Click here to edit Inside the grandstand, Duchess led Janey down a dark hallway of green wooden doors framed with crackled glass. Janey looked inside the windows, but could only see the silhouettes of administration workers and secretaries. Through another window she witnessed the silhouette of a couple making love on a desk. She stopped, mesmerized by the act.

“Come on.” Duchess opened a door that read “Restricted-Authorized Personal Only.”

Inside, the room was pure opulence. In fact, Janey had a hard time believing it was part of the grandstand. She walked across an expensive Persian rug, past gold-gilded mahogany and leather furniture. She stood at a large window and looked out over a valley of wildflowers and at the distant blue, rocky mountain range. Below in the valley she noticed a herd of wild horses running freely. It was such an amazingly powerful sight.

Her attention was quickly changed back to Duchess’s room with the sound of a cork popping. “Do you live here?” Janey asked.

Duchess poured two glasses of pink champagne and then handed one to Janey. “Live is such a subjective word.”

Janey sipped the bubbly. “Why do you do it? Why do you train and groom women for love?”

Duchess sat casually in a fine leather chair. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

“Because I want to know the answers?”

Duchess laughed. “Impossible. There are no answers.”

Janey perched on the edge of another leather chair alongside Duchess. “Then what the hell are we all doing here?”

Duchess sipped and savored her champagne and then eyed Janey carefully. “There are no intellectual answers for love. It is an emotion.”

“Then why all the training, the grooming and handicapping? Why bother?”

“The Trifecta package.”

Janey looked curiously at Duchess as she finished her glass of champagne. “Win, place and show?”

Duchess poured Janey another glass. She shook her head no. “Love and the heart is not the entire answer. You need to have the mind and body in accordance with the heart. It’s the winning Trifecta of love.” Duchess regarded Janey as if she were a child. “You, my dear, have too many questions and that means your mind is not satisfied. Therefore, you have not found what you are seeking. If you question love, then you don’t have love.”

Janey set the champagne glass on the table and abruptly stood from the chair. “Interesting. So how do I start my own race?”

“I will post your bid and see if we get any contenders. If there are men interested in competing, then you can start the handicapping.”

“Thanks.” Janey headed for the door.

“Spirited Sister,” Duchess called. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Janey turned around. “Why wouldn’t I want to be in control of my own destiny?”

“When you go searching, you must be careful what you find.”

Certain of herself, Janey nodded and left the room. She found herself back in the hallway of window-framed doors and sexual silhouettes, which now seemed to be behind every door. This place is crazy.

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In a beautician’s smock, Duchess walked past a rainbow of pastel colored, French terry sweat suit attired ladies, who stood at attention behind vanity tables. She studied the ladies carefully; some appeared awake and others fought morning drowsiness. For Duchess this revealed how the ladies handled the stress of competition. “Ladies, have a seat.”

The ladies sat before their assigned vanity. Many showed obvious signs of early morning puffiness, breakouts and patches of dryness. Their hair was limp with no body.

Duchess marched down the row like a commander preparing her troops for battle. “Ladies, consider this basic training. Take a hard look at your reflection in the mirror.”

The harshness of the cosmetic lights exposed the imperfections of the ladies, creating a deep insecurity in the most confident of ladies. Janey studied her image in the mirror. She inspected every freckle and every pore on her face. Amy frowned at an oily patch on her forehead. Keri pressed her fingers to her translucent fair skin. And Liz could not even look herself in the mirror, but silently chided other ladies.

“This is what you look like straight out of the stall. In any race if you continue to look like this, you will be stalled. It is important that we give you the out-of-the-gate look.”

Duchess noticed some ladies with good complexions, others with good physical bone structure and several with bright eyes and beautiful smiles. “You will notice by your reflection in the mirror and by the reflections of your competition that all women are not created equal.”

She placed her hands on the shoulder of a fair and homely woman. She leaned forward to confront the women’s reflection. “That is where I come in.” She stood tall with her shoulders firm and head up. “I am the great equalizer.”

