If You Don’t Mind Sharing
October 30, 2007
Signe wasn't kidding when she said that Kiki de Montparnasse was the sexiest store in Manhattan. Sexiest store she'd ever seen, I think she said. She was also right when she said it was pricey. But that didn't stop Deborah and me from plunking down way too much money on things we didn't need. We decided to plan a photo shoot, which somehow helped us justify it.
The salesgirl said that she was a photographer, too. "What's the shoot for?" she asked.
"It's a personal project," said Deborah.
"Oh, cool."
"An ongoing personal project," I said.
The salesgirl opened one of the drawers toward the front of the store and helped us pick out something we hadn't thought about buying until the moment we walked in. That's not to say she was a pushy salesperson, as none of it was her idea. She simply helped us refine our search and even talked us out of something she thought we could make ourselves. The piece Deborah chose wasn't a bra, panties, or long leather gloves. It wasn't a paddle, a feather duster, or designer handcuffs. It was a mask. Designed by the same designer who created the masks for Eyes Wide Shut. It was painted matte black and covered the entire face, with only two small openings at the nostrils. No mouth hole and no eye holes. Deborah tried it on.
"Wow," I said. "That's weird."
"I was going to direct you to a mirror," said the salesgirl, "but I guess it's pointless."
Deborah tried to look in the mirror anyway, but without eye holes, the salesgirl was right.
The mask had a mark on it, and the salesgirl went into the stockroom to see if there was another. While she was gone, we looked around the store. A mannequin stood against the wall of the back room, next to a bed, wearing a long, sheer black cape, like something out of a Jess Franco lesbian vampire movie. Designer sex toys lay behind glass display cases, and racks of lingerie lined the walls between framed photographs by Sam Haskins. Hanging from the open door of a large wooden wardrobe was a $600 pair of flowered panties.
"That's extravagant," I said.
"That's what you buy for your mistress," said Deborah.
The salesgirl, a thin pale girl with bright red lips and a Cabaret haircut, returned with an unblemished mask. "They're all handmade, so they're all a little different," she said, handing it to Deborah for approval.
"Looks good," said Deborah, trying it on.
"So weird," I said.
As the salesgirl rang us up, she got slightly wistful. "I was in a photography couple for a while," she said. "We had an ongoing personal project, too. My current boyfriend hates having his picture taken. Every time I try, he throws his hands up. Just relax, I try to tell him. It's frustrating, but I guess I understand. When I take pictures of myself, I can make myself look amazing, but when other people shoot me, I look like a monster."
Deborah filled out a card with her contact information to be alerted to store events held in the salon.
"I hope your pictures come out," the salesgirl said, as I signed the credit card slip. Then she whispered almost timidly, "I'd love to see some." She wrote her email address down on a card and put it in a small black envelope with the receipt. "If you don't mind sharing them, that is."
