Sex Doll: No. 7 - Batch 13 - Sequel

"Can you ... can you finish up there, Mitzi? We have to leave. Right away."

"We have to leave right away? That sounds exciting, Degsie! Where are we going?"

"I ... I don't know, Mitzi. We'll see when we get there."

"Well, hadn't we better go and fetch all of my shoes, and my nail polishes?"

"Yes, Mitzi. Let's get them, and put them in the car."

"And soon we'll have to go shopping for more dresses, Degsie. I've only got the one I'm wearing."

"I know, Mitzi. I want to see you in a different dress every day. Beautiful, elegant dresses. To go with your gorgeous sexy shoes, and your lovely nail polishes. Nothing but the best."

That earned Derek Mitzi's biggest hug so far today.

When all of the boxes of Mitzi's Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes and her expensive nail polishes had been put in the back of the Corsa, Mitzi said, laughing, "I think we'd better get a bigger car, Degsie!"

"Yeah!" said Derek, doing his best to join in with Mitzi's merriment.

But it wasn't easy.

And his laugh sounded half-hysterical to his ears.

*

It was true that Derek didn't know where he was going.

He just drove on auto-pilot, with no destination in mind, and Mitzi appeared content to just enjoy the view out the window. It seemed that she didn't want to distract him while he was driving.

About ten minutes in, Derek's mobile rang. The display read: 'Dad'.

Derek was on hands-free, but he didn't answer. He couldn't.

After about an hour and a half of driving, anti-clockwise around the M 25, through the tolls at the Dartford tunnel and then joining the M11 Northbound, Derek found himself indicating to exit at the turnoff for Stansted Airport.

Ten minutes later he was parking the Corsa in the car park of one of the airport's budget hotels.

"I'll take that if you like, mate. Save you taking it back," Derek said as cheerily as he could through his wound-down driver's window to a man who was about to return a luggage cage to its perspex housing after loading up his car to leave.

"Okay," said the man, smiling, who then got into his car.

Mitzi helped Derek load her boxes of shoes and nail polishes into the luggage cage and, it was only then, as they headed towards the hotel entrance doors, that Derek realised he hadn't brought a damn thing with him.

In his haste - his frantic, panicky, headlong rush to leave (to elope with Mitzi?) - he had not brought a change of clothes, any clean underwear - not even his toothbrush.

But at least Mitzi was okay ...

"Mr and Mrs ...?" said the hotel receptionist brightly when Derek and Mitzi presented themselves at the Reception Desk with their luggage cage full of Designer-shoe boxes.

Derek said, "Um ... it's Duncan. But I haven't reserved a room."

"Oh," said the receptionist, who's name tag declared her to be Fiona. "Well," she said, checking her wristwatch, "it's only just gone half-past twelve, and normally check-in isn't until three o'clock ... But nevermind. I'll check with Housekeeping to see if any rooms are available yet. I'm sure there will be - a lot of residents leave very early for their flight departures. I'll be back in a min."

"Thank you ... Fiona. You are very helpful. And kind."

With a genial smile, Fiona turned away to check with Housekeeping. And as she'd said, she was back within a minute.

Mitzi didn't say anything. She just smiled at Derek and held his hand.

"Sorry to keep you ... Yes, we have a vacant room for you," said the returning receptionist Fiona with her engaging smile. "But I hope you aren't going to make a habit of this, Mr Duncan," she said mock chidingly. "Housekeeping staff always shout at us receptionists when we ask about room availability before time. They say we are the bane of their lives. You'd think that would be the residents, wouldn't you? Ha ha ha!"

Somehow Derek managed a weak smile of his own. "No. I won't make a habit of it. And here's my debit card, I expect you'll want to take an imprint of it. Although I'll be paying in cash."

Fiona thanked him, and then did the necessary, finalising his booking. While doing so, she did the usual receptionist's thing about telling residents about their room's mini-bar, tea and coffee making facilities and the free Wi-Fi.

"Here's your key card then, Mr and Mrs Duncan," said Fiona Brightly. "The lift's over there. You are on the first floor: room 110."

*

Fortunately, no one else wanted to use the small lift at the moment so Derek and Mitzi had it to themselves with the luggage cage. Derek pressed the elevator's '1' button, and up they went.

Their room, 110, was to the right and at the end of the corridor, the last door on the left.

Upon Derek inserting his key card into the slot, the green light came on, and Mitzi went in first, holding the door open wide so that Derek could guide the luggage cage full of her shoe and nail polish boxes into the room.

Mitzi put the TV on and did something with the remote control. She then kicked off her shoes - today, a pair of dark blue Manolo Blahnik slingbacks - and sat up at the headboard of the room's double-size bed to watch it.

Derek went over to the window and looked out. It was a cheerless sight.

A jetliner had just taken off, one of Easy Jet's 737s, Derek noticed. It climbed steeply, and he watched as soon it disappeared from sight, above the low ceiling of roiling grey-black clouds that reflected the bleakness of his mood.

Derek now wondered why he had, seemingly aimlessly, come here. It seemed like a metaphor for his flight of fancy.

