The Dolls House I – Introducing Katie

Prologue

The sight of the pristine décor, the touch of the elegant fittings and the scent of fresh flowers always lifted my spirits. Surveying my domain each evening, before the arrival of my discerning clientele and my loyal staff, was always a pleasurable distraction.

The Dolls House was my sanctuary, my masterpiece, representing a potent symbol of my imagination and ambition. There were those who might call it an exclusive restaurant, while others may refer to it as a select private members’ club. However, for me, it was simply a living gallery, a testament to my uncompromising vision of beauty.

But beauty never sleeps, and the perpetual quest to identify and display fresh exhibits was an unending challenge. Most candidates I found by placing discreet online advertisements, followed by carefully examining, probing, and verifying their potential to conform to The Dolls House aesthetic.

But occasionally, a truly rare specimen would catch my eye, an unpolished gem demanding my personal and undivided attention. Exemplified by young women, like me, who had dreams that exceeded their financial means, yet possessed an aura that captivated everyone in their vicinity.

Such an individual was Katie.

Meeting Katie

I saw her from across the market square, a splash of vibrant colour against the muted tones of the city, nursing a coffee at a bistro table. The distressed denim jacket worn over a faded floral minidress, paired with clunky leather boots, proclaimed the youthful figure was a student from the university. The thick textbook, propped up on her crossed legs, reinforced the impression. But it was her hair that truly arrested me. Her hair, a dark cascade of midnight silk, cascaded past her waist and skimmed the cobbles. Her hair, while unrefined, was breathtakingly beautiful. She was a wild and untamed beauty, a canvas overflowing with potential.

Without invitation, I glided over and settled into the chair opposite hers. My presence, I have found, often commands attention. ‘Sweetie,’ I began, my voice a low, cultivated purr, ‘your hair is simply magnificent. I have not seen anything quite so glorious in years.’

Her hazel eyes, startled by my sudden appearance, met mine. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, a blush creeping up her neck, before swiftly casting her eyes down to the written words before her.

‘But such a burden, I imagine,’ I pressed, my fingers, unbidden, threading through the heavy curtain of hair that served to mask her features. It was softer than it looked, surprisingly delicate despite its immense volume. I sensed her anxiety at my presence, hearing her breathing. I carefully tucked one side of her tresses behind an ear, revealing her nervous expression once more.

She nodded and forced a quick smile, but this time she held my gaze.

‘Although the reward is breathtaking, I imagine the time and expense to care for it must be a drain on your resources,’ I empathised.

She flicked out her hair from behind her ear, where I had carefully placed it. There was a touch of defiance in the look that accompanied her action, one that I admired. She took a deep breath as if coming to a decision on whether to take flight. ‘You are not wrong. As a student, it can be a real struggle. Sometimes I must choose between eating or buying conditioner,’ she complained. ‘Not a problem you have, I imagine?’ she scoffed.

Given her gaze was above my eyeline, I gathered she was referring to my hair rather than my ability to purchase food. I trusted that my customary designer white blazer, short skirt, and elegant shoes gave the impression I could afford more than a student’s luxury meal of beans on toast. ‘Very astute of you, sweetie. I use remarkably little in the way of hair products,’ I agreed, allowing my fingers to delicately explore the bare side of my head.

‘Why do you have it cut so short?’ she asked, as I patted the brush-like bristles standing erect on my crown. ‘I imagine with the expensive clobber that you are wearing, you could afford the best hair care imaginable. With that haircut, you look like an army general!’ she quipped.

In truth, I found the comparison surprisingly apt, given my vocation. Although I did not take offence at her words, I disliked the insinuation that I was lacking in femininity. ‘I choose to wear my hair like this,’ I declared, more haughtily than I intended.

‘Sorry, that was very rude of me,’ she apologised. ‘No offence… I mean, you look nice… well, er… striking, and undoubtedly you are all woman,’ she chuckled nervously, clearly detecting my chilly retort. ‘What’s it called?’

‘It’s called a flattop, sweetie,’ I explained, taking her hand and allowing her fingers to explore it.

