding them up for the man's inspection. The ugly faces came back. Lynne looked up at Ken, who never complained about what he wore. Sometimes, he wore ugly clothes. Sometimes, he wore stuff her dad looked great in. It didn't matter to Ken. No matter what it was, he'd stand there and show it off to everyone who walked past. He'd do his best to make you think you wanted to wear his clothes and look just like him. That was Ken's job, no matter how hard Lynne wished Ken's job was to be her dad. Lynne's dad came out in the purple shirt. The man in black scowled. "See? Better on you than me," he said, and Lynne wasn't sure why he was scowling. Because the shirt looked better on Lynne's dad? Or because he hadn't wanted to be right? Or something else entirely that Lynne couldn't even begin to guess at? The man was right about the shirt. It almost gave her dad big, broad shoulders. It did make him stand up straighter, like he was proud of how he looked. All of a sudden, he was the sort of dad who'd take his daughter out shopping -- for her. For a dress for a school dance, the kind you took dates to. And he'd sit outside the dressing room and applaud and whistle when she came out. He'd make her feel like a princess and he'd encourage her to spin in circles and pretend to be a dancer right there, in the store. It wouldn't matter that people would be watching; they'd all stop and soak it in. A father and daughter, so happy and having fun. And when her date came to pick her up for the dance, he'd ask just the right questions in just the right way that the boy knew he had to respect this girl, or else. Lynne liked this version of her dad, who was in real life looking at her for her reaction. So was the guy in black, who still hadn't put his shirt on. She squirmed, feeling funny that she was sitting so close to the feet of a guy with no shirt. "What do you think, hon?" Lynne's dad asked. "Oh, I love it!" she breathed, hoping he could hear. It felt like words would ruin the magic. Lynne's dad nodded. "Okay, then. We'll take it." He grabbed at the price tag dangling in his armpit and froze. "Well…" Lynne melted there at Ken's feet. She looked up at her hero, as if he'd be able to do something. But he was as fake as ever, only able to sell dreams along with that week's trendy clothes. Plastic people couldn't ease the pain of a price tag. The blonde guy took a black shirt from the salesguy and shrugged into it. It had red stitching up the front, two rows, and around the sleeves. The collar was all black. Like Lynne's dad had, the guy looked like he grew a few inches. He looked at himself in the mirror; Lynne watched as her dad went to change out of the purple shirt. "That's better," the guy said and winked at Lynne. Before she had a chance to daydream, he told her, "I like purple, but that wasn't right. Not for what I need it for." Lynne chewed on the inside of her lower lip and nodded, looking away. This guy was a lot harder to figure out than Ken was. One second, he was nice. The next, he wasn't. But he wasn't mean when he wasn't nice. He was… like no one Lynne had ever met. He was not dad material. It was a relief to see her very own dad come out of the dressing room and carry the purple shirt over to the register. That was Lynne's cue to join him, and she did so gladly. Her dad didn't look happy, though. Not the way he usually did when he was ready to pay for something. He stroked the shirt and frowned. "It's mighty pricey," he told Lynne. "But it'd look good on our next casual day at work. And there's that trip I need to take next month…" Lynne didn't say anything. She grabbed his hand, closed her eyes, and willed him to buy the shirt. Of course it cost a lot of money; everything in this store did. Wasn't that part of why they came and shopped here? Because clothes make the man and expensive clothes do it best? "I can't," Lynne's dad said, turning his back on the shirt. It felt like he turned his back on Lynne, too. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He looked defeated, worse than he had when the guy in black had come in the store and he'd been standing there in those horrible Bermuda shorts. Maybe they'd never come back here after this, after a stranger and the purple shirt he hadn't wanted had teamed up to give her dad more hope than he could afford. Lynne looked over at Ken. She'd miss him. She'd miss dreaming of what he might be like if he was real and if he was her dad. One thing was for sure: if Ken was real, he'd be able to afford everything. You name it, he'd be able to buy it. Even if it cost a million dollars. Or more. They left the shop, Lynne thinking her dad was more hunched over than usual. The guy in black was unbuttoning the black shirt with the red thread designs on it. Ken was staring out the window, inviting people to come inside and buy ugly Bermuda shorts like his. Everything felt the same, but nothing was. Everything had just changed, and Lynne wasn't sure how or why. "Maybe," her dad said as they got into their car, "the clothes don't make the man." "Maybe," Lynne said, "we'll find something better next week." "Think Ken would have bought the shirt?" he asked, his hand ready to turn the key. Lynne nodded, her throat suddenly thick. Her dad had looked like Ken when he'd had that shirt on. For a second there, her dad had been everything she'd dreamed of. He started the engine and they drove home, without speaking. Not even Ken would have known what to say right then. Lynne was sure of it. ### Note from the author: If you recognize the blonde dude, you've clearly read my other books. If you have yet to join the Trevolution, now's the best time to start! The Demo Tapes: Year 1 The Demo Tapes: Year 2 Trevor's Song About the Author: A tone-deaf rocker-at-heart, Susan Helene Gottfried worked in retail record stores, in radio stations, as stage crew, and as a promoter while earning two college degrees in creative writing. Susan walked away from a continued career in the music industry in order to write books, so it makes sense that most of her fiction revolves around rock bands. Once you get those record stores, radio stations, and fellow roadies and promoters under your skin, they never leave. Visit Susan online at West of Mars, where the best fictional rockers hang out, on Facebook, or on Twitter.