A Third Kind of Madness

A Third Kind of Madness

Author: Christiane Knight

Published by:

Three Ravens Press

PO Box 502

White Marsh MD 21162

USA

www.christianeknight.com

Contact publisher for permission requests.

Photographer: https://unsplash.com/photos/person-holding-black-camera-2MYcbBBh9kE

Cover background image: https://unsplash.com/photos/a-close-up-of-a-red-and-black-substance-OOFSqPWjCt0

Cover design and interior book design & formatting by Leesa Ellis > 3ferns.com

Copyright © 2024 by Christiane Knight

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024908336

ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7368503-6-7

ISBN (e-Book): 978-1-7368503-7-4

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Panic Priest – Lonely City

Chapter 2: Talking To Shadows – Soma

Chapter 3: Second Still – Recover

Chapter 4: The Twilight Sad – There’s a Girl in the Corner

Chapter 5: Them Are Us Too – Floor

Chapter 6: Public Memory – Heir

Chapter 7: Double Echo – The Position

Chapter 8: Bootblacks – Traveling Light

Chapter 9: Creux Lies – Misunderstanding

Chapter 10: The Foreign Resort – She Is Lost

Chapter 11: House of Harm – Control

Chapter 12: Body of Light – Don’t Pretend

Chapter 13: Skeleton Hands – Unwanted

Chapter 14: Slowdive – alife

Chapter 15: Winter Severity Index – A Sudden Cold

Chapter 16: Box And The Twins – This Place Called Nowhere

Chapter 17: Tempers – Strange Harvest

Chapter 18: Hante. – Lies//Light

Chapter 19: WINGTIPS – The Eye That Follows Suit

Chapter 20: Fearing – Pictured Perfect

Chapter 21: Lush – Second Sight

Chapter 22: Twin Tribes – Shadows

Chapter 23: hemlocke springs - sever the blight

Chapter 24: Echoberyl – Swamp King

Chapter 25: Sword Tongue – Drowning

Chapter 26: Zanias – Unsaid

Chapter 27: Selofan – Give Me A Reason

Chapter 28: Drab Majesty – A Dialogue

Chapter 29: Lycia – A Failure

Chapter 30: Cranes – Inescapable

Chapter 31: Anaïs Mitchell – Bright Star

DEDICATION

To my muses, the ones who inspire me and give me the encouragement to shine. You know who you are.

Faron, you would have loved this one.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

https://spoti.fi/4d08wsF

Chapter 1

Panic Priest – Lonely City

I live in a city known for eccentricity. Baltimore is a vivid place: a strange mix of Institutions of Art, trendy eateries, historic sites, and tourist traps versus hole-in-the-wall underground clubs and back alley art, and dirt bikers on city streets. We’re known for Eubie Blake and John Waters, the Star-Spangled Banner and Edgar Allan Poe, for being both Charm City and Mobtown. It’s full of hidden magic. And yet here I am, quiet and unremarkable, and with no idea of how I got this way.

I’d give a lot to have a touch of that magic in my life.

I guess some people might look at the fact that I was born Denise, but go by Denny and exclusively wear menswear or ungendered clothing (and sometimes a binder) and think I’m not that boring. But trust me, all that does is reinforce how uncomfortable I am with what life gave me, at least to start out with.

I’m a photographer, which is probably the most interesting thing about me. When I was small, I did nothing but draw and paint all the time. Every surface around me was covered in swirls of paint and scribbles. But when I was seven, my dad remarried. My step-mom, Lisa, did make some attempts to support me, but my dad became distant after the divorce. He eventually pushed me to go after a form of art that he considered acceptable. You know, something that I could make a living with. That’s when I started calling him John instead of Dad.

He wasn’t exactly mean, but he was never interested in me or what I might want. I learned to just do what I was told.

When Mom died, she left me an inheritance. I used it to go to art school, the Institute, which outraged John. He refused to give me any more assistance, and I’ve been on my own ever since. Lisa sometimes will mail me a card with some money.

She tries, at least.

I’ve lived here all my life, but I was never a real part of any social scene until I met the Ants. And once Joolie got her hands on me, I wasn’t leaving the Ants any time soon. It’s not like I had other options, anyway.

Lately, I’ve been looking to get some space from them, so I’ve been spending time at this coffee shop down the street from my studio. It’s called The Frisky Bean, and it’s frequented by the types of interesting people that I wish that I was. The Bean has really good coffee—better than those chain places offer.