‘Ah, that feels quite nice actually,’ she acknowledged, enjoying a moment before snatching her hand away, her blush rising again. ‘Oh,’ she added, guiltily, in a tone that suggested that she felt she had done something wrong. From her perspective, she quickly and wisely returned the conversation to safer ground. ‘I do part-time jobs to make ends meet, but they pay a pittance, and they take so much time away from my studying. But without earning extra cash, then I will never be able to support myself before finishing my degree.’

As she continued, the words tumbled out about her course and her financial woes. I listened, demonstrating genuine concern for her plight. I lightly touched her hair again, letting the strands drift through my fingers, and this time she showed no apprehension.

‘By the way, I’m Katie,’ she suddenly blurted out, thrusting out a hand. It suggested her monologue had come to a natural conclusion, and she had appreciated me showing a sincere interest.

I offered a small, reassuring smile, pulling my hand from her hair, and gently taking hers. Reaching into my blazer pocket, I presented her with my embossed business card. ‘Leonora Dart,’ I stated, placing my details gently on the table in front of her.

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘What if I told you I could help you, sweetie? Genuinely help. Enough to ensure you have the time you need to complete your studies and achieve the best qualifications.’

Unsurprisingly, suspicion, like a shadow, crossed her face as she examined my business card. ‘The Dolls House?’ she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

‘If you are interested in earning a truly exceptional salary for working just three evenings a week, Katie, then please do get in touch,’ I invited. ‘No pressure, of course, but it would be a genuine privilege to help a young person such as yourself.’ I meant it.

Katie looked up from the card, smiled, then looked down again, a frown visible under her mountain of hair. I took the moment to slip away, wondering if I would hear from her again.

Within the hour, my phone chimed. A text arrived from Katie accepting my offer of help. The lure of financial freedom, the promise of a way out, was irresistible.

A spark of triumph ignited within me. ‘Excellent,’ I replied instantly. ‘Come to The Dolls House this evening, and I will go through the details with you. And all being well, we will get you started.’

Introducing Ursula

I checked that everything was in place for that evening’s event at The Dolls House while awaiting the arrival of Katie. I patrolled the lavish communal area of my sanctuary, where I had arranged the tables under tasteful, subdued lighting. Nodding to familiar and valued clients who were trickling in, I guided them to their places and offered them an aperitif. They knew, as I did, my establishment was not simply a place to merely appreciate beauty but to observe it meticulously crafted. I had spent years perfecting the aesthetic to my liking and curating the experience for the benefit of all of us.

Katie arrived, a little nervous, dressed as she had been earlier, overwhelmed by the opulent décor of my restaurant and the elegantly dressed clientele who studied her. As she drifted past them and her billowing hair followed, so did the enthusiastic gaze of every client.

‘Welcome to The Dolls House, Katie, and thank you for arriving on time,’ I said warmly, despite her entering through the clients’ grand entrance. ‘Later, I will show you the door used by our associates, as we term all our staff,’ I added pointedly, ‘but for now, let us retire to my office.’

Katie followed me, and I laid out the elegantly typed contract on my desk before her. The contract itself was a masterpiece of legal protection, ensuring my artistic licence over those who joined me and the terms of dismissal in the event of any transgressions.

I presented a broad summary of what I expected from her and what she should anticipate from me, giving special mention to the salary she would receive for each evening’s work. I began to describe each of the salient points, but, as with most prospective associates, I saw her eyes begin to glaze over.

Katie scanned the rest of the text herself, pausing briefly at the establishment’s name as if to question it. But she continued to the end, doubtlessly not wishing to lose the opportunity, and signed her name against mine.

‘Excellent!’ I said with feeling, my hand guiding her gently towards a discreet door opposite my office. ‘It is time to prepare you for your new beginning, sweetie.’

Katie gasped as she entered the bright room. It was my dedicated artist studio that I had designed to resemble a high-class beauty salon, fitted out in white and chrome, giving the surroundings an almost clinical purity.

Ursula, my trusted business partner, a woman with a formidable skill set, was already there, meticulously arranging her equipment. Dressed in her customary tight white dress and with her blonde hair scraped up high into the tightest of buns, she gave weight to the medical comparison.

