Angelica came over to Ken and looked as well. “Anything wrong?”
“I’m just amazed at how well made this is. But there’s something else.”
“As in . . . ?”
Ken lowered his voice. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m being watched in here.”
“Aren’t you imagining things?” Angelica said.
“You two are awfully quiet,” Matilda asked them. “Is there anything wrong?”
“Ken thinks someone’s watching him in here.”
Matilda chuckled. “Most people do.”
“I thought I saw one of them move,” Ken said.
“Most people do,” she repeated.
Ken rubbed his eyes and pointed behind him. “I could have sworn that one moved.”
“Which one?”
He walked them over to the shelf he was at earlier and zeroed in on the doll.
“You certainly do have a good eye,” Matilda said.
“Huh?”
“This doll is a bit special. When I first ordered dolls for this shop, it popped up in the box that arrived.”
“Popped up?”
“Not literally. It was something I didn’t order. I contacted my distributor and the only answer I could get was that it must have been some sort of promotional item. I didn’t argue.”
Ken looked at the doll again, but still didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.
“No, she’s not for sale.”
“Wasn’t planning on buying it.”
“Say, do you know why people made dolls?” Matilda asked.
“Not really. Something to practice making clothes for?”
“Some are said to have a ‘spiritual significance.’ Some take a central role in ceremonies, some guard the dead, some protect from evil spirits, some have health benefits, and the like. Most of them are just toys.”
“What do you believe?”
“I believe they’re cute.”
“I’m ready!” Katrina called out.
The pictures came quickly, with Katrina in more outfits to boost Matilda’s hand-made brand of clothes. The final costume was used for a very short video of the front door of the doll house. Katrina exited, facing the camera, put up her umbrella and said, “Welcome to Matilda’s!”
“Absolutely perfect!” Matilda squealed.
“What was that one for?” Ken asked.
“For the splash page for my website. Katrina, this is going to be huge! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you going to come back and be my model again?”
Katrina looked up at Ken. “Am I?”
“If you want to,” he replied, putting out his hand and patting her on the head with his index finger.
* * *
“Did you have fun?” Angelica asked Katrina.
“I think so.”
Angelica glanced at Ken, and saw his concerned look, even as he drove.
“What’s wrong?” Angelica asked. “Still thinking about that doll?”
“Yeah. I’m still a little unnerved.”
“Even Matilda told you it was your imagination.”
“Which doll was that?” Katrina asked.
“The one on the far shelf.”
“Oh, that one. It was looking at you.”
Ken nearly lost control of the vehicle, and barely missed an oncoming car.
“What did you say!?”
“She was moving around a little, and then when you went to take a look at her, she was glancing at you afterward.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Angelica said.
“That’s why Cataloguers are so perceptive!” Katrina boasted.
Ken gripped the steering wheel a little harder. He had the feeling something else was going on at that store. But nothing bad had happened, so should he be concerned? Maybe Matilda was more than met the eye.
There would be plenty of time to figure it out if need be. Katrina was probably going back there at some point.
* * *
The phone rang. Ken picked it up.
“Hello, Goldwrite residence.”
“Ken!” came a hysteric female voice over the phone.
“Um, yes?”
“It’s me, Matilda. I need help!”
“Help? What’s happened? Did that doll come to life and take over the shop?”
“No! It’s worse!”
Ken couldn’t imagine something worse than an inanimate object coming to life and taking over a store.
“What do you mean?”
“I released my new line two days ago, using the pictures and videos I took!”
“Okay . . .”
“And I’ve gotten so many visitors, my website crashed three times!”
“Wow. Then it was a success, right?”
“Yes!”
“I’m not much of a computer person, but I know a website crash isn’t as bad as a doll coming to life.”
“Well, you see, people now want full, human-sized versions of the clothes! Do you know any cute people to be models?”
Ken thought a moment. “Nah. No one good looking around here that I know.”
“Okay. Let me know if you can think of anyone!”
“All right. Will do.”
Ken hung up the phone.
“Well, it looks like your modeling helped Matilda out,” he announced to Katrina
He turned to look for her, and felt a tug on his sleeve. Katrina was hovering next to him with a worried look on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Um . . . I think they heard you, so you might want to run,” she said, pointing toward the couch.
“Huh?”
He looked and saw . . .
. . . Cassandra and Natalia. Both of them were very, very mortified . . . and very, very angry.
Ken jumped to the stairs and headed down them.
He almost made it to the front door.
Almost.
The ‘sensation’ that hit him felt conspicuously like a recliner being dropped on him, but since he’d never been hit with one before, he had nothing to compare it to.
* * * * *
Katrina flew down from the display case, and landed on the coffee table. Ken was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper and sipping some coffee.
“Ken? I’ve got a problem.”
“Shoot.”
She cocked her head. “What?”
“‘Shoot’ can also mean ‘go ahead’.”
“Oh. Well, it’s an English question.”