Because that's what it was, Derek now, finally, admitted to himself.

He and Mitzi weren't going anywhere. In any sense.

No longer, could he deny it.

It couldn't be.

The thought - the terrible, grievous acceptance - caused an awful tightening in his chest. Such a horrible, anguishing feeling.

In his jacket's inside pocket, he felt his mobile vibrating on Silent and he knew who would be calling.

He looked over at Mitzi ... she was engrossed in the TV.

Ostensibly to fill it with water to make a cup of tea he picked up the kettle and took it into the bathroom. He then took out his phone, pressed the Answer button and said, quietly, "Dad."

"Derek, your mum is worried about you, very worried. And so am I."

"I'm sorry."

"Come home, son. We won't make a fuss. Just come home."

"Soon, Dad."

"We know where you are, Derek. I'm in touch with ... those people. They know where Mitzi is. Exactly. All of their ... they are all locatable on their GPS system, to within inches."

"Dad, I-"

"Transport and personnel are standing by - an unmarked fully-equipped van and technicians. I have their mobile number. If I can assure them that I have your consent, they say they can shut down Mitzi remotely. You don't have to do a thing. Not a thing. Then you can leave, Derek. And they'll send their people in, to ... collect her."

Shut Down.

Shut down, his Mitzi.

A desolate chill ran through Derek.

"Can I give them the word, son? To go ahead? Shall we say, at ... two 'clock?"

So little time ...

Derek thought of asking for longer. Until tomorrow. Or even just a few more hours.

To give him a chance to come to terms.

With losing Mitzi.

But he couldn't bear to prolong the agony.

The anguish of knowing what was to come.

Of knowing what was going to happen, and when.

And ... just waiting.

"Son ...?"

"All right, Dad. Two o'clock. Tell Mum."

"I will, son. And then you'll ... come home to us?"

"Yes, Dad. I'll come home."

So little time ...

*

"Aren't you going to unpack my shoes for me, Degsie darling?" said Mitzi when Derek finally emerged from the bathroom with the still empty kettle.

"Can I do it later, Mitzi? I want to sit with you for a bit."

"Of course!" said Mitzi, propping up the other two pillows against the headboard and patting the bed beside her invitingly.

Derek saw that on the TV, Mitzi was watching her usual 'programme'. The by now familiar but unfathomable endless unbroken white lines of 1s and 0s.

"Have you decided which colour you are going to paint my toes today, Degsie?"

"Not yet, Mitzi."

"Did you want to watch something, Degsie? I can find you some football if you like. I can catch up on this later."

"No, sweetheart. It's ... it's alright. It's ... it's ..."

"Why are you crying, Degsie?"

Such wracking, anguishing sobs began tearing through Derek, as left him unable to speak. His throat became raw and painful. He could barely breathe at all.

"Degsie, don't cry. What's the matter?"

Derek fought to get the words out: "I love you, Mitzi."

"Oh - Degsie! I know that - silly!"

Derek cried harder.

"Don't cry, Degsie. Come to Mitzi. Mitzi will make it better."

Derek went to Mitzi.

And he stayed there.

In her arms.

Until the end.

*

Derek knew when it was two o'clock.

Because of the change in Mitzi.

She became quiet. Still. Her eyes were closed ... she was no longer watching her 'programme' on the TV.

As gently as he could, Derek released himself from Mitzi's embrace. It wasn't easy ... on many levels.

He got up off the bed and turned off the TV. The endless lines of 1s and 0s disappeared.

For all the world, Mitzi seemed to be asleep. Just asleep.

But he knew she wasn't.

She'd been ...

Derek leant over, and kissed Mitzi for the last time, on her forehead.

He knew that someone would be along for Mitzi soon. And that she'd be taken care of. Possibly, they were already here, and just waiting for him to leave.

It was time to go.

He retrieved the pair of Manolo Blahnik slingbacks that Mitzi had kicked off. He put them back in their box and returned them to the still unloaded luggage cage.

Leaving the door wedged wide open, he took the luggage cage out into the corridor.

At the open doorway, Derek looked back at Mitzi.

"Goodbye, Mitzi."

Derek removed the wedge from under the door.

"I'll never forget you."

Derek felt the tears, such unstoppable tears, coming to his eyes again.

"You were ... Just great."

*

It was only when Derek gently and quietly closed the door behind him that the ... awful aptness of the hotel room number registered with him.

Room 110.

*

Derek felt somewhat grateful to find, as he handed in his key card, that the helpful and kind receptionist Fiona was no longer at the Reception Desk. He assumed she must have gone off-duty after working the 06:00 - 14:00 shift.

He felt that, albeit well-meaning, Fiona was bound to have asked some awkward questions ...

Dolores, the receptionist who now took his money and gave him his receipt, while pleasant and polite, she wasn't as engaging and gregarious as her colleague Fiona. While preparing Derek's bill, she probably just assumed that Mrs Duncan would be following her husband down shortly.