I like the customers at the Bean. With their casual uniqueness, they seem more real than Joolie and the Ants. It’s not upscale or trendy enough for Joolie anyway, therefore it isn’t for the rest of the crew. They wouldn’t be caught dead there. That gives me some breathing room from them, something I’ve really needed these days.

Oh, I should probably explain that the Ants are my art collective. I say my, but really, it’s Joolie’s, and I’d be more accurate if I said that I was her photographer. That’s what I do; I follow the Ants around, documenting everything. We’re called the Ants thanks to an art critic who referred to Joolie as a pissant in a blisteringly negative review. She took it as a badge of honor and dubbed our newly formed cabal The Pissants. We promptly shortened it to the Ants. Either way, it’s a ridiculous name but a pretty good story.

There are a couple of regulars at the Frisky Bean that I look for, who intrigue me or fascinate me; however you’d like to look at it. They’re all the types that you can’t look away from once you’ve noticed them—not necessarily beautiful people, but compelling ones. The kind you know will be making an indelible mark on the world. The ones we all wish we were, or maybe that’s just me.

There’s a stunning woman who works behind the counter. Vali, I think her name is. She’s got short purple hair, a scruffy punk aesthetic, and a killer personality. She’s a street artist who seems to know the name of every oddball or homeless person who comes in. She interests me, but she’s not the reason I’ve been making sure to stop by on a regular basis to get coffee after working at the studio.

That reason would be a woman who sits in the same chair just about every afternoon, reading a book or writing in a journal and smiling to herself. It’s a smile to die for, seriously—so brilliant, so genuine and warm, I feel like I might do anything to have it directed at me. She’s not eye-catching in the same way that Vali is. Her build is more voluptuous, her hair more subtle, and her cards kept a touch closer to the chest.

I can’t keep my eyes off of her. She seems like a deep thinker, quiet but with the capacity to light up a room. I’ve heard her laugh once or twice, and it made my heart jump in my chest. There’s something magical in the way she captures my attention, I’m telling you.

I guess I have a crush on her. Pretty sad at the age of thirty-four, eh?

So what I do these days is finish up at the studio as fast as possible, then hastily walk to the coffee shop. I try to grab a seat somewhere where I can glance up at her often without being too obvious about it. Sometimes, that doesn’t happen, and those nights are terrible for me. I leave in the most despondent mood, and the rest of the night is ruined. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I get like this.

...that’s not true. I do know. I have no life, not really. I spend my time following around my collective and taking photos of their work and their processes. I haven’t created anything truly of my own in ages. Now I’ve seen something bright and shiny in the guise of a crush, and though I can’t quite reach it, I sure as hell can look at it and dream. That’s what’s been getting me through my days. I feel pretty content with this routine, even though a part of me wishes there was more.

Because I have no life beyond work and mooning over someone who has no idea that I exist, I decide on the way over to the shop that my excuse for being there is editing photos on my laptop while I drink coffee. I’ve got a series of shots to piece together of Elise’s newest choreography. Elise Shannon is the resident dancer of our group—massively talented but emotionally fragile. She went to the Peabody and had her hopes of being a professional dancer squashed by one of her teachers. She never really recovered from that. Joolie, of course, swept her up and worked on bolstering her confidence by encouraging her to perform her own solo choreography at our events.

I talk some shit about Joolie, but one thing she’s got in abundance is the ability to find other’s talents to prop her up. And we get plenty of opportunities to show off our work, thanks to her efforts. It’s just that all our work ends up intertwined with hers.

I met Joolie in art school. She was already learning how to flex her charisma, slowly gathering her clique and followers. Her number one supporter has always been Xan Pang, her closest friend, her lover, and the only one of us able to give Joolie’s work the legitimacy it needs. What I mean by that is that Xan’s a writer, a poet and a creator of manifestos and essays. When he started attaching his words to Joolie’s paintings, the art world began to pay attention. Before that, she was just another paint slapper in a city with lots of artists already competing for attention.

When I call Joolie a paint slapper, that’s not an exaggeration. For a long time, she used to do these abstract portraits and still life works, which were nothing groundbreaking but still interesting. They had a spark of her energy in them, and that made them worth a look. That’s how she painted when we were young, before…well, before the Ants became the main focus of her energy. Now, she literally slings big blocks of paint onto canvases, which isn’t to knock that style of painting at all, but rather her intent in doing it. One night, when I was doing a series of shots documenting her process, she flat-out admitted to me that she does it because it’s easier and faster. I remember just how that conversation went.

