Page 20 of When Night Falls
I don’t make it through the threshold before another bodyguard reveals himself from beside the door and holds his hand out to me.
I stare at him blankly, not wanting him to know that he scared the shit out of me, a literal chill travels across my skin. I awkwardly put my hand in his to shake it, assuming that’s what he’s doing.
But then he gives me a stupid look and says, “Phone, Miss Claire.”
I look around to see that everyone is hidden behind some sort of face covering; a half eye mask or full-coverage face paint. Some have full face masks, but all with beautiful and intricate details and decorations, such as flowers and lace. Some have plain half-masks that only cover one side of their face. Others rock face paint as their form of hidden identity.
My heart flutters heavily in my chest. It seems as though privacy is a well-respected priority at this party. And despite the fact that both of the bodyguards seem to know my name—without even seeing my face for that matter—this place feels like exactly what I need. A place to finally be myself and enjoy the company of others while lingering in the shadows and having the luxury of not having to tell a soul about who I am or what my past is made of.
WhatIam made of.
I decide to let go of all the worrisome thoughts and the idea that someone or something is playing tricks on me. I take a deep inhale of the surprisingly fresh air and I hand over my electronic device and my purse to the man next to me. He switches the phone off and places it on a conveyor belt, reminiscent of a library book return. He places my purse behind it, and I watch as they slowly disappear into the hole in the wall.
“What is this place?” I find myself asking as I look around, and the only thing he says to me is, “Enjoy your night, Miss Claire," as he nods his head and turns his attention away from me.
It seems I’m on my own. Which I don’t mind, it gives me a chance to people-watch and really create a narrative of my own.
The atmosphere resembles a high-end club. People are scattered throughout wearing fancy dresses or tailor-made suits, garnished with their form of face-covering, dancing on the floor to the classical sounds of piano music or vibing in the VIP booths which are sectioned off on the sides. Not a single person has their face showing which eases my mind a bit. I don’t want them to see me, and I don’t want to see them. I realize that this is more of a formal social gathering than an actual party, but I welcome the atmosphere, nonetheless, scoping out my surroundings and taking note of the layout.
There’s a spiral staircase that leads to a second landing, a wraparound balcony of some sort. The lights are low, only accentuated by neon signs plastered on the wall, and amber lighting mixed with a flutter of flashy disco lights illuminating from the ceiling throughout the venue. While the music isn't deafening, I know I should be able to hear it from outside, so I assume the building is soundproof.
As I walk deeper, making my way through the sea of dancers on the marbled dance floor, I see a bar at the back end.Just whatI need. I approach the bar top and wait for the bartender to spot me. While I have time, I turn to look at the party once more.
Why was I invited? It seems like a secret society of some kind considering the security measures I had to comply with upon arriving. How could I have secured a spot and why does it seem so discrete? Who could have possibly wanted me here?
“What ya drinkin’, miss?” A voice from behind me asks, and I turn around to see the handsome bartender waiting on me.
“Oh, sorry. Can I get a Bloody Mary?” I ask. I feel a little awkward asking for a popular breakfast drink at ten o’clock at night, but honestly, it’s the only alcoholic beverage I really know of.
“Sorry, all out of Bloody Mary's. I've got a Bloody Susan or…" he pauses and looks down beneath him for a moment. "Or a Bloody Ted, tonight,” he says, and I stare at him blankly not knowing what the hell any of those are.
His eyes seem to get impatient with me under his white full-face mask, but then his demeanor shifts slightly. “Ah, my bad. You’re an Outsider. Got ya. I can whip ya up a Glass Slipper. You’ll love it.” He knocks twice on the table before turning around to make me the drink.
I straighten up, feeling so fucking confused by what he’d just said. He outright called me an outsider. I guess I’m more obvious than I thought I’d be, given everyone is in hiding tonight. Maybe they can tell I’m new.
The bartender comes back with my drink a few moments later, a sparkly blue liquid that smells like coconut. He sets it on the table, and I go to reach for my purse to pay him, but I realize I gave it to the bodyguard.
“Shit, I don’t have my ID or my cash. Can I go get it from the-”
“It’s fine. You must be new here. Everything is on the house. Just give me your name so I can keep track of your drinkinglimit.” The man with blonde hair and kind eyes hands me a pad of paper and a pen.
I write down my name and slide it over to him, grabbing my drink in the same breath.
“Lucynda?” His question of my name seems concerning, though I can’t tell what his face expresses behind his mask.
“Umm, yeah,” I say, frozen for a beat.
“Forgive me, Miss Claire. Let me know if you need anything else.” He bows his head and I have half the nerve to laugh at the ridiculous notion of his.
“Thanks,” I say to the handsomeweirdoin a sarcastic toneand remove myself from the bar.
Does everyone know who I am? How come I don't know a single person here?
I walk back through the dance floor, feeling eyes on me everywhere. But it’s a feeling I’m keen to ignore because in about five minutes, I’ll have this drink finished and I know that I’m a lightweight and should be feeling the effects of whatever alcohol this drink possesses, leading me to not giving a fuck if others look at me funny or not at all.
I wander around trying to find a chair to sit at, but everything is full. I certainly don’t want to be caught standing in the corner by myself, so my only other option is to climb the staircase to see what the second floor holds. Once I’ve made it to the top, I look around to see a few private booths closed off with groups occupying the intimate spaces. I keep making my way toward the other side of the balcony when I get stopped.
“Hello there,” a strong male voice greets me from one of the booths as I pass it by.