Dreamthorp by Williamson Chet

Author:Williamson, Chet [Williamson, Chet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2011-06-02T16:00:00+00:00

I kept my passion to myself, like a cake, and nibbled it in private.

—Alexander Smith, Dreamthorp

The Venus was on a quiet street with trees imprisoned in black wrought iron cages. It was the third house in a row of old brownstones brightly lit by street lights. The neighborhood was not what Laura had expected. It felt safer than she had thought it would. A hand-carved sign edged in gilt said The Venus. That was all. There were no neon signs, no red lights. Whatever else the place was, it was discreet.

The cab ride had taken twenty minutes, and on the way Laura had sobered up mentally, if not altogether physically. When the cab stopped, she nearly told the driver to take her back to the hotel, but steeled herself, overtipped him, and got out. She stood on the sidewalk for a long time, watching the red taillights disappear down the street. Then she walked up the stone steps, hoping to find truth. She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if she should knock on the glass-paned door or simply open it and walk in. She chose the latter.

The first thing she saw was an attractive, middle-aged woman dressed resplendently in a tuxedo. She was standing behind an ornately carved counter on which a large book lay open. "Good evening," the woman said with a smile. "Your name?"

"Oh," Laura stammered, "I'm . . . not a member, but on the phone they said—"

"Of course," the woman said. "You may purchase a single evening membership for twenty-five dollars."

"Oh . . . all right, fine. . ." Laura took the money from her purse and paid the woman, who smiled and gestured toward a heavily carved oak door at the far end of the entry.

As Laura walked the dozen feet to the door, she looked about her in surprise. The room reminded her of her grandmother's house, but better appointed and kept up more beau beautifully. Elegant red hangings covered the walls, and a crystal chandelier shed a warm yellow light on the brown and green oriental rug that ran the length of the room.

At the door, Laura turned and looked back at the woman, who nodded supportively. "Go ahead," she said. "Have nice time." Laura took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The interior of The Venus did not, to Laura's eye, appear decadent at all. In fact it looked Victorian, almost stodgy, like a woman's idea of a snobbish British men's club barroom. The furnishings were comprised of heavy leather pieces arranged in islands about the large room. A bar ran the length of the left side of the room, and only a few women sat there. Most were in the small groups that clustered at the tables. It reminded Laura of the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel, only darker.

All of the women were well-dressed, and none, Laura was relieved to see, were wearing motorcycle boots or chains. They seemed to be in their thirties or older, and sat drinking, talking quietly, while baroque music played softly.

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