THE TRUTH ABOUT PLASTIC
Sophie yawned and patted her mouth. Her printed drape-front Alexander McQueen dress rustled as she discreetly tried to stretch her stiff arms. A ray of sunlight glanced off her porcelain white skin and sent every color of the spectrum bouncing to the large glass window and back. Today was a slow day.
The other mannequins – Brigitte, Margot, Charlize, and Monet – exchanged occasional observations on the customers inside the airy women's department of New York's Saks Fifth Avenue, mostly out of boredom. Sophie sighed and peered out of the window, wondering what it would feel like to march down the hot pavement with a purpose, like so many of the ladies that came in did. They made it look so effortless.
Suddenly, Margot hissed, "Customer!" and all five of the beautiful mannequins slunk back into their display positions so fast that you wouldn't have seen it if you weren't watching very closely. The door swung open, letting a gush of warm air into the room, and the small bell above it tinkled lightly.
The customer was a plump middle-aged woman wearing a huge, furry minx coat and too much makeup. She waddled down the aisle towards the center of the room and approached the mannequin display.
As she neared them, Monet muttered, "Since when do homeless people shop at Saks?"
Sophie permitted her eyes to slip to the side so she could better glare at Monet.
"Well," Charlize whispered, "it was a valid question. That jacket looks like it was recently purchased off the back of someone less fortunate than she."
Sophie shifted her gaze to Charlize, and was about to elbow her when the lady stopped in front of the display.
Stepping forward, she reached out a hand to finger the fabric of Brigitte's beaded Fendi cardigan. Brigitte resisted the urge to slap the woman's fleshy hand away, and the others stifled giggles.
"One hundred percent cotton? I'll bet my Denny & George scarf it's not!" the woman scoffed haughtily. She moved on to examine Charlize's Miss Sixty empire dress.
"Now, this isn't so bad," she murmured. Then she saw the price tag. "Two hundred and sixty dollars for this ghastly garment?" she gasped.
Charlize's fingers twitched infinitesimally. Monet's face had unconsciously twisted into a sour expression, and the lady grimaced when she came to her.
She snarked, "Lovely gown, but they needn't have wasted it on this ugly doll." and turned to a sweater rack.
That was it. Monet hissed, "DOLL? Sacre bleu! I am a mannequin, you porky-"
"Monet!" Sophie whispered frantically. "Shhh!"
The lady whipped back around with widened eyes. "Who was that?"
Her face turned red and she spluttered incoherent profanities. She eyed the still white figures for a long moment before slowly backing away from the display. When the coast was clear, they all burst out in a chorus of quiet laughter. Except for Sophie.
"Did you see the look on her face?!"
"God, that was hilarious!"
"I thought she was going to explode!"
"Excuse me," Sophie said, clearing her throat, "but am I the only one who sees a problem with this?"
"Mais oui, Sophie! Calm down, it was just a little joke." Monet laughed, her ice-blue eyes twinkling mischievously. Her shoulders shook with the movement and a few dark, wavy tendrils came loose from her elegant up-do.
Sophie scowled. "Remember the last time someone thought it would be funny to spook a customer?"
That stopped all their laughter. They all shuddered lightly as they recalled the shock of a dear friend, Chloe, being ripped to pieces by a shredding machine – for dolls. Troublesome mannequins did not last very long, and once a shopper filed a complaint about you…well, ask Chloe.
"Sophie's right," Charlize amended, "maybe we should hold off on the funny stuff for a while."
"Agreed." Brigitte and Margot whispered in unison, obviously still shaken by the reminder of the shredder.
"Party pooper." Monet scowled and crossed her arms.
Sophie ignored her. "Assume the position!" she barked out, military style. Her smooth, chestnut colored hair flew out behind her, caught on a current of cool air blasting from the AC.
The mannequins froze once again in their positions and fell silent. After a while, the familiar thickness of ennui began to settle around them once more.
"Do you guys ever wonder what it would be like to step outside? What you would do?" Sophie asked softly, breaking the silence.
