I noticed an open bottle of pinot grigio in the door of the refrigerator that had barely been touched. Since I knew it would spoil by the time the Straubs returned home, I poured a glass for myself and drank it. With my second glass of wine, I walked from one room to the next. Up the stairs and back down, absorbing every detail. Each and every vantage point built upon the last, so that the cumulative effect was a transcendent experience. The transitions between spaces, like the sculptural staircase, were isolated but spiritual, and the spaces themselves were earthbound and communal. An interplay between isolation and community.

I set my glass of wine down on a brass end table in the great room. I had yet to pay close enough attention to the silk rugs they’d chosen. I’d seen them in a magazine, listed at thirty grand each. They began as watercolors, painted by Brooklyn artists, and then were woven in Nepal. The Straubs owned four of them. I sat on the floor next to the most beautiful one and ran my hand across the smooth gray surface. It was softer than most sheets and pillowcases were. I put my cheek down on the rug, just to feel the silk against my face. It would be easy to fall asleep here.

I took off all my clothes, including my bra and underwear, and lay facedown on the rug. I felt myself to be fully inhabiting the home of Amelia and Fritz, in the deep recesses of their life. In spite of the many hours I’d spent in clients’ homes, I always hit walls blocking me from entering all the way. I couldn’t see the walls; I could only feel them when I came too close. I was forever hovering on the edge of something.

Early on in my career, I’d sometimes made mistakes, such as resting on the sofa in a client’s study or snacking from their refrigerator. When a client saw me, their reaction was clear. I’d invaded, crossed a line, trespassed, taken liberties.

With my body spread naked on the rug, I felt a sensation of entitlement and power. I had penetrated the walls. I had pierced the barrier. I was claiming the territory as mine. The opposite of the deference and the hesitation that restricted me so often. No one could stop me.

I stood up. Still naked, I found Amelia’s watering can in the kitchen and filled it up. I watered the ficus in the great room and the rubber tree in the front library. My nudity made me feel close to the Straubs—at the very core and center of their lives. I passed by the full-length hall mirror and stopped to observe myself. I posed my figure facing forward, and then in profile. My image, watering can in hand, resembled that of a Greek goddess.