‘Katie, this is Ursula, my trusted colleague, who will be taking care of you this evening,’ I said by way of introduction. Ursula understood my vision implicitly. Practised and precise, every movement was economical and purposeful. She rewarded Katie with a curt nod and a tight smile before relieving her of her denim jacket and gesturing towards the chair in the middle of the room.

The substantial chrome and white leather vintage-style salon chair, decorated with buttons and levers, sat on a raised, circular platform. It faced a large floor-to-ceiling mirror that covered the whole of the wall. Katie moved slowly, taking in her surroundings with a disbelieving air about her. She shivered as she looked at the wheeled trolley with its comprehensive array of Ursula’s equipment that she had meticulously laid out. She flinched as she clambered onto the large chair, the cold leather assaulting the backs of her thighs as her short floral dress rode up.

Although above average height, Katie’s slight form looked lost in the encompassing chair, one that looked made for a person who was significantly larger. Perched on the seat with her hair billowing all around her, the position lent Katie a vulnerable appearance. That increased when Ursula pumped the chair higher, causing her feet to leave the ground. She jolted when a myriad of gentle spotlights, concealed in the ceiling, suddenly illuminated her.

I leaned into Katie. ‘Ursula has the hands of an artist, sweetie, so you are in excellent hands,’ I explained. ‘Just relax.’

Using my fingers, I arranged the bulk of her hair to flow down the back of the chair like a silken river, while sufficient of her locks remained to frame her face and pool in her lap. I surreptitiously glanced in the large mirror for a final check of my appearance. I was satisfied that my characteristic white blazer emphasised my voluptuous figure. Also, I was pleased that my outrageously short, matching skirt displayed no creases.

Ursula had just given my black hair its uncompromising daily trim. She had meticulously faded the back and sides down to the hairline. And she had precisely snipped any errant hairs on the crown so that my brush-like flattop remained perfect, a visual declaration of my authority. There were people who might deem my hair unfeminine, but on me, with my inherent grace, it merely spoke of power and precision. So, along with my sharp but simple white outfit, my silhouette was sharp and assured.

I took a moment to study Katie, who was looking lost, both physically and figuratively. She stared straight ahead into the mirror, the floral minidress with the thin shoulder straps from her student life looking entirely out of place in the pristine setting. Undoubtedly, she was wondering what would happen next. She did not have long to wait.

‘Now, Ursula,’ I began, my voice clear and authoritative. ‘Let us begin the unveiling. We need a clean slate here, a pure foundation.’

Katie frowned, unsure of the meaning of my elaborate words, then jumped at the insistent loud whine that suddenly filled the silent room. She glanced to one side and saw Ursula standing there, predator-like, holding her famous large, red hairclippers. ‘N… no…’ Katie whimpered softly.

I leaned in, positioning myself in front of Katie, with my back to the mirror. ‘I understand, sweetie, I really do. But, believe me, what I am about to say, I will only state once. Remember my carefully worded contract, our mutual agreement, and the promise of your remuneration,’ I hissed chillingly. I waited, giving her the time to adjust her thinking. ‘Okay, sweetie?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped back after a barely perceptible pause.

I moved back so that Katie could see herself in the mirror once more, and Ursula had space to work. Despite her assurances, Katie flinched as the blade of the clippers approached the hair that hung down the right side of her face. I could forgive her for that, even embrace it, as a fortuitous element of the script. However, Ursula’s touch was gentle and practised, as she carefully guided the blade into the hair above Katie’s right ear. The dark, heavy mass of her hair, her defining feature for two decades, began to fall in soft, silken drifts, covering the bright flowers of her dress. Katie’s breath hitched as she watched in the mirror. I would have been surprised if it had not.

Ursula followed the line she had established around to the back of Katie’s head, stripping her neck of its long-established covering. Successive passes had created a continuous waterfall of silken tresses, flowing down into her lap. Each pass of the clippers, I saw as her liberation, a shedding of Katie’s traditional, unrefined self.

