The House on Black Lake (10 page)

W
ELCOME,” A MYSTERIOUS VOICE VOICE SAYS AS WE ENTER A DARK,
humid room with exotic incense and candles scattered amidst floor pillows in jewel tones accented with beads. A Siamese cat eyes us, and then stretches out on a cheetah fur tossed over a carved wooden lounge. The faint sound of a sitar plays in the background, lending a seductive quality to the salon.

A lithe woman appears. She wears a silver ring in each nostril and her ears are filled with different sizes and shapes of rings, hoops, and studs. Her sleek brown hair, secured behind her ears by metal bands, reaches nearly to her knees and is painted with burgundy streaks. She looks at me through navy blue eyes with thick eyelashes lined in charcoal.

Mimi introduces me to Oriana Chenouey. “Please give her your best pieces. And don’t forget to take her into the back room,” Mimi says and flicks the tip of her tongue along the ridge of her lower lip.

“I will take care of her.” Oriana speaks in a voice barely above a whisper.

“
Au revoir,
my dear.” Mimi busses me lightly on each cheek, gives my fanny a pat, and scurries out of the shop.

“What material do you use to make the masks? They are so unusual,” I say, and move in to examine a display of grotesque faces hung on the walls of the shop.

“Animal skins. All the materials I use to create my pieces are natural. I stretch the skin myself, collect feathers and other ornaments, and make the paint from pigments. I search for native materials on the full moon of each month. The best time to find artifacts is during a thunderstorm. Stains extracted from the plants are more intense, and the animals leave very interesting souvenirs. That is when the real treasures are to be found.”

“The attention to detail is exquisite.”

The masks have human facial contours, both male and female, mixed with the snouts and beaks of various species of animal and bird. Some are painted with bright metallic colors and elaborately decorated with beads and feathers. Others are constructed only from stretched skin.

“This one is transformational; it has more than one visage. They occasionally have more than two faces, but it makes the mask very heavy and difficult to wear for too long.”

Oriana uses a small stepladder to reach up and remove a gold leaf mask with a happy façade set inside a sunburst design.

“See...” she steps down from the ladder and lifts the mask to show another beneath. The hidden one has no eyes and a horribly cruel mouth.

“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” she asks as she returns it to the wall.

“I’ve had quite enough to drink today, thank you.”

“My merchandise is kept in the back of the salon. Sit down and I will bring out the pieces I feel you will most appreciate.”

She walks to the rear of the shop through a string of beaded curtains that swing and play against each other, making soft ripples of sound.

I settle into the cheetah fur and pet the lazy cat while staring up at a multifaceted star fixture turning slowly on its base.

Oriana walks back into the room with a stack of lacy garments and a flute.

“You must try this champagne. It is fermented in an area of Eastern France where the martyr and saint Joan d’Arc was born. It is the city of my ancestors. The bubbles are like magic. They free the little giggles.” She hands me the glass as she sits on one of the pillows scattered beneath the lounge.

“What do you think?” She lays out a white satin corset with holes cut out for the nipples, an open slit at the crotch, and garters hanging from lacey leg openings.

“A work of art.”

“How do you like these brazzieres?” She displays push-up bras adorned with pearls and ribbons.

“Beautiful.”

“These will not ride up,” she says and lays out thongs in matching colors. “They are made to fit the body perfectly. I also have the Brazilian style. You notice the dip in the back to show your derriere cleavage? Then, we have the camisoles to cover.” She spreads out buttery silk pieces with dainty straps.

“They’re lovely, but I’m not involved in a relationship at the moment.”

“They are Ruth’s gifts. It has already been settled.

“Now, let me take you to the back room.” She rises from the pillow. “Follow me, please; you may take your drink with you.”

Oriana guides me through a set of lapis curtains down a hallway flanked by angel sculptures set on marble pedestals. We enter a room with velvet draped tables displaying an array of sexual devices. A leather punching bag stands in a corner of the room, surrounded by long-handled whips.

“This is the playroom. Do you have any preferences?”

I shake my head and take a swallow of the bitter champagne.

“No?” Oriana asks with a quizzical look.

“Well, everyone is different. Most women have vibrators. You can use them to stimulate yourself and also to use on your lover. Some have clitoral and anal attachments.” She picks up a rubbery U-shaped gadget. “This is our most popular model.” She flicks a switch on the base that causes both ends to turn and twist. “The butt plugs are popular with both men and women,” she says and holds up an object resembling a baby’s pacifier. “We have them in all sizes and shapes and some have electrical attachments. The cock rings are very popular too. It keeps them going for hours. Of course, everyone buys the flavored gels, lubes, and the massage oils. It depends on what is your pleasure.” She smiles, bats her long lashes, and takes my hand.

“Come with me. I will show you some of my favorites. Here, you see we have the pleasures of the Marquis de Sade. This is the beginner’s package: it has a wood paddle, fur-lined cuffs, and blindfold. Once you are more experienced, you might like to try my favorite.” She picks up a cat-o’-nine tails, swings it above her head, and whips it against the punching bag.

“Try on this mask.”

She hands me a leather hood with no holes for the eyes and mouth. “It is handmade by a local artisan; she also takes custom orders.

“No?” Oriana appears disappointed when I shake my head.

