“I can’t just say yes,” she says, pulling away. “I lied to you.”
“About loving me?”
“No.”
His face lights up. “Well then nothing else matters.” He embraces her again. “I’m very forgiving of liars, being a great one myself. I’ve lied to countless girlfriends. Never to you, of course. But I know that lying doesn’t always come from bad motives. I don’t hold it against you. What did you lie to me about?”
“My mask.”
“Is that all? I don’t care. What was the lie?”
“Everything I told you about it. The reasons why I wear it.”
“You mean you weren’t sexually molested as a child?”
“No.”
“So why do you wear it?”
“That’s the thing. That’s what I’m having trouble telling you.”
“Then don’t tell me. I don’t care why you wear it, and I don’t care that you wear it. And plus, I’m sure the truth is not that bad.”
“No, it’s not that bad. But to you it may be worse than to most.”
“I don’t know what sort of misconception you have about me, but I’m very average.”
THE NEXT DAY, Peter comes over to my place at three. I was hoping to get a lot of work done before that so that I wouldn’t feel guilty about taking the rest of the afternoon off, but I was unable to focus on my work. I was in a trance, completely stoned on the love hormones coursing through my body. I got almost nothing done.
“Did you stock up on some pleasures?” he asks.
“Yes, I have a couple that could do the trick. And I skipped lunch so that I’d experience maximum pleasure during the session.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
I don’t mention that skipping lunch did not succeed in making me hungry. The stronger my feelings for Peter have become, the less appetite I’ve had. As a result, I’ve lost weight recently, which was not something I especially needed.
I arrange my pleasures on a tray. We settle ourselves in the same way as last time — me on the couch, Peter on a chair facing me.
I first take my iPod from the tray and start listening to the French pop song “Un Jour Arrive,” which I happen to be fond of at the moment. I open my bottle of Petite Chérie perfume and hold it under my nose, feeling the intoxicating scent of pear and spices dance under my nostrils to the romantic melody.
Peter is watching me carefully. I don’t take my eyes off him.
There is only food left on my tray of pleasures. Before the end of the first song, I put down the perfume and transition to goat cheese on a cracker. I don’t generally like cheese, but that particular goat cheese is one of my favorite foods. Even though I’m not hungry, I do my best to savor it, luxuriating in the delicious sharp flavor. Peter’s gaze is intense and seductive. I try not to let my attraction to him distract me from my task.
“Am I any good?” I ask.
“Remarkable,” he says.
He says nothing more. And neither do I. We are sitting motionless, looking at each other. Now is the time, the ideal time, for him to kiss me.
I wait. But nothing happens.
I start feeling sick with disappointment. He is toying with me.
Or maybe he does want to make a pass at me, but can’t bear the look of me.
I can’t take it anymore. He has almost passed my test. He is almost there. He is clearly interested in me romantically.
That’s why I get up and bend down to kiss him on the cheek — a pass so slight it can hardly be called a pass at all. It’s more of an encouragement, a nudge, to help him cross the finish line.
Looking alarmed, he pulls away before my lips touch his skin.
I’m shocked. I clearly misread him. He had no intention of making a move, ever.
Humiliated, I decide to put an end to his little game right now. I will take off my disguise and present him with his own shallowness as I have done countless times to men at bars.
I start unbuttoning the top buttons of my large man’s shirt that covers my gelatinous jacket.
When Peter sees me about to undress, he leaps out of his chair and grabs my wrists — not out of passion, as I imagine it might be for a second — but, to my horror, out of panic, to restrain me from proceeding. He is that disgusted. Well, I’m glad I found out now instead of letting it drag on.
“Don’t do that,” he says, rebuttoning my top buttons. “Please. Not right now.”
“Okay, forget it, Peter. I get it. I’m not your type. Perfectly understandable.” I pull away, confounded by his aversion and too sad to complete my punishing procedure.
“No, you don’t get it,” he says. “It’s just that there’s something I must tell you before—”
“Yes, I know, something you’re afraid I won’t like about you.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“So tell me.”
“Can I tell you tomorrow? It has the potential of upsetting me very much. If I tell you now, it might be hard for me to anchor the news tonight, whereas tomorrow I’ve got the whole day free. I could come over for dinner and tell you. We could order takeout.”
I agree to let him come for dinner the next day.
IN LATE AFTERNOON the following day, on my way out to Whole Foods to get a few delicacies for our evening, Adam the doorman says, “Oh, Barb, I’ve been meaning to ask you, are your parents siblings?”
Every time he insults me, which is every time he sees me, I feel guilty that I have neglected to give him the name of my therapist. It’s just that there’s always so much going on in my life, so many friends to be concerned about, and Adam is never at the top of my list of priorities.
AT SIX, LILY goes to the lobby of the hotel to meet Strad for the surprise he has planned for her. She’s wearing a bathing suit under a casual outfit, as he instructed. And of course, her white feather mask.
As she waits for him, she paces the lobby, lost in thought, again wondering if she should tell Strad who she really is. Fortunately, he has seemed willing to wait a bit longer for an answer to his marriage proposal, now that he understands the situation is less simple than he thought.
A van picks them up and takes them to an electrically powered pontoon boat. A few passengers board the boat. Lily and Strad join them at the bow.
The boat promptly departs, carrying them over the black sea, along the coast, and into a bay.
The guide tells them that this is the biobay — one of the most magnificent bioluminescent bays in the world. He explains that the water glows around anything that moves because it’s filled with microorganisms that light up when disturbed. He says the glow is only visible on a very dark night with no moon, such as tonight.
The passengers start gasping and shrieking with delight at the beauty of the natural light effects in the water.
Unfortunately, Lily is unable to see anything because of the dark glass covering the eyeholes of her mask. It’s like wearing sunglasses at night. The glass is not detachable, but even if it were, she would not, for anything in the world, remove this important part of her mask which prevents the ugly proximity of her eyes to each other from being seen.
Squeezing Strad’s arm affectionately, Lily gently informs him of the problem, apologizing for her mask spoiling the surprise he had planned for her.
Strad slaps his forehead and curses himself for his oversight. “What a shame,” he says. “But come here. Let me at least describe to you what you’re missing.”
He turns her toward the water and stands behind her, gently pressing himself against her. He’s holding onto the railing on either side of her.
In her ear, he softly says, “As our boat advances, the fish are darting out of its way, causing the water to light up in blue-green streaks. It looks like bolts of lightning tearing through the water. They create wild jagged patterns.”