Goodbye Dolly

5

One night at the turn of the twentieth century, Rosie O'Neill dreamed about tiny imps and began to sketch them from her imagination. Plump, mischievous babies with laughing eyes and wisps of hair standing straight up. She called them Kewpies, short for Cupid, because they did good deeds in amusing ways. The series began with magazine drawings accompanied by short stories and poems. Next, she designed Kewpie Kutouts, comic pages, and books. At the request of adoring children, she created a special doll. By 1913 Kewpie dolls could be found all over the world.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch The Kewpie's grinning baby face seemed to be showing appreciation for Gretchen's efforts to repair it. She had to look carefully to detect the thin, glued line reconnecting the doll's head with its body. An expert fix, she thought with satisfaction. Her mother couldn't have done much better. But her fingers could feel the telltale ridge. Her repair wouldn't fool a professional, but she'd done the best anybody could. Blunderboo was her favorite of all the Rosie O'Neill designs. He was the clumsy Kewpie, always falling, tumbling, or rolling. Gretchen turned the three-inch doll upside down and examined the fake O'Neill mark on its feet, then studied the red heart label painted on its bare, chubby body.

Why had Chiggy attempted to make her own Kewpies?

Based on the woman's vast collection of dolls at the auction, her tastes ran more toward reproductions of rare antique dolls than the fairylike Kewpies.

"I feel bad about the doll," Gretchen told Nina with genuine regret. "Especially since it isn't mine. I hope the elusive Mr. Wilson isn't an expert. Unless he picks it up and runs his fingers along the neck, he won't know that it's been repaired."

"If he had expertise in the field, he wouldn't have purchased the dolls in the first place," Nina said, peering into the box Gretchen had placed on her mother's worktable.

"It's a motley lot anyway. Every one of them seems to be broken."

"Or repaired," Gretchen agreed. "Why did Chiggy keep such a box of junk? It looks like a practice batch that should have been thrown out."

"From what you said about her reproductions, the whole auction was filled with garbage."

"Not the box of Ginnys. Those were exquisite. I have to get them back."

Gretchen gently scraped a tiny dot of glue from the doll's neck with her X-Acto knife. "The first doll I ever owned was a Kewpie. I called her Lucy. Dad gave her to me."

Gretchen felt an acute sense of loss. Her father's death had left an immense hole in her life. "I miss him every day."

"The car accident was a horrible shock," Nina agreed.

"It's been two years, but it takes a long time to get over something like that. At least you survived."

Gretchen laid the X-Acto knife on the table. "Yesterday when Brett stepped out in front of the SUV, it brought back memories of the accident."

Squealing tires, screams, breaking glass, metal collaps- ing, moans.

It had all come rushing back-the fear, the horror of crawling unharmed out of the rolled car and finding her father lifeless behind the wheel. The screams she'd heard had been her own.

"I wish you hadn't been at the auction when it happened," Nina said.

"I wish the same thing." Gretchen rose and cleaned off the table, returning the glue to its assigned spot.

"Well, we're off for our hair appointment," Nina said, clipping a pink leash to Tutu's collar. "I'll pick you up for lunch in a few hours."

"Is Tutu getting a new hairdo, too?"

"Of course," Nina said, breezing out, leaving a vacuum of silence behind her.

In spite of the heat, it was good to be in Phoenix, away from the complications associated with Boston. Gretchen liked her renewed relationship with her mother and the comfortable presence of the workshop.

Gretchen glanced around her. Dolls had played an integral part in her life. They were the glue that bonded her to her roots and especially to her mother.

Feeling a need to connect, Gretchen picked up the phone. Her mother answered, her voice light and happy.

"A book tour," Caroline said, "is exactly what I needed. I'm meeting new readers, seeing the coast, renewing acquaintances with doll collectors. It's marvelous."

Now was not the time to start whining and complaining.

"That's great," Gretchen said, forcing the same easy tone.

"I just wanted to hear your voice. Everything is fine on my end."

Fine? Brett was dead, Steve had turned up in Phoenix, she'd lost three hundred dollars and the Ginny dolls, and she wasn't sure she could handle the doll show by herself.

"Everything's fine," she repeated.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You're part of me. I can tell."

Gretchen sighed. "I'm worried about the show," she said, picking the least complicated of her concerns to share with her mother.

"I have absolute confidence in your ability to handle the doll show," Caroline said. "It's Brett's death that has you upset."

"How did you know about that?"

"I'm not entirely out of touch. California isn't on Mars."

"Nina told you."

"Nina called to ask if I'd received her telepathic signals and if I had been able to decipher them."

"And?"

