Masquerade

I hope this works. I think I made it pretty clear, but sometimes I have to go and layer it, make it a game. Just passing along a strained open invitation couldn’t be the best way. Why couldn't I just come right out and ask? Because it wouldn't be as much fun for either of us that way; always has to be some trick to it. Here's the door: what the hell am I doing here? This is gonna be a huge disaster. On the other hand, if it works,... there might be a chance,... and what else'm I going to do this evening, rest up for the course tomorrow?

The doorman’s in a Cerberus costume, I’m not sure that’s a good portent. He’s giving everyone a half mask to go with their costume if their face isn’t covered. He has to turn away one guy and another couple who haven’t come in costume. They protest, but to no avail. Rules are rules, I suppose. He hands me a mask and stamps my hand to enter. I catch my reflection approaching me as I walk up to the glass door, an image of my costume superimposed on the others in costume inside. This Captain of the Guard outfit doesn’t fit great. Seems like it’s been left out in the rain a bit. I brush a bit of sand off the sleeve, still able to laugh at this little inside joke with myself. The mask seems superfluous – I’m not likely to be recognized even without it. Still I pull it on and line up the eye holes as I pull the door open. Maybe at least the band will be good.

There are a lot of especially good costumes here tonight. The Pharaoh bumps me as he shambles by, searching for Cleopatra. Drunk already, or maybe already left his senses in a clay jar. I thought I also saw Carse float by, still in his wrap at this point. Edward Scissorhands is struggling with his drink at the bar, no problem with the olive though. Robin Hood and Peter Pan are having a animated conversation about their tights riding up (really didn’t need to be there for that). The King of Clubs and the Queen of Diamonds have found each other, shuffling on the dance floor. Eros is standing leaning against the wall, seems nobody wants to talk to that guy. Hmm, Spiderman? Uh, okay... Here’s a mime... Maybe the costumes aren’t all that great after all.
I’m misidentified repeatedly. Musketeer, Zorro, Captain Morgan, Jack Black, Scarlet Pumpernickel, Sora (which panics me for a moment and I quick glance at my shoes)
Wow, it's more crowded than I'd imagined, maybe I'll be able to just float around unnoticed for a while, then disappear if I have to. There's a seat at the bar, I better get there fast. What's on tap? No Red Nectar? The hummingbird tap handle’s a little misleading then, wouldn’t you agree? Okay then, the Chimay; might as well be something with a kick. Two, please? No, don't think I'll run a tab, might only trip up my escape if I have to wait for my credit card. Thanks, here. No, the change is yours, try to remember me if I need something later.

Some chicky turns towards me from the next seat. Yeah, I'm having a blast. No, not waiting for someone exactly, just got two. Uh, well, since you're already drinking it, I guess so, sure. No? don't like it? give it back then. What? The band just started to crank it, which made the volume of the conversations go up, and I'm left just trying to make what I think might be the appropriate facial expressions for whatever she might be saying -- seems likely it might be something about herself. Oops, I guess that wasn't something I was supposed to laugh at. She shuts down and excuses herself to find someone else to talk at. This might be a good time for me to go float around. Finish one of these first,... having two apparently seems like an open invitation.

I shove off from the bar. There's already a new group moving into the space vacated. They seem to all be associated with the two women dressed as cats. They’ve got no need to stalk prey, mousy men hover in a loose crowd following them across the floor. One's costume made out of a soft fleecy fabric and the other out of leather, with studs? Yikes. The first throws a punch out of the group to land on my shoulder: Hey boss lady. "None of your sarcasm around here mister." Wouldn't dream of it. Do I do that? But she's gone back to her studied indifference in her own group, except for another quick glance that I return with a wink. She's a good kid, hope she doesn't draw too much trouble tonight.

Floating around the room, it's the same DC bar talk: what do you do? what's important about your work? what's your highest hit total? did you see the funny bit I wrote? I don't seem to ever have the right answer to these questions. Somebody identifies me: "Dude! When're we gonna see some sex?! I know those two gotta be doing it. What's he waiting for? Is he gay or something? Broken?" Broken, eh? When you say that it sounds to me like you're volunteering. Shouldn't give me any ideas. Even when I’m identified, it seems I can’t be recognized.

