The DollHouse

Chapter Three

Mum is happy to hear about my placement choice when I call her the next day after school, despite how I reiterate that it wasn’t a choice.

“It will be a fabulous venue to learn about leadership,” she says over the phone.

Clay digs his claws in as he feels my legs tense. “It’s not exactly a nice style of leadership,” I say through my teeth.

“What do you mean?” Mum asks. I can hear her typing in the background. More reports, I’m guessing. “What isn’t nice about it? It will be an intensive workplace, you’re right. I’m sure you’ll be constantly working. But that’s all experience.”

“I meant ethically-” I stop myself there. “Nevermind,” I say, because, ethically, there is nothing wrong with it. And it’s a good idea if I remind myself of that. I wouldn’t be having these concerns if I wasn’t mentally putting myself in the Lessers’ place all the time, and I wouldn’t be doing that if I hadn’t cheated on every personality test I’ve ever taken.

Time for a subject change.

We banter for another five minutes before we run out of things to say and hang up. I see myself in her sometimes, when I spend a lot of time with her. But most of the time, like now, I find myself wondering how someone like her could have made someone like me. We’re too different. I wonder sometimes if she really did give birth to me, because where is the proof? I popped out and was snatched away for testing. What if they returned a different baby? What if, with the infrequent visits and the busy ‘new-mothers’ schedule, she never noticed?

I feed Clay and we sit on the couch, deliberating over my new choice of placement.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?” I say to him. He is a wild cat. Even if he hasn’t been a particularly wild one, he needs room to run and climb in. He’s used to activity and danger.

I get an idea.

“Come on.” I stand up and call Clay over. He follows eagerly. “Let’s go do some investigating.”

I grab a coat and lock the door behind us, Clay trotting next to me like a dog. We take the elevator down and head out through the foyer.

“Curfew’s in an hour,” the doorman reminds me. I nod and keep walking.

I live in a high shopping district, so the streets are full of people braving the cold for that perfect pair of shoes, even at eight pm on a Monday. Clay gets a few odd looks, but exotic pets are in at the moment, so even though no one has a wild cat, plenty of people are marching down the street with monkeys around their shoulders, or thick-furred poodles at the end of diamonte studded leashes. I hope Clay doesn’t begin a new trend, since he is one of a kind. Not many wild cats would take so kindly to the congestion of the City. I look down at him, strutting freely next to me, eying everyone and everything with interest. Maybe wild cats do suit the city. But not at the end of a leash.

We follow the grid systematically inward until we hit the crowded Inner City. Here the streets become dotted with service elevators that lead to the Undercity, so that the Lessers can rise to begin their work early and efficiently. It also makes their shifts at The DollHouse convenient, since players can request favourite Lessers, even when they’re not rostered on. Management wouldn’t want to keep a paying customer waiting, so access needs to be quick and easy.

Soon enough, fifteen minutes into my hour, we hit The Dollhouse: a giant, reflective building that stands tall in the middle of the Inner City - the centre of the centre. Three metre tall letters cover every face, the entire alphabet splashed out on a mirrored cube like four giant word-searches. Different combinations of letters light up, changing every half hour, spelling out The Dollhouse in different locations in all directions along the walls.