CH 4: Opening Night (The Masquerade Party)

Everybody was gathered in front of the bar, in a single file formation. They all had their white shirts tucked neatly into their black dress pants, and polished shoes. Some of the men had opted for a bowtie, while others the more traditional necktie.

"Alright, guys. This will be our last rundown. The party is scheduled for seven o'clock. We'll expect our first wave of guests to trickle in around five o'clock. Security will be on site. At no point during the evening, are you allowed to serve security any alcohol; only virgin drinks."

A couple of guys nodded their heads.

"You'll only be serving drink orders. Any food requests must go through the servers, to avoid confusion." Ronnie said seriously, "Be on your best behavior tonight. Don't make me look like a jackass."

The row of twenty servers all gave an acknowledgement.

"If you have any questions or complaints, come to me directly. Or you can grab any one of the floor managers on duty. Are there any questions?"

A guy raised his hand, "Yeah. Do we really have to wear these stupid masks?"

"It's called a masquerade party for a reason. Of course you have to wear the fucking mask."

"But—"

"Are there any non-stupid questions?" It was more of a rhetorical question than anything. "No? Good. Now go get changed, people."

All the servers left and went their separate ways.

He quickly ducked into a nearby washroom.

He turned on the tap, and splashed his face with frigid water. He stood there, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror. This was it. He had gone too far and had lost too much, to call it quits now. He wiped the droplets from his face, and put on his masquerade mask. It was simple, yet memorable. It was fiery red. It was all too fitting.

He straightened his bowtie.

There was no turning back now.

- o -

Since the jet had taken off, and the seatbelt light turned off, Cosima paced the aisle back and forth, again and again, and again. The Gulfstream V was definitely spacious enough for her to do so, but it was driving everybody else on board absolutely bonkers.

"Good Lord, Cosima, you're giving me a headache."

"I don't like flying, you know that." Cosima did another lap, "This calms me down. I mean, why else would you own a private jet, if you can't do whatever the Hell you want on it?"

"We all know how you feel about flying, Cos, but what can we do? It's a part of our job description."

Cosima plopped down in her seat, but only to grab Rachel by the arm, and snuggle it tight against her body. This was her go-to move, whenever she wanted something from her older sister. It had a ninety percent effectiveness rate. The other ten percent often resulted in a scolding, or worst yet, an ass-kicking.

"Please, Rach? You know I wouldn't be asking you, if it wasn't, like, a life and death situation here. You don't want me to die in your arms, on this very jet, do you? It'll totally bring down the resale value, if you ever want to unload it." Cosima whined childishly.

Rachel simply turned, and took in the current sight of her younger sibling's immaturity.

"Don't do it, Rach." Sarah warned, "You know how she gets. She'll be lethargic for a couple of hours, and when the effect wears off, she'll be wired like the energizer bunny on bath salts, for the rest of the night."

Paul was Switzerland; he kept to himself, and was steering clear of the madness.

"You really are a baby, aren't you?"

Cosima gave Rachel her best puppy dog look. If this was an anime, her eyes would be three times their normal size, and be sparkling, right about now.

Rachel waved the white flag. She reached into her handbag, and popped a single pill into Cosima's grubby hand. It was Xanax.

Cosima was giddy. She really didn't like flying, that wasn't a lie, and the Xanax really did ease her anxiety associated with flying. Cosima popped the pill in her mouth, and dry swallowed it.

Sarah, being the older sister, said, "Really?"

"You're right!" Cosima snapped her fingers, "I need a drink. Maybe a fuzzy navel. Or a rum and diet coke."

"No, Cos! You can't mix alcohol with that!"

And it was off to the races. Cosima was in the lead, with Sarah hot on her trail.

Rachel redirected the conversation to Paul, "I heard about Kira. How's she doing?"

"She's fine. Dr. Schultz said there isn't any cause for concern. We have to tinker with her diet a bit, but as she gets older, her condition should improve."