Over his shoulder, I see a Mrs. C. in her poodle skirt, waving. I wave back. Where's Mr. C.? Oh, there he is: I don't remember the original Mr. C. having a beard. Whew, I missed my guess: I was starting to think everybody else here was a 20-something. Are those two really having fun? I'd go over and say hey, but my glass is empty. I better take care of that before I get too far away from the bar. Get in line right behind a guy who's just paying for his drinks. While he's waiting for his change, some girl rushes in close to say something. He pulls away with his drinks saying, "I don't care." She cuts in front of me to the bar. I roll my eyes, but I can wait. She keeps stepping away, then stepping back up, jabbing me with her elbow each time. I must be invisible again. She's about to do it a fourth time when I decide that three is enough, and grab her elbow. She turns on me with what she must think is fierceness. "That is so rude!" What is? Oh, do you mean your elbowing in front of me to the bar? She tries to glower, but it makes me laugh, unfortunately out loud. "Where are you from? Don't you know how rude that is? You don't grab the arm of some strange woman. That's rude!” I pass on making a comment on her "strange”-ness, don't argue whether she's old enough to refer to herself as a "woman". I'm sorry I grabbed your arm, it seemed the only way to get you to stop hitting me with it. 'Glowering' again, which again makes me chuckle. Listen? If that's all you're going to do, could you step over there and do it so's I could get to the bar? "That's so rude. You're so rude." Right, I believe we've covered this already. The bartender saves me by pointing at me and raising two fingers as a question. I nod back with a wink and a thumb up. Yes, please. "What did you say?" Not talking to you, talking to her – the bartender. Here, keep the change again. Thanks again. "You seemed to need some help," she says rolling her eyes at Rude. We share a smile for a moment. I turn back to my accuser, touching the brim of my hat with the rim of one glass. Have a good evening Rude. She’s still saying things at me as I walk away, but they get washed out in the crowd noise.

Didn't really want two more, but it would've taken forever to work it out around Rude. Hey, there's a woman dressed as an A&W rootbeer. That has to be,... Yeah it is, maybe she'll take one. But she's not drinking, maybe she's afraid it'd cause her to break her self-imposed moratorium on writing. We need to talk about that. "Not tonight, I'm here with someone. It'd be unfair to him to bring you into the conversation. He's a little self-conscious here, and I know you'd tend to magnify that." Okay, but soon? Oh, here he is now; hey buddy. Having a good time? I brought this beer over for you, we like the new guy to feel welcome. A&W gives me a look to say, "Would you get the hell out of here?" and I'm gone.

There're a lot of people talking with stage voices to try and add drama to their name-dropping. The heavy hitters hold court with receiving lines of admirers. I cut in on a few small groups to add a few opinions or push a few people to sharpen theirs up. I'm mostly playing at pointing out the counter-idea within each idea – poor guy got a little flustered when he realized he’d ended up arguing the opposite of his original premise. Somebody blurts out "A gorilla junkyard! A junkyard,… with gorillas!," like the gorillas were the ones intruding. I'm thinking the gorillas were probably always there and that it was probably the junkyard that was unusual. Geez, what am I doing here? Here's somebody else I know from the actual world. He just looks at me and says "Don't start U. Buzz off." Right at that moment there was a lull in the room, and "Don't start U" was the only sound. There's a flash of hair from the back corner of the room as you whip around searchingly -- then a big smile of recognition.

You stand up and start over, our smiles getting bigger as we filter more and more of the rest out. Details of the room drop away, leaving more room to focus on details of each other. For me it's: the way you're trying to raise an eyebrow back at me, the bounce of your hair, the panther-like (yeah, makes me lick the back of my teeth and bite my top lip) grace you prowl me with, the color on your lips, the neckline of your top, the depth of focus in those eyes (sea-grey this evening) seeing me, the way you bring your hand up to your chest as you approach, drink in a tumbler with a lime twist in your other hand, your nails on the glass, your finger pads on your skin just above the neckline, the pearl necklace (how many pearls on it now -- 8 or 9 I can see, there might be 1 or 2 under your hand (the special ones?). (“So, that’s really how I looked that evening?” Words fail, darlin’. “I don’t know, you seem to be doing a pretty good job with ‘em. You’ll let me return the favor?” Sure, as soon as you’re close enough to tell me. “Could turn out to be a quite an evening...”)