“Sure,” Ken said, and took a drink of coffee.
“What’s the difference between ‘naked’ and ‘buck naked’?”
Ken almost choked on his coffee. He put the cup on the coffee table, and after coughing a few times, he gave her a horrified look. “Of all questions, why that!?”
“I was reading a novel and it came up. I get the ‘naked’ part, but what or who is ‘buck?’ Was he the one that wrote it in the dictionary, or the first one to use the term a lot? So, was he naked all the time?”
“I don’t think so,” Ken replied.
“Then who is he?”
“I don’t think ‘buck’ is supposed to be a person. It’s the same meaning, but you add ‘buck’ for emphasis.”
“Oh! Okay. I have one more.”
“Go ahead,” he encouraged her, cautiously.
“What’s ‘nekkid’ mean?”
Ken buried his hands in his palms, thinking “Why me?”
Chapter Five
Or, A (Not So) Healthy Dose of Working!
Ken sighed.
They’d only been in his house a short time, but now he realized how difficult things were getting. His days used to be simple, quiet, serene. Granted, it was nice to have someone in the house to make it less empty – full as the case currently was – but he had naturally forgotten to take into account certain .
. . logistics.
For example, he hadn’t considered the fact that all his tenants might have been female. He had assumed there would have been an even split on the genders. It wasn’t a bad thing – his tenants were easy on the eyes – it was just he hadn’t considered the extreme end of it.
He was sorely outnumbered. He didn’t know what alien women were like, but they seemed ‘human’ enough. And if they were human, he’d rather detonate his house with high-yield explosives rather than let them redecorate. Their own rooms were a different story, and he left them to their own devices.
So, really, what was he supposed to do for them? He didn’t have any kids so he didn’t know how to ‘raise them,’ but as they weren’t that much younger than he was, was there a need?
Cultural notes and background was a given. What was he going to teach them? He was just a normal guy, and now painfully aware that he didn’t know as much about the background of his own country as he should have. He thought he knew more, but actually teaching them about it? Explaining the significance and origin of Halloween? Christmas? New Years? Labor Day? International Talk Like a Pirate Day?
It would probably be best if he knew some of their customs as comparison, but realized he knew very little about them.
Except what underwear they wore.
In the laundry room, Ken grumbled about them forgetting to separate their colors from their whites. He had the foresight to ask if their clothes were machine washable, and the reply was in the affirmative, except for their formal dress clothes.
Apparently, one could tell a lot about a person by the type of underwear they wore. At least that’s what Ken had heard from an acquaintance. Considering his tenants, there might have been a bit of truth to it.
Cassandra’s was no nonsense and neither was Alisa’s. Natalia’s was high class, and Angelica’s was believably elegant.
“Great Scott. Bowling balls could fit in these,” he remarked, referring to a set of ‘upper body support.’
Ken had to find a small bag with holes to wash Katrina’s clothes. Otherwise they’d probably disappear or clog the washer or dryer. He shook his head, feeling awkward about trying to find some deeper meaning based on underwear.
“Hey, Ken, I brought some more—” Natalia stopped in her tracks at the door.
Ken was holding the bra, outstretched.
“Quite the hobby you have, don’t you?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.
“No!”
“As long as it’s not mine.”
“Knock it off! You women change clothes more often than there are houses in this city!”
“First time washing ladies’ unmentionables?”
“As if! My mother and my sister did live here, remember?”
“At any rate, enjoy yourself,” she quipped sarcastically, and then left.
He knew his tenants wouldn’t be good for his mental wellbeing. Now he had a tenant who thought he had an unhealthy interest in used underwear. The last thing he needed was her to spread even a tiny rumor—
A moment later, he heard fast-paced footsteps, and someone skipping several stairs as she came down. It had to have been a ‘she,’ since the only man in the house was trying to keep his sanity while going through underwear.
Cassandra stopped in the doorway with a look of anger on her face.
“What are you doing to our underwear!?” she screamed, sword drawn and pointed at him.
“What does it look like I’m going to do!? I’m going to wash them! You ladies didn’t separate the colors like I asked!”
“Is that all?”
Ken was getting very irritated with the insinuations. “Who would have any interest in your underwear!? There’s nothing to look at! Your bra is only big enough to hold marshmallows. And do me a favor. Wipe a little harder!”
Sometimes, one must consider the possible effects of one’s words.
First mortified, then shaking with fury, she stepped forward and [THIS PORTION HAS BEEN CENSORED FOR YOUR PROTECTION, DUE TO DESCRIPTIONS OF THE HUMAN SPINE BEING BENT IN UNAPPETIZING DIRECTIONS.]
* * *
Alisa was staring at the red creature.
It was staring back up at her.
“Ellen?”
No answer.
“Mary?”
Nope.
“Shelley? Stephanie? Amanda? Cassandra?”
She yawned at Alisa.
Alisa consulted the piece of paper in her hand.