Upon clapping her hands loudly, an army of groomers in white coveralls appeared and took position behind at every lady’s station. She clapped her hands again. “Begin!”

A groomer drew a thick line of black eyeliner around Janey's eyes and then added so much mascara that the color of her eyes was no longer distinguishable. Janey blinked. Her eyelashes stuck together making it impossible to open her eyes.

“Thick lines of eyeliner and mascara will give you ladies that innocent, damsel in distress look that no man can resist.”

Duchess stopped behind Liz’s makeup chair. A groomer caked white contour makeup on the sides of Liz's nose to make it look thinner. “We use contour makeup to reduce shadows around the nose to give you a more slender look to your face. Men love perky little noses. Delicate features represent a delicate heart and demeanor, which all men desire.”

She studied the makeup on Liz’s nose. “There is not enough chalk to make that nose delicate.” She removed a black magic marker from her coat pocket and drew black lines down the side of Liz’s nose. “Make it be so.” The groomer escorted Liz away to plastic surgery.

Another groomer rubbed bronzer on Keri’s fair skin that made her skin glow in a golden hue, yet her face did not match her neck. Keri glanced up nervously as Duchess approached her vanity table.
“Men like healthy skin.” Duchess glared down harshly at Keri. “A pale complexion indicates a pale personality.”

Seated next to Keri, Amy puckered her thin lips for yet another groomer, who outlined her lips with pencil. She was more than ready for the makeover and curious which of her features the groomer could improve to make her a greater champion.

“No man can resist a pretty pout. It makes them feel guilty for indiscretions never committed. It keeps them pleading for apologizes. Lipstick fills the color and the gloss adds the shine that shows you are healthy.”

Duchess grabbed the pencil from the groomer and outlined clown lips on Amy’s face. “Where God fails, Duchess repairs.” She handed the pencil back to the groomer. “Fill her in with lipstick, please.” The groomer applied heavy lipstick around Amy's lip to make her lips appear fuller. Duchess shook her head. “No, we may need collagen injections here.”

Amy seemed immensely proud that Duchess personally drew on her face. She looked in the mirror and admired the large clownish circle drawn her face. She was ready for collagen.

Duchess continued on to a pretty young lady, Gold Digging Hussy, and ran her hands through her thick mane of blonde hair. “Hair is the most important thing in attracting a man. A long thick mane can distract a man from the harshest of faces. Men like hair and lots of it. The shinier and bigger the mane the more you will be noticed.”

A groomer sprayed and teased the Gold Digging Hussy’s hair until it was as nearly as tall as long. Duchess admired the lady’s completely controlled head of hair. “Now isn't that better? You are sure to get a lot of looks with that mane.

Duchess stepped back and studied her handiwork on the row of blackened eyes, perky little noses, full pouty lips, and big, high hair. Unrecognizable as human, the women appeared more like dolls in some horror fantasy shop. “You are all beautiful, each and every one of you. You are all quite the contenders. Now, let’s move on to wardrobe.”

The ladies stood from their vanity tables and herded outside. Not able to pry her upper and lower eyelashes apart, Janey stumbled over her chair. She grabbed Keri’s arm. “I have so much eye makeup I can’t see.”

Keri glanced at Janey. “But you look so pretty.”

“I can’t see!”

Amy gave a glossy lipstick-stained smile. “It is a small price for beauty.”

“I need to be blind to be beautiful?” Janey looked around in a blurry darkness of matted mascara. “Where’s Liz?”

“Ladies!” Duchess called. “Let’s move along.”

Amy and Keri smiled politely and apologized in unison. “Sorry, Duchess.”

Janey lingered rebelliously. She thought of Dwayne. How can I win this race for Dwayne if I can’t see where I’m going? Crazy! Is this some inspired, soul-searching technique to find love? Janey surely doubted it.


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With a towel wrapped around his waist, seventeen-year-old Deni exited the high school shower and headed to his locker where his friends T-Bone, Devon, and Hector were getting dressed after practice. He toweled off and then slid into his underwear.

