the upcoming day held. This kind of thing happened all the time to Lena. An image—like the blinking cat’s eye—that wouldn’t go away, a flash of a memory, a lingering question from a dream, the image of a face in a cloud that looked familiar. Over the years, she had learned to control these images that had once controlled her by just rubbing her hand over her face and her braids and brushing it all away. Or at least most of it. But she couldn’t do that this morning.
As she continued to dance herself around the uncluttered spot in the middle of the bar, she felt almost caught up in a whirlwind. As shecontinued to spin, she felt herself growing dizzy. Not from the twirling of her lone slow dance, but from the musky scent in the air.
As she danced, dipping and swaying to the words, “For you are mine, at last,” on the nickelodeon, the scent grew stronger and stronger and more distinctive.
“That smells like a man’s underarms,” Lena said dreamily to herself.
Then she laughed to herself.
“Now, that smells like a man’s crotch,” she said as she took another step and dip in her dance and another deep breath of the scent.
“That’s how he would smell behind his ears,” she concluded after stopping in midstep to sniff the air again.
Now the scent seemed to be wafting from a definite direction. Lena barely opened her dreamy eyes as she danced, gently, sensuously swaying her hips and shoulders to the music, down a path through tables, chairs, the mess of construction, smelling her way as she nearly sashayed toward the back wall.
She could barely make it out, but there seemed to be a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth stretched across a section of the wall. She danced toward it.
Still swaying to the music—“At Last” playing again because she wanted it to—she pulled the cloth down, stirring up clouds of dust and wood shavings, and exposed a huge gaping hole in the wall. She was so content at that moment, enjoying her dance so much, that at first she wasn’t really disturbed by the unexpected excavation Mr. Jackson and his crew seemed to be doing. But as soon as she saw what was behind the makeshift curtain and the wide jagged opening, about five by five feet, in the back wall of her establishment, a building she felt she knew inside out, she understood perfectly why Mr. Jackson had summoned her downtown at practically dawn and why his voice on her answering machine had had an eerie edge to it. The music was still playing on the nickelodeon, but she stopped dancing. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and landed on the floor with a tiny dusty
thump.
She just let it lie there in the dust.
She blinked a couple of times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Lena had thought there was only a crawl space with room for storage behind that back wall. But she could see she had been mistaken.
Right there beyond the broken plaster and board wall, near where the extra ice machine usually stood, was a room she had never seen before, furnished with a wooden table, chair and footstool.
“So this is where the smells were coming from,” Lena said aloud to herself. “But where did this secret
room
come from?” she wondered as she stepped over the threshold and into what felt like the looking glass.
4
SECRET
L ena stood perfectly still for a few moments, letting the secret space surround her. It seemed almost to embrace her.
Actually, the room really didn’t look secret. It didn’t look as if it had a thing to hide. The light and air made it seem open and accessible. As Lena stepped entirely into the room, she could almost hear it speak. It had a deep friendly voice.
“I been here all the time. Where you been?”
It had an almost teasing, laughing tone. “Huh, where you been?”
No, Lena said to herself as she turned around slowly, taking in the brick and wooden walls, this place doesn’t feel secret, just undiscovered and private. Even Lena, who prided herself on her
As she continued to dance herself around the uncluttered spot in the middle of the bar, she felt almost caught up in a whirlwind. As shecontinued to spin, she felt herself growing dizzy. Not from the twirling of her lone slow dance, but from the musky scent in the air.
As she danced, dipping and swaying to the words, “For you are mine, at last,” on the nickelodeon, the scent grew stronger and stronger and more distinctive.
“That smells like a man’s underarms,” Lena said dreamily to herself.
Then she laughed to herself.
“Now, that smells like a man’s crotch,” she said as she took another step and dip in her dance and another deep breath of the scent.
“That’s how he would smell behind his ears,” she concluded after stopping in midstep to sniff the air again.
Now the scent seemed to be wafting from a definite direction. Lena barely opened her dreamy eyes as she danced, gently, sensuously swaying her hips and shoulders to the music, down a path through tables, chairs, the mess of construction, smelling her way as she nearly sashayed toward the back wall.
She could barely make it out, but there seemed to be a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth stretched across a section of the wall. She danced toward it.
Still swaying to the music—“At Last” playing again because she wanted it to—she pulled the cloth down, stirring up clouds of dust and wood shavings, and exposed a huge gaping hole in the wall. She was so content at that moment, enjoying her dance so much, that at first she wasn’t really disturbed by the unexpected excavation Mr. Jackson and his crew seemed to be doing. But as soon as she saw what was behind the makeshift curtain and the wide jagged opening, about five by five feet, in the back wall of her establishment, a building she felt she knew inside out, she understood perfectly why Mr. Jackson had summoned her downtown at practically dawn and why his voice on her answering machine had had an eerie edge to it. The music was still playing on the nickelodeon, but she stopped dancing. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and landed on the floor with a tiny dusty
thump.
She just let it lie there in the dust.
She blinked a couple of times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Lena had thought there was only a crawl space with room for storage behind that back wall. But she could see she had been mistaken.
Right there beyond the broken plaster and board wall, near where the extra ice machine usually stood, was a room she had never seen before, furnished with a wooden table, chair and footstool.
“So this is where the smells were coming from,” Lena said aloud to herself. “But where did this secret
room
come from?” she wondered as she stepped over the threshold and into what felt like the looking glass.
4
SECRET
L ena stood perfectly still for a few moments, letting the secret space surround her. It seemed almost to embrace her.
Actually, the room really didn’t look secret. It didn’t look as if it had a thing to hide. The light and air made it seem open and accessible. As Lena stepped entirely into the room, she could almost hear it speak. It had a deep friendly voice.
“I been here all the time. Where you been?”
It had an almost teasing, laughing tone. “Huh, where you been?”
No, Lena said to herself as she turned around slowly, taking in the brick and wooden walls, this place doesn’t feel secret, just undiscovered and private. Even Lena, who prided herself on her
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