It’s about how many canvases I can get together for this show, right? You know how it is, Denny. The public expects a quick turnaround from me. After a moment of mixing a few colors with her palette knife and then smearing it across the field, she added, Besides, I like watching Xan figure out how to make sense of all of these.

Elise, she’s harder to understand. She’s quieter than me, and that’s saying something. I crushed on her for years, I’ll admit. I met her when she was moonlighting as a model. That’s how Joolie got to know her. Elise seems warm, even approachable. But she can snap into ice-queen mode if you get too close. She’s got this glossy black, long hair that’s so soft and silky. She’s let me touch it, once or twice. The last time, she allowed me a kiss that burned for days, at least in my memory.

Then she went and slept with Xan. I think she slept with Joolie the next day.

The Bean is relatively empty at this time of day, especially on a Tuesday, and I like the feeling the place has when it’s this deserted. It feels full of untapped energy. Vali is at the counter reading a book. It’s really a casual atmosphere, can you tell? But she perks up when I come in.

Hey there! How’s it going, friend? What a gorgeous rainy day out there!

She’s so damn vivacious. It’s hard not to feel like you’re someone when she addresses you, but that’s her special thing, and you can see it with everyone she interacts with. She’s got a great way of making you feel important.

Hey, Vali. I think this is my favorite kind of day, a perfect picture of autumn.

She grins and nods, effortlessly likable.

So you know what? I think I want to live on the edge today. Will you make me something? A fancy drink? I have no idea what I’d like, so you have to guess. Why does saying this feel like a little rebellion?

She gives me a look of mock horror. NO. You’re going to try something other than black coffee? I am shocked, I tell you. Totally scandalized. This changes everything.

I think at this point, I might actually be blushing, and she gives me a break by making a big deal over picking out just the right syrup to put in my drink. I think a good introduction would be a simple yet delicious vanilla latte. She looks up at me and tilts her head. You know what? You’ve been coming in here a while, and I just now realized I don’t know your name!

This doesn’t surprise me because I’ve never told her. No one ever knows my name; everyone but the Ants forgets it regularly.

Um… I’m Denny. Nervous grin. Of course. That’s what I do.

Ah, that’s a great name!

Huh? No one’s ever said that to me before.

Denny, this one’s on me. Here’s to living dangerously! But I’ll warn you, it’s addictive. She cackles like a cartoon villain and steps over to help the next guy in line. I use that to escape to a seat on a couch that faces where I know my current object of obsession will be sitting and hope I’m not putting out a stalker vibe.

I’m barely settled in, laptop open when I hear the door bang open. I glance up to see the person I’ve been waiting for entering the shop. Vali greets her with a hearty, Heyo, lady! What’s going on? You look flustered.

When she pushes back some thick, curly hair from her face, I can tell she’s irritated.

Crappy day, and I didn’t think I was going to make it here on time. She breaks into a big grin. But I did! And oh gosh, do I need a latte. And that chocolate atrocity of a muffin there. And my throne!

Vali laughs at this.

You go claim it, and I’ll bring you everything when it’s ready. Go! Sit!

I’m peeking over the laptop screen to spy on her interaction with Vali, but I quickly avert my eyes as she heads to the section where I’m sitting. When she gets to her usual spot—an armchair, grandly upholstered in red and purple velveteen—she flops down with a loud, happy sigh. And then she does something totally unexpected. She looks straight at me and flashes me a big smile.

I’m glad that I didn’t miss you, Denny. We have things to discuss, you and I.

Blink. Blink.

She just spoke to me, right? I heard that correctly, and she used my name? Should I go over there? I have no idea what to do in this situation.

After what feels like a million years, I manage a weak Me? You wanted to talk?

Smooth. Very smooth. This is why I get all the dates.

Would you believe me if I said that not only am I talking to you, but that’s the entire reason I’m here? Her gaze shifts to the chair beside her, and she pats it. This one’s pretty comfy, or should I come over there?

I guess my amazing inability to say the right thing has suddenly switched on because I can’t manage to say anything at all. This doesn’t improve when she laughs, grabs her bag and journal and plops herself down on the sofa.

Yes, the one I’m sitting on.

Next to me.

She’s sitting next to me on purpose. If time stopped now, I’d be fine with this.

She laughs when Vali brings over her order and she’s opposite where she should be, and instead, she’s next to the most awkward person in the room. Vali just says, Uh huh, okay. and sits everything down in front of us while trying to keep a smirk off of her face.

So, hi. She takes a big sip of her latte, watching me over the edge of her cup.

I say nothing and try to manage a smile that I’m sure is ridiculous. I’m not really good at smiling.

