I did, but once I found the locker I couldn’t get it open. The key stuck and I tried the latch. That too wouldn’t budge. Then the same voice came back, out of nowhere. “What’s the matter? Can’t get it open?”

He was a tall, heavy-set black man with large popeyes. His gray hair extended into sideburns and a thin gray beard. His belly protruded over the rolled edge of the towel stretched about his waist. “Here, let me try,” he said, taking my key out and pounding the area around the latch. “Sometimes these things stick,” he said. “You don’t act like you been here before.”

“No, I haven’t. A friend told me about this place.”

“So it’s your first time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome to Paradise. All seven greasy floors of it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s shit. The same ol’ shit. I been coming here every Wednesday night for the discounts, you know, and it’s always the same ol’ shit.”

“Always?”

“Always. When you get undressed I’ll show you around.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I been on all the floors at least twice already since eight o’clock. I’ll show you around. My name’s Clement. You can call me Clementine. I’m real, darling.”

“I’m Jesse. You can call me Jesse.”

“You sure look good, Jesse. Bet you got good meat, too.”

“Now wait a minute, I just got here.”

“Just warming you up, that’s all. You can give it up any way you like. That’s all I’m trying to say. There are no rules here. And tonight there’s some real hungry numbers here, honey. I don’t know why your lover even let you out.”

“I don’t have a lover. Not anymore.”

“Lucky for me. I mean, how long were you two together?”

“Two years.”

“Honey, you complaining? That’s a record in Manhattan. I’ve had me four lovers. One for every century I lived through, before I forgot how to count. I’m old as sin and just as fun. But I can still put them out when I want to. They don’t leave me. What about you?”

“He was killed.”

Clementine’s eyes widened, then looked away. “Sorry.”

“It’s O.K. I don’t think about it much anymore,” I lied.

“I want to have a good time tonight.”

“Then let old Clementine show you around. I can speak Spanish, you know. French too, and some Italian. I’m a woman of many tongues.”

“I bet you are.”

“I’d sure like to put one in you. Get us real tongue-tied.”

“I’m not available.”

“You ain’t no snow queen, is you? I like all types myself.”

“Snow queen?”