It had been his idea from the beginning. I had been walking home from school. My mind lost in daydream as usual. I left the main road and turned onto Maiden Lane.

My neighbor John was raking the leaves in his front yard. He greeted me with a hearty hello and inquired about my day. John was 26. He lived in a small house back from the road. Nobody in town quite knew what John did. My parents thought he was a deadbeat. My dentist thought he was a criminal. My classmates called him a criminal. I called him my friend. I knew little about him save his intelligence. John never treated me like a kid. He would talk with me about literature, music, and art. He valued my opinions.

“How was your day?” he inquired.

“Ok, I guess. Math was mind-numbing, gym embarrassing, and Physics infuriating.”

“And Theater?”

“Theater was good. I worked more on my monologue. It’s coming along but it doesn’t feel interesting enough. Auditions are in a few weeks and I really have to find something exciting. I’m tired of getting bit parts and walk-ons.”

John paused his yard cleaning and stood erect leaning upon the rake.

“Come on inside. I have a bunch of old monologue books from my university days. We’ll find you something.”

Upon entering the house, John went to the kitchen to make tea and I phoned my parents to tell them I would be late. I always loved John’s house. It was an eclectic collection of paintings, idols, furniture and other objects that fed my fertile imagination. Some days he would tell me tales the story which adorned each object. He would tell me how he bought a statue of Krishna from a sari draped courtesan in Bombay. Or the days he spent with the magician Orpheus Maximillian in Budapest. I would sip green tea spellbound by all of John’s exotic travels. I was enthralled and envious at the same time. John emerged from the kitchen with a bamboo tray upon which was a steaming clay teapot and two small cups. I sat cross legged at the low tea table. John pulled two slivers out of his overflowing bookcase and joined me at the table.

After an hour of fruitless searching, I was leaning against the couch resigning myself to another Tennessee Williams monologue. John was still searching diligently. Feeling warm and buzzing softly from the strong Taiwanese tea I studied the Chinese scroll painting hanging above the desk. I was pondering the craggy mountains and cascading waterfalls when John rose beaming.

“I think I may have found it”

“Really?” I answered excitedly.

“Have you ever heard of Jean Genet?”

I tried to look as if I had, but John wasn’t buying it.

“He was a French writer who lived 50 years ago. His world is a macabre cabaret of fantasy and wish-fulfillment.” It’s dark and dreamlike and passionate. It sounds a little like someone I know.”

I blushed slightly and spoke quickly to cover my embarrassment.

“It sounds interesting. What’s it called?”

“The Maids.”

“The Maids?”

“The Maids.”

“It’s a play for girls?”

John seated himself next to me and held the text out for me to examine.

“The Characters are women, that much is true. The world of Genet isn’t quite so simple though. He bends reality and dream. Nothing is ever very much what it seems. The Maids has been done countless times with an all female cast, but the most honest productions have featured men. In this very play allowed me entrance into the Harvard Drama School.”

“You went to Harvard?”

“Yes. Don’t interrupt.”

I sat back sheepishly. One thing was certain, John never ceased to amaze me.

“I would be more than happy to work with you. Read it over tonight and let me know. If you don’t feel up to it. I’ll try to find something less demanding.”

I bade John farewell and wandered down the lane toward home. I hadn’t read the text but I thought the entire idea was very silly. I was on the verge of dismissing it when John’s parting words came flooding back to me. Would I really disappoint John if I didn’t do this? Would he think me less of an actor? Less of a sophisticate? I decided I would at least read it and give the story a chance.

Chapter 2

I sat at dinner listening to my parent’s endless questions. They badgered me about college and the upcoming prom. My mother barely allowed a response before moving onto the next question. University was less than a year away. I couldn’t wait. After dinner I wandered up to my room turned on Morrissey and took John’s book into my hands. I read it straight through to get the feel of it. It was well written and entertaining, but I couldn’t imagine how I was supposed to play it. I read it through another time, playing close attention to the characters. I still didn’t get it. How could John think I could do this? I don’t have any problems with playing a girl’s part. Truthfully, I’ve never really thought about it. It wasn’t an ego thing. I just couldn’t wrap my head around this play. It was really, really weird. After another reading I decided that I couldn’t do it on my own. The next day I would ask John for help.

School was uneventful. Seriously now, when is school ever eventful? After the three o’clock bell I made my way to John’s. When I arrived, John was at the doorstep shaking hands with a tall man in a dark suit. They seemed to know each other quite well. When John caught sight of me he waved me over and introduced us.

