1723 Wisteria Lane
“Good game today, Eric,” I say as I reach across the net to shake his hand.
“It’s the best I’ve seen you play in a while, Peter,” he replies.
As we walk away together, Eric asks, “How are you holding up, I mean without Amy?”
“It’s been hard, but I’m slowly sliding into a new routine. To be honest, sex is my worst problem. I’m not ready to start dating and I’m getting a little too acquainted with my hand these days.”
He looks around for a moment, like someone might be spying on us, then says softly, “Let me give you an address. Tell them I sent you. Just don’t tell Lily, she doesn’t know about it.”
He writes an address on the back of one of his business cards.
“A whorehouse? I don’t think I’d be comfortable - “
“It’s not for a prostitute. I can’t really explain what it is. But trust me, it’s what you need. And I guarantee you’ll be happy with going.”
I look at him skeptically.
“Have I ever steered you wrong?”
“Well, let’s start with the trip to the lesbian bar our freshman year. And then the -“
“Okay, so I’ve made a few bad calls. But this one isn’t. It will cost you five hundred dollars though.”
“For five hundred bucks, it better be good.”
“They do have a money back guarantee, so if you don’t like it, you pay nothing.”
I look at him one more time. He nods his head vigorously.
“I’ll think about it.”
I grab some fast food on the way home. When I unlock my front door, I walk into an empty house. Life has sucked since I lost Amy six months ago. I somewhat lied to Eric; I am sliding into a routine, but it’s one of sorrow and despair every night.
I feel Eric’s card in my pocket.
Fantasia, 1723 Wisteria Lane
I type the address into my phone. Hmm, I never noticed that street there before. But it’s not very far.
What the hell. I’m driving myself insane streaming TV and jerking off to porn every night. I can afford the five hundred dollars.
Wisteria Lane is a narrow winding path that snakes up a hill; a hill that is otherwise completely overgrown with vegetation. One that seems completely out of place in an overbuilt section of the city. At the top of the hill is 1723, an old mansion that looks a bit ramshackle. The only structure on the entire road.
I go onto the front porch. Looking around, I question this idea. Nothing worse than being home, I tell myself. Releasing a deep sigh, I pull up the big brass knocker and bang it on the door. Much more loudly than I had intended.
It opens and I hear a deep masculine voice speak. “You may enter.” The voice has such a steady, unemotional tone, it almost sounds stilted.
“I was sent here by -” I say.
“Eric Purlois. I know,” the same voice says.
How the hell does he know that? Did Eric call and tell them I was coming?
As the door closes, I see a well dressed man, probably in his sixties, step out from behind the door. He looks like a butler in a movie from the 1930’s.
“How does this work?” I ask.
“It works by magic,” he says, “But what I think you mean, sir, is what is the process. You give us five hundred dollars and we give you an experience you will remember.”
“But what is the experience?”
“That depends on you. It will be what your heart desires and your body needs. And if it isn’t, we refund your money, fully.”
Hmm. They really are being obscure here. But I’m intrigued. And if it’s all bullshit, I get my money back.
“Do you take ApplePay?”
“Of course, sir. The magic may be ancient, but the money is very modern.”
He reaches in a drawer in the desk we are standing by and pulls out a pay device and I tap on it, hearing the satisfying bing as the payment is accepted.
We walk further down the hallway and stop in front of a door. He says, “Your destiny lies within. You must choose one of the three doors inside. You must return immediately when you hear the gong. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but how do I know which door?”
“The doors will give you a way to decide, but it must be your decision and yours alone. I cannot come past this door. And you must leave your phone and watch out here. The technology will interfere with the magic.”
Jesus, they play up the spookiness factor here. I hope Eric is right for once. At least it’s only a waste of my time if he’s not. Anything is better than sitting in that house alone all evening again.
I glance at my watch as I hand it to him. 8:17:23.
I walk through the door. Inside is a very small room with old wooden paneling. Not that much larger than a walk-in closet. Each wall is dominated by a door that appears completely normal, except each has an oversized old-fashioned keyhole in it.
Peering through the first key hole feels a bit kinky, but I try. Hey, I’m a voyeur at heart.
Inside the first door is a large room. Impossibly large. I think it’s larger than the footprint of this mansion. Some fifty feet of it should extend into the hallway I was just in. Well past the hallway. There are tile mosaics on the wall and a fountain in the middle. All around are beautiful women in silks through which I can just barely glimpse the delights below. There must be twenty women, many lying or sitting on a series of chaise lounge-like furniture. One woman, bathing in the fountain, is nude. The women range in size, shape, and color, but all are stunningly beautiful.
The geometry may be impossible but the women are alluring beyond any woman I've ever seen. I almost choose immediately. I stop myself realizing that I would eternally regret not knowing what my other choices were.
I stand. turn, and crouch to peer through the second keyhole, directly opposite the door I used to enter here a moment ago.
The geometry of the harem may have been impossible, this one is far more incomprehensible. While the sun had already set before I came to Wisteria Lane, it’s sunny through the keyhole. I can see blue sky above. I can feel the warmth of the sun against my cheek, even through the keyhole.
A set of stands sits in lush green grass. all beneath the cloudless sky. In front of the stands, a cheerleader squad is warming up. One young woman does a leap and her skirt flies up, revealing that she has nothing on underneath.
Maybe another day, I think, and move on to the third door.
As I lean down to this keyhole, I feel a cool breeze coming through it. And I get a faint floral whiff. This is another doorway to the outdoors. Or rather an outdoors.
A young woman is sitting maybe a hundred feet away, by the edge of a creek under a tree with pink blossoms (maybe a cherry tree?). She has golden hair flowing over her shoulders and is wearing a simple blouse and a long skirt. Although she looks nothing like Amy, I’m somehow reminded of her. As I am peeking, she looks up at me, smiles, and waves me towards her.
This is what I need tonight.
I open the door and step through, into a meadow on a beautiful spring day, late morning I would guess. I can smell the fresh growth in the grass, the blossoms in the trees.
I close the door behind me and feel the knob slip from my hand. Turning to look, I see it’s gone. Not just the handle and the door, but the wall and anything else connecting me back to my world. I step back through to where I just came from, but it’s just more meadow. Oh well, remember to listen for the gong.
I turn back and head for the beautiful woman sitting under the tree. The air is pleasant but the sun feels warm. There is a slight cool breeze blowing off the brook that gurgles below her bare feet.
I sit down in the soft grass beside her and she says, “Welcome to Miralea, Peter. I was hoping you would come today. My name is Nina.”
Truthfully, she spoke in a lyrical voice, almost singing, using words I’ve never heard before, but somehow I understand every one of them.
We talk together for a while. I tell her of Amy’s cancer, of the pain she went through, of her fighting for her life, fighting for our life together. Nina holds my hand while I cry as I remember the funeral. I tell her of how Amy and I met, how we fell in love, of our hopes and dreams.
She tells me about her life in the village, which is just over the hill. She is waiting for her true love. But until then, she lives a simple life. She does chores in the morning and then waits here by the tree until her love arrives. Each evening she goes back to the village and shares in the communal supper and then helps clean up after. She was told that her love would come this spring.
I ask her how she will know her love. “That’s easy. I‘m looking at him.”
