Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13 - Sequel

His mum and dad!

Oh no - what a time for them to visit! Just when ...

And how was he going to explain Mitzi ...?

She was supposed to be able to pass for human. To adapt to any given circumstances. To respond to the variable demands and the changing requirements of any occasion. To act 'normal'.

But still.

Swinging her legs from the settee and slipping her feet into her new Jimmy Choo bright red five-inch heeled mules, Mitzi said, "Shall I get it, Degsie?"

"Er, no, Mitzi. It's all right, I'll go. It's my mum and dad."

"Oh - how delightful!" said Mitzi.

Derek looked uncertainly at Mitzi.

But there was no putting it off.

He went and opened the front door and said, in as bright a voice as he could summon, "Hi, Mum! Hi, Dad! Come on in!"

"Good heavens above, Derek!" cried Doreen Duncan. "What on earth has happened to your hair?"

"Are you kidding, Dor?" said her husband, Douglas. "That's very with-it. Things are very different, these days. When I was a lad, my dad would only let me have a short back and sides at the local barbers - who always asked me if I wanted 'anything for the weekend', and I never understood why all the men in there laughed. A barnet like that must have set Derek back a hundred quid."

"The young, these days ..." said Doreen, tut-tutting at the casual and careless extravagances of today's feckless youth as she and her husband hung up their coats in the hallway.

Doreen went on, "I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks, Derek, and so your dad and I thought it would be lovely to call round. And I've brought one of my walnut sponge cakes - your favourite."

"Mr and Mrs Duncan, I'm so happy to meet you!" said Mitzi pleasantly as Derek's parents entered the living room, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, upon seeing her.

At the sight and sound of Mitzi, Derek's mum and dad were too stunned to speak.

Derek said, "Mum, Dad ... meet Mitzi. She cut my hair. She's great at lots of stuff."

Derek's parents were still too taken aback to speak. Especially his dad.

Indicating the walnut sponge cake, Mitzi said, "Shall I take that, Mrs Duncan? And I'll bring some plates and forks. I've already put the kettle on for a pot of tea."

Still wide-eyed and open-mouthed with astonishment, Doreen wordlessly handed her prized confection over to the stunningly beautiful, long wavy blonde-haired Mitzi, who then headed towards the kitchen with it.

Eyes bulging, Derek's dad ogled Mitzi's glamour-model figured, red short-hem dressed back, and stared rapturously down at her five-inch heeled bright-red mules, listening with obvious appreciation as he watched them slapping against the bottoms of her bare heels.

Douglas Duncan leant in towards Derek and said, low-voiced, "Jeepers - heh heh heh. You've kept her quiet, haven't you, son?"

"Mitzi and me only got together yesterday, Dad."

Mitzi then spoke pleasantly from the kitchen doorway. "The kettle's boiled. I'll be through with a tray in a minute."

Her hands on the door jambs, Mitzi was looking over her shoulder with her right leg bent at the knee and, with the tops of her toes resting on the heel of her five-inch heeled red mule, arcing the sole of her foot.

Derek's dad's eyes were almost out on their stalks. Noticing the direction of his avid gaze, his wife Doreen warningly elbowed him in the ribs.

Derek now wondered if his dad was a 'foot man'.

And, now that he came to think of it, his father did spend rather a lot of time massaging Mum's feet ... who seemed to enjoy the attention.

"Well, let's sit down then," said Derek, taking up his now accustomed position at the left arm of his long settee. His mum sat next to him, and his dad sat next to his mum - which happily left vacant Mitzi's accustomed position by the right arm of the settee.

Douglas then said, in some surprise, "Aren't you watching the pre-season friendly match, son? It's Chelsea v Spurs. The game will be well under way by now. I thought you'd have had it on."

"What's this you're watching anyway, Derek?" said his mum, indicating the TV with a puzzled frown.

If anything, what was now featuring on the screen of his 50-inch widescreen Smart TV was even more boring than usual - just an endless parade of unbroken white lines of random 1s and 0s flitting across a black background.

"It's, um ... Mitzi's favourite programme, Mum."

Derek's mum and dad exchanged a look.

Mitzi, now returning to the living room with a heavy-looking tray and apparently having overheard, said pleasantly, "Of course, you can have the football on, Mr Duncan."

Doreen thought that the big tray - loaded up with the substantial triple-layer walnut sponge cake, plates and forks, and with a pot of tea, cups and saucers and milk and sugar - looked very burdensome ... yet the girl seemed to carry and manage it effortlessly and with aplomb.

Mitzi put the well-laden tray of cake and tea things down on the large rectangular glass-topped coffee table in front of the settee, and then said, picking up the TV remote, "I can catch up on this later."

And Derek's mum and dad exchanged another look.

