“It’s your best work,” Jack states.
“Possibly,” I reply, pleased. “I don’t know what possessed me.”
“You don’t? I do,” Georgia says. “What possessed you is the same thing that possessed me last night: inspiration. Caused by Lily, her perseverance, and her magical success. When I got home, after I got over my initial despair that I would never be able to create art that came even close to rivaling hers, I decided to emulate her. Just for the hell of it. Just to see what happened. So I got a bucket and placed it next to my chair in case I needed to throw up, because, as you know, every time I even think of trying to write since I got my laptop back, it makes me want to vomit. I sat there and actually attempted to write.”
“And? Did you succeed?” Peter asks.
“I’m not saying I produced anything on Lily’s level. But it was like before I lost my laptop. As though I’d never lost it. And to me, that feels like magic. It’s all I could hope for.”
“I’m so happy you’re writing again!” Peter exclaims, hugging Georgia, to our surprise. “What a relief! All is right with the world.” His hug lifts her off the ground.
Lily thanks me again for the mask. I tell her I can’t give it to her just yet because I need one or two more days to add a couple of finishing touches to it.
“It looks pretty finished to me,” Penelope says. “Be careful not to spoil it. I know that sometimes when I overwork a ceramic piece, it turns out worse rather than better.”
“Really? That’s interesting,” Jack says, strolling over to my shelves. “Where’s that nice ceramic box you made for Barb a few weeks ago? That was such a beautiful example of having not overworked a piece. And it had such a nice clasp.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t make the clasp, remember, only the box.”
We move on to the question of who will call Strad. As expected, they all say they’d rather not, which only leaves me. I’d rather not, too, but I cave in.
On speakerphone, I dial Strad’s number.
“Strad, Barb,” I say, when he picks up.
“Hi Barb,” he says.
“I’m calling to set you up on a blind date.”
“Oh.” A cautious pause. Then, “Who is she? What does she look like?”
His question surprises me, which surprises me.
“She is a knockout,” I tell him.
I give him Lily’s new cell phone number — the one she got for this occasion.
To our pleasure, he calls her just a few minutes after hanging up with me. Lily answers her cell on speakerphone, so that we can all hear. She adopts a slightly deeper voice than her natural pitch.
He asks her a few perfunctory questions. She tells him she’s my new assistant. That’s what we settled on in advance, along with her new name, “Sondra Peterson,” which she picked as an homage to her favorite top model from the sixties.
They make plans to meet on Sunday at two o’clock at the coffee shop on the third floor of Barnes & Noble in Union Square. Just like in Lily’s fantasy.
Before they hang up, he says, “How will I recognize you?”
“I’ll be wearing a mask.”
Silence. “Why?”
“Why not? It’s as good a way as any to be recognized.”
Silence. “And then you’ll take it off? I like being able to see who I’m talking to.”
“Yes, I’ll take it off.”
PART TWO
Chapter Thirteen
Carrying a shopping bag containing her two masks, Lily goes to Barnes & Noble for her two p.m. blind date with Strad (she tells us all about it later). Customers in the store have already been under the influence of Lily’s “beauty” music for a few minutes, so she gets admiring stares when she enters, which she finds unsettling. It’s the first time in her life she’s out in public and beautiful.
She takes the escalator straight to the third floor and hides behind some bookcases to spy on the coffee shop area. She wants to wait until Strad arrives and seats himself before she makes her appearance.
Three minutes later, she sees him ambling into the coffee shop area. He looks around, searching for someone wearing a mask, sees no one, chooses an empty table, hangs his jacket on the back of the chair, and stands in line to buy a snack.
Lily decides that she will make her entrance when he’s back at his seat. She feels more nervous than she expected.
While she waits, a young man tries to start a conversation with her. No one ever tries to pick her up, so at first she doesn’t realize what he’s doing. When it finally occurs to her that asking her what is her favorite time to come to Barnes & Noble is a weird question, she says, “I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now,” and turns back to her object of interest, who’s paying. Strad carries a hot beverage and a plate with a pastry on it to his table. He looks around again, then at his watch, and sits.
Now is the time. Her apprehension has grown. Trying to calm herself, she takes a deep breath.
She pulls out of her shopping bag the green mask of the Wicked Witch of the West wearing sunglasses. She puts it on.
Before she has a chance to take her first step in Strad’s direction, there is a tap on her shoulder and an “Excuse me” behind her. She turns. It’s the same guy again. He jumps with fright, looking aghast.
She lifts up her mask. “What?”
He holds up a book. “This is my favorite novel. Have you read it?”
She thought she’d made herself perfectly clear to this guy.
“I’m sorry, I’m in a relationship,” she lies, “and in the middle of something important. I’d really be grateful if you would leave me alone. I’m sorry.” She replaces the mask over her face, hoping it’ll frighten him away.
He raises his hands. “Shame. But okay,” he says, and walks off.
Strad is now sipping from his cup and reading a magazine.
Lily steps out from behind the bookcase just as a group of people are walking by, headed toward the coffee shop area. She goes with the flow.
Strad looks up from his paper, scanning his surroundings again. He does a double take. He has spotted her behind the approaching heads. His eyes are locked on her mask and he’s not smiling.
He rises from his chair and gives her a courteous nod as she nears. She nods back and stops in front of him. He mumbles hello, says it’s nice to meet her. He indicates the empty chair. She sits.
The first thing he says when they’re seated is, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your sense of humor. But they do say first impressions are very important.” He laughs. “I guess you haven’t heard that?”
“They’re not that important.”
From the start, the fantasy is not going exactly as she had imagined. There’s a different feel to it. First off, the coffee shop is loud. More so than usual. Her soul-baring music is not easy to hear above all the noise. This worries her. She wonders if her music’s transformative power will be diminished or maybe even canceled.
As a result, the thing she has been looking forward to the most — the removal of the mask — she now begins to dread.
Her anxiety is not helped by what Strad asks her next.
“Do you know Barb well?”
“Not that well. I only started working for her recently,” she says, the first of probably many lies.
“Why do you think she wanted to set us up? I don’t entirely trust her motives. I think it’s a trick to teach me a lesson. She disapproves of a couple of my views. They all do, that bunch.” He shakes his head regretfully. “Too bad, really. I admire them.”
He will certainly feel tricked if she takes off her mask and he sees his ugly former colleague Lily sitting in front of him instead of beautiful Sondra. This could happen because of all the racket masking her music. To make matters worse, children are crying at three different tables around them. Unbelievable. It’s not romantic. What bad luck.