"Of course I didn't get Nina's unique but faulty wireless message. I told her I'd felt something special that I couldn't identify just to keep her happy. She suggested that I try harder next time."

Gretchen laughed, feeling her gloomy thoughts dissipating. She and Caroline chatted a little longer, and after hanging up, Gretchen turned her attention to creating a sign to display at the doll show announcing her restoration service. Making room on the table for a yellow piece of poster board, she went to work with colored Magic Markers. As she finished the sign, she heard someone clearing his throat behind her.

Startled, she turned quickly.

Steve Kuchen stood a few feet inside the workshop door. He wore an expensive pair of khakis and an air of confidence that only the really rich carried off well. He'd probably leased a Beemer at the airport.

"How did you get in?" she said.

"The door was unlocked."

Thanks, Nina.

She felt her face flush. How long had he been watching her?

"Do you know what day it is?" Steve asked softly, a hesitant smile on his face, a few blond locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was as handsome as ever.

"It's October first." Gretchen laid the marker on the table. "Friday."

"That was a rhetorical question, Gretchen. Today is day number sixty-two since you left Boston. You refused every one of my calls. You can't hide forever."

Why not? Gretchen was a master at dodgeball. Confrontations weren't her specialty. She considered herself more the ostrich head-in-the-sand type.

"You should have knocked at the front door," she said to fill the uneasy void.

"Would you have answered?"

"Another rhetorical question?" Gretchen felt angry, and her anger energized her. She had nothing to explain. She was the injured party, and he wouldn't force her into a conciliatory role, as he'd done so many times in the past.

"There's someone else, isn't there?" he said. Predictable.

Steve of the inflated ego could never imagine that the end of their relationship might be his fault. He has the nerve to ask me if there's someone else? "I believe you stole my line." Gretchen saw him blanch, and she felt smug satisfaction. He'd been the one who cheated, not her. And he couldn't claim it was a random moment. It was an affair with someone at his office.

"Nina says you're dating a police officer."

Gretchen wanted to correct him but didn't. Matt Albright was a detective with the Phoenix Police Department. They'd met right after she had moved to Phoenix. His mother presided over the Phoenix Dollers Club.

Not that they were "dating" as Steve believed, thanks to her Chatty Cathy aunt. It had been only two months since her breakup with Steve. She wasn't ready. Still…

"Where did you see Nina?" she said. Nina was at it already.

"Outside. She was in a hurry. Some dog appointment, she said."

He had been watching her before he announced his presence.

"Nina's truth is like pulled taffy," Gretchen said, carefully. "It looks like a solid mass in the beginning, but as it's pulled, it stretches until in the end the candy undergoes a complete change."

"I'm not sure I followed that," Steve said.

"Nina operates on a different plane than the rest of us."

Gretchen had been up since five o'clock prepping for the show, and a wave of tiredness hit her.

"Is she still seeing auras and tuning in to the universe?" he asked.

"She hasn't changed."

"New Age Nina," he said with a forced laugh.

Steve walked to the table, and Gretchen backed away. If he touched her, she might lose her resolve.

Stay strong. The Birch women's motto. He ran his hands over the tools she was about to pack up for the doll show. All had been dipped in Poodle Skirt Pink. Gretchen noted his manicured fingers before she turned away.

"I can't get into a discussion about our relationship right now," she said with an indifference she really didn't feel. "I'm behind on my prep work, and I have a lunch meeting."

Steve, used to pressure in the courtroom, appeared unruffled. He came across the country to get me back; he must have prepared a grand opening argument. The only hint she had that he was unhappy was the way his hand abruptly stopped brushing across the repair tools. Steve had changed so much since he'd begun his pursuit of the law office's partnership. Late hours. Preoccupation with his job. Where had his passion gone?

Or was she the one who'd changed?

He pulled away from the table. "Of course," he said, civilized beyond all doubt. "Later today, then."

Gretchen waved at the disarray in the workshop. "I still have all this to clean up, and I'll be working at the doll show starting very early tomorrow."

"I'll find you at the show," Steve said, exuding practiced self-confidence.

But his voice held a hint of disappointment, and his eyes seemed to plead for an opportunity to present his case. Gretchen needed a continuance. She had to postpone the hearing.

Did that mean she wasn't sure of the verdict?

Garcia's was one of Gretchen's favorite restaurants in Phoenix. After a short wait in the crowded bar, she and Nina were escorted to a table.

Nina, believing she could best detect auras emanating from people if she adhered to a strict vegan diet, scooped guacamole onto a tortilla chip and sighed.

"This vegan diet is harder than I thought it would be,"

she whined. "Are you sure I can't have cheese?"