‘Excellent, Ursula, excellent,’ I declared with genuine praise for my colleague. ‘See how you have exposed her elegant neck? Bared her delicate nape?’ I observed, my arms crossed, a small, satisfied smile playing on my lips.

Katie stifled her whimper this time, but I could see her eyes had moistened.

‘We are revealing, not diminishing, sweetie,’ I emphasised to reassure her. ‘Just trust the process.’

I directed my gaze at Katie’s reflection, my eyes holding hers. I saw her blink, as if acknowledging my words.

‘This is not about taking something away, Katie. It is about revealing the exquisite beauty hidden for so many years. We see it like chiselling a fine sculpture from raw marble.’

Katie blinked again, and she offered a weak smile.

I was unsure whether she appreciated my running commentary. I imagined she thought it was unnecessary and only adding to her distress. While the latter reaction was not my intention, the commentary itself was certainly essential.

The Mirror

I felt I could feel the electricity on the other side of the mirror. The growing anticipation from the patrons, now settled in, hushed and expectant, sipping champagne.

What Katie did not know, and what added immeasurably to the mystique and allure of The Dolls House, was that the large mirror dominating the wall that she faced was, in fact, one-way glass. On the other side, comfortably seated at their individual tables, my most favoured clients had an uninterrupted view of proceedings and were listening to my every word with rapt attention.

Earlier, once Katie had sent me the text to confirm she wished to accept my offer, I had immediately sent invitations to the select group of valued patrons. They had frequently visited The Dolls House, and they had witnessed fantastic sights that they had enjoyed immensely. However, attaching tantalising photos of Katie displaying her glorious hair and her innocent beauty ensured that they snapped up every place in minutes. They did so even at such short notice and with the premium price I had requested. Katie’s potential, her unique, untouched allure, had created a buzz even I had not anticipated.

So, yes, my clientele benefited from my commentary far more than Katie. My mindset was that of an MC, or a “Mistress of Ceremonies”, if you will. But I avoided using that term due to the title being open to unfortunate misinterpretation.

While nothing could be better than witnessing the performance at close quarters, a large contingent of my regulars had paid to watch the live stream, and the recorded video would be available to all of them for the whole of the following month.

Ursula glided around the base of the chair to stand by Katie’s left side. I took the opportunity to lean in and whisper encouragement. ‘You’re doing wonderfully, sweetie,’ I said, fingering the crudely bobbed hair framing her right ear. It was my turn for my breath to hitch, especially seeing the veritable mountain of locks piled up at my feet.

As I stepped away slightly, allowing Katie to see herself in the mirror once more, I continued to play with her truncated hair. Despite the soundproofing of the room, I felt I could hear the cries of astonishment combined with sighs of pleasure that would be emanating from the patrons on the other side of the glass.

Katie would learn the secret of the large mirror before she left that evening. However, first, she had to let her natural beauty shine through it and allow the patrons of The House of Dolls to witness her dramatic transformation.

The Hair

‘Now, Ursula,’ I commanded, stepping closer with my voice firm. ‘The cut must be brutal and uncompromising. We need to create a perfect frame for that beautiful face. We permit no softness in appearance, and no hesitation when carving it.’

Ursula was fully aware of what I required, but my words were not only accurate but also added drama to our performance. Ursula had worked with focused intensity to match the length of hair on the right side of Katie’s head to the short locks remaining on the left side and at the back. All her long hair now draped over her shoulders, gathered in her lap, or coiled on the floor.

Below the crudely shaped bob, the hair clippers had created a perfectly smooth, almost velvety canvas on the back and sides of Katie’s head. I ran my fingers over the delicious fine pelt, and I imagined the audible gasps from the other side of the mirror. Our act was precisely the kind of theatre my clients paid for.

‘Now the frame must be sharpened, Ursula, the crown fashioned into a glossy smooth cap,’ I pressed eagerly. ‘A perfectly stark bowlcut.’

‘A b… bowlcut,’ Katie murmured, reciting the word as if it were her worst nightmare, which may well have been true given the glorious long locks she had lost in the previous ten minutes.

