They entered the dark hall at the base of The Pastoral and went through to an elevator that stood like a portal to some underworld, though in this case Hades was located above. The over-under world within the tip of a tooth. That’s how it was in cities. Little doors led to vast complexes. Bubbles swelled up inside larger bubbles.

Alfonzo shifted, antsy, while Mitchell conferred with a bouncer, a grim-lipped Doberman wearing a chain around his powerful neck. Mitchell assured the dog that Dawn Delamarche had put their names on a guest list, but the dog insisted on double-checking. Mitchell would have gotten in regardless, as he had a dash of fashion, but Alfonzo would definitely have been barred without Mitchell. He was too schlubby young-middle-age bureaucrat with post-punk leanings. He gave off that metaphysical dirtbag stink. Under the appraisal of the guard, he realized he also gave off an actual damp-straw smell. He should really get some fresh hay for his apartment.

The dog finally gave them a reluctant go-ahead. They squeezed into the elevator alongside a couple of Persian cats, a greyhound in a three-piece, and a delicate pony with an up-do. They all inhaled and stayed silent.

The elevator shot upward. The doors opened into a massive circular room, with windows all around and glimmering aquariums bisecting the space into smaller zones. Everything—the aromatic candles, the shelves of liquor, the groomed fashion animals—communicated discreet excess. Despite—or perhaps because of—the line of animals waiting on the street to get in, the bar was not crowded.

Mitchell disappeared in search of Dawn. Alfonzo wandered toward an aquarium. It was taller than he was and stretched half the length of the room. Multicolored gravel covered the bottom. A dark blue fish hovered in a yellow light. The fish was round like a miniature planet; orbiting him in the water were smaller moonfish and the dust of a thousand food flakes. He is depressed, Alfonzo decided, then chided himself for projecting. Could one read a fish’s face? What did he know about fish feelings? But then, did one need to read an expression to imagine that being trapped in a glass box for one’s entire life would be a horror? It didn’t take a mystical empath to imagine the fish was miserable. It was obvious.