It was another world down there, nothing quite as it seemed. When she laughed we could see that her teeth were framed in gold. She performed in the basement of the bar, velvet furniture like gems in a jewelry box, dark sapphire couches, an emerald ottoman, side chairs like fat rubies. Black tables gleaming like onyx, her voice dark like molasses and the strange drinks we had, black cherries muddled in the glass. The brass looked strange in the black light, hypnotic. It made us giddy, expectant, mischievous, fingers laced together, in matching gloves no one remembers bringing or buying but just appeared, black magic totems we wore like a second skin.