"It's made with rennet," Gretchen said. "Which is made from animal by-products. Remember, no dairy products at all. Vegans are very strict about their diets."

"I can't even have cheese quesadillas?"

"Nope."

"Ever since I found out that I can see auras better if I don't eat meat, I've lost ten pounds."

Gretchen studied her willowy aunt. "I wish I could lose ten pounds," she said.

Nina glared at her. "I'm starving to death."

"Then eat. Why do you need to see auras anyway?"

"It's important in my purse dog training. I can tell by the color of a client's aura whether or not we are a good match."

"By clients, you don't mean the owners, do you? You mean the dogs?" Gretchen watched Nina nod. "And you agree to train the dogs based on what color surrounds them?"

Nina nodded again and stuffed a chip into her mouth. She took a sip of her margarita. "Thank goodness, I can still drink alcohol." Nina, newly coiffed, sported a teal bow in her hair that matched the one attached to Tutu's head. Tutu, also freshly shampooed and trimmed, waited indignantly outside in Nina's red vintage Impala.

"How am I going to explain the missing Ginny dolls and the lost money to my mother?" Gretchen said.

"Caroline will understand."

"The more I think about it, the more I think I was set up. The boxes were switched on purpose."

"Ridiculous."

The waiter delivered Gretchen's Poco Pollo Fundido, and Nina looked longingly at the chicken, ignoring her plate of veggie fajitas.

"You've become very suspicious of people since Steve betrayed you," Nina said.

"What about the false address?"

"A simple mistake."

"I don't think so."

"The dolls will turn up. You have to focus on the good in people."

Nina had made up her mind, and there would be no changing it. Gretchen switched subjects.

"Why did you tell Steve I was going out with Matt?" she said.

"A little competition never hurt. Besides, you two are very close to connecting. I can feel it."

"He's still married."

"A minor detail. He filed for divorce."

Gretchen took a bite of chicken.

"I love a man in a uniform," Nina said wistfully. The detective wore Chrome cologne, Gretchen's favorite male scent, and he did have a buff build. But he was in the middle of a nasty divorce. Gretchen planned on staying clear. She had enough problems with men at the moment without adding another one to her life.

"He's undercover most of the time, Nina. He usually doesn't wear a uniform. I've never even seen him in one."

"He's really sexy, but Steve has the money. It's a tough choice."

Gretchen took a long draw on her lime margarita and chanted the word patience several times in her head before responding. "I don't want Steve back. Never, ever. He cheated on me, and I could never trust him again. I'm through, so I don't want you to encourage him in any way."

Although her words were strong, Gretchen still worked to suppress her feelings for Steve. He'd hurt her badly, but she had seven years of memories, and she'd relived many of them since moving to Phoenix. She had to constantly recall her initial anger.

Seeing him for the first time in two months had affected her, as she knew it would. She should have left the city before he arrived and spared herself all the conflicting emotions.

"I hope he doesn't go crazy when he realizes he can't win you back." Nina fiddled absently with the rim of her margarita glass. "Some men go right over the edge."

Gretchen tilted her head and studied her aunt. Nina, divorced after a brief and tumultuous marriage after college, hadn't had a date with the opposite sex for years. Or if she had, she wasn't sharing any details. She seemed content with Tutu and her purse training business and spending time with her small family-Gretchen and Gretchen's mother, Caroline.

"We should fix you up with a hot date," Gretchen suggested. "After we set up for the show, we'll scout around for someone special for you. Since you're my assigned show assistant, meet me at the hall first thing in the morning. That's six o'clock a.m., Nina."

Nina groaned.

"Lovely. Just where I'd expect to find an interesting man. At a doll show."

"Maybe one of those Boston Kewpie doll collectors needs a tour of Phoenix."

Nina snorted. "I'll be on hand to help you, but I'm hoping you won't need me. April called and asked me to share her table. She can't afford it on her own."

"The tables are only thirty-five dollars. She's that short of cash?" Gretchen said, alarmed that her assistant was jumping ship.

Nina slurped the last of her margarita before answering.

"April only charges two dollars for a doll appraisal. That's a giveaway. She needs to raise her prices to cover her costs and make a little profit. Maybe when those rich Boston Kewpie collectors come along, she can charge them five dollars."

"You don't even collect dolls," Gretchen pointed out.

"How are you going to share her table?"

Enthusiastic, Nina leaned forward. "I'm going to show off my special purse dog training techniques and sign up new clients. Doll people love little dogs. We'll bring Nimrod along so I can use him for my demonstrations. A miniature dog always draws a crowd."

