Prologue: Baby, It’s Cold Outside

On Saturday, December 19^th, classes at the Townsend-Dalke Academy for the Arts broke up for the winter break. Most of the students packed up their bundles of cheap family Christmas presents and headed home into the arms of their loved ones and caregivers, where they’d stay until January 5^th, when it would be time for classes to start again.

Ingrid Goldfarb was the exception to that rule. This Christmas, for the second year in a row, Ingrid wasn’t going anywhere.

The Friday right after the end of classes, Ingrid was sitting perched on the edge of the bed in her shabby but cozy suite-style dorm room, watching her as roommate frantically tried to shove everything she owned into her suitcase all at once.

“I’ll never learn,” sighed Anellida Lee, who mercifully insisted on being called Ani. “I’ve gone through this every year since middle school, and I still seem to be doing everything at the last minute. If only the teachers would stop assigning so much homework the week before break. It’s hard to take tests, finish essays, schedule meetings with professors and pack for the plane ride home all at the same time. Ugh, where are my black leggings? Did I leave them in the dryer? Not again…”

Ingrid took a quick glance around the room. Then, she slid off the bed, retrieved something flimsy and black from the top of a heap at the foot of the bed, and held it out to Ani.

“Um,” she asked, “are these the ones you’re looking for?”

Ani looked up in surprise, blinked, and then smiled.

“Ingrid, you’re a tiny, beautiful little blessing,” she said, accepting the leggings and shoving them unceremoniously into her already bulging suitcase. “God only knows what I’d do without you. I certainly never want to find out.”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “I’m not tiny,” she said, although it was obvious that Ani, in the midst of full-fledged power packing, was no longer listening.”But…you’re welcome, I think. They’re just leggings, anyway. Don’t you have like ten or twenty pairs of them in that suitcase already?”

“Yes, probably,” agreed Ani, shrugging, “but only because I couldn’t find these. These are the only ones that will go with my favorite black dress. Maybe I should take some of the others out, but…they’re buried so far down in there that I’d have to start over. It’s probably not worth it.”

“Probably not,” agreed Ingrid. “You’ve come too far to turn back now.”

Unfortunately for Ingrid, Ani was right about one thing. Ingrid really was tiny, and not in the flattering, svelte sort of way that most women dream of, either. Ingrid was sixteen years old, but only five-feet tall, and her flat-chested and basically figureless form made it easy to shop, but  hard to get anyone to look at her twice. She was about the same size as an underdeveloped pre-teen boy, and people quite frequently and mistakenly assumed that she was eleven or twelve.

Ani always said that Ingrid was ‘cute,’ and ‘sweet’ looking. Ingrid hated being ‘cute,’ and ‘sweet.’ Ingrid would have much preferred to be a dashing, elegant, attention-grabbing powerhouse, or at least to have been someone who other people took seriously. As it was, she usually had to stand on a box when she presented in class, or had to sit on a phonebook when she wanted to use the particularly large school library desk chairs. People who have to use phonebooks just to reach the computer keyboard are rarely, if ever, taken as seriously s they should be.

Ani, on the other hand, was statuesque and beautiful. Ingrid wasn’t the only person who thought so, either. She knew, of course, that she was biased, being Ani’s best friend of several years, now, but absolutely everyone agreed that Anellida Lee was beautiful. She was tall, slim, perfectly-formed and just exactly he right amount f busty. She had big blue eyes and long, stick-straight strawberry blond hair that glistened in the sunlight the way other people’s hair only did in movies or shampoo advertisements.

Ingrid had thick, dark, curly hair, like her Ashkenazi Jewish mother. It would have been unremarkable hair, if it hadn’t gotten into the habit of forming a horrifying sort of mushroom cloud around the top of her head every time she let it dry on its own.

Ani also made her own clothes, which were always a perfectly magnificent fit. She was studying Fashion Design at the Townsend-Dalke Academy, and on the weekends she worked as a costume co-ordinator and designer, creating perfectly exquisite and sparkling outfits for all of the school plays.

Ani actually made some of Ingrid’s clothes, as well. Unfortunately, the lovely dresses and billowing blouses that looked wonderful on Ani somehow managed to look frumpy and lose their shimmer and shine as soon as Ingrid put them on, although Ingrid was sure she’d never have the heart to tell Ani that all of Ani’s efforts at beautifying her frightfully plain roommate were probably in vain.