“M______, this is Mr. Evans. He and I are opening a lounge downtown.”

He greeted me warmly and then bade us farewell. We then went inside and John made tea.

“So, how was school today?”

“Uh, ok, nothing too crazy.”

“Find a date for the Prom yet?

“Um, no. I haven’t really been looking. I don’t care if I go or not. Besides, I can’t really afford it.”

“You really should go.” It is one of the formative experiences of youth.”

“You sound like my mother,” I shot back, somewhat more harshly than I intended.

“I don’t mean to do so,” John consoled, “I only want you to be happy. It is easy to convince ourselves that we don’t need something, or that we are intellectually more mature than others. Don’t allow yourself to feel that way. There is a word for it, it has gone rather out of favor as of late. Vainglorious is it?. Yes, that’s the one. Treasure your childhood and your experiences. You will never have your youth again.”

We sipped our tea quietly as I thought about what John had said. As usual, he was right. He had the uncanny ability to see straight into my soul and find the proper words to soothe my wounded pride.

“Did you get a chance to read the play?” John started, setting down his tea cup.

“Yes, I did. It had me um, well, a little confused.”

“Confused? In what way?

“Well, I enjoyed the play and Genet’s biting satire on the class system.”

I had lied about that last part. Truth be told, I had no idea what Genet was trying to say. It all seemed silly to me. I think John could tell. He let out an inquisitive “Hmmm” after I finished.

“I really don’t know how you think I could play it. Or how I could play it at all. I mean they are rather outrageous characters and well, I just don’t think I could.”

“Nonsense. Let me see you perform this monologue.”

He handed me the book held open to a particular page. The scene was of Solange, the elder of the two maids and sister to Claire, the younger. Throughout the play Solange and Claire engage in role-play mocking of their mistress as well as others whom they run into. It all seemed like fluff to me, but this speech of Solange’s was pretty cool. She was wild and explosive. She changed direction in a split second and the whole thing was a hysterical roller-coaster ride. At least that was the way I saw it. A skilled actress could do it so very well. But, I was an unskilled actor.

“Ok, John. From here? From where it says, Madame?”

“Yes, that’s the place. Take a few minutes and begin when you are ready.”

I turned away from him and started my relaxation exercises. I imagined that he was going to ask me to perform, and I had given it some thought. I thought about Rupaul, and Pricilla Queen of the Desert. I thought about the various drag queens I had seen in the movies and on tv. I tried to imitate them during my reading. Holding the book before me I mustered up a campy falsetto and dove into the scene.

The first thing I noticed, after the scene ended, was the silence. John said nothing. He just sorta drifted off in thought. Without saying a word he rose and went over to his bookcase. He pulled out an old, green, cloth bound book and brought it over to me.

“I want you to take this home and study it. Read it again and again. I have to run and meet Mr. Evans now. I’m going to be very busy over the next week fixing up the lounge. Study that book and we’ll get together again next week.”
I looked at the title of the book, “Maidcraft,” by Lita Price and Harriet Bonnet.

“Look, John I really appreciate your help. I mean that, but if it was that awful we should just find another play. I really don’t think I can do this.”

I was disappointed and crestfallen with his reaction, but I tried my best not to show it.
He must have noticed, for he took me by the shoulders and looked me straight in the eye.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be great. You just need to feel the character from in there.”

He pointed to my heart.

“What you did wasn’t awful or anything. It just didn’t capture the soul of Solange.” You were doing a caricature of a maid. You need to understand what a maid is. Study the book it was written in the 30’s as an instruction book for training a maid. It will help you understand the relationship between a maid and the Mistress.”

“Really John, I appreciate it, but let’s find something else. I can always do “The Glass Menagerie.”

He took me a little more firmly by the shoulders. Not in a mean way, only to intensify his reply.

“Listen, M____, you are attending NYU in the fall. I know you want to get into the drama school. They have seen thousands of Jim O’Connors and thousands of Stanley Kowalskis. You need to stand out to them. You need to prove that you can find the heart of a role, any role. If you can do this, you can do anything.”

He was right. I knew he was right. Dammit he was always right.

“Ok, John. I’ll study the book.”

“I always knew there was something special about you. You will make it. I can feel it.”

