Suzy Fudge...
A short story about a little doll that ruined the life of a renowned toy designer...Based on a true story I made up.
Suzy Fudge
Gil McDell slouched behind the long wooden expanse of his boardroom table. His elbows rested on the tabletop. His hands cradled his head with his palms pressed against his eyes, trying to equal the pressure pressing outward from inside his skull. Pushing his hands upward, he allowed them to run through his damp, tangled, brown hair. In the highly polished surface of the table, his reflection
stared back at him. He could see that his once pristine, white collared shirt was now rumpled and damp with perspiration. On one side, the collar stuck outward like a wounded bird's wing. His tie had been loosened; the knot pulled to the right, causing its silk tail to hang from his neck at an awkward angle.
A five o'clock shadow darkened his usually clean visage, and emphasised the dark circles that ringed both of his eyes. Gil leaned back in his chair and allowed his arms to fall to his side, exhaling slowly a sigh of discontent. Rising, he wandered to his bookshelf and picked up one of the two trophies resting there. Toy designer of the year 1999 and again in 2000. It was the second award, and the support of his loving wife, that had convinced him to go independent.
In 2001 he had received a small business start-up grant from the Canadian Government. With the grant money and all of his family's acquired wealth, Gil had opened FunPlay Inc. He had rented a fourth floor suite in the Montreal downtown core, had hired a personal administrative assistant, Sally, and had purchased heavy oak furniture to equip his three-room office.
Replacing the trophy, Gil flopped back into his chair and pulled his hands over his eyes once more. With his eyes covered, he listened to the sounds around him. He could hear the tick-tock of the pendulum driven oak clock on the wall to his left.
"I wonder what time it is?" he said aloud to himself.
He knew it must have been nearing five o'clock. His four-thirty, Mrs. Wilson and her seven year-old daughter Jennifer, had left only a few minutes before. As they had stood to leave Gil had chanced a glance at the clock.
"I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get out of here Mr. McDell! You've got several more people in your waiting room who aren't going anywhere until they've had their chance to speak with you," Mrs. Wilson said.
With a final angry glare, she grasped her daughter's hand and stormed out, slamming the boardroom door behind her.
Gil placed his hands, palms downward, on the chair's cushioned armrests and stared at the small doll seated in the centre of the large wooden table. The doll stared back with her long-lashed, unblinking, plastic eyes, the corners of her plastic lips curved upwards in an evil, little smile.
A large crystal pitcher of iced water and two water goblets rested on a silver platter on the corner of the table. Condensation ran down the side of the pitcher and puddled at its base.
"Like so many tears…what's worse, the anger or the tears?" he mumbled.
Gil spun his chair around so that he could look out the large floor to ceiling windows behind him. The windows, really, had been the selling point of the office. He thought back to the first time he had brought his wife to the office of FunPlay Inc.
"Oh, Gil! These windows are fantastic, honey."
"Ya, they're the same in all the rooms. I was thinking about having those electronic Venetian blinds installed. You know, the kind on remote control."
"The sky is so blue, and there's nothing to block it out. I have a good feeling about this. Everything is going to work out just fine"
Today the sky was grey. Even the old architecture of the downtown buildings that usually appeared so beautiful, looked sad and dilapidated, mirroring Gil's mood. His head throbbed an angry beat, like war drums calling his foes to battle. And they had answered the call, arriving in packs since the release of the Suzy Fudge prototypes just a week before.
He stood and walked over to the oak coat rack that was tucked discreetly into the corner of the room by the door. As he approached the door, from the other side he could hear angry voices of customers waiting for their chance to air their complaints. The heavy door muffled the voices, but he knew what they were saying. Everyone hated Suzy Fudge.
He rummaged through the pockets of his jacket searching for an aspirin and located a bottle of Tylenol in the inside breast pocket. Returning to the table, he flopped into his chair and unscrewed the bottle top. After removing the cotton packing, Gil shook two of the round, white tablets into his hand, then quickly popped the pills into his mouth. They were difficult to swallow, scraping and scratching their way down his parched throat.
Gil poured himself a glass of water from the crystal pitcher and drank deeply, speeding the Tylenol along their way to his stomach. Then, he sat back and waited for the pills to take affect. His gaze fell once again upon the little plastic figure that rested so peacefully in the centre of the boardroom table. He watched her, watching him and thought back to the day when he had first dreamt up Suzy Fudge.
"Hi, sweetie. How was your day?"
"How was my day…Gloria? How was my…how do you think my day went?" He had said with mock severity.
His wife had flinched at the anger in his voice and had immediately returned to chopping her vegetables. He had slammed his briefcase down on the kitchen table and sat down heavily in his usual chair. He sat for a moment just watching his wife.
Most of the start up money and all of their nest egg had been spent on the initial expenses of the business. Then, nothing. He had had few ideas, but even those that he did entertain were quickly rejected. The creative block Gil had been experiencing caused a considerable strain on their relationship and finances, but that day, everything changed.
"Listen, honey…things went…great! Our problems are solved!"
"What? You mean it Gil? What…tell me what happened," she had dropped her knife on the cutting board and ran over to sit in the chair opposite to his.
"Well, her name is Suzy Fudge…"
"Suzy Fudge, great name…"
"Ya, she's kind of a combination of doll and easy bake oven. You know, those little ovens that bake cookies and cakes using a light bulb. Well that's Suzy Fudge. You feed her this raw dough and twenty minutes later you've got yourself a tasty treat."
