Baby Doll

"This is better than Disney World, Baby May," Ian said. Green pine trees sprang into view through the winter/grey windshield -- white store back -- yellow side of Pancake Delight -- red and dark movie theater -- empty Jony's Paint store, moved round outside the window. The passenger side front wheel made a low, painful crunch of noise. Ian jerked his foot off the gas. He knew his old Duster. The spin slowed to a stop. "Gotta check this out, Baby Doll," Ian said to his still smiling tiny girl. He pushed the old car's large door open and stepped out into the cold. He walked to the wheel and reached down to tug at it. Metal grated upon metal. It was a sound familiar to Ian. "Okay, you old ball joint. You need some grease." He kicked the black rubber with his heavy work boot and returned to the driver's seat.

"Old Betsy here won't take that kind'a stuff anymore," he told his daughter as he patted the dashboard. "I'm gonna have to change those ball joints... but right now, Baby May, we gotta try to find your Momma a Christmas present. Something nice for forty-eight dollars," he said and patted Baby May on the head. He leaned over and wiped her chubby chin with the ever present bib. "You sure are working your gums for those teeth." Baby May hooked his little finger in her tiny fist, pulled it to her mouth, and gnawed at it. "Woah, kiddo. You got teeth in there." Ian said, and pulled his hand away.

Leaning back into the seat, he said, "Let's you and me go over to the new mall and see if we can find your Momma one of those dolls she wants." Ian reached inside his coat to the left pocket of his shirt and pulled a paper from it. "Special Moments," was printed neatly in Molly's hand writing. "A collectable baby doll," she had called it. "Okay, Baby May let's you and me go get this doll for your Momma. Something she can cuddle with while I'm at work at night -- of course, she's got you, but you, Baby Doll, need your sleep."

Ian eased the Duster out of the parking lot ahead of the stop light on Main Street. A driver, stopped on the other side of the light, blew her horn at him. Ian watched in the rearview mirror as a silky-black Corvette pulled from the changed light and slipped past him in an instant. "D'you see that, Baby May? Like a black arrow. Ha, d'you see the lady driving it? She looked like Aunt Bea on the Andy Griffith Show." The Corvette squirted through the traffic ahead of the Duster in quick slicing movements. It quickly disappeared into the rows of cars that jammed the mall parking lot.

Ian eased the Duster up onto the black streaked bottom of the dump pile of the snow plows. The snow crunched loudly under the weight of the car. He ignored it, unhooked Baby May, and joined the stream of people moving into the mall. "Okay, Baby May this is gonna be fun. But it's gonna be crowded," he added as a little woman pushed past him when he opened the mall door.

Inside, he moved quickly to a corner of an entrance at the Sporty You sports shop and looked over the crowd of bobbing heads. He watched the people pouring into the mall and the people spilling back out like the overflow of Cheerios in an over full child’s breakfast bowl. Baby May's little head tried to turn every way to see everything. "Pretty amazin' isn't it," Ian said, and stepped into a lull in the line of humanity and angled off to the glowing floor map of the mall that split the wave of people into the two main wings of the mall.

"Okay, Baby May, we're looking for a store named, Pins `N Things -- where the hell they get these names?" The map put Pins `N Things the next floor up and half way down the mall.

"Okay, Baby May, here we go. Hang on sweetie." He firmed his arm protectively around her. He stepped back into the crowd and joined the line to the escalators. He watched Baby May's face turn this way and that. He watched her black pupils expand when she felt the movement upward. "I thought you'd like that. Disney World's got a future lover in you. I can see it. Maybe you'll get to do a commercial after you win the Super Bowl." Ian laughed at himself and a flash of memory of a high school football game filled his mind.

Short and stocky Dave Hacinski, the running back, had run a good game for the Rockets. Every time Dave had touched the ball, his old man had jumped up onto the bleacher seat and yelled at the top of his thin voice, "That'sa ma boy! That'sa ma boy, Davey!" Ian had been with the guys after the game when they had begun teasing Dave about his old man. Dave turned and had faced them. In a perfect imitation of his father, he scanned their eyes and said, "That'sa my Old Man. That'sa my Old Man." The teasing immediately stopped.