John grabbed his coat and we walked to the door. We said goodbye and I watched him drive down the street. I looked down at the book and back up at the car fading in the distance. Feeling a little more confident I put the book in my backpack and turned toward home.

Chapter 4

After the weirdness of the week I was ready to see John again. In addition to working on the monologue, I had a lot to tell him. I had read the book he gave me. I even tried to practice some of what the book talked about. I set the table for my mother. I even did my own laundry; Mom was amazed by that. All in all I couldn’t figure out how it would help me.
When I arrived at John’s he wasn’t at home. Assuming he would be back shortly, I sat myself down on the stoop and read more of Maidcraft. I didn’t have to wait long. John had been downtown working on the lounge. He must have been doing construction because he was covered in sweat and dust.

“Hey. How are you doing today?”

“I’m fine, “ I responded eagerly. “How are things down at the lounge?”

“Oh, they’re coming along nicely. We open next month.”

“That’s great. When I’m 21 I will have to check it out.”

“Well, we’ll see about getting you in before then. Now, how’s the scene coming along?”

We went inside and into the kitchen. John took a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat down at the table.

“I’ve been reading it a lot. I think I have a little more insight into Solange. I read the book you gave me. I think it helped.”

John leaned forward over the table and smiled softly.

“Show Me.”

“What do you mean?” I responded somewhat puzzled.

“I would like you to set my place for a formal dinner.”

“Oh, ok, no problem.”

I confidently strode to various cabinets and drawers. I pulled out all the necessary dishes, silverware and glasses and placed them in their correct place on the table. I even fluted a paper napkin and stood it on the plate. I stood back and admired my work. Everything was in its proper place. I thought John would be impressed. He only watched and drank his water finishing it before I could finish the table.

“M______, refill this for me would you?”

I casually took his bottle and tossing it from one hand to the other filled it up at the water cooler. With a mock bow, I handed it back to him. As he took the bottle from me, his eyes became serious.

“You need to take this more seriously.”

I was stunned. I did everything right. Everything was in the right place. What could be wrong?

“What’s wrong? I thought I got everything in the right place?”

“Yes, you did. That isn’t it. It is technically correct, but that wasn’t what I wanted to see. I was watching to see how you did it, not the end result.”

“But you didn’t say that,” I replied weakly.

“I said for you to show me what you learned. You have studied the specifics very well, but you missed the essence. The essence is what you need to acquire. You will not understand Solange, until you understand what her essence is.”

As he spoke he rose from the table and stood again before me. I looked up into his eyes. They were so sincere, so inviting.

“I will help you learn this. I will help you get into the school you desire and I will help you achieve your dreams. All I ask is your trust. Do you trust me, M______?”

Of course I trusted him. What an absurd question. He treated me like an adult. Not just an adult, but an intellectual equal. I learned about the classics from him. I learned about mythology from him. I learned about music from him. The only reason that I hadn’t dropped out of school was him. I owed him my life and my person.

“Yes, I trust you John. I will be more serious. Please, help me.”

He smiled warmly.

“That is all I wanted to hear. I need your full concentration. Together, we will achieve greatness. Now I will show you essence. From now on we cease to be John and M______.”

John turned his back as I had last week. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. I could see his body relax. When he turned around again his expression had changed. He looked at me with a soft smile. His eyes were downcast and his hands folded gently in front of him.

“Good afternoon, young master. I hope your day has been a pleasant one. If master will come this way, I will draw his bath.”

At first I wanted to laugh. I didn’t no what to do. I could tell John was serious, but I didn’t know how to handle it. There was a long awkward pause. Sensing the indecision, John took the lead.

“Come master, follow me. I will get you a bathrobe and while you undress I will draw the bath.”

He walked slowly and carefully out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I would almost say his movements were delicate, but that would have been going too far. We went into the master suite. John handed me a white terrycloth bathrobe and disappeared into the bathroom. I stood there stunned. Did he really want me to get undressed? I caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror. I was standing in the center of the room holding the robe with both hands. The look on my face was one of absolute confusion. It was then that I heard the water running. I guess he was serious. “Well, I did give John my word” I thought. Somewhat embarrassed, I undressed and put on the robe. The robe was nice and big. It was fluffy and white. It reminded me of the robes you see at expensive hotels in the movies. John emerged from the bathroom, with his eyes downcast, and spoke softly.

“The bath is ready, master.”