Mitzi pointed the remote at the TV, pressed some buttons, and on came Chelsea v Spurs. The match was ten minutes in, and the score was 0-0.

Derek wondered how Mitzi had known the Sky channel number. But Mitzi knew lots of stuff.

"So, Mr Duncan ..." said Mitzi, cutting the walnut sponge cake and putting thick wedges onto three plates ... "what do you reckon of Chelsea's title chances this season? Do you think they can win the Premiership? With the 'Special One' Jose Mourinho gone to arch rivals Man Utd? And the legendary rearguard of Frank Lampard and John Terry, broken up? And, if close-season rumours are to be believed, star striker Diego Costa wants to return to Athletico Madrid?"

"Call me Dougie, love," said Derek's dad, smiling widely. Which earned him another meaningful elbow in the ribs from lovely wife, Doreen.

"Aren't you, having any cake, dear?" said Doreen, when Mitzi had placed a generous plate of the walnut sponge cake before everyone but herself on the glass-topped coffee table. "I can promise you it's very nice. In fact, it's Derek's favourite."

Pouring tea into three cups, Mitzi said, "Oh, no thank you, Mrs Duncan. I-"

"Mitzi's on a diet, Mum," interjected Derek.

"Ha ha - Degsie!" laughed Mitzi.

Derek's mum and dad exchanged another, raised-eyebrowed look, and silently they simultaneously mouthed: 'Degsie'?!

"So, Mitzi," said Doreen smilingly when Mitzi placed a cup of tea before her, "do you have a second name?"

"No, Mrs Duncan," said Mitzi, smiling pleasantly back. "Just Mitzi."

Doreen's smile cracked a little.

Mitzi further informed Doreen, "I'm Degsie's Intimate Friend, Mrs Duncan."

Doreen's already brittle smile cracked a little more.

And then Doreen, already slightly unnerved from a disquieting onset of vague misgivings, spilt her tea on herself when her husband, sitting right beside her suddenly roared "Penalty!" at the top of his lungs.

Rattling in its saucer, the disquieted Doreen returned her now almost empty tea cup to the glass-topped table in front of her.

"Did you see that, Derek? That has to be a penalty to Chelsea! Clearcut!" yelled Douglas again, just a decibel or two less loudly.

Doreen could pleasurably have throttled her husband.

"Er, no, Dad. I didn't," replied Derek, who was far too preoccupied with the drama taking place with Mitzi and his mum to take on board what was happening on the telly.

Mitzi, having now dispensed tea and cake, stood off to the right of the TV to watch, as the action-replay was shown.

"I agree, Dougie," said Mitzi, giving her verdict on the referee's decision to award a penalty to Chelsea. "The ref's right. That was an all-day penalty. Just typical, of Jan Vertonghen's reckless challenges in the box. How many times a season, does he do that? You don't see Danny Rose or Kyle Walker lunging in like that, do you?"

Douglas beamed at Mitzi.

"Sit down, Mitzi," said Douglas, patting the settee next to him, his voice full of respectful affection. "Sit down, and enjoy the match. The penalty's about to be taken."

And Doreen Douglas, the front of her dress all soaked through with her spilt tea, glared at the back of her husband's averted, Mitzi-praising head.

"I will, in a second, Dougie. I'll just get a cloth for Mrs Duncan - she's had a little accident with her tea."

Derek gave a huge, mental sigh of relief.

Mitzi was the perfect hostess.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried about a thing.

Mitzi was full of surprises.

***

Later that Sunday evening ...

Relaxing together at home in front of the TV, Douglas Duncan asked his wife, who for some reason hadn't yet voiced her opinion on the matter, "So, Doreen ... what did you think of Derek's new girlfriend, Mitzi?"

"Mitzi seemed very nice, Dougie. But ..."

"But ...?"

"Well ... I don't know, Dougie. Didn't you notice anything, well ... odd, about Mitzi?"

"What? That she knew so much about football, you mean?"

Sighing, Doreen said, "No, Dougie. I do not mean that."

"Well, what then?"

"Something. There's just something. I just can't put my finger on it, Dougie, but ..."

"Didn't you notice how chipper Derek was, Dor? How confident? How happy? I didn't hear him stutter a single time today."

"Yes, Dougie, I know. I did notice. But ..."

"You could see how Derek was, with Mitzi, Dor. I think she's just what he needs. She brings Derek out of himself."

"Yes. Maybe it's just me, Dougie. Maybe it's just me. A mother worries, you know ...?"

"Relax, Dor. Derek will be just fine, with Mitzi."

***

The following Monday morning ...

Hugging Derek tight, Mitzi said, "Have a good day at work."

"Oh, I will, Mitzi. Thinking about you, all day."

