Dancing With Mannequins

         For thirty-five years Frederick Guntherson worked from sunrise to sunset as a security guard for Life-Like Mannequins main headquarters in Clarksville, Virginia. In his porta-potty sized office near the front gate is where he could be found at any time of the day, with his feet propped up on his oak desk and a Playboy resting half-opened on his hard-earned beer belly. Don't be fooled by the badge, for not once has Frederick had to reach for that gun or fondle that night stick. Besides, it's hard to take any man seriously when he's wearing a cappuccino colored uniform with a patch that reads "Life-Like and Style-Savvy" in pink and purple stitching. Frederick's security guard duties consisted merely of hours observing the miniature wall of black and white Sony televisions sharing the office with him that portrayed the eyes of the surveillance cameras, and the use of his index finger was occasionally needed to push a button for the gate to swing open every time another truck filled with body parts and fake hair approached. The only action he'd get was the rare occurance of the alarm being tripped by a pair of racoons, where one might catch a glimpse of Frederick's feet moving in a somewhat quick fashion.

         He'd punch out at midnight and drive to his two bedroom apartment where his kids would be tucked in and his wife would await him with night gown and champagne in a Stepford Wife fashion. Every morning she'd be in the kitchen wearing pearls and flashing pearly whites, and his kids would be sitting at the table bright eyed and smiling, eyes fixated on their true hero by the name of Daddy. With his tie loose and his shirt untucked, Frederick would have a donut or two and head out the door, embarking on another adventure of minor league law enforcement. Midnight would come back around and the champagne would flow once more, followed by well behaved mornings with his kids singing Daddy praises. For the low pay and lack of home ownership, Frederick had the life.

         "Come to bed sweetheart," a voice called from the bedroom. He approaced with his usual strut as he kicked his shoes off and loosened the tie. Her slender silhouette was in the usual position on the king size bed that took up the majority of the room as the television occasionally illuminated her painted face. "How was your day honey," Frederick asked as he sat down on the crimson sea of sheets and rose pedals. He wasn't really expecting an answer as he turned her toward him without hesitation and embraced her in his arms like it was the honeymoon once again. Pillows were tossed and his night stick was fondled. Frederick was pleased and went into the living room to watch some Leno.

         "Morning Daddy!" sang a duo of cheerful brightness in a brain-washed fashion as he entered the kitchen the next morning. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and Frederick was thrown off guard as this was definitley unplanned and unheard of. He answered with caution, forgetting that his family was waiting behind him.

         "Guss Buchanan, nice to meet ya I just moved in next door," said the stranger on the welcome mat, peering over Frederick's shoulder as if planning to invite himself in. Frederick got a hold of himself and quickly shut the door behind him. "Oh, this is so unexpected. I'd invite you in but I haven't cleaned in months, I'd be quite embarassed. Well, it was nice meeting you Guss, I'll see ya around," Frederick mumbled in the fastest way possible, reaching for the door knob as Guss opened his mouth once again.

"That's a nice mannequin collection you got in there, very life-like."