“Master, I could get used to that.” I thought to myself. I joined John in the bathroom. The bath was quite large. It was much bigger than the one at my house. The tub itself was one of those old claw footed tubs. It was vast. The tub was filled with a softly steaming bubble bath. It looked most inviting. I was about to climb in when I remembered John was in the room.

John noticed my hesitation.

“I’m sorry master,” he replied meekly and turned his head as not to watch.

I climbed into the bath and sank into the warm water with a sigh. This was the life. I relaxed into the bath and let my trouble just melt away. After a little while I opened my eyes to see where John was. He was sitting quietly on a chair looking down at the floor. He barely made a sound. Feeling my gaze he looked up.

“Is master ready to bathe?”

I thought I was bathing, but I said yes anyway. John came over and knelt down next to the tub. He reached into the bath and took my right ankle, bringing it up to rest on the edge of the tub. I was shocked. I hadn’t been touched by anyone in the bath, ever. Well not ever, I mean my mom washed me but that doesn’t count. I must have flinched at the touch because John responded soothingly.

“Master really must be clean.”

I thought there was wisdom in that. I relaxed again as he scrubbed my leg with a loofah. It felt really nice. I watched him as he did this. He was concentrating on his work, but it was a sexual thing or anything like that. He was making sure I was clean. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the edge of the tub. I heard a small hiss and felt John’s hands rubbing lotion up and down my leg. His strong hands felt nice on my skin. A little too nice. As he worked the lotion down my thigh I felt a twitch in my groin. I opened my eyes and looked at John. He was still focused on his work. Oblivious to what I was feeling. Only concentrating on covering my leg with the thick white lotion. This was reassuring I guess, but still a little weird. Just when it was getting too uncomfortable, he stopped and rinsed off his hand. He reached over to a small table and got a small pink stick. He grasped it carefully between two fingers and began to run it along my leg. He was shaving my legs! I thought about saying something. I was about to. The words were at the back of my throat rushing toward the tip of my tongue. Suddenly, I thought better of it. I trusted John. I know he would not hurt me. But was he gay? What is this? I mean he hadn’t touched me. It was all very business like, almost impersonal. John had to feel my uneasiness, but didn’t let on. He continued on his work in an almost professional manner. I relaxed back into the tub. I would let him finish.

It didn’t take him long. He finished with my right leg and moved on to my left. After he was through I could certainly feel the difference. I rubbed my legs together under the water. They were slick and smooth. I could now understand why swimmers shaved their legs. I almost felt faster, sorta like a fish. As I was enjoying the experiences of my bare legs, John moved around behind me and washed my hair. He used some fruity shampoo and conditioner. My shoulder length hair has never had this kind of attention. My mom bought the cheapest generic stuff on the market and I didn’t believe in conditioner. After he washed my hair he took out a spa pillow and put it around my neck and on my shoulders. He took out a dark mud mask and put it on my face.

“Now, if Master will relax for a few minutes.”

Relax? All I have been doing is relaxing. If John insisted I would comply. He disappeared into the bedroom and the bathroom filled with soft piano music. Debussy, if I had to guess. It was heaven. I listened for awhile. I could hear rustling in the bedroom. My mind whirled with all these new experiences.

“Is master ready to get out.?”

John reappeared holding a washcloth and a big fluffy white towel. He carefully removed the mask from my face and bade me exit the tub. I was hesitant at first, but I noticed that once again John had his eyes cast down. I exited the tub and John wrapped me in the warm towel. I tried to take it from him, but he would not allow it. He slowly and thoroughly dried me from head to toe. I thought I would be weirded out by this, but it felt very natural. Next, John coated his hands in Jasmine scented lotion and rubbed them over my newly shaved legs. And I thought they felt nice in the water. Wow, they felt great covered in lotion.

“If master is ready, this way please.”

John stood at the entrance to the bedroom gesturing majestically with his arms. I wrapped the towel about my waist and entered. I only got a few feet inside the room when I stopped dead in my tracks. Laid out on the bed was a full French maid’s outfit, right down to a pair of high heels. My first thought was that I couldn’t believe John wore this stuff. I mean he has always seemed so manly to be. Then I slowly realized, that the clothing wasn’t his, it was mine.

“Take a seat on the bed please.”

