LEONORA

.2.

Minchioneria

At such a smell, I unwittingly inreased the quality when I followed a desire to take a detour instead of going straight to Giacomo’s. I decided to follow a single random impulse and turn the other corner to wander down a seemingly quiet, tree shaded street, and then another, and then another. Soon I was surrounded by the smell of coffee beans.

There were many cafes in this district, with aesthetic appeal and stimulating scent...but one took my interest. At the end of the street there was a quaint, desolate place, the sort that most people ignored in favor of the cheaper or fancier coffee shops that competed with each other over the length of three blocks. This small, lonely café had artwork and charm and tasteful flowers (I should know), and yet was empty. I wondered if the coffee was that bad; must not be, I thought, after looking in and seeing the clerk helping herself to a cup.

I held my queries upon entering. The dark-skinned clerk, who had a nametag reading “Panna” and who was clearly bored, perked at seeing me. She was pretty, with her big brown eyes and red-painted lips. “Welcome to Minchioneria, we’re very happy to have you.” Panna laughed when she saw my eyes widen at the strangeness of the name.

“Why Minchioneria?” I asked, looking around the shop for anything out of place or bizarre, justifiably suspicious. Panna laughed heartily. I realized I still gripped the onions for Giacomo and hid them beneath my apron.

“Minchioneria only seems a coffee shop,” she said, “but we also function as something a little different...I am assuming you’ve never heard of us?”

I shook my head. “No, never.”

Panna smiled again. She set her empty coffee cup aside and leaned forward. “Minchioneria is also a unique club...normally I wouldn’t have said anything,” she admitted, “but you seem nice and...well, no offense, but you look like the type who enjoys themselves here.”

So it was some kind of sex club. Doubtless, with knowledge that I was an instrument of faith and my curiosity and offense at her categorization of me piqued, I inquired further. “How do you mean?”

She then twisted her face in thought, finding the right words. “Well...” Panna decided on words, finally, “it’s a sort of ladies club, if you know what I mean.”

I raised a brow. Even though the term ‘ladies club’ could swing two ways (no pun intended), I discouraged myself from asking further questions on the subject. Instead, I asked Panna the hours of this “club”. She smiled gleefully, her analysis of my personality apparently correct.

“Nine p.m to nine a.m at the latest,” she informed. Obviously alcohol came with your entertainment. I figured making Kaprelian some thick, rich food for supper would keep him sleeping through the night...sometimes the man woke up and checked my room, not out of paranoia but from routine. Perhaps the routine he had with his children, going from room to room, checking if they were sleeping soundly.

“Thank you very much,” I said with a smile and Panna nodded as I headed out the door, a little eager for something new happening in my routine life. Then I pulled the onions from my apron; they’d stained my shirt.