Será – (From Nanowrimo, maybe) Doll/Dreamcatcher
Doll by Emma Whitlock, photo by Margaret Bednar
Será
“You know, like ‘que será será,’” he said, when she asked.
“Remember,” he went on,“when Doris Day, she sing it in that beautiful dress, yoohoo.” Then, wiping beige (foundation) from his own tan fingers, he turned over a hand-mirror on the countertop. The back showed a picture of her–Doris Day, decolletée in a red satin as deep as his lipstick.
It was the style he too had adopted, Clare realized, with bleached puffed bangs, elasticized sleeves he pulled below the pudge of sallow shoulder-
“You know her?”
In fact she’d seen Doris Day lots–afternoon old movies, TV nights late–Doris Day with the smile like milk, Doris Day with the voice like picnic tables, Doris Day with the little doll legs like Keds.
“She so cool, so fresh,” he laughed from his side of the blusher, “She don’t even have to try. Like you, mamita” he looked at her in the big mirror now, the one in front of them, brushing one honeyed fingernail gently down her cheek. “Ay que linda.”
She flinched, not used to being touched. And also, because, her cheeks were absolutely not, no way, horrible-to-even-contemplate, like Doris Day’s–
“Not the cheeks, no, mamita–” he laughed, understanding–
“No, no. Her cheeks,” he looked at his picture, “they are rotund- eh – like the most beautiful bottom in the world. No, this,” he stared back at Clare in the big mirror, gesturing towards her mouth as if it were something he presented, something on display. “Those lips , see,” tracing the bottom curve, “that pout they love so much, mami.” Her lips felt the warm whorl of his fingers; her nose. the fragrance of talc.
”They constantly want me to bite them,” she said suddenly. “You know, to make them puffier or something.”
“No, no, Mamita, no biting. Just a little sheen, here.” And now his soft frame blocked the mirror, his index finger icy with goo.
“A little tinto.” A baby finger this time, as he bent so closely to her that she could see the individual pores of his black eyebrows beneath the bleached bangs, the curled lashes around his even blacker eyes.
After a space of brush and fingertips, he stood back and she saw what she knew must be herself, only it was now sculpted, cheekboned, svelte.
“Looking good, mami. Looking so good. Grrr.”
She wanted to laugh too, but sucked it in like the cheek-hollows, pivoted her face back and forth while he, humming, unpinned the plastic cloak.
Será. “Looking good,” he always said when she came in for a shoot, even when she knew she didn’t. Even when he added “ooh but tired, mami,” one finger gentle below her eyes. “What you doing so tired? A little girl like you, eh?”
Then, he was gone. For some time. And she noticed, sure, but she didn’t actually do that many shoots, and nobody talked to anybody around those places, and so so she didn’t think too much about it, until he was back, only so different this time, round cheeks worn to bone, tan dulled grey.
She could not somehow ask why. He did not say/ Only “hey you,” and “looking good,” and, after he started with the make-up, “look here, mommy,” holding up one hand for her to turn towards, until just once, when her tooth caught lipstick and he reached our his bare forefinger to wipe it off, to reach right into her mouth–
And then he stopped sharply, sighed, looked her straight in the mirror’s eye, and like a sunken magician who’d lost both handkerchief and dove, extended a small box of kleenex. “Here, mami, you wipe it, eh? Okay?”
*************************
This is sort of a draft excerpt from Nanowrimo novel I’ve been working on (in a terribly desultory fashion) – sorry, it’s so long. I am posting it with one of the wonderful doll pictures posted by Margaret Bednar on With Real Toads. The particular doll was made by Emma Whitlock. Thank you Emma! Thank you Margaret!
I should note (as I wrote to Brian Miller), this is just a little sketch from the manuscript that I thought fit the doll. It is not central to the story truly. (Sorry!) The book, if I ever get it together, is called Outsider Art.
P.S. since posting I inserted “mami” in place of “mommy.” It’s pronounced like mommy (when I hear it) and I wanted to keep that sound, but it’s usually used by an adult to a child as a term of endearment. k.