"I know exactly what I would do first." Margot replied, smiling slyly. She winked and waved at the male mannequin across the street eyeing her from the Hugo Boss display. Her soft, flaxen curls quivered as she laughed, and her green eyes came to life.
"No, seriously. Haven't you ever wondered what it's like outside of those doors?" Sophie insisted.
The others stared at her incredulously. She had never shared this desire with them before. Dolls weren't supposed to have such strange thoughts. Being beautiful and always well-dressed should be enough for any mannequin.
"Why would you want to go out there?" Brigitte asked. "The world's full of dangers. I'm sure that rude lady looked so…unpleasant because of some kind of accident she suffered out there."
Monet laughed. "Yes, she must have stumbled and fell on a pile of fast food with her mouth wide open. That must be it."
"I think what Brigitte is trying to say," Charlize chimed in, "is that their world is dangerous. We have it good here." She unconsciously ruffled her cropped platinum-blonde pixie cut.
"Yeah. Who wants to be a human anyways? They're not perfect!" Margot joked.
"And what makes you think that you are?" Sophie challenged.
Margot lost her smile and her eyes narrowed. "Retail's made you hard."
Brigitte interrupted, running a pale hand through her wild, copper locks, "It's getting late. I think they're closing down soon."
It was true. Business had trickled down to a standstill, and the sky was darkening. Sophie stared longingly into the purple sky as the stars began to come out. The staff went around replacing discarded garments on their hangers and checking the restrooms for any lingering customers. Then the manager punched a code into the electronic padlock and stepped outside. Finally, the bright lights that lit up the large, roomy department store were clicked off and the mannequins were plunged into darkness with only the moonlight to see with.
Mannequins are usually inanimate objects. But even it they prove to be quite animate, they still cannot gain the level of unconsciousness that humans attain when they sleep. However, they can put their minds in a state of unbeing. How else would one pass the empty hours of night with such limited options? So all of the mannequins sank into their states of unbeing. Except for Sophie.
Slipping down quietly from her small pedestal, Sophie tip-toed to the door. She was just reaching out to grab the handle when a voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Stepping out?" Monet called, scrutinizing her friend with curious eyes.
Sophie pivoted slowly to face her. "I have to. I can't stay here, every day, the same thing. I want more."
Monet said nothing, still examining her.
Sophie turned back to the door and entered the same code she had watched the manager punch into the padlock. The latch clicked, and the door swung open, letting in a rush of the cool night air.
"Wait." Monet called.
Sophie turned around.
After another hesitation, Monet said, "You're the only one of us brave enough to try. I hope you find what you're looking for."
Sophie smiled. "Thanks."
Then Monet retreated back into the dark building and mounted her pedestal, becoming motionless once more. Sophie pulled the door open. She stepped out into the night air. Stretched her arms out like wings, and let the cool breeze caress her stiff joints. She reached higher, trying to catch the stars in her palms. Then she dropped her arms. Savored the way the wind blew her dress close to her body, and how it whipped her hair in meaningless patterns around her face. She turned back to Saks Fifth Avenue for the last time, and peered into the glass. If she hadn't been watching closely, she wouldn't have noticed Monet wink, or the silver shimmer on her cheeks.
Free. Sophie faced the world, and smiled. For the first time in her existence, she was free. Alive.
She strolled to the curb, cherishing the fluid and almost sinuous way in which her limbs moved. And like she'd watched a countless number of women do, she stuck her fist out, thumb up. Taxi.
A man in a taxi turned on to Fifth Avenue, and smiled when he say a young woman waiting for a cab. He slowed down a bit. With leery and appraising eyes, he raked over her slender body and sultry looks. Best tip of the night. Vulgar and uncouth thoughts began to fill his mind already, but as the man drew closer to Saks, he almost laughed out loud when he recognized the 'young woman' as one of the mannequins up on display earlier that day at the Saks outlet.
Only in New York, he thought, shaking his head, and sped down the street, past the mannequin, disappearing in between the dark alleys of the night.