Dolores gave no indication she thought it odd that residents were checking out at 2:15 in the afternoon. After all, this was an airport hotel, and if people wanted to pay to stay for so short a duration, it was their business.

Dolores did look oddly, though, and with big eyes, at Derek's luggage cage full of Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoe boxes, and the other, smaller, nail polish boxes placed on top.

Derek almost asked Dolores her shoe size - but no.

Mitzi's shoes were destined elsewhere.

Derek thanked Dolores for his receipt and said goodbye.

Dolores said goodbye, and then did the receptionist's usual thing of wishing him an enjoyable trip and saying she hoped he would stay with them again, the next time he flew from Stansted.

But Derek knew he would never set foot in the hotel ever again.

And whenever possible, he would fly from other airports.

He trundled the luggage cage out through the hotel's front doors and headed for his Corsa.

*

After paying his hotel bill, Derek was down to the last £20 in his wallet, and he spent it at the airport's service station on petrol for the Corsa.

He was now left with about £10 in coins in his pocket. Some of which he would need on his return for the Dartford toll bridge.

Heading back down the M11 towards the M25, Derek exited at the junction for Harlow, the first big town on his route. He wanted to find a Charity shop.

He navigated the streets, looking for a Charity shop where he was able to park right outside. He didn't really mind, who were to be the fortunate recipients.

When he found one, he parked at the kerb and went inside. He told the two ladies at the counter what he had, and asked did they want them? They said, "Yes, please!"

They both came outside with Derek to the Corsa, and helped him bring in his 'donation'.

Back inside the Charity shop, the two profusely thankful volunteers lifted the lids on the shoe boxes and oohed and aahed over the valuable high-quality contents.

"Goodness me, Phylis! These shoes are all in superb condition."

"Yes, Constance, indeed they are!" the other lady agreed. "In fact, they look as if they've never been worn!"

Derek left Phylis and Constance to it.

He said goodbye and headed back outside to his Corsa.

***

As promised, his parents didn't make a fuss.

Well, not much of one.

His dad just insisted he took a few days off work, and to stay at home with his mum and him for a bit. Or for as long as he wanted.

Which was okay with Derek.

He couldn't go back to his flat. Not to live. Not now.

He'd ask his dad to give him a lift with his stuff. Then he would inform his landlord that he was giving up his flat with immediate effect.

In a week or two, he would start looking for another one.

Maybe.

After all, his mum did make an exceedingly good walnut sponge cake.

And right now, he could use a little comfort food.

***

Saturday afternoon, one month later ...

Derek and Julie walked along High St, hand in hand.

They were going to the pictures. And then this evening they would see each other again; they were going to a trendy bistro where Derek had phoned a couple of days ago to reserve a table for them. And, after that ... maybe back to Derek's new flat for a coffee.

The pair of them had hit it right off.

Just as their dads had confided to each other that they'd thought they would ... when Derek finally got around to asking.

A week ago, during one of his errands driving his dad's Land Rover Discovery to Sherwood's wholesale place, Derek had finally plucked up the courage to ask Julie out.

And Ken Sherwood's twenty-year-old daughter had said: "Yes, Derek - I thought you were never going to ask!"

It was the first time Derek had been in town, in some weeks ...

And now, in High St, on their way to the cinema, Derek and Julie were suddenly standing in front of Sex Doll For U boutique's plate-glass window, and looking in ... at Mitzi.

Mitzi, still wearing the same red dress he'd last seen her in, rose from her chaise longue, and smiled at Derek.

Julie said, her admiration evident in her voice, "She's breathtakingly beautiful. Just look at her golden hair. Absolutely stunning. All of them are. In a way, it's quite eerie. These dolls are incredibly life like. They say they can pass for human. But it seems, somehow ... wrong. Don't you think?"

"Yes," said Derek.

Mitzi continued to smile at Derek. Pleasantly, engagingly, charmingly - flirtatiously, even. But not, with ... recognition.

Mitzi had been reprogrammed, he realised. Installed with another new, individual and unique 'personality'.

She was Mitzi.

But she wasn't.

Derek felt that terrible aching sense of loss he'd felt, back in the airport hotel room, trying to come flooding back.

But now he knew that Mitzi - his Mitzi - was gone.

And so was he, to her.

Mitzi then disconcerted Derek even further by coming right up to the window and waving at him invitingly to enter the boutique.

"I think she's taken a fancy to you, Derek," said Julie, elbowing him in the ribs playfully.

Derek was too choked up to reply.

Derek looked at Mitzi one last time. Soon, he thought, she would be sold to another owner.

He hoped Mitzi's new owner would look after her. And love her, the way he had.

Derek cleared his throat. And he somehow managed to say, without betraying his acute discomfiture, "We should be getting along, Julie. Or we might miss the start of the film."

Julie then said, hanging onto his arm for support and slipping her right, dark-hosed foot from her high heeled white pump and flexing and scrunching her toes in momentary relief, "Ah ... these shoes! I knew I shouldn't have worn them! They are new on, today ... I hope you are good at foot massage, Derek!"

As if she'd heard Julie's words, Mitzi smiled more widely.

The End.