“Well, if you wish to start with something simple, I recommend the nipple vibrators, and you can keep these balls in a pouch in your purse. They are easy and discrete; you can wear them at any time.

“You will love this special item.” Oriana opens a large alligator-skin box filled with leather belts and rubber dildos of all colors, sizes and shapes.

“The strap-on,” she says in a reverant tone. “It is a secret that most men love the strap-on. If you introduce one to a man, you will truly own him; it is the only way you will ever own a man. Women also enjoy wearing one, when they are with a woman.” Oriana smiles demurely while handing me the apparatus.

“What is your pleasure, Madame?” She lowers her lashes and lifts a hand to draw her long hair over her shoulder and twirl it in her fingers.

“I’m concerned about customs and security at the airport. Do you have a mail-order catalog?”

“I have a lovely one; I will add it to your package.”

“That is enough for today.”

“Before you go, I must show you one of our rooms. They are private. Follow me.” Oriana walks to a back corner, where a sliding door leads to a corridor covered with diaphanous cobalt fabric, with two large shell sconces providing the only source of light. Five doors line the hallway.

I follow her into a room mirrored from floor to ceiling. Mattresses covered in fresh sheets line the wall and a metal bar with handcuffs hangs from a chain hooked to a crossbeam. A corner table is set with condoms and an assortment of lubricants and other devices.

“You can rent a room by the hour, at any time of the day or night. If you meet someone during your visit, you may invite him or her to visit you at
Le Beau Monde.
They will understand what you have requested.”

I accept the business card she offers me.

“I will ring up your purchases.”

As we reenter the salon, the phone rings. She walks to her desk to take the call and I wait at the counter, examining a leather hand with pointy fingers and no nails.

“That was Mme. Sandeley. She is sending a driver to pick you up and take you to Oscar’s. He will be here in a few minutes.”

Oriana wraps my gifts in silver paper tied with metallic ribbon. It is the same wrapping used on Ramey’s gift to Ruth.

“I heard you stayed at the house on the island.”

“Who told you?”

“Luna mentioned it when I saw her last night.”

“Luna is a client?”

“Her sister lives in my neighborhood.”

“What do you know about the house?”

She pauses for a moment and a mysterious smile crosses her face.

“I was there once in a thunderstorm and found some very interesting treasures.”

“Do you know who lived there?”

“Some of the professional girls who frequent the shop shared stories about an old man with some peculiar fetishes.”

Oriana looks out the window at the sound of a car horn. “Your driver has arrived to take you to Oscar’s. I will finish wrapping your purchases and take them to Mimi’s for you to pick up at end of the day. Remember, I am at your service. You may call any time of the day or night during your stay.

“Now, let me introduce you to Daniel.”

A
YOUNG MAN WITH FACIAL FEATURES CHISELED TO PERFECTION AND
sun-kissed hair cascading from under a chauffeur’s cap opens the door for me to enter a shiny black town car. His eyes are hidden behind reflective aviator glasses, but his smile is captivating. I accept a hand from Daniel and he leads me inside the luxurious vehicle.

“There is a cooler on the floor next to your feet with ice cold champagne. I have also a bottle of raspberry liqueur if you wish to make a Royale. Please let me know if there is anything you desire. I am at your pleasure.” He speaks in a voice with a heavy French influence.

“Thank you, Daniel, but I’ve have had enough to drink this morning, or is it the afternoon?” I ask, and let out a silly giggle. Daniel grins back at me from the rear-view mirror, keeping the answer to my question to himself.

I suspect Mimi drugged me and Joan of Arc’s champagne is likely a witch’s brew, but I don’t mind, because I feel delightful and everything around me is cast in a spell of loveliness.

As we drive down the main street, I peer out the window at the quaint shops and galleries of the picturesque old city. The cobbled streets and alleys are backed up with vehicles and the sidewalks packed with tourists carrying bags of souvenirs. A trail of laughter floats through the window and the honking horns have an almost musical quality. Along the sidewalk, at restaurant tables covered in linen with bouquets of fresh flowers, attractive patrons feast on heaping platters of food and pour wine from brimming carafes. Outdoor markets along the sidewalks sell barrels of fruit and produce, like they did in the past. The old town is the perfect backdrop to barter the splendid abundance of the present period.

“Beautiful day. You missed the rain,” he says.

The vehicle slows to a stop at an intersection and I see a flash of red fabric pass my window. The white-haired woman, who peered through the window of Mimi’s salon, shoves her face up against the tinted glass. She springs back when she catches my eyes and disappears into a crowd, crossing the street to an art fair in a park next to a cathedral.

“Are you from Montreal, Daniel?”

“I live in Paris, but I am staying in the city for a year. I have taken a leave from school and am living with my cousin, Robert. He is the partner of Oscar. They together own
L’Auberge de Oscar and Robert.
It is a small bed and breakfast with a full service salon.”

The car speakers reverberate with the vibrations of a sultry baritone: “
Un, enlève vos vêtements, deux, venez à mon lit, trois, posez votre corps, quatre, faites-moi l’amour...”

“We are only a few blocks from our destination, Mademoiselle. You may call me at any time you need a ride. He turns to hand me a card, while bestowing his beautiful smile, and I place it next to the one for
Le Beau Monde.