The Art Of Manipulation and Other Things

A story of beauty and vulnerability.

Oh, what a beautiful girl she was; no wonder they were all crazy for her. She was the kind of gal you'd look at and wish you could walk over to and just brush a finger gently against her cheek, or run a hand through her jet black silky locks. You just wanted to touch her, to see if she was really there. Oh, how sad it is to think of what such an angelic face was reduced to.
   It was back in the 50's when I met Dorothy, back in the days when I was a New Yorker myself. Our first and, as it so happens, only encounter was brief, but all it took were those few seconds and I knew I'd never forget that name, nor that face, again. She was gorgeous. Her cheeks were a light shade of rouge; prominent against her ghostly white skin. "Oh God, sorry" she exclaimed with her dainty, Southern-bred voice that day. I looked up from gathering my few belongings off the pavement just in time to catch a glimpse of the brownest eyes I've ever seen, before the girl went jogging off in a pair of cherry red 5inch high stiletto heels. I turned after her and stared on, as she rushed down the street and slowly faded into the crowd. As I continued on down 5th Ave, I thought to myself 'I know that face.'
   At the age of seventeen, Dorothy packed her bags and left for the big city.  She had come from a background of immense poverty and wanted that to change. Although she didn't quite know how she was going to do it at that stage, she was determined to make a living for herself and make her Momma proud. So that was it; on the 27th of November, 1951, Dorothy arrived in the big apple. Not long after, she joined the business.
   It was in the Riptide Cafe that Mr. Donald Brook saw her. As he sat down in his usual booth, it wasn't long before the pretty, dark haired waitress walked over to his table. "What can I get you?" she smiled politely. Brook looked her up and down, and straight away he knew what he wanted. "Just a cup o' joe for now, suga'." Dorothy nodded, and blushed as she walked away. Three cups of coffee and a greasy hamburger later, Brook made his move.

"So tuts, you ain't a New Yorker. What has you here?"

Dorothy replied shyly with the abridged version of her story.

"Well darlin', if you want some real money, this joint ain't for you. Look, I run a place; we put on a show every Friday and Saturday night. I gots dancers, you see. A whole lot of 'em, but ain't none of them as pretty as you, sweetheart. Gimme a call sometime. I can make a name for you, kid. Ya' hear me?"

And with that, Donald Brook slipped a business card into her breast pocket and walked out of the diner.


   A week had barely passed by the time Dorothy made up her mind. She retrieved the card from a heap of clothes on the floor of a friend's spare room, and nervously pushed in the twelve digits of Mr. Brook into the keypad of the telephone. After three increasingly terrifying rings, she heard a familiar voice. "Mr. Brook? Hi, it's..."

"Dorothy!" he interrupted, "I knew you'd call. Listen, drop by to the Cosmo club on 5th Ave. at around 6pm tomorrow and we'll get you started straight away. Alright suga'? Until then."
The line disconnected.


   The next day, Dorothy finished up at the diner and managed to make her way to the Cosmo club. She was greeted by Brook at the door. He quickly took her by the hand and showed her around. As they walked, Brook told her about the great wages, the short working hours, the sparkly costumes that would be supplied. By the end of the tour, the two were sitting backstage in a plush leather sofa behind a mahogany coffee table on which two cocktail glasses sat, filled to the brim. This was all so new to Dorothy; she had stars in her eyes as she gazed at her surroundings. "This place is amazing" she told Mr. Brook, and so; out came the pen and paper. All she had to do was sign the dotted line and this dazzling future she was imagining could be hers. Her fragile little hand picked up the pen and scribbled down her name.
That was it. That was the day the famous 'Delaware Dorothy' sold her soul.

   That night, Dorothy and the sleaze bag that was Mr. Donald Brook sat and watched the show. It wasn't long before Dorothy's face contorted into one of confusion. She watched in horror as the girl on stage danced around, in her sparkly costume, slowly removing her clothing as men in the crowd howled and whistled up at her. Just as the girl was about to truly reveal herself, Dorothy stood up in disgust.

"Mr. Brook, I don't know what kind of girl you think I am but I can't do this, this isn't for me. I'm sorry."
She was just about to walk away when Brook grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back into the seat beside him.

"Now listen here" he said, "You see this contract? You signed it. Which means you work for me, now."
He placed a hand on her thigh as he leaned in close to finish what he had to say.

"You're gonna dance around up there for two hours every second Saturday night. I told you kid, I wanna make you famous, and I get very upset when I don't get what I want. You don't wanna see me upset, sweetheart...", his hold of her thigh tightened, "...do ya'?"


   Months passed, and more and more posters were showing up all around New York with a picture of a pretty face they called 'Delaware Dorothy'. Flocks of people arrived at the Cosmo club every second Saturday night to get a look at this up and coming show girl. She was as white as snow, bar her two pink cheeks, and she had long black hair that fell all the way down her back. Men went crazy for her and that Southern accent of hers. Within a year, she truly was famous.
   That day I bumped into the pretty young girl, it wasn't long before one of the Cosmo club's posters stopped me in my tracks and I realised who it was that had nearly knocked me off my feet only moments before hand. She was on my mind for weeks after that until, eventually, I got over it. It was at around that same time that I moved to Boston. After that, I hadn't heard or seen a thing about the girl until one day, about a year later, as I sat in my kitchen with a bowl of cereal, a news report came in on the radio. There, I heard of the tragic death of a young woman in New York that went by the name of 'Delaware Dorothy'. The spoon fell from my hand. Suicide, they said.

People were asking why; why someone so beautiful, with fame and fortune, someone who had it all, would end it all, after making it so far in her chosen career at such a young age.

That day I learnt something; there's an art to manipulation.

Author's Note

I feel as though my ending could have been a little better here, so any feedback at all would be greatly appreciated, thank you! :)

Reviews

[Leviathus Fortes]

Even the most inspirational person in the world can be the most miserable without anyone knowing.

[Jessica Turner]

I really enjoyed that it was different and flowed nicely. You did a great job

[DarkRainbowPie]

Thank you very much for the feedback! :)