She means well, thought Ingrid, watching as Ani finally began trying to close her suitcase, which proved to be a much more difficult task than she’d clearly expected. She really just doesn’t see how much better looking she is than I am. Maybe that’s what friendship is all about. When you’re friends with somebody, you can’t help but see them as beautiful. That in itself is a very beautiful thing.

“Um, Ingrid,” called Ani, now frowning desperately down at the stubbornly half-open suitcase, “Do you…mind giving me a hand with this? Sorry…”

Together, Ani and Ingrid sat on the suitcase until it was closed enough for Ani to lock it up.

“Phew,” sighed Ani as soon as the suitcase was locked. “Finally done, and just in time. My flight leaves at six AM tomorrow, so I’ll have to be out of here around four o’clock. I guess I should call ahead for a taxi.”

“You need to call the cab company tonight,” suggested Ingrid. “Tomorrow morning, they’ll be swamped with calls from other students who have exactly the same idea that you do.”

“Right.” Ani nodded. “Good point. I’ll do it now. Hang on a second.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, dialed a few numbers, and then suddenly stopped. Frowning, she turned back to Ingrid, looking uncertain.

“Ingy,” she said.

Ingrid winced. “Please don’t call me that. We’ve been through this plenty of times. Ingy is not a name.”

“Yeah, okay,” agreed Ani, “but…are you sure you don’t want to go home for the vacation? I don’t think you’ve been home since summer. Your mom and dad are probably starting to really miss you. They love you a lot, and I know that you know that. We both saw those huge care packages they sent you for Halloween. I’ve never seen so many little socks with ghosts and witches on them in my life, and sooooo much chocolate!”

“Melted chocolate, by the time we got it,” retorted Ingrid, shrugging. “Anyway, I know. They’re very doting, caring parents.  I really love them both. It’s just…if I love one of them enough to go visiting over winter vacation, it’ll break the other one’s heart. If I even suggest that I might be heading home for the break, then they’ll probably start sending me those awful emails again, reminding me that each one of them loves me more than the other. Then the one-upmanship contest will start. Mom will promise to make all of the foods that are my favorite, and Dad’ll start dropping thousands of dollars into my bank account so that I can ‘buy myself something nice.’ Before you know it, they’ll be sending each other nasty text messages and fighting over which one of them deserves more face time with their darling daughter. Honestly…it’s not worth it. I’ll have to face it over the summer one way or another, so why force it now? This is much easier for everybody involved, trust me.”

Suddenly, Ingrid realized how loudly she was speaking, and that Ani was watching her with a very startled, half-pitying look on her face. Embarrassed, and a little ashamed of how intense she’d just gotten, Ingrid shook her head and took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to get defensive, or anything, it’s just-!”

“No,” insisted Ani gently. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Ani gave Ingrid the kindest of smiles, and Ingrid felt her skin start to crawl just a little bit. She hated it when people felt they had to be ‘kind’ to her.

Ingrid’s parents had gotten divorced only two years ago, and Ingrid herself was still learning how to live in two houses at the same time.

“It’s no big deal,” she said aloud. “Forget about it. Anyway, I’ll probably get a lot more studying done here than I would at home, so-!”

“I just don’t want you to be miserable on Christmas,” said Ani.” You shouldn’t be here all by yourself. You’ll get lonely.”

“I won’t get lonely,” countered Ingrid staunchly. “I’ll be just fine. We went through this last year, too, remember? Maybe I could use a little ‘me’ time. Besides, I’m not all alone, here. I’ve got the boys.”

“The boys?” Ani bit her lip, looking frustrated. “Ingrid, you can’t use your dolls as substitutes for real people.”

“Why not?” Ingrid shrugged. “The dolls are a lot less stressful than real people. They don’t fight or argue with me, or expect me to be something I’m not. They’re uncomplicated, and no matter what I do, they love me unconditionally.”

“Your parents love you unconditionally,” said Ani. “Of course they do. They’re  your family.”

