Strad does not hesitate to stand and confront the man, even though this man is taller than he is. “I said, ‘What are you? A ridiculous male model, or something?’”
The man takes hold of Strad’s jacket lapels, pulls him close, and talks to him intimately. “And what do you think you are, you pathetic, greasy, ugly, creep?”
Strad struggles free and then charges the man. They both crash into some empty chairs. They wrestle on the floor, throwing punches. The floor manager rushes over, tries to make them stop. People shout. Toddlers resume crying. Lily is distraught. But not nearly as distraught as she is a moment later when she realizes that the music has abruptly changed. She looks at her watch. The favor-hour is over. The book music is back on. And now her appearance is undoubtedly starting to change in people’s eyes.
She springs from her chair, grabs her shopping bag, and runs to the escalator, leaving the French photographer’s book and the possible male model’s phone number on the table, far too in love with Strad to be interested in other men’s advances.
“Sondra!” Strad shouts. He loses interest in the fight, struggles to his feet, and rushes after her.
She hops onto the moving staircase and flies down the metal steps while putting on the beautiful mask I made for her — in case Strad catches up with her. She looks back and sees him leaping onto the escalator just as she’s getting onto the next one. A group of people are in his way, slowing down his pursuit.
Soon, Lily is out of sight and too far away to be caught. Strad gives up. He goes back up to the coffee shop to retrieve his knapsack with his wallet, then walks across Union Square, straight to my apartment.
When I open the door for him, he looks frazzled, frantic even.
“Barb, I’m afraid I made a bad impression. I think I scared her away. I got into a fight with a guy. It was stupid of me. But jerks kept coming on to her. I couldn’t take it anymore. She’s so beautiful. Barb, she’s amazing.”
I gaze at the few cuts on his face and hands. I won’t pretend they don’t bring me satisfaction.
I decide I will take this opportunity to explain Lily’s frequent wearing of a mask, so he won’t question it in the future. Giving him a look of concern, I reply, “Yes she’s very beautiful, but fragile.”
“What do you mean, fragile?”
“You’ll see, if you get to know her. Her beauty is taxing for her, as I’m sure you can imagine, now that you’ve witnessed the excessive attention and advances she has to deal with all the time. It’s a heavy burden to bear. As a result, she has erected certain defense mechanisms.”
“Like what?”
I answer by looking past him, into my living room. Strad follows my gaze, which lands on my large, brown, swivel easy chair with its back to us.
Slowly, the chair turns, revealing Lily wearing the white feather mask.
Strad’s eyes open wide.
I move to the stereo and turn on the special music.
“I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself,” he tells her.
Lily makes no response.
“I apologize for the fight at the bookstore. I hope I didn’t freak you out too much. I don’t usually get into fights. I’m not a violent person, I swear,” he says.
Lily languorously swivels the chair, disappearing behind its back once more. When she reappears, she is unmasked.
The music has had enough time to take effect. Her inner beauty is exposed in all its radiance.
Her lips, curved in their deliriously lovely way, spread into a mischievous grin. “You didn’t freak me out that much.”
MY FRIENDS COME over the following day for a Night of Creation. When Lily has finished regaling them with her account of her bookstore date, we work. Peter is drawing in his pad, frequently glancing at me, as usual. I’m not looking at him much, but I’m thinking about him — and not entirely happily. He seems attracted to me, and yet he hasn’t been doing anything about it. He must not be as interested as he seems, and it must be my disguise that’s preventing him from wanting to take things further. It’s disappointing. I hoped he might be different.
In Central Park at nine p.m., two days later, Strad is waiting for Lily where they decided to meet for their second date: along the edge of the lake in a secluded spot at the foot of some rocks.
He’s been waiting five minutes.
Suddenly, he sees her at the top of the rock formation behind him, wearing her white mask. She looks majestic standing there, gazing down at him. He waves at her.
With a minimal gesture of the head, she motions for him to join her. Before he can, she backs away until she’s out of sight. He scrambles up the rocks to find her.
And he does. She’s leaning against a tree, waiting for him.
“You’re wearing your mask again,” he says, surprised.
She nods.
“I guess you wear it a lot?”
She nods.
“How come?”
“I can’t talk about it now. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s okay. It’s great to see you again. Or at least to somewhat see you again,” he says, as they begin to stroll. “How’ve you been?”
“Well. And you?”
“I hardly know,” he murmurs.
“Oh? Is something wrong?”
“I’d rather not talk about it right now. It is so nice to see you again.”
“Thank you. Have you had dinner?”
“No. I haven’t had much appetite lately,” he says, looking off into the distance.
Georgia had predicted that “He will barely eat and he will barely sleep. Your face is not one from which one recovers quickly.”
Lily glances at him. He does look rather tired and gaunt. She feels a surge of joy.
That’s why Lily had to ask. Curiosity. Not because she wanted dinner, which she couldn’t eat anyway, with her mask.
Eventually, they sit on a rock at the edge of the lake, in the obscurity. The side of his body is touching the side of hers.
“May I take off your mask?” he asks.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Why not? I mean, I understand that with your looks, wearing a mask attracts less attention than not wearing one, but right now we’re alone. No one will see you.”
“Except you.”
“Why would that be a problem?”
“Now is not a good time.”
“What a shame. I don’t even remember what you look like.”
She chuckles.
“It’s true,” he says. “Hasn’t that ever happened to you — you think about someone so much, you can no longer remember their face clearly?”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” she says.
“So.” He pauses, grins at her. “When will I get to see your face again?”
“I’m not sure, yet. I often wear a mask. I wear it at many expected times, and at some unexpected times.”
“I see. And do you have an aversion to being touched?” he asks.
“No.”
“Really? Could have fooled me. You’re completely covered. Even your hands. I can’t see any of your skin.”
“That’s because it’s cold,” she laughs.
“The only part of you that’s not covered is the back of your head. Do you mind if I touch that?”
“I guess not.”
“Turn around.”
She turns her back to him.
She feels his hands softly separating her hair, pushing it forward over her shoulders.
“There’s your skin,” he notes.
He runs one finger along her part, and over her nape, sending shivers through her body. He gently kisses the back of her neck.
At the end of the date, he asks her if he can see her again tomorrow, if not sooner.
He stares at her frigid, feathery expression. He doesn’t know it, but on the other side of the mask, she’s smiling.