She puts the cup down and then sticks her hand out. I’m Peri, P-E-R-I Linden, like the tree. And it’s about time that we meet, so I decided to do that now.

Oh shit, so this is actually happening.

I shake her hand as casually as I can possibly handle and take a breath first so I can keep my voice from wobbling. I’m Denny Meyers. And I’ll be totally honest, I have no idea why you’d want to meet me.

Yep. Smooth.

She cracks up, and I figure that’s it, I’ve blown it. But it’s like she can read me, or maybe I’m just obvious in my dismay that I’m screwing this up because she stops laughing and gets a concerned look on her face.

Denny, I know that you’re interested in me.

My face feels like it’s on fire.

I see you here regularly, and I know that you spend a lot of time looking at me. It’s okay! I must be looking panicked. I look at you, too. I guess you didn’t catch that.

She has such a sweet, reassuring smile.

I feel like I might pop. This is not a thing that I ever imagined happening, not her speaking to me or telling me that she was watching me, too. Maybe it goes to my head, because suddenly I feel brave.

I… you know what? I have nothing to lose at this point. I take a deep breath and look at her expectant face. Her beautiful face. And everything pours out of me in a big jumble of words.

I come here because I might see you. I’m sorry if that sounds like stalking. I just feel like the day is a better one when our paths cross, even if you don’t know it. I’ve never even considered that you might have noticed me. I’m—I’m just this random person, you know? There’s nothing special about me. Probably the only thing worth mentioning is that I’m observant, which is why I noticed you. And once I noticed you, I couldn’t stop looking for you. And yeah, that doesn’t make me sound creepy at all. Big sigh. I am so horrible at this.

She’s shaking her head, like she disagrees with me, with a serious look on her face. No, Denny, you have no idea how special you are. You think you’re ordinary, but trust me, you’re not. Do you know how I know that?

I… um… I have no clue. I didn’t even know that you knew I existed until now, remember? This entire conversation feels unreal to me, and I keep expecting someone to jump out and announce that they’re filming a practical joke special starring my delicate ego.

I started coming here in order to eventually meet you. I knew you and I were supposed to connect.

Wait, what?

She smiles, reassuringly. Which is a good thing because right about now, I’m sure that I’ve either hit my head and I’m hallucinating this whole exchange, or I really am being pranked. She seems to understand that I need a minute with this and takes her time sipping from her coffee. Finally, she sits her empty cup down on the table and turns her attention fully to me.

This is probably going to sound weird, but I hope you hear me out. I actually was aware of you before our paths crossed here in this café.

You were?

There’s a buzzing feeling in my head. How could this be? People don’t notice me. It’s something I can count on, moving through the world, mostly ignored by the people surrounding me.

I saw your show at Under The Earth and couldn’t stop looking at those photos. Each one was a perfect slice of time. I’ve never seen anything like it.

This was a long exposure series I did a few years back. It was before the Ants started taking up most of my creative energy. Although there were some shots of each of the members, I took them in unguarded moments, not anything staged or designed to promote their projects. You would think that having a tripod set up taking long exposures would be noticeable, but not in our house. And there’s no expectation of privacy there because it’s all performance to them.

My favorite ones were the ones with you in them and all the movement happening behind you. I know how hard it must have been to stand so still!

That was a run of shots where I was the point of focus while traffic, pedestrians, or the night sky moved behind me. They were exceedingly difficult to get right, and I had been prouder of them than I’d been of any work I’d done before.

The fact that she liked those best loosens something in me. For the first time in a long time, I feel seen.

I didn’t put all of them in the show. I want to boldly share something of my secret self with this beautiful stranger. It’s reckless, but maybe I need to be reckless for once.

I pick up my laptop and open a folder with the finished images from that show, expanding them into a gallery view so that she can scroll through them.

No one’s seen all of these but me.

As I start to turn the laptop screen to face her, she slides across the cushion between us so that she’s next to me. I want to take a deep breath in, but I also want to not look like I’m freaking out, so I wordlessly place the laptop so that it’s sitting half on my leg, half on hers. She’s doing me a favor by not looking at me right now. I don’t think I can hide how I’m feeling.

She starts scrolling through the photos, making little sounds of recognition or pleasure at the first ones in the queue. They’re all shots that made it into the show, so I assume she’s seen them before.

When she gets to the ones I didn’t include, she slows down her scroll and starts to really examine them. I imagine her standing in the gallery, her eyebrows drawn tightly together, her focus tight, looking at each print hanging on the wall in the same way.

