The other day I posted some background information about the semi-icky setting of my new 1980s novel, Tiffany and Tiger's Eye (
click here to read that post) but I didn't tell you too much about the book itself.
It's back to basics, today:
Tiffany and Tiger's Eye was written by me, Foxglove Lee, and published by Prizm Books.
How many secrets can a family keep?
If there's one thing Rebecca knows, it's how to hide her problems. But
with a rock-and-roll dad who drinks too much and a mom who works day and
night, Rebecca needs a sympathetic ear. That's why she tells her
troubles to Yvette, an antique doll that once belonged to her
grandmother.
In the summer of 1986, after her father's strange disappearance, Rebecca
and her little brother are sent to the cottage with Aunt Libby and
Uncle Flip. Rebecca's relieved to get away from the city, and her relief
grows to bliss when she meets Tiffany, a water-skiing blonde who
dresses like Madonna, makes her own jewelry, and claims to see auras.
But strange things happen when Rebecca spends time with Tiffany. Her
aunt and uncle are convinced she's acting out -- and she'd have good
reason to, considering they obviously know where her father is and won't
say -- but she can't convince them she isn't the one trashing her
bedroom and setting fires. As crazy as it seems, Yvette must be the
culprit.
There's nothing more dangerous than a jealous doll that knows all your secrets...
Excerpt:
I don't know what came over me, but I blurted out, "I got my period!"
Uncle Flip's eyes shot wide open, like I'd just punched him in the
stomach. A blush came over him, starting with his ears and devouring his
face. He squirmed so much I actually felt sorry for him. I sat up
straight on the couch and bit my lip, wishing I could take the words
back.
"Is it the first... the first... time?" my uncle stammered.
I looked away and lied. "Yes."
"Oh." He swallowed hard. "So, you don't have any... any..." He lowered his voice and said, "Supplies?"
I shook my head. I couldn't look at him. When I needed pads at home, I
took them from the cupboard in my mother's bathroom and hoped she
wouldn't notice. Any time I was babysitting, I'd sneak off to the
bathroom and take just a few. It was easy to hide things down the front
of my overalls. Overalls concealed all sins.
Uncle Flip rose stiffly from the couch, disappearing into the bedroom he
shared with Aunt Libby. He was in there so long that I got up to check
on him. I felt like I was floating as I stuck my head beyond the door.
We never went into Aunt Libby and Uncle Flip's bedroom.
The curtains were closed, and the light was off. Even in the relative
darkness, I could see how cramped it was. They had a double bed in the
middle, flanked by long dressers pushed up against the walls.
But the furniture had nothing on the décor. Somebody had installed
shelves along all the walls, and they were packed to the gills with...
dolls!
My heart thundered as I stepped inside. I felt like I shouldn't be
there, like I was walking on hallowed ground. Aunt Libby wouldn't like
it. I could feel her presence like a ghost just over my shoulder. There
were porcelain babies, girls in ostentatious dresses, and little women
with sun umbrellas. I'd never been a doll person, but they were
obviously antiques. They must have been worth a fortune.
"Your grandmother collected those," Uncle Flip told me. He was standing
in the corner, holding a box of maxi pads. The packaging was cardboard,
not plastic, and it looked almost as old as me. "Your aunt..." He bowed
his head and the box rattled in his hands. "God, I wish Libby was
here..."
"It's okay," I said, wanting to comfort him.
"Do you know how to use these things?"
"Yeah." There was very little floor space in the cottage bedrooms, but I
wedged myself inside and took the box from him, clutching it to my
chest. "Don't worry. I'll figure it out."
Uncle Flip nodded and shot me a brief smile. "You're a smart girl."
I wanted to run away, but the dolls had a hold on me. I could feel their
eyes burning into the bare flesh beyond my T-shirt. My armpits poured
out sweat despite the deodorant I'd only just started using. I'd shaved
the week before, even though my mother insisted I should wait until I
turned sixteen. The regrowth pricked me terribly.
"Why don't you take one of these guys?" my uncle asked, reaching up and
grabbing a doll. His big hand made her body look so small.
"Take one? Why?"
"Well, I thought... Doesn't a girl usually get a present when she has... has her first..."
"Yeah, and a party." I felt bad for laughing, but I couldn't help it. "And a pony!"
Uncle Flip's ears glowed red, but he laughed too.
My uncle and I both looked at the doll he'd chosen for me. She wasn't a
baby doll or a little girl, but she didn't look like an adult woman,
either. Somewhere in between, just like me. Uncle Flip brushed a stray
orange ringlet from her porcelain forehead. I was no doll expert, but
just by looking around the room I could tell redheaded dolls weren't all
that common. He was giving me something special, and I think he knew
that.
"Won't Aunt Libby be mad?"
"Nah." Uncle Flip ran the back of his hand down the front of his
moustache. "These dolls scare the hell out of your aunt... oh, sorry,
scare the heck out of her."
I smiled at how careful my family was about swearing. We rarely said bad
words out loud, not even the minor ones like hell and damn.
"If they scare her, why does she keep them?"
"Because they belonged to her mother," my uncle said, and I understood
well enough that I didn't ask any follow-up questions. "I'm going to
check on your brother, see what that little monster's up to. You sure
you're okay?"
When he left the cottage, I lingered in my aunt and uncle's bedroom. It
still felt out of bounds. I looked up at the shelves of blonde dolls
with parasols or teddy bears sewn under their arms. Their prettiness
overwhelmed me, and I cast my gaze down over the one doll that was mine.
With her pouting crimson lips, huge green eyes, and thick black lashes,
she was beautiful in a way that enchanted and perplexed me. I put my box
of maxi pads down on the bed and held my doll with both hands. Her
dress had a country flavor -- tiny rust-colored flowers on a cream
background, rosettes up the front of her chest, and lace around her
neck. Over the dress, she had on a half-apron in less-than-pristine
white.
She looked at me so inquisitively I was convinced she had a mind beyond those deep, dark eyes.
"What should I call you, dollface?"
Like a flash, the name Yvette streaked through me. I could have sworn
that I heard it out loud, with a hint of a French accent, like the doll
had spoken to me.
Of course, I was being silly. My mother always said I let my imagination get the better of me. She was right.
Even so, I lifted the doll to my face and rubbed her cool porcelain nose
against mine. Closing my eyes, I kissed her little lips.
