The House on Black Lake (9 page)

“I’ve got a great idea.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Alexandra, what do think about seeing a psychic? I know a guy who’s terrific. He lives on the Isle of Mann, but he spends his summers here and works out of an office hidden deep in the underground city. He channels spirits. Through the eyes of the dead he can see into your past and predict your future.”

“I’ve never visited one, but I’m up for anything.”

“I’ll give him a call. You have a full day ahead of you; I’ve booked quite a schedule. I’ll drop you off in the old town and have a driver pick you up to join me later. I have a few appointments of my own,” she says with a dreamy smile.

“T
HIS IS MY FAVORITE BOUTIQUE IN
M
ONTREAL
. R
AMEY BROUGHT ME
here for a make-over when I first moved to the city,” Ruth says, as we approach the lacquered door of a tiny storefront.
Le Petit Jardin
is hand painted on a window accented with swags of burnished silk. A remarkably lifelike mannequin stands inside the alcove. The model wears a fur draped T-shirt, short denim skirt, red garters with ripped fishnet stockings, and satin platforms set on roller-skates.

Bells tinkle and the scent of ripe roses envelops us as we enter the salon. The bleached brick walls are decorated with a series of portraits of a curvaceous dark-haired woman reclining on a bed with mussed sheets. As I circle the room she undresses, and redresses as I turn the other way around. Diaphanous clouds of yellow silk pouf out from a bulbous ceiling fixture above, drawn to the corners by claw hooks.

“It’s absolutely charming,” I say and move to gaze through a bay window opening into a lovely courtyard garden.

“Welcome to
Le Petit Jardin
.” A short woman, with a big bosom and buttocks and a tiny waist in between, bustles into the room with arms spread wide. Her bushy dark hair is tied into a bow that protrudes beyond prominent ears. Multicolored reading glasses perch at the edge of her nose, connected to a rosary chain that swings to the curve of her stooped shoulders. The woman’s manner of dress is simple—a black skirt falling precisely above the curve of her ample calves and a starched long sleeve white cotton blouse with cuffs turned up at the wrist.

“Alexandra, Madame Debussey. We call her Mimi,” Ruth says, and then to the shopkeeper, “my friend has been through a nasty divorce and needs a sexy new image. Hell, she needs a sexy new life. I’ve got an appointment at Oscar’s for a wax, so I’ll leave her in your care.”

“I will take good care of her, my dear. You go now.” She takes Ruth firmly by the forearm and guides her out of the salon.

Mimi purses her carefully lined lips and furrows her brow as she sweeps back into the shop. “There is much work to be done. Follow me, dear.” Her voice has the exotic quality of the French accent, but there is an undercurrent of something else that is far more remote, a dialect I cannot quite place.

“Come.” She reaches out a hand ornamented with numerous bejeweled rings and leads me to the back of the store. I follow her through curtains into a spacious dressing room centered with a settee.

“Let me have a look at you.” Mimi looks me over thoroughly, like a farmer sizing up a prize steer at an auction. “You have a well proportioned body: strong shoulders, large breasts, flat stomach, small hips, long legs, and a nice round derriere. This is quite good. My designs are made for your body. Remove your clothes and I will bring you what you need.” She turns and shuffles out of the room.

“But—” she has left before I can finish. Reluctantly, I undress and fold my clothes into a pile on the divan.

Mimi reenters the dressing room carrying an armful of garments.

“I have been married five times. No more marriage for me. I take them as lovers and kick them away when I am done.” She sets the stack on the foot of the settee. “You are a beautiful girl; you have a different man every night, eh?”

“I have two sons. I don’t have time to date.”

“No dear, that is not the way. You have sex and go home. No dates. Dates are for young girls. Try on these pieces. I will dispose of your old things—the underwear too. You must have new lingerie. What you wear beneath is seen in your eyes. A man knows when a woman is ready for an assignation. I will be back with items for you to wear on the street.” She takes a step away, then stops and turns.

“Would you like something to drink, a liqueur perhaps?”

“No thank you. I don’t drink during the day.”

I lower myself onto the velvet settee and look at my reflection in the mirror. The hag staring back at me looks like a whore left unclaimed in the parlor of love. From every angle the witch looks wretched and undesirable. In utter despair at the sight of my image, I drop my head between my thighs, circle my arms around my legs and direct my eyes into the carpet.

“My dear,” exclaims Mimi, “you must always sit up straight. Hunching is very unattractive, and bad for the spine. Why are you rolled up like that?” she asks with a sweet earnestness in her voice.

“I don’t like what I see in the mirror.”

“Such an American,” she chuckles and hands me a pair of jeans in a lovely shade of indigo.

“Without underwear?”