John was still standing at the door. He was watching me carefully. I suppose he was trying to gauge my reaction. I was shocked. I was stunned. But I knew I couldn’t stop, not now. I walked to the bed as if in a trance and seated myself on the edge. John walked over and stood in front of me he reached behind me on the bed and grabbed a pair of black panties. I wanted to protest, to say something, but my mind was blank. I watched as he grasped the panties and pulled them up over my slender hips. Next he took a matching bra and wrapped it around my still hairless chest. I felt myself turning red with shame. I felt so weird, so silly. While I was getting used to the tug of the bra on my shoulders he clasped a matching black garter belt about my waist. I was still lost in a dream. I could watch what was happening, but I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. It was like I was watching the whole thing on television. Slowly John rolled a black stocking up my right leg, and then my left. My gaze fell on John. He was still very focused on his task. I could have been a mannequin for all it mattered. Here I was sitting on my friends bed dressed in skimpy girl’s underwear. I felt so naked, so vulnerable. He clipped the stockings to the garters. For some reason the garters went under my panties. I couldn’t figure out why. He slipped the heels on to my feet and asked me to stand.

I rose, but started to topple on the slender heels, catching myself on John’s shoulders. For a moment I could feel his breath on my thighs and on my panties. It felt very nice. I became even more embarrassed. John didn’t miss a beat. He steadied me on my heels and pulled the petticoat from the bed. He held it out for me to step into. Using his shoulder for support, I placed one foot then the other inside the frilly lace. John pulled it up and settled it on my hips. I felt a little better with the petticoat on. I wasn’t as exposed as before.

Finally, John put me in the dress. It was very short. With the petticoat, it didn’t even reach the tops of my stockings. John stepped back to examine me. He seemed pleased with my appearance. However I got the feeling he wasn’t through yet. He took my hand and assisted me in walking across the room. It was difficult walking in heels on carpet. It was good that I didn’t have far to go.

John seated me in front of a mirror, but turned me so I was facing away from it. Reaching behind me he took out various brushes and powders from a small cabinet.

“If Mistress is ready I will begin.”

Mistress?

Mistress?

Mistress.

It didn’t sound that bad. Was I starting to feel comfortable dressed this way? It certainly was different than boy clothes. There was a power of sensuality to the way I was dressed. I traced the line of my leg in the black stocking with my eyes. I never realized how slender my legs were before. Perhaps it was just the stockings, or the heels that created the illusion.

With all these thoughts running through my head I didn’t take notice of John’s handiwork. It was all a whirl of scented powder and pastes. He left me alone for a moment and disappeared into another room. I wanted to turn and see myself. Or rather to see this stranger that I knew existed, but I waited. Something told me that John would be disappointed if I turned and I didn’t want to disappoint John.

John returned with what looked like a dead cat in his hand. It was only when he got closer that I realized it was an auburn wig. Carefully he placed it upon my head, fussing with it ever so gently. I was dying to look now. I knew the image was complete. I needed to see this stranger he in John’s bedroom, but John wouldn’t allow me that pleasure, not now anyway. Suddenly the room disappeared as John covered my eyes with a black satin ribbon. I could feel his breath on my neck as he tied it tight, but not too tight. He hovered behind me for a moment the warm sweet air drifting across my neck, shoulders, and exposed chest. It felt so nice, so soft. I didn’t want it to go. I shuddered. John must have realized the effect he was having because I felt him leave. I could hear his soft footfalls on the carpet. I followed the sound with my ears, out the door, down the steps, and into the kitchen. I heard him pull a chair out from the table and the noise ceased.

What was I to do now? John didn’t leave me any instructions. I suppose it would be all right to explore some. I stood up balancing carefully on the unfamiliar heels. Steadying myself I turned to face the mirror. Carefully I removed the ribbon.

It took several moments to process what I saw. It was me, or at least it was once me. Standing in the looking glass was a tall slender brunette. Her shapely thighs disappeared under the short full maid’s skirt. She had a narrow waist and long slim arms. Her lips were pink and pouted slightly in an expression of awe and wonder. Her dark, long lashed eyes peeked out from short uneven bangs exploring the image in the looking glass as one explores a painting at a gallery. Slowly a smile appeared on that porcelain face. The image in the mirror turned and walked a few tentative steps. The girl standing there looked back over her shoulder and examined her calves, her thighs, the curve of her hips and the soft bare skin of her back.

Shaking the surprise off doubt and fear returned. I couldn’t fathom what was going on. Why did John do this? Where did he get this stuff? Was he some sort of child molester? I guess I would have to ask him. He has always been honest with me, or so I always thought. I was starting to doubt our relationship.