This one. This shows why I’ve been drawn to you.

She’s stopped at the photo that probably says the most about me, my career, and my place in my art collective. I’ll describe it for you:

I’m in the foreground, off to the left in the shot, and the focus is on me. Behind me is the large, open space on the first floor of our collective’s house, which we call the Compound. (It’s the perfect name, really. Every meaning of the word applies.)

Behind me, there’s a blur of activity from the other occupants of the house. Joolie is splattering paint across a huge sheet while Xan is jerking away from her to avoid getting caught in the spray. He’s holding his notebook protectively against his chest. Elise is mid-pirouette, her hair in the process of loosening from a bun. Pod, the musician of our group, is turning to walk away from the others, his acoustic guitar slung across his back.

The way I’ve caught the action makes it difficult for a casual observer to pick out these details with a quick glance, but I know them intimately. I had told the Ants that I was working on a group photo idea for the collective, and they, of course, jumped on the idea. I took a series of shots that day, but only one or two were close to what the rest of the group had expected.

I hadn’t dared to show them this image. They would have hated it, especially as they were blurred and I was in the forefront, a blow to their egos. But I loved everything this photograph said about them, about me, and about my place in the group.

Your stare in this. Peri’s voice is soft and intimate. You’re looking through the observer like you can see into our souls.

I had to hold my eyes open for a while. You never know what you’re going to get with a longer exposure like this, but I was really pleased with the outcome here.

She nods slowly, like she’s thinking about something before she says it.

You’re out of place with them. But you’re also the glue that holds them together.

Naw, that’s Joolie. I’m just usually in the background, which was why I liked this shot so much. It’s such a reversal. I suddenly feel uncomfortable, like I’ve said too much.

You don’t see it? That makes sense, I guess. Her smile seems sad to me. You are the only thing in that group that is calm and centered. You’re the thread that links them all, whether any of you realize it or not. And I would put money on the fact that this image represents one of the only times you’ve ever put yourself before the rest of them.

I consider that for a minute before I answer.

This show? It was the last show that was truly mine, with work that wasn’t specifically tied to any of theirs. So… you’re not wrong. I laugh, and I can hear the tinge of bitterness in it. I always thought that if there were a retrospective of my work after I was gone, this photo would be the defining image of my career. How sad is that? Yet it’s my favorite one.

Aw, Denny. You deserve better than this. I glance over at her, and she looks like she’s hesitating over something. I have no idea what, but I’m sure it’s either pitying or calculated to cheer me up. Just great.

I guarantee whatever you’re thinking, I’ve either heard it or thought it already. It comes out harsher than I meant. She doesn’t look fazed, though, to her credit.

I want to know if you’ll have dinner with me. Tonight.

I’m caught completely by surprise.

Like—hang out?

Like a getting-to-know-each-other date, if that appeals. Or like two people becoming friends, if you prefer. Please say yes?

Um. Uh…Yes? Seriously, I’d be an idiot to say anything else. Even though I don’t believe this is actually happening, when the pretty girl asks you to dinner, you say yes.

After that, things start to blur. She smiles at me, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud—it leaves me dazzled and feeling warm all over. Even if nothing else comes from this, I could live off that feeling for a long time to come.

Do you know where The Maithe is? You can meet me there at eight if that’s not too late?

That’s the big old building down at the end of the street, right? I didn’t think that people actually lived there.

You must not have been by there lately. There’s a look on her face, a sparkle in her eyes, that hints of a story to come. I am definitely intrigued. Nervous as hell, but intrigued. Come to the front door, knock three times, and don’t bring anything but yourself and your camera. Okay?

Uh, sure. Smooth, so smooth. I’ll be there! I give her a weak attempt at a grin, and she leans over to kiss my cheek. And then she’s gone.

I smell the scent she’s left behind, apples and cloves and something earthy under it all, like amber. I’m sure I don’t look creepy at all as I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, trying to get the last bits of it before it dissipates. It makes my head spin.

I wonder if that’s a normal reaction to have when your crush asks you out. Everything feels off-kilter, but it’s me we’re talking about here. It’s not like I know anything about what’s normal when it comes to situations like this.

She said she’s been drawn to me. I don’t know how to process that. Nothing about this afternoon has felt normal. I’ve got this overwhelming sense of anticipation, and it scares me. Yet…

I have to admit to myself that I want more. Honestly, I feel like I can’t resist seeing what possibilities tonight might hold, even though I’m afraid.