“Konomi? Hitomi? Aoi? Mana?”
The fox tilted her head.
“Does that mean I’m close?”
The fox flipped her tail.
Alisa sighed. “I wish you could talk.”
The fox looked up at her, expectantly, as usual.
Ken opened the back door and stepped out, a bowl in each hand. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out this creature’s name.”
“She might not like being referred to as ‘creature’.”
Ken put the bowls down on the ground, and the fox started eating.
They heard someone coming up the deck stairs. It was Silver.
“Having a party?” he asked.
“Yeah! We were just about to bring out the cake. Care to join us?” Ken responded sarcastically.
“Nah. Not fond of cake.”
“Neither am I.”
“But seriously, what are you two doing?”
The fox glanced up at him.
“Sorry. The three of you.”
“I’m trying to think of a name for this crea . . . um, fox,” Alisa said.
Silver kneeled down and looked at the fox.
“How about ‘Setsuna’?”
“Why do you say that?” Ken asked.
“It seems appropriate. It’s not as if she has super-powers and is able to change into a human shape, or anything like that.”
Ken threw up his hands, regretting he had asked. “It’s official. You’re crazy.”
“May be,” Silver said, petting the fox on the head.
Alisa saw the fox looking at Silver . . . suspiciously, if there could be such a reaction from an animal. The fox scampered down the stairs, only finishing half of her food.
“Got any coffee?” Silver wondered at Ken.
Ken gestured to the kitchen with his head. “In the dispenser on the counter.”
Silver went inside, and Ken was about to follow. Alisa was still standing there, staring at Ken.
“What?” Ken asked.
“Are we having cake?”
“Um, no—”
“I want cake.”
“It was kidding about—”
“I like cake.”
“Alisa, the cake—”
He could only think of one line.
“—is a lie.”
* * *
Natalia arrived at a local hotel. There was a meeting of distributors in the tri-state area at noon, and Natalia’s father arranged for her to attend. She was dressed in a business suit, as she was told that it was one of the best ways to make a first impression on prospective clients on Earth. The limo pulled up to the entrance of the hotel, and the chauffer opened the rear door for her to get out.
“Just to confirm, milady, I will be returning in two hours, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Understood.”
He closed the door after she exited, got back in the limousine, and drove off.
Natalia headed into the hotel, and toward the meeting hall. A man dressed in a tuxedo was standing near a podium at the entrance. He had been taking invitations and marking off attendees as they entered.
Natalia approached.
“Your name, miss?”
“Natalia Greentyme. Greentyme Cosmetics.”
“May I have your invitation?”
Natalia pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to the man. He marked her off, and lightly bowed.
“We
lcome, Miss Greentyme. Here is your name tag, so please attach it to your person. Approximately three quarters of the guests have already arrived. Food and drinks are available inside. Please enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you.”
She went down the hall toward the sounds of conversations. She stopped at the open door, put on her name tag, and viewed the well-dressed attendees.
This was more her element. Higher society. People of power and money. Heads of state, corporations and businesses.
On the flip side, this wasn’t the place she wanted to be. Why did her father send her to a backwater, low-technology planet? To see how the other half lived? Get some experience in life? No. It was business, pure business. It was all business to her father.
She stepped in and a man in dress slacks and a polo shirt approached her. “Natalia Greentyme, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.”
The name on his name tag read ‘Alex Miller.’
He appeared to be in his late forties, and his hair was greying, but wasn’t losing any. He gave her a big, friendly smile.
“So how do you like the area? Quiet, isn’t it?”
“It is a little more rustic than I’m used to.”
Unconcerned with her answer, he continued on. “Here, let me introduce you to one of the best shipping companies on the east coast. That’d be ‘Scarlet Shipping.’ The boss of the company is Scarlet Custom. She’s over there.”
He led her to a women dressed in slacks, with black hair pulled into a ponytail. “Hey, Scarlet honey, this is the daughter of the Greentyme Cosmetics’ CEO. She’s looking to make contacts here. Thought I’d introduce her to the best delivery outfit this side of the Mississippi.”
“Well, hello, sugar. I didn’t catch your first name.”
Sugar?
“Natalia. Natalia Greentyme.”
“Well, Natalia, let me give you one of my cards. Trucking and trains are our main modes of transport. We also have ties to some other shipping companies to get your products across the country quickly. I’ve heard Greentyme is a large company. Is that so?”
“We have factories and a headquarters on every major planet in the Entine Republic. It’s always expanding.”
“My, your daddy must be a shrewd businessman.”
‘Shrewd’ would be the least explanatory. He was ‘tactical,’ looking for places that would benefit from having a factory or distribution channels. Some competition was edged out, but those were often overpriced, bourgeoisie cosmetics, where Greentyme products were for the everywoman and everyman.
The problem was, being the tactical businessman he was, it left little time for family. What was once a little company run by her mother and father rapidly turned into a corporation across galaxies. Her father threw himself into his work.