Blood Doll (5)

“Eve! Your phone’s broken!” Father’s voice startled me awake. “Some God awful noise is blaring out of it.”

“Answer it. It’s probably Ang calling,” I shouted back. “I’ll be there in a second.” With that, I rolled off of the hammock and onto my feet. Certain muscles in my calves protested when I tested them, but they held without leaving me wailing in the yard. The grass’ dew had gone; my blanket was able to skim the ground without becoming thoroughly soaked as I stumbled toward my phone.

My parents had learned quickly that when my bed was empty I could be found sleeping in the hammock. I used it almost more often than my own bed. My mind was able to shut down more quickly with fresh air and open space. Plus, the stench of cow-waste was at a minimum.

“Lunch’s ready, kid,” Father said. “Buttered linguini.” He handed me the miniscule communication device before backtracking into the house. I followed him in, headed for my room.

Ang began a standard rant when I answered. “Dude, dude, dude, like I have the perfect ideas for possible outfits. You know the black skirt that is tons shorter on one side than the other and has all those silver-skull-coin things dangling from the hem? Bring that and your white long sleeve shirt with the crazy, ripped up back. And those shiny knee high boots…Oh, and your combat boots. Got that so far, girly?”

Before she could begin again, I cut in. “Ang, I can’t take many options. If I bring my entire closet, my parents will get suspicious. Think of three outfit options, can you, and we’ll choose when I come over.”

A deafening sigh blew to me through the phone. “Okay, good point, I understand. So, get the skirt, the shirt, and the shoes out now and we’ll find more. We’re meeting up in like an hour, right? Hurry your butt up, girl. It’s…two-ten.”

Half an hour and three full outfits neatly folded into my bag later, I hung up with Ang and headed for the kitchen. By this time, my plate had been placed in the microwave, and so I reheated the noodles before chowing down.

So close. My chest thumped harshly. Roughly eight hours remaining until ‘Drac’s Lair.’ Hardly containing my excitement, I showered quickly. My thoughts were elsewhere when I donned a maroon velvet dress that a black corset overlapped.

Hurriedly, I said goodbye to my parents. Then, I hopped into my small rusted car and started for the thrift store Ang and I usually met at.

“Goodness, girly. What took you so long? I’ve been here for like, an hour,” Ang demanded as I exited my car.

“Ten minutes, I assume.”

“Well, it felt like an hour.”

            “If only, if only…”

            Ang slung an arm around my shoulders. “You know you love me. Now, let’s go into this thrift store so I can find nothing while you miraculously fabricate tons to cut up.”

            “There’s a scientific explanation for that: you never look. Oh, we need to go to the arts and craft store for paints afterward.”

            Tinkling, electronic bells signaled our arrival to the shop. “You gonna make my penguin-mushroom?” Ang asked. A musty smell inhabited the small, mildly cluttered area. Ang sneezed exuberantly.

            “Bless you,” I replied. “And no, though I will get around to your penguin. More than likely for Christmas. I’m swamped with projects now. Sorry.”

            “But somehow you’ve managed to make time in your oh, so busy schedule to hang with me and go clubbing tonight.” Ang distastefully plucked a pastel hued scarf from a rack. “Grandma clothes,” she muttered.

            My fingers skimmed the clothes minutely. “I’m not sure what Drac’s Lair is,” I admitted. “It doesn’t seem like a club necessarily.”

            “It has to be. I mean, it’s in like, a huge city.  Near the gi-freaking-normous strip mall, right? There are clubs all around it. Plus, I think I heard somewhere that there’s a Goth club. That could be it.”

            “Maybe. Whatever the case, there are directions on the flyer.”

            In the end, I bought nothing from the consignment shop. At the arts and craft store, though, my wallet was shrunken considerably. While Ang roamed the photos and Play-doh sections, I stocked up with purple, blue, and white acrylics, silver wire, and black hemp.

            I was made to practically drag Ang out of the store.

            Neighbor’s children shrieked nearby when Ang and I arrived at her quaint, white three story house. Her lawn crunched under our shoes as we crossed to the front door. Inside, the foyer was lit with colorful antique lamps. Overlapping rugs led the way through the house, and we ascended the stairs to Ang’s bedroom.

            “Okay, so lemme see some options.” Ang threw her purse on her king sized bed and snapped. “Clothes out now. We don’t want you looking bad during this shindig.”

            As I dutifully extracted my clothes, Ang turned her music player to a reggae band.

            Despite my best friend’s hippie nature, her sense in any fashion was remarkable. She was the head of the costume department for Leeburg’s drama club, regardless of that she was unable to conjure much of anything with a sewing machine. Even so, she was able to work well with combining options because of the school’s low budget and succeeded quite well.

            “Definitely no pants,” Ang began, “and it’s a ‘no’ for long sleeves. You want to look totally and utterly sexy for this thing, so we need to show off your body, which cannot be done with any of these.” She tossed the rejections back in my bag. “You know, I’d let you wear what you have on because it’s gore-geous, but velvet gets really hot. So, let’s see what we have left…”

            “What is the point in making me look sexy?” I inquired as I perched on her bed and removed my boots. “We haven’t the slightest idea what this ‘shindig’ is.”

            “Would you rather get there looking like a bum, or be an eye-magnet with my awesome fashion sense?” Ang spread the last two options out before us, tapped her index finger against her lips. “No shorts, and this top has a stain,” she decided, yanking them away. “Which leaves you with this.”

            “I’m not quite certain it’s…appropriate,” I objected. “It’s a bit revealing.”

            “Oh, come on, Eve. It’s perfect. You’ll look amazing.”

            By nine o’clock, Ang had not only managed to convince me of this, but had calmed my nerves and dressed me. As I scrutinized myself in her mirror, I was made to admit that, though most of my flesh was revealed, I was mildly comfortable wearing what I was. Ang had decided on a thick-strapped black belly-shirt-top sporting a white skull, the “black skirt that is tons shorter on one side than the other and has all those silver-skull-coin things dangling from the hem,” and simple black boots.

            “It’s time you got moving, girly,” Ang said. “Here’s your coat, and the flyer, and your cell phone. Call me when you’re on your way so I can sneak you back in and my parents won’t hear. God, this is going to be great. You better tell me everything when you get back. Promise?”

            Many promises were given to assure her before I left her house. The engine in my ancient car rumbled boisterously as I started it, and I cringed as I headed down the darkened street.