"Oh - Degsie!"

"And about coming home - to you."

That earned Derek another tight hug.

"Well, I'd best be going. Dad won't be happy if I'm late. It doesn't help that I'm his son - quite the opposite ... You going to be okay, Mitzi?"

Nodding, Mitzi said, "I've got the TV."

Derek felt a faint stirring of unease. Of disquiet.

Yes, thought Derek, getting into his car. She's got the TV ... and he knew what Mitzi would be watching.

Something unpleasant began nagging at him. Something he didn't want to take any notice of.

Monday mornings at work were always busy first thing, thought Derek as now he turned the ignition key of his recently bought Vauxhall Corsa ... and nothing happened. Well, the starter motor turned okay, but the engine didn't come to life. He looked at the fuel gauge: about a quarter-full. So it wasn't that.

Ah, hell, thought Derek, picking up his mobile phone from the hands-free holder where he'd just put it. He'd have to call the Auto Club.

He was bound to be late for work now, and-

"Flip the catch for the bonnet, Degsie!" said Mitzi, who'd come outside again at hearing his car fail to start.

Derek didn't stop to debate with himself what on earth Mitzi might meddle about with in the engine compartment, he just put his mobile phone back in the hands-free holder, leant down, and pulled the lever to spring the latch to the Corsa's bonnet.

Less than a minute later - less than the time she'd taken to give him his "£100-haircut" yesterday - Mitzi confidently closed the bonnet again. "Try it now, Degsie!"

Derek turned the ignition key again ... and the Corsa's engine erupted to life.

"It'll be all right now, Degsie!" Mitzi assured him. She came out with a load of technical stuff as to why his car hadn't started, and what she'd done to fix it, which he barely understood a word of.

Smiling, Mitzi waved at him and then went back inside the flat.

Well, I'll be damned, thought Derek admiringly. Now I won't be late for work after all.

Mitzi was full of surprises.

***

Doreen Duncan got off the bus at the bus station and began walking towards High St.

Her dry-cleaning ticket said that her items would be ready for collection on Monday at 9:15 am. A glance at her wristwatch told her it was 09:05.

Her items would probably be ready now, she thought. But, what the hell, it was an excuse to pop along the road to her favourite High St cafe and have a coffee and a pastry. A bit of a treat.

A skinny latte would be nice, thought Doreen, and maybe one of their naughty cream ...

Behind a shop's plate-glass window a sign had caught Doreen's eye. The sign read: Find your Intimate Friend here!

Doreen had never taken much notice of the Sex Doll For U boutique before. But now, the words 'Intimate Friend' had stopped her right in her tracks.

Doreen thought back to what Derek's new girlfriend Mitzi had said to her, at Derek's place yesterday tea-time: "I'm Degsie's Intimate Friend."

And Mitzi had also told her when she'd asked, in trying to wheedle out a little background information on her, that she didn't have a second name: "No, Mrs Duncan. Just Mitzi."

At the time, though she'd felt unaccountably unsettled, she'd just thought the remark odd. Both remarks.

But now ...

With a feeling of deep dread, Doreen pushed open the glass door and entered the Sex Doll For U boutique.

Inside, the Intimate Friends displayed to best effect on tasteful sofas and elegant chaise longues, thought Doreen, were incredibly life like. She could hardly believe that they weren't real, flesh and blood, young women. Very beautiful, young women. With personalities. And-

"Hello, madam!" said the young salesgirl brightly from behind the counter ... or was she another Intimate Friend? Doreen honestly didn't know.

"I'm Cindy! How may I help you?"

"Um ... I've come about an Intimate Friend."

"Well, madam, of course! It's not only gentlemen, who-"

"No! Um ... Cindy. You don't understand."

"Oh," said Cindy.

"I want to know, if you sold an Intimate Friend on Saturday, called Mitzi?"

"I can tell you that, madam, without looking in the ledger: Yes, madam, we did. In fact, I made the sale. Mitzi is up-to-the-minute, latest generation. She sold for twenty thousand pounds."

Doreen's face paled - and it wasn't just at the size of Mitzi's price tag.

"Cindy ... who bought Mitzi? What was his name?"

"Oh. That, I'm afraid I can't tell you. We keep that information confidential. As I'm sure you will understand, madam, client confidentiality is of paramount importance to us. We are not at liberty, to divulge such sensitive-"

"Was his name Mr Derek Duncan?" Doreen interjected.

And the look on Cindy's face told Doreen all she needed to know.

*

As soon as Doreen Duncan arrived back home, just after ten o'clock, she just dropped the dry-cleaning items she'd hurriedly picked up and snatched up the phone. Frantically she jabbed at the numbers to reach her husband's mobile - not the shop's phone; she didn't want Derek picking up.