Ian stepped off the escalator while quashing that weird queasy feeling you get when you step from moving stairs to solid floor. He squeezed his way past two perfectly groomed men who were quietly arguing over something green and fuzzy between their hands. Ian was lucky and caught a spot at the counter in Pins `N Things, setting Baby May on its forever durable top.

A chubby, blonde girl asked if she could help him and he fished out his paper and asked her if the store carried Special Moments dolls. She threw a thumb over her shoulder at the glass encased wall behind her. Shelf after shelf of porcelain statuettes of cute figures of elves, gnomes, dogs, cats, ducks, and many only imagined creatures looked back at Ian. "Jeeese oww, I thought they were baby dolls. What one does she want?" He said to himself. "Oh, how much are they?" He directed the question to the girl.

"Well, they're different prices. They run from sixty-two dollars up to over five hundred."

Ian smiled.

"Okay, thanks," he said and scooped Baby May off the counter and moved out of the store into the people. "Well, kiddo, so much for that idea -- sixty-two bucks. Oh well, let's see what else this place has." Ian went with the flow of people until the crowd gnarled up at a line to see Santa Claus.

Ian moved through the people and stopped at a corner of the elf table. A large sign above the elves read: "Donations for Big Adults; People Helping People." People were dropping dollar bills into a large plastic barrel and then taking Candy Canes that were proffered to them on a stick by a very shapely female elf.

Ian turned and slipped back into the crowd. He stopped by a vending machine that seemed to have its own personal space. He pulled out his wallet and pushed it between Baby May and his chest. "This calls for a little bit of schemery. But you, Baby Doll, don't know that," he added. He pulled out a dollar bill and leaned over to look at it in the dim light thrown off by the castle shaped vending machine. Baby May smacked him in the face with three short, sharp smacks of her little hand. "Jeese ow, kid, don't do that," Ian said, pulling back his face. He tore the bill into two pieces, being careful to leave the full serial number on one piece. He fished out the Special Moments paper and rolled it under the small piece of bill that lacked the serial numbers. The number 1 showed nicely in the right place. He moved back to the elves and dropped the piece of bill into the pot and took a prize of three candy canes.

Baby May began a serious gumming attack on the candy after Ian touched it to her tongue. "This is gonna take some cleaning up," Ian said as he watched pink slobber run down the candy cane to the little clenched fist. "Let's find the bathrooms, kiddo."

The startling white of the hallway to the bathrooms made Ian feel uneasy as he shook off the noisy crowd in the quiet hollowness of the passageway. He walked down the hallway and turned into the men's room. Wet paper towels sopped up the sticky slobber and Ian stuffed some towels into his pocket, wishing he had brought the baby bag with him.

The hallway was still empty when Ian stepped back into it. He turned and walked farther on to the apex of the T shaped by the perpendicular halls. He looked down the crossing hallway, trying to see if it had an exit door. He didn't want to face the crowd again, so he turned in the direction he thought his car was in and walked down the hall.

His boots made soft clumping sounds that echoed back from the walls as he walked the long passage to two stairwell doors at its end. A lower, more persistent sound, just on the edge of perception, tickled at Ian's mind and he stopped to better listen. As he stood and listened, he was sure he'd heard this sound before. Yes, it was just like the sound outside the steel mill where his dad had worked. He remembered sitting in the car with his mom waiting for his dad to get off work. The sound was a rhythmic rumble that rose and fell; long hot coils of steel being run through machinery, being shaped for future use. This sound was not as powerful, but on the same note. "Oh," Ian said to Baby May, "it's the crowd out in the mall." Baby May dropped her hand that held the Candy Cane to her side and snuggled her sticky face into her dad's coat. Ian took the candy and wrapped it into a paper towel, stuffed it into his pocket, and went on.

Ian opened the doors and walked down the stairs, hoping that a door to the outside was below. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped. The stairwell ended at the front of an office door. Large red letters on the smoky glass window of the door read: STERLING PRODUCTS. Ian turned and looked back up the stairs. "Well, sleeping girl, what do we do? Retrace our steps or...," he turned back to the door, "or should we try and see if this place has a gift for your mom?" Baby May's head was curled under and she made soft bubbly sounds as she slept.

"Okay, let's try this place," Ian said and opened the door to a brightly colored room. A short, grey haired lady had her back to the door while she bent over a file cabinet looking into the middle file drawer. She turned when the doorbell tinkled and Ian saw it was the driver of the black Corvette.

