Doug has decided to go to the masquerade ball, where his costume makes him rather uncomfortable. And why doesn't he have a mask like most of the others? Why are they auctioning off men? Most of all, are Miley or Paris behind the whole thing?
Chapter 9
The masquerade ball
I continued to go out with both Renee and Sal as I waited to hear about the mysterious masked ball. In a few weeks another of the envelopes arrived. This one contained a first class ticket from RDU to LaGuardia and instructions on where to meet my ride.
On the appointed day I boarded my flight with a single carry-on bag. The flight was delightful, and I thought to myself that I could get used to first-class travel. I immediately got a knot in my stomach as I wondered if this was a way Paris had to ease me into her lifestyle.
Leaving the terminal I came across a well-dressed man holding a sign that simply said 'Doug'. I identified myself and James escorted me to his waiting car. It wasn't a limousine, but a rather well-appointed Mercedes. I engaged James in conversation, but couldn't pry any useful information out of him. All he knew was that he had been instructed to pick me up at the airport and take me to the hotel. Nothing more.
He dropped me off at the Waldorf and a doorman let me into the lobby. I cast an eye around at the marble floor, gilded plaster ceiling and crystal chandeliers, opulent vestiges of a bygone era. At the desk I signed in and was informed that my room was ready and necessary items had already been delivered and were ready for me. I had no idea what that meant, but when I saw several ladies carrying costumes I figured that must be what was awaiting.
The room was a small suite with a bedroom and a sitting area. The carpet was plush, and tasteful paintings of views of New York hung on the wall. The sitting area has a desk with a computer and a sofa. A large flat screen TV visible in the bedroom also immediately caught my eye.
In the bedroom I found a long clothes bag lying across the bed. I opened it and was bewildered by the colorful plaid cloth inside. When I got everything out of the bag I found a note pinned to a linen shirt. 'Check your messages.'
I discovered that I could retrieve messages on the TV. There were two messages. The first was a welcome from the hotel and to let them know if anything was not absolutely satisfactory. The second message read 'The clothes bag on the bed contains your costume. It is complete, and nothing else is to be worn. This means ABSOLUTELY nothing else. The outfit is complete even if you think it is not. In one shoe you will find guidance on how everything fits together. You should plan to enter the ballroom at seven-thirty sharp. Further instructions will be given to you when you enter. Take the card pinned on the costume with you. Enjoy your stay. '
I had immediate second thoughts about this enterprise as I scanned the components of my costume. I recognized a kilt, with a card labeled 'William Wallace - Braveheart' pinned to it. I had been led to understand that everyone was supposed to have a mask, but found none among all the components.
My nerves started to get the better of me, so I only ordered a light meal from room service. I did get a bottle of wine to fortify myself.
I eventually got everything on in the correct places. I had a kilt that hung just below the knees, white linen shirt, a hat of sorts, sash of the same pattern as the kilt with several pins on it and a pouch that was attached to a sort of belt. The note had implied no underwear, and from what I had read about kilts I remembered that was customary. It felt very breezy going commando, and I was rather self-conscious about the thing flying up or something. I empathized with women who have to deal with such things every day. It didn't seem to fit quite right. Then I remembered I had always seen the pouch worn in the front not on the side. I think the pouch serves as a pocket of sorts. When properly in place it hung down more or less over my 'parts' and everything at last seemed in order.
At seven twenty-five I downed the last of the wine and headed for the elevator. It stopped several times on the way down, and at each stop one or more costumed figures entered. They smiled and nodded at me as they entered. At least I wasn't alone. I followed them to the ballroom where there was a short line of attendees waiting to enter. Each had a card like mine that they handed to a man who announced the arrival. The couple ahead of me, dressed as a Roman soldier and a woman in an exotic toga sort of affair and a black wig was announced as "CLEOPATRA AND MARC ANTONY"
I handed over my card and was announced as "WILLIAM WALLACE." As I entered I heard the couple behind me announced as "SIR ISAAC NEWTON AND MATA HARI". I guess couples didn't have to look like they belonged together.
A man in a powdered wig and colonial garb approached me and pressed a piece of paper into my hand. I opened it to read 'Marie Antoinette wishes to see you.' I looked around the growing crowd and didn't see anyone who I could identify as Marie Antoinette, so I picked up a wine glass and milled through the crowd.
I finally saw someone who looked like Marie Antoinette and started over towards her. Along the way I spied a second one, and heard yet another being announced. Apparently Marie Antoinette was a popular costume. About that time I noticed that while all the women appeared to wear masks, some of the men did not, so I wasn't the only one without one.
A live band started playing dance music and several couples began to dance. I decided if I couldn't find Marie Antoinette I would let her find me, and leaned against a wall with my wine glass. A woman wearing a long black dress and a wig with curls approached me and began a conversation. I tried to determine if I recognized the voice or the eyes, but no luck. We chatted a bit and then she moved on to another man who also appeared unattached. I spied a Marie Antoinette who seemed to be edging in my direction, and made my way over toward her. I introduced myself as William Wallace and asked her to dance. On the dance floor I had time to study the voice and eyes behind the mask, but came up empty again. Marie gave no hint she knew me. At the end of the dance she opened her black lace fan to fan herself. In character I bowed to her, she curtseyed, and we parted.
The crowd swelled to what I estimated to be over a thousand, and late-comers were still being announced. By nine-thirty I still had not connected with Marie, but a rather sloshed young woman dressed as what I supposed was Cinderella in rags came up to me and asked if it was true Scotsmen wore nothing beneath their kilt. I thought that was rather personal and brushed her off, but she circled around behind me and lifted the garment. "I thought so!" she giggled as she skipped away.
By ten o'clock I had been groped by several women. I saw another man dressed as a Scottish king, and he gave me a look that said 'me, too.'
The band stopped playing and a woman took the stage as a representative of the charity we were supposedly raising money for. I felt guilty that I hadn't raised any money. While she spoke the band vacated the stage, taking their equipment and instruments with them.
The mistress of ceremonies went through a long list of people to thank for organizing the ball. When asked if we were having fun we all applauded, although mine was half-hearted. She continued "Now the real FUNdraising begins. Oh yes, there is some real fun yet to come tonight. We are going to auction off some of these fine gentlemen!"
Laughter and a few hoots met that announcement, but it served to get everyone's attention. She waited for the hubbub to die down and continued "Our first contestant is...THOMAS JEFFERSON! Come on up, Tom." A man with knee breeches and a powdered wig elbowed through the crowd and climbed the steps onto the stage.
"Oh, doesn't Tom look fine! Did you bring your fiddle? I hear you are good at...fiddling!" There was more laughter at Tom's expense. "Who will start the bidding? Certainly someone wants to fiddle around with Tom."
Someone started at fifty dollars and the bids rapidly rose to seven hundred fifty. "Sold! Good start! Next we have...William Shakespeare! Come on up Will...Tell me did you really write all those plays or was it someone else using your name, as suggested by some snobs?" Will was obviously taken by surprise, but stayed in character and declared that he and he alone wrote every word, and if anyone thought otherwise "they itcheth for a fight!" Laughter rippled through the crowd.
