The House on Black Lake (11 page)

“Careful as your disembark, the cobblestones are slippery.” Daniel helps me out onto the cobbled driveway. “Do you need help to the door?”

“I’m fine, just not used to the heels.” I take his arm to steady myself and release another involuntary laugh.

“Whew, it’s warm outside,” I say and remove my jacket.

“Are you certain?”

“Have a lovely day, Daniel.”

I focus my attention on navigating a straight line to the entrance of the inn, where I open the front door and slip into a room with brick and mortar walls, low beamed ceilings and a glazed oak floor covered with a worn Persian carpet. The focal point of the room is an impressionistic painting of a woman in the throes of passion. Naked from the waist up, she tosses back a mane of golden hair and her skin emanates a brilliant light reflected off the wall behind her.

A man with ebony skin, a shaved head, and wire-rimmed glasses sits at an ornate writing desk at the back of the room. He looks up as I enter the salon.

“Bonjour, I have an appointment with—”

“Welcome, darling. You are even more beautiful than Ruth described. I am Oscar, the proprietor, along with my partner, Robert. We operate a full service salon and spa in the back of the inn.” He stands as I approach and offers his hand. Oscar speaks with the accent of an English gentleman, and there is a special kindness, something unique in his eyes.

“Ruth has engaged me to give you a complete makeover. Let’s get you started right away.” He leads me through a door at the back of the lobby and down a hallway lined with dressing rooms with bells tied to yellow ribbons hanging from brass handles. “You will find a dressing gown inside. When you are finished changing, follow the sign into the salon, where I will be waiting.”

I change into a long cotton robe and walk down a hallway, with an entire wall stenciled with flowers and vines intermingled with the words:
Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty, that is all ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know.

“Those are the squires of the Basilique Notre-Dame de Montréal, Oscar tells me.”

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows I see an enormous cathedral with twin towers looming above the buildings of the old town.

“Beautiful view.”

We pass stations with hairdressers in uniforms curling, cutting, teasing, blow drying hair, and tending to the feet and nails of an assortment of clients, male and female.

“You have lovely hair, but it is too straight and drags on your face. We will do some layering around the front, clean up the line, and add a few warm highlights.” He leads me to a shampoo station and adjusts a lever beneath the seat.

“We have a two hour deadline. Ruth advised me you have an appointment for a psychic consultation with Kevin. He is magnificent! He channeled the spirit of my deceased grandmother. Kevin told me to go to the St. Lawrence Bridge, at Rue de la Pere, on New Year’s Eve, where I would meet my soul mate. It was there I met my partner, Robert. We have been together nearly four years,” he says with a delighted lilt, while shampooing my hair with magic fingers.

“What a romantic story. I hope I have the same luck.”

“Ruth is resting in the back room. She was utterly exhausted after Robert finished with her massage. I heard you girls were up quite late last night and had a little too much wine.” He finishes rinsing my hair and wraps a towel around my head.

“Come, dear, follow me to the treatment room.”

Oscar guides me through the salon to a room decorated with leafy plants, bamboo accents, and lines of ceramic pots filled with liquids. The room smells of a mixture of overripe fruit and intoxicating herbs. An overhead fan whirs along with the sounds of a reed flute and the chirping of exotic birds.

“Interesting candles; what are they made from?”

“They are created from a salt shelf in the Himalayas. When a candle is burned inside, it deposits negative ions in the air and creates a homeopathic environment.”

He gestures to a cot covered with starched sheets and a silky coverlet. “Tuck yourself in and let yourself go. I want you to relax, shut off your mind and open yourself to your inner spirit. Take everything off, underwear and jewelry. Soshi will join you shortly for your wax. You can store your valuables in this armoire.

“What lovely earrings. Where did you find them?”

“Mimi, of the boutique
Le Petit Jardin,
gave them to me as a present.”

“Unusual. Mme. Debussey normally turns a tidy profit on her merchandise.”

“They were a gift from an old beau.”

“Some believe opals to be bad luck, but others believe they have very potent magical properties.

“Strip down, and prepare to be pampered,” he says, and exits the room.

I secure my belongings in the French closet, slip under the sheets, and luxuriate in the feeling of naked skin against cool lilac-scented cotton. Pulling the coverlet up to my chin, I adjust the aromatic sleeping mask over my eyes. Relaxing the muscles through the length of my body, I settle deeper into the cushion. Drums beat softly, the wind blows, birds chirp, an ocean breeze, waves on the beach, a lazy afterglow, a drowsy haze of bliss. I float in a blue lagoon, a pool of deep blue water, the laughter of children...

“Now I get to have my way with you,” a cheerful voice exclaims as the door opens abruptly. Popping my head up from the cot, I lift my mask to see a woman with fierce slanted eyes and a beaming smile, dressed in a white dress with a silver pot in hand. As she moves in closer and roughly pulls the sheet away I notice certain physical attributes, a shadow of excess hair and a hint of an Adam’s apple, that make me question her true gender.

“Spread your legs wide, we’ll do the right side first. Pull the skin back next to the labia; it hurts less that way,” she says, and takes a scoop of hot wax from her pot.

“I don’t think I want it all taken off—” I say, and then I feel the hot wax burn my flesh, followed by an abrupt, breathtaking yank.

