In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

with me, her place just got broken into. I think you'd better have a
look. She says the lock is totally busted. And someone must've gotten a
key to the elevator door, too. No, she's okay. She's having a cup of tea.
Okay, sure, I'll do that. Thanks, man."
She put the phone down and asked Ula, "You wanna stay here
a sec, while I take a look, make sure your place is really empty?"
"I'll come with you." Ula rose and the two of them crossed the
hall.
A crowbar must have been used to pry open the door that
swung loosely on its hinges. The blasted hole was a work of art, alright,
looking as if it had been blasted out from the other side by some arcane
high velocity projectile. Beyond it was that empty dance space Penny
had only glimpsed at when the renovation crew carted in or hauled out
stuff. At one end of the room was a series of ovoid white fabric screens
that hung on invisible wires from the black ceiling's sprinklers, giving
the studio the look of a surreal theater space. In front of the screens at
each corner of the room, gleaming needle speakers, positioned for
design impact rather than optimal acoustics rested on the seamless
maple floor. The convoluted arching panels concealed a rudimentary
living area without seats or couches, just a low tatami, an alcove of
shelves, and a counter. Well, more of a gurney with huge rubber
wheels, on top of which were aligned a small electric heating coil with a
Pyrex beaker, a compact high end stereo console, clip on remote
control, revolving CD tower, tiny cell phone, and a slim silver laptop,
wireless and shut.
In the alcove, where a refrigerator would normally have been,
neat stacks of folded clothing filled the shelves, mostly black with some
white. On the ground below was an orderly row of ballet slippers, both
flat and toe, all black with the black satin ribbons wrapped tightly
around the toe shoes. A pair of black rubber split toe boots ended the
row, and a bundled fuzzy black roll, maybe a blanket, on its side at the
end. That was it.
The white subway tile bathroom was just as obsessively
minimal. A white ceramic bowl without a seat, white towels neatly
stacked above the tank on a thick glass shelf. A dark coat or cape hung
from a chrome hook on the door. Penny saw a mirror, but no signs of
feminine or even human preening anywhere: no toothbrush, floss,
soap, nothing, and there where no signs of anything having been
disturbed or taken.
Ula, back in her element now, let her hand glide dreamily along
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