Then they all disappear from view, someone's stepped in your path. You hadn't noticed him, and bumped into him. He mistakes it for an advance and starts to try and chat you up. Now you'll see how a bear prowls. Over his shoulder you see it. Direct, un-nuanced, side-stepping larger groups, pushing off potential obstacles, a quick snarl at one that tries to push back. You lean to look around from behind him, he shifts over to try and keep your gaze on him. You lean back the other way as he's saying "What I'm really doing is writing a screenplay" He tries to follow your lean again, and a paw appears on his shoulder and takes advantage of his momentum to knock him aside as you come back to the original side and step in, putting your hand on my shoulder. See if you can use this for your screenplay Junior: my hand goes to the small of your back and pulls you in for the kiss. For a second time the room goes silent, and everyone looks up. (“Wow, where’d that come from? That “broken” comment got to you didn’t it?” Are you complaining? “Oh, no. No. Does this feel like complaining?” I might not be sure yet, let me take a bigger sample. “Really? Here?” Right, you’re right...). Come on, I gotta get out of this crowd. "I know, me too." I hand Junior my beer (here you go, consolation prize). Now you're pulling me away from my joke and off the floor. The crowd returns to their conversations. Those who are capable of it now aware of something missing in them.

“I wanted to find someplace where we could talk for a while. I stopped suddenly, and your momentum caused you to pivot around my waist – hand still firmly planted (“I’m impressed, that was very smooth.” I have my moments.) and now you are facing me. Your other hand rises up and gently you brush back the hair from my forehead. You run your finger lightly down that line on my cheekbone, hidden just under the edge of my mask. I’m wishing there was a place we could sit.”

Come sit in a booth with me, just a sec. I'm claiming this booth tonight, you youngsters go on out there and meetngreet why don't ya. Blank stares look back at us. Did I stutter? Speak too fast for you? Go on now! Oh look,... here’s a place we can sit opening up. You slide in, and I take the opposite side, which initially gets a puzzled look from you, but the only way I’m going to be able to follow what you say in here is by watching you say it.

"Thanks for rescuing for me. I'd been waiting for you to show all evening! Wasn't sure I'd find you in that crowd. Geesh! they treat me like I’m ancient. Except for Mrs. C. -- she just made me feel welcomed." (“Now I’ve got you where I can tell you, it’s my turn to say how I see you. You're just watching me talk, eyes taking all of me in -- drinking me in. I can feel it physically. It doesn't make me feel self-conscious. It makes feel 'aware' of myself, of you.”) “Hey U,... Earth to U ....." No, no -- sorry, I'm listening. I am hearing everything you are saying. (“Your response makes me blush. Because I'm having a number of thoughts running parallel to my jabbering... remembering that hand spread on my lower back, and watching your mouth move as you talk. And no, not because of your wise cracks.” Really? not even a little bit? “Don’t pretend to be so dense, it’s a compliment.” I know.) “I turn my head, knowing and not knowing, confident and nervous, and I toy with the lime twist I’ve fished out of my drink, absentmindedly liking the juice off of my finger (You didn’t do that on purpose? “No, should I have?” I’m gonna keep quiet about that one.). I’m thinking this is not the place. I decide to voice that one: "Hey U, know of someplace quiet we can go? I want to listen, too. I don't want to miss a single moment. You heard a few other things I thought to also say, but left to thoughts only.”
You’re right, we really should just get out of here, somewhere we could use our words. How about, I'll take you for a drive out along the river, see the city at night, stop at a park near the water, leave the windows open and the CD player on and dance together in the headlights. On second thought, no headlights.
"’So,’ I say, stealing a peek at you from underneath my eyelashes. You are grinning at me. ‘What ?? what did I do? why are you smiling like that at me ?’ I ask half seriously, half jokingly. My nerves are getting the best of me at the moment. Geesh. I’m starting to sound like some twenty - something nitwit... I follow up with a softer, ‘Yeah. A drive by the river and a slow dance sounds good... really good. Hope you have our playlist handy...’"
Anything else?
“Just one.”
What’s that?
“Would you tell me another story?”
Of course, come on...