‘Yes, Katie, a bowlcut,’ Ursula confirmed, chuckling with a rare intervention, ‘but it will be one that emphasises harsh structure and rigidity over any semblance of a gently flowing style.’

Hearing Ursula, my usually silent business partner, using such emotive language during a transformation always reminded me of our first meeting. With her being a perfectionist, I accepted that she would never rush defining the bowl shape, as it provided the foundation of what we had set out to achieve.

So, while appearing to adopt an attentive pose as I observed Katie’s transformation, I allowed my mind to drift back to the origins of my venture with Ursula. However, my initiation into the world we found ourselves in began when I was much younger, I wistfully recalled…

‘Miss Dart!’ Ursula muttered under her breath with a sense of urgency, shaking me from my reminiscences, the detail of which would need to wait until another time.

Skilfully manipulating comb and scissors, Ursula had carved a perfect cap of glossy hair. It perched symmetrically on Katie’s crown, shining with a pristine, almost ceramic-like quality.

‘While the top of Katie’s hair now looks immaculate, the smooth velvet covering the vast areas below is still far too long to accomplish our task,’ I declared gleefully. ‘The back and sides, Ursula, must be shaved down to the bone,’ I pressed, a phrase that always caused her to smile. ‘Lather it up, my dear, copiously with foam, and use your sharp razor to eliminate every trace of hair. I want to see that skin gleam.’

Katie quivered visibly in the chair, her breath catching. I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. It will look exquisite.’

Ursula, unperturbed by the slight interruption, enthusiastically lathered the still-dark stubble on Katie’s head. Brandishing her razor, the blade glinting under the lights, she scraped away at the lower half of Katie’s skull. The sound was precise and definitive, leaving bare skin glowing pink for a brief period before taking on the pristine whiteness of skin that has never glimpsed the sun. Gleaming under the salon lights, it was stark and arresting.

‘You see, her ears, a lifetime hidden under the heavy curtain of her hair, are now exposed,’ I highlighted. ‘Perfectly formed and, while not large, are strikingly prominent against the sea of bare skin around them.’

The Features

‘Big ears?’ Katie whimpered. ‘Really?’

‘No, Katie?’ I purred, tracing the delicate curve of one ear with my finger. ‘It is simply a matter of perfection revealed. People may take a second glance, but only to appreciate their uniquely prominent charm.’

‘Oh…’ she squeaked, unconvinced.

‘And the fringe, Ursula,’ I urged, my excitement building with each element of the transformation. ‘Cut it exceedingly high up on her forehead, please. We need to expose her features, my dear. To let her expression shine, unburdened by shadows.’

Ursula leant in with her scissors and precisely cut a blunt fringe high above Katie’s eyebrows.

‘Perfect! But now for the final changes,’ I announced, with a flourish in my voice. ‘To truly frame those innocent eyes, we must enhance the curve of the eyebrows. Ursula, shave her brows clean.’

‘What?’ Katie questioned, anxiety mixed with confusion. ‘No –’

But, as always, Ursula had been ready. She had dabbed each eyebrow with lather and expertly whisked them away with her sharp razor, leaving only bare skin. It looked as though they had never been there, lending Katie an almost alien appearance.

‘Now, Katie, do not move. Ursula will draw a new line, thin and arching,’ I explained, pausing while the artist worked her magic. Using a delicate pencil, she drew on fine, elegant arches that truly altered the landscape of her face. ‘Marvellous. I do so love that permanent, slightly surprised, wide-eyed look. Innocent, yet captivating.’

Katie’s eyes widened further in the mirror, but she remained silent, a silent acceptance settling over her.

‘Now give her the longest, fullest lashes,’ I breathed. ‘Add that shimmering eyeshadow, a vibrant, glittering blue to her lids. I want her eyes to look arresting, huge, and round, like those of a precious doll.’

Ursula worked with deft strokes, applying the colourful shadow, extending the lashes until they fanned out like delicate butterflies. She rouged the cheeks to a glowing rose blush. ‘And the lips,’ I concluded, ‘a bold, provocative red. A full and luscious bow.’