“I think my parents have successfully proved that family doesn’t have anything to do with unconditional love,” returned Ingrid. “I mean, they used to love each other, until Dad started insisting on doing the dishes his way, and Mom wanted Dad to stop eating too much, and so on, and so on. They starting hating everything the other one did. Sounds pretty ‘conditional’ to me. My dolls think I’m the greatest, no matter what I do. Getting involved with people is complicated. Hanging out with my dolls is much more relaxing.”

“Cooping yourself up here all alone with a collection of inanimate figurines isn’t healthy,” insisted Ani. “You need real people contact. It’s one of the most basic human needs.”

“At the moment, I think I just need a break,” muttered Ingrid. “Seriously, Ani, I’ll-!”

“Maybe I should stay here with you,” Ani went on, obviously no longer paying any attention to what Ingrid was saying. “We can spend Christmas together, this year. We’ll make a paper wreath for the door, and we can even put up one of those little plastic Christmas trees, if we want. I’m pretty sure they’re still on sale at A-mart. My parents will be disappointed, but that’s no big deal. I mean, we’ll have other Christmases.”

She was doing her best to sound as though she’d be looking forward to a lonely Christmas in the dorms with just Ingrid, but Ingrid wasn’t buying it.

Thanks, Ani, she thought, but you don’t have to play the martyr for me. 

“You’re going home for the break,” Ingrid said firmly. “You’re going to have a really great Christmas, and so am I. It’s only for a few weeks, anyway. I’m not going to shrivel up and die from lack of sunlight or fresh air while you’re gone. Honestly. I promise.”

Ani gave Ingrid one more long, doubtful look, then sighed again and gave up, shaking her head.

“Next year,” she said, “you’re coming home with me. No excuses and no complaints. My parents will be so thrilled to see you.”

“Cool,” said Ingrid. “That sounds like fun. Next year, for sure.”

Ani perked up a little bit. “Okay…great! I’m excited, then! You’re going to love New York. If it is a whole year away, I’m looking forward to it.”

It’ll never happen, though, thought Ingrid, as Ani stuck her head into the bathroom to make sure she hadn’t forgotten any important toiletries. Spending time with your family just makes me feel uncomfortable and weird. They’re so normal and happy. It gets awkward fast.

“Oh,shoot,” moaned Ingrid. “Look, I forgot to pack my toothbrush! I don’t think there’s an empty inch in that whole suitcase, now…”

“You can stick it in your backpack,” suggested Ingrid. “You’re taking that as a carry-on, right?”

While Ani re-arranged the mess in the front pocket of her backpack, Ingrid returned to her own side of the suite.

Unlike Ani’s room, which was almost always a frantic mess of clothes and shoes all over the floor, Ingrid’s room was relatively neat. She had a little metal desk in one corner, and a twin-sized mattress on a simple wooden frame in the other. Her walls were covered in beautiful color photographs, images taken from her favorite TV and anime series, and scanned pages from her favorite comic books.

This was Ingrid’s second year studying Theater and Performance Arts at the Townsend-Dalke Academy, and her bookshelves were subsequently well-stocked with copies of plays, DVDs of famous performances, countless programs and playbills, and even a few full-color photo albums of costume and makeup design work. She had a brand new blue binder that she’d created herself, full of photographs of the costumes that Ani had created over the last few years of school.

Ingrid’s real treasures, however, were seated on a red, faux-velvet stool at the foot of the bed that Ingrid had picked up the year before at a local yard sale. Perched on that stool and not-quite-smiling out of five sets of large glass eyes were five exquisite, expensive and rare Korean-made ball-jointed boy dolls. These were ‘the boys’ that Ingrid was confident would keep her company over the long and solitary winter break, and most of the time, she preferred their company to that of anyone else except Ani. They relaxed her and made her feel comfortable and safe, in a way that real people so rarely did.

She’d started collecting the dolls shortly after her parents had first gotten divorced. Her slightly obnoxious and condescending therapist had told her that what she really needed in her life was something permanent and unchanging, to help counter the stress of the turmoil her parents were putting her through. The therapist had suggested that Ingrid try starting a collection, maybe of theatrical posters, or of autographs signed by local stage stars. Ingrid had quite frankly thought that was a stupid idea, since she didn’t see how a bunch of framed autographs were going to help her feel any less angry about the fact that there wasn’t any such thing as ‘family dinner’ on Thanksgiving anymore.