"Hello," she said in a mature voice that quivered slightly. "Can I help you?"

"Hey, I saw you out on Main street; that's a nice car you got."

"Oh, why thank you," the woman said, and fluffed the palm of her hand at her crown of grey hair. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, I don't know if there is anything you can do for me. I'm just looking for a Christmas gift for my wife. She wants a Special Moments doll, but... well, I can't get her one of those. Although, it really wasn't the first thing she wanted, anyway." Ian felt his mouth running away on its own and wondered why. Sure, a Special Moments doll wasn't Molly's first choice, but her first choice was a Baby Alive doll, and those things started at six hundred dollars. He heard his mouth saying, "I'm looking for a doll -- something like one of those Baby Alive dolls."

The woman's round face broke into a smile and she nodded her head and said, "Yes, yes, we can help you." Ian felt his head nod with the woman's. "Come in and sit down," she said, pointing to two maroon, soft looking chairs that seemed inviting against the bright yellow wall. She reached into the file drawer and pulled out a large, gold colored book. "Here," she said, and walked to the chairs with Ian. "This is the collector's edition of our world famous catalogue. The Sterling dolls are in families all over the world. We have the finest, most alive like dolls in the business. Our dolls are in all kinds of households. Why, even some of the royal families have purchased our dolls."

She placed the golden book onto Ian's lap and pulled one corner to spread it open. "We don't manufacture our dolls; each one is put together by the world's finest artist. Crafted and beautiful." Ian looked at a photograph of a chubby baby sitting in blankets and grinning an impossible grin. The photograph was matted on an off white sheet of heavy bond paper that added to the contrast of the page and photograph, making the baby look very much alive.

"This's a doll?" Ian asked, and turned the page to see a brown sepia toned baby photograph matted on a clean white page, looking very soft and cuddly.

"Oh, yes," the lady answered. "Everyone asks that question when they look at our catalogue. Why, even our catalogues have become collector's items. And, you get a catalogue with any purchase," she added as Ian turned the pages, caught in the images on each page.

"How much?" Ian heard his voice ask.

"Oh, the prices begin at -- well -- our lowest doll goes for only seven hundred dollars, and our top doll goes for -- right now -- four thousand dollars. But the value of these dolls only goes up with time. Why, dolls that were created only four years ago have tripled in value. But, the owners won't give them up. They've become very attached to them; much like a real baby. So any baby doll bought for, say your cute little daughter there -- is she your daughter?"

Ian looked up from the pictures, nodded his head, and said with a smile, "That'sa my girl, May."

"Oh, perfect," the lady said, "and also," she continued, pointing to a picture in the catalogue, "see the gold bracelet on the baby doll's right wrist? That is real gold; 19 carrot. It identifies the doll as a Sterling product. And you know how the price of gold goes up. So you'll find it a great investment to buy a Sterling doll for your daughter."

"The doll isn't for Baby May. It's for her mother," Ian said. "Molly, my wife, gets these things in her head and she has to have them. And it's Christmas. Can't go without buying Molly a gift, but... ." Ian closed the book on his lap and boosted May farther up his shoulder. Aunt Bea put her hand on the book as if to stop Ian from getting up.

Sterling Products does have payment plans," she said, as if understanding Ian's hesitation. "We try to work with anyone who wants our products. We think everyone should have the opportunity of having the Sterling Products experience. That is what drives us."

Ian laughed. "No thanks. I can't do it." Ian looked into the woman's eyes and saw the worried look she got when Opie was doing something wrong. Ian laughed. "You know you look like Aunt Bea from Mayberry; the Andy Griffith show."

"Oh, yes, everyone tells me that. Well, I can tell you that I am like Aunt Bea when it comes to helping someone who needs it..." Her voice trailed off when Ian began swiveling his head, no. “Oh, the baby dolls are so special and so life like that some of the Royal Families even buy them for their expecting young ladies. The soon-to-be mothers carry them and practice how to take care of, and love a baby. I’ve even heard that a nanny or two has picked a doll up and hadn’t even known them to be a doll, since the dolls feel so real.”

"How much were you thinking of spending?" she asked in a cool business tone.

Ian laughed. "Forty-eight bucks."

"Well, we do have payment plans that go as low as that for each monthly payment."

"No, I can't. I don't know if my job's gonna last and it doesn't pay that much. I just can't."

