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No, a mannequin had to stand there, in whatever pose it might be placed in by the dresser. Now there was a nance and a fruit and... well, queer was an out of date word. Gay? He snorted. What did the dresser have to be happy about? AIDS?But the boy stood there staring and the manager wondered if he should go over and say something. That particular mannequin had been dressed today in a silken ecru blouse, with a short, short skirt of woolen tweed in navy, with green and red plaiding stripes. She wore bone colored pumps and clutched a vinyl ecru purse to her plaster bosom. Her wig today was that hideous shade of red that no real person ever had.The manager shuddered a bit. Sympathy for a mannequin? He snorted to clear his mind of such a notion so he could get back to doing his job. Watching the boy, that was his job at the moment.Still the boy stood and stared and now the manager noticed something else. The boy, probably not more than 11 or 12, maybe 13, stood with one foot forward and. She chose her fucking comfortable position over spending time with me a long time ago. I was silent for another few minutes. And then, unable to stop myself: ‘Who is he?’ She stopped. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Who the fuck is he? Don’t play stupid.’ She looked at me with her head cocked sideways and her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m tired.’ She started walking towards the bedroom. I should have said something, done something, but I was too tired of conflict at that point. The bedroom door shut. My eyes shut. My brain was still knocking viciously against my skull. The image I had seen not twenty minutes ago was still looping in my mind. I finally sat up and looked at the time. It was close to two. Another four hours until Lauren would arrive. Christina would be deep asleep by then. Now it was just a matter of killing time. And boredom. And my headache. And the thought of Christina. My laptop was still on the other sofa. It took an unusually hefty amount.
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