Rachel was glad to hear it, "Where is she now?"

"She's staying with my folks in Oakville. They're going to spoil her rotten. I already left them our emergency number, just in case."

"If you or Sarah ever need anything, don't be afraid to ask." Rachel meant it, "We're family."

"Thanks, Rach."

Sarah stomped back to her seat; Cosima was nowhere to be found. "Nope. Lost cause."

"Just leave her be. Let her enjoy herself for once."

"Rach's right. Let Cosima go crazy. What's the worst that can happen?"

Sarah didn't even want to think about it; they didn't know Cosima like she did. "Did you hear from him yet?"

Rachel smiled, "Yeah. He touched down this morning. We're the last ones to the party. He should've checked in already, if I'm not mistaken."

"Whose idea was this again?"

"It was his. He wanted to surprise Cosima." Rachel shrugged, "They've always been close."

"That's not all." Sarah added, "He has a surprise in store for all of us. The bugger won't spill a peep, until he sees us."

This certainly piqued Rachel's interest, "Really? You think he got a tattoo, or something?"

"Or maybe a nose ring? Alison would love that."

Paul held his hand up, and interjected, "Wait. Who are you guys talking about?"

The sisters gave each other a look, and said in unison, "It's a secret."

- o -

The time was winding down. It was almost five o'clock. Everything was set, and ready to go.

Alison had spent the entire week going over the finishing touches for the opening night. And though it wasn't the get-away weekend Donnie had hoped for, it was still nice to reconnect after being married for so many years. If anything, this week definitely reignited a dormant spark between them.

It was one of the many reasons why they decided to try again. They've always wanted kids. And when better to try, if not at a five-star resort on a romantic get-away trip. But there was just one teensy, tiny problem.

Alison's phone was on the nightstand, and set on vibrate. She had a few missed calls. She thought nothing of it, until her phone started vibrating off the hook.

"Will you hurry up?"

"Don't rush me. The more you yell, the harder it is for me." Donnie then added, "No pun intended."

Alison sat on the edge of the bed, with her head propped on her knee.

Donnie had his tux on, with his vest and tie already done. His dress pants, though, were around his ankles. He had his eyes closed, as he stroked himself feverishly. He thought of Taylor Swift, Princess Leia, and even Sharon Stone, in that infamous Basic Instinct scene. Whatever he had deposited in the spank bank, he withdrew it all, for an emergency such as this.

This time, it was their suite phone that rang.

"Cracker sticks! Give me that!" Alison swatted Donnie's hand away, and grabbed his manhood.

"OW! Jesus, Alison!" Donnie screamed, "It's not a whisk. You're not trying to make an omelet. Can you be more gentle?"

"The faster we get this done, the sooner I can get back to the party. I need to be there to welcome the guests, when they sign in."

Donnie sighed, "Such a mood killer."

"This has nothing to do with mood. I'm ovulating. If we don't do this now, we might miss our window. So buckle up, Hendrix, and take one for the team!"

Donnie squirmed in pain, as the friction started to sear his sensitive skin. "You're not helping, Alison. It's like you're trying to stab fire ants with a fork. That's not how you give a proper handjob. That's how you get a carpet burn."

There was a sudden bang at their suite door.

Alison jerked, which in turn caused Donnie to jerk.

"OW!"

"Alison!"

It was Sarah.

"I know you're in there. Don't make me break this door down."

"Coming!" Alison had no choice but to admit defeat. "Fine. We'll try again next month."

Donnie made himself presentable; then he gave Alison a peck on the cheek. "Sorry, honey."

Alison pumped two giant blobs of hand sanitizer on her hands, and was out the door.

Donnie had the room to himself, though he wasn't in the mood. He was certain Alison had given him an Indian sunburn, on his shaft, of all places. He couldn't even enjoy the complimentary pay-per-view porn his room had. Alison had managed to take that away from him, too.