As Ursula finished and stepped back, I surveyed her handiwork with immense satisfaction. She had completely transformed Katie’s appearance. The brutal bowl cut, the shaved sides, the harsh fringe, the huge eyes, the surprised brows, and the full red lips. It was no longer Katie, the struggling student, standing before us. Her upgrade complete, she was an exquisite porcelain doll, made ready for public display.

‘The canvas is prepared,’ I announced, turning to Katie, my voice gentle but firm. ‘Now, my dear, it needs to be framed.’

The Attire

Ursula, ever efficient, helped Katie shed her floral student dress and her underwear too. The club’s standard uniform demanded a pristine canvas. I watched, my gaze appreciative, as Katie stood ready for Ursula to sheathe her in the club’s signature attire.

‘The complete shedding of her old identity,’ I reminded everyone. ‘A rebirth!’

Ursula assisted Katie into the tight-fitting latex minidress, teasing out the wrinkles until it was completely smooth. She held open the leather boots for Katie to step into and zipped them up to her thighs.

The dress hugged her every curve, a second skin of glossy black. The tautness of the material lifted her breasts, while her nipples visibly pressed against the taut fabric, visibly erect. It was a look designed to sculpt, to define, and to highlight.

‘You are framed to perfection, my dear.’ I murmured, my finger tracing a line down the rubber-clad curve of her back as we stood there facing the mirror. ‘Every curve, every line, defined. Katie, you are now a living sculpture that meets The Dolls House aesthetic.’

Katie’s expression was unreadable as she absorbed every detail of her transformation. I imagined the wave of reassuring applause on the other side of the mirror, unheard in our soundproof studio. I was confident my clientele would have appreciated the stunning transformation they had just paid a small fortune to witness that evening.

Katie, on the other hand, was still oblivious to her admiring audience who sat on the other side of the mirror. I took her arm, a gesture of ownership and pride, and gave a little bow towards the mirror. Katie followed my lead, although she would not have known why she had gestured to our own reflection.

‘Come, my dear. It is time to meet your new colleagues.’

The Colleagues

I led Katie from the studio into the brightly lit lounge area that we set aside for the exclusive use of our associates. I always chastised anyone who called it the staffroom, as I ensured the décor and the equipment were of the highest quality.

Four more waitresses, all with similar, meticulously maintained haircuts and flawless makeup, stood chatting softly, their identical uniforms gleaming. One of them had only been with us a month, but the remainder I had known for a considerable time. They all resembled each other, a family of indistinguishable exquisite dolls, each a testament to my aesthetic.

‘Welcome to the family, dear,’ I said, my voice carrying a hint of maternal warmth. ‘You belong here now.’

The associates welcomed Katie with a volley of intense air kisses and sincere smiles, careful not to disturb their immaculate makeup. Although clearly overwhelmed, she returned their greetings in kind, without needing any encouragement from me.

The Clientele

Then, with a flourish, I guided Katie to the main restaurant floor. The low murmur of conversation quietened as we entered. My most esteemed patrons, those who had watched her transformation, now turned their gaze upon the finished product. Polite, appreciative applause combined with a rustle of excitement.

Katie looked around in wonderment at all the enchanted faces looking up at her. I directed her gaze to the large picture window on one wall. On the other side, Ursula stood to attention by her chair, smiling benevolently. This had sometimes proved a difficult moment, as, occasionally, a new convert would be confused and then upset by the revelation. However, if we alerted our candidates beforehand that strangers were watching the upgrading process, then it would take away too much of the spontaneity. But Katie immediately grasped the situation, and she accepted it with an air of wonderment.

‘Gosh, Miss Dart, so everyone here watched all this happening?’ she asked, very quietly under her breath, gesturing with her hand from her haircut down to her boots. Katie, I could see, felt a flicker of embarrassment at having her transformation witnessed by so many.

As she waited for me to reply, she slowly turned around, ensuring the whole audience could appreciate her appearance from every angle. Her round eyes, with a pretence of not seeing, held an unwavering gaze with the patrons. She only blinked as she turned away. It was what they wanted. She was adapting quickly, unnervingly so.

‘Yes, Katie, they will have lapped up your transformation,’ I confirmed, ‘as you can see.’