Nina, eternally surrounded by an entourage of canines, had made a good point. People gravitated to Gretchen's teacup poodle like hummingbirds to nectar. Nina's table was guaranteed to be the liveliest area of the show.

"You promised to help me. We'll have to get tables close together," Gretchen said.

"Tables are already assigned," Nina said. "But I'll call Bonnie and work it out in case she's positioned you in another area. Don't worry."

Gretchen rummaged in her purse for money to pay the check. Whenever Nina said, "Don't worry," Gretchen began to worry. "I still have so much to do."

"You're in good shape," Nina said. "You just have firsttime jitters."

Gretchen straightened a few crumpled bills she found on the bottom of her purse. Now, if I could only remember where I put the car keys. She patted her pockets and drew them out.

"What's this?" Nina said, extracting a paper napkin from between the bills Gretchen had thrown on the table.

"Just garbage. I'll throw it away." Gretchen reached for it.

"Wait. Something's written on it."

Nina held up the napkin with Garcia's imprint, and Gretchen stared at the handwritten word.

"Pushed!"

"Pushed?" she said.

"Is this yours?" Nina asked.

"It's a cocktail napkin." Gretchen glanced at the next table. "They're everywhere." She moved her empty margarita glass and picked up the napkin that had been under it.

"This one's mine. I must have swept that one in by accident."

"It may have been in there since last time we dined at Garcia's," Nina said, looking at Gretchen's purse. "I don't know how Nimrod fits with all the stuff you carry around."

"I'm working on it," Gretchen said, taking the napkin from Nina. "Pushed?" she said again.

Nimrod bounced around her heels, squealing with pleasure, and Gretchen couldn't help smiling down at the puppy. Had anyone ever been this excited to see her before? Wobbles never greeted her with such enthusiasm, and she had rescued him from certain death. She'd also nursed him back to health. A little gratitude from him was in order. She picked up Nimrod, and he wiggled in the crook of her arm, struggling to climb higher and lick her face. She hated leaving him home, but he needed to learn that he couldn't go everywhere with her.

Besides, she reminded herself; he wasn't entirely alone. He had Wobbles.

"No sloppy doggie kisses," she warned him. "You should be washing yourself like Wobbles does instead of trying to clean me." She saw the tomcat eyeing her from the kitchen and stooped to rub his head before heading for the workshop. She deposited Nimrod on his little comfy bed. He promptly jumped off and bolted for the back door, which led to the pool. She heard him slip through the pet door she'd installed for him, so he could come and go whenever he wanted to.

Gretchen loved the view from the workshop window. Majestic Camelback Mountain rose before her as an earthy reminder of the vastness of the Arizona landscape. Reaching for her binoculars, she watched a few hikers climbing the mountain's steep trails. She wished she had time to join them.

What she needed to do was focus on tomorrow and finish packing up for the doll show. She had to arrive several hours early to allow for setting up the table. Three boxes of dolls were already loaded in her trunk, but she still had to sort through a few more and decide what else to take along. She gathered Chiggy's Kewpies and returned them to their original box. The restorer in her had no choice but to evaluate each one. Chipped paint, damaged clay, cracks. The one that her pets had broken wasn't the only Kewpie with unsightly cracks. Gretchen, frowning over the awful replication attempts, once again wondered why Duanne Wilson would bid on such a sorry bunch of fake dolls. Gretchen sighed heavily. He'd gotten the better end of the deal. The Ginnys were worth a lot more, and she'd miss adding them to the group of Ginnys her mother had already collected for the big show. She still thought she'd been the victim of a scam, in spite of Nina's naive comments. Her repair tools were scattered on the table, and she began to gather them up and organize them in the new toolbox her mother had designed especially for Gretchen's first doll show.

S hooks, pliers, stringing hooks, dowel rods, clamps. Gretchen ticked off the required restringing tools as she added them to the box, each tool accessorized with the pink nail polish. She added a box of standard number eleven X-Acto knife blades and looked around on the table for the hobby knife.

"Where did I put it?" she asked no one in particular. She noticed that since taking in Nimrod, she talked aloud more. It couldn't be a good sign.

Nimrod, returning from outside, perked up at her voice. He cocked his head, and his tiny tail wiggled back and forth wildly.

Gretchen couldn't find the knife.

She needed the utility knife for all kinds of repairs. How would she set doll eyes without it? She needed a pointed blade to remove excess wax or plastic. The knife was a critical tool for her. It couldn't be missing. Where had she put it?

She remembered using it to wipe glue from the Blunderboo Kewpie, so it had to be here. After a thorough search of the worktable and the surrounding area, Gretchen gave up. The knife was gone.