- o -

The kitchen was in full swing. There were chefs working on the line, yelling out tickets, and bus boys coming in and out the place, with trays upon trays of dirty plates and glasses. He wasn't missed. At least, not yet he wasn't.

Ronnie was all over the place. It was too easy to swipe the master keycard from his blazer. There were security cameras on every floor and at every exit, but again, the party worked to his advantage. This was the resort's opening night. It was a soft opening. Everybody that roamed the premise, besides security personnel, was in a masquerade mask. It was chaotic, and it was perfect.

He had set up shop on the second floor, in room #209. It was the perfect distance from the elevator, and to the emergency stairwell, in case he had to make a quick getaway. All his planning and prep work would be in vain, if his target was MIA. Luckily for him though, she just checked in an hour ago. He gave the room one last sweep. When he was certain everything was in order, he grabbed a bag of white pills, and stuffed them in his pockets.

It was go time.

- o -

The ballroom looked fantastic. The décor, the music, the lights, the ambiance, it all screamed celebratory.

For this evening, Rachel had opted for a white V neck gown, with a high thigh split. It was simple, yet elegant. To compliment her gown, she chose to don a royal blue masquerade mask. The mask covered only her eyes; it left her other features exposed.

Rachel wandered around the ballroom, and made small talk amongst the guests. But she didn't linger long, nor was her heart into it. Something else occupied her mind. She found her way to the bar, where she waited for her drink order. It wasn't long till she felt a body next to hers, as an arm brushed up against her own. Rachel kept her eyes forward. From her clutch bag, she pulled out a keycard and left it beside her coaster.

"I'm in penthouse twenty-three."

"Ms. Black?" The bartender called out, "Your extra dirty martini."

Rachel grabbed her drink, and left without another word or glance.

- o -

The masquerade party was in full swing.

There were hundreds of guests in attendance. Almost every single one of the men were wearing a tuxedo, with more or less the same cut and color scheme The women though, they were the ones that went over the top. They were nothing short of extravagant. Everybody's faces were hidden behind a masquerade mask. It was every bit as cliché, as it was exciting. It added a sense of mysteriousness that was intoxicating.

Cosima was left to fend for herself, yet again. Her sisters had ditched her, and were nowhere to be seen. The lethargy she had earlier from the Xanax had worn off, and much like Sarah had predicted, she was now hyped; too wired to sleep, but too tired to mingle. She didn't know half the people here, and the other half were way too pretentious for her to pretend to care.

Cosima made her way around the ballroom, and chatted up with as many people as she could, with a big phony smile plastered across her face. There were celebrities, politicians, Canadian Olympians, local businessmen, anybody of significance or influence, you name it and they were here. Cosima appreciated the open bar — it was the only thing that gave her motivation to stay — but she didn't like this part of the job, the part where she had to be fake. Rachel, Alison, and even Sarah, they were much better at it than she was. But here she was, a member of the Black family, and pulling her own weight.

The music from the speakers pulsated with a heartbeat of its own. Some people took to the dance floor, and were dancing like they were dancing queens, young and sweet, only seventeen. Cosima didn't have the luxury of joining them. Someway, somehow, she found herself sandwiched between a bunch of old farts. They were family friends, and had ties with Black Crown Corp., from its earliest incorporation. And for that reason and that reason alone, Cosima tolerated their presence. If not, she would've thrown her drink in their faces, and stormed out of there. This particular group of old farts were racist, bigoted, misogynistic, and set in their stone-age ways. They didn't belong in the present. In fact, if she could, she would buy them a one way ticket straight to 1560. They seem like they would get along with Mary, Queen of Scot, until she decided to behead them for their insolence. But that's another story, for another time.

"What's the difference between a woman's argument, and a knife?"

Everybody waited for the punchline.

"A knife has a point!"

Everybody burst out laughing, everyone except Cosima, that is.

