The Doll Brokers by Hal Ross

doll.”
    â€œMalice aforethought. You knew you would sign the deal.”
    She met his gaze. “Yes.”
    â€œWell, what if you hadn’t?” he hissed the question at her. “And all these expenses were for naught?”
    â€œThat wasn’t an alternative, Jonathan,” she countered softly.
    He watched her move off and wondered about a woman to whom failure was not an option.
    Brewer began talking effusively to Jonathan, gesturing at the set before them. “We did all this in the last twenty-four hours, from the wood floor up. It’ll take us all day to capture one hour of thirty-five millimeter film. From that, we’ll get a thirty-second commercial.”
    Jonathan scanned the set. To his unpracticed eye, it all seemed professional enough. But Ann had said flat-out that she was taking the cheaper route here. Why? Was she pocketing the difference? That was beneath her, he decided. Too crass.
    He watched her stop and lean against a wall to watch the proceedings. Another man—the director, Jonathan assumed—called for quiet. The grip started the dolly moving along the guide rail at a deliberate speed, carrying the camera and the cameraman toward the action.
    Lisette touched a hand to the doll’s heart and gave the camera a look of bemusement. Jonathan was impressed. The director called for the scene to be shot again.
    And again.
    Every time it happened, the girl’s look of surprise became more wooden. Jonathan could tell that the poor kid was melting. Someone mercifully called for a break and a sandwich cart was rolled out. Jonathan moved over to Ann who seemed preoccupied with her briefcase. “What’s that?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.
    â€œIt’s nothing.” She slammed the lid, nearly taking off his fingers as he reached for it.
    â€œIt’s one of those kids games, isn’t it? The electronic kind that we don’t sell? And if I hadn’t come along, you’d be sitting here, playing with it?” It jived with nothing he knew of her.
    â€œI’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
    He dropped it because he thought of something else. “Are we paying this idiot by the hour?” he asked.
    â€œWhich idiot?” She shook the bottle of Maalox she had removed from her briefcase, held it up, peered into it, shook it again.
    â€œThe one in the dark shirt who seems to be running this show.”
    â€œOh. That idiot. Gene Sullivan. He’s a genius, actually.” Ann found the tablets she was looking for and palmed a handful. She popped them into her mouth as if they were candy and began chewing.
    She closed her eyes briefly and rubbed her waist. She was letting him get to her. And for the life of her, she didn’t know why. Patrick’s barbs usually made her laugh, roll her eyes, dig in. But this was different. She had a very strong urge to take Jonathan by the throat and strangle him.
    Ann looked at Lisette. The child was sitting off in a far corner by herself while everyone else ate. Her eyes were too bright. “Oh, shit.” She left him and went to the girl.
    â€œHey, there,” she said, kneeling in front of her. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œI want my mom.”
    Ann looked over her shoulder for the woman, and found her bearing down on them.
    â€œMommy, I
did
it!” Lisette cried as the woman approached. “I tried!”
    â€œYou didn’t listen to anything that man said! You just took it in your own head to do it your way!” She raised a hand as though to slap the child.
    Ann panicked. “Hold on here!”
    â€œWho are you?” the woman demanded.
    They were fighting words. Ann stood to confront her. “I’m the woman who hired your daughter.”
    â€œOh.” She went flame red. And, like flames, the color crept up from her neck into her cheeks, part anger and part embarrassment. “Well, you talk to her then. Make her see