"Just a minute young man," Aunt Bea said. "Stay right there. I can see how much you want to get one of our unique Sterling dolls for your wife. And, I'm going to make it happen, if I can. Now you sit right there until I come back."

Ian watched her scurry from the room. Baby May stirred as he turned his head and shifted her up to lay her head on his shoulder. He pulled a Candy Cane from his pocket and stripped the plastic off and stuck it in his mouth.

The woman walked quickly back into the room and Ian pulled the candy

from his mouth like a kid caught eating candy in the first grade.

"I have worked something out with my boss, old Mr. Scratch. Now I know you really want this baby doll for your wife. You couldn't get her a better present. And, tomorrow is Christmas, so I want you to listen to this proposal. No matter how crazy it sounds." She moved her head conspiratorially closer to Ian's ear and said in a lowered voice. "I think old Mr. Scratch is a little...," she closed her lips and tapped her forefinger to her temple. "Or maybe he is just a little eccentric. I don't know, but what he proposes will give you a doll for Molly at a very low price."

Ian shrugged. "Let's hear it then," he said, moving his head closer to the woman.

She smiled.

"It is a little crazy, but you, yourself, really aren't going to lose anything if you do it." Ian watched a grimace wash over her placid face. "He, old Mr. Scratch, wants you to give him," she pursed her lips, nodded her head and went on, "he wants you to give him twenty-five percent of your soul. Now, now," she said to the surprised look on Ian's face. She held up a hand, "I know it sounds crazy, but for a crazy agreement you can have that doll your wife wants for Christmas. I, myself, wonder if there is such a thing as a soul. You know, after all, no one has ever seen a soul. Tests have been done on people and there is no appreciable difference in the body before and after death. So I don't know. But if old Mr. Scratch would offer me the same deal, I would take it," she ended and nodded her head again.

Ian nodded back in automatic response to her and she smiled a warm grandmotherly smile at him.

"I will get the contract and you will soon own a Sterling doll for your Molly. You choose the one you want. Oh, yes, the ones you will have the opportunity to buy are located in the last ten pages." She was out of the chair and back into the office before Ian could stop her.

He leafed to the last ten pages and looked at one picture after another. They were all cute, and very cuddly looking, but their faces were more universal, less distinct than the faces in the front of the book. They all pretty much looked the same to Ian.

The woman bustled back into the room with a computer clipboard in her hand. "Okay Mr. ... I never got you name."

"Ian Dough," Ian answered and she stenciled his name onto the screen.

"This is our standard contract, Mr. Dough, but under payment due is Mr. Scratch's -- joke -- quirk -- whatever you want to call it, is the twenty-five percent of your soul. So you really won't owe any money at all. You pay the forty-eight dollars down and that is all. Our business is done."

Ian shifted Baby May over to his other shoulder and pulled out his money. "What the hell," he said, thinking that he would be willing to die for Molly without hesitation. So what then if he gave up twenty-five percent of something he didn't even know if he had. He had often romantically thought about himself taking a bullet, a knife thrust, giving himself up to save the woman he loved. He handed the forty-eight dollars to Aunt Bea.

"Very good," she said and paused with the pen on the screen. "What doll did you choose, Mr. Dough?" Ian pointed at one of the pictures, hoping his choice would make Molly happy. "Okay, that is a lovely one. I have seen that one myself. I think that is one of the artist's best works. And I am sure you will agree when your baby has been delivered." She raised a hand to cover a smile at her last remark. She tittered. "That is a little joke we always laugh at here at Sterling Products. Okay, just sign here by the X."

Ian took the clipboard computer and looked at it. "I don't know," he said in a moment of doubt. "Will anything happen to me?"

"Oh no, nothing will happen to you," Aunt Bea said and placed a hand on Ian's knee. "Mr. Scratch is just into the Christmas spirit and he just wants you to have what everyone else can have. Annnd," she said in a long drawn out way, "you have paid for your doll, so it isn't something free. Is it?" She asked.

"Okay," Ian said. "I gotta get this kid home to bed -- and change her diaper." He scratched out his name with the too large pen and watched it magically appear under the computer screen.

The woman bounced off the seat in great excitement and moved over to the phone on the counter. She pushed several buttons and spoke into the receiver:

"John, we have a rush order here. We have a Sterling doll to be delivered tonight. You can do it can't you? Great, I knew you could. Okay, hold on and I will get you the address." She turned to Ian and asked his address.