Explore posts in the same categories: Nanowrimo, Uncategorized, writing
Tags: " With real toads, Doris Day story, early AIDS story, Emma Whitlock doll, manicddaily, nanowrimo excerpt, Outsider Art, Que SeráSerá, what to we talk about when we talk about Doris Day
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November 26, 2012 at 1:51 pm
intriguing…have you said anything about the overall premise of your story….i enjoyed the snapshot into it…was just trying to put it into a little perspactive…makes for some interesting characters….round like a perfect bottom…made me smile…
November 26, 2012 at 1:56 pm
Thanks, Brian. I should add something. This character is not a central character by any means in the story – I just thought it fit the doll. The story takes place (I think) in the late 80’s and is called “Outsider Art,” and really has to deal with that – Outsider Art – as in artists outside the main art scene, I guess, as well as with difficult family situations, and to a small degree the AIDS crisis then unfolding in the U.S.
November 26, 2012 at 2:15 pm
Some creepy make up session, that… I like the ‘voice ‘ of the ‘artiste’…
November 26, 2012 at 2:55 pm
Brovo. Great job!
November 26, 2012 at 3:00 pm
You have an engaging narrative style, with just enough description of the characters to make them intriguing. As a reader, I want to know more of this story, and already I’m starting to guess both the back story and what will transpire in the unseen off-page moments.
November 26, 2012 at 5:04 pm
I loved the picture and the excerpt. Also, as a Spanish speaker I loved the “mamita”. 🙂 Many thanks.
Greetings from London.
November 26, 2012 at 6:07 pm
Thanks – I felt it should really be “mami” where it’s “mommy” but didn’t want people to pronounce it mame-y. k.
November 26, 2012 at 6:34 pm
“Like you, mamita” I love this. 🙂 The whole thing has a very nostalgic feel for me; you did an excellent job with the language. When you say “mommy,” do you really mean “mommy” (as in mother)? Or do you mean “mami” … (like hot girl or even little girl)?
This is excellent; I’m so glad you shared it.
November 26, 2012 at 6:51 pm
I mean “mami” but I was afraid that people would read it as “mame-y” so put it as mommy – which I agree is kind of silly – but the sound is better. Maybe I should change it–as most people probably get it. (Agh!) Thanks much. k.
November 26, 2012 at 7:53 pm
Interesting scenes you wrote here K ~ Interesting to see what happens next ~
November 26, 2012 at 7:55 pm
Thanks – it’s not from the beginning, I’m afraid, and not so central. I just was thinking of the doll. Thanks much for taking the time to read, Grace. k.
November 26, 2012 at 9:23 pm
Definitely feel I am in the “middle” of a story… leaves me wondering the before and after… Either way, what you did write is of someone who is vulnerable…
November 26, 2012 at 9:33 pm
intriguing…makes me want more… this is good:-)
November 27, 2012 at 12:03 pm
Creepy doll… there’s always something creepy about dolls though, even normal ones. The more realistic they get, the more they make my skin crawl just a little bit. I like your prose style, it fizzes and has plenty of momentum. Intrigue. Is this part of a bigger piece then?
November 27, 2012 at 12:54 pm
Yes, it’s a bit scary! The prose here is more ornate that I would normally make it, but trying to fit into context of the prompt somehow. Thanks, yes, it is potentially part of a longer piece although the make-up artist here would not be a very big character. k.
November 27, 2012 at 12:09 pm
Great dialogue!!! Nice interpretation.
November 27, 2012 at 1:42 pm
I look forwarD to more… Intriguing
November 27, 2012 at 5:48 pm
Wonderful cameo, k. Amazing that doll brought out Doris Day (!)and AIDS and make-up artists all in a big roll of characters in accord and mutual support that sparkles on the page. Really well-done.(And excuse me if I have made up stuff that you didn’t put there.) I am now on the side of NanNowhateveritis–you need to keep writing this.
November 27, 2012 at 5:57 pm
Ha thanks! Kind of wordy right now. The actual story is interesting I think with country music and screwdriver stabbings and lots of art going on. I am hoping after the year is over to maybe take off a bit of time and really sit down with it.
November 27, 2012 at 7:59 pm
I want to hug you, this is so refreshing! Will you believe that I love it? I felt so much for the change in the man who lost his comfort and play. I felt so much for the narrator for caring and detailing the gestures of the man responsible for making her film ready and product pure. Lovely to see possibilities under the surface of that via a fine writer. Wow.
November 27, 2012 at 8:02 pm
Oh, thanks so much, Susan. You are very kind.
November 29, 2012 at 12:42 pm
more, please.
November 29, 2012 at 1:17 pm
You’re very kind. k.