There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while, a man's evil prying calls them within his reach. - H.P. Lovecraft
I divide the story of my life into two parts: the years before the incident and the time since. What occurred rocked my world like a psychic earthquake. I was looking for a transformation, and I found it in the abyss of a human soul.
Growing up, I had been a loner, an introvert who withdrew from the company of others. I avoided social gatherings whenever possible. This practice conflicted with the wishes of my aristocratic family, whose business dealings and political pursuits kept them perpetually in the limelight. They tried to force me to be more outgoing, but this only increased my distress, resulting in several panic attacks in public. The elders discussed several options for me. My grandfather sent me to a psychiatrist who diagnosed a social anxiety disorder, which was a politically correct way of saying that I was afraid of people. The doctor's solution was prescriptions of Prozac and Valium combined with talk therapy, where I felt compelled to ramble on about my childhood. I didn't see the value in those $600-hour sessions, but I couldn't object to Papi spending his own money if he insisted on it.
Dr. Wildare was a stereotypical Freudian shrink who focused on my parental relationships. His theory was that my strict upbringing had instilled in me a sense that I could never meet expectations. The internal belief that I had disappointed my parents made me fear rejection from everyone. As a consequence, I ended up trusting no one. Fears of what might happen prevented anything from happening, a disabling process he called catastrophizing, by which a person cages himself in. It made sense to me, but self-knowledge of the problem did not eliminate it. The effect of this analysis was to make me feel psychologically damaged.
He threw out many suggestions for me to try. They were strategies designed to alter my way of thinking. I'd listen politely to his proposals, promising to give them a shot, before forgetting about them the minute I got out of his office. But then he came up with a new idea that intrigued me. He said that to escape my fears: I should try leaving myself behind. He suggested that I go somewhere I'd never been, incognito, and act out a new role for myself. Essentially, I might lower my perceived risk to myself by being someone else for a while. If I could relax in those circumstances, the experience might teach me to be more sociable.
This novel plan appealed to me. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to try it. Coincidentally, Halloween was only two weeks away, so I had a practical reason for wearing a disguise. I found a specialty store in Boston that rented out high-quality costumes. They had dressed up a mannequin in their display window in a precise copy of the original Batman outfit. It was magnificent! I had long appreciated the dichotomous nature of the Batman character, identifying with the reserved privileged life of Bruce Wayne while fantasizing about morphing into the flamboyant superhero admired by all. I had the costume custom-tailored for a perfect fit. The mere act of putting it on improved my mindset.
The next piece of the puzzle was figuring out where to go. I needed to get away from my locale to find a social environment different from the high-brow gatherings of Boston Brahmins with which I was most familiar. While hunting online to find something with a rougher-edge feel to it, I located a Halloween party to take place at The Tentacles, a club near Portland, Maine. It was over a hundred miles away. I knew right away it was a perfect choice.
As soon as my afternoon seminar at Harvard Law ended on October 30, I rushed to my Beacon Hill apartment to put on the outfit before hitting the road. I had added bright red pinstripes onto the hood and side panels of my black sports car to give it a Batmobile flare. The fact that I felt like Batman made me giddy as I headed up the turnpike on this adventure that I thought might change my life. I had no idea of how right I would turn out to be.
Part 2
The Tentacles was a popular nightclub about five miles outside of downtown Portland. It attracted a working-class clientele who came out to have a few drinks and blow off a little steam. This hotspot had a large bar with a dance floor and the usual pool tables and pinball machines, but its most outstanding feature was a long outdoor deck with a scenic ocean view. Three wooden ramps led down to the beach for those who wished to walk along the shore. Because I had arrived early, I ordered a late lunch on the patio before the holiday festivities began in earnest. It was a beautiful day with hardly a cloud in the sky. The cool salt air was energizing.
By seven o'clock, the party was kicking into high gear. The owners of the club had offered prize money for the best-dressed revelers in several genres. As a result, there was an abundance of spectacular costumes. I walked around in amazement, checking out the crowd. There was a touch of the beautiful, a bit of the humorous, much of the bizarre, and not a little of that which might excite disgust. I quickly decided that the winner in the latter category should be the woman wearing the tattered shrouds of a victim of the Red Death. Blotches of the scarlet horror stained her exposed skin, with hideous shades of purple and black surrounding her eye sockets. Particularly innovative was the man who wore an Einstein mask while disguised in Robin Hood attire. He was walking around sniffing a drainpipe while reciting the alphabet in a childlike manner. The symbolism escaped me, but there is no doubt he was attracting much notice. I even shared a good-natured laugh with a couple dressed as Batman and Robinette.
The reader may discern that I was enjoying myself. No one was more surprised than I at my exhilaration. I was initiating conversations with total strangers, even finding the courage to ask two women to dance, something I had never done before. My spirit was coming to life. That night, for the first time in my life, I was more than just a member of a prominent family who was expected to think, speak, and act in a certain way. That night, I was me. It didn't feel like I was being watched or judged. The costume and the anonymity it provided released me from the bondage of my identity. I was thrilled! It was exciting to celebrate my liberation with salt-of-the-earth people. I wanted to hug them all, to tell them how beautiful they were, an observation that gave rise to a fleeting urge to call Dr. Wildare to describe these revelations, but prudence dictated that that could wait until the session the following week.
I went to the bar to get another drink. I was treading lightly with the alcohol, not wanting to spoil my fun with the challenges of intoxication. I had drunk wine at all the other parties I had ever attended, but plain beer was the preferred choice this night. While looking to my left, trying to get the bartender's attention, I suddenly felt long fingernails being dragged down my right arm from the shoulder to the elbow.
"Meeeeeoooooooowwwwwww!"
I turned my head to meet the gaze of a goddess-like temptress come to life in the guise of the Catwoman. This captivating beauty oozed sensuality in every aspect of her appearance, from her jet black hair flowing down past her shoulders to her glistening ruby red lips and curvaceous body exquisitely outlined in form-fitting black satin. But the most extraordinary feature of this alluring woman was her emerald green eyes which seemed to have a light of their own. Their hypnotic radiance captivated me, stunning me, leaving me standing there drowning in them, unable to speak or move. The tension I felt contrasted sharply with the relaxed, confident look she displayed.
"Hmm... well, Caped Crusader, we are known for having roiling chemistry between us, but your reaction seems particularly strong tonight."
I could not answer, for her powerful eyes had penetrated the protection of my disguise. She acknowledged this with a coy smile.
"It seems the cat really has gotten your tongue." My seductive antagonist leaned forward to kiss me, separating my lips forcibly with her tongue, pulling mine into her mouth with gentle suction. While backing away, she whispered in a teasing tone: "Don't worry, she'll give it back."
"I'm thankful for that." I was finally able to smile, although with a tinge of embarrassment. I was off-balance, feeling lost, scrambling for something to say.
"My! We are shy, aren't we?" she snickered as she scraped her long black nails down my chest, deliberately directing them across both nipples. "Fortunately, I am much more forthright. I am Catwoman, although right now I feel more like Cougarwoman, on the prowl for the purrfect prey. When I spot a well-dressed muscular version of my primary nemesis, I spring to life, especially when he's young, virile, and needing attention."
"You think I need attention?"
"Oh, yes, very much so. I've been watching you."
"And what do you see?"
"I see a spoiled, repressed young man who's scared, feeling his way, trying to break free of the chains holding him down. I see a rube who's willing to take chances to find the excitement he craves to experience."
