seeing the exterior of the Dalton, lit up like a birthday cake in the night, its entrance portico aswarm with elegantly clad officialdom. The camera blinked and returned to her.
‘What’s here that’s so amusing?’ Leyna addressed her audience as if eye to eye with it over plump pillows on her bed. ‘An exhibition of dollhouses,’ she confided.
A new eye, another camera, high in the upper stori
6
7
The wardrobe was one of those relentlessly well-ma
11
13
14
15
A new eye, another camera, high in the upper stories of the hall, scanned the hall, taking the coiffed, gowned, tuxedoed, and tailored embodiment of democracy, making merry among villages of dollhouses. Leyna’s voice, light and a little throaty, continued. The camera found her again, as if by accident, a beautiful woman in a slim floor-length dress of faintly shimmering navy blue, separated from the glittering assemblage only by the fact of a microphone, instead of a champagne glass, in her hand.
‘Dollhouses,’ she repeated. ‘The miniature houses range from goose eggs lined with foil and furnished with paperclip dolls and bead furniture to Victorian cabinet dollhouses to mass-produced plastic and tin cottages to extravagant adult toys worth thousands of dollars.’ The minicam’s eye flitted from one to another of the dollhouses as she spoke and managed as it roved to illustrate her speech, and catch, casually, here a senator or a senator’s lady, there the briefest glimpse of the president, his mother on his arm, here a high court justice, a ‘cabinet officer, a grizzled congresswoman, there a trio of prepubescent girls, turned out in crystal pleats and ivory combs, giggling behind fans.
‘But the star of the show is this dollhouse.’ Leyna paused to let the minicam frame the Doll’s White House. ‘Naturally enough. This is Washington, D.C., after all. This is Dorothy Hardesty Douglas’s Doll’s White House, a remarkable replica of the Executive Mansion.’
Now in the camera’s vision, there was another person, a small, delicate platinum-haired woman wrapped in gauzy silver.
‘Is it true that when you were first given this dollhouse, you didn’t like it?’ Leyna asked.
‘Not exactly, “didn’t like.” I thought I was too old for it. Now I suspect I was too young.’ Dolly mocked herself lightly.
‘You feel differently now?’
‘Oh, yes. When I rediscovered it among my father’s effects, after his death, I fell in love with it. I determined to make it an ideal White House.’
‘An ideal White House?’ Leyna probed. ‘It isn’t an exact replica of the White House?’
‘Not as it is now or as it ever existed. The real White House always seems to be in a state of flux. The obvious anomalies,’ here Dolly’s small square hands flew in delicate gestures over the surprising bulk of the dollhouse, ‘the lack of wings, which contain executive offices and aren’t very interesting, really, and the absence of the underground stories where the present household offices are housed. Essentially this little White House contains the historic public rooms and the private quarters, much as they existed in the nineteenth century.’
‘And you’ve decorated it?’
‘The prevailing decoration is after Jacqueline Kennedy, modified by my own personal tastes, particularly in the private quarters. She grasped the historic function of the White House very nicely and had excellent taste. Really, though, this White House is the White House I would have, if I lived there.’
Leyna looked straight into the camera again. ‘Leyna Shaw from the Dalton Institute in Washington, D.C.,’ she cast a brief, amused look at the Doll’s White House, ‘taking a look at Dolly’s White House.’
The red light on the camera went black and stayed that way. Leyna smiled coolly at Dolly, who stood unmoving, her face a sudden mask. Dolly’s head moved stiffly up and back, like a snake bearing its fangs. Her eyes were wide and shocked. She turned on her
‘What’s here that’s so amusing?’ Leyna addressed her audience as if eye to eye with it over plump pillows on her bed. ‘An exhibition of dollhouses,’ she confided.
A new eye, another camera, high in the upper stori
6
7
The wardrobe was one of those relentlessly well-ma
11
13
14
15
A new eye, another camera, high in the upper stories of the hall, scanned the hall, taking the coiffed, gowned, tuxedoed, and tailored embodiment of democracy, making merry among villages of dollhouses. Leyna’s voice, light and a little throaty, continued. The camera found her again, as if by accident, a beautiful woman in a slim floor-length dress of faintly shimmering navy blue, separated from the glittering assemblage only by the fact of a microphone, instead of a champagne glass, in her hand.
‘Dollhouses,’ she repeated. ‘The miniature houses range from goose eggs lined with foil and furnished with paperclip dolls and bead furniture to Victorian cabinet dollhouses to mass-produced plastic and tin cottages to extravagant adult toys worth thousands of dollars.’ The minicam’s eye flitted from one to another of the dollhouses as she spoke and managed as it roved to illustrate her speech, and catch, casually, here a senator or a senator’s lady, there the briefest glimpse of the president, his mother on his arm, here a high court justice, a ‘cabinet officer, a grizzled congresswoman, there a trio of prepubescent girls, turned out in crystal pleats and ivory combs, giggling behind fans.
‘But the star of the show is this dollhouse.’ Leyna paused to let the minicam frame the Doll’s White House. ‘Naturally enough. This is Washington, D.C., after all. This is Dorothy Hardesty Douglas’s Doll’s White House, a remarkable replica of the Executive Mansion.’
Now in the camera’s vision, there was another person, a small, delicate platinum-haired woman wrapped in gauzy silver.
‘Is it true that when you were first given this dollhouse, you didn’t like it?’ Leyna asked.
‘Not exactly, “didn’t like.” I thought I was too old for it. Now I suspect I was too young.’ Dolly mocked herself lightly.
‘You feel differently now?’
‘Oh, yes. When I rediscovered it among my father’s effects, after his death, I fell in love with it. I determined to make it an ideal White House.’
‘An ideal White House?’ Leyna probed. ‘It isn’t an exact replica of the White House?’
‘Not as it is now or as it ever existed. The real White House always seems to be in a state of flux. The obvious anomalies,’ here Dolly’s small square hands flew in delicate gestures over the surprising bulk of the dollhouse, ‘the lack of wings, which contain executive offices and aren’t very interesting, really, and the absence of the underground stories where the present household offices are housed. Essentially this little White House contains the historic public rooms and the private quarters, much as they existed in the nineteenth century.’
‘And you’ve decorated it?’
‘The prevailing decoration is after Jacqueline Kennedy, modified by my own personal tastes, particularly in the private quarters. She grasped the historic function of the White House very nicely and had excellent taste. Really, though, this White House is the White House I would have, if I lived there.’
Leyna looked straight into the camera again. ‘Leyna Shaw from the Dalton Institute in Washington, D.C.,’ she cast a brief, amused look at the Doll’s White House, ‘taking a look at Dolly’s White House.’
The red light on the camera went black and stayed that way. Leyna smiled coolly at Dolly, who stood unmoving, her face a sudden mask. Dolly’s head moved stiffly up and back, like a snake bearing its fangs. Her eyes were wide and shocked. She turned on her
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