When did it get so dark out? The streetlights are shining through the big front window of the Bean. I need to hurry if I’m going to make it back to the Compound to pick up my camera and still make it to The Maithe in time.

As I walk out the door, I hear Vali call out to me. See you later, Denny!

Little did I know how right she was.

Chapter 2

Talking To Shadows – Soma

I manage to get in and out of the Compound without running into any of the Ants. I’m afraid that if I stop to talk to any of them, especially Joolie, I’ll never make it to my date. It won’t even be on purpose. They just have no concept of anyone’s personal time requirements but their own.

I consider if I should attempt to dress up or if I’m reading too much into it and if I’ll just make a fool of myself. I mean, that’s always a possibility, no matter how things go down, right? I settle on picking out some clothes that make me feel most like myself.

I debate changing my pants, but they’re fine. Black cargos rolled up at the ankles. When I step up or sit down, they pull up enough to show the brown and black striped socks I’m wearing with my Docs. Socks are one of the few articles of clothing that I use to show my personality, such as it is.

I need a fresh top. It’s probably pretty chilly out there by now, so I trade out the white button-down shirt I’m wearing for a black one, and pull an oversized old man’s cardigan on over that. It’s a reddish brown color, which looks good with my eyes. At least, that’s what Xan told me once. Of course, he was drunk, so what does he know? He would never say something like that to me when he was sober, or within earshot of Joolie.

Anyway, I look about as good as it gets, so now I need to decide what camera to bring. For anyone else, this would be a non-issue, but it’s a big deal for me. I decide that medium format film is the right choice for tonight, and if I’m going to do that, I might as well go with a classic choice.

I’ve got one of those cheap plastic cameras that inherently creates dreamy shots, often with shallow depth of field and light leaks. It’s the kind of camera that can give any inexperienced photographer shots worthy of being called art, and in the hands of someone experienced, the photos can be downright remarkable.

I enjoy using it when I don’t want to overthink my art too much. It’s freeing to just set up, point, and shoot. I can also do longer exposures or overlaid exposures on it, which can lead to complex outcomes. The thing is, I don’t get to play with it much these days; I’m too busy taking serious photography, which is basically documenting life with the Ants.

Tonight, I hope to have some fun.

The Compound is on Calvert Street, not too far from the train station. It takes about fifteen minutes, tops, to walk over to the Mount Vernon neighborhood where The Maithe sits.

It would be fair to say that The Maithe dominates the block because the entire block is made up of The Maithe. It’s a huge, triangular building made of red brick and sandstone–six stories of impressiveness, impossible to miss.

Yet somehow I haven’t been paying attention, because the last time I saw this place it had looked abandoned. I knew that some band practiced there, but most of the building had been empty and closed up. Not now, though. Light is shining on the sidewalk from the windows on the first floor, and looking up, I can see that other rooms here and there have lights on, too. I can’t see much through the big first-floor windows, but there is a spectacular chandelier visible. Pretty posh.

The door is dark wood, with a big pane of glass. I can’t spy much through it; it’s dark in the vestibule. There’s no knocker, and I feel weird about knocking on the glass, so I guess I’m going to knock on the wood part of the door. It takes me a minute to get my courage up. I have no idea how she’ll even hear me.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

To my surprise, the raps resound like they’re amplified. I’m looking at my fist, perplexed, as Peri opens the door.

Oh fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Where I’m drab, she’s brilliant, the kind of beauty that catches your eyes without ever trying. She’s changed into this deep red dress with a sweeping, flowing skirt, and on anyone else, it would probably look overdressed, if not ridiculous. Not on Peri, though. She looks like this is a perfectly normal outfit for her to wear to a first date. She’s got a voluptuous build, and the dress plays it up perfectly, to my secret delight.

She’s got a black shawl thrown around her bare shoulders, so I get glimpses of her olive-toned skin through the lace. Where the streetlights reflect off her hair, I catch hints of burgundy mixed in with the dark brown. She’s smiling at me in a way that feels warmer than anything I’ve experienced in a long time.

You are perfectly on time! She reaches out for my hand, and I let her take it, in a daze. I am still having difficulty with the idea that she could be interested in me, but I’m doing my best to play it cool. More than likely, that means I’m being quiet and awkward, but she seems genuinely happy to see me.

I hope you don’t mind if we have dinner here? I thought about it, and I would rather just spend time talking to you over navigating interruptions from wait staff. Plus, I wanted to see if you would mind showing me how you work, at least a little. I can be your model, if you want?

She’s pulling me down a hallway as she tells me all of this, so it’s not like I have time to