Now the little doll sat before him, no longer an imagined dream, but a reality nightmare. Gil plucked Suzy from her tabletop perch and examined her closely. She was constructed well. Her movable parts would not come loose, and the small light bulb driven oven was well insulated, ensuring that a child could never be burned. And, most importantly, the fudge was delicious.
Placing her back on the table in a seated position, Gil drew forth, from within Suzy's purse, the package of Suzy Dough and her small plastic spoon. Squeezing the doll's neck to part her plastic lips Gil filled the doll's mouth with heaping spoonfuls of dough. Then he flicked the switch in Suzy Fudge's lower back to activate the cooking bulb located in her stomach.
The intercom on the table buzzed, followed by Sally's voice. "Are you ready for your five o'clock Mr. McDell?"
Gil could hear the strain in her voice. She was the one that had to sit and listen to angry voices all day. She was the one who tried
to placate FunPlay's customers all at once, while Gil hid in his oak sanctuary, permitting only one family to enter at a time.
"Yes, Sally…send them in," he said while pushing Suzy back to her place in the middle of the table.
The oak door creaked open and a small boy of about four years old, shyly entered into the room, followed closely behind by a woman pushing a baby stroller. Gil could see the pink flesh of a child peeking out from the blankets within the stroller.
"Hold the door for mommy, Steven," she said to the boy.The child waited for his mother to pass before slamming the door shut.
"Mr McDell?"
"Yes Mrs...?"
"Mrs. Turner, Mr. McDell. My name is Mrs. Karen Turner. This is my son, Steven," she said indicating the small boy who was now curiously exploring the boardroom. "And this, is Elizabeth," this time nodding towards the stroller.
"Suzy Fudge!" Steven cried as he spotted the doll sitting in the centre of the table. He raced to one of the many oak chairs scattered about and began to clamber upwards towards his prize.
"Get down, Steven!" Mrs. Turner cried, "Get down and come over here…right now!"
The child scowled, pushed the chair back, then stomped towards his mother, his little arms folded across his chest. Upon reaching the place his mother had indicated, Steven collapsed to sit cross-legged on the floor. His little eyebrows formed a 'V', from beneath which he glared at his mother.
"I'm hungry…" the boy yelled, "I want to eat poopie!"
With those words, he began to cry, rubbing at his eyes with his pudgy little fists. He stood, walked to corner and hid behind the coat rack.
Mrs. Turner watched as her son retreated, then turned on Gil. Her face was contorted with rage. When she spoke, her voice was a growl.
"Did you hear my son? Did you hear what he said?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Turner, I've nothing to eat in…"
"What? What the hell is the matter with you? He said he wants to eat poopie…" the rage gave way to tears, and then to racking sobs. "My son wants to eat crap…"
Gil sat patiently and waited for both mother and son's wailing to subside.
On March 10, 2002 the first Suzy Fudge prototype had rolled off the line, as had the first package of Suzy Fudge Dough. Desperate for cash, Gil begged a friend, a plastic injection mould designer, to produce the required mould, promising him a ten percent cut of all sales from the first year.
Finally, exhausting what remained of his company's liquid assets, Gil was able to produce one hundred beta versions of Suzy Fudge. Unpackaged, the dolls were sent to Sahara Advertising, a small advertising company that distributed the dolls to selected homes for
evaluation. After a month of play, the homeowners were to submit their reports directly to FunPlay Inc. Based on this study, Gil would mass-produce the first of FunPlay's products. The study had not actually run to its scheduled length. Parents had begun calling his office only three days after the initial release.
Finally, Mrs. Turner's sobbing lessened; "I signed up for that Sahara family demo program, thinking that my son would be the envy of all the other children. I thought he would have all the newest toys before they hit the market…
Do you know, Mr. McDell that I tried one of the brownies. My son brought it to me an hour after Suzy arrived. I don't even know how he figured out how to use that thing, but he did. In fact, he played with it until he was out of dough, and then…I caught him licking at…licking at…licking the doll."
Gil watched the woman's transformation from sadness back to rage. Karen choked back her anger and continued. "I took the doll away, and sent him outside. You know what he did then? He ate dog crap…Mr. McDell, my son ate dog crap from off the neighbour's lawn…"
She stood quietly for a moment, glaring at Gil who had buried his face in his hands in an attempt to hide from her onslaught.
"I can't imagine anything worse, than watching your son eat crap!" she finally spat.
Her anger spent, Karen flopped into one of the oaken chairs surrounding the boardroom table and began to sob once more.
The smell of cooking brownie permeated the room. Gil let his mind wander, his troubles lost in the aroma, and for a brief moment toyed with the idea of adding peanuts or walnuts to the dough.
"Uuuuhhhh, here comes the fudge." Suzy grunted and filled her dolly diaper full of fudge. The doll was equipped with a voice synthesiser, which would randomly cry out, "I'm so hungry!" Once the
fudge has passed, Suzy waits one more minute, allowing the fudge to cool, before finally crying, "Eat my poopie…hee hee…"
Silence reigned for only a few seconds following Suzy's announcement, in that time even the clock seemed to stop ticking.
"It's okay, mommy…" came Steven's small voice. He had left his hiding place behind the coat rack and shuffled forward to stand near his mother, his pants around his ankles. "Here, I made some poopie fudge for you, just like Suzy…" he said holding forth his soiled fingers proudly.
| Posted by BubbaFred on January 7, 2004 with category tags of Weblog |
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Written by BubbaFred
| Brian |
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| Something free is better than something good.[quote database] |
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