As soon as her husband answered and before he'd hardly got a word out, Doreen blurted, "Douglas, I need you to come home!"

"Come home? Doreen, you know how busy the place is on Monday mornings. Can't it wait? Me and Derek are up to our necks, and-"

"Douglas! Tell Derek to mind the shop for half an hour. I need you to come home - and now!"

The obvious concern in his wife's voice now had Douglas worried. She sounded really shaken. What the hell was up?

"Okay, Dor. Okay, I'm on my way as we speak. But, can you at least tell me what this is about?"

"Douglas ... it's about Mitzi."

*

When Douglas pulled up outside the house in his Land Rover Discovery, his wife, her face etched with worry, was standing at the open door. Without waiting for him, she turned and went back inside.

Douglas central-locked the Discovery and hurried in after her.

"What the hell's up, Dor? It sounded as if there's some trouble with Mitzi."

Getting straight to the point, Doreen said, "Yes, Douglas. There's some trouble with Mitzi. The trouble with Mitzi, Douglas, is that 'she', isn't a she."

"Doreen, what sort of-"

"That's what Mitzi meant, Douglas. When she said that she was Derek's 'Intimate Friend'. She was actually telling us, that 'she', isn't a she."

"Dor, what-"

"Mitzi is a sex doll."

"She's a ..."

"Derek paid twenty thousand pounds for her - if I can call her, 'her'. I've already called in on Stuart, our bank manager, and when I pressed him, he confirmed Derek's cheque: payable to Sex Doll For U."

"I can't believe it, Dor. Mitzi, a ... sex doll?"

"Yes."

"But, she looks ... she seemed ..."

"Sex Doll For U's Intimate Friends are supposed to be able to pass for human. And now we know, Dougie, that they can. I went into their ... boutique this morning, and I got it out of the counter-girl that they'd sold Mitzi to Derek on Saturday. That's how I know all of this."

"This is unbelievable, Dor. Just incredible. There should be a ... a goddamned law against it!"

"Douglas, not to put too fine a point on it, our son is living with a sex doll. You are going to have to go to their so-called boutique and speak to the manager at Sex Doll For U. And go now - I don't care how busy you are at the shop. It might be the girl Cindy I spoke to - I don't know. For all I could tell, she might be one of the Intimate Friends. They all look so ... so real, Dougie!"

"Yes, Dor. I'll go and sort something out with them. Agree to pay whatever sum of compensation they ask, for taking Mitzi back. Ah ... Jesus in a golf buggy. And as you say, Doreen, I'd better go now, to get this thing sorted out. The sooner, the better."

"And then you'll have to speak to Derek."

"Yes, Dor ... And I'm not looking forward to that."

***

Derek had been concerned, earlier, at hearing a snatch of his dad's side of the short, urgent-sounding phone conversation with Mum.

And at seeing the expression on his father's face, after the call had ended.

His concern had then crystallised, at the way his dad didn't look at him when he'd asked him to hold the fort for half an hour.

After he'd felt those faint stirrings of unease, just before leaving Mitzi to come to work, as he drove to work those first troubling feelings had taken root, and started to gain a firmer, tenacious hold on his thoughts.

He'd tried to shrug off and wave away the persistent, invasive feelings. As if the intrusive, disquieting thoughts now plaguing his mind were nothing more disconcerting and threatening than just a few bothersome buzzing midgets trying to take the gloss off his day.

But he couldn't.

And in his dad's absence, a sense of fear, a feeling of dread, had grown.

A foreboding.

A presentiment of impending catastrophe.

And now, more than an hour later, upon seeing the grim look on his dad's face upon his return to the now quiet shop, Derek knew that things weren't good.

"Derek, son. We ... we need to have a talk."

"A talk, Dad?"

"Yes ... About Mitzi."

"No, Dad. Please."

"Son, you know it can't go on."

"Why, can't it?"

"Son, you know why."

"Dad! I can't do this now! Okay?"

"Your mother's worried, Derek. We both are."

"Dad-"

"They ... they'll take her back, Derek. They'll take Mitzi back. They'll cancel the sale. I've been and sorted it all out with ... You don't have to worry about a thing, son. You can leave it all to me. They just need to know they have your consent, and they'll-"

"No, Dad! No!"

And with that, Derek was out through the shop's door, into his Corsa, and away.

*

"You're back early, Degsie!" said Mitzi with a radiant smile when Derek barrelled breathlessly into the living room of his flat.

Derek's heart lurched in his chest at the very sight of her.

It was barely a couple of hours since he'd last seen her, yet she seemed to have grown even more beautiful. Even more desirable.

Stretched out on the long settee, barefoot, she was watching her usual 'programme' on the TV.