“All gone. Now the left. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Up on all fours, doggy style, and we’ll clean up the back. The same routine, pull back on the left cheek, and then the right. Good girl.” She sets down her pot and uses a big powder puff to apply a layer of talc to my waxed skin.

“Would you like the happy ending?”

“The what?”

“Yes... the happy ending.”

I look back to see she is lubricating her latex-covered fingers with a clear liquid. I have no idea what this procedure entails. Soshi glides her lubed fingertips along my freshly waxed skin. She uses her fingers to massage the tender flesh.

“That’s it... lift and arch. Relax, let yourself go, enjoy your happy ending.”

Then, as if awakening from a dream, into... I don’t know what, I flip onto my back and pull the sheet up around me.

“Stop! What are you doing?”

“You don’t need to be so modest; I’ve already seen your goodies.” She rolls her eyes, mutters something beneath her breath, picks up her pot and bustles out of the room.

“She’s all yours,” I hear her say to someone outside the door.

A beautiful young woman walks in the room and introduces herself as Audra, the chief aesthetician.

“We make all of our aromatherapy oils and potions here on site. We extract the oils and resins from flowers, herbs, and plants. It is my job to rid you of the toxins and negative energy stored in your body and to renew your natural balance. The senses offer an entryway to the spirit. Once awakened, the spirit will gradually find its way to the surface.”

She bustles about the room, opening glass vials and jars, and mixing them together in clay pots.

“Remain still while I prepare the potions. My team of specialists will tend to your skin and nails. When they have finished, I will treat you to a body exfoliation, followed by a massage with alternating hot and cold stones. You may nap and have a light meal after I have finished. Do you have any questions?”

I shake my head as Audra adjusts earphones over my head and places a warm cloth on my lower abdomen.

“Good. Then we will begin our session.”

In what feels like a blink of time, I am back in Oscar’s chair.

“True beauty is an illusion,” Oscar tells me. He holds an artist’s palette and applies makeup to my face. “It is the voice and vision of a unique spirit speaking to the world through a mortal image. A few are original true beauties and the rest are clones. You walked into the salon with the face and body of a woman who God gave good physical symmetry, but your eyes were of one who had given up, whose spirit had been crushed. What I see inside you, Alexandra, is a beautiful, sensual, and powerful spirit. You need only follow the outline of the work I have done today. Do not fall back into your old ways. The death of the spirit is the cruelest of deaths.” He leans over my face to pluck a wayward eyebrow hair.

“What do you think of your new look?” Oscar asks and turns my chair to the mirror. The fair-haired woman staring back at me has eyes etched in black and blood-red lips, pouting with sultry provocation.

“I want your hair wild,” he says, messing it with his hands, “like a fierce warrior princess. Lean over and shake your head. Good. I’ll do a little feathering on the ends.

“Take my advice, dear. Never trust anyone, male or female. Women censor, men conquer and destroy. You are the trap; you trap them, darling. Gay men know more of this because we straddle the chasm. Finish your tea to the bitter pieces on the bottom; it is my secret blend.” He lifts a section of hair and wraps it around a curling iron.

“I lived as a woman for a period of time, so I know what it feels like to exist and breathe as both sexes.

“You must lead, not follow. Embrace the spirit of the Goddess. And never look to the pack for guidance or reassurance. Does the shepherd ask for help from his sheep? Does the queen seek advice from her subjects? Does the clone master turn to his replicas for instruction?” His voice rises to a crescendo of theatrical flare as he exclaims, “No!”

His eyes glow with passion as he observes me in the mirror.

“How do you feel, now that you have consumed the bitter root?”

“Very clearheaded.”

“Good. It has taken effect. One last piece of advice, dear.

“Beauty is a false goddess. She will lead you to many shores, but she cannot teach you how to explore the lands you have conquered.

“Fearlessness is the goddess who carries power. However, she is rarely admired, as she does not seek the drug of admiration, and rarely seen, as she is always on the move.”

“I would like to become that goddess.”

“When you accept your true beauty, others will imitate and follow.” He takes off my smock and shakes the hair to the floor.

“The fireflies?”

“Pardon?”

“You reminded me of something Ramey Sandeley told me about female fireflies mimicking the sounds of other females to lure men not of their species for food.”

“Well,” he says with a wry smile while sweeping up my fallen hair, “Ramey Sandeley should be an expert on that subject.”

He looks down at his watch. “Oh, darling, we’re running late. Go back to the massage area in the hallway next to the dressing rooms and knock on the door. Ruth is probably still asleep.”

I embrace Oscar, thank him for his services, and move through the salon to the massage room. There is no answer when I knock on the door, so I turn the latch and peek inside. As I open the door, I hear the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and a naked man’s back comes into full view. He thrusts his hips against a woman bent over the table with red hair fanning the white sheet and legs spread wide. His pale buttocks quiver with the rhythmic pounding.

“Harder, Robert...” the woman cries out.

Oscar’s soul mate reaches out to grab a handful of thick hair, yanks hard, and lets out a moan as he drives deeper into the body of Ruth Sandeley.

L
A
V
ILLE
S
OUTERRAINE, ’THE
U
NDERGROUND
C
ITY’, IS A NETHER
-world of desire and perception. Anything is possible in the underground. There are no seasons. Nature doesn’t exist. Some inhabitants never leave,” Ruth tells me, as I follow her down a narrow staircase and weave through a labyrinth of tunnels.