North La Cienega
Spring 1971ThemisClosed
The Shop
Come sit. The small things are on the plank. I keep the candles low.
The plank
What’s hanging
The racks are mine now. Inga’s shop, my glass. I have already been to Morocco — the souks in the morning, a suitcase of djellabas packed the way I like them, silver and amber that make a noise when you walk. Kaftans on the left wall. A black dress with white flowers. Vests. Slippers. There aren’t a lot of clothes. That is the idea.
The small things sit on a plank of dark wood. I carved nothing; I only keep it. Matches, for the candles. The little horse — he stays. Jim’s note, folded the way he folds things. My kohl. A ring that already sounds like walking. Incense in the unicorn’s back, sandalwood, Morocco still. The shop key hangs on a nail. Judi has the other. Jim hung the GT500 on the far side. He put the Mustang in the paper. I don’t think he’ll sell it. Come sit. I keep the candles low on purpose.
Look up. The peacock is in. Feathers and broken glass, round eyes, a bird over the whole room. Jim wanted them on the ceiling. I wanted the walls. They went on both, and I am glad. The dressing curtain is for later. Around the corner a unicorn, a horse, a monkey — children find them before they find me. If you walk in, the ceiling is the first thing. Then the silk. I think the room is finished. I think we have just begun.
Pamela
Hours
- Monday
- Closed
- Tuesday
- Closed
- Wednesday
- Closed
- Thursday
- Closed
- Friday
- Closed
- Saturday
- Closed
- Sunday
- Closed
This season we are in Paris.
From Morocco
I go to buy, not to be seen. The souks in the morning, before the heat sits on the silver. I choose a djellaba by the weight of the hood, a kaftan by whether it will hang in this light, coins and amber that already sound like walking. A saffron hood. A green one I almost kept. I pack the suitcase myself so nothing is folded wrong. Jim says it still smells of the market. It does. That is how I know I bought well. I keep what I brought on the velvet, in the candlelight — few pieces, the honest ones. If it would not suit you I will say so. Gently. I don’t like people leaving in the wrong cloth.
Pamela
Hold the cloth
There aren’t a lot of clothes. That is the idea. Touch one.