"You've had a bit too much to drink, Uncle Harold."

"Nonsense." Harold waved, "I only want the best for you; it's what your father would've wanted."

Cosima rolled her eyes, as she took a sip of wine, to hide the fact. She absolutely hated it, whenever he brought up her father, or played the dad-card.

"A woman's place should be at home. You're not getting any younger, Cosima. It's true. There are plenty of fishes out there, but even so, you have to make it ashore, before you drown. Otherwise, what good are the fishes to you, then?"

"Thanks, Uncle Harold, but I'm still looking for the one."

"Psh. There's no such thing. And don't get hung up on the concept of love either." Harold said dryly, "People fall in love. But people fall out of love, too. If I wasn't so worried about the old hag taking half my money, I would've divorced your Aunt Mabel ages ago."

Cosima didn't know if she should laugh at his brutal honesty, or be appalled by his heartlessness. Either way, that was her cue to exit. "Excuse me."

"It's what Walter would've wanted for you, Cosima!"

Cosima couldn't breathe. The people here tonight, at this stupid party, were all faker than press-on nails. She had no business being here. Cosima found her way to the spacious garden outback. She kicked off her heels, and stepped onto the soft, lush grass in her bare feet. The blades of grass tickled her toes.

Cosima kept walking, wherever the garden took her. And that's when from afar, Cosima saw something that caught her eye. At first glance, she thought it was a firefly, dancing beautifully beneath a maple tree. But upon a closer look, she realized it was the smolder of a cigarette. It was a woman. She must have come from the same party. Her long evening gown flowed past her long, toned legs; her slender fingers hidden beneath a silk gown glove; her blonde hair tied into a fashionable bun; her delicate face was shielded with a golden masquerade mask.

Maybe it was the buzz from the alcohol, or the ambiance of the wild party, but Cosima's guard was down; her inhibitions were out the window.

"Can I bum a smoke from you?"

The woman turned around, smiled, and said, "Of course."

Cosima shielded the cigarette, as the woman gave her a light. She gave up smoking in her early teens, but the sensation was most welcomed. Cosima took a nice, long drag of the dirty habit.

"You hiding from someone?"

"Not so much hiding, as trying to catch a breather." Cosima replied, "You?"

"Same. I don't like these functions. I always feel like an outsider."

"Tell me about it." Cosima took another slow drag, "I just spent the past thirty minutes getting a lecture on why I'm not married, and bearing fruit from my loins."

"Never-married women's social environments are characterized by pressure to conform to conventional life pathways." The blonde woman tilted her head at Cosima, "Especially women of high power or status."

Not only was Cosima amused, she was deeply intrigued. "Wow. So you're an anthropologist?"

"No. Not even close."

"So what makes you think I'm a woman of high power or status?"

"And if I'm right?"

Cosima teased, "Only when you're right."

"You walk with a slight limp on your left side. It could be a patellar dislocation, or a torn ACL, it's difficult to tell. Given that health care in Canada is free, that doesn't tell me anything. But your stance and your subtle limp combined, tells me that you had extensive orthopedic therapy, and perhaps even motor skills therapy and that in turn, aided your recovery and the retention of full functionality of your limb. The latter two therapies tell me: you either have money, or come from money."

Cosima was too stunned for words.

"You have horrible posture. You tend to round your shoulders, which indicates to me that you sit in an office for your line of work. You have defined calf muscles, and that tells me you're in heels, as well. Evidence from the two suggest a high level management position, of sorts. But that would only be me guessing. But there is another dead giveaway though."

The mystery women lifted her right hand up. There, on her petite wrist, was a green wristband. "The guests at this party are invites only. But even so, we had to undergo extensive searches for security purposes. Even coat-check was mandatory. But you," She lifted Cosima's hands up, "You don't have a wristband, anywhere to be seen. You said you were mingling with the guests, which tells me you're not a party-crasher. Your absence of a wristband, and lack of security scrutiny indicates to me that you're a VIP member, or a woman known to management. But either way, you're different, special."

