Free Bury Me With Barbie by Wyborn Senna

orange silk muumuu and too much perfume. Her lips were painted orange to match her tangerine fingernails.
    Despite being off the beauty scale, she had a firm handshake and a beguiling smile. There was no question she could sell Cubic Zirconia to a fine gems expert. Caresse took an instant liking to her but nevertheless wanted to assess her knowledge. She waited patiently while a woman in gray sold Monya some cut glass her grandmother had left her. Monya gave the lady half the resale value in cash, and the woman left the shop, arms empty, smiling at Caresse as she passed by.
    Chaz had discovered an open box of old wooden trains and track pieces in the corner of the shop, where a bit of space had been allotted for set-up and play, so he was fully occupied. Caresse approached the main counter while rearranging her bra strap so it was once again hidden by the loose neckline on her beige shirt.
    She came right out with it. “Got any old Barbies?”
    A skinny guy with jet-black hair and
Blues Brothers
shades skulked in from the back room and caught Monya’s eye. He pointed to the staircase. She nodded slightly and he slunk away, up the stairs and out of sight.
    “Barbies,” Monya murmured as she walked over to a curio cabinet and took a doll down from a high glass shelf. She walked back over to Caresse and put the doll on the counter. “How can you not fall in love?” she asked.
    The doll presented to her wore an elaborate red-sequined gown, a lavish cape, and a heart-shaped headpiece with a red feather sprouting from it.
    Chaz approached the counter, holding one of the small wooden trains from the box.
    “That’s a Barbie?” he asked.
    “The Queen of Hearts by Bob Mackie,” Monya replied. “A very expensive, highly-collectible Barbie.”
    Caresse studied the creation. She was impressive. The doll’s dress was sparkly, and the reflection from the sequins caught in the mirrored items throughout the shop and bounced off the overhead lighting.
    Chaz beamed at Monya. “I like your hair.”
    “Why, thank you!”
    “It reminds me of fire.”
    The kid in the dark glasses slipped back down the stairs, nodded to Monya once, and left.
    Monya smiled benignly. “He always steps in to check my records.”
    Caresse was surprised. “He’s an accountant?”
    Monya frowned. “Records. LPs.”
    Caresse hunkered on the edge of a chair dressed in dusty tapestry upholstery depicting hunters on horseback.
    Chaz peered into one of Monya’s glass cases. “Hey, Mom, your magazines.”
    He pointed at a vintage stack of
Barbie International
issues from the late eighties.
    Monya looked where Chaz was pointing.
    “
Your
magazines?” Her curiosity was piqued.
    “I write for
Barbie International
.”
    “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Like the Wizard of Oz emerging from behind the curtain, Monya came around the counter and took an upholstered chair near the one Caresse occupied. She immediately launched into a story.
    “Once upon a time, back in the mid-’80s before Barbie turned thirty, a little-known woman who worked for the American Cancer Society decided a monthly Barbie magazine would sell to baby boomers who treasured Barbies. The woman put together a now-archaic desktop publishing system, found a printer, learned everything she could about distribution, and was soon clearing $20,000 profit each month from sales of
Barbie Digest
.
    “At the time, Sierra Walsh, the future creator of
Barbie International
, was already known on the Barbie circuit as a real go-getter. She had majored in journalism and thought she should write about Barbie, combining two loves. She wrote to Sophie, the woman who launched the first Barbie magazine, and started contributing articles to her publication. But soon, Sierra had more plentiful and better ideas than Sophie. And she was in Southern California where Mattel was, while Sophie was stuck on the East coast.
    “Everyone told Sierra she should give Sophie a run for her money. When Sierra got