Dragging myself away from the mirror I slowly and carefully walked downstairs to confront John. It was difficult to leave the safety of the bedroom. Despite the fact that I was still inside, I felt exposed and vulnerable. Although I have to admit I liked the soft breeze that blew up my skirt as I walked down the stairs. John was seated at the table reading a copy of the New York Times. I stopped in the doorway feeling very silly. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I hoped very much he would break this painful silence.

“Ah, Solange you are here. Please make me some tea.”

That was it? That was all he had to say. He dressed me like a girl without any discussion and all he had to say was I’d like tea? I was astonished, embarrassed, a bit angry, but I let none of this show. I couldn’t. For some inexplicable reason I made tea. My mind tumbled with accusations and threats, but none left my lips.

As the tea finished its final infusion I placed the pot and cups on a tray and carried it to the tea table. As I set it down I noticed that John had already moved from the kitchen and was watching me very intently. With a smile and a joke of a sardonic curtsey I stepped back so he could seat himself.

“Thank you, Solange. That was very sweet of you. Now please go upstairs and attend to the laundry. There are towels and robes all over the bath. It is quite a mess.”

I hesitated a second but obeyed. I could not explain John’s power over me, but I wanted to attend to him, to fulfill his requests. I just couldn’t figure out why.

As I cleaned the upper floor I noticed how much more comfortable I was in the heels. My steps were longer and more confident. Even my poor posture seemed to improve. I had just completed loading the washing machine when the doorbell rang.

“Solange, please answer the door.”

Was he serious? I couldn’t possibly answer the door dressed like this. What would the neighbors think? It was probably my mother anyway. She would drop dead of a heart attack right there on the stoop if she saw me like this. There was no way I was going anywhere near the front door.

The bell sounded again.

“Solange, do not make callers wait.”

I could hear the disappointment in John’s voice. It was slight, but almost unbearable to my young ears. With a deep breath and a silent prayer I opened the door.

I was surprised and embarrassed to find Mr. Evans. I was also tongue tied and speechless. I mean what do you say to someone in this situation? For his part, he didn’t seem alarmed or disturbed in the slightest.

“Is John in?” He asked with an air of indifference.

I half motioned toward the study, shocked by his attitude.

“Thank you.”

He moved past me with a mind of purpose leaving me aghast in the foyer. It was only the wind which blew firmly and stiffly across my thighs that broke my revelry. Shutting the door quickly I rejoined John in the study.

“Ah, you’ve returned. I’d like you to meet my new maid, Solange. Solange, this is Mr Evans.”

For some inexplicable reason I curtseyed to Mr. Evans. He nodded politely and returned his attention to John. I felt so unimportant. It was as if I was another piece of furniture in the room instead of a person.

“Solange, please get Mr. Evans a glass of Chardonnay.”

I left the room to retrieve the wine, but when I returned John was gone. Only Mr. Evan’s remained. I set the wine upon the low table completely unaware of what it did to my skirt in the back. Without warning I felt a hand on my inner thigh. It slid slowly up to my black panties and squeezed my ass softly. I was shocked and stood immobile. I didn’t know what to do. The hand continued to explore the soft material and my smooth bare inner thigh. Mindlessly I pushed against the hand allowing a soft moan to escape my lips. Apart from the soft rustle of my skirt and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock the room was silent. As quickly as it had appeared, the hand retreated. It was suddenly very cold beneath my skirt, the presence of the hand was missed.

With a great deal of embarrassment I retreated to the rear of the room. With my back to the bookcases, I straightened my skirt. Mr. Evans was calmly sipping his wine as if nothing had transpired. He looked calmly out into the garden outside without an acknowledgement of my existence. John returned shortly to end this terrible silence.

“Solange, please leave us now. We have some business to discuss. There are some books in the living room if you wish to entertain yourself.”

As I left I felt ashamed. Who was I becoming? Or had I already become? I pondered these thoughts for the next few hours while I flipping through volumes of Li Po and E. E. Cummings. At long last Mr. Evans departed. John had me escort him out. As he was leaving he wordlessly slipped a small card into the cup of my bra. It was a business card in modest form. On it read: “The Green Fairy, Lounge and Cabaret.” Below that there was a downtown address and nothing else. As I closed the door I wondered what this place was and why he had given me the card. I didn’t know it then, but I would find out, and I would find out quickly.

To Be Continued…