“This goes on top.” She lays out a sheer peach camisole and an emerald jacket. “I also have a cami that matches the jacket that will bring out the color in your lovely eyes.” One moment, I will return,” Mimi says and departs the room.

The garments she has laid out for me are made from the finest of fabrics and the stitching and workmanship are superior to anything I have ever seen. They fit my body like they were measured and stitched to caress every curve in the right place. When she returns to the dressing room, I am buttoning the last hand-painted filigreed button on the silk jacket.

“You are on vacation. Here... drink this.” She hands me a liqueur glass filled with a cloudy pale green liquid. “You must have these shoes; they are very chic, very fashionable with the girls in Montreal.”

“But they’re so high.” I hold up one of the shoes to examine the unusual design of the ankle flap encasing the lacings.

“You are a woman first. It is possible to be a good mother and have lots of sex. With no sex there is no patience for the babies.” She wraps a crimped belt around my waist. “Much better. Come, follow me...” She takes my hand and leads me out of the dressing room. “Sit down and enjoy your liqueur,” she says and motions to a heart-shaped divan.

“I would like you to meet a very good friend of mine. Her name is Gigi.” Mimi walks to the front of the store and rolls the realistic mannequin out from the window display. Gigi’s porcelain face is painted with a layered rainbow of eye shadow and a purple wig is pulled back into a bow identical to Mimi’s. “The holes are where we insert the hangers, and the troughs in the back take up the excess material. This way we can try many outfits without undressing.” She tenderly strokes Gigi’s hair.

“Quite an invention, Mimi,” I say, and lift the cordial glass to take a whiff of the warm licorice scent.

“Relax and drink your liqueur. Mademoiselle Gigi and I will present my selections.” Mimi pulls the curtains aside and plays with dials on a panel until the voice of a French chanteuse fills the room. She rolls Gigi around the salon, humming to the music and fitting the mannequin with chic outfits taken from chrome racks built into the walls.

“This is one of my favorites.” She undresses her down to a red demi bra and lace panties, and redresses her in a silver camisole, midnight-blue suede jacket, and a pencil skirt with black leather boots. “A very sexy singer, both handsome and famous, bought his lover this ensemble. The girl left an imprint of her face in the mirror,” she exclaims with a delighted cackle.

“I left the bottle on the table; help yourself to another glass. It is better with the sugar and water, prepared in the proper way, but you can take it straight.”

“What is this?”

“
La Fie Verte,
the green fairy. Absinthe, darling.”

“It’s very potent.”

“Fishnets,” she says, lifting up the skirt. “Easy access... easy to tear off. I shall give you two or three pairs to start,” she says, with a gleam in her eye and a smile that showcases a gold front tooth.

“I don’t go out much.”

“Wear these, and the men will find you, trust me. And you must take one of the gilded shawls from my special line. They are made of antique French lace and satin. General Bonaparte’s mistress wore these fabrics. Perhaps you will have the same luck.”

“Sorry, but I don’t believe it good fortune to be the consort of a married man.”

“A piece of advice my dear.” She covers Gigi’s ears with her hands. “Men are like dogs, always sniffing around. But remember, the mistress is the one he adores, because he can never own her.”

Mimi rolls Gigi to a corner where accessories are displayed on Oriental scarves. “Take a look at these treasures.” She unlocks a glass case with a silver key attached to a necklace hidden inside her cleavage. “These pieces were gifts from a lover from Madagascar. I traveled with him for two years in his caravan. The large pieces are made from a rare piece of tanzanite he found in Zanzibar. Look how the color of the gemstone changes as you look from different angles.” She picks up a large pendant with a deep blue stone set in etched gold, and I watch it change hue from deep sapphire to a warm violet.

“I have held onto them for too many years. It is time to let go. Here, you must have these opal earrings.”

“I couldn’t...”

“They are my gift.”

“That is very kind of you. They’re the perfect accessory for my new look,” I say and remove my small diamond studs to replace them with the precious stones.

Mimi rolls Gigi into the alcove at the front of the shop and drapes her in a cropped fur coat. “Feel this coat. It is sable.”

Behind her, in the window, a woman with snow-white hair and piercing brown eyes presses her face against the glass. Her childlike body is dressed in a red cardigan sweater over baggy black pants. She seems startled to catch my gaze.

“I believe I’ve reached my limit—maybe next time.” I move to the window and watch the woman disappear into a crowd congregated around a clown dressed in a checked Elizabethan costume, juggling colorful glass balls.

“Mme. Sandeley advised me there is no limit.”

“That’s very generous of Ruth, but I insist you accept my card.”

“Then we are finished. You may retreive your packages inside the back entrance later today. Mme. Sandeley has arranged for me to take you to Le Beau Monde for your lingerie fitting. But first, let me roll Gigi back to her home in the window.”