As I showed Katie off, a proud creator presenting her finest work, generous gratuities appeared in her hand, my clients’ appreciation tangible. As her eyes fell upon the substantial pile of tips collected, any latent feelings of embarrassment appeared to recede. I was pleased to see a dawning realisation of her own worth replacing it.

Furthermore, my clientele was always respectful. They knew The Dolls House was a place of curated beauty, not a place for vulgar display. If they crossed the accepted line of good taste, then expulsion was the outcome they should expect.

There is, of course, a sensual side to the aesthetic I curate. Those watching the live stream from home, or reliving the recorded stream later, might indulge themselves a little more enthusiastically. But that was no concern of mine. My only concern was upgrading these young women into the pristine porcelain dolls that were the very essence of my brand.

I chose each candidate for her raw potential, then refined, polished, and transformed her into a living work of art. While each one was a waitress for my clientele in The Dolls House, their primary role was to reflect the aesthetic I promoted. My wealthy patrons observed, admired, and appreciated each of them.

My vision was uncompromising, and the transformation, I knew, was often quite profound. But the salary and benefits were more than generous, as was the way I looked after my dolls. It was a fair exchange, I believed, for the unparalleled beauty and exclusivity they brought to my establishment.

My compensation came when Katie had toured all the tables and stood by the window to the studio, lit by the subtle light that emanated through the glass. She managed to force a sincere smile through her thick makeup. ‘Thank you, Miss Dart.’

Then she curtsied to her admiring audience, who continued to applaud politely.

The End of the Day

Katie had behaved impeccably on her first evening, following her transformation. With little coaching, she maintained the aloofness and detachment of a mannequin, but she served the clients in the restaurant with a professional courtesy that they all appreciated. The feedback I received was superb, and the additional gratuities Katie received astonished her.

Despite all she had been through that evening, Katie was bubbling with excitement when she left The Dolls House and told me she was looking forward to her next shift in two days. Naturally, it was the reaction I always hoped for from each of my newly transformed dolls. However, sadly, there had been candidates who were less enamoured with the events that had taken place. Even then, I compensated those women fairly.

I had seen a subtle shift in Katie’s expression that I hoped was an excitement born of understanding. ‘Miss Dart, I will a great deal of explaining to do, to my friends, about how I now look,’ she quipped, a nervous laugh escaping her.

I smiled, a knowing, indulgent smile. ‘It is all part of growing in confidence, sweetie. Embrace your new self. You are beautiful, appreciated, and free.’

The Start of a New Day

With Katie, I had nothing to fear. She had no regrets, and she was the first to arrive for the evening two days later. Once I caught up with her, she had already had her bowlcut trimmed and shaved by Ursula, and she was discussing the finer points of the makeup with her. Ursula, normally staying focused and reticent to chat, seemed very taken with Katie and her unbridled enthusiasm.

Once Ursula had finished, Katie drifted past me towards the associates’ lounge. Unbidden, she squeezed herself into her uniform of a latex minidress and thigh-length boots. I watched her check in the mirror that she had no creases in her dress. Then I saw her look down to verify that the prominent parts of her anatomy were standing to attention, using her delicate fingers to make fine adjustments. She giggled. ‘Will I do, Miss Dart?’

It had become exceedingly rare for something, or someone, to take my breath away. It was not that I had tired of The Dolls House, but I believed that I had seen it all. However, Katie was a breath of fresh air, and even Ursula had praise for our latest recruit.

‘Yes, sweetie, you’ll do very nicely,’ I sighed benevolently, smiling warmly at the flawless porcelain doll as she sought approval with her wide-eyed, slightly surprised expression. ‘I hear from the door that there are clients arriving early. So, despite it being earlier than your scheduled start time, would you be happy to go out and greet them?’

‘Of course, Miss Dart,’ she replied, gliding in the direction of the door and almost colliding with an older, extremely well-dressed couple. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t know clients were allowed back here,’ she whispered to me, under her breath, clearly mortified that she had done something wrong.