"Strange. That's what I was about to say about you." Cosima's mind was just blown. "Are you a detective? Cause that was remarkable, what you just did there."

"It's a trick of the trade." The blonde woman stubbed out her cigarette. "My last job required complete attentiveness. I had to look for subtle clues. Often times, it was a matter of life and death."

"Your last job?"

The woman shook her head. "Long story."

Cosima understood completely. She held out her hand, "I'm Cosima."

"Delphine."

"Enchanté."

A delighted smirk graced Delphine's lips, "I'm pretty sure that's my line."

"How could I miss that subtle French undertone? You French?"

"I'm French-Canadian. I grew up just outside Montréal."

Cosima couldn't pry her eyes away from the beauty that stood before her. There was something oddly alluring about her.

"Please, excuse me." Delphine said, "I must get back to the party now. Nice meeting you, Cosima."

Cosima could only reply with, "You, too."

Cosima watched as Delphine crossed the garden, until she disappeared beyond the slope. She was still bemused by the entire exchange. She's never met anyone quite like her. Delphine was different, and uniquely so. And her complex thought process, it was nothing short of extraordinary. Cosima snubbed her cigarette, and headed back to the party, too. She needed to ask Delphine for her number. She might decline her, and reject her advances, but she had to try; she just had to.

Cosima slipped her pair of heels back on, and headed in. There were a sea of people, more so than before, but Delphine's golden masquerade was nowhere to be seen. Cosima made her way through the crowd, ever so slowly.

"Excuse me, Ms. Black?"

Cosima turned at her name. It was one of the wait staff, in his uniform and red masquerade mask.

"This drink was specially made, just for you."

"I didn't order anything." Cosima brushed the waiter aside.

"Please, Ms. Black." The man pleaded, "It's from Ronnie. It's a specialty drink."

Cosima had the displeasure of meeting Ronnie already, upon their check-in. Without a second thought, Cosima grabbed the crystal glass, and downed the drink in one smooth gulp. She slammed the glass down on his tray. "Happy?"

"Very, Ms. Black."

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

The general manager: Ronnie Sommer. And that's when Cosima had a eureka moment. Like Delphine said, all the guests were invites only. When they checked in, and assigned a wristband, they had to sign the guest book. Cosima had Delphine's first name. Surely she could cheat, and see what her last name was, and maybe even get a contact number.

Just as Cosima was about to head towards the main lobby, a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind, and pulled her in towards their direction. Cosima didn't have time to register or react; she was taken by complete surprise. And that's when her ambusher spun her around. He wore the same black and white tux as every other guy in the room. His face was hidden behind a masquerade mask.

"Who the fuck are you, buddy?!"

"Really, Cos?"

Cosima was rooted to the spot, as the voice registered in her inebriated mind. And when it did, her eyes widened in disbelief, "Holy flying monkey!"

"Yep!"

"Felix?!"

"The one and only."

Cosima flew into Felix's embrace, and hugged him for dear life. "Oh, I was so worried about you, you dipshit! You hardly ever call!"

"Well, that's one of the beauties of backpacking: no pesky technology."

"Oh! I missed you, so, so much!" Cosima grabbed his face, and kissed every inch of visible skin, "I'll never let go!"

"Stop it, Cos, people are starting to stare."

"Who the flying fuck cares, now that you're here."

"Come. There's someone I want you to meet."

From across the room, came a familiar figure Cosima immediately recognized.

"There you are." Felix presented his guest proudly, "Delphine, I want you to meet my sister, Cosima."

"Hello again."

"Wait. You've met already?"

"Yes. Though I didn't know she was your sister."

"Well, then, this should be easy." Felix snaked his arm around Delphine, "Cosima, I want you to meet Delphine, my new wife."

"Your what?!"

- o -

A/N: Thoughts?