            “Hey Daudov!” called the team’s offense tackle, Brad Dietrich. “I saw your mom wearing one of those scarfy things. Don’t tell me you’re a Muslim or is your mother just plain ugly.”

            Deni laughed and didn’t say anything, but T-Bone spoke up in Deni’s defense. “Hey don’t be an ignorant ass; our brother here is Muslim just like Muhammad Ali.” He threw air punches at Deni. ‘“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”’

            “No way. Muhammad Ali is black,” said Brad.

            T-Bone was just about to speak when Deni held him back. “I got this.” Deni turned to Brad and spoke as if talking to a child. “Bradley, what’s your religion?”

            “Methodist,” replied Brad with a shrug.

            “That’s funny. I thought you were American,” replied Deni.

            T-Bone, Devon, and Hector laughed and continued getting dressed.

            “You guys are a bunch of pricks,” said Brad.

            “No. I’m not a prick; I’m Santeria,” replied T-Bone.

            Deni turned to T-Bone shocked. “And all this time I thought you was black.”

            T-Bone laughed wildly.

            Hector stepped in the conversation. “No Santeria is Cuban, isn’t it?”

            “No, Cuban is Spanish,” replied Devon.

            “I thought Spanish was Catholic,” said Deni.

            “No, that’s Italian,” said T-Bone.

            “Hey, don’t knock Italians!” shouted one of their teammates from a different row of lockers.

            “Don’t worry bro!” shouted Hector. “Italians make good sandwiches!”

            Deni zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You know what I can go for¾Chinese.” He rubbed his belly. “I could go for some scallion pancakes.”

            “Nah, that’s white man’s food,” said T-Bone. He put his arm around Deni. “Let’s go get some ribs.”

            “I’m not white?” Deni muttered, mocking confusion.

            “Nope, you’re a brother,” said T-Bone.

            Deni walked out with T-Bone, Devon, and Hector. It struck Deni as odd that he found more camaraderie with America’s so-called minorities, regardless of the rising population of different races and ethnic groups. The Great Melting Pot worked only if it blended into a bland, white stew, with just a spattering of different races and cultures for taste.

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Erich reappeared with a mahogany box. He opened it before Louisa and displayed a ghastly array of amber pieces with animal and insect inclusions. He pulled out a piece that contained a butterfly inclusion, which rattled Louisa. “Amber, unlike other gems is fossilized tree resin. The butterfly you are looking at is possibly prehistoric in origin. Can you imagine seeing something so archaic, yet so pristine?”

Louisa shook her head. “No.”

“While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phæton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect; thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death,” he quoted and held up a golden stone with a lizard encased in its tomb. “Look at this one, the remains of a lizard. Fascinating.”

Kris looked away, disgusted.

“Does this upset you, young man? It shouldn't; it’s just death. It’s impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. This amber only demonstrates the perfection of death. If I shall die, let it be shrouded in amber. It is the perfect tomb.”

“I've seen enough death. I don't need to see anymore,” Kris replied.

Erich chuckled. “You were Luftwaffe, I hear. What kind of death could you have seen?”

“Mass causalities from an incompetent war strategy,” Kris stated.

Erich put down the stone. “I see and did you, at the time, take it up with your superior officers? Perhaps you could have given them some suggestions on military strategy.”

Kris didn't respond.

Erich turned his attention to Freddy. “And how about you?”

“Fortunately, I was too young to see battle. Turned eighteen just as the Yanks were setting up in my hometown.”

“Fortunately.” Erich mocked and returned his prized amber pieces to his case. “I invited you into my home and opened up my heart; my passion to you and all I sense is your ridicule.”

“We're very grateful for your hospitality,” Louisa said quickly. “We're all very tired. It's been a long day and a long flight. I’m sure you can understand our fatigue.”

Erich smiled at Louisa. “You are a kind girl. You have a good heart.” He reclined and scrutinized Kris and Freddy. “I never liked pilots. They always acted like they were better than everyone else, as if they had a greater knowledge...but let me tell you,” he pointed to the sky, “there is nothing up there that can't be known down here.” Erich shifted his glare to Kris. “What were you—fighter, bomber?”