She’d never seriously considered the therapist’s idea of starting a collection until she’d noticed her very first doll sitting in a plastic box outside someone’s dorm room. Apparently, another one of the Asian-ophiles at the Townsend-Dalke Academy was getting rid of her own ball-jointed doll, and Ingrid had found herself surprisingly drawn to it. She’d never played with dolls that much as a child, and so at first she couldn’t explain why she wanted this doll so much. There was something beautiful and delicate about it, lifelike in a way that no autograph or playbill ever would be.

Later, Ingrid wondered to herself if what she’d really needed during that stressful time had been something that felt like it was more alive, more real than a static autograph or any other kind of inanimate collector’s item. Of course, the doll was only a toy, albeit a incredibly well-made and expensive one, but it could look at her as though it heard her and cared about her, something that no one else but Ani had really seemed to have the time for during most of that unfortunate year.

After that, Ingrid had actually gone online and discovered that Asian ball-jointed dolls were insanely and almost ludicrously expensive. Just one of them without clothes or hair attached actually cost something like six hundred dollars. She probably should have stopped right there and never purchased another one, but before she knew it, she’d used all of her Christmas and birthday money to buy a friend for her first doll. He arrived in the mail, shipped by another doll-lover from Singapore, of all places. Over the next two years, she bought three more, slowly saving as much money as she could, taking babysitting and dish washing jobs around town until she’d finally had enough to get whichever secondhand doll she’d been eyeing on the online auction sites.

She’d started collecting clothes and shoes for them as well, until she now had what was really a very respectable collection.

Ingrid’s five dolls had  names, signature looks, and personalities of their own, of course. After giving it some thought, she’d decided to name them all after famous male characters from Shakespeare, since when she’d first started purchasing them, she’d been in the process of writing an essay on Shakespeare’s famous heroes and villains.

The very first doll she’d ever bought had short, dark brown hair and large, grey-blue eyes. She’d given him a cute little faux-lambskin jacket and a jaunty plaid scarf, and she’d called him Troy, short for Troilus, one of the heroes of Shakespeare’s “Troilus and Cressida.”.

Next, to keep him company, she’d ordered Sebastian, a slim and very elegant looking young man with long red-gold hair and dark brown eyes, named after Viola’s twin from Twelfth Night.

Soon after that, she’d fallen in love with an online photograph of Lysander, a shorter boy with a very innocent look on his wide, green-eyed face. His hair was green and blue tinted, which should have looked strange on a realistic doll, but somehow didn’t. She’d named him after the lover from A Midsummer Night’s dream, even though she didn’t particularly like the character. The name just seemed to fit, somehow.

Just as Ingrid had finished paying for Lysander, she’d found an auction for a doll that she instantly named Florizel, after the young prince from The Winter’s Tale, with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and an attractively silly sort of pouty sculpt to his lips.

Finally, after receiving a very large Christmas check from her father’s doting parents, she’d bought Ferdinand, named after the hero from The Tempest, with fiery red, curly hair and big green eyes, but with a gentle look on his face that somehow made him seem a little older than the others, even though the dolls didn’t really have ages, as far as Ingrid knew.

After purchasing Ferdinand, Ingrid had stopped. Money was getting much tighter now that she was getting more aggressive about her coursework, and had to study all the time. She had also run out of space on her red velveteen cushion, and as no one else was likely to fit on it, her little doll family seemed to her to be exactly the perfect size.

“Hey, guys,” said Ingrid, settling down on her own bed and fishing her laptop out from underneath the covers. “Looks like it’ll be just you and me for Christmas, this year. What do you think, should we do our typical Jewish Christmas? Chinese food and action movies until midnight on the twenty-fourth? That was a lot of fun last year, right?”

The dolls, of course, didn’t say anything. They just didn’t-quite-smile at her, staring up unblinkingly out of their big, beautiful eyes.

“Um, Ingy,” called Ani from the next room, “Could you maybe come give me a hand? My suitcase won’t close, again. It’ll just take a moment! Sorry!”

With an exasperated little sigh, Ingrid slid off her bed, cast one last, quick look at the dolls, and then hurried off to help Ani.

Why, she wondered, did she even open the suitcase again in the first place?

******