He told her and she wrote it down. "Okay, Mr. Dough, your doll will be delivered tonight. Matter of fact, it will probably get to your house as soon as you get there. Sterling Products has many warehouses and the doll warehouse is close to your home."

"That's it then?" Ian asked, and when the woman nodded he shook her surprising cold hand and walked toward the door.

"Oh, wait Mr. Dough. Don't forget your catalogue," she said.

"This one?" Ian asked. Pointing at the book he had left on the chair.

"Oh yes," she answered, "each one is one-of-a-kind—just like our babies. And, of course, that is the last one that will have your baby in it." Ian picked up the book and thanked the woman. He stepped back into the stairwell. "Merry Christmas," he heard her say through the door as it closed. He climbed the stairs and headed back down the hallway. He soon found an exit door at the other end.

Ian stepped out into the early winter night and sucked in the cold air. His nostrils momentarily stuck together in the sharp coldness. He realized that he had been sweating. He stuck the book between his legs, wiggled Baby May around and pulled up her hood and zipped up her coat. "Jeeese kid. When you sleep, you really sleep. And you're breaking my arm. Come on let's get you home." Large snow flakes began to filter down through the parking lot lights. Ian stopped and looked up and felt the cold touch of the flakes on his face. "Someone's turned the world upside down, Baby May," he said to his sleeping daughter. "Grandma's snow globe," he said, remembering how he, as a kid, had thought that real snow was made the same way as Grandma's snow globe. He had thought god, or whatever, turned the world upside down and then right side up to make the snow come down. He smiled to himself as he eased Baby May into her car seat.

He buckled her in and went to the driver's seat. The Duster started with the second try and Ian let it warm up as he scraped the windshield. The snow felt good on his sweaty skin. The six cylinder motor warmed up fast and Ian was soon back into the traffic on Main Street. He switched the AM radio on and listened to a newsman tell everyone that Christmas was going to be dismal this year because the economists predicted only a seven percent increase in Christmas sales this year and that wouldn't help the economy. The economists hoped that the after Christmas sales would make up some for the dismal Christmas. Ian pushed another radio station button and listened to Christmas music keep time with his windshield wipers as he cut across town through side streets and pulled up the long, steep hill to his apartment.

The living room light was off in the apartment and Ian could see Molly's figure floating around the cluster of different colored Christmas tree lights. He pulled Baby May from the car-seat and laid her head onto his shoulder. Her small arm caught on his shoulder and he wiggled it down as he stood up. He looked down the street he had just come up to see if the delivery man might be coming. No, the road was black and vacant, pock marked only by an occasional dim street light in the velvety winter blackness. "I hope that guy gets her soon, Baby May. I wouldn't want your Momma not to have a Christmas gift tomorrow morning," he said to his girl. "Oh, I got this though," he said as he picked the Sterling Products doll catalogue off the seat. "Let's go see what your Momma's up to, kid."

Ian walked toward the stairs to the front door of the apartment. He shivered against the cold and pulled the zipper of his coat up. The mercury street light lighted the fallen snow in a bluish haze. Ian passed quickly under the light, making Baby May's little arms flap like a bird. A golden gleam on Baby May's wrist shone briefly under the harsh light before her coat slipped down and covered it. Ian wondered if he was going to be able to keep his gift a secret from Molly until the next morning. He opened the apartment hallway door, feeling the inside warmth of his home wash out over him. He felt good. "Come on, Baby Doll, let's get you inside. Your Momma's waitin' for ya."

"Merry Christmas, Molly," he said to his wife who stood in the doorframe. "Baby May and I have a surprise for you."

THE END

Bio: Kim Rush is a member of the human species, and, thus, merely a moment of life. (The Editor doesn't know what that means, either, so don't ask.) His work (fiction, non-fiction, and poetry) has appeared in print in the Western Ohio Journal, Dialogue (four times), and Lifeprints (twice), and online in Global Inner Visions, Double Dare Press, The Ethical Spectacle (ten times), The Blue House, The Blue House Poetry E-zine, T-Zero, and, of course, Aphelion. His most recent Aphelion appearance was The Sweet Loop Incident, August 2008.

E-mail: Kim Rush

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