“Reconnaissance,” Kris said.

“Slow reflexes, no precision, and lack of killer instinct,” Erich said with a laugh. “At least I know you'll be safe with my shipments.” He rose from his seat. “Well children, I think that's enough for today. Louisa, may I speak with you in private?”

“Of course,” she replied, looking back at Kris and Freddy as she followed Erich into his home and into a perfectly kept office.

Erich reached into a drawer, pulled out a polished mahogany box and handed it to Louisa. “I’d like to give this to you.”

“Oh, that isn't necessary,” she said.

“Don’t be shy. Please, take it. I have no wife, no daughter, yet what does a bachelor need with a jewelry box? A jewelry box belongs to a lady to put her jewels in,” he said.

“I have no jewels, nothing to keep inside it,” she said.

Erich raised his finger and grinned. “Not yet. Open the box.”

When Louisa opened the jewelry box, she found an amber pendant with a spider inclusion. She found it grim and she had no intention of wearing a dead spider around her neck. “It’s very unusual,” she replied.
“Very rare, indeed. I know quite a few women who would find that a prized possession. It’s a black widow,” Erich described with pride.

“Right. Thank you,” was all she could muster.

Erich gleamed, believing he had impressed Louisa. “Oh, before I forget,” he retrieved an envelope from the top drawer of his desk. “Here is the money. Make sure to take your cut—a financially independent woman is a powerful woman.”

Upon entering, she found Der Friedhof brimming with life. Wrapping her cardigan sweater close to her chest, she meandered through the crowds of drunken debauchery and promiscuity until she found a familiar face in the far back booth. It was Kris.

He gave a welcoming smile and stood while she took a seat across from him. “Freddy’s making a pick-up,” he said with a wink.

“Oh,” Louisa sighed.

“Hilde, the barmaid,” Kris remarked with a bellowing laugh. When Louisa didn’t react to his joke, he grew solemn. “Is everything all right?”

Louisa didn’t feel right in this world of post-war misfits; she didn’t want to acknowledge she indeed herself was one. “Yes. I just wanted to make sure Freddy was all right.” She got up to leave. “Glad to see he is.”
Kris caught her by the wrist to keep her from leaving. “You’re here. Sit. Have a drink.” He smiled. “Freddy gets to have time with a pretty girl, so should I.”

She hesitated, unsure, and then returned to her seat. “I can’t stay long.” She shifted her gaze around the bar; anything to avoid Kris’ entrancing stare.

He beckoned for another beer and lit a cigarette. Staring at her, he tried to find the similarities between her and his good friend. They had a slight sibling resemblance, but that was all. Freddy had a charm that was infectious, even to some men. Louisa had a deep, quiet soulfulness about her. She looked angelic in her purity—ivory skin with a touch of freckles on her nose, large blue eyes with a trace of darkness underneath. Her features were delicate as if to suggest she was not obtainable by the average man, but a doll to be admired by those who could afford her. Studying her innocent beauty, Kris realized he wanted to be more than just an ordinary man.

He dared to brush away her bangs and ran his fingers through her boyish haircut. “I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. You can’t hide being beautiful.”

“What do you mean?”

He puffed on his cigarette. “Allow me to let you in on a secret. Men see beauty, especially when it's not put on display, and this only makes them want it more.”

“I don’t believe you,” Louisa stated firmly. “My mother parades her beauty on a silver platter and men gobble it up. No man is ever tempted to take it from me.”

Kris leaned in toward Louisa, almost close enough that his lips were touching her cheek. “Because you’re a treasure and most men are taught not to steal.”

Louisa pulled away from him. Her blush of desire grew too strong to face his advance. “I just find all this debauchery disturbing. Did the war ruin all sense of decency?”

“Don’t underestimate the importance of sex. Sometimes it's all a person has,” Kris replied. “When a person has nothing but the touch of another’s skin, it can make them feel invigorated. A warm embrace can make another feel secure. The sensation of sex can fill an empty spirit even if it's only temporary. Sex gives life to those who have forgotten what it feels like to be alive.”


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