I stopped on my way out of the box and turned around.
‘Oh. Where are my manners? Welcome to House of Aten.’
‘Ladies . . . are you ready?’
Ma Isis’s voice, both smoky and smooth, resounded around the dim din of the room. It echoed around and mingled with the aroma of luxury and liquor, love and lust.
Whoops and cheers beckoned me from where I stood backstage, behind the curtains. Ma Isis stood on the other side, the crowd surrounding her. She tutted, disappointed at the response to her call and placed a hand on an audacious hip. The light focused on her, all white and gold, bangles and anklets chiming, heralding my arrival.
‘Is that the best you can do? I’m disappointed. I don’t like to be disappointed. She cannot come out to that.’
Ma Isis’s cadence tipped and lilted, up and down like a reverse lullaby that sought to coax you awake. Her voice rose like a sunrise.
‘Come on. You know who we’re here for.’ She clapped her hands together and bells sounded.
‘The one you’ve been waiting for all night. The queen of the House of Aten. She is the Great of Praises, she is the . . .’
Ma Isis’s voice hummed low and the hollers of the crowd increased, building to a roar. I knew Ma Isis would smile into the mic as she glided across the platform, her kaftan billowing behind her. She would leave a waft of lily, myrrh and cardamom in her trail; her very own perfume mix that I sometimes let her sell in back of house. ‘Mama Isis’s Love Potion’。 I loved Ma Isis as if she’d birthed me, but she often had a mind of her own when it came to making extra cash – no, I had to focus. I wasn’t House Mother right now, owner of the largest, most （in）famous bar, club, home, sanctuary in Thebes City, Kemet, I was . . .
‘ . . . Lady of Grace . . .’， with each name there was a roll of the drum, a thrum of the bass, and Ma Isis fell into a rolling, rousing brassy melody:
‘ . . . Sweet of Love, Lady of All Women, Akhen’s Beloved, Our Beloved . . .’ She floated around the stage, preparing it for me.
‘The one and only, Queen Nefertiti.’
Spotlight.
I opened my eyes and, thus, gave the music permission to enter. The melody is my lover, but sometimes she can be a little reckless, a little careless. I have to prepare for her, teach her patience. She can’t have me on her terms. It’s got to be on mine. Always on mine. The plucks of the bass reached deep through me and twined around my spine so tight it made it jerk. My hips then moved accordingly, smooth with the motion, left and then right, my heart falling right into the beat. I settled into my skin.
I sang, something like silk over gold. I knew how I sounded, and, if I didn’t know, then I would have felt it, and if I didn’t feel it, then I would have seen it all over their faces. I had them in my palm. They were rapt, all eyes on me. I was home.
To most of the people of Thebes, Kemet, House of Aten was a place of disrepute. My personal favourite review came from the Thebes Telegraph. According to this article, the House of Aten was a
‘cesspit full of rough and wild women reigned over by the criminal queen known as Nefertiti Aten, a former singer and widow of the notorious gangster Akhen Aten. Under Akhen’s management, the lounge was a gentleman’s club that was a hub for anti-government activity. With Nefertiti’s ascension to his throne, the House has become a cabaret lounge where women, and women only, have the privilege of becoming guerrillas, indulging their vices while organising protests and civil disruption. More and more women are now sporting the sun disc tattoo – the infamous insignia of the club. The government posits that House of Aten has evolved into a dangerous misandrist cult and directly contributes to societal unrest and decay. The problem is, how can it be shut down when nobody can get close to Nefertiti? The elusive crime boss is untouchable. She fears no one and nothing.’
I always got a thrill when I read that part.
It continued:
‘Though they do not hide their illegal activity, the brave officers of The Duat have found it near impossible to trace crimes back to the women of the House of Aten. The policing force successfully removed the threat of Akhen; it is undoubtedly clear now that his wife poses a far bigger threat. House of Aten is far from neutralised, it is emboldened. Nefertiti is an elegant thug and an incisive assassin. She tidies up after herself so well that she does not need to hide her face. She wants you to know her. The women who work at House of Aten revere her and will forever protect her. She is the goddess of the underworld, and as long as she has the loyalty of her faithful, who can stop her?’