be taking a shower before bed in any case. I might even decide to drink something warm—my new favorite was fennel tea. It soothes and cleanses. I know, because I’m constantly reading up on what is good for what.
Chapter 3
A shower was just what the doctor ordered—standing under the steady flow for a long period of time has a hypnotic effect. It relaxes completely. The amount of makeup flowing off my face in the shower has always startled me. It seems like next to nothing as it’s being applied.
I examined my body in the mirror—a favorite pastime. I’m one of those slender, lightly muscled types said to have a swimmer’s build. My body has not been altered in the slightest by plastic surgery or silicone injections. Breastless women are not uncommon. The size and firmness of my nipples is more than enough for most. What’s the need for silicone? My legs are waxed, my arms in their natural state, my bosom the site of a bouquet of chest hair. That hair remains untouched unless I am required to wear a provocative outfit. Fortunately, my mat of hair is lightly colored. And there are times when a glimpse of chest hair in a plunging neckline has a special allure all its own. I applied lotion to my entire body. The result was a pleasant sensation of coolness, slipperiness, and hair standing sweetly on end.
There’s nothing I enjoy more in the morning than wandering aimlessly from room to room, before the papers are delivered. A large mug in hand—acquired for a small fortune from Casa Club—I drifted with my fennel tea. The morning light in my home is stunning—a pale gold. Long horizontal beams line the narrow corridor. Strange shadows. It gives me peace.
The shop boy was late, as usual. It was nearly seven a.m. That’s another of my obsessions. I cannot sleep without having read the daily papers.
The bell rang repeatedly. It couldn’t be the shop boy intruding on my little paradise. He never rings the bell, merely slips the papers under the door and leaves. I raced toward the door, ready to confront the intruder. Naturally, I glanced through the peephole first: In front was Hüseyin, the taxi driver; behind him stood Buse, looking thoroughly haunted. I flung the door open.
“What on earth has happened?”
Hüseyin jumped in before Buse had a chance to answer.
“Your friend went to the club. I saw her walk in. She was looking for you, so I brought her right over.”
He spoke in one breath. I resented the use of the familiar sen, in place of siz . Besides, what business did he have trolling through the narrow street in front of our club?
Speaking in a voice not her own, Buse asked, “May I come in?”
Of course she could. I stepped aside to let her. Hüseyin made to go in after her, but I barred his way.
“And where do you think you’re going, ayol ?”
“I just thought something terrible might have happened. Maybe you’d need help . . . So you wouldn’t want to be on your own . . .” He hemmed and hawed. On his face, I noticed the familiar hungry look. Once rejected, he should know better than to insist.
“We will be fine!” I said. “There’s no need. We’ll handle it.”
The bold expression remained on his face. He clearly imagined himself to be the Istanbul version of Brad Pitt. I prepared to shut the door in his face, but he grabbed it.
“If you need anything, I’ll be at the taxi rank. Don’t hesitate to call if you need help.” And that grin again. He gestured toward the room. “I don’t understand what happened. But it’s nothing good.”
“All right, it’s a deal. I’ll call if necessary. Now go. Thanks for bringing her over.”
I tried once again to close the door. He held it open.
“Don’t be tiresome,” I warned.
“Uh,” he began, “who’s going to pay the fare?”
It was natural for Buse to have forgotten, in her state. I must have looked blank for a moment.
“I can pick it up from the club,” he offered. “That is, if you
Chapter 3
A shower was just what the doctor ordered—standing under the steady flow for a long period of time has a hypnotic effect. It relaxes completely. The amount of makeup flowing off my face in the shower has always startled me. It seems like next to nothing as it’s being applied.
I examined my body in the mirror—a favorite pastime. I’m one of those slender, lightly muscled types said to have a swimmer’s build. My body has not been altered in the slightest by plastic surgery or silicone injections. Breastless women are not uncommon. The size and firmness of my nipples is more than enough for most. What’s the need for silicone? My legs are waxed, my arms in their natural state, my bosom the site of a bouquet of chest hair. That hair remains untouched unless I am required to wear a provocative outfit. Fortunately, my mat of hair is lightly colored. And there are times when a glimpse of chest hair in a plunging neckline has a special allure all its own. I applied lotion to my entire body. The result was a pleasant sensation of coolness, slipperiness, and hair standing sweetly on end.
There’s nothing I enjoy more in the morning than wandering aimlessly from room to room, before the papers are delivered. A large mug in hand—acquired for a small fortune from Casa Club—I drifted with my fennel tea. The morning light in my home is stunning—a pale gold. Long horizontal beams line the narrow corridor. Strange shadows. It gives me peace.
The shop boy was late, as usual. It was nearly seven a.m. That’s another of my obsessions. I cannot sleep without having read the daily papers.
The bell rang repeatedly. It couldn’t be the shop boy intruding on my little paradise. He never rings the bell, merely slips the papers under the door and leaves. I raced toward the door, ready to confront the intruder. Naturally, I glanced through the peephole first: In front was Hüseyin, the taxi driver; behind him stood Buse, looking thoroughly haunted. I flung the door open.
“What on earth has happened?”
Hüseyin jumped in before Buse had a chance to answer.
“Your friend went to the club. I saw her walk in. She was looking for you, so I brought her right over.”
He spoke in one breath. I resented the use of the familiar sen, in place of siz . Besides, what business did he have trolling through the narrow street in front of our club?
Speaking in a voice not her own, Buse asked, “May I come in?”
Of course she could. I stepped aside to let her. Hüseyin made to go in after her, but I barred his way.
“And where do you think you’re going, ayol ?”
“I just thought something terrible might have happened. Maybe you’d need help . . . So you wouldn’t want to be on your own . . .” He hemmed and hawed. On his face, I noticed the familiar hungry look. Once rejected, he should know better than to insist.
“We will be fine!” I said. “There’s no need. We’ll handle it.”
The bold expression remained on his face. He clearly imagined himself to be the Istanbul version of Brad Pitt. I prepared to shut the door in his face, but he grabbed it.
“If you need anything, I’ll be at the taxi rank. Don’t hesitate to call if you need help.” And that grin again. He gestured toward the room. “I don’t understand what happened. But it’s nothing good.”
“All right, it’s a deal. I’ll call if necessary. Now go. Thanks for bringing her over.”
I tried once again to close the door. He held it open.
“Don’t be tiresome,” I warned.
“Uh,” he began, “who’s going to pay the fare?”
It was natural for Buse to have forgotten, in her state. I must have looked blank for a moment.
“I can pick it up from the club,” he offered. “That is, if you
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