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He raised his eyes in silent interrogation, imparting that he didn’t want to let me in. I thought that maybe this was his job, to intimidate until he was absolutely certain that any new person asking for entry was really a novitiate.

Maybe a minute had passed when the iPad’s glow upon the first guard’s face turned red. He showed the screen to his partner and the lookalike sentries moved to either side of the entrance. The one without the club pushed the door open.

Across the threshold, I was met by a forty-something woman who was both statuesque and completely naked. She was ivory colored, smiling, and had never heard about the theories of Sir Isaac Newton. I tried not to gawk but maybe I did a little.

“Elephant Four Four Four?” she inquired.

“Yes,” I said, appreciating the fact that she didn’t practice shaving her pubic or underarm hair. It was red hair.

“Follow me,” she said.

I love New York. It was no more or less perverse than any other city, I was sure of that. But the Big Apple’s uniqueness was that it lent panache and sometimes elegance to any obsession or way of life that had taken a detour.

The lady led me down a scarlet hall to a dressing room that would have been perfect for any sports club. There was a long bench that sat before a bank of lockers stacked three rows high.

“Disrobe and put your things in any unit that still has a key in the lock,” she instructed.

“Take off everything?”

“Yes, all of it.”

I started the process, pretending to experience a hint of embarrassment.

“What’s your name?” I asked while untying the shoe of my left foot.

“Chimera Twenty-Seven.”

“Beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

As I undressed, she watched me closely, with special attention given to my hands.

I was folding my pants when Chimera 27 said in a friendly enough tone, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I have a friend out in Staten Island,” I replied, not at all minding the mild interrogation. “His name is Wilding One around here.” I didn’t add that his street name was Melquarth Frost.

“Oh?” She was impressed. “Wilding One is your friend?”

“Pretty much. You know him?”

“Um, I mean, I’ve met him before,” she said, somewhat evasively. “He hasn’t been around for quite some time.”

I folded my boxer shorts and placed them on top of the rest of my clothes.

I dumped this pile into a locker that still had its key.

“Your watch too,” she said.

“Oh? Why?” I asked, playing the role of an innocent civilian.

“Nowadays watches can photograph, record, and even transmit location.”

Holding up my left wrist and pointing at it I said, “This was my father’s Timex before he went to prison.”

“We take no chances at the ministry,” she explained pleasantly.

I put the watch in the locker, which she shut. Then she turned the key and removed it from the cylinder.