I had never been to the bottom. At the bottom was a long hall. It was wide and tall enough for a small car. With a bicycle on top. And more. I felt liberated, and trotted down the passage. The white cinderblock gleamed. It would make a fine sordid retreat with Jake. Jake was a guy I would never have.

I know a place we can go, I say.

Let's stop here, he says, on a landing in the stairwell.

No, there's a better place at the bottom, I say. Look at those small white feathers. What do you think they're doing there?

We reach the bottom, where I paced, imagining it all. I wondered if it would be unhealthy to inhale deeply there. And if lingering there one would pick up the smell of polluted rain that stagnated in that space.

oh! oh! oh! oh!

But Jake was not the type. He worked on Wall Street. He lived on the East Side. He wouldn't think of going down there. I asked myself how long I had been down there myself. I walked to the end where there was a metal door and a sign that said: Caution: stairs immediately behind door. I pushed the bar and peered down the stairs to the door at the end, but did not go.

"Where'd ja go?" Alex asked. He always asked where I had been.

"Nowhere," I said.

He did not reply. I began to feel regretful. "I went down the stairwell," I said a few minutes later.

Alex was interested in me, but I was not interested in him. He was too cheery. I had moved beyond that long ago, and I could not go back. And yet--

"I'll show you something," I said.

"Ok," he said. Around the corner and down the stairwell we went. He did not see the feathers on the ground. He did not see things unless they were pointed out to him. It was one reason why I disliked him. And when we were at the bottom and walking down the long, remote hall, he did not see its potential.

"Well," he said, looking at the clammy walls. "It's like another place entirely."

We are in another place, I would have said, but I didn't. I turned around and led the way back. I supposed I must be a little insane for looking at that clammy hallway and thinking of anything besides the clammy hallway.

At 6 as I got up to leave, he got up also. "Time for a drink?" he asked.

"Okay."

We had not taken ten steps when he said, "or do you want to get sushi." It was alarming, the way he proceeded without caution. And yet I thought, perhaps this is the only way things will happen. Jake and I were both so cautious, and doubtful, that nothing would ever happen.

"Cheers," he said, lifting his glass of sake. He brought it to his lips with a lascivious look. It seemed improper and premature and completely unfounded. He raised an eyebrow and nodded knowingly. He reminded me of my mother, who talked on and on, without checking to see if anyone was listening.

I drank. My charm bracelet jingled as I put my arm down. He reached over and felt it. I reflexively extended my arm to make it easier for him. He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. I drew it back.

"The sushi is good," he said.

My face had flushed with the wine, and as we walked down the street past unknown people on the sidewalk and past buildings and apartments full of more unknown, I felt drawn to this convenient, immediate person next to me. As we stopped at a crosswalk, I suddenly put my hand in his elbow.

"It's cold!" I said. "It's colder than it was before."

"My apartment is warm," he said, "and so is my bed."

I broke free of his arm. His eyes glinted in the lamplight. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. I wanted to say something to him. I wanted to tell him he was crazy for the way he proceeded without caution.

"Look at that," he said, pointing off to the side. I looked. He stepped forward and his lips were on my neck. The wetness touched me to the bones.

The bothersome pest dissolved and I clung to the warmth and the shared breath. I laughed. He stood close and pushed against and upwards. It was unabashedly crass. He did it again. I gave no reaction. I was thinking. But I was trying to think as I hung about his shoulders and it was useless. My mind had collapsed and spilled over like melted candlewax.

His bed was higher than mine, and it felt as if we had gotten on stage. But we were on a boat, on a river, and it was a relief to be there.

"A cigar," he said afterwards. I thought of how to go back. It was impossible.

He had put on his robe and sat on a low armchair. He did not think to offer me anything. I took his shirt and crawled onto his lap. I thought of the stairwell and its dusty steps. And of the hall at the bottom-- how it glowed with that strange, slimy white paint. His apartment seemed large and well decorated. There was a fabric hanging on the wall. On the next wall, there was another fabric.

On the table, there was a wooden puzzle of several interlocking pieces. I walked over and picked it up.

"Don't take that apart," he said languidly, "I don't know how to put it back together." I found the piece that slid out, and it fell to pieces on the table.

"My God," he said with genuine consternation.

"I'll fix it," I said. I began to study the small logs and their indentations.

I took a few pieces back to the armchair and he put his arms around my waist. It was a pleasant constraint. I did not resist-- in fact I wanted to feel them tighter. Reaching under his robe I felt his chest, and kissed him again and again.

I picked one piece up and counted the nicks. Three. And the next piece had two. As I put them together, flipped and tried, he advised, "they don't fit side by side. You have to line up the identical pieces and then fit them crosswise."

He went to sleep. I stayed up. I thought of how when Jake held the door he was thinking, let me get the door for her. Alex did it thinking, I'm a swell guy. It was no good, I knew.

It was late. "Alex," I said. He had fallen asleep. I got into the bed and waited, sleeping and waking, for the morning.