‘Generally, they are not,’ I quickly reassured her before turning to the two people in question, led there by Ursula. ‘But these esteemed patrons have requested something special,’ I added gleefully, injecting an air of mystery.

Meeting The Wises

Katie managed to raise her thin, arched eyebrows even higher than Ursula had drawn them, a questioning challenge to my words.

‘Mr and Mrs Wise, I am delighted you wish to proceed with what we had discussed. We will go over the details with you shortly, but firstly, please may I introduce Katie, the latest addition to The Dolls House.’

With beaming smiles, they both nodded, almost bowing reverently. ‘We were here two nights ago,’ Mrs Wise said, ‘and witnessed your magnificent transformation, Katie.’

‘Oh… er… thank you, Mrs Wise,’ Katie said gratefully, but still looked confused as to why they were having a behind-the-scenes tour.

‘They own Wise Motors, the car showroom on the ring road, Katie,’ I explained.

‘What? That place is huge and filled with real quality!’ Katie exclaimed, letting her professional demeanour drop slightly. However, she was quite correct with her assessment.

‘Thank you, Katie,’ Mr Wise smiled, dipping his head again and handing her a business card. ‘If you should be in the market for a new motor, then I can promise you a very good deal, given the great enjoyment you have given both of us.’

‘Er… thanks,’ Katie stifled an unprofessional giggle, ‘but I am only a poor student and can barely afford to keep my bicycle on the road.’

They both chuckled at Katie’s refreshing candour. I did too. ‘Stay with Leonora, Katie,’ Mrs Wise urged, ‘and you will be buying your first motor from us sooner than you think.’

‘Gosh,’ Katie said, glancing at the card again, before unsuccessfully trying to find somewhere in her second skin to place it, finally sliding it into the top of one of her boots. ‘Oh, thanks,’ she continued, and then, smiling meaningfully in my direction, she added, ‘I intend to stay with Miss Dart.’ I felt warm inside.

Ursula beckoned Mr and Mrs Wise down the corridor, towards the door of the studio, a sense of urgency creeping into my business partner’s gesture. They obligingly followed her.

‘It’s Mrs Wise’s birthday, and his wife’s gift to him is for Ursula to transform her into a doll,’ I explained. ‘It is a service we like to offer our discerning clientele.’

Katie looked stunned. I caught her eyeing Mrs Wise’s massive updo perched rigidly on her head as it had for all the years I had known her. ‘That… that is… all coming off?’ she questioned disbelievingly, and Mrs Wise clearly overheard.

‘Yes, Katie, a bowlcut, just like yours,’ she clarified as the couple entered the studio, with Mr Wise rubbing his hands together expectantly.

It was obvious that Katie needed time to comprehend that revelation, as she looked down to the floor, absently rubbing her shaved neck. Suddenly she looked up into my eyes. ‘Miss Dart, please, can I watch?’

‘Of course you can, sweetie. Everyone in the restaurant will be watching her when she sits in the chair that you occupied just two days ago,’ I clarified.

Katie held my gaze, wide-eyed. ‘Gosh!’

Epilogue

‘Now, sweetie, please, could you check that everyone who has arrived in the restaurant has a full glass and a menu?’ I requested.

‘Straight away, Miss Dart,’ Katie replied, clicking her leather boots together and looking every inch the professional doll. Then her expression slipped a little, and she looked at me shyly. ‘I… I like it here… Miss Dart, I feel like I belong,’ she murmured. Before I realised, the porcelain smoothness had returned to her features, and she floated through the door into the restaurant.

I watched Katie for a moment, my newest doll, serving drinks with a newfound grace. The Dolls House was thriving, a testament to my vision, my exacting standards. But even as I savoured the moment, my mind drifted to the future. I was satisfied, yes, but never complacent.

Soon, I knew, it would be time to open The Shaven Haven. Ursula and I had already developed the plans. It would be a more extreme aesthetic, but one representing the ultimate purity.

I mused, my eyes briefly falling on Katie’s gleaming head. Would she be my first bald beauty, an exquisite sculpture like no other? Or should I look for new canvases to reduce to a smooth and gleaming baldness?

The possibilities, for an artist like me, were endless.

 

To be continued