The Dollhouse
Along with a time.
The name looks familiar. I search my memory but can’t come up with where I’ve seen it before. I grab my phone and google it. It has a Yelp page that tells me that it’s a bar about thirty miles away, on the outskirts of Cliffside, and a warning not to eat the cheese fries.
It’s open until two a.m.
I close the browser and flip through my contacts. The phone picks up on the second ring.
“Hey babe, what’s up.”
“Is your dad still at that conference?”
“Yep. Want to come over?” Ezra asks, hopefully.
Yes. “No, sorry. Have you ever heard of the Dollhouse?”
“Maybe? Up in Cliffside?” He shifts around. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I just heard the name and wondered.”
“Okay,” he replies, sounding totally unconvinced. “Sure you don’t want to hang out?”
“Yeah, I probably need to get some of this homework done. I’ve been procrastinating all night.”
“I hear that.”
“Talk to you later?”
“Yep, night.”
“Night.”
I hang up. I should do my homework. I need to do my homework. I’ve got a B in chemistry and really need to get it up to an A. I open up Rose’s book and stare at her note. The Dollhouse. Why was she going to a bar? Who was she meeting?
The longer I sit, the more my heart starts to pound, and a plan starts to formulate.
I walk across the room to my closet and look through my clothes. Nothing says I’m twenty-one and comfortable hanging out in a bar alone. On a school night.
Because it’s a stupid, stupid idea.
I push a few things aside and black fabric jumps out at me. I pull it out along with one other accessory. I toss them both on the bed and stare down at the thin strip of fabric and the black shoulder length wig and wonder exactly how bad of an idea this really is.
I guess we’ll find out.
r /> 7
Ezra
I stare at my phone for a long moment after Kenley hung up.
What is that girl up to?
Because there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s not nothing. We’ve had a few calm weeks, but she randomly calls up at nine p.m. on a school night and asks about a place called The Dollhouse.
Which I’ve definitely heard of, by the way. I hop off the couch and walk down the hall to my father’s room. It’s empty; he’s gone for another day or two. I pass the king-sized mahogany bed and enter the master closet, which is the size of a bedroom. On the dresser is a cut-glass bowl. Inside are matchbooks. I fish around for a minute but find the one I’m looking for. The Dollhouse—Lounge.
It’s one of my father’s haunts. Something that would only add fuel to Kenley’s fire.